Chrissy Olinger

Chrissy's Obscene Chocolate Orange Brownies

2013-12-02T19:49:00.001-05:00

The basic brownie recipe I use is a million years old, and has no baking powder or soda. The brownies are not cakey, but chewy and dense. To get the original version, just swap the Gran Marnier for a teaspoon of vanilla. In my house, growing up, mom put marshmallow on when they were hot, then cooled them and topped them with chocolate frosting. I sometimes use Andes Candies on top for mint, but the Orange version was a huge hit with Ahmed, so they’ve become a staple. One note: I always use large eggs in heirloom recipes, NOT extra-large, because they most closely approximate the size of egg my grandmother/great-aunts had.

4 oz Unsweetened Chocolate
3/4 cup butter
2 cups sugar
3 large eggs
1 ridiculously generous tablespoon of Gran Marnier Orange Licqueur
1 cup flour
1 cup coarsely chopped walnuts (optional)

preheat HEAT oven to 350°F.

Butter and flour 13x9-inch pan.

Melt chocolate and butter in a small pan, OR MICROWAVE in large microwaveable bowl on HIGH 2 min. or until butter is melted. Stir until chocolate is completely melted.

Stir in sugar. Blend in eggs and liqueur. Add flour and nuts; mix well. Pour into prepared pan.

Beat the living crap out of a Terry's Chocolate Orange, until it's basically crumbs. (Cover with towel, use hammer or the head of a willful child.)

BAKE 30 to 35 min. or until toothpick inserted in center comes out with fudgy crumbs. Top should have a crepe-paper appearance. Dump the chocolate orange bits on while hot. Allow to melt, then spread.

Cool completely (or set in frig) before cutting.

Don’t Be That Guy and Happy Thanksgiving

2013-11-27T18:36:00.001-05:00

Oh, my, everyone is up in arms about not shopping on the holiday. Boycott! Write your congressman! Sit on your fat backside and repost lame pictures on Facebook! That’ll teach em!

Let’s not forget that shopping isn’t mandatory. By all means, stay home.

But let’s remember, too, that thousands of people work the holidays and have always done so without your Facebook outrage. Cops, nurses, ER doctors, other medical and emergency staff, gas station and exempt convenience store employees, road service centers, tow truck drivers, toll booth workers, restaurant employees…

So when you are en route to meemaw’s in your POS Chevy, busting the speed limit, stopping at the never-ever-close CVS for the crap you forgot, just take a moment to can your attitude and be a decent person. No snapping at the 17 year old behind the counter. No taking the cop’s head off because you got pulled over for doing 65 in a 35 mile residential area to get the sweet potato casserole with the burnt spots on top to Nanny Snodgropper’s before it gets cold.

It takes no effort to post a photo on Facebook and demand everyone else do the same. Make some effort and maybe your opinions will hold more weight. Try not to be a dick.

Happy Thanksgiving.

*No firefighters were harmed in the taking of this photo... also? Damn!

Le HELL NO Vo

2013-11-22T12:53:00.001-05:00

Last spring one of my good computers failed. I am one of those people who delays buying new to replace for a few reasons. First, it was in the midst of the Windows 8 Hate that lingers. Second, I buy really good computers and milk them, usually becoming very attached and refusing to say goodbye. But it was time, and after taking a risk on a very slightly used Dell that didn’t work out (verifying my opinion that Dell is crap), I needed a new computer. Newegg ran a July 4th sale, and I grabbed a Lenovo G585 for a very good price. Long ago I’d owned two Lenovo computers I’d liked. How bad could it be?

Wow. One of the things that happens with nerds… we figure we can get the most out of even a piece of crap, and we usually do. I’d seen a few negative reviews that said the computer ran slow. That’s fixable 90% of the time, and usually removing the bloatware and factory settings does the trick. In this case, I found it did.

From July til November I was very happy with the computer. Fast, good battery life, decent size, my only real complaint was that it had Windows 8, which is just a reality we all have to swallow, right?

Five months… that’s how long it lasted before, a few weeks ago, I noticed a few issues that weren’t 8.1 upgrade related. I tested the hard drive thinking I was just being pro-active… no way could it be the hard drive, right? Failed all tests. So I called Lenovo. Dude with an accent that may have been Russian was, I have to say, the rudest customer support I have ever encountered did ABSOLUTELY NOTHING but demand I give him an address and send the computer to Texas. My own suggestion—that sometimes brand new hard drives fail tests because of a driver issues, and maybe Seagate’s free tool download might help avoid that—got me nowhere… he never offered ANY solution but shipping to Texas.

OK. First, I use a PO Box because my parents use the physical address, and I am very often not home during the day. I was told this was impossible, I had to ship to a physical address… which is funny, because the ONLY time I have absolutely no problems with shipping? My little post office here in Green Harbor—where the computer was shipped to start with. But ok… I’ll send it. Vlad the Impudent sent me a postal shipping label that was just a print out. End of. I shipped USPS. Tracking ID showed it arrived RIGHT ON TIME! The Lenovo Customer Care ID I was given disagreed… it showed no such case existed.

This drama started TWO WEEKS ago. Have you ever installed a hard drive? Takes about five minutes. Installing Windows again takes longer, but we’re talking about an hour or two. I’m going into WEEK THREE. Several days of phone calls. Every customer service rep refused to get me a supervisor. Mid-week of week two I called:

My state attorney general, and the attorney general in Texas.
The Better Business Bureau of Fort Worth, Texas (they are in Grapevine).
The FTC.
My credit card company.
Consumer Protection.
Ahmed, who also called his lawyer.

I had also informed my employer at Jackson Thackery Investigations and Securities, to let them know I would be “off rotation” for IRC Security until I got the computer back.

ONLY after Lenovo was contacted by the BBB and god-only-knows-whom-else this week did they resolve a truly simple issue. My tracking ID showed that they’d received the computer over a week ago. They refused to acknowledge even that until they were threatened with fines. Upon threat, I got an email within 24 hours, a new Customer Care ID, and work began on the computer that was supposed to not exist anywhere in Texas.

It took them two days to replace a hard drive and re-install Windows. I could have pointed them to a Youtube video that instructs for a quicker finish.

It will, apparently, according to the Fedex tracking, nearly another week to arrive here. If I am home to sign for it. Which is unlikely.

Moral of the story? Buy Fujitsu. Skeptical?

I am typing this on a 10 year old Fujitsu that runs XP. Over a year ago Max tripped me in the kitchen, and the tablet/pc hybrid, which was the first of its kind way back when, flew seven feet, smashed, and cracked. It is held together with duct tape, which has leopard fur wrist rests on it because the duct tape heats up and itches. It runs LIKE A TOP. Still. Don’t believe me? I took a picture with this post open in Windows Live Writer.

Cheeseburger and Fries Soup

2013-11-05T16:49:00.001-05:00

My bestie Roxanne has a 6 hour crock pot cheeseburger soup recipe I love. Today I wanted some but didn’t have 6 hours. Then, wandering through Target, saw their Julienne Potatoes with Cheddar Cheese (basically just string shaped potatoes au gratin) and had an evil idea.

Here it is. 45 minutes prep time.

1 stick of butter, diced
5 tablespoons canola oil (ballpark it)
1/2 a small sweet onion, chopped small
few tablespoons of flour, dusted over top

brown the above ingredients... add

2 pounds ground beef
salt and pepper to taste

add and brown all of the beef and onions-- leave a bit of pink in the meat, add

2 cups of beef broth

heat through, add

2 boxes Market Pantry Julienne Potatoes with Cheddar --including the cheese packets

mix in well, add

4 cups of milk
2 teaspoons Mrs. Dash or similar

Cook til potatoes are tender-- about 30 minutes. Add parsley or shredded cheddar if desired.

Michael Moorcock’s Genius & NaNoWriMo

2013-11-03T19:15:00.001-05:00

Michael Moorcock is a genius, and several years ago I came across an amazing article in which he outlined how to complete a novel in three days.

I shit you not.

Since this is NaNoWriMo (for the non-author folks, National Novel Writers Month) I am sharing, as I do occasionally, a link to a condensed version of the article.

Moorcock is not just prolific—his books are actually really wonderful. If you have not delved into the Elric of Melniboné books, what is wrong with you?

In any event… go read the article. It’s not JUST for those who want to blow through a book. The tips and formula are very pluginable for all genres and deadlines.

One day I really AM going to do a retreat weekend using this as a guide.

Here: http://www.ghostwoods.com/2010/05/how-to-write-a-book-in-three-days-1210/

IP Tracer Shout Out

2013-10-21T17:32:00.001-04:00

I am cross posting this to save time. ALL Ops on Corvania and Sceptics’ Tank are being asked to run an IRC ip tracer script. I have sent a text file to everyone, and it is available in our private archives.

Copy and paste into REMOTES if you want the shortcut.

I’m also apologizing in advance to anyone who was inconvenienced over the past week by relatives from East ButtBone Virginia. I really LOVE that my people had the absolute, perfect, best response ever to our stalker. I love you all. :)

The benefit of the code I have sent out – even though Minnesota Fathead can’t join private channels, the stringer IP trace pops on the attempt, as well as popping on join in public channels.

Thanks, everyone!!

Happy Places – Writing the Funny is FUN

2013-10-06T19:55:00.001-04:00

Tonight I pulled in the driveway and sat outside with the interior light on jotting things into my notebook. I taught my Writing the Funny workshop tonight, and the second week proved even better than the first. So many ideas come roaring to life during classes and after-class discussions, I can’t get home fast enough (and it’s just a 5 minute drive) to get them down on paper. My group is just fantastic, and I’m having a blast.

Lou, the fearless leader of our program, came down the hall to my classroom at the end of the night to announce we’d been wonderfully disruptive. Everyone in the building could hear the shouts, laughter, and even spontaneous applause. He grinned at me and said “you must be doing something right.” To be honest, I know I can make people laugh, but a lot of the credit goes to my group. (I hesitate to call them students—they’re fellow warriors in the quest for the gut-buster.) Being around great people is such a gift, I almost feel guilty taking money for this job… almost. I will hate to end this session, and it will end far too soon.

You Have One Job

2013-09-16T17:14:00.001-04:00

It’s football season. I care about the Patriots, and of course the BSU Bears, but neither of those teams are in particular need of my mojo. Marshfield, on the other hand, is developing a track record, and it’s not a good one. I’m not talking about their season ending stats or record. I’m talking about the only game that matters. And I’m fed up with losing to Duxbury.

Your coaches, your teachers, your parents, the cheerleaders, the guy at the counter at Jackanson’s—they are all going to be telling you to win games. Ignore them. Win them if you can, but you only have ONE JOB. You are to focus on ONE JOB. Your entire life is to become a tunnel, and the only light you ever have hope of feeling on your face again is waiting for you on the gridiron, THANKSGIVING DAY. You are to care about nothing—not college, homework, girls, boys, world peace, childhood hunger, or Sara MacLachlan’s dying puppies—YOU ARE A BEATING THE DAMNED DRAGONS MACHINE AND YOU ARE STUCK IN FOURTH GEAR UNTIL THE DAY AFTER THANKSGIVING.

DON’T. SCREW. UP.

Beaded Ribbon Toggles

2013-09-10T14:41:00.001-04:00

Just in time for Christmas Craft Fair season I’ve slapped together a fun project to do while watching tv and use up the spools of craft ribbon I have tucked into baskets everywhere.

These are super simple: just pretty ribbon that is studded with beads or freshwater pearls, crystals, whatnot. I bead them, embellish the edges, and then back them with felt. They are finished with toggle clasps so they go on easily and stay fast.

What I love about them is that they DON’T spin around because of the felt; they weigh nearly nothing, so they are super comfy; and they dress up jeans, but also work with a pretty little dress. I will be selling them for $5 and $8 (simple beads for $5, wider tapestry ribbons with pearls or pricier embellishment for $8). Great stocking stuffer, or a nice gift for the teacher. Look for me at craft fairs and on Etsy, where some of these will be soon!

Green Harbor Shiny on Etsy

Coming this Month: Bell, Book, and Scandal

2013-09-05T15:06:00.001-04:00

I’m truly pleased to announce that my short romances are available on Barnes and Noble once more, thanks to Pubit and a much simpler, straight-forward process. I’m also over-the-moon to say that another short, humorous, paranormal romance will be out within the next two weeks (it is currently being oops-detected and queued).

BELL, BOOK, AND SCANDAL:

Ellespeth Brannigan's ancient cat, Oliver, was foul and mean. But when Jake Loring backs over him in his car, she's just as crushed as Oliver! What's worse-- he doesn't even seem to feel bad about murdering her closest friend. Drowning her sorrows in a bottle of birthday wine, Elle wakes up the next morning with a dead cat, a weird old book laying open on her chest, and the mother of all hangovers.

She reads the lines in the book, slaps the snooze button on her alarm clock, and unleashes an accidental dose of karma on Jake. Spell books don't really work, do they? Because if they do, that stray cat may be more than just familiar... and since this is a humorous romance, all hell will, naturally, break loose.

Coming Soon – Bead Embroidered Starfish!

2013-08-24T15:49:00.001-04:00

So I’d been thinking about doing them for a while, but the genuine, dried starfish*, bead embroidered necklace has finally been born, and was as cool as I envisioned. Unfortunately, I made three, kept one to wear, and sold the other two almost instantly because of the one I’ve been wearing.

Fortunately, I can make more. I have a half dozen more starfish to bead, and will be getting more soon. I plan to upload a few onto my Etsy shop, and will be selling both the starfish and shell necklaces (possibly large sand dollars, too) at both the online shop and some craft fairs this winter.

Thanks to everyone who has shown interest, particularly those who have purchased my work!

Visit Green Harbor Shiny for all of my beady creatures:

*NO starfish were harmed in the creation of my necklaces. They were already dead. I just gave them a pretty afterlife.

Corvania Updates and Possible Changes

2013-06-30T14:27:00.001-04:00

I’m cross posting this from the Sceptics’ Tank because it obviously has a lot to do with me. I want to add an apology for being late with the reminder about renewal!

Possible changes may come to those in the Corvania Chronicles RPG community. Obviously change is being requested, but I am a firm believer that growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell, and that change can sometimes be a bad thing.

That having been said, please take a look a the Tank post, and if you are a Corvania gamer, put your two cents worth in.

JOIN THE DISCUSSION HERE

For those curious (or just nosy), the fees are not insubstantial. Members pay $250 for a year; $125 for a half year. At this time, all members are playing the full year, but many pay on January 1 and June 30 for a number of reasons, including the possibility of dropping out without losing the money if the need arises. All those fees are paid to me. Only a small amount goes toward operating costs/hosting, since the Tank is the primary sponsor, but that small amount (5%) covers the freebies, email accounts, and cetera. 20% of the revenue is paid to the Game Master, who works hard and does not participate in play.

Thanks to everyone for forgiving my lateness. I DO feel bad that so many people want in and can’t get in, but keeping the game small is why it stays awesome.

Beady Things

2013-06-10T18:50:00.001-04:00

While I slog my way through some icky weeks I have revived my passion for beadwork. Since my friends have proved to be a rather amazing crew of wackjobs, I am celebrating them with gifts.

Don’t get comfy, guys… I can do beady things for dudes, too.

Here are a few crappy photos.

Khalid (Ahmed’s dad) invests in gem mines and has been awesome about sending me some rare stuff.

Among those magic prizes in my PO Box have been some astonishingly gorgeous pieces of jasper… including sea sediment jasper, which is mined from sea floors and picks up some crazily gorgeous color variations.

This is a piece of sea sediment jasper set with turquoise barrels, copper beads, and seed bead strips.

I wish you could see the cabochon up close. The colors are amazing.

Some ridiculously cool Christmas tree jasper came in, too, and I put it together with some really well matched carnelian cabs. Unfortunately the photo makes them appear mis-matched, but trust me… they are identical.

More to come… and don’t be surprised if something shows up in your mailbox. :)

Another Round in Hell

2013-05-23T23:53:00.001-04:00

Late tomorrow, on an overnight fight from Dublin, Ahmed will come home in time to talk to my oncologist about how we will face the next battle. The cancer in my jaw/salivary gland has had a regional recurrence… which I was warned about. So if I have seemed manic for the past few days… well, I’ve been manic.

I did not think I would be alive after this winter. That battle started last summer, gave me only the briefest break in the fall, and dominated the cold months. My lungs, which had done SO WELL on my newest experimental sojourn, are feeling it. I spent the harshest winter in memory bald, sick, and overworked so badly I almost succumbed.

Almost. I don’t believe angels kept me here. I swear I think Ahmed stood over me like a force of preternatural defiance and beat back Azrael with his will.

I wouldn’t mess with him, either. :)

So for the next few weeks… again… no deadlines, workshops, or anything else. I’m taking a break from everything but my family responsibilities (because I have no second string), and focusing on another round of “kiss my ass, I’m not going.” I have two weddings and a convention I REFUSE to give up this summer, and I’ll be at all three, rocking wigs to keep the sun off my head, and trying not to look like a skeleton.

Buy stock in crackers and wig adhesive.

A Little Yellow Miracle

2013-04-26T13:15:00.001-04:00

If I were not a nerd, master herbalist, and certified boggy swamp witch, I’d have missed it.

To the left you see something miraculous. Erythronium umbilicatum, also called dogtooth violet, though it is not a violet or pansy. Some might know it as adder's tongue because of the shape of the bloom, but it's actually a tiny lily-- only 5-7 inches high. The Cherokee refer to it as a trout lily, or dimpled trout lily, because of the spotting on the leaves, and because it blooms when the trout season is beginning in the rivers. Trout lily is the most common name.

Why am I excited? Here is the growing map: http://plants.usda.gov/java/profile?symbol=ERUMU

This little lily has begun to vanish all along the mountain ranges of the Blue Ridge and Smoky mountains, where they grow. They’ve ranged as far south as Florida, though they are vanishing there, and as far north as DC, where they have also become rare—possibly extinct. They have NEVER been seen further north than Mount Vernon. So finding this southern lily, so tiny, fragile, and fading numbers so far from home is quite remarkable. It may be fate or something more that placed it here, tucked tight against a stone wall as old as one of the nation’s oldest towns.

I pound the bounds of my property in both spring and fall, an ancient practice among my ancestors. Trout lilies have been known to go years without blooming, and I am quite convinced this has not shown the bright yellow blooms before. I would have discovered them. I’d been suspicious of the foliage—a rather remarkable dappled leaf—in the past, lost sight of it, and was teased by occasional, brief reappearances.

My best guess is that the lily is, like my father, a hardy transplant. This morning I took him out to show him the spot so we can care for our southern mystery plant, and he recognized the flower and leaves from his childhood. My grandmother was often kind to send home roots and seeds to us on the rare occasions my parents visited, and I’m certain this came north many, many years ago with a grouping of touch-me-nots. It has made a terrible week joyous for me… and I feel like Granny is smiling, too.

Fuck You

2013-04-17T11:51:00.001-04:00

It’s been two days. So many great things have been said as we all deal with the pain, the horror, and the confusion. We want answers, and there are none. We want justice, and know we’ll have to wait. I’ve been struggling to write, sleep, and center myself on the compass of my soul.

And what I’ve come to is this.

Fuck you.

Boston is not a huge city. It’s actually tightly compacted into a wheel of insane cow paths (they actually started as Indian hunting trails, but yeah). It’s like a snowball full of rocks waiting for the right car window. It produces great writers, great sports (even when we’re losing), and great ironies. We’ll tell you to fuck off for driving the speed limit, but help a kid with a flat tire (after lecturing him/her). We have bar brawls and the Irish Mafia, but dozens of no-kill shelters. We elect a lot of Republicans for the local stuff but send mostly Democrats to Washington. We host a breakfast every Saint Patrick’s Day where both sides get together to insult one another and wouldn’t miss it for the world.

So fuck you.

We shrug off snow, hurricanes, N’oreasters, and beat the shit out the British with a tiny rebel army when they were the greatest military force in the world. Like your Liberty? You’re welcome. Fond of Freedom? Don’t mention it. Need us? We’re there, but try to stop screwing it up and call your mother.

And fuck you.

Because you have NO IDEA what a Pandora’s Box of FUCK YOU is coming your way. We are capable of both, you see. We will give our blood to those you harmed, but never stop til we have yours. We will carry those with no legs—WERE YOU NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO OUR PEOPLE RUNNING 26.2 MILES WHILE PUSHING WHEELCHAIRS? We will take yours out from under you. We will send our best to NY after the attacks of 9/11 and embrace the returned favor with the open arms of true brothers who may slug it out on the field, but know where the game ends and humanity begins. There is a reason we are a hub of knowledge. People here are smart. We can love the children you maimed and killed with the tenderness of a mother and still stoke the fires of rage to direct at YOU. Not one another. YOU.

Fuck you.

The beautiful words, the amazing heroism, the powerful stories of men like my Ahmed, John Flanagan, Aemon Kelly, and hundreds of others who immediately GOT UP OFF THE DIRT to swing back are who we are, not your cowardice. In the shocked silence of the aftermath we needed those stories.
Now we’re just focusing on FUCK YOU. That feeling between your shoulders? That funny little seeping tingle? That chill, like the one you get in an empty parking garage at 4 am when you hear footsteps and realize there is no security? That rush of blood heading out of your head that leaves you dizzy and makes your ears roar when you wake up, after a night-terror, and don’t know where the crippling fear came from?

That’s us. We’re coming. Fuck you.

DVDs -- What's On Your Shelf?

2013-03-08T20:07:00.000-05:00

There's crap on tv tonight, and I am a shameless tv fan. So shameless, in fact, that I have a DVD collection to rival Netflix. I was on the phone with my bestie, Roxie, when she mocked me for it.

Me: There's crap on tv tonight.
Roxie: Are you KIDDING? How many series on dvd do you have within ten feet of you right now?
Me: um.
Roxie: Turn your head and count.
Me: Shut up.
Roxie: Just "complete series," then... go on. Really.
Me: Really, just shut up.

She has a point. I can turn my head and count the ones I hoard in my bedroom for nights like this one. Probably only half the entire collection, since I keep some downstairs.

Will you hate me if I tell you I have second copies of a few in Maine?

For the record, this is the list from the bedroom collection-- just what I can see from the bed. I listed them from top to bottom on the shelf.

1. Charmed- complete series
2. Firefly
3. The West Wing - complete series
4. Star Trek Next Generation- complete series
5. Star Trek Deep Space Nine- compete series
6. All Creatures Great and Small - complete series
7. Bones - seasons 1-4
8. Angel - complete series
9. Buffy - complete series
10. Ballykissangel - complete series
11. Northern Exposure- complete series

So... what's in your collection? The sad thing is I am on ebay tonight looking for second hand boxed sets of other favorites. I really like tv.

Shut up.

Don’t Shoot from the Lip Unless Your Aim is True

2013-02-25T15:06:00.001-05:00

Last night The Onion tweeted a terrible line about Quvenzhané Wallis, apparently within an hour of a tweet that was nearly identical from me. Nobody minded my tweet.

The reason I am not apologizing and they are is the very root of humor, appropriateness, and why something is or is not funny. It’s also the reason comedy is hard, risky, and tricky.

It is NOT an out. I write humor. I’ve been a columnist, a critic, and a fiction writer of humor. I’ve even done stand-up (very briefly). This lesson needs repeating: being sorry after you’ve said something that was not funny means nothing, erases nothing, and is not a valid excuse.

There’s a line. Comedy is brutal because you stop being a comedian the SECOND you cross it.

This is what I said:

It might have been considered mean, or snarky. Nobody flipped out, re-tweeted, or took offense. I actually got a lot of “she seems bratty to me, too.”

Here is what The Onion said, then deleted, then apologized for:

Pretty close. One difference. The word c***. About a little girl. A bratty little girl, but a little girl.

They crossed the imaginary line, and the INSTANT they did it, became massive assholes. The higher-ups apologized, and it was a genuine apology… but completely useless. Once you say it, it’s said. Once you fall flat, you’re flat. “It was a joke” is the most useless phrase in the universe, because the second you fail with humor, IT’S NOT A JOKE… IT WASN’T FUNNY… YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE, NO MATTER HOW SORRY YOU ARE TO BE ONE.

So why, when a humorist/comedian takes a swing and misses, do we flip out more than we would if, say, Nicholas Sparks set up a happy ending and killed everyone? Because of the risk. The risk is greater because humor is a trick on the audience, but one they are “kinda” in on. It’s jazz. It’s setting you up for the high C, then dropping you down for a low, smooth note. If it works, it’s dizzying, dazzling, and new. If not? Flat, jarring, and painful… because we expected the high note, you have to get the low note RIGHT.

So funny isn’t something you can screw up. Your audience won’t forgive you, even if they don’t QUITE know why, but the reason is the fall. The reason is the tricky part: you have set them up, and they want you to succeed, take them on the roller-coaster plunge toward the surprise they sensed, but could not QUITE predict… and you blew it. It’s like sitting across from the love of your life with stars in your eyes, hearing him or her say “I l—” and taking the breath to shout “I love you, too!” JUST as she/he finishes with “—like this restaurant.”

Crushed. Broken. There was a line, and you missed. It was not the GREAT thing I did not expect… it was something I did not expect that hit the ear like a flat saxophone note. It deflated like a busted soufflé. It set me up for joy, and kicked me in the funny bone.

And guess what? It wasn’t a joke. In order to be a joke, it has to be funny. It was an attempted joke, and now you’re an asshole standing at the microphone, feeling the silence hit you in the gut.

That’s why funny is scary, hard, and not for sissies.

“It was a joke” is a myth. It is, or it isn’t. Last night, it wasn’t. Know where the line is, or—like me, and every humorist who gets it—take your lumps. Period.

If you can’t, you can’t be in the business of making people laugh. If it were easy, everyone would do it. The Joy Behars of the world will always rely on the fallacy of the cloak of immunity, trotting out “it’s satire” or “it was a joke” with absolutely no redemption waiting. Everyone who tries to be funny risks failing.

When we fail we are assholes who weren’t funny. And we don’t get to be anything else until we clean it up, do it better, and try again.

Weighty Issues—Body Image Awareness

2013-02-21T17:40:00.001-05:00

This week is body image awareness week, so I suppose it’s fitting that I spent about 45 minutes on the phone with a friend of my mom’s today. She’s an obese hypochondriac who elected to do lapband surgery a few years ago. When she asked me about it then I told her what every doctor I respect has said: it will NOT eliminate diet and exercise from the equation, and is more or less a surgical procedure designed to force patients to do what they have to do anyway. Removing a risky surgery with life-long after-effects is the only rational choice. I know others feel differently, but I have yet to see anyone convince me otherwise.

She did it anyway. She lost 30 pounds. She has regained the 30, plus another 30. She still overeats, does not exercise, still makes excuses, and must carry spare underpants with her in case she has leakage. She regurgitates constantly while eating meals. Many of her friends mention that it makes them uncomfortable while eating out. I can’t imagine it's pleasant for her.

During the conversation she accused me of not understanding, because I have no trouble dieting.

While her phrasing was rude, there is one truth, there. I have no trouble dieting. I don’t diet, and never have. I am still overweight, but have steadily lost pounds over the past 15 years. I have never gone back up in size, but don’t obsess over size or weight. My weight loss has been very slow. My doctors have been very happy with it. What I did was:

1. Get medical treatment for issues that were helping to “make me fat.” These had nothing to do with my diet, including having a gall bladder removed in the nick of time. My diet certainly contributed to chronic gall bladder pain, eventual infection, and very nearly my death. But injury contributed, and misdiagnosis from bad physicians (who missed a gall bladder larger than a football for nearly a year and dismissed me as a fat complainer with indigestion) were, too. I also had PCOS, which has virtually disappeared as I lost weight and got healthier. I was called a “borderline diabetic” for years. I still don’t know if this was simply lazy medical practice because I was very obese, or if I really was “borderline.” My blood sugars have been completely normal for years.

2. Move more. Never avoid moving when I can. Park further from the door. Walk the dog. Get up every day, no matter how much I would rather not. When I was young I moved a LOT, in spite of being heavy. I was active, even athletic. It was astonishing how much my personality, happiness, and physical ability bounced back as I started moving again.

3. Eat less, and eat better. I never stop myself from having chocolate or ice cream. I have a small amount. After a few years I realized I didn’t want more. I can’t remember a time when I “binged.” Even now, overeating for me is not binge-eating. It’s a second helping of something once in a while, and the GOOD news is… I feel it immediately. Your stomach WILL shrink. Emotional eating IS a habit that can be broken. In fact, it melts away on its own if you stick to your better habits.

4. Refrain from excuses. If I feel slightly bloated after eating, I take a walk. I don’t self diagnose with some syndrome that is a lot less likely to be the problem. I ate too much. EVERY person I have ever heard talk about losing weight being incredibly hard, and how difficult it is emotionally, and plateaus… counted calories, pounds, and sizes. Ignore the markers and be healthy… you will be unaware of plateaus and feel no need to make excuses.

I dislike it when people demand a pound count, because it completely tells on them when they insist they are “really just worried about health.” What I can say, only because my medical folks have stressed and confirmed it, is that I am literally half the size I was 15 years ago. Before my gall bladder surgery (the dramatic, emergency, saw-her-in-half kind) I was wearing a size 32 (not a 32” waist… a 5x / 6x). I now wear a 20 to 22, depending. I weighed at least 425 pounds (I was 405 a week after surgery, but refused to be weighed prior to it). My last weigh-in was 215. I have lost a pant-size since then. (To be honest, I thought I would gain that back, since some of this weight loss was cancer-loss. So far I have not, and it has been a month.) I only have these statistics because of medical professionals and being forced to buy new clothes.

It wasn’t easy. Going without food never bothered me as much as MOVING did, because I was in constant pain. But the more I moved, the less pain I felt. The more I walked, the easier it became. I now only have joint pain in bad weather or after too much exertion, and take nothing but Tylenol on occasion to manage it. I still struggle with long flights of stairs, partially because of my knees, but largely because I am puffing with one lung. Walking steadily and slowly on level ground does not bother me at all. I actually enjoy it. Even in my late 20s and 30s I struggled to walk more than a quarter mile. I’m 47 now and can do 5 miles if the weather is good and I move at my own pace… still… though I am asked by my doctors not to. Plus Max quits on me after a mile. :)

Had I failed to keep moving, I would be dead. I would never have had the energy and physical stability to beat cancer, would not be able to function with one lung, and would not be living with pulmonary fibrosis at all. A 400 pound woman can’t function with one lung, limited heart health and capacity, and oxygen therapy. I could not have survived.

I would also not be capable of being sexually active. While sex drive is not always a problem for larger people (it often is), my heart and lungs, my knees and back, my sheer inability to move—all of these would have made regular, rigorous sex unsafe. Plus size people can, and should, love and be loved. But danger or simple inability to handle sexual exertion is a reality for some, and a concern for anyone considered morbidly obese.

My mom’s friend has no idea how insulting she was in calling it “easy” for me, but she is also someone who will never accept ownership of her body, her responsibility for it, or her own role in who and what she has become.

It’s not about dieting. It’s not about blame. It’s not about excuses. It’s about getting your shit straight, getting over your pity party, getting doctors who LISTEN and don’t consider you a waste of time because of the shape they see in front of them, and getting over it.

The one thing it is NOT is easy.

My Green Habah Chowdah Recipe for Lent Noms

2013-02-15T17:32:00.001-05:00

I am sharing this recipe today at the request of several of the old ladies of Green Harbor, who are pretty much the collective bosses of me. Years ago Snow’s made the best fish chowder you could get in a can. They were purchased by Bumble Bee Tuna, and that was that. Around here you can get Legal Seafoods’ chowders in tubs, but they are a tad pricey, and not as simple as the old school New England Fish Chowdah most of us grew up eating. I have tinkered and come up with what the Green Harbor locals seem to crave—it gets requested at a lot of the soup-suppers. The recipe I’m sharing here has no meat to make it Lent friendly, but it’s also delicious made with bacon or salt pork in lieu of butter, and chicken stock in lieu of vegetable. Below is the Lent-Friendly recipe, which is about as close as you will get to the old school stuff. COD OR HADDOCK ONLY—if I catch anyone using pollock I come to your house and do bad things with a cheese grater. I’m not kidding.

Chrissy’s Green Habah Fish Chowdah

1/2 cup butter, divided
1 large sweet onion, sliced
4/5 medium/large yukon gold potatoes, peeled and diced
1 pinch salt and generous dusting of fresh ground black pepper
3 cups vegetable or fish stock
2 pounds haddock or cod, cubed into bite sized pieces
3 tablespoons of flour (optional)*
4 quart of half and half or light cream (you may also use milk, and add a small can of evaporated milk)
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon Bell's seasoning
3 tablespoons dried parsley flakes or handful of fresh, finely chopped parsley.

Melt 1/4 cup butter over medium heat. Sauté onions until tender. Add the potatoes, salt, pepper, bay leaf, Bell's, and stock. Top with fish. Simmer, covered until potatoes are fork-tender.

Add cream and remaining butter. Season with additional salt and pepper if desired. Heat through and allow to thicken.

Garnish at the finish with parsley.

*I dust the pieces of fish with a bit of flour and some of the salt/pepper before adding to the pot. This is optional, but I find it keeps the pieces from shredding as they cook and makes them more flavorful and tender, and quickens the thickening of the stock.

When Secondary Characters Take Over

2013-01-24T15:23:00.001-05:00

As I get very close to releasing book 1 in the Maggie Gallagher series, I have decided to stop tearing myself up while the final manuscript of Cry Uncle is in other hands. So I’m working on As The Crow Flies, book 2. A few things have struck me:

1. Books are not even close to “done” just because I’ve finished writing them.

2. Secondary characters, in this case Joe Gallagher Jr, take over a big part of the plot when we aren’t looking, and can offer vital elements that a main character simply can’t.

Maggie’s oldest brother, Joe, who is the chief of police in her home-town, has become the moral compass of the series. He is a character I have loved writing because he is a good man, but appears deceptively normal on the surface. He has an amazing marriage, is admired by the men who work for him, and quietly goes about the business of being incredibly smart, honorable, and tough with none of the flash and fireworks a hero might need. Joe is someone I knew would be important, but never dreamed how much. I’ve learned a lot about myself writing him. He makes Maggie a better person, and drives her to better ends. So in honor of Joe, and to keep myself from calling Maria AGAIN to see how editing and formatting are going on Cry Uncle, I offer you this scene from As The Crow Flies.

Joe’s wife, Hannah, has been kidnapped accidentally by a stalker who intended to grab Maggie. He has her bound and gagged in a chair with several weapons at hand. Joe, Maggie, and one of his officers are in the cat-walk rafters above Hannah and her captor when he makes one, last request before making a very dangerous rescue attempt:

FROM AS THE CROW FLIES by Chrissy Olinger

Ed Loftis glanced at my brother. No matter how often I saw that look of naked hero-worship and loyalty from his men, it never failed to shake me. Joe flicked his gaze from Ed's face to mine, and placed his fingers to his lips before making a lowering motion with his hand. We both understood the request: silence, or as close to it as we could manage. He glanced down to the warehouse floor at Hannah: bound to the chair, gagged, her glossy curls dulled with grime.

Bringing us both in, he whispered so softly I suppose I will always question whether I heard it correctly. His big hand cupped the back of Ed's neck, drew his face close.

"Are you sure you can get a clean head shot from here?"

Ed nodded. Joe took a final look at his wife before whispering one more time.

"If things go wrong, and something happens to Hannah--" lips pressed together, he leaned in tighter still. My own torso tipped of it's own accord. "She dies, Ed, you put that bullet through my brain. Before I know she's gone, if you can."

Loftis' face went parchment-white. He locked gazes with his boss while I stood, feeling the blood rush from my own face, and nodded once. Joe squeezed his shoulder, glanced at me, mouthed "I love you, Mags," and disappeared into the shadows.

It might have been a trick of the light, but if the glistening trail on Ed Loftis' cheek was a tear, he wasn't weeping alone. It felt like a fist was squeezing my heart and throat, a bruising ache as I fought to remain silent. Sobs wanted out. There was no time for emotion, now. But if we survived this night I knew one thing for absolute certain: I was going to tell Leo I loved him.

The Field Has Been Fertilized… No Grass Yet

2013-01-16T16:08:00.001-05:00

It’s been a very long few months. I was not sorry to see the back end of 2012. Last week I had what we hope to be my last radiation treatment for cancer in my salivary gland, and the weekend before Christmas saw my hair fly south for the rest of the winter. I am bald, pale, weak, anemic, but alive. I fully expect a cancer-free report the end of this week.

The bald thing is always an adventure for me. I won’t claim to look forward to being hairless. But I’ve come to learn to live with it with a reasonable amount of tolerance. It has some silver-lining aspects: getting ready is quicker, for one thing. I’ve also noticed that people who are in absolute denial, or at least determined indifference, become magically solicitous when confronted with a physical manifestation of illness. Saying “Im tired and could use a bit of help” is an absolute waste of time. Sigh with no hair and the same people who could not be bothered to bother offer to get you a ginger ale.

I think it’s guilt, to be honest. I’m always perplexed by guilt-reactions.

For the past few weeks every time my bald pate has shown a slight coloring to indicate hair trying to come in I’ve been disappointed to find a fine, ashy covering on my washcloth. Dark hair the consistency of espresso grounds comes in and falls back out. This is new. My eyebrows show no signs of returning at the moment, which makes it very difficult to be bitchy with real force, since I can’t scowl. Sarcasm works better when you can lift one brow, too. I feel crippled as a smart ass. You have no idea how traumatizing it is to be stripped of your best facial gears… particularly for a bitch like me.

Today there seems to be a slight sandyness up there. I’ve been flipping through gardening websites and catalogs, and feel as though I’m putting a message into the universe. As the Talmud says, “over every blade of grass there bends an angel whispering ‘grow.’”

GROW, dammit! I think my angel has laryngitis. I wonder if the Chia Pet people make something that would not give me a rash? I could season my own salads right there at the table with a small pair of clippers… or fill the vase with blossoms.

Ok… maybe not.

Yeah… yeah, we’ll go with “NOT.”

2013: The Annual List of Demands

2013-01-05T17:19:00.001-05:00

Those who know me well are aware that I do not make resolutions at the dawn of a new year. I submit an annual list of demands, and resolve to be an absolute bitch about anyone who refuses to comply.

Here is the 2013 List.

Resistance, for what it’s worth, is futile.

Errands are done once. If you screw up, forget, or are otherwise irresponsible about your meds at the pharmacy, wants from the grocery store, or any other nitpicky bit of nonsense, tough.
Trips to the ER will take place during the week and prior to bed time unless you are bleeding from an orifice badly enough that I can see it, are not conscious and pass the stick-poking test, or have been significantly mauled by a non-domesticated animal.
Use my cookware without returning it to the condition in which you find it and you get no food prepared or purchased by me until you have returned it to a state found acceptable by me, or replaced it.
I share everything I buy. If Ahmed bought something for me it is to be considered a personal gift to remain completely untouched without invitation. That includes food, drinks, DVDs, or anything else.
My newspapers, flyers, magazines, and even junk mail are free for everyone to peruse AFTER I HAVE DONE SO. Until I have perused, they are off-limits. Don’t even move them.
If I am interrupted while speaking I will never repeat what I was saying to the interrupter. If I was attempting to announce a nuclear bomb, you are on your own finding the shelter and the iodine tablets. Listen next time.

Have a safe and happy 2013. Compliance with the above is your first step.

Hard Candy Christmas

2012-12-07T12:32:00.001-05:00

I’m going to tell you a secret.

I hate the holidays.

December is the month with the highest rate of suicide, and the week after Thanksgiving follows close behind. This time of year is difficult for lots of people. I known many who suffer from clinical depression. Though I do not, I have a huge amount of sympathy for those who do. I know what it feels like to be sad, overwhelmed, and empty. I can’t imagine how terrible it would be to feel that way all the time without being able to change it. There is such a huge difference between the “blue meanies” feeling we all experience and the crippling symptoms of the medical condition we call depression… I really wish we could find better language for it.

It makes me think of a wonderful song Dolly Parton did called Hard Candy Christmas. Most people would hear the title and think it was positive, but it refers to a childhood spent in poverty, when hard candy and a piece of fruit were the only things waiting on Christmas morning. One section always runs through my head when I am feeling the weight:

I’ll be fine and dandy,

Lord, it’s like a hard candy Christmas.

I’m barely getting through tomorrow,

but still, I won’t let sorrow bring me way down.

For me, the holidays have always been a landmine. I have clinically depressed people around me. I have an array of religious beliefs being celebrated. I have a family prone to pissyness in the best of circumstances, so arranging holiday gatherings so that grandparents can see grandchildren, and so THIS side can accommodate THAT side, has always been fodder for non-stop bitching. As the little ones became bigger, the bitching should have subsided. It never really works that way. People who suffer depression, people with bi-polar disorder, people who have personalities prone to hysterics don’t behave the way they do because of external stimuli. The external stuff gets the blame, but nothing is required to “set someone off.” Most of those people don’t have an OFF switch. They are always ON, and are very good at finding something handy to blame.

They can’t help it. It took me a lifetime to “get” that. It took me years to realize that clinical depression has nothing to do with sadness other than sadness being a symptom. It took me years to realize that asking a manic person to be rational and “calm down” was an error on MY part; that’s like asking a cat to fetch. It took me years, and years, and years to realize that we don’t “keep peace;” we delay consequences. We don’t “just try to get along;” we simmer in hostility until the passivity finally gives way to aggression… sometimes after decades of internalizing.

So while I can better understand the reasons… I still really hate the holidays. I have hated them since I was a child sitting around a cheerily lit tree, ignoring the elephant in the room, hearing the words “keep peace” bleated like bad muzak carols on repeat. I hated them, burning with an understanding that peace can not be “kept” in this way, even as a small child surrounded by adults who pounded the lie home with a relentless hammering. I will always hate them on some level.

These days there are bright spots. I am loved by a wonderful man. The family I have chosen—friends and more distant family… people who love the way I like to love in return—have changed my life so much. The days set aside for them are shining, dazzling flashes of joy. I find family easier, as the ugliness that lurked in corners has been dragged into the light, exposed, and purged. My family is not perfect, but the disease has been removed. Those cancers left scars, but we are survivors. Periods of remission that lulled us into complacency are no longer pitfalls of delusion. That false peace no longer kept, we may scratch an old itch like amputees with phantom spasms, but the limb is gone, its poison hacked away.

Consider those around you during this season of cheer. For some, the cheerfulness piped into elevators and strangling off lightposts with glitter and lights is mocking and painful. For others, like myself, it is an uninvited guest to be tolerated with grace, but dreaded none-the-less. I smile and wish well, but there is a post-traumatic reaction hidden just one layer beneath. If you are lucky enough to love the holidays, consider tolerance for those who do not the ultimate gift. Watch those who suffer depression closely. Be mindful of family and friends who may not feel as you do, and show them kindness and tolerance.

I do hope your holiday is filled with joy.

Defyin' da Mayans Bash

2012-12-05T17:22:00.002-05:00

Cross posted from the tank blog:

It's the end of days! So we are having a party to defy those pesky Mayan calendar twerps. If you are home on December 21st, please log in to join your fellow tankeheads for an IRC chat session from Midnight (showing up early is fine) til the end of days comes... or the booze runs out. Should the world fail to end we will be doing some serious celebrating, beginning at the midnight hour, including the following:

Skype Karaoke
Trivia Blast
Drinking Games
Fabulous Prizes, including cash and gift certificates, for those who are the most ridiculous

Be there or be square!!