My notebook came in the mail today. It's a refurbished Dell latitude with Windows 7 on it. Very soon it will be a dual boot with a Linux distro called Ubuntu 10 on it, but shh... don't let Micro$oft know about it. Importing bookmarks, trying to get my Star Office downloaded.
So far, so good.
Memo to me: Need to get a wireless mouse. I hate the touch pad on these things. Typing on a standard keyboard will take a little getting used to. I got spoiled writing stories on a ergonomic keyboard. Let's try that download one more time...
Here I'll blog about life and throw in some short stories. They may be funny, or about life, or something else.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
vacation, had to get away...
A portion of our tax refund went into getting a rental car for getting the hell out of town. My parents have generously given us their time share in Orlando, Florida, for spring break. Carol and I haven't had a breather like this in years. It won't be all relax and unwind, though. Carol's dad is very sick and I hope we get there before things get worse.
One of my closest friends is splitting up with his wife of over 20 years. Right now I can't say what it's about, I don't have the whole story. All that can be said is I'm sad when something like that happens. I thought they had their act together. I'm going to mainly sit, listen and be supportive without taking sides.
Over the years Carol and I have been together, I've asked for a divorce twice. We argued and had some pretty hardcore fights. When things calmed down, we talked constructively. We even went to therapy for a re-tuning of our relationship.
Let's face facts: People grow apart. Divorces happen. My parents divorced when I was a teenager. There were some ups and downs, but we all came out the other side intact. (For the most part.) Both my mom and dad asked me if I ever wished they would get back together.
That statement is resoundingly false.
I wanted the fighting to stop, that's all. Cessation of hostilities. Go to your separate corners. Even if those corners are in different states. What would work on a sitcom, wouldn't fly in reality.
When I graduated high school, my father came to town and had dinner with my mom and stepfather. During that whole meal, I felt like I was sitting next to a bomb about to go off. I wanted nothing more than these polar opposites far away from each other. To give them both credit, they behaved themselves. That night prayers were answered. No hospital visits or therapy were needed.
Nowadays, when they're in the same room, I relax a little more. Perhaps they mellowed.
Carol and I are friends first. If something is bothering the other, (usually me.) We talk about it. I've learned not to bottle things up. I'm still working on that, but it's a whole lot better than what it used to be.
There is still so much the two of us have in common.
Both of us like Jackie Chan movies and enjoy Jimmy Buffet. We're capable of doing things separately as well as together, we complement each other. We get each others jokes and have the same twisted sense of humor. She is my confidant.
When we do argue, there is a plus side: the make up sex is awesome.
One of my closest friends is splitting up with his wife of over 20 years. Right now I can't say what it's about, I don't have the whole story. All that can be said is I'm sad when something like that happens. I thought they had their act together. I'm going to mainly sit, listen and be supportive without taking sides.
Over the years Carol and I have been together, I've asked for a divorce twice. We argued and had some pretty hardcore fights. When things calmed down, we talked constructively. We even went to therapy for a re-tuning of our relationship.
Let's face facts: People grow apart. Divorces happen. My parents divorced when I was a teenager. There were some ups and downs, but we all came out the other side intact. (For the most part.) Both my mom and dad asked me if I ever wished they would get back together.
That statement is resoundingly false.
I wanted the fighting to stop, that's all. Cessation of hostilities. Go to your separate corners. Even if those corners are in different states. What would work on a sitcom, wouldn't fly in reality.
When I graduated high school, my father came to town and had dinner with my mom and stepfather. During that whole meal, I felt like I was sitting next to a bomb about to go off. I wanted nothing more than these polar opposites far away from each other. To give them both credit, they behaved themselves. That night prayers were answered. No hospital visits or therapy were needed.
Nowadays, when they're in the same room, I relax a little more. Perhaps they mellowed.
Carol and I are friends first. If something is bothering the other, (usually me.) We talk about it. I've learned not to bottle things up. I'm still working on that, but it's a whole lot better than what it used to be.
There is still so much the two of us have in common.
Both of us like Jackie Chan movies and enjoy Jimmy Buffet. We're capable of doing things separately as well as together, we complement each other. We get each others jokes and have the same twisted sense of humor. She is my confidant.
When we do argue, there is a plus side: the make up sex is awesome.
Start your engines
Our tax refund came in, and you know what that means. We paid some major bills! My only credit card. Paid! All utilities caught up. House payments...
Bank of America has graciously (?) turned our mortgage over to Nationstar Mortgage. We have yet to figure out if this is going to be a positive thing or not, because we can't log in to give them any frigging money! Carol is going to call them tomorrow and straighten this out. BoA was notoriously unhelpful to us. We tried to refinance. No. We attempted to lower our 6% interest rate. Not going to happen. We went through the whole frigging dance with HUD and they turned us down. We didn't get all our paper work to them in time. When you hear the news about a Texan homeowner choking the crap out of a banker, you'll understand.
So now that our mortgage is no longer with BoA, the question remains: what reason do I have for doing business with them? Carol and the kids already have an account with the local credit union. There's no reason I shouldn't close things out and switch over. To quote Dan Savage: DTMFA. Ditch the mother fuckers already.
When dealing with the BoA, I lost sleep. Most of our problems occurred because they want to talk to me and I can't talk on a phone. It's that hearing thing guys... I told them my wife is authorized to speak for me, but they don't seem to get the message.
So tomorrow we're going to call Nationstar and get this straightened out... I hope.
Bank of America has graciously (?) turned our mortgage over to Nationstar Mortgage. We have yet to figure out if this is going to be a positive thing or not, because we can't log in to give them any frigging money! Carol is going to call them tomorrow and straighten this out. BoA was notoriously unhelpful to us. We tried to refinance. No. We attempted to lower our 6% interest rate. Not going to happen. We went through the whole frigging dance with HUD and they turned us down. We didn't get all our paper work to them in time. When you hear the news about a Texan homeowner choking the crap out of a banker, you'll understand.
So now that our mortgage is no longer with BoA, the question remains: what reason do I have for doing business with them? Carol and the kids already have an account with the local credit union. There's no reason I shouldn't close things out and switch over. To quote Dan Savage: DTMFA. Ditch the mother fuckers already.
When dealing with the BoA, I lost sleep. Most of our problems occurred because they want to talk to me and I can't talk on a phone. It's that hearing thing guys... I told them my wife is authorized to speak for me, but they don't seem to get the message.
So tomorrow we're going to call Nationstar and get this straightened out... I hope.
Friday, February 22, 2013
And now for something completely different
One of the few games I can still play is called Battletech. Players control giant robots shooting missiles and lasers while dodging incoming fire. There is a structured order of play. Move, fire, resolve. These mechs are grouped by weight tonnage between 20 and 100 tons. The heavier you are, the slower you move. So you can have a butt load of armor and firepower, but crawl slower than a tortoise. A 20 ton mech has very little armor and only carry one, maybe two weapons, but they are fast. You can't hit what you can't see. My preference is somewhere in the middle of that. My ideal tonnage is 50 tons. Fast enough to close and engage the enemy. Taking a hit or two will not knock you out of the game.
There are players who will customize their mechs to have the maximum allowed armor while also possessing the heaviest firepower available.
These men have small dicks. That's just my opinion, of course.
One player came to the game with just such a mech. 100 tons of armor and lasers to level an army... if they could all stand still in a line in front of his guns. Yeah, right.
Time to test my theory. I fielded a 35 ton mech. It's role in an army would be a scout and maybe fire support.
My rival announced his plan to get up on a hill, sit and rain destruction on all who opposed him. Keep talking buddy... I'll carve it on your tombstone.
My mech was equipped with short range missiles, lots of short range missiles.
The combatants entered the field. Big, bad and slow as a snail... He crawled up a road leading to the top of a mountain.
Instantly, I ran around the far side of said mountain. "You can't hit me from there." my opponent observed. "Come out where I can kill you."
Timing was of the essence. If I allowed him to take a shot, I would be cinders. Of course, I moved much, much faster than him.
Hiding until the last minute, I was able to get close enough to pounce, and what a pounce it was. Every mech's armor is weakest in the back. I was able to get directly behind him and unleash all my short range missiles, or as I like to call it, death by paper cuts.
Once past the backside armor, I wrecked havoc with all his precious weapons.
A mech three times my size and I split him like a Boston crab.
He did turn his mech around and punch me, which was all he could do since I shorted everything else out. It did put me out of the game, but in that trade I think I came out ahead. Crippling his monster mech to the point of uselessness with a light scout? So worth it.
So you want a rematch? You know where to find me.
There are players who will customize their mechs to have the maximum allowed armor while also possessing the heaviest firepower available.
These men have small dicks. That's just my opinion, of course.
One player came to the game with just such a mech. 100 tons of armor and lasers to level an army... if they could all stand still in a line in front of his guns. Yeah, right.
Time to test my theory. I fielded a 35 ton mech. It's role in an army would be a scout and maybe fire support.
My rival announced his plan to get up on a hill, sit and rain destruction on all who opposed him. Keep talking buddy... I'll carve it on your tombstone.
My mech was equipped with short range missiles, lots of short range missiles.
The combatants entered the field. Big, bad and slow as a snail... He crawled up a road leading to the top of a mountain.
Instantly, I ran around the far side of said mountain. "You can't hit me from there." my opponent observed. "Come out where I can kill you."
Timing was of the essence. If I allowed him to take a shot, I would be cinders. Of course, I moved much, much faster than him.
Hiding until the last minute, I was able to get close enough to pounce, and what a pounce it was. Every mech's armor is weakest in the back. I was able to get directly behind him and unleash all my short range missiles, or as I like to call it, death by paper cuts.
Once past the backside armor, I wrecked havoc with all his precious weapons.
A mech three times my size and I split him like a Boston crab.
He did turn his mech around and punch me, which was all he could do since I shorted everything else out. It did put me out of the game, but in that trade I think I came out ahead. Crippling his monster mech to the point of uselessness with a light scout? So worth it.
So you want a rematch? You know where to find me.
Summer is filling up
Next week is jury duty for me. I don't know if I'm going to try and get out of it or not. I made it through the selection process a few years back, only to be excused by the defense lawyer when he found out I read lips. Seems every year or so, I get that little card in the mail, telling me to come down to the courthouse and do my civic duty. If I do it, will you leave me the crap alone for the next five years? Ten years would be great, but I know you can't do that, so I'm willing to settle for half.
Two weeks until vacation.
Chimeracon is the first week of April. I have some of the props finished. I have to get them over to my paint crew.
My sister is getting married on the fourth of July.
Never a dull moment.
I love my sister to death, but she has had bad luck with men. One can hope for better.
Anyway you look at it, I'm going to be a very busy camper over the next three to six months.
Why the fourth, Sis? It falls in the middle of the week. Couldn't you do it on the weekend? In retail, getting off for the fourth of July is a little like having a root canal done without Novocaine.
I dread the conversation I'm going to have with my boss. I think I'll bring the invitation along with me so he knows I'm not bullshitting him.
It's my theory that working in retail carries an assumption: that you have no life. Trying to have a life outside of a big box store is tantamount to sacrilege. The shocked faces. The gasps of surprise. The horrible realization that you want something more out of life than a 30 % margin and minimum wage. Hard work and minimum wage gets you... minimum wage. Some people think you should have a job, sit on your ass and collect your paycheck. Let the company take care of you. Got news for you: It's not their job to baby sit you. By all means, work for them. Do something else outside of work such as a hobby or an education. The hard work you put into the degree or in my case, writing a book, will one day pay off. Then you can take all the fourth of Julys off you want.
Two weeks until vacation.
Chimeracon is the first week of April. I have some of the props finished. I have to get them over to my paint crew.
My sister is getting married on the fourth of July.
Never a dull moment.
I love my sister to death, but she has had bad luck with men. One can hope for better.
Anyway you look at it, I'm going to be a very busy camper over the next three to six months.
Why the fourth, Sis? It falls in the middle of the week. Couldn't you do it on the weekend? In retail, getting off for the fourth of July is a little like having a root canal done without Novocaine.
I dread the conversation I'm going to have with my boss. I think I'll bring the invitation along with me so he knows I'm not bullshitting him.
It's my theory that working in retail carries an assumption: that you have no life. Trying to have a life outside of a big box store is tantamount to sacrilege. The shocked faces. The gasps of surprise. The horrible realization that you want something more out of life than a 30 % margin and minimum wage. Hard work and minimum wage gets you... minimum wage. Some people think you should have a job, sit on your ass and collect your paycheck. Let the company take care of you. Got news for you: It's not their job to baby sit you. By all means, work for them. Do something else outside of work such as a hobby or an education. The hard work you put into the degree or in my case, writing a book, will one day pay off. Then you can take all the fourth of Julys off you want.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
You don't see that every day
A man walked up to me holding a hard drive and a drill. "I need to destroy this, where's the nearest place I can plug my drill in?"
For a brief moment, I thought it was the start of a joke or a surprise episode of Mythbusters.
I pointed out where he could plug his drill in and continued to do whatever I was working on. Then it hit me: this was something I wanted to see! An overly large hammer drill punching holes the size of dimes into a Seagate hard drive. Get the popcorn, folks.
Spoiler alert: it was less impressive than I imagined. No pop or bang. No sparks, just a little smoke as three holes were made.
I still thought that was cool. Always wondered what would happen if you did that.
For a brief moment, I thought it was the start of a joke or a surprise episode of Mythbusters.
I pointed out where he could plug his drill in and continued to do whatever I was working on. Then it hit me: this was something I wanted to see! An overly large hammer drill punching holes the size of dimes into a Seagate hard drive. Get the popcorn, folks.
Spoiler alert: it was less impressive than I imagined. No pop or bang. No sparks, just a little smoke as three holes were made.
I still thought that was cool. Always wondered what would happen if you did that.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Spring is here
Ah, the days are warming up and life is budding all around. Soon I will see bluebonnets dotting the hills. The gorgeous riot of wild flowers are a wonderful sight to see. I couldn't live in a place that didn't have color. As a kid growing up in Connecticut, all I saw were varying shades of grey. A lot of asphalt and dirt. To be fair, the lawns in West Haven were present, but few and far between. When my family moved to Pennsylvania, I discovered more green pastures and forests. Winter stole most, if not all the color out of the countryside. Being happy half the year, while sliding into a funk for the other two seasons is no way to spend a childhood.
Then I came to El Paso, Texas. Several life long friendships sprang out of my tenure out there that endure to this day. Two things motivated me to move away and search for a new place to hang my hat.
One: the spartan landscape. Mountains that appeared to have been shaved and stripped bare for all to see.
And two: The god awful sand. Few things are worse than being sandblasted in the face while walking home from school. It's been said the constant sand storms have driven more than one person crazy and I believe that. It took me a few weeks to figure out what was missing: trees. Trees that stood more than 20 feet tall.
A few hours driving distance from El Paso are some beautiful forests that saved my sanity. The Lincoln National Forest has some of the most wondrous evergreen trees and great skiing in the wintertime. Head west to Silver City and you'll find the Gila National Forest. For a camper and hiker like myself, it's pure heaven. Exploring the cliff dwellings there fired my imagination like few other things can.
Now I live in San Antonio. Forests, fishing, hiking, and camping are all short drives for me. A weekend getaway is very easy to put together. Just thinking about it makes me want to plan a fishing expedition with my friends.
It might be a good time to get out of the house. All my daughters are about to start their monthly cycles. When that happens, it's not pretty. I just throw a large bag of M&M's into one corner while I grab my fishing gear and make my escape.
That's not being mean, it's survival. Sure I'm the Dad, and it's my house, but I just live here, drowning in a sea of estrogen.
Then I came to El Paso, Texas. Several life long friendships sprang out of my tenure out there that endure to this day. Two things motivated me to move away and search for a new place to hang my hat.
One: the spartan landscape. Mountains that appeared to have been shaved and stripped bare for all to see.
And two: The god awful sand. Few things are worse than being sandblasted in the face while walking home from school. It's been said the constant sand storms have driven more than one person crazy and I believe that. It took me a few weeks to figure out what was missing: trees. Trees that stood more than 20 feet tall.
A few hours driving distance from El Paso are some beautiful forests that saved my sanity. The Lincoln National Forest has some of the most wondrous evergreen trees and great skiing in the wintertime. Head west to Silver City and you'll find the Gila National Forest. For a camper and hiker like myself, it's pure heaven. Exploring the cliff dwellings there fired my imagination like few other things can.
Now I live in San Antonio. Forests, fishing, hiking, and camping are all short drives for me. A weekend getaway is very easy to put together. Just thinking about it makes me want to plan a fishing expedition with my friends.
It might be a good time to get out of the house. All my daughters are about to start their monthly cycles. When that happens, it's not pretty. I just throw a large bag of M&M's into one corner while I grab my fishing gear and make my escape.
That's not being mean, it's survival. Sure I'm the Dad, and it's my house, but I just live here, drowning in a sea of estrogen.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Changes
Just another average Saturday. Well... average for me equals insane crazy runaround for everybody else. That looks bad when I write it. You think I protest too much? Perhaps, but everyone is so freaking slow. I go to the bank to make a deposit, they're not open. I try and put away some riding mowers and have to beg someone to help me. They don't have to do any work, just keep people away while I do my forklift thing. Coming home and the traffic is so snarled I have to wait it out. Okay, that one is a given. Rush hour on Friday is everyone's problem. I try not to be out during that time. My day starts while the sun is still thinking about coming up. The day ends after the sun sets. My life is going by in one perpetual sale event. I call these 'day wasters'. I can't do something before I go into Lowe's, and I can't do anything afterwards. Eat, work, sleep. That has been the highlight of my life for the last 10 years... and it sucks. This is why I'm trying to change things. My job is interfering with my work.
Think about that one.
My day-to-day job at Lowe's is trying to keep me from doing the stuff that is truly rewarding. Despite interference from Lowe's, I'm slowly getting some short stories typed up.
In a way I have to thank the rat bastards. Their short sighted efforts in keeping me down have only made me more determined to change. Even if I only write one sentence at a time. Now of course I'd like it to be more, but most times I can't sit there and squeeze 6 hours of work into 30 minutes. Despite what people think, writing is work. I don't spit gold nuggets out the first time on command. I have to dig and polish, edit and revise. Get behind the big steam shovel and move some earth, rather than use a teaspoon. My spirit may get tarnished during the week, but my spirit rebounds on the weekends. I will write. I will write well. I will rise above the close-minded assholes and when things start to go my way, I will forget them... Except when I need a good villain to kill off. That's what ex-brother-in-laws are for.
Two ways you can make it into one of my stories:
Sometimes I'm able to insert the names of good friends as characters. There is a certain Russian blacksmith in my book that bears a strong resemblance to one such friend.
The other way is to piss me off.
I won't name you, but the description will fit you perfectly. You will know who you are. Think of me staring at you from on stage, singling you out from the audience. You'll also die in a spectacular way. It's quite therapeutic for me, personally. Offing the offending pointy haired boss in a hail of gunfire, or crushing him slowly in a compactor. It's all good fun.
But for the really evil rat bastards that live to make my life miserable, I will forget you. Banishing you to the dung heap of obscurity. Keep your retail sales and profit margins. You are a small cog in some corporate giant. Your name won't even come up on a Google search. You deserve pity, and I will forget you. Success is after all, the best revenge.
Think about that one.
My day-to-day job at Lowe's is trying to keep me from doing the stuff that is truly rewarding. Despite interference from Lowe's, I'm slowly getting some short stories typed up.
In a way I have to thank the rat bastards. Their short sighted efforts in keeping me down have only made me more determined to change. Even if I only write one sentence at a time. Now of course I'd like it to be more, but most times I can't sit there and squeeze 6 hours of work into 30 minutes. Despite what people think, writing is work. I don't spit gold nuggets out the first time on command. I have to dig and polish, edit and revise. Get behind the big steam shovel and move some earth, rather than use a teaspoon. My spirit may get tarnished during the week, but my spirit rebounds on the weekends. I will write. I will write well. I will rise above the close-minded assholes and when things start to go my way, I will forget them... Except when I need a good villain to kill off. That's what ex-brother-in-laws are for.
Two ways you can make it into one of my stories:
Sometimes I'm able to insert the names of good friends as characters. There is a certain Russian blacksmith in my book that bears a strong resemblance to one such friend.
The other way is to piss me off.
I won't name you, but the description will fit you perfectly. You will know who you are. Think of me staring at you from on stage, singling you out from the audience. You'll also die in a spectacular way. It's quite therapeutic for me, personally. Offing the offending pointy haired boss in a hail of gunfire, or crushing him slowly in a compactor. It's all good fun.
But for the really evil rat bastards that live to make my life miserable, I will forget you. Banishing you to the dung heap of obscurity. Keep your retail sales and profit margins. You are a small cog in some corporate giant. Your name won't even come up on a Google search. You deserve pity, and I will forget you. Success is after all, the best revenge.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Where did my paycheck go?
The world owes me nothing, but I'm a bit depressed and frustrated by what's going on in my life. My paycheck was a measly 500 bucks... again. My paycheck is being garnished to the tune of 150 bucks bi-weekly. 300 dollars a month. Here's where I get mad. I've tried deferment and exemptions to no effect. They want their money, I get that. I told them I could send them my resume, but they didn't want to hear that. If I had a job that would allow me to pay them, I really would. It's not like I sit at home and say, 'let's get a big screen TV rather than pay bills.' Come on... get real folks. I can barely put gas in my car. According to Food Stamps, I make too much money. I can't feed my kids. I can't pay my bills. I'm going to lose the house if this keeps up. Not that losing the house would be a big loss. If the health department saw the place, it'd be condemned. The phone has been off for a few weeks. I'm writing this from a friends house. No one reads this, so I can rant and vent. There's one more trick up my sleeve. Tomorrow the taxes will get done and I'll see about getting one of those quick refunds. That's a short term fix, but we'll see. It won't address the long term issues that plague the family. Carol isn't getting the teaching job and most likely never will. She keeps going for openings and has recommendations galore, but it seems we are not greasing the right wheels.Who am I going to have to kill or fuck in order to get her a decent job?
It's simple really: if I have to choose between feeding my family or paying off a bill, family wins every time. Why can't anybody see that?
This morning I told Carol that I'm considering filing for bankruptcy. I've been keeping that at bay for years, but I just can't seem to get ahead here. I'm sick and tired of this. I feel worthless because I can't take care of my kids. I can't do the right thing by anyone. Don't get me started on how they'd like to get rid of me at Lowe's. Two weeks back, I got sick, heaven help us if someone got seriously ill.
The stress is killing me. Seriously, my body isn't springing back the way it used to. Lets's be honest: I'm not spring chicken. My back and legs are taking a lot of abuse and I won't be able to hold out for very much longer.
It's simple really: if I have to choose between feeding my family or paying off a bill, family wins every time. Why can't anybody see that?
This morning I told Carol that I'm considering filing for bankruptcy. I've been keeping that at bay for years, but I just can't seem to get ahead here. I'm sick and tired of this. I feel worthless because I can't take care of my kids. I can't do the right thing by anyone. Don't get me started on how they'd like to get rid of me at Lowe's. Two weeks back, I got sick, heaven help us if someone got seriously ill.
The stress is killing me. Seriously, my body isn't springing back the way it used to. Lets's be honest: I'm not spring chicken. My back and legs are taking a lot of abuse and I won't be able to hold out for very much longer.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Things to be happy about.
I'm 45 and in great health. I'm seeing more and more of my peers having 'health issues', so I count myself lucky.
The Walking Dead season will begin in a few days. The Next Star Trek movie and Season of Doctor Who will also start in the spring.
J.J. Abrams has been confirmed as the director for the next Star Wars movie. No, that wasn't a joke.
My family and I are planning a spring break vacation in Florida. I'm looking forward to connecting with some old friends while there.
Which reminds me, I have to request the time off.
I just figured out I can almost get three gallons of gas from the royalties of my e-book. Won't be quitting my day job anytime soon.
While on the subject of writing, the sequel to Travelers Road is mapped out on some legal pads above my desk. I'm about 85 pages into a first draft. Nice start, but gotta keep going.
As long as I have coffee with my breakfast, all is good.
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