Eyes of the Hurricane

You Don't Ask, You Don't Get.

2019-05-16T17:17:00.005-05:00

In today's episode of "You don't ask, you don't get" -

I hate yardwork, but I'd been doing a fair amount of it today since the weather is cool enough, and my neighbor was kind enough to mow my lawn this morning. About two hours in, I'm straightening up the garage and getting ready to pack it in for the day, I notice a young man I've seen around the neighborhood power walking past my house. I wave and say hello. He acknowledges me, and stops cold. "Ma'am, could I trouble you for a ride to 16th and Ida?"

I blinked, and asked, "Right now?". In a very conciliatory tone, he said yes. His dad has diabetes and he's not doing well. He was walking back to their trailer from the Walgreens across the street, after picking up his insulin. I just happened to be outside, and we'd been friendly in passing before. So, he took a risk and asked. After taking a brief whiff of myself, and deeming any funk I had acceptable in the confines of a tiny car, we hopped in and off we went. I needed the break anyway.

Now, for the pearl clutchers among you, let me really give you something to gasp about. This young man had tattoos for eyebrows, and a tear by his eye. Life hasn't been kind to him, but here he he is apologizing and making sure to call me ma'am the whole 2 minute drive. He's all his dad has, and as long as they have each other, he's going to be there to take care of him. That's beautiful, and like hell I'm going to knowingly stand in the way of that sort of thing. When we pulled up, he thanked me again and asked if he could pay me for the ride. I'm not too worried about the nickel worth of gas, and I needed the break before I ended up getting cocky and hurting myself with yardwork. I refused to let him give me anything. Hopefully, he can save that for paying for the health care his dad needs.

Was it a reckless thing to do? Maybe. Should I have been concerned with my safety? Probably about as much as any other time I get behind the wheel. Would everybody do the same? Likely not. But I figure if I can leave this place a little better than I found it, then I should put in the work. He asked, and I could and did say yes. Love your neighbors. Especially in these trying times.

The Math Comes Out To Be Ephemily +1

2018-09-28T16:19:00.002-05:00

"How did you manage to get ahold of a loan officer at 9:30 at night on a Thursday?"

The question came in over text, so I couldn't tell the degree of incredulousness in Loverboy's tone.

"I dunno. I know people, and for some reason, they seem to like me."

That was late August of 2018. And that's all it took to refinance my house. Well, ok. Obviously there was more than that. But the hassle of shopping around for the right company, the reasonable rates, the type of loan that fits my needs, reflected my well earned 823 FICO score, and the right team to work with was quite simple, actually.
What did I have to do? Well, in the grand scheme, not much. I had some repairs to the property that I had to complete. We'd had a rain storm that caused a leak in my roof, which led to the collapse of the ceiling in my upstairs bathroom. We tore out the entire ceiling, removed the pipe to nowhere that was leaking into the attic, hung new drywall, and gave me a modern, textured ceiling. While I was at it, I took that opportunity to start over with a new light fixture complete with a fan to vent the poo gas, a whole new color scheme, and brand new matching fixtures for the bath towels, hand towel, and toilet paper holder. I swapped out the art on the walls, the window treatments, and linens. Thanks to Mother Nature, I ended up with a whole new bathroom! Once those were done, we scheduled an appraisal, so we'd know how much equity I could work with. If there wasn't enough, then the loan process couldn't progress. Well, I'm happy to say that I ended up with about $13,000 in equity in this little house of mine! So, we started off strong.

After verifying my credit and income (which I sailed through, if I can brag on myself for a moment) my Angel of a loan officer was able to lock in my rate at a very reasonable 4.75% on a 30 year conventional loan. Sure, it's more than what I had before, but for the loan amount, I think that worked out to maybe a dollar a payment. So, I didn't sweat it much at all. I was also able to switch from the FHA, and save my about $20 a month on my payment. All of this is good news so far, right? Well, lucky me, it gets better.

While we're working on getting the paperwork finalized and the numbers crunched, my Angel discovered there was a significant amount of money in my escrow account. Upon further investigation, in order to cash this out, the old mortgage company only required one of the original buyer's signatures on the new check. So, I'm able to squirrel that away to use however I need to. On top of that, there was a small miscommunication as to how much the final loan amount should be. So, the paperwork was drawn up with about $1000 over the actual needed amount financed. I chose to leave that alone so as to not delay the process any further, and I can use that money on something extravagant that I might not have splurged on otherwise. It's cheaper money than a credit card, and if I want to, I can always put it directly towards the principle and cut down the amount of time I have on the note. My options are various. And all said and done, I'm saving about $35 a month on my payment, and that's WITH the extra cash out at closing. Plus, if I wanted to keep sending in the old amount to the new loan, that's just that much faster I can pay off this note. Again, that's the smart thing to do. I have no other debt, really. The lessons I learned from my Chapter 13 bankruptcy stuck. I only have the mortgage, the lease on my car, and a credit card that I pay off every month. (I got smart and found a card with rewards, so I have that change rattling around away from my hot little hands if I find myself needing an emergency couple bucks.) I'm very lucky to be in a position where this is possible.

Maybe the best part though is that, due to the timing, I won't be making a payment until December. I get to skip two months' worth. I'm considering keeping the money I would send in and paying three of them at once, specifying all the extra go to the principle. That's the smart thing to do. But it's nice to know that if I want to have a helluva Christmas or want to really live large on my annual vacation to Mexico (this time with Loverboy!), I can.

I'm forever grateful to my loan officer and her team. So much so, that while I was being fleeced for my entire paycheck in the Target Halloween section again this year, I bought her a small superhero cape. Not all superheroes wear them, but it's nice to have one for formal occasions.

And that, my friends, is the 45 day saga of how I am now sole owner of my home, and walked away with money in my pocket, and a smaller payment each month. How did I ever get so lucky?

You Stand, I Stand

2018-06-09T16:06:00.002-05:00

"Welp, I think we found our woo girl."

I didn't so much whisper as I did direct a targeted cone of sound at Loverboy's ear as the target of my ire was sitting just to his left. The concert was in full swing by then. We'd just taken our seats, and the group of women next to us were immersed in the experience up to their eyeballs.

Each "I love you Zac!" made me roll my eyes on the inside. We're 500 feet and 20,000 people away. He'll never hear that. Yes, because logic and the arts are besties. Didn't you know?

Ms Woo was feeling no pain. That much was obvious. But, she was a happy drunk, soaking in the arena concert experience. She was what every stock photograph or crowd shot would tell you a young concert going woman would be; exuberant, joyous, and practically glowing about being eardrum-deep in watching her idol sing. And that was apparently too much for some people.

We knew something was up when security rolled in literally 7 deep. They pulled her aside and started talking to her. We asked what was up, and the security person we talked to stated they' been given a report that this gal was drunk, belligerent, and was throwing beer cans. No such thing happened, and we made sure to tell them this. Moments later, the lady security guard talking to Ms Woo called out the person who made the false complaint. In a voice heard above the roar from the stage, she let them know that Ms Woo had paid for the seat, and she has every right to stand. However, by this time, the moment was over, and Ms Woo was seated, hunched over in a way that screamed she would give anything to be invisible in that moment, eyes wet with tears. I would come to find out that the family who complained also decided to take out their frustrations on Ms Woo directly, screaming at her, and telling her about how she was an awful person because their 9 year old couldn't see the stage.

I'm slow to accept the label of empath, but my senses were more than a little overloaded in that room of thousands of individual lives and emotions. At least I had been until this woman was, by all accounts, being bullied by some pretty terrible parental role models behind us. I saw Loverboy talking to her, pointing to me with his free hand (Being distraught, she grabbed his left hand and held on like a shipwreck survivor hoping not to drown.) When asked what he was saying, he nodded towards Ms Woo and said "I was telling her that whether she knows you or not, she has perhaps the biggest ally in you." That's when I leaned in and told her that she has every right to stand, and she in fact, had done nothing wrong. Her only "crime" was to lose herself in the concert experience.

I told her that if she stands, I stand. And nobody will mess with either of us because, look at me. I look fucking mean. Blue hair, ball and chain Hot Topic strand of "pearls" for a necklace, murder red lipstick, and a dress in the loudest skull pattern I could find. Nobody will mess with you if you appear to be with me. You stand. I stand. They jaw at you, they deal with my mouth. And that should be insured by Lloyd's of London. She nodded, and stared into her lap a bit, squeezing Loverboy's hand a little harder.

I turned around to see if I could find the people who had ruined this woman's night, and made eye contact with the husband. I held his gaze until he looked away. I did the same with the wife when I returned from the restroom. Unsurprisingly, this family chose to leave before the encore. I'm sure it was to beat the traffic.

By happenstance, we met up again after the houselights came on, and we'd all had a chance to recycle the beer we'd had during the show. After a round of high fives, and my blue wig getting a surprising amount of literal pets, I said to them that if they take anything from the night, know that it's ok to take up space. Had candid camera watched our row, the difference between how Ms Woo and I reacted would have been clear. Where she retreated within herself and tried to make her space small, I sat up like I had rebar in my spine, squared my shoulders, and draped my arms over both armrests. I moved more slowly, and with more purpose. It was as if I was preparing to have my ring kissed, and the whole thing was instinctual. I wasn't going to start a fight, but I was ready to end it. And it dawned on me that this is rather new. That comfort in where my autonomy and allowance ends and the influence of others is allowed to begin. I know for myself, I spent most of my life kowtowing to the comfort of others. I think this is something most women are taught, directly or indirectly; yield space to others. Sacrifice your comfort because that's what women do. And it's not ok.

I hope Ms Woo remembers what I said. Not that I think she was 5 sheets to the wind. But when your emotional state has gone through the wringer like hers did, it's easy to forget details. But, I hope she, along with every woman, learns that it's ok to be larger than life, to take up space, make noise, and live life out loud. I hope they learn it sooner than I did, and if I can help someone try it on for size, I'll consider that paying to forward.

From The Heart - Robe Sleeves, Privlidge, And A Week In Mexico.

2018-01-31T10:15:00.000-06:00

I need to show you something. I wanted to sit on the balcony on a particularly brisk morning during my vacation last week, and decided to take advantage of the robe hanging in the closet. As I started to untie the belt and remove it from the hanger, I noticed that the right arm was tucked in such a way as to give it the appearance of saluting, with the hand over the heart. I wrote the following from said balcony as a reflection of the experiences I've had in Mexico and at the Vidanta resort:

Here, every staff member you meet smiles a radiant room filling smile, and makes this same gesture. It means, "Service from the heart." Everyone, from the doorman using his radio to call for a golf cart to take you to the taxi stand, to the housekeeper going home after a very long day. Facebook, I believe each and every one of them feel that every time they lift hand to chest. And I am grateful, and humbled, and work to uncharacteristically take up less space.

My parents come year after year, and they meet their friends on the paths between buildings. I come twice, and strike up a conversation with the beach vendor and learn I purchased from him last year, or go in to town and chat with a jeweler who makes the most beautiful rings; eclectic and unusual and everything I love. By the time I left, he gave me a hug and told me to come see him again next year.

My Spanish is terrible. I open my mouth and French falls out. But I love it here, the juxtaposition of poverty and privilege makes me uncomfortable, and keeps me aware. I understand tourism. I know what it's like to be economically catcalled; "Hey pretty lady, come try my tequila. Ai, Catrina, you wanna taxi?" And I know genuine if not self serving talk between humans. I'm overjoyed to find a niche where I can talk to people, to know them, and maybe see them again on another trip.

It kills me to see the entitlement here. There's pettiness that comes with money and privilege. I know you know this. We're watching it play out on a national stage with our government.

I'm not quite sure what my point is. Maybe it's trying to better judge time and space each and every day. Maybe it's a slice of life about disparity between effort and leverage. Maybe it's a moment to remind myself, and by extension, all of us, that beauty is even in the smallest of places. I'm not sure. I just know that a simple bathrobe made me very reflective this morning, and I'm glad of it.

From the heart, indeed.

The Necessity of "Goodbye, Paradise."

2018-01-26T09:11:00.002-06:00

The last of my pesos are sitting on the vanity, next to my winter coat which was begrudgingly pulled from the closet. I have utilized katana space, bargained with deities, and conjured my inner Tetris playing 90s kid to close and lock my suitcase. I'm dressed in layers so I can slowly remind myself what it's like to be cold.

The sun mocks me, warm and bright on the horizon. Having hidden behind clouds for much of the previous week, its sendoff elicits a raised eyebrow and silent gratitude that I escaped sunburn again this year.

In the first part of my breath, I will tell you that I don't want to leave. That the peace to be found here tugs at me and speaks in the chatter of the birds in the trees, the roar of the waves, and the cacophony of notes wafting on the air from the performances scattered across the grounds. In the second part, I know that I have to return to my world to keep pure the sacredness of warm nights, midnight, solitary lost in thought walks through bamboo and palm fronds, and the glamor a floppy hat and simple charm around the neck can provide.

Ahorita. A concept of time in short distances, uncertain except for context. This is not how I feel about my looming departure. The 2:30 flight is on schedule, glaring at me from the screen of my phone. Checking it is like digging for a splinter; painful but necessary surgery.

Today is a series of "and then". Wake, shower, dress, /and then/ dread reality's persistence. Board the flight, /and then/ wait. Land, /and then shuffle/ through the cattle chutes back into the country. Find my second gate, /and then/ take out a second mortgage on the house to fund my airport dinner. Board, sit, land, deplane, /and then/ find my luggage, my ride, my keys, my bed. I will be holding tight to my Zen, hoping not to lose it, snag it, or break it along the way.

Thank you Mexico. Our time was short. You leave me breathless and wanting more. Ahorita. May our next time together come ahorita.

The Boldest Print

2018-01-25T16:43:00.003-06:00

Something I learned from walking around in a bathing suit, half skirt, and sheer, knee length cover up during the day - I'm not the smallest on the resort. I'm not the most ideally proportioned, or conventionally beautiful. I'm thick, jiggly in the middle, and small breasted, to tell the unvarnished truth.

My red skirt, sheer jacket, and bold printed bathing suit are a stark contrast with anything else on the sand. Dark hair and fair completion don't seem to match the surroundings. I'm one filter away from looking like I walked off the set of a 50s beach movie set. As is typical, I'm a sore thumb in flip flops, more comfortable in oddness than not.

But that hasn't stood in the way of sidelong looks from men holding hands with their wives, questions about why I don't wear a wedding ring, or offers to have a Mexican boyfriend for the night.

I forget this too often. Beauty is subjective. And unusual has very long legs.

Comedic Timing. Or, How I Learned To Love The Pain And Support The Toaster

2018-01-23T10:21:00.000-06:00

I need to monetize my dad's sense of comedic timing. Not the one that he *thinks* he has. You know, the one that has me apologizing to waiters the world over. I'm talking the one he doesn't realize he’s got, but would make him the perfect character in a slapstick comedy.

I’ve been on vacation with my folks for 4 or so days now.

Yesterday, I listened to my folks, both in their mid 70s, argue for half an hour over how to use the microwave. My dad wanted to warm his muffin just enough to melt a pat of butter from the stick left in the fridge overnight. If he’d have left the butter on the countertop for the same amount of time. . . But, I digress.

This morning, I came out of my side of the suite to scrounge for breakfast before starting the day. I see dad sitting at the table, quietly reading what I assume to be his email on his tablet. Being a reader and avid consumer of all the internet has to offer, I see this and understand the social contract that says, “I’m engrossed in something. Please let me come up for air on my own time. In other words, shhhh. Don’t speak.” I make my toast, slice my kiwi, and decide to join him in his consumption by bringing my laptop to the table. We can be, in a way, alone together. It’s peaceful, and very much a father/daughter activity that makes sense if you know us.

The very moment I sit down and lift toast to lips, and without moving a muscle to alter his appearance from that of Rodin’s The Thinker, dad mutters, “This isn’t even working.”

Internally, I’m crying.

Toast lifted halfway to my mouth, salivary glands in full swing, and knowing the answer to my own question, “What’s not working, dad?”

He gestures at the tablet like Merlin stirring his tea with a cantrip; “This. This whole thing. I can’t get my email.”

I should say that thus far, since I have been here, I have played tech support for a telephone, two laptops, and a a set of portable speakers. I’m not climbing this hill and planting a flag at the top. Especially not before I’ve got caffeine in my system.

“Well, that sucks dad. I’m not sure why. Once we got the initial problems sorted out, I thought we were ok.” I was preparing another breath to offer him the phone and hotline number of the resort’s internet help desk when he opted to push back from the table and worry about it another time.

I thought I would find the peace I was looking for, now that I was out of the woods for being tech support. I was wrong.

I’m two items in to checking my social media updates, when it starts. “Have you looked at what the weather is doing back home?”

Prying half of an eyeball away from my reading, I say, “No dad. I do know that it we had a bad snowstorm forecast yesterday, but last I knew it wasn’t what it was predicted to be. I mean, I don’t want to be smug, so why even look?"

"Oh. That's true." His gaze drifts to the curtains across the balcony windows.

I pause. A few beats of silence pass. Or maybe it was just the awareness of my pulse in my ears due to high blood pressure. I scroll down to another story and start reading again. I’m two sentences in when. . .

“Have you heard of this author? Barnes and Nobel says they wrote the best book of the year.”

Inside, I’m screaming. Suddenly it dawns on me why I didn’t realize I had ADD until I was almost 40.

“Sorry dad. No, the name doesn’t ring a bell. Besides, it’s January. Isn’t it a little early to start making that call?”

He responds, but I’m not listening. I’ve got my teeth in this ridiculous status update and by George, I’m going to finish it before I’ve had to read it three times! Or, that was the plan.

By this time, he’s gotten up and wandered into the kitchen area, and is standing in front of the appliances. His arms akimbo, a pained look of resignation and frustration rests in the nest of his eyebrows. “Hey E, do you know how to use the microwave?”

I just hope the Federalis speak better English than the Spanish I speak when I finally snap.

A Protagonist You Like

2017-11-04T09:30:00.022-05:00

I spent about two hours delaying the inevitable of having to get out of bed this morning, chewing on thoughts and enjoying the weight of my down comforter.  
I used to have this fear of frailty.  That I'd be "less than" because I get migraines, that I have a trainwreck of a back and neck thanks to choices in leisure activities, exacerbated by actual injury.  I've got a brain that doesn't quite fire right, meaning it spins off on its own path, too fast, too dark, and too anxious.  I'm a packrat, and have historically carried around extra body "just in case I came up short", which is the dumbest thing to hoard, ever.  I'm well versed in pain, spending weeks a year whispering curses into ice packs, leaking pain inspired tears into pillows, and being pickled by epsom salts and opioids.  Part of my identity has historically included the word, "broken" on some level.  Empirical evidence and some other bullshit I'd talked myself into.

This morning, with the duvet pulled up to the tip of my frosty little nose, my logic and my emotion stood akimbo over me, and in unison said, "And?"  


That's a pretty big deal, actually.  They squabble like siblings more often than they agree.  So, in unison, to call me on my shit?  Record scratch.  You mean, I can acknowledge the truth in those flaws, that they exist, and still feel pretty damn good about myself?  Fuck yes, I can!
How many times have I talked about Kintsugi, the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with veins of gold, creating something "more than" in the doing?  How many copies of the book that resulted from Oriah Mountain Dreamer's poem, The Invitation have I purchased and loaned out/given away to friends who needed to hear her words?  Thanks to a new therapist earlier this year, I was able to stitch together my logic and emotion in places they'd been having a blood feud since childhood.  EMDR is a pretty amazing technique.  Despite it sounding like magic or hoodoo, I have nothing but good things to say about it.  And the further away from my experiences with it, the more I see new growth between sections of self that had withered ages ago.  



Is been a year of upheaval. More so than last. 2017 quite literally turned into a country song between about April and October.  Don't believe me?  Let me give you the abridged version in approximate order.


The car batter died on me, leaving me stranded.  (Granted, 8 years is a good run!)
The garage door literally fell off, barely missing the cars parked under it
The central AC in the house stopped working right as summer was starting her rolling boil.
Thunderhead drank his way into being kicked out of the house by getting the kind of drunk where it's apparently ok to make threats to set fire to your car and your house. 
When the police failed to remove him from the situation because he was drunk and violent, I packed my shit in a hurry and fled the house for a week so he could get his shit and get out.  
I ended up surrendering one of my dogs because it became clear she needed more from a forever home than I could provide.  As a result, she was dangerous to me, and anyone who could visit my home.
My car Donovan, my best buddy, saved my life when I was rear ended by a 94 chevy half ton pickup who didn't even attempt to brake.  The driver was distracted, and his me at full speed.  And after nearly 9 years together, he was totaled out as a result of the accident.  I was devastated.  
Car shopping.  While it's a pain when you're not under a time crunch, it's a fresh ring of hell when you've only got 10 days in a rental and have to pull the trigger before you're stranded.
My fridge stopped working and I had to scramble to get the food into another fridge/freezer to avoid losing it all, and then to find a replacement ASAP.


Don't get me wrong, there's been plenty of good to come out of this year too.  


I've managed to make a clean break from the drunken arsonist.  
I've had excellent results with therapy and feel like my mental health is the best it has been in my entire adult life.  
Difficult times bring out a person's true character, and I learned that my friends, while I might not see them frequently, step up and haven't forgotten me.  I'm humbled and reminded that I'm valuable.  
I've taken my difficulties and turned them around, creating a place online where friends can ask for help in a group where the members know they'll be called upon and are willing to lend a hand.  
I've collected up clothes I no longer need or can wear and rather than donate them to a thrift store, I've taken them to the local YWCA for their emergency closet.  I didn't pack enough when I left the house at 11:00 PM on a weeknight and ended up at a Goodwill to pad my temporary wardrobe.  Not all who flee their homes can do that, and I want to make it a point to pay it forward.  
I've re-met, befriended, and gotten sweet on a wonderful young man who's been as supportive as he can be.  
While I didn't *want* to replace Donovan, Veronica is certainly a welcome addition to my driveway.  She's a beautiful red 2017 Mini Cooper S.  I would have sworn she was out of my league when we first met, and I'm truly glad that I was wrong.  
I was promoted  to the next level of responsibility in my job.  
I'm re-learning how much I enjoy my independence, and how deep my reservoirs of strength, patience, and resourcefulness are.  They're finally refilling again after having allowed them to be bled dry just to maintain a bad relationship. 
I'm learning to ask for help.  That vulnerability isn't disgraceful, and I have several very special people to thank for that. 
I'm grateful that Learned how to live lean during bankruptcy.  Having lost half the household income when I threw the drunken arsonist out, I've had to scale back.  Then when I went from no car payment, to ridiculously low car payment, I had to come up with even more per month once again.
Financial stress aside, I still managed to pay everything in cash, continue to invest small amounts into an investment account outside of my 401k, and bump my credit score up to levels where banks fight over me when I want to buy something large.  When we filed for chapter 13 all those years ago, I thought I would never get back up to the 715 I had at the time.  Welcome to the 800 club, kid.  Feels pretty good to be wrong now and again, doesn't it?
Lastly, and perhaps the lest important is that I'm learning to enjoy what I see in the mirror.  I've dropped about 40 pounds since the start of the year.  The best part about that is that I don't hurt like I used to.  That daily body pain doesn't exist on the same level as it did even a year ago.  The not unpleasant side effect is, I'm discovering I like the look of the new, smaller me.  I still prefer the aspects of me that tend not to fade as quickly thanks to time and gravity, but there's nothing wrong with looking into a mirror and enjoying what you see looking back at you.
In all that thinking, I came to the genuine conclusion that I'm pretty close to the complete package as I can get.  That my flaws don't keep me from being worthy, giving back, or mean my needs aren't valid. Would I want to do 2017 over again?  That's a resounding Fuck No.  But I made the choice to build rather than destroy, and here we are, in many ways, better than ever.

Graphic Novelty, or Ephemily Podcasts

2016-05-29T23:39:00.003-05:00

How does a person who has been racking their brain to find an outlet for their creativity, but also has an unhealthy need to sit on the couch and watch TV indulge both urges? Why, podcasting, of course!

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Spencer approached me about a comics related podcast he and some friends had been looking to start. Of course I was interested, and being that I was going to spend the weekend at Planet Comicon in KC, I would have plenty to talk about for at least one episode. I jumped at the chance to sign on and be part of the three guys and a gal talking comics once a week.

Let me let you in on a little secret though. Despite rarely being at a loss for words, I was a little worried that my comics habit wouldn't quite mesh. I don't have the exposure to the the history in the Marvel and DC universe. I find myself drawn to the smaller publishing houses, or I follow names and themes I know I like. I was worried I might not have the chops to be able to participate much more than the occasional giggle and vague agreement. Plainly stated, I was worried about being the token.

Now that we have the first episode in the bag, I feel pretty confident that I don't need to be steeped in the history of comics past. We have plenty who can speak to that. It's the conversation and seeing where it takes us in the here and now that's interesting, and something I think I will enjoy in future episodes. Because I hate the sound of my own voice, I haven't listened to the show yet, but I know I left the bullshit session after recording was done feeling like I wasn't just the token. That I added to the discussion, and that's what's going to keep me stepping up to the mic every week.

So, it seems that my Sundays are completely dedicated to geekdom for the foreseeable future. Between AMC hitting it out of the park with The Walking Dead, Fear the Walking Dead, and now Preacher, in the evenings, and recording Graphic Novelty in the afternoons, I'm up to my pasty neck in comics culture.

And now for the shameless self promotion. Graphic Novelty has a web presence. Here's the link to the very first episode. We'll be publishing the podcast on several platforms, so file that under Coming Soon. You can find our twitter and facebook pages on the blog. As always, feedback is encouraged.

http://www.graphicnoveltypodcast.com/?podcast=graphic-novelty-giant-sized-issue-1

Ephemily Recommends - Free Comic Book Day Edition

2016-05-05T17:18:00.002-05:00

This Saturday, May 7th is Free Comic Book Day 2016. This is a day when comic lovers old and new are enticed out of their dwellings with the promise of free teaser issues of different comic titles, cosplay events, sales, and social time with others who share their fandom love.

If you haven't gone through the list of free comics for 2016 yet, here's your chance. They can be found here on the FCBD official website.

If you're looking to make the best of any sales your local store might be having, I want to offer a few titles that might be worth your time.

Transmetropolitan - In your face gonzo journalism epic set in a cyberpunk future. The protagonist (A term used loosely) uses every trick in the book to get to the bottom of a corrupt political system. Sometimes, you've got to go with the gut too. #DoubleMeaning #SpiderForPresident
Published by Vertigo 1997-2002. Written by Warren Ellis and Darick Robinson

Chew - Absurd ideas about the legality of chicken sees the FDA rise to political power. Meet the cast of characters with hyperbolic food-related superpowers who literally have the chops to solve crimes others can't. Not for the squeamish. #PassTheBeets
Published by Image 2009 - Present. Written by John Layman and Rob Guillory.
If you like the series, you may also enjoy the Chew board game published May of 2015.

Sexcastle - For anyone who has a guilty jones for more 1980s cheeseball action hero kitch, this is your book. Former muscle for hire tries to give up the life, only to have it find him once again in a sleepy little florist shop. It starts out bad and gets deliciously worse. I laughed till I peed.
Published by Image comics, March 2015. Written by Kyle Starks

Trees - A unique spin on the age old question, "Are we alone in the universe?". Alien life has come to earth, but they don't acknowledge humanity as being intelligent, much less alive. This first trade paperback has the alien "trees" as a backdrop. It follows the humans living in their shadow and how their silent presence changes humanity. We are the ants under the spyglass. But, who's holding it? As a bonus, it's also very LGBTQ positive.
Published by Image comics - 2015 - present. By Warren Ellis and Jason Howard

If you're like me, you'll be taking advantage of some killer sales this weekend. Hopefully you can add a few of these titles to your collection. Happy geeking!

Landlord/Tenant 411

2016-02-07T19:28:00.031-06:00

I’ve been doing an awful lot of research into landlord/tenant issues for the past several years. It had become more and more apparent that Omaha has a slumlord problem. As time has progressed, others in my social circle have come forward with their own questions and concerns about their experiences as renters with questionable landlords. I've tried to compile the information I have gathered in one place to be used as a resource by anyone who needs it below. But first, a disclaimer:

I am not a legal professional or an attorney. This advice is general in nature and should not be taken as advice from a professional. If you have encountered difficulties with your landlord, please consult an expert in your area before proceeding.

Now that that’s out of the way, let us begin.

For purposes of this writing, we shall assume you’re in an apartment or house. Mobile home rentals have some separate statutes in Nebraska and I haven’t included them in my research.

Legal Aid of Nebraska makes an absolutely fantastic booklet available to renters called the landlord and tenant handbook 2021. (Spanish) I will be referring to it frequently. It doesn’t matter if this is your first apartment out of college or the third time you’ve moved this year, this has wonderful information in it. I highly recommend downloading it and reading it from cover to cover.

Let's assume you've found your new place. I can't stress this enough, inspect the actual unit you will be leasing. If you are offered to look at a unit with the same layout, insist on seeing the actual property for rent. This could save you from a bait and switch situation and avoid a huge headache trying to nullify a lease and recover a deposit and any pre-paid rent should the actual unit be unfit.

If you find yourself in the unfortunate situation where your new unit is unfit and you wish to break your lease, you must explain your intentions and provide reasons why in writing to your landlord within the first 5 days of occupancy. This is covered in the above mentioned handbook. It's also highly recommended you consult with a legal expert in this scenario.

If the building you will be living in was built prior to 1978 you must be provided with lead paint information by the landlord prior to moving in. Here is a useful page on this topic provided by the Nebraska Health and Human Services. The EPA also provides a good pamphlet on keeping you and your family safe from lead in your home.

After you have toured the unit and before you move in, you should be provided with your rental agreement. In Nebraska, your rental agreement, otherwise known as a lease, can either be written or verbal. I would highly recommend that you get something in writing for yours and your landlord's protection as it's easier to refer to and enforce. Once you've gotten it, I can't stress this enough -- read it. All of it.

Your lease should list, at the minimum:

your landlord’s name
address
phone number
the terms of your lease

Terms often consist of, but are not limited to:

the duration of your lease
rent cost
date rent is due
how/where it can be paid
what you can and can’t do in your living area
pets
utility responsibilities
names and contact information for the people living in the unit
how long you can be gone without notifying the landlord
lead paint information

Your security deposit may not exceed one month’s rent. If there is a pet deposit, it can’t exceed 25% of your rent. Your responsibility as a tenant is spelled out in NE Statute 76-1421. Anything above and beyond this should be in your lease. However, landlords aren't given carte blanche for what they can include. Statute 76-1415 outlines what is prohibited in a lease is Nebraska.

When you move in, and I can't stress this enough, use a checklist to document the condition of the unit and take photos of any damages you find. Provide your landlord a copy of both and save them for your records. If you should find there were problems that were not disclosed prior to move in day, or your landlord won’t let you move in, you may be able to nullify your lease. To do so, you will need to notify your landlord within 5 days of taking possession. If you should run into this sort of situation, it would be wise to speak with a legal expert. If you are having problems at a later date in your occupancy, the following will be more useful for you.

The law protects the tenant and states that the landlord must maintain the property and keep it in good repair. Your landlord also can not spontaneously amend the lease. All changes to a lease in force must be approved by the landlord and the tenant and the power to do so must be included in the original lease. Also, the tenant must be given 30 days notice if the landlord opts to renew the lease with changes, such as a rent hike.

Once you have moved in, your landlord is obligated to give you at least one day’s notice prior to entering your unit. They are also prohibited from entering at unreasonable times, and for any reason other than to inspect it, make repairs, or show it to future tenants or buyers. The exception to that is in case of emergency. As a tenant, you may allow your landlord access for whatever reason you’d like, but the law offers you these protections should you want or need them. If your landlord has made unlawful entry, you have options, including terminating the rental agreement.

Your landlord must also provide you with adequate heat, water, hot water, or other essential services per statute 76-1427. Also, each unit must also have working smoke detectors. If they do not, you have the option to withhold rent until it is fixed, or deduct the money from your rent to hire your own professional to do the work. You must notify your landlord that this is what you’re doing and why. It is advised you use the 14/30 day letter method covered below. Please consult a legal professional before withholding rent to make sure your actions are within the law.

Your landlord is also obligated to provide services such as trash removal, snow removal, and yard care unless otherwise stated in the lease. However, if this is not done, the city often has a hotline to report such issues. Consult your local government directory for the number. In Omaha, the Mayor’s Hotline at 402-444-5555 can direct you to the correct authority. If your landlord denies guaranteed services such as hot water, electricity, gas, or prevents entry into your unit, they might be in violation of NE Statute 76-1430 and you are allowed to terminate your lease, recover any prepaid rent, and security deposits.

You also have the right to call your local code enforcement agency. In Omaha, every visit by the inspector costs the landlord money, so if they don’t meet their obligations during their allowed window of time, they are fined. Sometimes, the only way to get your landlord's attention is to hit them in the wallet. When you report something to code enforcement they send out the notice for the repairs that are needed. You will get a copy, the landlord will get a copy, other affected tenants will get copies, and the bank holding the loan on the property will also be notified. You can find the local building codes here. I would recommend browsing through them if you have a landlord with questionable maintenance habits or properties as some of them might not be up to code.

If you have an issue with mold, the Douglas County Health Department will inspect for mold and write a letter to the property owner on your behalf. But refer you back to Legal Aid Nebraska should you need to take legal action. Hopefully, the letter from the Health Department is enough to motivate your landlord to fix the issue. According to the Omaha municipal codes, the landlord has a set amount of time allowed to make the repairs, and all issues brought to their attention must be completed to their satisfaction before they will approve the job.

If you’re having problems getting your landlord to make repairs to the property or your unit, and they are not complying with statute 76-1419, where they are required to maintain a fit premises, you have a couple of options. First of all, statute 76-1425 outlines the 14/30 day letter option. (The Landlord Tenant Handbook has templates for such letters included.) If you have a repair that you need made and have struggled with your landlord ignoring your requests, or feel that they may ignore the issue, you should write a letter stating your request and deliver it to your landlord. Some recommend certified mail, but I have been advised that while hand delivering the letter is best, email is also an acceptable method to notify your landlord. If your email has a read receipt option, use it. This would be much like the notification of delivery you get with certified mail proving that it was seen.

If disrepair of the building or property results in injury or damage, you may be able to take your landlord to court to recover expenses or damages. If you suspect you may be in that situation, consult an attorney. The Heart Ministries in Omaha offer free legal advice as one of their services. They may be able to help, or put you in contact with an attorney with Landlord Tenant law experience. Legal Aid Nebraska also make a list of resources available on their website that are very useful. I recommend taking a time to browse it before you need it to be familiar with what's out there. You may find your rights have been violated and didn't even know it!

By this point, you've spoken up, set reasonable boundaries, and tried to ensure that your home safe to occupy. Well done! Not many renters do because they're either not aware of their rights, or are afraid of repercussions as a result of their actions. There's good news on that front though.

Your landlord is not legally allowed to retaliate against you for calling the regulatory authorities. They are also not allowed to retaliate if you unionize, or are exercising your first amendment rights to speak as a group (be careful of slander and libel though, these are still illegal). If you are having problems, speak up to your neighbors! You might be surprised at how many others are in the same boat. Many terrible landlords use intimidation and subversive behavior to get their tenants to comply. They assume others are ignorant of their rights or they are too afraid to fight. If you feel that you have been retaliated or discriminated against, The Human Rights and Relations handles those claims. If you are interested in researching the actual codes for Omaha's Human Rights and Regulations laws, they can be found here.

I have not done much research into eviction at this point in time. I am lucky to have not needed that information yet. The handbook mentioned above has some very good information on the subject. Legal Aid of Nebraska also provides a document outlining your basic legal information concerning eviction as a good place to start.

As of this edit, there are some laws in effect regarding the Covid-19 global pandemic. The CDC has put a moratorium on evictions at this time. You can find current information at Legal Aid of Nebraska outlining the current status. If you need assistance with rent or utilities due to job loss, you have resources for assistance available to you.

That said, I would highly recommend taking photos of your home after you have vacated as a reference for how you left the space. If you camera offers the feature to watermark each photo with the time and date, use it. If you're truly worried about your landlord disputing the condition, print hard copies of the photos and mail them to yourself so you will have a date stamped, unopened envelope for proof.

If you have moved out and suspect your landlord may try to keep your deposit unlawfully here are some tips for how to prevent that. The most often overlooked and perhaps most powerful tool in a renter's arsenal is this gem of a statute: 76-1485. This outlines the requirements for how to request your deposit back.

There are two reasons why a landlord can keep your entire or partial deposit; to cover the amount of unpaid rent, or to restore the unit to the condition it was in prior to occupancy. (This is why taking photos when you move in is so critical.) Normal wear and tear is expected and exempt from being claimed. The burden is on the landlord, and any withholdings must be spelled out in an itemized list for the tenant to review within 14 days of them taking possession of the property. In short, if you have advised your landlord of any items needing repairs that weren't completed, you shorted your landlord on rent, or trashed/damaged your space, you should receive your full deposit back at the end of your lease. If your landlord is unable to return your deposit due to having either a bad forwarding address, or no forwarding address at all, they are not entitled to keep it. The must turn it over to the State Treasurer under the Uniformed Disposition of Unclaimed Property Act.

If your landlord tries to keep your deposit, or claim damages that are not accurate, you may have to take them to small claims court. There is a cost to file a case, but should you win your case, you can request that your legal fees be covered under the judgement. Before you begin filling out the paperwork, make sure you have a current address for your landlord where he can be served. If the summons is undeliverable, your case can be thrown out and you will forfeit your filing fees. You will need to complete this form for the clerk of the county court. My understanding is that the form must be either mailed to or submitted in person at the clerk's office.

Once you have a case number assigned, you will be given a date to appear in court. You are not required or even encouraged to have a lawyer represent you. Your landlord will be served with the paperwork informing them of your complaint, and the date and time they're also required to appear. They do have the option to settle with you before they must appear. Hopefully, just the threat of being taken to court resolves your issue. If not, make sure you are prepared. Bring documentation. Dress appropriately. Be respectful, and tell the truth.

At the end of it all, I can only advise you to know your rights, be a dutiful tenant as best you can, ask for help, and take no guff. Talk to others, and if you’re all having problems, get a group of you together. There is strength and protection in numbers. Good luck!

PS - If I have missed a topic you would like to have covered, or have resources you've used that I've missed including, please leave a comment and I will do my best to research it and update the article.

Google Voice & The Landline For Life

2015-11-24T17:06:00.004-06:00

It seems like every month I get a mailing from my internet provider telling me they can save me all this money on a landline. I know I’ve told them on the phone more than unless they can beat free, their price is going to be too high. A dozen or more mailing later, I've decided that their marketing department is perfectly ok with throwing money away, so I'm going to help others help them do just that for under $100.

Many moons ago, I signed up for a service called Grand Central. It boasted that it was your phone number for life, regardless of whether you moved, or changed cellular carriers. (This was before number porting.) If you remember MCI One from years ago where a call to you would bounce between phones, this is very similar. The difference is, all the phones ring at the same time.

In 2007, Google bought Grand Central and re-branded the service as Google voice. You can customize your account in some very granular ways. These are just a few of the options:

Individual voice message greetings for contacts or groups of contacts.
Easily block phone numbers, or restrict calls to only those in your contact list.
Update the phones you want to have your google voice ring on the fly.
Make and answer phone calls on a desktop, laptop or internet enabled mobile device.
Send SMS messages through any device with a web browser.
Switch between devices on demand.
Call recording.
Virtually unlimited SMS storage space.
Transcribed emails sent to your choice of text or email.
Google voice Android/iOS applications.

So, how does this equal a land line for free? I’m sure most of us have heard of the VOIP devices/services such as Magic Jack, Ooma, or Vonage. They charge a monthly fee to use your high speed internet connection to give you the equivalent of a landline. I’ve found a similar alternative that has no monthly fee when used with Google Voice.

First, sign up for Google Voice. Go to voice.google.com and search for the city in which you want your number to appear to originate from. You will be presented with a list of numbers to select from in a drop down box. Click select on the number you want. You will be asked to verify an existing phone number and enter a code to continue. You will begin the option to have the code sent via text, or phone call, which leads me to believe that it can be associated with a land line as well. Once you have verified the code, simply follow the on screen instructions to complete setting up your new number.

Once your account has been set up, it's time to talk hardware. I purchased an Obihai VOIP adapter from Amazon years ago. Depending on the options you want or need, there are many boxes to choose from. If you're just wanting voice capability, then the entry level unit will do. But, if you need bluetooth, multi-line, or fax capability, there's a device to suit your needs. They are all available on Amazon, as well as other online retailers.

Once I made the initial hardware purchase, I created an account on Obi’s ObiTalk portal. I then configured my Obi account to pass my Google Voice calls seamlessly between services. All incoming calls ring through on the landline and any other configured devices. (If you have the google voice on your Android or iOS device, you can make and receive calls over wifi as well.) All outgoing calls display the Google Voice number on the caller ID if that's the setting you've chosen.

That's it. That's all there it to it. Go forth and make phone calls with no monthly charge!

Fix My Little, Pink Bathroom

2015-10-19T20:58:00.002-05:00

Today, thanks to pressure from the city, my bathroom doesn’t look so much like a cross between a set from Saw and a burlesque show anymore. The grout was stained and flaking, there was a poorly repaired hole in the ceiling, and the wooden windowsill in the shower was black with a questionable substance I didn’t really want to touch. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

I moved in Feb 4th, 2012. I had seen the unit across the hall and was assured the one I’d be in was identical if mirrored. Upon first walking in, I nearly dropped the box I was holding. I’ll save you the pictorial lament, but I will tell you the place was not livable. Had I known at the time that I could have vacated the rental agreement as a result, the last 4 years would have been different. However, hindsight is a great teacher and I now have something in my pocket for the future. Plus, despite the flaws, my 2 bedroom apartment has shabby charm, and it as cozy as any home could be.

When I signed my second lease 18 months later, my rent went up. This area is up and coming, so I figured that played a part. I work within walking distance, I can keep my 60+ pound dog, and there are some amenities I’m not likely to find in other inexpensive buildings. Plus, with my bankruptcy, it would have been difficult to find a different place that offered the same options without a ridiculous deposit. So, I went with it. It was worth it.

The landlord invests in properties, and frequently adds to his holdings. He also travels frequently, and employs private citizens for maintenance rather than a management company. He’s a bit hard to get ahold of. His voicemail is often full, and he’s not very good about responding to email or text messages. Some of the tenants have resorted to calling his wife first when there is something that needs done. She is none too pleased about this development.

Recently, there have been a string of items that are in need of repairs. The lights in the hallways were burning out, and I was tired of using my own bulbs to replace them. One of the residents had fallen through the wall in the stairwell, and the hole stayed partially fixed for three months, despite having brought it to the landlord's attention a half dozen times, using two two different methods.. We’d developed a sinkhole in the parking lot, and the garage building has a serious crack that appears to be spreading. My worry is that once we get heavy snow, that building will come right down. And those of you who know me understand the relationship I have with my car. I was sure to let the landlord know of all these things before they could become larger, more expensive issues.

Yeah, I can see how I’d look like a pain in the ass for being a pest. However, a landlord has responsibilities and these weren’t being met. My actions, while possibly an annoyance, were not out of line. I am not and never have been asking for upgrades. I’m simply asking for maintenance. My unit is clean, I have my bank cut a check for rent at least 5 days prior to the end of the month, I do the repairs I can myself, and I don’t cause trouble with the other residents. I also have seniority in this building, having been a resident the longest. I’m not asking for special treatment, or kudos for holding up my end of the lease as these are things that are expected. As such, I expect reciprocal behavior from the man who cashes those rent checks.

In July of this year, I got a new lease to sign. My rent was going up once again. 12% to be exact. The reason for the hike was "increasing maintenance costs." I took issue with this when basic requirements like light in the common areas weren’t being met. Finally, after bringing the garage and hole issues to his attention one more time and not hearing word one in response, I’d had enough. I started making calls. Two weeks of leaving messages on answering machines later, I got in touch with a city code inspector. He came out to look at my unit, the common areas, and the garages. He wasn’t able to look at the other units that I know have issues as I’m not the tenant. But, he did encourage them to call and file a report.

By Friday of the same week, I had gotten a summation of the issues that the city was requiring be fixed. The landlord and his mortgage company also got copies. It might have come as a shock to the landlord as he had no warning as to what was happening. But he couldn't have been unaware of what was on the list. Many had been on there since I moved in. I am not one to issue idle threats. If one avenue is exhausted, rather than continue chasing waterfalls, I will find another. In this case, it was a requirement to fix the problems with the teeth of the city behind it.

My landlord and I exchanged text messages on a couple occasions before coming to survey my unit regarding the repairs. That was Monday, one business day after the report arrived in his mailbox.

As of last Wednesday, I’m happy to say that all repairs, save one, are complete. I’m waiting on one more piece to fix a gap in a window. Of all the items on the list, that is perhaps one of the smallest.

I’m not going to say that this has been painless, or that I wasn’t nervous about taking the steps I did. It wasn’t, and I was. But, I made sure to have all my ducks in a row, know my rights and responsibilities, and reminded myself to do something that scares you everyday.

My apartment is not gorgeous, or luxurious, but it is at least up to code.

Here, Take This With You

2015-10-02T18:04:00.004-05:00

I'm usually in my own world when I walk home. Today though, as I passed the dialysis clinic, I heard "Hey dear. Hey. Take this with you."

When I looked over, one of the transport drivers for MOBY was standing there, extending his hand for a handshake. He was happy, his handshake firm, and his hands were soft. It was a completely unexpected random act of kindness. The whole exchange put a smile on my face. There is good in the world after all.

Fifty Shades of Lights, Darks, and Delicates

2015-02-22T11:52:00.005-06:00

Thursday night, I didn't notice the washer stop mid- cycle. To be fair, my kitchen is loud, especially when all of the appliances are running. And that night, I had the dishwasher, clothes washer, and dryer all going at the same time. One less source of noise had little consequence on the overall cacophony of domestic life. At first, I didn't realize that silence was a death knell. I thought it was another minor inconvenience. But, before we get too far down the rabbit hole, let me tell you the story of how I managed to stuff a house's worth of appliances into a 2 bedroom apartment.

Not long after the stars of the Popcorn Chronicles moved out, the laundry room in the basement started to get on my nerves. Between having to fish damp clothes out of the washer, or call the repair company because the paddles in the dryer have somehow been melted into the appearance of pulled saltwater taffy, I had lost the patience with community wash.

Years prior, I'd considered a compact set of laundry machines for the apartment I was in prior to getting married and buying our house. I knew they existed, and an approximation of what they cost new. A thought bubble appeared over my head; "I wonder if these ever show up used, like on Craigslist?".

It didn't take long to find a pair. I'd mentioned it that I was dreaming of owning them, and a friend of mine let me know via social media that there was a set available for a pittance, with the option to deliver online. (Love him, but my Mini Donovan wasn't going to come through for me on transporting them.) They were ugly, possibly older than I am, held a very small load, and I wasn't sure if the landlord would approve of them, but they were a realization of several small dreams in two rusty packages.

A noteworthy side-story about using Craigslist to purchase appliances old enough to get a break on their car insurance rates is that sometimes, you get more than you're shopping for. While I was happy at the find, I wasn't so happy that the seller, who looked much like Edgar from Men in Black, kept my phone number after the transaction, and repeatedly asked me if I "wanted to hang out sometime?. Yup, washer, dryer, offer for a date. Thanks, but I think I'll pass. Also, thank goodness for Google Voice's "mark number as spam" option.

I had to put some sweat and cash into the set after I bought them. I bought a set of casters for the washer, and screwed them on so it would be easier to move it from the storage location to the sink. However, in true form, I managed to buy two locking casters and two non-locking ones. The good news is, I never did have a whirling Dervish incident in the kitchen.

As an aside, while installing them, I thought I had damaged my drill. Thunderhead was with me as I exclaimed, "Shit, I think I just burned out the chuck." Puzzled, he looked at me and said, "Huh? What's a chuck?" As I remember, I patted him on the cheek and said, "Oh honey. At least you're pretty." This is one of the many examples of why we joke that he's the girl in the relationship. That, and the bastard looks better in my mini skirts than I do. (Before this manages to piss anybody off, however, we do trade the dominant personality pants pretty fluidly. It's one of the things I value pretty highly in any relationship, romantic or otherwise.)

I bought a new-to-me timer for the dryer and installed it myself. It ran prior to replacing it, but the gears were so old and worn that you had to wedge something into it just right for them to make contact. You can see my solution in the photo. I added a new lint trap, a new drainage hose, and learned how to use a thigh-high stocking and a binder clip as a vent hose. My heating bill is nothing in the winter, but my AC bill is astronomical in the summer. And I am more than fine with that.

There were some mishaps. Not gonna lie. The occupants of my apartment prior to me fried errythang, and dumped the grease down the sink. I've had my fair share of evenings spent cussing and fighting with a plunger or drain opener. Because of the volume of water in a load, my poor downstairs neighbor had some waterfall through the duct moments when the water hit another blockage in the pipes. Thankfully, those seem to be very few and far between these days. I'd also have to do a load or two almost every other night to stay on top of things. I can think of worse grownup obligations.

Friday morning, I did some searching online to see what might be causing the problem with the tub not draining. The most plausible was a problem with the pump. Knowing that it had sucked up the occasional sock before, I was hoping it would be as simple as getting to it and removing the offending item. That night, with some much appreciated impromptu help, we started tearing the washer apart. We got so far as to discover that we'd need specialty tools to remove the wash tub, without the guarantee that it would be a simple fix, or the replacement parts would be available if that was the way to go.

And that's when the towel, soaked with water from draining the water prior to any attempted repairs, was thrown in, and the below status update was born.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" she exclaimed. "When I say pump, you do it! What good are you to me with your water just sitting there, growing ever colder, your suds bursting in pathetic last gasps of cleanliness? Aaahrg!"

In frustration, she kicks the machine. "I don't do broken. I do works, isn't working currently, and replaced. Don't try to change me, it will only end poorly for you. I'm not one to throw good money after bad."
~Excerpts from Fifty Shades of Lights, Darks, and Delicates.

All in all, I think I got a pretty solid 2 years out of machines that should have been retired before I could legally drink. The painful part was telling both my wallet and savings account that, while I had meant it when I said I'd never hurt them, there was no avoiding it this time. I transferred some cash from savings to checking, and headed to the appliance store to replace my washer.

While many appliance salesmen groan when they hear a customer say, 'I just want the cheapest thing you have on the sales floor." business was slow, and the entire transaction took, at the outset, 30 minutes. We even both won in that I bought the service plan. Peace of mind for me, and a little extra in his check for him. (I had a service plan replace my front loading Whirlpool Duet at the house under the lemon clause, so to me, they're worth it.)

Thanks to the modern marvel of the minivan, we were able to get the new unit home, hooked up, and working before 7:00 PM. The test load? All of the towels and the content of the load that was in when the prior machine stopped working the day before. The only bad thing I have to say about it is that the basket is so large that I'll have to break loads up into two parts to keep using the old dryer. Gee, life's rough.

When Thunderhead got home, we wheeled the old machine out to the curb, stripped the casters off, and left it to the hands of the neighborhood scavengers. By 2:00 AM, it was gone into the night, nothing but the old particle board that held the wheels on remained to mark its passing.

To wash new loads in the new machine, it's night and day. The agitation is nearly silent compared to the old unit. The cabinet is also larger, so it makes both getting into the fridge mid-cycle harder, and a great motivation for dropping some weight. I'm an avid air-bather, and metal on naked skin is COLD!

Maybe I'll upgrade the dryer in a few months. Maybe I won't. I'm just glad to have been able to manage the washer replacement with the help of my darlings' willingness to go all "plumber Joe" on a problem with me, a little financial cushion, a minivan, owning more tools than a renter really needs, and not suffering delays unless they are absolutely mandatory.

Edit - a tribute to the fallen.

The washer is dead! Long live the washer!

Monster on the Top Bunk

2014-05-31T10:30:00.000-05:00

I woke to the sound of the third floorboard from the bed groaning its displeasure for being distrubed before first light. Deep in winter, it would remain surly till well past 9:00. A whiff of iron, terror, and sweat crinkled my nose. I threw the deflated feather pillow I had been drooling on over my eyes in protest.

“Morning, Wendi.” came my grunted salutation.

The frame of the bunk groaned trying to support the weight of my flatmate while light the color of laundry rinse water seeped through the curtains. It appeared to be a little before 7:00.

“Eventful night? I never thought there was much to do in this town on a Tuesday.”

My only response was the sound of the awl picking dinner's gristle from rows of teeth. Movement from the foot of the bed above caught the corner of my eye as I glimpsed toes no manicurist could ever charge enough to make sandal ready.

“Plucky as ever. Don’t ever change, you mythical creature you.”

Her wordless belch in reply snatched the lingering tendrils of sleep like a slave’s manticle, propelling me through empty space towards the door. Air the temperature of Mengele's empathy assaulted my naked form, and I cursed. Nerves alive and sleep’s sand gritty in my eyes, I whirled around in time to see the covers of the top bunk sliding to rest, obscuring all but the last tufts of tousled hair. The sound they made was part sickly viscous like blankets through warm tapioca, part tearing. The mattress was precariously bowed above where my sleeping form had just been resting.

“Next time I ask for a wake up call from the front desk, I’ll remember to be more specific.”

As I turned, still looking back, I stumbled over a man’s shoe, with an ankle and bloodied athletic sock stubbornly protruding from it. Before breakfast, and here I was staring at shock white bone, still congealing clots, and the spoils of last night’s festivities. Morbidly, I thought, this poor schlub would have the worst walk of shame imaginable.

“God dammit Wendy! Leave your snacks in the kitchen. We’ll get bugs in here again! Pretty sure the last excuse for the maggots in the den I gave the landlord is reason enough to have us evicted!”

No answer. I hurled the shoe at my best approximation of her head and stomped off to the bathroom to bleach my sinuses and run the tenement’s hot water heater dry. Only on the internet would a Wendigo answer my ad for a roommate. Only in my world would that seem perfectly reasonable.

With a Little Help From Your Friends

2014-05-26T12:18:00.001-05:00

It's May 25th; Memorial day, and my long weekend it just starting. Well, starting in earnest you could say. I handed off my albatross this morning. At 8:00, I passed the on call phone to the next coworker in the rotation. With that, my week of waiting for Godot is over. Thankfully, this was my first quiet rotation, only having one true emergency come up that required intervention on my part. Past experiences though had me caught in the middle of a situation that I was powerless to either solve, or avoid being the middle man. I often go into the Monday of taking over the responsibility of being Grand Central Station for 7 days with an overwhelming sense of dread, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don't sleep well, my temper gets shorter, and I end up carrying all that stress in unhealthy ways. One of which is carrying it in my back and shoulders. I had started to think it would be a good idea for me to take half-days at work on the Monday following. This time, as luck would have it, the office is closed and I got my extra time to recover as a freebie. I also had the opportunity to cross paths with an opportunity I think I would be crazy to turn down.

My friend Katy Dawdy has her own massage business. After hearing about some of the problems with pain and lack of range of motion I have on a day to day basis, she urged me to come see her. Originally, I thought I would have to decline based on my disposable income. I squeak by most months. Wait, let me rephrase that. I'm busted with a capital broke. I didn't think it was wise to spend money on things that were indulgences, and a massage was on that list of things that I longed for, but couldn't justify. We have a massage lady at work that I will see on occasions when I feel like I might be heading down migraine way, but at $12 a pop for 15 minutes, I could stomach that a more easily than my expectations of what an hour would run. Katy, having the heart and deep desire to help people as best she can, took that into consideration. Today, at 1:15, I will be getting a massage to put the last week, and all the stress from it, behind me as quickly as I can. The best part is that I won't be eating ramen till payday to compensate for the cost.

About a month ago, I got my first massage from her. If you've never had a massage, they can put you on an endorphin high like no other drug on earth. I indulged a bit on the cruise my now-ex husband and I took for our honeymoon. (There is something magical about watching glaciers slide past the window at 3 knots while you're being pampered.) I am never so close to feeling the percentage of liquid in my body as I am after an hour on the table. The warmth of the room and the utter relaxation can make a person loopy as well as put a dopey grin on their face and a clumsy stumble in your gait as you trip over your own uncharacteristically elastic legs. Katy is one such professional who does just that.

I'm not easily bought, so I hope that can help to prove that my endorsement of her compassion and skill will resonate louder. But, if you need more proof, here's a little comparison of what I may be like come 2:15 today. Well, without the roaring. It's a good thing.

1 Order of Wedded Bliss. Please Drive Though.

2014-02-10T13:49:00.000-06:00

"I now pronounce you, man and wife. You may kiss your bride. Well, if you can get around that gear shift with the commemorative NASCAR shifter there."

The gal in the hand me down wedding dress squealed and lunged across the front bench seats in her new husband's "chariot", knocking it out of gear. They lurched forward, narrowly avoiding rolling into traffic. The kid in the ill-fitting tuxedo with the stain on the shirt swore, pushed her off him, and threw the shifter into reverse. He stopped an inch shy of the bumper on the car pulling in to take their place at the drive through window. His answer to the resulting honk was a defiant middle finger out the driver's side window.

After he engaged the brake and took the shambling car out of gear, he smoothed his vest and put a little more brylcreem on his comb to hold down his slicked back hair. His new wife shot back across the seats to give his tonsils a tongue bath, messily smearing her lipstick across his teeth. She had the back of his head in her hands, holding on as if he was the last source of oxygen on the planet.

That's when the officiant noticed her wedding band. Or, what passed as one as it was a nail twisted into a crude circle.

"That's, um. Quite the wedding ring you've got there. Real conversation piece, I'm sure."

Perhaps it was just his subconscious adding it in for effect, but he swore he heard an audible pop when their mouths disengaged.

Grinning her incomplete smile, she beamed at him. "Thank yew. It was mah baby's idea."

From her perch on her husband's lap, she leaned back and switched her gaze to his face.

"Me an Jessup here have been in love since we was chillins. I knew he was right for me since he first asked me to watch the submarine races down at the pond one night. He sat real close, grabbed my hand and put it in his pocket. I giggled and told him I didn't need no salami, I et dinner before we left."

"We never did see no submarines, and he felt real bad like. He offered to take me home, but his daddy's car ended up dyin' over on that hill south of town. I was so afraid we was gonna be stranded since it was so late and nobody was gonna be by for hours. But, my baby's such a gentleman. He got under the hood, and tried to fix it all manly like. But, something hot musta jumped right outta that car and fell right down his pants! He hadda pull 'em off right then and there in the middle of the road! And whatever that is, it musta been hotter n the jewelry my cousin gave mah sister for their anniversary since the cops done come and taken it away from her. But bless this man, he was already all swelled up under his pants, poor dear. He was hoppin around, outta his mind in pain. He jumped right in the back seat, screamin' like the fox Willie shot in the ass, tryin' to scare it away from the henhouse last year, 'It hurts! It hurts!'"

Brandi, the bride, turned to her embarrassed husband, and played with a lock of his hair that had fallen in his eyes. She looked at him with clueless devotion as she said"

"My Jessup was sufferin' so I jumped right back there with him, wantin to make him feel better. He's pullin on his draws and got 'em about round his knees by the time I get in and shut the door. Whatever had burned him made his privates swell up like baby vern's toe that time he tripped over the cinder block under the truck in the front yard. I knew I had to do somethin', so I did what mama always did to me when I had a tumble; I kissed it to make it better. That seemed to help, because he quit screamin and started cooin' like the pigeons that roost up on city hall. I figured if that was helpin' a little lick could only make it better faster."

Before I knew it, I was helping him get that pesky ole infection out a little more. See, he told me that he was all swoll up because whatever burned him made a blister, and the swellin' was the infection. We needed to get that out, and the only way we could do that was if I sat on top of him and helped him pop it like we do when Pa's chopped too much wood and comes in with his hands all a mess."

"It took a long time too. I think I heard three whole songs on the radio before the bad stuff water come out. It didn't take long to see that I'd helped him feel better, because the bump was covered in sticky stuff, and it shrank before my eyes. He musta been feelin' better since he got right up, put on his pants, and told me he thought the car would start now. And what do ya know, it did! He took me right home, no dilly dallyin' or nothin. Cause he's a gentleman like that. He even told me I could have a beer if I didn't tell no one about what happened. He's so manly, didn't want nobody knowin' he was hurt, even if he was all better now."

I was so tired, I just went inside and passed right out on the bed. Didn't even change my clothes or nothin’. I didn't see him again fer a while, it wasn't till my clothes started gettin' small that I did. He came around and took me out to dinner a couple times. He musta known I was sad none of my shorty shorts was fittin' no more. But he took me out for hot dogs at the little league field. You can get 'em real cheap in the last inning, so we each got two! But, I knowed he was serious when he took me out to the Taco Bell. I mean, that's so nice, you can sit inside and everything!"

Visibly uncomfortable, Jessup reached for the ignition, but the keys slipped out of his hand and fell into the footwell of the passenger seat. Out of reach, he was forced to let his wife continue with her story.

"So, I wore my pretty dress, the one with only one hole in it. And you can barely see it since it's in the armpit. He hung his head, which was kinda like getting down on one knee. He said we had been doin' the in and out for a while. You know, he put the baby in me, so he took me out a couple a times. But, my daddy liked him so much, he wanted him to be his son in law. I guess he took him and gave him a real big hug, but my baby here was too small, because all he could do was get his hands around his neck. It wasn't a proper hug. And my daddy's so strong too, so he hugged him tight up against the wall of the double wide. Told him he'd nail him to the tree in the front yard ifn' he didn't make an honest woman out of me. My daddy's so silly. I go church every week and don't tell no lies. I'm already honest."

A look of feigned interest was painted on the face of the officiant as he wondered how long his shirt could avoid a sweat stain in the heat of the day. The driver next in line at the drive up chapel honked and yelled for them to get moving. Oblivious to it all, she continued.

"But, he done gave me a ring! It's much prettier than the cigar band Ellie-Mae got. But she tells me it's valuable 'cause it's from a Cuban cigar. When he gave me my ring, he said "Well, I suppose I outta give you somthin'. I mean, I nailed you, and then you went and nailed me right back." Ain't he sweet? We gon' be together foEVER."

Jessup cleared his throat and reached over to grab the keys he'd dropped earlier. Brandi was caught unaware and slid clumsily off his lap into a pile of wedding dress and mussed hair on the passenger seat.

"Alright, let's stop keepin' the man from his business, uh, sweetie. We've got the honeymoon stall at the KOA waiting for us. It's got electricity and everything! So, why don't we get going and I'll pick you up a nice meal at the Taco Bell we saw two exits down?" He turned towards the officiant to catch him eyeballing the line of cars stacked up, waiting for their turn at wedded bliss.

"Ahem. I'm sorry we've taken up so much of your time. Here." he said as he passed him a wad of crumpled bills. "Take this. Keep the change as a token of our appreciation."

It wasn't until after they'd turned into traffic that it became apparent that the bills were stained and covered in glitter. Not to mention, about $5 short.

Chocolate Chip Cookies for the Culinary Inept

2014-01-30T16:47:00.000-06:00

Chocolate Chip Cookies, not apple pie, are the most American cause of diabetes ever. If you don’t like them then the terrorists win. Every good, red blooded American should be able to whip up a batch. If you’re not exactly the Julia Childs of your apartment block, don’t worry. It’s easy to learn by starting with the basics. Cookies, being the caloric music to soothe a savage PMSing girlfriend, are a noble specimen on which to cut your teeth in the kitchen. Baking is simple, really. In this case, all you need is a mix (Betty Crocker has one that’s no mess, no fuss.), any additional ingredients such as an egg or butter, a mixing bowl, a cookie sheet, spatula, spoon, cooking spray, fire extinguisher, and the local emergency services on speed dial. See? It’s not that daunting.

First, preheat the oven, taking care not to let the pilot stay unlit for too long. It takes approximately 5 months for eyebrows to fill in after a kitchen stove mishap. It’s closing in on prom season, and nobody wants to canoodle with someone with spotty eyebrows. (Even if you do give amazing head. The POV is just creepy and kills a boner faster than thinking about grandma on the toilet.)

While the oven is preheating, you’ll need to prepare your cookie sheets. Take care to not make too much of a ruckus when digging them out of the back of your cupboard. Keep in mind that your local authorities may charge for false alarm calls of reported burglaries should a concerned neighbor think you’re being robbed or assaulted by the muffin man. Make sure each sheet has an adequate coating of cooking spray, while avoiding getting any overspray on the floor. Take special care if you’re a renter. Most renter’s insurance policies don’t cover liability for an attack of the dumbass. Slipping on spray lard might put you in the poorhouse due to unpaid medical bills if you’re not careful. Set the cookie sheets aside in easy reach. You’ll need them once your dough is ready.

In the mixing bowl, combine the mix with any additional ingredients the packaging calls for. If you are a novice, ask a more experienced cook before making any substitutions. If the instructions call for a stick of butter, substituting a cup of dep hair gel may not have the same results. Try to stick to the recipe as closely as possible until you’re more experienced. Combine the ingredients in the mixing bowl and mix until the contents reach a doughy texture. Set the bowl aside and check to see if your oven is preheated. This is best done with an oven thermometer. Generally, human skin isn’t able to determine the subtleties between 300 and 325 degrees, and the blisters that result from trying can become infected and can lead to amputation in extreme cases.

Take your first cookie sheet and set it by your mixing bowl. With two spoons, measure out a small dollop of dough and set it on the tray. Resist the temptation to lick the spoons before scooping up the next ball of dough. Chances are you neglected to get your cootie shot booster, and nobody likes cooties. Not even if they’re served with chocolate chip cookies. Continue spooning out cookie blobs until your sheet is covered, leaving roughly three inches of space between each.

Now is a good time to alert your neighbors or occupants in your residence that you will be using your oven to cook real food and not just the dollar store frozen pizzas. This is so they’ll be aware in case they should smell something burning, like flesh. If the mood strikes you, give them a spare key to your front door and your emergency contact number should the situation get out of hand.

Once you return to the kitchen after warning your neighbors, take your prepared cookie sheet and place it in the Goldilocks zone of your oven. This is generally the middle rack where the temperature is juuuuuuust right. Close the door and set your timer for the amount of time prescribed on the recipe. Resist the urge to peek at them after 3 minutes, wondering if they’re done yet. This will only delay your satisfaction. While this is the purpose of a “pleasure extender” condom, cookies should be allowed to bake naturally. Don’t forget to set your timer so you can save your cookies from a fate worse than WWII.

While you are waiting for the first batch to finish, you can spoon out balls of dough onto a second sheet. If you don’t have a second cookie sheet, feel free to use the time constructively. Write a pen pal letter to an incarcerated felon, or create the next big internet meme with the contents of your junk drawer. However, be aware. The health department frowns upon cleaning your dildo collection while preparing food as this could lead to cross contamination.

When your timer goes off, you will need to remove the cookie sheet from the oven. Make sure you have an oven mitt to protect your hands from the searing heat of the metal pan and rack, as well as a place on your counters where you can set the still hot sheet without melting it to the surface. The smell of burnt linoleum is both unappetizing and toxic.

Remove the cookies from the pan and place them on a separate plate to cool. This way, you can reuse your cookie sheet for a second or third batch if needed.. Continue these steps until all desired cookies are baked and cooling. If there is any dough left in the bowl, you may proceed to devour it like Cthulhu treating the dim sum delivery boy like the Chinese take out he is.

Once you regain consciousness from your diabetic coma and have assured the paramedics that your know the correct year, president, and middle name, your cookies will be properly cooled. For best results, you will need an airtight container in which to store them. Should there potentially be a delay in eating them where you might want to keep them moist, include a slice or two of sandwich bread in the container to keep them soft, like Honey Boo Boo’s acting skills.

There you go. That’s all there is to it. Congratulations. You’ve just baked chocolate chip cookies.

Vampire in the Passenger's Seat

2014-01-29T21:07:00.000-06:00

The smell of him hung in the air like the last stitch of clothing in the dance of the 7 veils. His gothic charms working their serpentine spell on her. She could barely sit still, wanting only to crawl in his lap, entwine her fingers in those wavy dark locks, drink in the cold aloofness in his umber eyes, and commit suicide by drowning in the scent of his skin. Sandalwood, tobacco, cloves, and the essence of rich earth wound their way through her thoughts as if they were her fingers in his hair while they sat, shoulders touching, trying to concentrate on community theater.

All the world may be a stage, but to her it was a monologue; the soundtrack the rush of her pulse and the heat of her skin. This was their 5th date, but the first to offer the chance to dress in their finery under the guise of showing respect to the stage. As the house lights fell, and the curtain rose, the murmurs in the house fell away. Somewhere, a stage hand cued what sounded like a boom box with the opening score, and the shoddily painted sets come into view. What followed was nearly 2 hours of discomfort, like having an itch that's too personal to scratch in public.

Their expression of enjoyment at the last curtain call mirrored the efforts under the lights; it was forced and hasty. All of her salacious thoughts had evaporated in an unconscious effort to stave off fidgeting from boredom. Hastily they made their way through the departing crowds towards the exits. Coats barely cover their shoulders as the cold night air wove its chilly tendrils through the throng of patrons.

As they walked in the cold of the December night, the cutting north wind blew his ropey mane from his shoulders. He reached his gloved hand to the collar of his pea coat to protect his skin from the chill. The peek of pale skin nestled below the black wool and the fleeting whiff of musk propelled her forward towards the warmth of the pub. Rather than call the evening on account of disappointment, they'd decided to try and salvage the date by conspiring in dimly lit oubliettes, over cocktails, sharing knowing looks over the rim of a glass. For theirs was the beginning of a delightful chase where one would feign losing ground and wait till the other caught up, only to sprint off and bidding the other to follow. Innuendo clung to them like careless lipstick on a clandestine collar.

They sat, posing for the eyes that might be stealing glances at their hiding beneath the shadows and behind the velvet curtains, baiting the other to advance. A caress, a wink, a oh-so-subtle quiver of the lip. As the hour progressed, their need to retire grew strong. He paid the tab as she stood behind him, enjoying the warmth of the alcohol and the knowledge she'd soon be walking just with him, strolling back to the car where they'd be alone.

The wind tore the door from her hands, taking the warmth under her coat with it. Grabbing for the buttons on her coat, she struggled to gather the fabric around her. Scarf wrapped dandily around his neck, he shielded her from the worst of the wind. When finished, she plunged her hands into the pockets, having forgotten her gloves at home in the rush to leave at the sound of his knock on her door. Like so, they strolled, shuddered against the wind and cold, through the shuttered streets.

The tail lights flashed as he unlocked the doors. She slid into the passenger seat, rubbing her hands and blowing on them. Her breath forming a meager cloud in the cabin. The cold of the metal seat belt bit into her fingers as she clicked it into place. Clasping her fingers together in front of her mouth, he backed out of the parking stall and merged into traffic on the way to ferry her home.

He pulled into her driveway before the heater had a chance to warm up. Turning the key in the ignition, the engine shuttered into silence. They turned to each other, prolonging the moment by saying how odd the play was, but that the conversation over lambec was the jewel of the evening. As he reached in to play with the locks of hair draped over his shoulder, he grabbed her hand. Smirking, he commented on the pallor of her skin, that it was so fair he might be convinced that she was raised from the dead. To which, she only raised her eyebrow and gave him a half smile; painted lips parting just far enough to expose the glint of her incisor. Her wordless insinuation may as well have been a challenge. Never one to back away, his eyes held hers, unblinking, his left hand grabbing her as he slid his right thumb and middle finger up her wrist, feeling for a pulse. His smirk fell slightly and his gaze dropped as he pushed his hand further up her sleeve, finding nothing but skin and chill.

Inhaling deeply, she leaned in towards him, placed his hand on her throat, and purred "You indulge me." into his ear. His hands searched for warmth and the heartbeat he worriedly needed to find. Ignoring his thrumming panic, she nosed his hair aside, and stole a quick nibble of his ear lobe, rolling her tongue over his flesh, pushing with her teeth only hard enough for him to know they're there. "Good night." she more exhaled than said, enjoying the faraway look in his eyes. And with that, she grabbed her clutch and was gone; the deep shadows of the porch hiding her as she unlocked her front door and slipped inside.

It was 10 minutes or so before the engine of his car turned over, and still longer yet before he reversed onto the street and was gone. The tendrils of panic in his face as he considered the mortality of the woman sitting next to him had been priceless. It was their 5th - and last - date.

Tastebud Massacre - Spring Break Saison

2013-10-22T19:49:00.002-05:00

Author's note: I have been holding on to this for a while, not sure if I should publish it or not. I finally decided it was worth it to share for a good giggle. We're lucky (heh) to have this brewery in our backyards, and hopefully they can take a little ribbing from a beer fan.

Dear Lucky Bucket Brewing Company,

I love you, man. I do. I think the fact that you’re practically in my backyard is awesome. You done made me proud on more than one occasion. But, we have got to talk about this seasonal brew of yours. The Spring Break Belgian style saison was more of a letdown than the IRS declining to investigate Amy’s Baking Company for tax fraud.

I’ll admit, I was enthralled with your Snowsuit Winter Abbey. Loved the stuff. So, when your packaging described this seasonal as; “A bright and vibrant ale tailor-made for the season of renewal” I was intrigued. You painted a picture of lazy days on the front lawn, watching the frat boys down the street parade around shirtless in their inebriation when you described the beer by saying, “The floral and citrus notes of this delicious ale pair perfectly with clear blue skies and sunny afternoons.” I salivated a little thinking about frosting a mug in the freezer and enjoying this new discovery in the company of friends.

I hope that my writing chops are enough to convey to you the depth of my disappointment upon my taking church key to bottlecap. After lovingly pouring the bottle into a mug steaming as it slowly defrosted in the humid Saturday night air, wearing a quarter smile, I closed my eyes and took a deep sniff. I expected to be reminded of sunscreen, sand volleyball, objectifying hardbodies around a body of water, and foam koozies hugging the curves of a bottle like Urkel on a pity date with the prom queen. What greeted my nose instead was a gazpacho made from Love Canal runoff, items found abandoned in the back of Dahmer’s crisper, and distinct high notes of Jabba the Hutt’s belly button lint.

It has been said that I overlook as eccentricities what others would call red flags. Red enough flags that “normal” people would call the police and file for a restraining order. That’s the only explanation I have for why I continued to lift the glass to my mouth. I will spare you the description of the tragic death of thousands of innocent tastebuds. (Think of the children!) What I will say is that having lived through my share of Spring Break revelry, I expected to taste much tequila and regret. But, since this is a beer, I can’t fairly say I was expecting the tequila, but the regret was instantly overpowering.

Using words like “citrus” and “crisp” as a description were correct, but not in capturing the beer’s flavor. I would use them more to convey how strong the cleaning products were to clear the taste from my face crater after that bomb went off. Do you remember the scene from Ace Ventura after Ace reveals Lt Lois Einhorn is really Ray Finkle? The one where he’s brushing his teeth down to nubs and gargling with ammonia and tears to wash away the disgust? I’m very against homophobia, and yet this is the best approximation I could come up with to describe what happened over my kitchen sink. For the record, I will never be able to enjoy the Twizzlers lemon filled ropes again as theirs and pine-sol’s flavor are unnervingly similar.

In closing, I’d like to say that on a scale of ranking Spring Break, you guys scored more Community College than Florida University. Better luck next time.

(Editor’s note - This letter is for comedic purposes and is an exercise in hyperbole. It’s true I didn’t enjoy the brew, but I will continue to support my local brewery through the hard time they’re having with their current seasonal. You should too.)

My Coffee Smells Like Beauty

2013-04-17T17:06:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, a couple of neighborhood facts walked up to me and sucker punched me right in the feels. My "feels" are buried under so much scar tissue and thickened skin, I didn't expect it to hurt. Boy, I was wrong. The perp of this heinous act of wanton emotional endangerment and assault with a dangerous idea was Dove. You know, the people that make the soap and beauty products.

Since September of 2004, they've been running what they call The Campaign For Real Beauty. At the time, only 2% of women described themselves as beautiful, and Dove was afraid that what we stressed as such was becoming "limiting and unattainable". They've made a real effort to change the idea of what beauty is. I want very badly to think they're succeeding. Their most recent campaign was enough to convince me that it seems to only be working on a superficial level. It would seem that the idea of beauty is being more widely accepted in other people. But, when it comes to embracing our own beauty, we still doubt ourselves. Apparently, Dove wanted to do something about that too. That's why they came up with their commercial entitled "Sketches". It was a real moment to wake up and smell the coffee. And the coffee smelled like beauty.

Dove hired Gil Zamora, a forensic sketch artist and invited women to sit behind a curtain and describe themselves. Zamora never saw them, he merely asked them questions about themselves. When he was done with his sketch, he thanked them and they left, never having seen each other face to face. Then he asked another stranger to come and sit with him as they described the same person. All the stranger was told was to get to know the unwitting model. When the sketches were all done, he hung them side by side and allowed the original women to come in and see the differences. What he found was, in my opinion, unexpected.

Every single woman's portrait where she was the one describing herself was noticeably less flattering than the one where a stranger had been working with Zamora. All of them. And it's not just a slight difference. One woman apparently sees herself as a neanderthal. Her face is so ruddy and her hair so bushy, it looks like an artist's interpretation of Lucy. Another must live on a planet with twice the gravity because her face is very short and fat.

Then, look to the right of the self-described portraits. These same trollish women, they were beautiful when described by someone who knew nothing of them, but had merely spent a few moments making friendly conversation. The difference was eye-opening. Take a look for yourself.

http://www.adweek.com/adfreak/dove-hires-criminal-sketch-artist-draw-women-they-see-themselves-and-others-see-them-148613

I have long been an advocate of that strange kind of selfishness that allows you to feel comfortable in your own skin. Sure, I got much of my start with Atlas Shrugged. The main characters dogged determination and ability to literally move mountains was inspirational. Later, I found The Invitation, by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, and she put into words what I was looking for in a partner. Somewhere in that time, I stumbled into realizing that my dress size, my haircut, my cup size, isn't what makes me valuable. It isn't what makes for the kind of being desirable that I give a shit about. I want someone to want to be around me based on who I am, not how firm my ass cheeks are, or how pouty my lips look. Who I am is a woman who knows that she's not parts. I'm a woman who can make things happen, who isn't stopped by obstacles, and who can be as fierce as a mama-bear, but aspires to be bamboo; strong, but flexible.

But, I stopped and thought about it. How would I describe myself if it were me in that commercial? I'm sure I'd use facts, but are they tainted with emotion? I spend all of my time in my own skin. It's comfortable (unless I've had too much cabbage) but I'm most likely to see my flaws. Even if others don't see them the same way. Would I do the same?

I came to the conclusion that yes, I more than likely would. I know my bangs are longer than I like them to be, that I have dull, faded hair color, and my skin feels like I could solve the world oil crisis today. I know that I have a belly roll that flops over my pants when I sit down, or that I slouch so much it has given me a dowager’s hump. But, not only do others not see that right away, there isn't a reason in the world why that's important. Why do I care? I wish I had an answer other than to relieve discomfort. (My slouching gives me headaches, and when your pants are too tight, it makes formalwear a nightmare.) In general though, if I'm not in physical pain, why is that even something I am aware of, much less care about? I have come up with no good reasons for it. I don't know.

What I do know is that we as women, and probably men too, shouldn't run from these things. In fact, we should do the opposite. Embrace them, love them, make them your own. And then? Exhale, and let them go.

Biological Scavenger Hunt

2013-03-28T17:43:00.002-05:00

A friend of mine posted an image today asking to help an elderly woman find her grandson, who was adopted. It got me thinking, do you think it's possible to crowd-source this sort of thing? And then slowly, I started to think it can't hurt to try. I have always known I was adopted. I've also never held out hope to learn much about my roots, so it's never been important for me to find them. I'm also a worry wort, so to know any potential hereditary conditions also is a sort of boon. Less for me to worry about in advance. But, the older I get, the more I love hearing stories others collect throughout their lives. There's a part of me that wants to hear my biological mom's, and anybody else's that I can find along the way. So, here goes.

This is all the information I have about my biological family. I was born at 9:59 at night, on October 25th, 1977 in Albion, Nebraska. My biological mom was 22 year old, was five foot four inches tall, and weighed in at 115 lbs. She had graduated high school and had gone on to take some college courses, with a special interest in art. She was a Methodist, and was generally in good health. Much like me, she goofed off in school and got average grades, but had been assessed as having a high IQ. She had a special affinity for math and biology.

I seem to remember someone telling me she worked on a highway construction crew holding the "slow" signs. Much like my biological dad, she had musical ability. Generally, I think of people as having one ability or the other; the math/numbers or the art/creativity ability. I find it interesting to think that perhaps I got my center-mindedness from her.

I'm also told she herself was adopted in Germany, along with what I can only assume were her biological brothers. One was younger, and one was older. If she was 22 at the time of my birth, that would have put her overseas in the the middle 50s. I don’t know at what age she was adopted. Her nationality was described as German, but I don’t know whether she was an American citizen born in Germany, or German and adopted by an American. This part was never made 100% clear.

What I know about my biological dad is not very much. My biological mom was, “reluctant to discuss” him, going so far as to refuse to name him. But, I’m told that he was a little older and taller (he was six feet one inches) than she was. He had completed college, and had taught for a period of time. He left teaching to join a musical group. He was also described by my mother as slender, muscular, and good looking. I have no information as to his nationality. I can only assume he was of European descent. I’m too glow in the dark for it to be otherwise.

Despite keeping her pregnancy a secret, my biological mom did disclose her condition to the father, and he agreed with the adoption plan. I have very little information about him beyond this.

Based on the information I have as of 1990, my biological grandparents probably don’t know I exist.

I don't know how old I was when I left for Omaha and the Nebraska Children's Home Society. I do know that I was roughly 2 months old when I was adopted. I can only guess that I had been in their care the majority of my short life thus far as I'm under the impression she didn't tell anyone she was pregnant.

I have not checked with the state to see if they have any more information for me. I'm going off of what my parents were given from NCHS. My case worker, by the name of Joan Clements, sent my parents a note with the majority of the above information in it. This is pretty much all I have. What frustrates me is that they also had the name of my biological mother, but discarded it because they didn't think it was important. While I can understand the emotional reasons why they did so, it's hard to know that the information was so close, and is infuriatingly so far away now.

Also, based on some vague language in the letter from Joan, I’m guessing my adoptive parents made a donation/gift to my biological mom that the NCHS forwarded to her on Sept 28th, 1990. If this helps to narrow down any suspects.

If you know someone who might fit this bill, I'd love to speak with them. No need to give me their information. For privacy sake, you may give them my email address - ephemily@gmail.com and leave it up to them as to whether they'd like to reach out. I understand how hard it can be, all the questions they may have, or all the guilt they might feel. If it means anything, I've always thought about you, and completely understand why you made the choices you did. I grew up in a wonderful home and have experiences many never get. I don't hold any ill will, I just would love to know you for the sake of knowing where I come from, warts and all.

*edit - Congrats mom and dad, it's a weirdo!

Heartfelt Thank You to Walgreens

2013-02-28T15:22:00.000-06:00

Dear Walgreens,

I wanted to tell you about the outstanding service I recieved with my last contact with one of your pharmacies. Six days ago, I had a prescription for a new antidepressant called in to the location where I generally get all of my presciptions filled. I got an email saying that the pharmacy had gotten my medication, but my insurance company wasn’t going to cover it. I could pick it up, but would be responsible for the retail price. I called to follow up and find out if there was something I needed to do. It was late in the day on Friday, and as it would happen, my insurance company required a letter from my doctor as to why I was changing medications. When I asked what I could do, I was told that I’d have to wait for the doctor and insurance companies to complete their parts. In effect, my hands were tied.

Today, Thursday the 28th of Feb, I called back to ask if anything had changed. I spoke with a lovely young woman by the name of Marcella on the phone. She was able to pull up my records and saw that they’d not heard anything back yet. I was a little frustrated, but know that sometimes you have to wait for the gears to turn. Imagine my pleasant surprise when this wonderful employee of yours said she’d not only re-faxed my doctor the information they needed to fill out, but offered to make calls to both the office and my insurance company so we’d know the status and an eta.

I’ve been on some sort of antidepressant since about 2001, and have had to jump through the hoops to get the care I’ve needed more than once. My experienced have been that the majority of the time, it’s up to me to shake the trees to harvest the fruit. And that’s exactly what I was expecting this time too. I am pleasantly surprised at the willingness of your employee to help someone they didn’t know to get the medications they need. I also know that we generally don’t hear the praise, all we as customer facing professionals hear are the complaints. I wanted to make sure someone knew this woman went above and beyond when she certainly didn’t have to. And for that, I’m very grateful. Please extend to her my gratitude.

*Edit. Two weeks to the day after I reached out to my doctor about wanting to switch medications, I get a call back from them. They had the forms they needed to fill out, but needed to know what other medications i'd tried to justify the switch. Now, I know we'd done this dance when we put me on the Zoloft to begin with. I would think, since mental health records follow you wherever you go, they'd still have had that. But, they didn't. So, I gave them the laundry list of ones I'd tried since 2000, and that was that. I was just certain that it would take another two weeks for the insurance company to review the paperwork, and was expecting to get my prescription filled closer to April. I'm happy to report, I was wrong. VERY wrong. Later the same day, Walgreens called to say I had a prescription waiting to be picked up. Holy Time warp, Batman! I went to pick them up last night, and am anxiously awaiting their buildup to therapeutic levels in my system to see if this does the trick. I'll let you know in 3-4 weeks.

DIY Cards Against Humanity

2013-01-24T13:25:00.001-06:00

The Samurai of Spoken Word have an event coming up where we're going to be playing a party game called Cards Against Humanity team trivia style. I'm excited for several reasons. First of all, it's going to be a hoot juut because the game rocks. (It's best described as Apples to Apples for people going to hell.) But, I also get to use my own home made deck AND be the MC for the night. I can't wait for the 28th.

Since discovering the game Cards Against Humanity in 2011, I've sent probably close to 10 decks through my little laser printer. Being a creative commons game, the creators made the cards available to download from their website and print either at home or at a place like Kinkos. Over time, and with some help, I modified the game and cards. It started with printing out more blank cards so we could keep the deck fresh. Then, when my group of regular players and I got tired of the small size (the original downloadables are on perfectly square cards with nothing on the backs of them so it got to be a chore to keep them separated or determine which way was up.) we got the idea to completely re-do them on our own custom deck. I did some thinking, and decided that business card sized cards would be just right. They were large enough to be easy to read, but small enough to not create a space hog of a game. The bonus was that you could also easily tell which way was up based on the shape. The addition of a back with a "!" for the answer and "?" for the questions was cosmetic, really. But it's generally agreed that it was a nice touch by the people who've seen my deck.

I've made the PDFs of the final product available for people to download over the years, and I've passed along how I did it to a couple others as well. But, I thought I'd take a minute to talk about what steps I took to get the deck made start to finish in case someone wants to recreate or even improve upon what I've already done.

I took two skills that have been my bread and butter over the years and dove right in. I was a QuarkXpress kind of girl in college, and I knew the power of an actual page layout program would make creating this a snap. Not having a current copy of Quark, I had to look for the best of all my options. So, I dug up my copy of Office 2007 and installed Publisher. While that was chugging along, I opened up my spreadsheet program and stacked the two lists of cards in front of me and started typing. Each card type got its own separate worksheet rather than document. It was just tidier that way, and was a smaller risk of losing one file or the other. (This also explains some of the typos in the first versions. I'm hoping they become collector's editions.)

The reason for creating a spreadsheet was that I had planned on using that other skill I talked about earlier; the mail merge. I might type like a tommy gun, but there's so many benefits to doing a merge. You have one card that you have to dick with if you want to change fonts, sizes, or colors and those changes are applied across the board. I'm all about simplicity and idiot proofing the process to protect me from myself.

Once I had my vehicle picked out, it was time to look into what I was going to do about the medium I was going to use. I popped in to a local office supply store, thinking I'd get a pack or two of the perforated business cards so I wouldn't have to spend so much time with scissors in my hands. (Having cut at least three decks with scissors, I think I might be able to crack walnuts with my bare hands, but DAMN if it didn't sting at the time.) When I saw what they were asking for the large pack of perforated cards, I nearly went code brown right there in the aisle. As I weighed my options, it was actually cheaper by about $20 to get a pack of plain, 110 lb cardstock and a small guillotine style paper cutter. So, that’s exactly what I did. To note, all but one of my decks has been printed on white cardstock. But, if you want to save on toner, you could easily change the color of the paper between card types rather than choosing to print them in reverse white on black.

It’s worth noting that while you’re out buying supplies, you might want to pick up a large can of aerosol hair spray. Brand doesn't matter, what you’re after is a very fine mist more than anything. I learned the hard way that if you don’t spray the sheets of paper before you cut them, your hands look like you've been sweeping chimneys by the time you’re done with your game. You want the fine mist to keep the pages from warping while they dry.

Bear in mind, you could skip the print at home step and just take your final files to a printer. But, if you’re an enterprising person with access to a laser printer, it’s good to know how it’s done.

Supplies in hand, I sat down to create the cards. I started with a blank business card template. You can choose which one you prefer, but I picked one that gave me 10 cards per page. I’d use less paper with that layout than I would if I chose the slightly larger option that only fit 8 on a page.

I wanted to stick with the original look and feel of the cards with my deck. That meant keeping the question cards black and the answer cards white. (That also cut down on toner since you have fewer question cards than answers.) But, I did change it up a little bit with some small embellishments around the edges of the card.

I’d been brainstorming with a friend of mine on making our own deck, and he’d scanned in the CAH logos from the original cards and turned them into a scaleable vector image that wouldn't blur when you changed the size. I used that at the bottom of the cards to show the name of the game.

I started the mail merge wizard, chose my spreadsheet as the data source, directed it to the sheet I wanted to use, and picked the fields I wanted to have inserted into the deck. As a note, I’ve toyed with the idea of printing who came up with the idea for a card, but it’s never panned out. It could be kinda fun though if you want to include it in your own deck. (For more details on how to use the mail merge function, do a quick search on the web with your spreadsheet and page layout included in the search. There are far too many variables to cover here.)

Once the sample text was in place, I could fiddle with the font, size, and special effects like bold or italics. I could also preview what it would look like with live data. Tip from me to you, know how your text behaves when it needs to hyphenate. My first couple of attempts had really awful line breaks in them. Once you've gotten all the text tweaking done, go ahead and complete the merge. I opted to merge the data to a new publication instead of printing it directly to the printer. This gave me the option to mess with the margins and create a .pdf that I could share with others.

I wanted to have something on the backs of the cards so you could tell them apart more easily. I also wanted it to be simple because I’m absolutely not a graphic designer. This is something that’s easily changed if you've got the ability to draw, but for me, I opted for a large ! on the back of the answers, and a ? on the back of the questions. I dummied up a page of 10 of each of those just like I'd get when I printed the others and was able to use that as the back. Sure, in the end it involved 4 files, but to me that wasn't a big deal. The best part about having 1 sheet to print multiple copies of is that you can use it to create blank cards for write in suggestions.

When I was done, I had 4 PDFs, 2 fronts and 2 backs. After I printed everything up, I had a stack of roughly 80 pages of cardstock. I put a garbage bag on my craft room table, put down two sheets of cards and started spraying them with hairspray. I sprayed both sides and put them in a pile to dry. An hour or so later, I stacked them up next to the paper cutter and got to work. Each page takes 9 cuts to complete and if you put more than 2 sheets on my cutter they tend to slide around or tear more than cut. You'll have to learn what your sweet spot is, as well as have an afternoon to block out just to get the deck cut. It's the perfect opportunity to get caught up on your Netflix or DVRed shows.

To recap, you'll need:

A laser printer
1 package of 110 lb cardstock
1 can of hairspray

1 copy of a spreadsheet application

1 page layout application

1 paper cutter or many people you can blackmail into using scissors with you
1 plastic card container
1 evening or afternoon to devote to creating your design for your cards.

Once you've cut your deck out, you'll more than likely have a table full of paper and a need for something to put it in. I had been using a container without a lid previously, but thought that was a little precarious. Being that I didn't want to pay game store prices for a container meant for cards, I thought about my Tupperware options. I found the perfect container with a snap on lid at Family Dollar for about $1.25. All of my cards fit, the lid stays secure, and they don't slide around so they can't mix up the card type. Yes! I am 100% ready. Is it Monday yet?

Edit - When reading the instructions for a DIY Cheapass Game called Unexploded Cow, they suggested using old playing cards and stick on labels to make your own copy of their games. Curious, I googled blank playing cards. That's when I came across this:

http://www.makeplayingcards.com/design/blank-poker-card-deck.html

I'm considering doing this for the next set that I make. You can get the business card sized versions of their cards too.

http://www.makeplayingcards.com/design/blank-business-cards-round-corner.html

These would fit the template I've already made. Food for thought.