Just four days shy of three years ago today, I was bored.

As we all know, bored X Lady Marie usually = something inappropriate.

Or scary.

Or funny.

And often all three.

And when there is a good meme going on amongst the social webs, who am I to ignore it? I mean, what with being bored and all...

*shrugs* Might as well.

And so...

Exhibit A (circa Feb. 4, 2007 - click here for original blog post):




Now, guess what this week is?

Don't know?

Well then, let me enlighten you!

It's Celebrity Doppelganger week on Facebook.

And guess who just had to go and get all lemminged up and throw herself off of the cliff?

Exhibit B (circa present day):







You would have thought that I learned my lesson the first time, wouldn't you?

I mean, seriously? What is it about the desiccated and wrinkled old men that keeps coming back to haunt me?

And why is it that seeing Gary Sinise on this list kinda turns me on?

It's a social world these days.

With a single text message, a person can update their Twitter, MySpace, and Facebook status simultaneously, letting their entire social circle know that they are stuck in a bar, bombed off their ass, and getting felt up by some dude twice their age.

What with the advent of Web 2.0 and all of the various ways we have of instantaneously letting all of our friends know via the internet what we are doing at any given moment of any given day, it's no surprise that people are finding themselves much more candid about their personal lives in public.

So when a friend texted me last night to tell me she was stuck in beauty shop hell listening to the girl in the next chair over lament about her reproductive woes, I suggested tactile TMI defensive maneuvers.

What exactly is the etiquette for having to listen to another person's rather personal issues because you are within earshot and cannot escape? Do you lend a sympathetic ear and offer words of comfort? Do you politely ignore it, even though the minute details of said person's medical freakishness are grossing you out?

And what do you do if asked to contribute a similar tale of woe, so as to appear as though you actually have a right to be listening in, even though you arrived first and have no interest in actively participating in the conversation?

Worse yet, what if you aren't a mother, and don't plan on having children in the foreseeable future?

Miss Manners never could have planned for this, so I say, fight TMI with TMI.

For example, when asked if you've ever had issues with reproduction, you might politely say no, but not to be outdone on a more personal level, add:

"You know, my vajayjay has teeth.... I went to the gyno and he sent me to the dentist, but the dentist sent me to the orthodontist because he didn't know what to do about it. So the orthodontist, he don't know what to do about it either, but the teeth are growing in crooked, so I'm going to like, need braces or some shit. Can you believe it? But I told him I wanted the Invisalign stuff because ain't no way anyone's putting wires on the teeth in my hoo-ha."

Now, the appropriate reaction to this sort of statement would be absolute silence and strange looks ranging from mild disapproval to outright disgust.

Unfortunately, in today's social world, your picture will probably be plastered all over the internet within hours, and your 15 minutes of fame will last for the rest of eternity in cyberspace.

On second thought, you should probably just buy that home dye kit and do your hair yourself. Just don't go to Wal Mart to buy it.

You might end up on PeopleOfWalMart.com.

Cross posted to my MySpace blog here: blog.myspace.com/theladymarie

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Listening to: The Fray - Syndicate
via FoxyTunes   

...but I made a valiant effort.

And so, with 35,280 words written, you can understand why I'm blogging instead of trying to cram the 14,720 words that I need to write into the hour and a half I have left of November.

The fact of the matter is, I have written 35,280 words more than on any writing project, short of a blog entry, that I've attempted in years. Not to mention, this project has been hitting too close to home for comfort since I started it. I do plan on finishing the novel that I so enthusiastically jumped into on November 1st, and I plan on finishing it with 100,000 words, not the mere 50K that NaNoWriMo.org requires of its participants.

I'm also setting a new deadline, that being December 31st.

So, after spending a month writing in frantic spurts and chanting the mantra "quantity over quality" repeatedly as I resisted the urge to delete the whole crappy thing, I've come to a few realizations.

1. Characters are not going to do what you tell them to do. They are going to do what they want to do, period. End of story. I went into this thing full throttle, flying mostly by the seat of my pants, with only one solid character. The rest of the characters sort of appeared out of nowhere, and then proceeded to dictate what happened, despite the rough synopsis that I had, and later, the even rougher outline that I had come up with. Some of the most recent plot twists have me scratching my head in confusion, but the characters said that's what happened, so, I have to go with it.

2. Writing about something you've experienced, even on a fictional level, is hard. Especially with my subject matter. My protagonist is a battered woman, and having been a victim of domestic violence, I've had to relive some excruciating experiences this last month. It helps that the MC is getting to take care of her problems in ways that I only wish that I could have, that being putting her abusive, drunkard, cheating husband out of her misery and then finding a creative way to dispose of his body. But still... not my idea of a trip to Disney World.

3. Research is indeed a writer's best friend. More specifically, Google. Go ahead and look up such things as "roadkill composting" and then find yourself an article on the forensics of an accident involving a wood chipper, and you will understand exactly what I mean.

4. Quantity over quality is the only way to write a first draft. I've been itching to go back and edit, to fix things, fill in plot holes and flesh out characters, but I won't do it. Not until I have a finished rough draft that I can rip to pieces later on. I need to get this story out, and the only way to do that is to vomit massive quantities of words out of my brain and into the computer until there aren't any words left.

5. Setting goals is important. Having a daily word count quota kept me motivated on most days this month. True, it also caused me to slack off, but life gets in the way sometimes, no matter how much we plan in advance.

That being said, whoever decided that National Novel Writing Month should take place in November should have their head examined.

Duh... Thanksgiving? I spent the day before and the Sunday after in a car driving my ass to my mother's for the holiday and then back home. A drive that ate up 14 hours and 14.5 hours respectively each way. Not to mention the three days spent with family that I don't see every day. How rude is that, to hole yourself up in the guest room and spend hours writing?

I'm not making excuses for that, and I shouldn't have to.

So, lessons learned, new goals set, and at the end of December I will have something that I can build on.

That is, if Christmas and New Year's Eve don't get in the way.

And, incidentally, I have one last good reason for not writing while I was away:



Because getting drunk and making an ass of yourself in the company of family is important, too.

Never let it be said that I'm not a glutton for punishment.

I needed the extra cash and opportunity came knocking, so I agreed to take on some shifts at the liquor store, my ex-nemesis Saturday night hell job.

It was a mutual thing. The owner didn't need to slap me with a pair of training wheels, and I get a 10 percent discount on whatever I buy on the nights that I work. I scratch her back, she scratches mine. Cash under the table doesn't hurt, either.

The first shift back was a novel experience. I was met with a lot of "where have you been?" and "good to see you!" and "are you back for good?" from lots of people. Considering the fact that it's been over a year since I worked there, I was flattered. Considering the fact that people were griping on and off because I was grumpy before I left, I was shocked.

And thus began my series of "Special Guest Appearances", otherwise known as my reminder of why I quit working there in the first place.

Tomorrow night, thankfully, marks the series finale for me.

Highlights from the previous four shifts include aching feet, sore arms, bitchy customers, and the growing need to visit my chiropractor.

Last weekend, a guy got pissy with me over a penny. "C'mon... don't nickle and dime me to death!" he griped, because the register read $8.81 and the packs of cigarettes he was buying would have individually rang up at $4.40. Seriously, asshole? You are getting upset over a fucking penny?!?

Tonight took the cake, though. A guy at the drive up window shoved his hand into his pocket to dig for correct change, and made the offhanded comment "That felt good." My expression must have said it all, because when I came back to the window from the register, he said, "I wasn't trying to be gross. I was just trying to see if you have a good sense of humor."

Not to be outdone, I handed him his change, saying, "Here's your change, then. Now you can feel good twice!"

Yeah... I'm glad tomorrow night is my final "Special Guest Appearance".

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Listening to: Jane's Addiction - Stop!

I have a confession to make.

I'm going to miss Michael Jackson.

To paraphrase a quote from www.twitter.com heard at the end of his memorial service yesterday, which the media of course swarmed with their usual sensationalist fervor, "his music has provided part of the soundtrack of my life. It has been there through every decade. What am I going to do now that he is gone?"

The very first (and last - vinyl was in it's death throes even in the early 80's) record album I ever received as a gift was "Thriller". My parents bought it for me for my birthday, probably third grade, which would have been 1983, a whole year after it had been released. I was all of 8 years old.

I still have it.

And I confess that I recently pulled it out and put it on my decrepit excuse for a turntable for the first time in years. And I listened to it, even though the belt played it a degree slower than it should have, and I relived all of those silly childhood afternoons when I would beg my mom to let me play it so I could dance to Beat It, PYT, and Thriller; sing along to Human Nature and The Girl is Mine; clumsily moonwalk to Billie Jean.

And I cried.

I cried not just for the loss of Michael Jackson, I cried for the loss of my childhood.

I cried for the memories of my grandmother, who I lost the same year I got "Thriller" for my birthday.

I cried for all of those safe, secure nights of watching Solid Gold on Saturday night in my parents living room, and all of the memories that those songs hold for me, because they were the soundtrack of my childhood.

And the man who provided that is gone.

For the first time, my generation is facing the loss of an icon who has been there since we were born, and I don't doubt that I'm not the only Generation X'er out there who is struggling with what it means on a more personal level.

It means that eventually we all must face our own mortality, and question what sort of legacy we will leave behind when we are gone.

What sort of legacy will I leave behind? I don't know, but I ultimately hope that people will remember me for the positive and set aside the negative, just as I hope that they do for Michael Jackson, because in the end, the good that we do during our brief time in this existence is what truly counts.

Hello there, campers!

I'm sorry to report that the Muse is still MIA, but thanks to a healthy dose of alcohol, I'm here to post something resembling a blog.

About Swine Flu.

Because I'm paranoid.

And drunk.

And being followed by Randall Flagg on Twitter.

That's right, you heard me correctly.

There is a new phenomenon growing on the interweb's latest craze... The Stand is being role-played on Twitter, and it is seriously starting to creep my ass out. It started with MacAllister Stone of Absolute Write fame tweeting about @motherabigail, who I decided to follow out of curiousity's sake. Little did I know that I would wake up to @VegasWalkinDude "following" me.

And now I've fallen down the rabbit hole into an alternate dimension.

Not withstanding, I have to get on a plane in 21 days to attend my younger brother's high school graduation. Not withstanding that the global pandemic threat level has hit 5, two higher than it was last week.

What the crap?

Srsly?

I mean, come on!

I'm not one to buy into conspiracy theories, but I do question everything, and the very presence of a virus that seems to have all of the inherent qualities of something that was genetically engineered to wreak havoc on the world as we know it has got my subconscious in an uproar. Never mind the fact that over 250,000 deaths each year are attributed to seasonal flu. Never mind the fact that ALL of the deaths so far, even the one in the US today, have been Mexican nationals. Never mind the fact that the death toll out of the thousands of cases numbers less than 200 so far...

Something is afoot, my friends....

And something about all of this makes me want to take my ass off of the grid and hide up on the Grand Mesa until next year.
Who's with me?

So I've finally made the decision and will be utilizing LJ to help me put the jumper-cables to the Muse.

Once it comes lollygagging back into town.

In the meantime, feel free to play interweb hide-n-go-seek with me using the links to the right, and I'll be posting soon.