L.M. Pruitt's Blog, page 8
May 14, 2012
Media Monday
ONLY 7 DAYS UNTIL BLACKOUT IS RELEASED!
Really, that's all I have to say. Even though the book scare the ever loving shit out of me, I'm so excited I can barely stand it. I will be rushing to the bookstore as soon as I get off work next Tuesday and it better be there--or else.
Really, that's all I have to say. Even though the book scare the ever loving shit out of me, I'm so excited I can barely stand it. I will be rushing to the bookstore as soon as I get off work next Tuesday and it better be there--or else.
May 12, 2012
Special Saturday--Recap of Guilty Pleasures, Chapter Two
It’s that time again. Time to recap another chapter of Guilty Pleasures. I’m doing it half asleep, so I can give it a fairly unbiased review. If I’m fully awake my annoyance may get the better of me.
Right off the bat I’m scratching my head.
St. Louis has more tress edging its highways than any other city I have driven through.
I’m scratching my head because I’m not entirely sure where she’s going with this. Is she saying there’s a lot of canopy roads in St. Louis? A quick Google shows St. Louis to… nothave a lot of canopy roads. So the trees can’t be too close. But the word choice indicates neither are they too far away. It’s such a throw away line in the grand scheme of things that I have no idea why it’s there, other than to give Anita something to complain about.
Which is followed by more complaining and the first color of the chapter. Her apartment is depressingly white and cheerful. Yes, scratch your head on that. It’s depressing or it’s cheerful. Pick one. Build off of that. Oh wait, she does, following it up by calling the walls vanilla ice cream white. I’m surprised we didn’t get a more detailed description—french vanilla, creamy vanilla, etc. Juxtapose that with a description of dog poop brown carpet (thankfully not hers) and I’m pretty turned off food for the moment.
Then there’s some bitching about the windows. Yes, the windows. I get that if you’re working night shift, you hate sunlight like (hahaha) vampires, but once your internal clock gets used to the switch, it doesn’t make a difference if it’s light out or not. You’ll sleep. I know, I’ve worked plenty of night shifts and I’ve known plenty of people who work night shifts.
But everybody needs something to bitch about.
This is something I don’t understand. If you’re tired enough to pretty much pass out, there’s a good possibility you’re not going to hear the phone, especially when you first go under. And again, if you do most of your work at night or in hurried circumstances, you can pretty much train your brain to just shut off. Doctors are (in)famous for these. So either she’s not really that asleep or she’s just that awesome.
Wait. I think I know the answer to that.
Oh, but hold on. A quick glance at the bedside clock shows it’s been two hours. This is one of those cases where an extra word or two would have gone a long way.
Not that it matters, since in the next hundred or so words we get told Anita only had two hours of sleep three different times. This is the problem I’m having with this book already. Nothing gets said about the most basic of things at what would be considered the appropriate time and then you get hammered with it repeatedly. This could prove annoying.
Much like Anita finds Monica. Granted, I find anyone who wakes me up when I’m not ready to get up annoying. I think most people do. But Anita sort of next levels it, if you will. Even while she says she’s not that rude, she pretty much is. And she’s condescending to boot.
I wondered if screaming at her would make her go away faster. Naw, she’d probably cry.
Why? Because she’s excited about a wedding and a bridesmaid dress (another color, pink) and a bachelorette party? Does this somehow mean that instead of getting pissed off when someone just starts yelling at her that she is honor bound to break into tears? I had no idea there was a direct correlation to ovaries and tear ducts. How shocking.
We also get to find out some more things Anita hates. The list for this chapter includes:
SunrisesWindowsBridesmaids’ dresses (although a lot of women would agree here)DancingI think I’m seeing why Anita works at night. She hates life. Okay, that’s a little harsh, but that’s the picture being painted.
Anita hangs up after promising to be the DD (which she also didn’t like doing, but she didn’t hate, so it didn’t make the list) and lays in bed wondering about the organizational skills of a woman she’s never met. Because when I’m tired, that’s what runs through my mind to lull me back to sleep.
Eventually she does fall back asleep. Yeah. Another chapter finished.
Right off the bat I’m scratching my head.
St. Louis has more tress edging its highways than any other city I have driven through.
I’m scratching my head because I’m not entirely sure where she’s going with this. Is she saying there’s a lot of canopy roads in St. Louis? A quick Google shows St. Louis to… nothave a lot of canopy roads. So the trees can’t be too close. But the word choice indicates neither are they too far away. It’s such a throw away line in the grand scheme of things that I have no idea why it’s there, other than to give Anita something to complain about.
Which is followed by more complaining and the first color of the chapter. Her apartment is depressingly white and cheerful. Yes, scratch your head on that. It’s depressing or it’s cheerful. Pick one. Build off of that. Oh wait, she does, following it up by calling the walls vanilla ice cream white. I’m surprised we didn’t get a more detailed description—french vanilla, creamy vanilla, etc. Juxtapose that with a description of dog poop brown carpet (thankfully not hers) and I’m pretty turned off food for the moment.
Then there’s some bitching about the windows. Yes, the windows. I get that if you’re working night shift, you hate sunlight like (hahaha) vampires, but once your internal clock gets used to the switch, it doesn’t make a difference if it’s light out or not. You’ll sleep. I know, I’ve worked plenty of night shifts and I’ve known plenty of people who work night shifts.
But everybody needs something to bitch about.
Sleep sucked me under to the soft music of Chopin. A minute later the phone rang.
This is something I don’t understand. If you’re tired enough to pretty much pass out, there’s a good possibility you’re not going to hear the phone, especially when you first go under. And again, if you do most of your work at night or in hurried circumstances, you can pretty much train your brain to just shut off. Doctors are (in)famous for these. So either she’s not really that asleep or she’s just that awesome.
Wait. I think I know the answer to that.
Oh, but hold on. A quick glance at the bedside clock shows it’s been two hours. This is one of those cases where an extra word or two would have gone a long way.
Not that it matters, since in the next hundred or so words we get told Anita only had two hours of sleep three different times. This is the problem I’m having with this book already. Nothing gets said about the most basic of things at what would be considered the appropriate time and then you get hammered with it repeatedly. This could prove annoying.
Much like Anita finds Monica. Granted, I find anyone who wakes me up when I’m not ready to get up annoying. I think most people do. But Anita sort of next levels it, if you will. Even while she says she’s not that rude, she pretty much is. And she’s condescending to boot.
I wondered if screaming at her would make her go away faster. Naw, she’d probably cry.
Why? Because she’s excited about a wedding and a bridesmaid dress (another color, pink) and a bachelorette party? Does this somehow mean that instead of getting pissed off when someone just starts yelling at her that she is honor bound to break into tears? I had no idea there was a direct correlation to ovaries and tear ducts. How shocking.
We also get to find out some more things Anita hates. The list for this chapter includes:
SunrisesWindowsBridesmaids’ dresses (although a lot of women would agree here)DancingI think I’m seeing why Anita works at night. She hates life. Okay, that’s a little harsh, but that’s the picture being painted.
Anita hangs up after promising to be the DD (which she also didn’t like doing, but she didn’t hate, so it didn’t make the list) and lays in bed wondering about the organizational skills of a woman she’s never met. Because when I’m tired, that’s what runs through my mind to lull me back to sleep.
Eventually she does fall back asleep. Yeah. Another chapter finished.
May 10, 2012
Ranty Thursday
No, you didn't misread the title there. I'm about to go on the kind of rant that if I were a child would have gotten me a severe case of time out. Or a spanking. And yes, I was spanked, and no, I don't believe any harm came from it. I'm not a violent person, I don't take out my anger in violent ways, and I'm a fully functioning member of society.
No, when I get mad, I either talk it out or write it out. Guess which one I'm doing today.
First, I will preface everything I'm about to say/write by admitting freely that at one time I was a huge fan of Laurell K. Hamilton. This was probably about... five or six years ago, I can't really remember. It was right around the time Danse Macabre came out. I bought the first book on a whim, because I was looking for something new to read and I really, really liked it. I tore through the entire series up to the current book in maybe a week and a half. Keep in mind that I was still in school and working full time, so reading over a dozen books in less than two weeks with a full course load and 35 hours or so at work is an accomplishment. I really did enjoy the books, even when they shifted in to more sex/less story and kept shifting that way.
I will also admit that LKH is one of the reasons I started writing again. Not the only one and not even the best one, but she was one of them. Everything I'd written before was kind of fluffy and chick litty and just entirely too cute. I still say I'm proud of the book I finished just because it was the first book I wrote all the way through, outside of crap in middle and high school. Guilty Pleasures led me to other urban fantasy/paranormal romance books and for that I'll be grateful.
But gratitude only goes so far. And it has hit the motherfucking wall.
(Warning: If you don't like foul language, you're going to want to stop reading right now. I mean it. This is a non-censored blog and I'm not holding back)
For those of you who either didn't know or don't give two shits, LKH released an outtake, for lack of a better term, of her upcoming book, Kiss the Dead. The outtake, Beauty, is just that. It's a scene that was cut from the final draft of KtD. The publisher tacked on a chapter or two of the upcoming book and that's it. That's all. It's not a story. It's an outtake.
Do I care? Nope. I did the same thing to intro both the Jude Magdalyn series and the Frankie Post series. Difference being that I included the first third of each book with the flash fiction piece, I stated it was flash fiction with a sample, and (since I'm with an indie press) the prices were cheaper. I understand the price isn't in LKH's control, but the easy way around this, as pointed out by numerous other people, is to just offer it on the website. But let's not digress here.
I care because once again, LKH has decided that if you don't like her work, you are the following things:
the involuntarily celibate
wannabe writers
jealous
(full of)sexual frustration
I'm not making any of this shit up. These are her own words (except for the stuff in parentheses--those be mine), for all the world to see on Twitter. Yes, Twitter, one of those social networking sites that now has material in the Library of Congress. If this was expressed in a personal e-mail that somehow got hacked, I wouldn't be as annoyed, because writers are allowed to vent.
YOU DON'T DO IT PUBLIC, YOU FUCKING IDIOT.
Even more important, you don't make broad, sweeping statements designed to alienate people who may have been on the fence about continuing to buy your works. Let's dissect those wonderfully complex analyses of people you don't know from a goddamn hole in the wall.
Jealous--this implies that I want what you have, which I'm going to assume is either your sex life or your writing career. NEWFLASH: I DON'T WANT EITHER. I have my own writing career, and while it's still in the growing stages, at least it's growing. My fanbase may be small, but it's solid and full of wonderful people. Thanks to social media, I've been able to connect with amazing individuals and build relationships that I hope last a long time. And I've seen your husband. I really don't want him. Which leads to the next point.
Involuntarily celibate--here's a concept that may not have crossed your mind: voluntarily celibate. Yep, I'm putting it out there for the world to know. The only person I'm having sex with at the moment is myself. There are a multitude of reasons for that, chief among them being I don't have the time for a relationship. Could I pick up a guy in a bar and get my pipes cleaned? Hell, yes. I'm no supermodel, but there are nights when picking up a guy at a bar is like shooting fish in a barrel. I don't do that for two big reasons: I don't want diseases and I have standards. Since I don't have time for a relationship and I don't want to pick up guys in bars, I'm choosing to not have sex with other people right now. That would me (let's say it together) voluntarily celibate.
Sexual frustration--I'm not sexually frustrated, because I can have sex with myself. And I do, quite often. I like to joke that I own stock in Duracell. There is nothing wrong with masturbation. NOTHING. I would go so far as to tell anyone who hasn't had sex to spend some quality time on themselves first, so they have a better idea of what does and doesn't work for them. I'm always surprised to hear my female friends so they don't masturbate. I feel like you're missing out on numerous opportunities for exploration there.
In addition to being able to have sex with myself, I can write about sex. Shocking, right? Before I started writing books, I wrote erotica for an online site. And since I'm so pissy, I'm going to link to that site. Right here:
LITEROTICA
Literotica was the first writing of a sexual nature that I did. I'd perused the site before, because just like I believe in masturbation I believe in using whatever aids you need (within legal limits) to get you across the finish line. When I wanted to test my hand at writing again, I posted on Literotica. So no, I'm not sexually frustrated. Finally: wannabe writers.
Hold on. I need a second. Because my brain just fucking exploded with anger.
It took me forever to find the exact quote and I apologize yesterday for being unable to tell a R from a W, but here it is:
"Don’t ask me about being a writer. If when you wake up in the morning, you can think of nothing but writing, then you’re a writer." -- Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
Let's take a second and compare here, sparky. Should I believe the words of one of the most influential poets of the early 19th century or someone who has to look to her fans via social media to help remind her what color someone's eyes are in a book? Yeah, I thought the same damn thing.
I AM A WRITER. Period. Point blank. I don't need your antiquated, narrow-minded viewpoint of what constitutes a "writer" to validate my existence and my career choice. I'm a writer because I live and breathe writing, because it's something in my blood and on my mind and in my heart and soul. Some people are born to sing, others born to perform, still others to serve and protect. I was born to write. It's what I am. Just because I haven't reached the NYT doesn't mean I'm not a writer.
Having dissected all her juvenile, "stop being mean to me" statements, I'm going to say why I haven't liked her most recent books. Wait for it. It's going to be shocking.
BECAUSE I DIDN'T FUCKING LIKE THEM.
Really. It's that simple. I didn't like them. I felt like LKH stopped writing for fans and started writing solely for herself. When she killed off Haven in Bullet, I nearly threw the fucking book across the room. Because it was stupid. She has one character who doesn't completely fall under the spell of Anita's magical vagina and she kills him off. Jesus Christ, really? REALLY? You don't see that as maybe an opportunity for growth or some shit? No, it's a reason to kill them off.
When I kill someone off, it's because they had to die. Their death is going to drive the story or series arc forward. It's not because I'm not fond of them. That's professional. Not personal.
Long story short, LKH just declared war on a shitton of people. Think I'm joking? Both Jennifer Armintrout and Naomi Clark have already voiced their opinions loud and clear, Naomi going so far as to address LKH directly. I haven't seen a response yet, probably because the woman can't think of an intelligent one.
I'm not going to make this a priority in my life. I have things to do like, you know, WRITE. As long as LKH can keep the total stupidity of her thoughts to herself, I'm going to be content with this rant.
But if she doesn't... well. I went to public school. I know how to fight, bitch.
No, when I get mad, I either talk it out or write it out. Guess which one I'm doing today.
First, I will preface everything I'm about to say/write by admitting freely that at one time I was a huge fan of Laurell K. Hamilton. This was probably about... five or six years ago, I can't really remember. It was right around the time Danse Macabre came out. I bought the first book on a whim, because I was looking for something new to read and I really, really liked it. I tore through the entire series up to the current book in maybe a week and a half. Keep in mind that I was still in school and working full time, so reading over a dozen books in less than two weeks with a full course load and 35 hours or so at work is an accomplishment. I really did enjoy the books, even when they shifted in to more sex/less story and kept shifting that way.
I will also admit that LKH is one of the reasons I started writing again. Not the only one and not even the best one, but she was one of them. Everything I'd written before was kind of fluffy and chick litty and just entirely too cute. I still say I'm proud of the book I finished just because it was the first book I wrote all the way through, outside of crap in middle and high school. Guilty Pleasures led me to other urban fantasy/paranormal romance books and for that I'll be grateful.
But gratitude only goes so far. And it has hit the motherfucking wall.
(Warning: If you don't like foul language, you're going to want to stop reading right now. I mean it. This is a non-censored blog and I'm not holding back)
For those of you who either didn't know or don't give two shits, LKH released an outtake, for lack of a better term, of her upcoming book, Kiss the Dead. The outtake, Beauty, is just that. It's a scene that was cut from the final draft of KtD. The publisher tacked on a chapter or two of the upcoming book and that's it. That's all. It's not a story. It's an outtake.
Do I care? Nope. I did the same thing to intro both the Jude Magdalyn series and the Frankie Post series. Difference being that I included the first third of each book with the flash fiction piece, I stated it was flash fiction with a sample, and (since I'm with an indie press) the prices were cheaper. I understand the price isn't in LKH's control, but the easy way around this, as pointed out by numerous other people, is to just offer it on the website. But let's not digress here.
I care because once again, LKH has decided that if you don't like her work, you are the following things:
the involuntarily celibate
wannabe writers
jealous
(full of)sexual frustration
I'm not making any of this shit up. These are her own words (except for the stuff in parentheses--those be mine), for all the world to see on Twitter. Yes, Twitter, one of those social networking sites that now has material in the Library of Congress. If this was expressed in a personal e-mail that somehow got hacked, I wouldn't be as annoyed, because writers are allowed to vent.
YOU DON'T DO IT PUBLIC, YOU FUCKING IDIOT.
Even more important, you don't make broad, sweeping statements designed to alienate people who may have been on the fence about continuing to buy your works. Let's dissect those wonderfully complex analyses of people you don't know from a goddamn hole in the wall.
Jealous--this implies that I want what you have, which I'm going to assume is either your sex life or your writing career. NEWFLASH: I DON'T WANT EITHER. I have my own writing career, and while it's still in the growing stages, at least it's growing. My fanbase may be small, but it's solid and full of wonderful people. Thanks to social media, I've been able to connect with amazing individuals and build relationships that I hope last a long time. And I've seen your husband. I really don't want him. Which leads to the next point.
Involuntarily celibate--here's a concept that may not have crossed your mind: voluntarily celibate. Yep, I'm putting it out there for the world to know. The only person I'm having sex with at the moment is myself. There are a multitude of reasons for that, chief among them being I don't have the time for a relationship. Could I pick up a guy in a bar and get my pipes cleaned? Hell, yes. I'm no supermodel, but there are nights when picking up a guy at a bar is like shooting fish in a barrel. I don't do that for two big reasons: I don't want diseases and I have standards. Since I don't have time for a relationship and I don't want to pick up guys in bars, I'm choosing to not have sex with other people right now. That would me (let's say it together) voluntarily celibate.
Sexual frustration--I'm not sexually frustrated, because I can have sex with myself. And I do, quite often. I like to joke that I own stock in Duracell. There is nothing wrong with masturbation. NOTHING. I would go so far as to tell anyone who hasn't had sex to spend some quality time on themselves first, so they have a better idea of what does and doesn't work for them. I'm always surprised to hear my female friends so they don't masturbate. I feel like you're missing out on numerous opportunities for exploration there.
In addition to being able to have sex with myself, I can write about sex. Shocking, right? Before I started writing books, I wrote erotica for an online site. And since I'm so pissy, I'm going to link to that site. Right here:
LITEROTICA
Literotica was the first writing of a sexual nature that I did. I'd perused the site before, because just like I believe in masturbation I believe in using whatever aids you need (within legal limits) to get you across the finish line. When I wanted to test my hand at writing again, I posted on Literotica. So no, I'm not sexually frustrated. Finally: wannabe writers.
Hold on. I need a second. Because my brain just fucking exploded with anger.
It took me forever to find the exact quote and I apologize yesterday for being unable to tell a R from a W, but here it is:
"Don’t ask me about being a writer. If when you wake up in the morning, you can think of nothing but writing, then you’re a writer." -- Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
Let's take a second and compare here, sparky. Should I believe the words of one of the most influential poets of the early 19th century or someone who has to look to her fans via social media to help remind her what color someone's eyes are in a book? Yeah, I thought the same damn thing.
I AM A WRITER. Period. Point blank. I don't need your antiquated, narrow-minded viewpoint of what constitutes a "writer" to validate my existence and my career choice. I'm a writer because I live and breathe writing, because it's something in my blood and on my mind and in my heart and soul. Some people are born to sing, others born to perform, still others to serve and protect. I was born to write. It's what I am. Just because I haven't reached the NYT doesn't mean I'm not a writer.
Having dissected all her juvenile, "stop being mean to me" statements, I'm going to say why I haven't liked her most recent books. Wait for it. It's going to be shocking.
BECAUSE I DIDN'T FUCKING LIKE THEM.
Really. It's that simple. I didn't like them. I felt like LKH stopped writing for fans and started writing solely for herself. When she killed off Haven in Bullet, I nearly threw the fucking book across the room. Because it was stupid. She has one character who doesn't completely fall under the spell of Anita's magical vagina and she kills him off. Jesus Christ, really? REALLY? You don't see that as maybe an opportunity for growth or some shit? No, it's a reason to kill them off.
When I kill someone off, it's because they had to die. Their death is going to drive the story or series arc forward. It's not because I'm not fond of them. That's professional. Not personal.
Long story short, LKH just declared war on a shitton of people. Think I'm joking? Both Jennifer Armintrout and Naomi Clark have already voiced their opinions loud and clear, Naomi going so far as to address LKH directly. I haven't seen a response yet, probably because the woman can't think of an intelligent one.
I'm not going to make this a priority in my life. I have things to do like, you know, WRITE. As long as LKH can keep the total stupidity of her thoughts to herself, I'm going to be content with this rant.
But if she doesn't... well. I went to public school. I know how to fight, bitch.
May 9, 2012
Recap Wednesday--Guilty Pleasures, Ch. 1
It's hard to know where to start with Guilty Pleasures. I'm inclined to be lenient, because I know how the rest of the books turn out. When I look at it from that viewpoint, the first chapter of GP isn't all that bad.
And then I remember LKH's attitude toward readers--"If you don't love me, you suck"--and all lenincy goes out the window. With that in mind, may God have mercy on our souls.
The first two paragraphs establish only three things, despite having 14 sentences between the two .
1) Willie McCoy is dead (5 sentences)2) Willie McCoy is slime (4 sentences)3) Willie McCoy has horrible fashion sense (5 sentences)
As a matter of fact, all five of those sentences about Willie's fashion sense are in the first paragraph. Call me picky, but when you spend more time establishing someone who is obviously not the main character, we're off to an...interesting start.
Okay, one of the things I'm going to keep a running tab on is the number of specific colors mentioned. You're going to think this is crazy, but I've got a feeling about this. On the first page alone, we've got four:
primary Crayola greenblackpowder bluebrown
We may end up turning this into a drinking game. We'll see. I don't want to damage anyone's liver, especially my own.
The other thing we're going to keep count of: the number of times our still unnamed narrator talks about avoiding eyes. Because as everyone knows, that's the most dangerous part about being around a vampire. Meeting their eyes. Me, I'd be more worried about, you know, the dangerous fangs or the inhuman strength. But hey, to each their own.
(Side note: as I'm writing this, somebody just drove a horse trailer through my apartment building parking lot. With a horse in it. The temptation to find out what the hell is going on is almost overwhelming.)
Moving on: there's a lot of beating around the bush. Seriously. I'm all for suspense, but I still don't know who the main character is, I don't know why the hell Willie is there, I know nothing. This is irritating from a reader's viewpoint. Quite frankly, if I were the narrator, I'd be asking a helluva lot more, "Why the fuck are you here?" and less internal "I'm scared. Oops, I'm scared again. Crap, still scared."
But I'm bitchy and not ashamed of that fact in the least.
Ooh, we got a first name. Her--I'm assuming--first name is Anita. I'm making that assumption because I'm not seeing this like Johnny Cash's "Boy Named Sue". Based on the constant repitition LKH has shown so far, I'm guessing she's not one for little jokes.
The rest of the chapter is much of the same. "Why won't you help?" "Oh, I'm afraid." Willie McCoy, Willie McCoy, Willie McCoy. Seriously, Anita says his name so many times, it's imprinted in my brain. And from what I'm gathering, this is just a minor character. God help us when we get the major ones.
By chapter's end, we manage to find out Willie is nothing but a front for some bigger guns. Guns who will not be happy to be told no, because all Anita says is, "I don't work for vampires." There's no stated reason why. Just no. Considering the fact that she talks about raising the dead with a sort of shocking casualness, I like to think of this as splitting hairs.
We also get three new colors--gold, silver, and "almost colorless". I'm counting it as a color. I'm not counting the repeat of black and gold, just because.
One of the WTF moments, at least for me, came with this sentence.
I gave him my best professional smile, empty of meaning as a light bulb, but dazzling.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't a light bulb actually have meaning? It's not just there for shits and giggles. It's there to give off light. That's a meaning, yes? And I want to know what wattage she's using to get dazzling light. It must be pretty damn high. Just saying.
Final color count: 7Times Anita avoids eye contact: 3.5Times Anita has some sort of fear-induced physical reaction: 7 definites
All this in only 6 pages. If I were here, I'd find a new line of work. Just saying.
That's all for this week. Depending on my mood and schedule, I may do another chapter on Saturday or so. Prepare for randomness tomorrow!
And then I remember LKH's attitude toward readers--"If you don't love me, you suck"--and all lenincy goes out the window. With that in mind, may God have mercy on our souls.
The first two paragraphs establish only three things, despite having 14 sentences between the two .
1) Willie McCoy is dead (5 sentences)2) Willie McCoy is slime (4 sentences)3) Willie McCoy has horrible fashion sense (5 sentences)
As a matter of fact, all five of those sentences about Willie's fashion sense are in the first paragraph. Call me picky, but when you spend more time establishing someone who is obviously not the main character, we're off to an...interesting start.
Okay, one of the things I'm going to keep a running tab on is the number of specific colors mentioned. You're going to think this is crazy, but I've got a feeling about this. On the first page alone, we've got four:
primary Crayola greenblackpowder bluebrown
We may end up turning this into a drinking game. We'll see. I don't want to damage anyone's liver, especially my own.
The other thing we're going to keep count of: the number of times our still unnamed narrator talks about avoiding eyes. Because as everyone knows, that's the most dangerous part about being around a vampire. Meeting their eyes. Me, I'd be more worried about, you know, the dangerous fangs or the inhuman strength. But hey, to each their own.
(Side note: as I'm writing this, somebody just drove a horse trailer through my apartment building parking lot. With a horse in it. The temptation to find out what the hell is going on is almost overwhelming.)
Moving on: there's a lot of beating around the bush. Seriously. I'm all for suspense, but I still don't know who the main character is, I don't know why the hell Willie is there, I know nothing. This is irritating from a reader's viewpoint. Quite frankly, if I were the narrator, I'd be asking a helluva lot more, "Why the fuck are you here?" and less internal "I'm scared. Oops, I'm scared again. Crap, still scared."
But I'm bitchy and not ashamed of that fact in the least.
Ooh, we got a first name. Her--I'm assuming--first name is Anita. I'm making that assumption because I'm not seeing this like Johnny Cash's "Boy Named Sue". Based on the constant repitition LKH has shown so far, I'm guessing she's not one for little jokes.
The rest of the chapter is much of the same. "Why won't you help?" "Oh, I'm afraid." Willie McCoy, Willie McCoy, Willie McCoy. Seriously, Anita says his name so many times, it's imprinted in my brain. And from what I'm gathering, this is just a minor character. God help us when we get the major ones.
By chapter's end, we manage to find out Willie is nothing but a front for some bigger guns. Guns who will not be happy to be told no, because all Anita says is, "I don't work for vampires." There's no stated reason why. Just no. Considering the fact that she talks about raising the dead with a sort of shocking casualness, I like to think of this as splitting hairs.
We also get three new colors--gold, silver, and "almost colorless". I'm counting it as a color. I'm not counting the repeat of black and gold, just because.
One of the WTF moments, at least for me, came with this sentence.
I gave him my best professional smile, empty of meaning as a light bulb, but dazzling.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't a light bulb actually have meaning? It's not just there for shits and giggles. It's there to give off light. That's a meaning, yes? And I want to know what wattage she's using to get dazzling light. It must be pretty damn high. Just saying.
Final color count: 7Times Anita avoids eye contact: 3.5Times Anita has some sort of fear-induced physical reaction: 7 definites
All this in only 6 pages. If I were here, I'd find a new line of work. Just saying.
That's all for this week. Depending on my mood and schedule, I may do another chapter on Saturday or so. Prepare for randomness tomorrow!
May 8, 2012
Tuesday Buildup--Title Craziness
I'm sure some of you have wondered where the titles of my various books come from. I'm hoping so, anyway, otherwise this post is going to be full on uselessness. Since I'm writing Jude right now, I'll stick with a brief discussion of her books.
From the get-go, I knew the first title was Shades of Gray. None of that had to do with any sort of physical characteristic. It was all about the moral gray area the characters inhabit. There's a lot of shysty behavior on various fronts in SoG. There's lying, killing, more lying, etc., all in the name of protecting innocent people from evil. Jude asks the question more than once about where the line is. In the end, it's a line she has to figure out for herself, one that we all do, because not everyone can live with the same smudges on their ledger.
The second book, Shades of Desire, was a little trickier. I wanted to continue the play on words, but wasn't sure how. In the end, one of the themes prevelent in the book was the theme of want. Not necessarily sexual want, but just want in general. Sure, there are some romantic situations in the book, but for the most part SoD is about the wants and needs of individuals and what they're willing to do to achieve them.
The current book, Shades of Blood, holds true to the play on words theme. Yes, there's a lot more violent behavior in this book, even if it occurs off-page, but the word "blood" isn't about just the nasty red stuff. Blood is also family, and one of the predominant things in the Jude Magdalyn series is the intertwining tendrils of family. Love them or hate them, you have to deal with them. SoB (and I LOVE that acronym) resolves some issues even while setting the ground for future conflict.
So there you have it. Title craziness but not really.
Starting tomorrow, I'll be recapping LKH's Guilty Pleasures. I haven't read the book in a while, so this should prove interesting. Or wall banging. I'm not sure which.
From the get-go, I knew the first title was Shades of Gray. None of that had to do with any sort of physical characteristic. It was all about the moral gray area the characters inhabit. There's a lot of shysty behavior on various fronts in SoG. There's lying, killing, more lying, etc., all in the name of protecting innocent people from evil. Jude asks the question more than once about where the line is. In the end, it's a line she has to figure out for herself, one that we all do, because not everyone can live with the same smudges on their ledger.
The second book, Shades of Desire, was a little trickier. I wanted to continue the play on words, but wasn't sure how. In the end, one of the themes prevelent in the book was the theme of want. Not necessarily sexual want, but just want in general. Sure, there are some romantic situations in the book, but for the most part SoD is about the wants and needs of individuals and what they're willing to do to achieve them.
The current book, Shades of Blood, holds true to the play on words theme. Yes, there's a lot more violent behavior in this book, even if it occurs off-page, but the word "blood" isn't about just the nasty red stuff. Blood is also family, and one of the predominant things in the Jude Magdalyn series is the intertwining tendrils of family. Love them or hate them, you have to deal with them. SoB (and I LOVE that acronym) resolves some issues even while setting the ground for future conflict.
So there you have it. Title craziness but not really.
Starting tomorrow, I'll be recapping LKH's Guilty Pleasures. I haven't read the book in a while, so this should prove interesting. Or wall banging. I'm not sure which.
May 5, 2012
Special Saturday Edition: Thinking 'Bout A Change
Some of you may or may not be familiar with the time-honored tradition (yeah, right--it's so new the paint's barely dry) of snarking a book chapter by chapter. Overall, I find it time-consuming and usually not worth my time.
Until I found Jennifer Armintrout's blog.
This brave, brave, incrediably brave soul (did I mention she's brave?) is snarking/recapping 50 Shades of Gray. Not mine, but the title made infamous by E.L. James. Side note: can I tell you all how pissed I am about the title? Seriously--if I mention it now, I'm lumped in with "mommy porn". Then I have to explain, no, it's actually about magic and vampires, and then I have to deal with the damn Twilight questions. Anyway, enough of my anguish. I already loved Armintrout for her blog where she laid the smackdown on LKH . When I searched her blog, I also found her shout out to fellow writer and blog follower Naomi Clark and my respect increased a hundred fold.
Her recaps just solidified the adoration. They are... hilariously brutal, with equal emphasis on both words. I actually laughed and snickered out loud, which let me tell you, looks really strange when you're sitting in public reading your phone. People look at you a little sideways and scoot their chairs over a few inches.
So, both in honor of the heroic Armintrout and because I feel like the blog could use a little change-up, I'm thinking about turning Wednesdays into Recap Wednesday. The question, of course, is which book/series to recap/snark. I'd prefer to stick with something I already own, since I've alreayd read them and so it really becomes more about taking notes and looking for obvious WTF moments I wouldn't have noticed the first time. Because I'm one of those people who get so absorbed in a story that I gloss over some things that later will hit me in the head. It's rare that something jolts me completely out of a story. But I digress--as usual.
So, the choices for the first book for Recap Wednesday are:
Guilty Pleasures by Laurell K. Hamilton
One For the Money by Janet Evanovitch
Twilight by Stephanie Meyers
Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick
I'll give everyone a week or so to make their decision, either here or on Facebook, where I'll be putting up a poll.
Please--don't make me read Twilight again. I've read too much snark about it to go in with a clear head. It may hurt me to try.
Until I found Jennifer Armintrout's blog.
This brave, brave, incrediably brave soul (did I mention she's brave?) is snarking/recapping 50 Shades of Gray. Not mine, but the title made infamous by E.L. James. Side note: can I tell you all how pissed I am about the title? Seriously--if I mention it now, I'm lumped in with "mommy porn". Then I have to explain, no, it's actually about magic and vampires, and then I have to deal with the damn Twilight questions. Anyway, enough of my anguish. I already loved Armintrout for her blog where she laid the smackdown on LKH . When I searched her blog, I also found her shout out to fellow writer and blog follower Naomi Clark and my respect increased a hundred fold.
Her recaps just solidified the adoration. They are... hilariously brutal, with equal emphasis on both words. I actually laughed and snickered out loud, which let me tell you, looks really strange when you're sitting in public reading your phone. People look at you a little sideways and scoot their chairs over a few inches.
So, both in honor of the heroic Armintrout and because I feel like the blog could use a little change-up, I'm thinking about turning Wednesdays into Recap Wednesday. The question, of course, is which book/series to recap/snark. I'd prefer to stick with something I already own, since I've alreayd read them and so it really becomes more about taking notes and looking for obvious WTF moments I wouldn't have noticed the first time. Because I'm one of those people who get so absorbed in a story that I gloss over some things that later will hit me in the head. It's rare that something jolts me completely out of a story. But I digress--as usual.
So, the choices for the first book for Recap Wednesday are:
Guilty Pleasures by Laurell K. Hamilton
One For the Money by Janet Evanovitch
Twilight by Stephanie Meyers
Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick
I'll give everyone a week or so to make their decision, either here or on Facebook, where I'll be putting up a poll.
Please--don't make me read Twilight again. I've read too much snark about it to go in with a clear head. It may hurt me to try.
May 3, 2012
Random Thursday!
The countdown is still on! I'm just waiting for my editor to finish up and then Harvest Moon Rising will be yours. This would be the moment for an evil laugh. I'll wait while you take care of that.
Ok. Moving on.
I'll be spending the day doing uploads for the print version of Shades of Desire, banging out a few thousand on Shades of Blood, and then whiling away the afternoon with my niece and nephews. They're only in town for another day or so and then they're driving back to Texas. Well, they're not driving, my sister is, but either way, they're leaving for a bit. Then they come back next week and then they move to Kansas. I told them they need to rename their dog ToTo but nobody listens to me.
My evening will probably be more writing, since I don't have to speed through my reread of The Passage. Why, you may ask? Because I just found out the release date for the next book in the series, The Twelve, (and I don't know why my computer isn't letting me bold that--annoyance) has been pushed back to October. Am I annoyed? Hell, yes. This seriously marred my enjoyment of the latest Nora Roberts and Charlaine Harris releases.
Thank God Blackout is still due to come out on the 22. I really would have thrown a fit then. Sidenote--if anyone can get their hands on an ARC of the book, I would love them forever. Seriously. Forever.
At the moment, I can't think of anything else random. Tomorrow, I'm going to do a little bit on grilling, since I think I"ll be doing some actual grilling tomorrow. It seems like the appropriate season, yes? Catch ya'll on the flip side!
Ok. Moving on.
I'll be spending the day doing uploads for the print version of Shades of Desire, banging out a few thousand on Shades of Blood, and then whiling away the afternoon with my niece and nephews. They're only in town for another day or so and then they're driving back to Texas. Well, they're not driving, my sister is, but either way, they're leaving for a bit. Then they come back next week and then they move to Kansas. I told them they need to rename their dog ToTo but nobody listens to me.
My evening will probably be more writing, since I don't have to speed through my reread of The Passage. Why, you may ask? Because I just found out the release date for the next book in the series, The Twelve, (and I don't know why my computer isn't letting me bold that--annoyance) has been pushed back to October. Am I annoyed? Hell, yes. This seriously marred my enjoyment of the latest Nora Roberts and Charlaine Harris releases.
Thank God Blackout is still due to come out on the 22. I really would have thrown a fit then. Sidenote--if anyone can get their hands on an ARC of the book, I would love them forever. Seriously. Forever.
At the moment, I can't think of anything else random. Tomorrow, I'm going to do a little bit on grilling, since I think I"ll be doing some actual grilling tomorrow. It seems like the appropriate season, yes? Catch ya'll on the flip side!
April 30, 2012
Media Monday--Review of THE CABIN IN THE WOODS
Perhaps a better title would be: Kind of a Review, But I Don't Want to Spoil the Entire Movie. Having said that, there will be spoilers below, and since I'm too damn lazy to write *SPOILER* before every single one, if you don't want to know anything about the movie, stop reading now.
If you don't care, read ahead.
Cabin is one of those movies where you watch the trailer, and you think you have everything figured out. "Oh, it's a horror movie, people are going to die, blah, blah, blah." Let me go ahead and tell you: YOU HAVE NOTHING FIGURED OUT. Are there horror elements? Absolutely. But there is something much, much bigger at play here and to be totally upfront and honest, it's the kind of thing that social historians/movie critics/hipster psychological majors love.
(If I've offended any historians or movie critics by lumping you in with the hipsters--I apologize. To you, not the hipsters.)
If you want to get super introspective (which I try not to do on a Monday, but what the hell), Cabin isn't so much about college students being massacred in various ways as it is about the viewing public's craving to watch it happen. Wes Craven did something along the same lines with Scream, poking fun at the cliches even while playing into them. The entire Scary Movie series (which I love with all my heart) didn't poke fun, but instead rather blew everything up and out of proportion, so you had to laugh at all the stupidity that seems to run rampant in horror movies.
And there is a lot of stupidity. Take I Know What You Did Last Summer. I'm sorry, but there were mistakes being made all over the place by those four knuckleheads. First mistake, if we want to go super prudish, was the entire drinking/sex sequence at the beach. Second, was not sticking the two guys in the backseat so sober boy could take care of drunk boy. Third mistake, obviously, not calling the police, because, really, the excuse about "nobody will believe I wasn't driving" is pretty much bullshit, tied in with the whole "there's alcohol everywhere" bit. The town looked a little rundown, but I'm pretty sure they had some sort of Breathalyzer test. Fourth mistake, not making sure the guy was dead. Really? Seems pretty fucking obvious to me. Fifth, dumping the body. Sixth, making a pact to never say anything--nice way to hem yourselves in, guys. Seventh, when crazy shit starts happening, not going to the police--again. I won't go on, because after that, they just start piling up more and more. The point is, there's a lot of stupidity.
Cabin's characters make mistakes, but I'm loathe to say they're stupid. To be honest, they seem like the kind of mistakes most people would make, even after they've outgrown their hormone-laden youth. Poking around an abandoned gas station? Yeah, I can see that happening. Poking fun at the crazy looking guy who's also pretty creepy? See that happening, too. Getting offended all to hell and back when said guy calls the perfectly nice female a derogatory term? I know people who would have started brawls over that. All they did was pay for the gas.
Other mistakes--hard to explain away. Me, I would have decided to vacation somewhere else when I saw the two-way mirror. I wouldn't have changed rooms than covered the damn thing back up. A little nutty there, don't you think? I also wouldn't have gone down into the cellar when the trap door "magically" opened the fuck up. Maybe I just haven't been in houses with cellars (since I live in Florida, this is a definite), but I don't think the non-blowing wind from outside can push open a door facing the front direction. Sorry, I'm not buying it. Finally, I sure as shit wouldn't have gone and started playing with stuff that looked really fucking out of place in a cellar, culminating in reading Latin words from a backwoods, uneducated girl's diary. Because the sudden appearance of a language that would have been completely out of her depth isn't suspicious at all.
And then--things get really interesting.
Now we start to see more and more of the standard horror movie conventions. The totally out of place and inappropriate sex scene, resulting in the death of at least one person (usually the bad girl/slut/whore--whatever you want to label a sexually free woman). Follow that up with a series of deaths and narrow escapes, culminating in the death or salvation of the paragon of virtue--the Virgin. There's a funny line later in the film where the Virgin references her non-virgin state and the Director replies, "We work with what we have." The only way to avert disaster is to follow these guidelines--otherwise you risk angering the Gods.
Which, of course, is what happens. The Virgin and the Fool (who is not foolish at all and someone I would totally hang out with) unveil the inner workings of the Cabin and set the entire plot on it's ear. There's a very funny scene involving a merman which I saw coming about three seconds before anyone else. And yes, I did laugh like a loon.
In the end, the world cannot be saved because the guidelines for the sacrifice--which, funnily enough, are the guidelines for a horror film--haven't been followed. The Gods rise up and smash humanity down.
There's been speculation--so much, I can't remember where I first read the idea--that the Gods are the film stand in for the audience. That we, the viewing public, require certain things in a film in order to be satisfied with the final product. When those guidelines are broken, we get all super pissy and wrathful and go apeshit. Having read more than a few reviews where a movie didn't fall into line and people got annoyed, I'd have to say it's a damn accurate theory. Even more, the standard stock characters of horror movies--the Whore, the Athlete, the Scholar, the Fool, the Virgin--are stereotypes found in society at large, and speak to our need to punish and reward based upon the breaking or accepting of societal standards. I'm not going to go any deeper than that, because this review is already super long, but suffice to say that I wouldn't be surprised if a thorough study of the genre were to reveal a live/die ratio related to societal approval of the various stock characters.
All in all, Cabin is a movie that entertains even while it makes you think. Those are a rarity in this day and age, so kudos to every person involved in the making. To quote myself (Yes, I'm going to do it), this movie is not fucking awesome.
It's awesomely fucked up.
If you don't care, read ahead.
Cabin is one of those movies where you watch the trailer, and you think you have everything figured out. "Oh, it's a horror movie, people are going to die, blah, blah, blah." Let me go ahead and tell you: YOU HAVE NOTHING FIGURED OUT. Are there horror elements? Absolutely. But there is something much, much bigger at play here and to be totally upfront and honest, it's the kind of thing that social historians/movie critics/hipster psychological majors love.
(If I've offended any historians or movie critics by lumping you in with the hipsters--I apologize. To you, not the hipsters.)
If you want to get super introspective (which I try not to do on a Monday, but what the hell), Cabin isn't so much about college students being massacred in various ways as it is about the viewing public's craving to watch it happen. Wes Craven did something along the same lines with Scream, poking fun at the cliches even while playing into them. The entire Scary Movie series (which I love with all my heart) didn't poke fun, but instead rather blew everything up and out of proportion, so you had to laugh at all the stupidity that seems to run rampant in horror movies.
And there is a lot of stupidity. Take I Know What You Did Last Summer. I'm sorry, but there were mistakes being made all over the place by those four knuckleheads. First mistake, if we want to go super prudish, was the entire drinking/sex sequence at the beach. Second, was not sticking the two guys in the backseat so sober boy could take care of drunk boy. Third mistake, obviously, not calling the police, because, really, the excuse about "nobody will believe I wasn't driving" is pretty much bullshit, tied in with the whole "there's alcohol everywhere" bit. The town looked a little rundown, but I'm pretty sure they had some sort of Breathalyzer test. Fourth mistake, not making sure the guy was dead. Really? Seems pretty fucking obvious to me. Fifth, dumping the body. Sixth, making a pact to never say anything--nice way to hem yourselves in, guys. Seventh, when crazy shit starts happening, not going to the police--again. I won't go on, because after that, they just start piling up more and more. The point is, there's a lot of stupidity.
Cabin's characters make mistakes, but I'm loathe to say they're stupid. To be honest, they seem like the kind of mistakes most people would make, even after they've outgrown their hormone-laden youth. Poking around an abandoned gas station? Yeah, I can see that happening. Poking fun at the crazy looking guy who's also pretty creepy? See that happening, too. Getting offended all to hell and back when said guy calls the perfectly nice female a derogatory term? I know people who would have started brawls over that. All they did was pay for the gas.
Other mistakes--hard to explain away. Me, I would have decided to vacation somewhere else when I saw the two-way mirror. I wouldn't have changed rooms than covered the damn thing back up. A little nutty there, don't you think? I also wouldn't have gone down into the cellar when the trap door "magically" opened the fuck up. Maybe I just haven't been in houses with cellars (since I live in Florida, this is a definite), but I don't think the non-blowing wind from outside can push open a door facing the front direction. Sorry, I'm not buying it. Finally, I sure as shit wouldn't have gone and started playing with stuff that looked really fucking out of place in a cellar, culminating in reading Latin words from a backwoods, uneducated girl's diary. Because the sudden appearance of a language that would have been completely out of her depth isn't suspicious at all.
And then--things get really interesting.
Now we start to see more and more of the standard horror movie conventions. The totally out of place and inappropriate sex scene, resulting in the death of at least one person (usually the bad girl/slut/whore--whatever you want to label a sexually free woman). Follow that up with a series of deaths and narrow escapes, culminating in the death or salvation of the paragon of virtue--the Virgin. There's a funny line later in the film where the Virgin references her non-virgin state and the Director replies, "We work with what we have." The only way to avert disaster is to follow these guidelines--otherwise you risk angering the Gods.
Which, of course, is what happens. The Virgin and the Fool (who is not foolish at all and someone I would totally hang out with) unveil the inner workings of the Cabin and set the entire plot on it's ear. There's a very funny scene involving a merman which I saw coming about three seconds before anyone else. And yes, I did laugh like a loon.
In the end, the world cannot be saved because the guidelines for the sacrifice--which, funnily enough, are the guidelines for a horror film--haven't been followed. The Gods rise up and smash humanity down.
There's been speculation--so much, I can't remember where I first read the idea--that the Gods are the film stand in for the audience. That we, the viewing public, require certain things in a film in order to be satisfied with the final product. When those guidelines are broken, we get all super pissy and wrathful and go apeshit. Having read more than a few reviews where a movie didn't fall into line and people got annoyed, I'd have to say it's a damn accurate theory. Even more, the standard stock characters of horror movies--the Whore, the Athlete, the Scholar, the Fool, the Virgin--are stereotypes found in society at large, and speak to our need to punish and reward based upon the breaking or accepting of societal standards. I'm not going to go any deeper than that, because this review is already super long, but suffice to say that I wouldn't be surprised if a thorough study of the genre were to reveal a live/die ratio related to societal approval of the various stock characters.
All in all, Cabin is a movie that entertains even while it makes you think. Those are a rarity in this day and age, so kudos to every person involved in the making. To quote myself (Yes, I'm going to do it), this movie is not fucking awesome.
It's awesomely fucked up.
April 27, 2012
Food Friday--Pineapple Upside Down Cake Cocktails
I discovered the most amazing thing when I was planning my housewarming party last week: Cupcake Vodka. Doesn't it just sound delicious? And it is. Even more amazing, they apparently have like five different varities. I only got one, because while I like to indulge, I don't like to overdo it. Anyway, with my brand new vodka, I "invented" a drink. Since it's already summer here in Florida (we never actually had a winter, maybe something like a mild spring), I was very much into a tropical/pineapple deal.
Enough yapping--on to the drink!
2 oz. Cupcake Vodka
2 oz. Butterschotch Schnapps
4 oz. Pineapple Juice
Mix everything together. Stir like crazy. Pour over ice. If you want, add some grenadine for color or extra sweetness.
Enough yapping--on to the drink!
2 oz. Cupcake Vodka
2 oz. Butterschotch Schnapps
4 oz. Pineapple Juice
Mix everything together. Stir like crazy. Pour over ice. If you want, add some grenadine for color or extra sweetness.
April 26, 2012
Random Thursday!--Paperwork, Peneii, and Craziness
Today, I am full of randomness! Stuffed to the gills with it!
Paperwork. I have to go re-sign paperwork from a month ago because someone screwed something up. It's an error in my favor, but I still hate having to waste my time to go sign papers because no matter what time you go, it always takes forever. You could be the only person in the store and it would still take five flippin' years.
Peneii. Or whatever the plural of penis is. And no, I'm not meaning this in a happy way. I currently have no penis of any kind in my life (yes, I know, it sucks horribly). I just mean men in general and men I work with specifically. I've discovered something, something no one will ever tell people with ovaries and it's absolutely astonishing. Wait for it--if you act like you want to screw someone, you can get away with murder. That's it. You don't even have to screw them. You just have to pretend like you want to. You can get away with shit that no other person in the history of the company could possibly get away with. Why? Because the majority of men think with their penis. Which is why I refer to them as peneii.
Psychotic Bitches. This kind of plays in to the mini-rant above, because for whatever reason, peneii adore psychotic bitches. Really, they do. They may also be scared to death of them, but they adore the hell out of them. It's like they're attracted specifically to the craziness. Don't get me wrong, most women go psycho at some point. After all, we're putting up with peneii. But I'm talking about the women who are just bat-shit crazy on the regular. Everyone knows someone who is constantly in the middle of some sort of drama. And you want to feel bad for them, and maybe you do, but then they go off the fucking deep end about the most ridiculous thing ever and you just sit back and think, "You're a fucking lunatic. I DON'T feel bad, not in the least." It could be I've seen more than my fair share since I've been in the service industry for a while. This is possible. It could also be possible that I seem to attract these types of individuals into my circle, because I'd be willing to believe that, too. Either way--THEY ARE RUNNING MORE AND MORE RAMPANT THESE DAYS. WHERE WILL THE MADNESS END?!?!?!?!
Okay. I feel kind of better now.
Paperwork. I have to go re-sign paperwork from a month ago because someone screwed something up. It's an error in my favor, but I still hate having to waste my time to go sign papers because no matter what time you go, it always takes forever. You could be the only person in the store and it would still take five flippin' years.
Peneii. Or whatever the plural of penis is. And no, I'm not meaning this in a happy way. I currently have no penis of any kind in my life (yes, I know, it sucks horribly). I just mean men in general and men I work with specifically. I've discovered something, something no one will ever tell people with ovaries and it's absolutely astonishing. Wait for it--if you act like you want to screw someone, you can get away with murder. That's it. You don't even have to screw them. You just have to pretend like you want to. You can get away with shit that no other person in the history of the company could possibly get away with. Why? Because the majority of men think with their penis. Which is why I refer to them as peneii.
Psychotic Bitches. This kind of plays in to the mini-rant above, because for whatever reason, peneii adore psychotic bitches. Really, they do. They may also be scared to death of them, but they adore the hell out of them. It's like they're attracted specifically to the craziness. Don't get me wrong, most women go psycho at some point. After all, we're putting up with peneii. But I'm talking about the women who are just bat-shit crazy on the regular. Everyone knows someone who is constantly in the middle of some sort of drama. And you want to feel bad for them, and maybe you do, but then they go off the fucking deep end about the most ridiculous thing ever and you just sit back and think, "You're a fucking lunatic. I DON'T feel bad, not in the least." It could be I've seen more than my fair share since I've been in the service industry for a while. This is possible. It could also be possible that I seem to attract these types of individuals into my circle, because I'd be willing to believe that, too. Either way--THEY ARE RUNNING MORE AND MORE RAMPANT THESE DAYS. WHERE WILL THE MADNESS END?!?!?!?!
Okay. I feel kind of better now.
