Mea culpa, I’ve been a bad blogger, not posting in a forever. I’ve started a post and hated it and then had good intentions about starting another one but blaaaah, I’m at a point where I hate almost everything I write, so I’m going to brain-vomit a semi-coherent list of news and things.
Speaking of writing, I have a new local writer potential-bro, W. Eric Myers. He’s been flogging his book around town, and I plan to go support him during the First Friday event downtown at the coffeeshop where I mooch free Wi-fi.
His “day” job is at the same company and on the same night shift that my dad works. Dad saw someone had corrected a sign and found out it was Eric, talked to him, and realized he and I had interests in common like writing and Japanese culture. And I’m OH GOD SOMEONE PLEASE SOCIALIZE WITH ME ready to make friends, especially ones that can talk about anime.
The closest thing I’ve come to that is this junior-high-aged kid who was volunteering at the SPCA at the same time I was, and he pretty much only knew the stuff imported to Cartoon Network. And that kid kinda reminded me of my former boyfriend/fiancé, which prompted me to go on a weird, existentialish musing, because that’s apparently what happens to me after the searing depression after being dumped after a six-year relationship that started in high school. Yeah, it’s a can of shitty worms, but that’s another post, if I’m brave enough to write that post.
To finish up about Eric, he writes YA fantasy. His book Galendor Ye Dude of Yonder Forest is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. And how could you not love that title?
In more entertainment news, I saw on Rachel Held Evans’s site that she recommended Philomena as the religious-oriented mainstream film Christians should be talking about instead of Noah.
YES. Go watch it. It’s about a porpskillion times more genuine and sympathetic and not face-stabbingly awful about interactions between an atheist and a pious person than God’s Not Dead.
And then I read The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian because I hadn’t yet and people I Internet-knew had been gushing about it. I briefly wondered what it would be like if I had had a teacher who assigned “banned” books, but aside from living in the conservative South, my English teacher had enough of a job re-hammering basic grammar every year, in every class.
Part-Time Indian is worth reading because it talks about identity and the realities of being poor as hell and a minority and so forth. And masturbation, which may not be as esoteric, but I think society could be improved just an eeny bit if masturbation were “decriminalized.” Though I should be specific because by society, I mean the conservative, Bible-thumping Southern one I am familiar with, the one in which three girls in my high school class were expecting oops babies* before graduation. There is more than one way to interpret the story of Onan, and that’s pretty much the only proof text on that specific subject.
And I think it’s been awhile since I’ve talked about pets. Due to unfortunate circumstances, my aquarium was emptied, but now I have a betta that I’ve named Corbulo. He’s pretty, with a dark body that shades out to blue that turns into red fins.
The roomie found a home for Goober Cat, but almost immediately after, she rescued a Pyrenees-mix puppy with her dude. Her Dude is now living with us full-time, but at least that means the rent will be split three ways. Her Dude doesn’t bother me. We leave each other alone. Her Dude favors shirts with the armpits ripped out, which pretty much means he is Not My Type, even just as friends. Puppy and I are becoming walking buddies, though Memorial Day is about the time when the weather decides to sweat on everybody instead of vice versa.
So hopefully things will keep thinging satisfactorily until I get more ducks lined up. In the next few weeks I’ll get to see if Plan A will work or if I’ll have to resort to Plan B or C. Maybe I will even tell you what those things are, eventually.
*To clarify, I don’t mean that someone “oopsed” the other by sabotaging birth control. That at least implies that birth control was thought about for a split second. I mean: oops, now pregnant (though what did you expect, dipshit?).