I saw this cartoon, and it reminded me of the aliens in my book:
Mood Status: Still in the crapper, but benefiting from the subtle warmth of the promise of Spring. (I know. First half of the sentence, gross. Second half, poetic, right?)
Writing ability status: I have a marathon writing day planned for this weekend, and Sam asked me if I was ready.
I answered by saying this: "Yes. The characters in my head have finally started talking to each other again, so I actually have stuff to write. Wooo Hooo!"
Sam says (with hesitant forced laughter): "Hehe... That's great. I'm so relieved you have voices in your head again."
me: "I know, right?"
Online Geek Gaming Status: Okay, so remember those guys who were totally out to destroy my village? Well, since I couldn’t beat them, I joined them! (It was a six day process, complete with interviews, tap-dancing, and begging; not wholly unlike the definition of “Stockholm Syndrome”.)
I don’t feel comfortable giving the name of the new alliance, since I don’t want y’all to think I’m a closet serial killer, but I will tell you the words in the name, and you can unscramble as you wish:
1. War 2. Killers 3. Evil 4. Greatest 5. Of 6. Lords
So, Great, huh? I’m safe now, right? You would think.
The first message the alliance sent me was: “Welcome. And BTW, we’re all under attack from IB.”
The message might as well have read: “Welcome, and I hope you’ve bought your plot and alerted your next of kin, cuz you’re gonna die, and soon.”
IB is, like, the absolute scariest alliance. The “I” stands for “Irrational”, and I can’t tell you what the “B” stands for, since we have younger readers.
So, to put it in perspective, imagine fighting tribal villages for a small piece of land in Africa, only to discover the U.S. is about to nuke all of us, and we have nothing to defend ourselves but rocks and logies.
Okay, so in case you didn't notice, I was kind of on one yesterday.
Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up, and everything seems so utterly pointless?
Like, why do I have to shower? I'm just going to have to do it again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day.
When will it be enough? When will I hit the shower lottery, at which point I'll never have to shower again?
It's not like it halts time, or prevents the aging process. (Although I have had a wonderful blast from my past bite me on the bum... Acne. It's like I just hit puberty.)
Shouldn't we be chipping away at some huge volume of showers? Getting closer to... something? No, not death, those of you who are my pessimistic readers. More like, retirement from showers.
So yesterday, I reached a point where I was mad as H-E-Double Hockey Sticks, and I wasn't gonna take it anymore! (As a side note, can anyone name the movie for the above quote?)
To describe the rest of my day, just repeat the above, only insert the following words for the word "shower":
1. Eat (totally redundant)
2. Revise (Don't tell Ted, kay? Our secret...)
3. Clean (Who am I kidding? There's no way I do this every day)
4. Exercise (Like Dorothy said to the Scarecrow, I think this is the most pointless one of all.)
5. Answer the phone (Seriously, it's not like some announcer comes on and says, "Congrats, Brodi! You have answered the phone one meeeleeeon times! You're done!)
6. Blog (Although, sadly, it seemed I had hit the magic number on this one. No more brilliant posts. Okay, okay, semi-mildly-acne-ridden-guffaw posts. Yesterday, I stared at my computer thinking, "I got nothin'.")
6. Buy Groceries (Where does the food go? Not only that, I went to WalMart, which as you all know, is just a cover for an underground soul-sucking operation. So I left with only 20% of my soul in tact. Bree knows what I mean.) But, man, did they have a good price on marshmallow peeps. Not a bad exchange, for part of my soul.
Turning Point: Then Sam came home, and we watched the latest 24 on Tivo, and I have never laughed so hard in my life!
Not that the episode was supposed to be funny. I mean, innocent people were still either maimed, tortured, decapitated or killed. But, I don't know, I guess you just have to watch it with Sam. Hilarious.
Maybe I'll compile some clips and our commentary for y'all on Friday, a la Mystery Science Theater 3000.
Are you all familiar with MST3K? It is, at times, brilliant. For the uninitiated, it is an old show on Sci-Fi, where a man and his two robots are forced to watch really bad, cheesy B movies over and over.
The three of them have a running commentary during the movies where they make fun of the show, and it is hilarious. So below, I present two videos. The first is a car chase scene from "Mitchell" and it is the shorter clip. The second is a compilation of the best lines from three of the movies. When you have six minutes, watch it. Even if you have to watch it at home. Very Funny. I promise.
And it will lighten your mood, especially if yesterday's post brought you down.
Geek Quote of the Day: "I'm not anti-social; I'm just not user friendly."
Get Your Geek On:
LOST
Jack Vs. Sawyer.
So in our little poll last week, Sawyer beat out Jack as the guy who should end up with Kate. I was a little disappointed there weren't more votes for option number three: "Jack, so Sawyer is free for me". I guess my readers are a little selfish, and don't want me to have Sawyer.
Here's what I have to say about that:
BSG
I was very happy to see the return of Gaius Baltar, but why in the world would Admiral Adama give this guy, and his delusional followers, a bunch of guns? I mean, he's met the guy, right?
Gaius, cult followers, and butt-load of guns. What could possibly go wrong?
BLECH DAY I'm having one of those days today, so just to bring you all down with me, consider this:
Smoky (my hairless cat who lives with my sis-in-law because I'm allergic) is up to 331 friends on Facebook. I'm still at, like 160.
Not only that, he actually finishes books he starts.
Anyone else sick and tired of February? Who's with me? Anyone?
Twitter Status: I have joined. Or perhaps the word should be “converted”. I now can Tweet. (I finally discovered the difference between a “Twitter” and a “Tweet”. One can be a noun or a verb, the other is purely a verb with occasional dangling participle properties. I hope that clears it up for everyone. )
My problem with Twitter is that it centers on one supposedly fascinating question- the question that every person in the world has on the tip of their tongues. No, not the meaning of life. No, not the key to cold fusion. Not even the answer to world peace, or why my hair doesn’t like me, or why it must pour when it rains. And don’t get me started on the Chicken V. Egg riddle.
The question is (and everybody say it with me…): What are you doing?
So here’s the conundrum. The eternal answer for 99% of us is (everybody say it with me.. ): Absolutely Nothing. And even if I am doing something, it’s usually not noteworthy.
Seriously, at what point would you actually care what someone is doing? For me, someone would have to be training puppies to fly through a ring of fire… and even then there would have to be pictures involved.
Just once, I wanna see this for a status update: “Jenny Smith is watching a man - dressed all in black - combat crawl his way through the bushes in her front yard, toward her door. And… what’s that glinting metal object in his hand, reflecting the moonlight? It looks kinda sharp. And, why is he wearing a mask? She’ll keep you posted…”
You can bet I’d be waiting on pins and needles for her next status update! I’d probably cook up some popcorn to chow while I stared at my computer screen.
It wouldn’t hit me until the next day that I should have called the cops or something.
So, here’s a challenge to us all: Let’s snazzy up those twitter tweets. (You see how the “Twitter” modified the “Tweet” in that sentence? Now is it clear?)
Let’s make it so that when our friends run into us at the grocery store, the first words out of their mouths will be something along the lines of, “Brodi! You’re alive! So, was it a knife in the guy’s hand?”
Or: “I had no idea you could Twitter while flying through the air, without a parachute! I was wondering how that turned out for ya!”
Or: “I know what you mean. I had a goiter that did that exact same thing, except it didn’t explode.”
So, here’s to making memorable Tweets. If you would like to… umm… what’s the appropriate lingo? If you’d like to Tweet my Twitters, I think you just click on the link in the sidebar. Pretty soon, you’ll be living at your computer. Just like me.
Revision Status: I clicked "send" just last night. Sam thinks I should be relieved now. I told him he obviously doesn't know me very well.
Okay, so Ronda tagged me, with the 25 things about me thingee-ma-jig. But I really don't think I'll get to 25. So here goes:
Okay, I have been sitting at my computer for, like, 20 minutes. So far, I haven't come up with one.
Yep, another five minutes has gone by. Nothing. In fact, I think I bruised my brain trying to do this. I'm not kidding. Normally I can blog pretty fast, but right now, there's nothing.
Seriously, I can do this. I can do this. You can do this, Brodi. Do it. Do it!
AAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH- 1. Ummm... I'm a girl.
2. I'm a dork (as pointed out by number one, and several of my blog commenters on a daily basis. Yes, Cam, I'm talking to you... You too, Dorien. And Shell. Don't get me started on Erin.)
3. Crap. Another brain cramp. Okay, let me go brush my teeth. I think better with clean teeth. Hey- that's a fact about me, right? Number three, done! Now, really, I have to go brush my teeth. Be right back.
4. Okay, I feel better now. My computer screen is no longer melting because of my breath. Where were we? Number four. Right.
5. Sometimes I kick Sam while he's sleeping, and I tell him to stop snoring. Only, he's not really snoring. He's just breathing. The truth is, I couldn't sleep. And I was bored. And I needed someone to blame.
6. Wooo Hoo! Only 845 more to go!
7. I pee, like, 15 times before I go to bed. It's mental. It's all in my head. (That was redundant, huh.) I know it's mental because I went to my doctor, and told her I must have bladder cancer. But when she found out I didn't work in a tire factory, (I guess those are hotbeds for bladder cancer) she said the chances were minimal.
She was right. It was all in my head.
8. Yay! Number 7 reminded me I'm a hypochondriac! That one's easy! Booo Yah! Count it!
9. Really, number 8 should count for two, because it's such a big part of my life.
10. How about we talk crazy quirks? Ummmm... I won't eat leftovers. In fact, I have a very paranoid relationship with food in my fridge. I come from a household where my mother saved leftover scrambled eggs. Yes, you heard me right. Leftover scrambled eggs. As in, to be reheated.
So, yeah, I don't like the fridge. And the fridge has been eyeing me lately as well. I think the feeling is mutual.
11. I talk to signs. Any written set of instructions. And I'm kind of sassy about it. Like when I'm in the shower, and I look at the directions on the shampoo bottle: "Lather, rinse. Repeat if necessary."
I'm all, "Duh. Thanks for pointing out the obvious. I only do this every day. But tell me, what in the world do I do after I rinse?" Yes, I say it out loud.
Then I read the next line: "Follow with Redkin Conditioner."
I'm like, "Oh, well isn't my bottle of shampoo a freakin' genius... Stop staring at me."
12.
12.
12.
You know what? 11's good, right. It's almost, very nearly, halfway there. And since I tend to do everything half-butted anyway, it's perfect.
This was the longest time I've ever spent on a blog post.
So, yesterday I decide the only way I'm gonna get my revision done is if I'm away from my home. So I checked in to the Radisson downtown, holed up in my room, and worked for six hours straight.
And you all thought I was crazy on a good day? Lemme tell you, after this marathon sitting, I was talking to the walls. And they were answering.And they were telling me I looked fat in my jeans.
So I decide caffeine is in order. But I don't have change. I trudged through the hallways (which makes it sound like it was snowing inside, but it wasn't), and down the elevator eight floors to the lobby to change a fiver. In my pajamas.
Afterward, as I waited for the elevator in the lobby, a group of business travelers joined me. They are all dressed sharp, talking and laughing. Very loud.
When the elevator arrives, we all sashay inside and push our buttons, and, I swear, they are each staying on separate floors. Every button from 5 through 12 is pushed. (I'm on 8, so it's not that bad.)
Here's the kicker. Once we're inside the elevator, their talking and laughing immediately ceases, and we all stare straight ahead in silence.
I couldn't understand it! One second, they're like a walking cocktail party, and the next they're eerily quiet. This made me very uncomfortable.
So I blurted out, "Sucks to be the one on floor 12, huh?"
Dead silence. No one even looked at me. We were in a 4X4 foot room, it's not like they couldn't hear me.
This makes me want to talk even more. (An annoying trait of mine is the uncontrollable word vomit, especially after hours of revisions. You all probably know this.)
So I'm all, "Floor 12. Know what I mean? Who's with me?"
Uncomfortable laughter, as I'm sure they are thinking, "I thought Utah didn't serve alcohol." My Mickey Mouse pajama bottoms didn't help the situation either.
Finally, days later, when we reached floor 8, I stepped out, head held high. But before the doors closed, I held my own hand up and slapped it while shouting, "Self-five!"
That's when I knew, without a doubt, that no amount of caffeine would help me.
So, in case you've never witnessed a loser self-five, I'm presenting one below. I've never felt so close to "The Todd" on Scrubs.
By the way, the Radisson was great. But I'll probably never show my face again.
My Readers' geek status: Do you like the show LOST? Well, then, guess what? You are a fellow geek! It’s no longer a title that’s only whispered in dark alleys. It’s official.
Entertainment Weekly has dubbed you all geeks. Welcome. In fact, the exact quote is that Lost is "baring its potentially alienating geek soul and challenging its audience even more with gonzo storytelling."
Now, I don't know what "gonzo storytelling" means, but I would bet it's some sort of vulcan dialect.
Online gaming geek status: I finally pulled out my feminine wyles. Wiles? Whiles? Okay, okay. it was my feminine vittles. Whatever. Travian is a gender-neutral game, but in my messages to my vicious catapulters, I mentioned that I am a weak girl, and doesn't that make them feel bad, knowing they are catapulting a weak girl?Of course I am assuming they are all boys. (Truthfully, they are probably, like, 16 years old).
Anyway, I was able to talk two of them out of destroying my village, just long enough to become a member of an untouchable alliance.
So, rest assured, my village is safe and secure. And my settlers have voted to expand. They are so loyal to me. I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve it. (In case it’s not clear, settlers are not real people. They are my creations. Hence, the comedy. Cue the laugh track.)
If you know me, you probably know how much I hesitate to play the “weak female” card, but, come on. I have the lives of 410 settlers in my hands!
LOST: Anyone else think Locke’s definitely not dead? Anyone else want to toss Ben overboard?
And give it up for the smoke monster. Here here. Hear hear. Watching that guys arm get ripped off certainly made that smoke seem. . . solid.
Also, I am conducting a poll, on the right. It's a Jack vs. Sawyer poll. And to help in your decision, I have picked these educational videos. One is a compilation of Sawyer's nicknames, the other illustrates how funny Jack sounds when he speeds up. Please watch before you vote. This is very serious business.
Online Geek Gaming Status: Okay, so remember those guys who were totally out to destroy my village? Well, since I couldn’t beat them, I joined them! (It was a six day process, complete with interviews, tap-dancing, and begging; not wholly unlike the definition of “Stockholm Syndrome”.)
