i wish that i knew what i know now, when i was younger

Happy, happy, happy… happy… happy… oh, forget it.

By the time this post is added to the airwaves, I will officially be one year older.

Today is my birthday. Lucky me. <rolls eyes.>

That’s right. Pilot and I have our birthdays four days apart. (I would like to point out that he is one year older. Sorry, Pilot.) I’ve compiled a list of things I wish someone had told me when I was younger:

5. Question everything.  In school, I would greatly annoy my teachers by constantly asking questions. I wasn’t one of the kids asking “why” six or seven times in a row. They were legitimate questions due to my ever-growing curiosity.  Somewhere along junior high through mid-college I had stopped learning to ask questions. In my current job, asking questions is actually encouraged. Not always at the time I ask it, but the question is still appreciated. I had to slowly gain the confidence that it is all right to want to understand the bigger picture. How is one supposed to improve themselves and others around them, if they have no fucking idea what’s going on?

4. It’s ok to not know what you want. Talent and skill knows no age, race or gender.  So many youngsters and teens are bombarded with the question, “So what do you want to be when you grow up?”  Honestly. How many of you actually enjoyed this question?  I know I hated it.

I spent years trying to come up with some job title to impress and even went as far to convince myself that I wanted it.  But in reality? I felt completely clueless. I think it’s because I denied wanting to be a writer/artist.  I had grown up with the phrases, “those jobs don’t make any money,” “You’re wasting your time,” “Hope you enjoy being homeless,” etc.  Well guess what?  I’m on the wrong side of my 20’s, married, and I STILL rent an apartment, have a decent job, but don’t make any money due to our crapshoot of an economy, and I STILL ended up pursuing a job focused on writing and art.

Do you know how much angst, migraines and stress I could have avoided if someone had just said, “Cool, go for it. Do what you must to keep a roof over your head while you pursue that goal, but go for it!”?  If someone had just acknowledged that pursuing those goals was “OK” but that I just might have to do some other work while I go through this journey, I might have avoided years of denying my love of the written word being seen by the world. Perhaps I would even be published by now.

Did you know the book P.S. I Love You was written by a 19-year-old?

3. You don’t have to want the American Dream.  The typical American wants marriage, a house, a yard, 2.5 kids-

You’ve got to feel sorry for that poor kid who was sliced in half. I mean, really. That has to suck major ball sack.

Do you want to know what I consider success for myself by the time I’m 70?  Being published and continually successful, (duh), living in a non-traditional home-

You can imagine Pilot’s delight when he heard this statement from me. He then proceeded to show me “Residential Hangars” on the interwebs. Yes, my name is Katherine and I choose to live in a residential hangar someday.  Other pilots: jealous, much?

-and maybe kids.  That’s right, you heard me. MAYBE.

When I first met Pilot, I didn’t want any children. Don’t misunderstand me. I love kids. I’ve babysat more than my share, worked in summer camps, and have 13 nieces and nephews ranging from infancy to 16-years-old, whom I love dearly and would give my life for without hesitating. I think children are our most precious resource, because without well-educated and supported children, this country has no future.

I just didn’t want to have my own children. (My reasons are long and tedious, much longer than this post will allow. Those points will be for another day.)

I love that 99% of my graduating high school class is married and on their second or third child by now. They seem truly happy in their choices

However, if I look at my life as it is today:

I work a soul-killing job to support Pilot and myself until writing is full-time for me and Pilot earns a multi-year contract in teaching, had a thyroid cancer scare during Christmas, and Pilot’s large, baked-potato-sized tumor (which was right next his spine) removal surgery, and barely able to cover all of our bills. Tack on an America with foreclosures, bankruptcy and dealing with one of the worst economies the U.S. has seen in decades.

The idea of bringing a child into the hot mess of life while Pilot and I are just scrimping it together after all of this crap has only just settled would probably have pushed us both completely over the edge.

I thank God everyday for birth control.

2. Be confident in your own skin, whatever shade it may be. Being an adopted Korean with German parents attending schools where I was one of five TOTAL minority children in the entire school was bound to give a girl a complex. Add in prescription glasses needed at the tender age of five, during the ‘80’s (an era I like to describe as a Fashion Decade of Hell we did not experience, but humanity survived through), and I was a walking target, complete with bulls eye and zoom-goggles for my bullies.  (Yes, I was bullied a lot as a child, that’s a different issue for another day.)

With my time either being split between people trying to guess “what” I was-

The kicker with these interesting conversations, was after someone asking me if I was Chinese or Japanese, I would answer that I was born Korean. To which, I was promptly met with the answer “No, that’s not right. That doesn’t sound right. You must be [enter more commonly-known Asian ethnicity of your choosing here].”

-or asking if I was an exchange student-

Asking such question in loud, slow voices, I might add.  America, as much as I am proud to be part of this country, and proud that I am an American citizen, we have a seriously long way to go on how we treat Asians (or any other minority) in this country. It is assumed that if one is not Caucasian, this is equivalent to the automatic inability to speak English. In addition, there is the bonus concept that if one does not speak English, one is obviously deaf as well.

What’s that? Yes, please speak slower and louder. That will magically make someone understand the English language instantaneously in comparison to the pacing and volume of your sentence two seconds prior.

-I was also dressed in turtlenecks, plaid skirts and yarn tights with buckle shoes, with the addition of pigtails.

Side note to parents: Just because a look is “cute” to you does not give you permission to purposefully add fire to the flame of having your beloved child’s ass kicked.

It took me years to learn that I was never going to be 5’10”, blonde or blue eyed, (or at least without some considerable and pricy cosmetic surgery and hair dye), and to accept my body for as it was. A (barely) 5’5”, somewhat stocky stature with black hair that grows curlier by the year. (Yes, I am an Asian with black, curly hair. That photo you see of me in the corner? That’s after a lot of work with mousse, a hair dryer and flat iron.)

I’m much happier in my skin and learned to look at the more positive things about my outer-appearance than I was as a teen, desperately waiting for the second round of braces to be complete.

My husband, Pilot tells me I’m the best of both worlds. I’m his hot Asian wife, but I’m technically German because of my family, who surprises people and helps break down stereotypes with a goofy, but approachable, intellectual attitude.

I prefer the term German-By-Association-American.

1. The one you love may not love you. Poor Pilot, I put him through complete and total hell because I was actually in love with another man when we met. (NOTE: I was not in a relationship with someone else when I met Pilot. Pilot was and always would be, my first boyfriend.)

There was a boy I was in love with growing up. We were best friends from junior high through our first year of college together. Our families were close, and they even vacationed together. Now that I’m older, I wish someone would have stopped and shook me, saying, “If Randy* hasn’t recognized that you love him after [enter any number between 2-7 years of your choosing], he never will be.”

*Name has been changed for privacy

Our first year of college changed everything. He ended up leaving college and getting into the party scene. I channeled my heartbreak into not eating, not sleeping and studying like crazy. (Although I will admit, I earned a place on the Dean’s list my first quarter at college.

A feat never to be accomplished again throughout my college career. <sigh.>

No, I don’t think the heartbreak would have been any considerable amount lessened, but I would have gotten over him eventually, and perhaps opened my heart up sooner to Pilot. Pilot had been a great friend and practically a literal boy-next-door for me during this whole ordeal, being patient as our relationship grew closer over time.  (Pilot lived about five doors down from my dorm on the same floor, while my heart was torn out by my best friend in a dorm literally above me on the upper floor.

One of the things I will be sure to teach my children is: Do not to be afraid of love, but be prepared if they might not love them back. And to think about how they will handle this realization.

As my all-time favorite film, Sabrina (the Julia Ormond, Harrison Ford and Greg Kinnear version), there is a moment where Sabrina is talking with her mentor. Her mentor, Irene advises thoughtfully:

Irene:  Is it this David you mentioned casually 30, 40 times when you first came over? He sounds perhaps very much like an illusion.

Sabrina:  He keeps me company.

Irene:  You think so? Illusions are dangerous people. They have no flaws. I came here from Provence. Alone, uneducated. For eight months… No, more than that, a year… I sat in a café, drank coffee, and wrote nonsense in a journal. And then somehow, it was not nonsense. I went for long walks, and I met myself in Paris. You seem… Embarrassed by loneliness. By being alone. It’s only a place to start.

Randy was such an illusion. Never losing my belief in true love, it gave me a wiser approach to falling in love. This experience allowed me to be realistic and not indulge an overinflated crush, but open myself to a real love and a real relationship with Pilot. Recognizing his endless list of good points, some of his flaws, and accept him exactly as he is, eyes wide open, no aftermath surprises. I am actually grateful for that heartbreak. I was young, naïve and in a one-sided relationship that clouded my judgment for several years.  Looking back, I recognize now, Randy and I would never have been a good fit. Although I believe that opposites do attract and can have successful, healthy relationships, I much prefer being with Pilot who I have endless things in common with, along with each of us being stronger in the areas the other is weaker in. We build each other up together, instead of one of us building up the other all the time.

But all in all, I think the biggest thing for me to recognize is that without these experiences, they would not have shaped me into who I am today.  A confident, honest, and moral person who happens to have a touch of a ridiculous and dry wit humor that would make any civilized patron shoot pop out their nose.  So maybe having all of those things happen when they did, learning those lessons in the amount of time they took and experiencing them with the people I did was just as important as the lesson themselves.  What do you think?

What are some of life’s lessons that you wish you had known at a younger age? Do you think it would have made a difference?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 17: Your character has fallen in love. With who? Is it serious? Are they in a relationship with this person? How did they meet? Write a scene of your character either contemplating this significant other or directly interacting with them.

Hmm… These DWC’s are beginning to sound similar to each other.

After hanging up the phone, Josh checked his hair in the reflection of his monitor.  Crap.  His hair always seemed to be sticking up in the back, a cowlick that he was born, and cursed with.  His mom had always called it his rooster tail.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t worry about it,” she’d say with a wave of her hand.  “Besides, it makes you look taller!”

Seated at his gray desk, in his gray cubicle, in the gray room, (or the Pit, as he liked to call it), the Information Technology wing was pretty bland with ten cubicles grouped together in the center of it with harsh fluorescent lighting.  The blisteringly dull and blue-toned light fixtures always seemed to flicker at just the right frequency to give someone slightly more than a headache, but not seizure-inducing.  Mostly the people that worked on the team spent their days playing various types of MMORPG’s, blogged about how uneventful their lives had turned out hoping somewhere amongst the world wide web that someone was listening, while answering the most basic, inane questions for the bigwigs over the phone.  What amazing use of his master’s degrees in computer science and robotics from Yale had made.

But now he had a chance to break his routine; and not only that, but go upstairs and talk to Sydney.  He smoothed his hair out the best he could and stood up, only to spill coffee on to his shirt.  He held his shirt out and looked at it, shaking his head and sighed.  He attempted to clean the large brown spot that was starting to grow by swiping some of his neighbor’s clear soda onto it, but realized it was losing battle and gave up.

Being thirty-three and still single, he had tried dating other women, but it was hopeless.  Sure, they were all nice girls: friendly, polite, and into computers and understanding the connection people had with each other through technology like he did; but, they just weren’t Sydney.  He couldn’t get her out of his head.  As her computer seemed to shut down on a regular basis, he would fix it and she would take him out to coffee afterward as a thank you.  At least he got to chat with her once in awhile.  The always had a good working relationship, but he had wanted it to be more.  Over the last couple years, he’d grown fond of her and was heartsick.  Most of his dates ended up him sitting across the table from a perfectly good, and sometimes willing, woman, and all he could do was think about how different she was from Sydney.  He thought back to the first time they met.

It had been a frosty January morning and Sydney arrived at the Pit in a calm, but frantic manner.  The contrast between her very professional and pulled together outfit with the darting of her eyes back and forth, sweeping across the room looking for someone to help her was amusing.  And cute.  She had worn a sleek red pencil skirt and a black knitted turtleneck that hugged her curves in all the right places.  Her shoes had one of those toothpick-like heels to them.  Stilettos?  Is that what they were called?  Josh was never really into fashion.  The last time he’d been “shopping” was his birthday when his mom and sister had given him a bunch of shirts and some pants.  He was thankful they’d provided a belt because stuff usually fit pretty loosely.  At least it was comfortable.

He recalled her striking long black hair that grazed her shoulder blades.  In the times he’d seen her walking through the lobby and into the elevator, she’d usually kept it sleek and tied back into a tight ponytail.  But that day, she had it flowing loosely around her face; he’d thought about how much it had softened her and he wanted to reach out his fingers and feel what it would feel like between his fingers.  She was so quintessentially female, soft and curvy, and lovely against the harsh lines of the boxy, gray cubicle-land he worked in.  Thinking about her hair tangled in his fingers, made him think other ways he’d like his body to be tangled with hers.  This caused him to become hard, and was grateful she wanted to sit down an explain her problem (in some great detail he might add), which gave him time to focus on work and calm the rush of heat that had spread to his body so he could actually stand up to go to her office later.

Raising his arm to signal her, she had peered across the room, her eyes settling on his gaze.  Noticing her deep blue eyes, he thought he had caught a hidden twinkle he couldn’t really describe, and thinking about that little glimmer of trouble had left him mesmerized, and admittedly turned on, thinking about what it would be like to gaze into them in a dimly lit room… Say his bedroom… for the rest of that fateful day.  Taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders, she walked straight towards him and he’d managed to take a glance at her long, sinuous steps that caused her hips to sway ever so slightly, a look of relief washing over her face.  She explained how she was new to the company and had just been issued a new laptop that wasn’t turning on.

Normally, he’d ask her the same series of questions, “Is your computer on?” or “Is it plugged in?” and so on.  But after a few minutes, he realized she was really sharp and not one of those flighty bigwigs that normally ran the company.  Following her to her incredibly huge office (almost the size of the Pit, and all for one person!) he sat at her desk, fixing her computer the first of what was to be many, many times in the future.  He knew she cursed the damned thing, but he was entirely, internally, grateful.  Sydney invited him out for coffee to thank him for his help, the first in a long line of coffee breaks they would share.  Apparently his help saved her from almost losing a major account on a marketing campaign she was leading.  At the time, he had been thrilled she asked him out.  It wasn’t until halfway through their conversation he heard about a new guy she had met named Michael.  They weren’t serious yet at that point, but he could tell her focus was definitely not on himself.

Josh remembered meeting Michael a week later at the company holiday party.  The corners of his mouth turned down slightly at the memory.  Michael Ross was tall with brown hair, but Michael had those weird, cheesy blonde streaks in it and he had that sleekness to him.  Michael was one of those guys that made life look easy, like each person naturally walked out of bed looking like a model everyday, worked an overly-well paying job and went home with women like Sydney as if it was the natural order of things.

One of his suits probably cost more than Josh’s car.

He pushed the up button on the wall and waited for the elevator.  He felt a slight tug on his heart at being able to spend a few minutes with Sydney, but it was soon overshadowed by longing and loneliness as he stepped into the cold, gray elevator.  He was lovesick over a woman who didn’t love him, but had ruined him for other women as well.

The gorgeous ones always seemed to be taken.

will someone, again, explain to me why it’s good to be a princess?

Let’s address the Rumpelstiltskin in the room.

Nostalgia creeps up on me. I recall the early days of Disney and reading fairy tales, searching to find meaning and the ‘lesson’ to learn, as I’m thrown into the shadows of a new world and exposed to some grand adventure.

Whether it be Cinderella, that good things happen to those who are truly kind, patient and work hard, Beauty and The Beast which focuses on who a person is versus what they look like and self-forgiveness, Sleeping Beauty, where if you get enough beauty sleep a handsome dude will come whisk you off to eternal bliss on his enormous white stallion…

Oh wait, I forgot. Sleeping Beauty doesn’t really have a point. Never mind that one. 

Hmm…

By the way, giant white stallion… No symbolism there at all, eh BMW drivers?

Hmm…

Second “By the way”: What’s up with writers constantly putting women into comas? Is this to cover a dreaded plot hole to state the “fact” that women have had so many head injuries, I figure at least if I fall under the duress of another concussion I can say they’ve accomplished something in my life by saying I got married and have a good-looking dude who will catch me while they continually fall unconscious?

Sorry sweetie. Apparently I don’t just have a headache, I feel a coma coming on.

It seems like we’ve seen it all in decades past, where we’re shown several tales of the ‘damsel in distress’ and the dazzling hero come to save her, to modern day stories such as Twilight where there’s a mousy girl who is in love with a sparkly anti-hero and wants to drink her blood. (And I am a Twilight fan. Sorry Twi-hards, but even though I’m a fan of the series, we have to admit this is true.)

Generations before me and my generation grew up with the Daphne’s of Scooby Doo, the girl who was notorious for being captured by the monster. Daphne being the one you want to root for and emulate. While Velma, the girl who always figured out how to capture and defeat the monster, was the homely, ambiguous, sort-of girl with butch voice who could never get a date.

At least in some fashion, today’s world is much more embracing of a real HERO-ine, (though I do believe entertainment has a looooong way to go on supporting feminist views, again I am mentioning Twilight here).  I’m mostly refreshed to see the women who fight for what they want. They’re not just lazily sitting in towers, twiddling their thumbs, singing about their dream men.

By the way, what is it with assuming that all princesses are musically talented? I appreciate the Shrek films addressing this issue with not having Fiona be particularly gifted in this, instead being well trained in hand-to-hand combat.

One of my all-time favorite tales has Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass.  To me they have always been a tale about survival. That no matter what obstacles are put in front of you, resourcefullness and knowing when to ask for help can help you through even the worst of times. Alice’s tales to me were more focused on the concept of believing in impossible things.

Or, my personal sub-theory: A somewhat-rational person is dropped into a land which is chock full of crazy.

The author made Alice a warrior and free-thinker. She also made mistakes, wasn’t afraid to express her emotion, face consequences and continued with grit and determination to fight for what she believed in, even if her beliefs changed.  Isn’t that really how life is anyway?

Today’s DWC is a loose blend of these two concepts, survival and being thrown into a world of unknowns, danger and impossibilities, the foundation being Alice’s tale. I think I’ll store this idea in my pocket for a rainy day.

Which let’s face it: in Seattle is pretty much every day from October through June.

So tell me readers: What do you think about fairy tales? Which heroines you favorites, or which do you despise?  Do you prefer the classic “damsel in distress” or the kick-ass fighters and do-ers?

Opinions? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 16: Your character is going on a trip. Where to? Who with, if anyone? Why are they going on a trip? Write a scene of them either getting ready or departing on their journey.

Looking out the window at JFK airport, a woman settled into the uncomfortable plastic seat at the airport, listening to other prospective passengers mill around chatting and shopping at duty-free stores.  As she turned on her laptop, a man in a nice business suit collapsed in the seat down next to her.

Letting out a large whoosh of air, he turned to her. “Phew! I never thought I’d get here in time! This is the 105 flight to Sea-Tac, right?”

She gave the man a polite smile.

“Yup. You’re in the right place,” she replied turned her head back to the monitor.

“Great!” He rubbed his hands together and sat down in the seat next to her, leaning back into the chair.  “So, is this your first time going to Seattle?” he asked. Just give a quick answer and go back to work.

Barely turning her head slightly to glance at the expectant face.  “Nope, I’m going home.”

“Ah, I see. I’m from Seattle too” he nodded.  She gave a noncommittal response and turned back to her laptop. Exactly two seconds passed.

“So which part of Seattle? Actual Seattle or another area nearby?”

Warning bells started going off in her head.  “Around.” Stay calm. Just leave quietly and find another chair.

“I’m Jared,” he said giving her a slight wave.  He leaned in slightly, “What might your name be?”

Run.

She excused herself saying she needed to make a personal call, gathering her things and began to walk away.  She felt the gentle grasp to her hand suddenly become an iron grip.  She gave a cold stare to the hand on her hand, slowly saying in a low voice to the Jared’s face which was no longer smiling, “Let go of me now, or I’ll scream so loud they’ll lock you away, giving you a cavity search in places you didn’t even dream were possible.”

Jared bowed his head low and whispered to her in a serious tone. “Rachel Iverson, real name Alice Wendell?”

A chill ran down her body as she heard her real name used for the first time in six years.

No.

No, not again!

NOT AGAIN! She screamed in her mind.

“My name is Jared White. I’m a U.S. Marshall for the Witness Protection program. I’ve been assigned to protect you during your travel from New York to Seattle. Now it’s very important you listen carefully and not make any sudden moves, as it’s possible we’re being watched.”

Her eyes were round as saucers as she watched the man flash his badge. Recognizing the same seal, the same colors from the last time her life was shattered into a million pieces, and she knew the words to come next.  He’s found me¸ she thought.

“Quentin Carmine has escaped from prison and we have reason to believe that he has figured out your identity. I’m here to make sure we get you get safely into hiding. Please come with me while we escort you to the precinct.”

Her heart stopped. Her lips suddenly dry she couldn’t move. Fear had taken over and completely shut down her ability to think or respond.

“He found me,” she whispered.  Her heart stopped as the statement echoed in her mind.

She barely heard Agent White’s voice, it sounding as if coming from far away. “I’m sorry. I know this is a lot to take in right now, but we have no time. We-“

“What happened to Agent Mallory?” Alice asked quietly.  Pain laced Agent White’s eyes for a moment, then he steeled his face back to a neutral expression.

“I’m afraid Agent Mallory was killed this morning.  I’m sorry.”

“We have a safehouse called The Rabbit Hole, and need for you to come to the precinct before getting you to a safe house. Now, pretend I’ve just arrived to greet you. We’ll turn around and be on our way. I have a team of unmarked vehicles ready to escort you. Please nod if you understand.”

She slowly nodded.  She remembered The Rabbit Hole. That’s where she was forced to stay until Quentin was incarcerated.

The only thing that could go through her mind now was a phrase repeating itself over and over.  I’m dead. He found me. I’m dead.

Jared paused to hold her hands safely in his.

“Look at me.”

She tilted her gaze into his dark brown eyes which were serious and warm with concern. “We have time. I won’t let him find you. But we have to go now.  Just stay calm, walk slowly and we’ll be out of here in under three minutes, I promise.”  She nodded again as he grabbed her two tiny carry-on suitcases.

Alice shouldn’t have let her guard down.  The first two years were tough, always looking around her shoulder, checking in with her protection officer. Sometime during the third year, she felt safe. Well, that wasn’t really true, but she tried to start her life again.

After six years of peace, she was at ground zero all over again.

i think mother nature has an evil twin… and she hates me

Take that disgusting thing off of my boobs, thank you!

Holy cow! I can’t believe I’m already on DWC 15! (There are a total of 25, so I’m over halfway through!)

ATTENTION ALL READERS:

Coining a term from my Daily Life, “Scope Creep,” has fallen upon me. Maintaining a lifestyle of a full-time job, dealing with said Daily Life, writing this blog, working on the DWC’s, trying to carve additional time for my WIP’s and trying to obtain a fair amount of sleep each night… Well, it’s becoming all too much and something has got to give. If I’m not careful, it could quite possibly be my sanity.

Let’s face the facts: If the sanity is completely gone, who wants to read the ramblings of a crazy person?

With most of the outline for my first of a two-book series written out, I hope to have at least both outlines completed, along with officially having started to knock out the first book by the end of the month.

With the ultimate goal of getting published someday, (if I’m lucky enough to be selected by an agent, and then, by some miracle have my work picked up by a publishing company), these last two weeks have proven me wrong:

I cannot continue with the mere goal of writing something each day. I need to be focused on my WIP’s each day.

The (mostly) daily blogging has assisted with me getting back into the groove of taking at least one hour to focus on my Real Life work. I need to use my now aging memory for redeveloping my writing skills.

I will try to post as often as possible, at minimum weekly. So bear with me readers, the few but precious you are! I promise to remain faithful as ever to provide a detailed, if slightly ridiculous, report of my progress.

And now, back to our show!

Daily Writing Challenge 

Day 15: Your character is upset. What about? How does it affect them? Does anyone come to comfort them? Write a scene where your character is distraught.

[Today’s DWC and my daily blog post are one and the same. So hope you enjoy!]

Lesson Learned: No matter how much you try, one cannot fight Mother Nature.  Even if you hate it sometimes.

I believe that God has a sense of humor, (don’t believe me? Have you ever seen a platypus?), and although I’m 100% sure He loves everyone, I also believe the caveat of His humor is that He enjoys screwing with me, just a tiny bit, to see how I’ll react.

Case in point: As part of Pilot’s birthday weekend, we went out to watch the IL2, a Russian WWII war bird fly this afternoon. Instead of being part of the museum’s crowd, we made our way to the opposite side of the runway, near the windsock, amongst the tall grass.  After an amazing one-hour show, Pilot and I made our way back to our car.

As I was belting myself in, I felt a presence on my shoulder. Batting the nuisance away, I froze.  The annoying presence fell into my shirt.  Glancing downward, there it was.

A spider.

A really big spider.

Cricket on a cracker, there is a HUGE SPIDER IN MY BRA!!!

As I gracefully scream and tastefully swat at my boobs-

Get it out! Get it out!  Get this fucking thing off of MEEE!

-I end up repeatedly squashing it against my poor, innocent breast.  (Let’s just say some more screeching ensued for the next few seconds on top of the additional swatting and accidental exposure of myself to those within viewing distance of our vehicle.)

Desperate to remove this creepy crawly from my person, I was finally able to dislodge the Spawn of Satan out of my shirt, flinging it unceremoniously onto the console of Pilot’s vehicle where the humongous thing proceeded to lie there… somewhat flatly while twitching.  Bursting through the car door, I stand outside facing the interior of War Machine, (Pilot and I dubbed his vehicle War Machine not too long ago. What can I say? I already told you it’s a tradition that we name our modes of transportation), and pointed directly to Evil Incarnate calmly requesting Pilot to “Get that… that… THING, away from me!”

Pilot, having just sat in the driver’s seat watching this whole ordeal with a look of amusement on his face, (the rat bastard), proceeds to take his hand from the steering wheel, placing his forefinger and thumb behind Satan’s Mistress and flicked it out of the car.

Sadly, I was under the misfortune of not having my wits about me, (remember, I said complete loss of sanity. I never claimed to have full sanity to begin with) and was standing in the direct path of The Devil’s Wrath Upon Humanity.  The spider bounced off of me, causing another Eek! to emit from me, and it landed on the ground.

I maintained my composure by gracefully scrambling into the car, proceeding to lock all doors, seal all windows, securing Pilot and myself in impenetrable cat suits complete with boots and gloves, placing heat-seeking goggles over our eyes, surrounding our vehicle with motion-sensor cameras and setting up a perimeter of an electrified, barbed wire fence.

Pilot: Um, Sweetie? Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?

Me: <moves joystick to turn motion-sensor cameras back and forth.>

Pilot: I promised my parents we’d go visit them so they could celebrate my Birthday dinner with us.

Me: <adjusts heat-seeking goggles, searching for unidentified moving entities.>

Pilot: Sweetie, weneed to get going.

Me: <puts finger to lips.>  SHH! They’ll hear you!

he may not wear red underwear, but i’m ok with that

It’s a bird! It’s a plane! Oh, wait… Yeah, it IS a plane. Never mind. <Shrug.>

Although it may technically be Sept. 15th at 1:00am, I’m still living in the past 24-hours of it being Sept. 14th. Sept. 14th marks one of the greatest days in history.  It’s Pilot’s birthday.

There are many reasons why I love Pilot, but this post would never be finished. So, instead, I thought I would write about why Pilot excels far beyond Superman.

1. He’s a sexy nerd.  Clark Kent was a mild-mannered English nerd. Writing for The Daily Planet, Mr. Superman himself was the geeky guy of the office, just short of Jimmy the photographer.  You may think that the reason I call my husband, Pilot is because his job is being a pilot. Well you’d be wrong.  Pilot is actually a special-education teacher. To this day, he amazes me his ability to connect with students who experience an exceptionally difficult time with learning, or developing the skills needed to improve. His love for science and math knows no bounds, to which I thank God for because I can’t succeed in science and math to save my life (although he and I did very well in an astronomy class together.

Me: What a great night! Ellensburg’s skies are so clear!

Pilot: Yeah! Here, let’s go to this field and setup. I’ll pour the hot chocolate.

Passerby 1: Hey! Is that a bong? It’s huge!

Me: <indignant, setting hands on hips and frowning.> No, it is not a bong. It’s a telescope. See? <points to eyepiece.>

Passerby 2: Sweet! Party time! <calls to friends in distance.> Hey! Check this chick out! She has the biggest bong I’ve ever seen!

Me: It is NOT a bong! It is a highly functional TELESCOPE! Look! You can see Venus and Mars, right there!

Passerby 1: Cool! It’s multi-functional!

Me: <shakes fist, screeching at Passersby 1 & 2.> Listen, cretins! Just because you’ve lost some brain cells does not mean you need to corrupt mine with your incessant insistence that my telescope is a device for drug use!

Passerby 2: Way to party little lady <pats the top of my head.>

Me: Argh!

Pilot: Sweetie, I think it’s time we move to a different field.

Just as Superman disguises himself to be a simple and plain man, but is all super-hunky man of steel in reality, my Pilot is a seemingly boy-next-door guy, but is superhero to children and helping them have a fighting chance in this world.  Plus, listening to him explain space’s gravitational patterns for each planet with his toothy-white grin is sexy as hell.  And besides, I’m the (maybe not-so-mild-mannered) English nerd in this relationship.

2. Ok, so he does fly a little bit. Like Superman, my Pilot is also, well a pilot. Before Washington changed its laws of age limitations for obtaining a pilot’s license, he took his first flying lesson at the tender age of 13. He literally flew a plane before ever driving a car. The way he’s better than Superman, is that for me to go flying with him, I don’t have to worry about someone looking up m nightie and freezing my crumpets off from the high altitude because I’m contained inside an ACTUAL airplane.

Me: <holds down ‘push-to-talk’ button> Wow! I’m flying an airplane… And I’m scared shitless right now. You can take the steering back now!

Pilot: <laughs.> You only had it for two seconds.

Me: <holds down ‘push-to-talk’ button and glares at Pilot.> Two seconds too long… Ooh! Nice yoke-work, Bacher! Why don’t you use those hands somewhere else?

Pilot: Sweetie, you need to stop pressing the ‘push-to-talk’ button because you just announced that to all local flying aircraft and the Tower.

Tower: Cessna 5210-AML, you’re clear to land… If your hands aren’t too busy.

Random pilot sharing airspace with us: <chuckles.>Yes, please keep your hands to yourself, Sweetie.

Me: <holds ‘push-to-talk’ button> Umm… I think they heard me.

Pilot: You’re still holding the ‘push-to-talk’ button, Sweetie.

Me: <still holding ‘push-to-talk’ button.> Oh. Sorry.

3. He has superpowers. No not actual, born an alien or dipped in toxic waste superpowers. But with one look he can provide a multitude of things: reassurance, giggle-inducing hysteria, empathy, one of the few people who can make me shut up once in a while if I’ve said something [insert favorite word here, such as weird, odd, annoying, ridiculous, etc.], and the occasional heat-induced glance that magically makes my clothes disappear. (Hey, don’t judge. I’m married and Superman had x-ray vision.  You really don’t think that Superman didn’t use it to his advantage just once?)

4. He’s talented. As Clark Kent was a journalist and fairly decent reporter, my Pilot is also extremely gifted.  Separate from his teaching and flying gigs, my Pilot is also an aviation photographer. Even better, he’s a good one!  Pilot has been published in a few magazines over the last couple of years, and also has written several blurbs on the aircraft subject in question.  He has a successful Facebook page and YouTube account where he also posts videos of his work, narrating and adding factoids to the videos for viewers to enjoy.

5. Lastly, but not at all in the least, he’s romantic. Superman had ladies drooling for decades, most of all a Ms. Lois Lane. And in this case, this little writer wised-up and realized that a kind, quiet and talented man was interested in me and I jumped at the chance at love, never regretting a day since. Thankfully, Pilot has made this relationship really easy on me by being just completely wonderful and supportive, even if I post stuff like this on the all-knowing interwebs. Even if the first Valentine’s Day card I ever received from him was signed, “I don’t care what they say. I think you’re pretty nice,” causing a temporary 2-hour argument between us.

Happy Birthday, Pilot! And I don’t care what they say, I think you’re pretty nice, too.

<blows kiss.>

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 14: FREE DAY! Write any scene you want!

Dear Diary,

Today I met the most impossible of all human beings! There I was, walking through the bookstore trying to keep my nonchalant, “Yes, of course I’m in the self-help section-there’s-nothing-wrong-with-that-it’s-a-perfectly-normal-thing-to-do” face. So what if I’m pushing into my latter-thirties and newly single? If someone wanted to excel in their profession, they would study for it. If someone was to perform a self tune-up of their car, they would buy a guide. So why not buy a book to help accelerate changing my single status?

While wandering the bookstore, trying to find a decently large covered book to disguise my purchase with, I bumped into a man at the mysteries/thrillers section.

“Oh! Excuse me,” I said slightly blushing at the blatant lack of focus on where I was going.

“Not at all, pardon me,” he replied. I took in the light hair and blue eyes framed by some very nice looking professor’s glasses. He was tall, wearing a slim fitting navy blue sweater and jeans. Hellooo Dr. Jones!

His head tilted slightly as he tried to glance at the title of my self-help-for-singles book, Single? So What? guide which had decided to hide itself behind my back.

“You know, if you want a really good read, you should try I’m Single and I Know It, instead.”

I blushed at the recommendation.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said tucking a strand of my plain brown hair behind my ears. “I’m looking for a thrill- I mean, looking for thrillers. Oh look, there’s a great one!” I say as I pluck a random book from the shelf to the right of me.

He tilts his head to the side. “Hmm… So you’re into swashbuckling pirates who stealthily rip the bodices off of young maidens, huh? I would’ve pegged you more knights-in-shining-armor kind of woman.” I raise my eyebrows at the book I had just selected.

Sure enough, there was a shirtless pirate and a young wench who apparently had no problem or apparent discomfort from having her breasts shoved up to her chin, while the pirate’s swarthy hands were undoing the ties to the back of her very cumbersome looking satin corset. Quickly glancing up to the empty space that held the damning evidence of my random selection, I realized the shelf on my right had been historical romance instead of mystery/thriller. Shit and double shit!

“You know, all you need is a glass of wine and you’re probably set for the night,” he said winking of me.

Eyes narrowing, “Why of all the nerve! I-” I pause to straighten my back at this very nosy and appalling man.  I closed my eyes for a moment taking a deep, calming breath.

“Once again, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am merely grabbing some reading material as a gag birthday gift for my friend, Lizzy, if you must know.” No need for him to find out that Lizzy is actually my dog named after my favorite romantic heroine, Elizabeth Bennett.

“Of course, my mistake,” he said, having the nerve to smile at me.

“Well, thank you. Now, if you don’t mind. I need to have these presents gift wrapped. I’m very busy and important, and must be going now. Ta!” Turning on my heel, I pause at the sound of his voice.

“Fantastic! I was busy getting this for my brother. We’ll go to gift wrapping together!” He said grinning at me.  Of all the rotten luck. Two years without a man and now I can’t get away from this one!

Together, we both walk to the gift-wrapping center’s counter and hand our items over to the customer service rep.

“Sorry about your friend. Is she going through a tough breakup right now?”

“Huh?” I blink at him.  “Oh! Yes!  Um… Right… Well, she’s recently gone through a divorce, which she’s very happy about, and is throwing herself a divorce shower,” I quickly spat out.  We both take our nicely wrapped presents, his book in pretty forest green with a gold ribbon, mine in a patterned wrapping paper covered in random letters of the alphabet and red ribbon.

“A divorce shower?” he says amused at my frustration.  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that before.  What exactly does one do at a divorce shower?”  Oh come on! Can’t I just live this humiliation in peace? It’s bad enough I resorted to self-help guides, but does it really need to have a commentary squad like Mystery Science Theater 3000?

“Well it’s- um…” I sigh and throw my hands up in the air, waiving my ‘gift’ in the air. “Oh, hell. We both know the book is for me.  Look, it’s been a little nerve-wracking catching my bloody husband in my bed with my sister and I haven’t had sex in two years, all right?”

The man’s eyes widened as he stared at me.  A woman who had been waiting in line for the gift-wrapping services looked extremely uncomfortable.  “Um… I think I forgot to comb my cat…” she said as she inched away from us slowly, and then bursting into a slight sprint towards the main door.

I felt my face burning as red as a hooker in church.  Also waiting for him to run away from the crazy-cat-lady vibe I was giving off; to my surprise he actually was pretty nice about the whole freak-out scene.

“Wow. That must have been awful. Are you ok?” he spoke softly, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, deep in thought. All they did was focus on his glasses which were straightforward black frame, emphasizing the blue-ness of his eyes.

Another deep sigh escaped my lips. “Yeah, I’m good. Sorry about that. I had just moved here for him because he was offered a job at Boeing. We were living with my sister until we could find our own place.  Then… Well, you know…” my voice drifted off as I felt tears prickling at the back of my eyes.

“I’m really sorry.  Was just teasing before, but if I’d known…” he gave a slight shrug and palms up gesture of apology.

“It’s all right. Sorry for going all berserker on you,” I smile slightly.

He stifled a snicker, “Berserker? You’ve seen Clerks?”

“Of course, hasn’t everyone? I mean, Kevin Smith may be raunchy, a little out of my comfort zone sometimes, but nonetheless is an insightful writer and commentator of life in our generation,” I state matter-of-factly.

The man stares at me again, this time in wonderment. “Wow, I think I may have fallen in love with you a little bit. Most women can’t look past goofy comedy movies like that.”

“Oh… Well, that’s just, really nice,” I say flustered at this man’s response.

“I’m Elliot. Elliot Helmsworth,” he says sticking his hand out to me.  Grasping his palm, I reply, “Claire. Claire Whitmore.”

playing doctor and other bright ideas – help victims of Eastern Washington fires

It’s ok. I play a doctor on TV.

I have several amazing girlfriends who are in the field of medicine. Whether they’re nurses, soon-to-be PhD’s, paramedics, etc., these amazing women are true heroes and should be recognized as such.

For those living or have loved ones in the Pacific Northwest, you may have heard about the recent fires in Eastern Washington, specifically within the Ellensburg, Wenatchee, and Cle Elum area. My heart breaks at the fact that so many families have lost their homes, only to have their hopes slightly-raised with the short-lived rain, just to be followed up with more fires kindled from lightning strikes.

Prayerful and hopeful that these fires cease soon with as little damage to the community as possible, I am at least grateful that those dear to me who live in the area have not yet needed to be evacuated.  If you’re as concerned for our Eastern Washington neighbors as I am, there are several ways you can help:

1) Check out “Ron and Don” from MyNorthwest for a list of charities accepting donations;
2) Donate to the Red Cross, Ellensburg Chapter

To those fighting the fires, to those taking care of victims of mother nature’s dark side, my prayers go out to you and my heart is filled with hope that your transition after the fires are out is quick and as painless as possible.  To the victims of these fires, your Western Washington neighbors are here for you.

I am proud of my girlfriends who work tirelessly to tend to the sick and weary everyday without complaint.  Today’s DWC is dedicated to you.

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 13: Your character has a whole day off to do whatever they want. Write a scene of them enjoying this free day.

“Bom-bada-bom-bam… My Sharonaaa!”

My feet pound against the pavement. Enjoying my favorite part of the deep night, the moon illuminates the city, making it glitter with energy.  As I power through the last mile of my jog, a guy about ten paces up is wearing these ridiculously large headphones, signing along with what seems to be an eighties flashback.  And he was god-awful.

I chuckle again as I watch him run. Well, anyone driving at night would have a tough time explaining lack of visibility on this guy.  Neon orange shorts and a bright white plus a reflective shirt, slightly damp from sweat made this guy as inconspicuous as Darth Vader in a white room. He didn’t realize he wasn’t alone on this path. And why would he? At two-fifteen in the morning, I don’t normally see anyone here either.

Now you might wonder what a slightly-more-than-mid-twenties-single-and-alone-gal like me is doing, jogging out in the middle of the night?  Well, I’m not on shift for the next couple of days, but it’s easier if I keep up with my evening schedule.  My job as an Emergency Medical Technician usually had me working in the ambulance, the cab, during the graveyard shift.  I haven’t seen a sunrise in roughly six months.  Plus, I train in self defense regularly and carry pepper spray in my fanny pack. Yes, I wear a fanny pack. Let’s not dwell on that, shall we?

It having been awhile since jogging next to another human being, I decide to introduce myself.  Pushing myself faster, feeling my long blonde ponytail tapping against my shoulder blades, I catch up to him.  “Hi there!” I say in a bright greeting.

“Huh? Wha- Ow!” Startled, he glances at me and trips, tumbling to the ground. Oh no! I stop and quickly rush over.

“Oh my gosh! Are you ok?” My eyes quickly assess his fall. Light scrape on the knee, slight laceration of the elbow, no swelling at the ankle or leg, clothes a little dusty now. Just cosmetic injuries, easily taken care of with a quick wash and a sterile bandage.  “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He takes my hand as I help him to his feet. He looks down and brushes himself off, and I can’t help looking at his particularly well toned chest while he does so.

“Thanks. Nah, I’m fine. You just caught me off guard.”  I see him do a quick glance up and down at me. I was wearing a purple jogging shirt and matching knee-length jogging pants, complete with purple running shoes.  “I’m Ethan. And I take it you like purple?”

“Once a Husky always a Husky,” I shrug nonchalantly.  He smiles at me, tilting his head slightly to the side, “Well, go Dawgs… I didn’t catch your name,” he said slightly cocking his to the side.

I look to my right.  “Here, there’s a bench. Let me check you out- I mean, let’s get you checked out. It’s the least I can do for making you trip.”

“I didn’t trip, I was unprepared to test gravity,” he grinned at me.  I laugh.  “Sure, ok.” We walk over to the bench and sit, him peering down his left side taking a quick glance at his bleeding elbow.

I open my fanny pack and take out my travel-sized first aid kit.  His eyebrows rise slightly as he examines the medical supplies I carry with me.  “Well, you’re quite the girl scout, aren’t you?”  I glance up at him as I wipe his elbow with a sterilizing wipe and stick a wide bandage on him.

“Never was a girl scout. I’m a paramedic.”

“Really?” His eyebrows lifted higher as he looked intrigued with me.  “I feel like a wimp now.  I take it this must seem like a pretty lame injury compared to what you’re used to.”  I give him a little smile in return.  “That’s really awesome.”

He winks at me. “Shame about the girl scout thing though. I wouldn’t have minded seeing your uniform.”

“What? A uniform of that size would never have fit well as an adul-… Ah. I see now.” He laughs at my naiveté. It’s a nice laugh, hearty and full of life.  I continue, “It’s a good day whenever my services aren’t needed.  Here, let me get your knee too.”  I sterilize the wound and place a second bandage on him.

“I have to admit, I’m having a wounded soldier kind of feeling right now,” I say boldly.  He was even better looking close up. Green, deep-set eyes, brown hair with a Grecian nose.

“Well, tell you what,” he says spreading his palms wide in an open gesture. “Anytime you need to check my knee again, free game.”  I laugh and give him a slight slap on the knee.  “Hey, ow!” he says, playfully giving a mocked pained look.  Feeling warmth towards his sunny disposition, I find myself not wanting to part ways.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, when I was younger I was a candy striper… And I still have the outfit.”

He stares at me for a moment. “Seriously?  That’s pretty hot.”

“Want to get some pie?  There’s a great diner about two blocks from here.  Besides-“I stand up and give him a businesslike nod. “After an injury like that, I may have to observe you for twenty-four hours to make sure you’re all right.”  He laughs again and I feel a warmth growing from my core at my enjoyment of listening to it.

“Sure, that sounds really great.”  He stands and we start walking to Ally’s Diner. “Hey, what are you doing out here by yourself anyway?”

“Me? I’m not the one with headphones on, caterwauling and oblivious to my environment,” I teased.

“Oh,” he reddened slightly at that. “You heard that?”

I say deadpanned, “I think all of King and Pierce County heard that.” He laughed loudly this time, doubling over and grabs his sides.

“Yeah, I never did have much of a talent for singing,” he said wiping a tear from his eye.  “Hey, you never did tell me your name.” He tilts his head again in the same adorable fashion.

“Sharon.  My name is Sharon.”

you always remember your first

Do you remember your first?

Grabbed your attention, didn’t I?  I’ll tell you what. I’ll even give you his real name.  His name was Bob.  I know, lame-o name for a first, right? But he was a year older than me, slim body, reliable. We went through high school and most of college together. I have so many memories with Bob.  How could I ever forget him or his amazingly bright green paint job?

Oh, did I forget to mention that Bob is a car?

Bob was the epitome of the safest vehicle on my entire high school parking lot.  My father chose him specifically for me.  Him being a car guy, he knew exactly which car would always get me where I needed to go, never crap out on me, and definitely wasn’t capable of being dangerous.

It was so safe, it couldn’t even do doughnuts. It was a great selling point to my dad, by the way.  And I TRIED!  My dad took me to an icy parking lot in January and we TRIED!

NOTHING! ZIP! NADA! Not even a doughnut hole!

Bob was with me every step of the way. Through every job, through every latte stand, through every incident I was late to school on final’s day.  I got to know Pilot in that car.

You might be wondering about the name.  Well, in my family it’s a tradition to name our cars. Ok, maybe I started the tradition.

My mother’s purple soccer-mom vehicle was dubbed “The Grape Van,” (for a family of three, I still question the need for a damn van), my dad’s jeep was the “Beep Beep,” as named by my mother, but the name hasn’t stuck. It’s been renamed to Grease Lightning since then.  Even Pilot’s vehicle was christened upon the commencement of our relationship. His car was named “The Exploder.” (More on the Exploder another day.)

Bob was purchased out of a creepy, out-of-the-way location from a shabbily decorated lot.  After a not-really-trying dealer semi-haggled with my family, we purchased Bob, an ’83 Mercury Topaz, the new addition to our fleet.  (I know, right?)  Within the vehicle we found a dirty chamois, a screwdriver, and a Bob Marley tape.

I know, I know. The story sounds familiar. We named it Bob, the dog taught me a lot out of life and then he tear-jerkingly died.  Don’t worry, this story doesn’t end tragically. Promise.

While vacationing with my parents in Leavenworth, I found an “I Heart Bob” glow-in-the-dark key chain for him.  Unfortunately, our relationship had to come to an end. While in college at CWU, my parents’ growing concern for the two-hour drive over Snoqualmie Pass (especially in Washington winter which is December to March-ish) made them decide I needed a four-wheel drive vehicle instead.  So now I have Grease Lightning.

Mostly, I think my parents just wanted a new car, but my dad didn’t want to part with his Jeep and couldn’t justify having four cars for a family of three.

But don’t worry. Like I said, this story has a happy ending.  (Remember, I love a good HEA, even for an inanimate object.) Bob was still extremely reliable, and fully functional, so we tried to find a good home.  We found his new parents in my aunt and uncle. Now he has new owners, he’s still in the family and I get to visit him whenever I see my aunt and uncle.

What was your first car?  What were your favorite memories in there?

Wait, maybe that’s a bad question. But it’s out there now, so… Oh, well.

Daily Writing Challenge

*You may have noticed I didn’t post a DWC yesterday. The question for Day 11 (ironic, right? ) was “What was a day like for your character at work?” Since the DWC was part of a WIP, I didn’t want to post it here. So here’s Day 12.

Day 12: What does your character do when their day isn’t a normal day? Write a scene where something goes amiss in your characters day-to-day life.

Thud.

As I wait for my tow truck, the leather steering wheel making what I’m sure is a lovely indentation on my forehead. Sometimes I think that technology hates me. No, seriously. HATES ME. I’m supposed to be leaving for vacation in four hours and not only did my alarm not go off causing me to be late to work, but my computer decided today was a great day to stop functioning, preventing me from printing my boarding pass. After a mad dash to my neighbor’s house to print, sending a quick prayer of thanks for Mr. Rothenburger, I’m now on the side of the highway listening to a strange and ominous hiss coming from underneath the hood of my car.

Well, that’s actually not true. While driving, I heard a whirr plus a ka-thunk with a little dash of glug-a-glug. Then, the hissing.

As I reread the sun visor warning label for the thirty-seventh time, I glance at my suitcase. Poor little suitcase. Sitting there in the back of my car, patiently waiting to be loaded onto a plane to Hawaii.  It’s bright orange with stickers from everywhere I’ve traveled. I hadn’t been to Hawaii yet, and I was itchy to go for some fun in the sun.

There’s a light tapping on the window. As my eye rolls up to look outside, an annoyingly cheerful but yummy looking mouth smiles back at me.  His voice is slightly muffled as he announces himself through the glass.

“Are you Jenny Eppson, yellow Neon JRF-502?”

I nod and straighten up in my driver’s seat, brushing my plain brown hair off my face.  I roll down the window.

“Davis Motors?”

“Yup, Davis Bogart. That’s me.” I pop the hood and step out of the car.  My por little Neon, I grab my poor little suitcase, and set it next to poor little me on the side of the road.  A tall, slightly tanned from working outside, muscled man with dark hair and dark eyes winks at me.

He nods towards my suitcase, “So where you headed?”

“I’m supposed to leave for Hawaii in…” I steal a quick glance at my cell phone. “Make that three hours.”

“Well let’s see what we can do about getting you on your way.”

“Wait a second… Bogart?” I raise my eyebrows at him.  He gave a slight chuckle.

“Yeah, I know. But I’ll tell you what, I’m a huge hit with women over fifty.” He goes over to check my engine.  I watched Yummy Mouth bend over my hood.  Hmm.  Not bad for our generation either.

“Hmm… Looks like your transmission blew. We’re going to have to take it in.”

“Nooo! Could this day get any worse?!” I yell to no one in particular.  When I look back down Davis’ eyes widen a little.

“Bad day, huh?” he said, handing me a clipboard. “Sign here please.”

“The worst,” I grumble to myself, reluctantly taking the pen and sign my name and car away.

“I’m sorry. We’ll get it back to my garage… Unfortunately, my guys won’t be able to work on the vehicle until Monday.”

“Nooo!” I say again as I kick the tire. Shame on me for buying a Neon.

“Here, hop in the front seat.”  He glanced down at the form.  “Look, it’s late, my shift is almost over… and my mother would be shaking in her curlers if I left a young lady stranded without a ride.  I could give you a lift to the airport. You wouldn’t want to pay for those parking fees anyway.  We’ll store your car, free of charge until we can get to work on it.”

My jaw dropped.  “You don’t have to do that, really.”  I wrinkled my nose. “But if you want to stay in good standing with your mother, you might not want to mention the curlers. Oh, and thank you for calling me young.”  He laughed.

“No really, it’s ok.  My garage is on the way. Besides, we can take the carpool lane and maybe make up for the time you’ve lost from this whole transmission issue of yours.”

His logic and generosity was music to my ears.

“Bogey, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

never forgot, never will

Silence.

The phone rings. I wake up and answer in the middle of the second ring. It’s my mother announcing that the Twin Towers in New York had been hit by a hijacked plane.  After turning on the television to see what was going on, I witness a second plane flying low. Way too low. It crashes into the second tower.  I see people jumping to their deaths because it was better than burning alive.

It was my senior year of high school, just starting out my last year before entering adulthood. The first thought I had? “I need to find Yak.” If the nickname sounds odd, it was a high school nickname and she was OK with it. One of her favorite sweaters that she wore almost all the time was made out of yak fur, hence the nickname.

School.  Get to school.  The staff might be trying to track where students are.

I got ready for school and drove my car, Bob as quickly as possible. My concern for my friend was number one. I remember searching for her at the school.  She wasn’t there. I remember calling her. My heartbeat pounding in my eardrums. Waiting for those four words. Praying to hear those four words versus the alternative. I heard her pick up the phone.

“I’m ok… He’s ok.”

Relief comes swiftly, briefly. “Oh, thank, God.” I briefly closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Hearing the assurance in her voice and the finality of her statement partially soothed the ache from the morning’s events. The one good thing from that day was that her family was ok. Yak’s brother had recently moved to New York just before 9/11.  My fear was she had lost someone she cared about, and I wouldn’t know how to be there for her.  They were one of the lucky ones.  Any relief was short-lived after closing the fear on her potential loss, and focusing on the rest of the victims.

Every member of the academic institution was gathered in a common area watching the news live. Teachers, students, administration…

Here was this gathering, a space crammed full of people to the point of standing room only, our entire high school population grouped together. Afraid to leave because… Well, what else was there to do?  We couldn’t talk. We couldn’t move.  All we could do was watch.  The only sound being made were the muted voices coming from the television tuned to the news.

What do I remember?  I remember the silence.

We weren’t a school that morning. It didn’t matter if you were old, young, senior, freshman, popular, nerdy, band geek, jock, cheerleader, goth, white, black, rich, poor, purple, striped or polka-dotted.  For that horrible moment, we were just people. Attempting to come to grips with the thousands of people who had just lost their lives. To the thousands of survivors who would have to bear a burden no person should, guilt for surviving. To the families and friends of the lost who were dealing with suffering, confusion, anger and utter devastation.

No, not even now. I cannot comprehend their ability to move forward. It’s a courage I’m unsure I’m capable of having.

Earlier today I re-read a post from one of my favorite bloggers, Jonathan Fields. Maybe I’ve seen him, maybe not.  He was there. This happened in his own backyard, his wife and child at home, nearby. Perhaps any of us caught a glimpse of him in the background on the news.

Jonathan’s story is haunting. He expressed an experience I will never fully understand.  I’m not sure anyone fully understands it.  Please read his story, because he represents the voice of those still here and of those who are gone. Read his story because his and the voice he represents deserved to be listened to.

So what’s the point of this post?  I don’t know, you tell me. I have no clue.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that being a lifetime member of the West Coast, it was difficult for citizens on this side of the States to fully comprehend with what had happened. In my opinion, I believe there was a delay. A temporary dulling of the senses for those of us trying to connect with what was happening to our citizen brethren on the other side of our country.  It may sound harsh, but I believe it’s true.  What do you think?  I don’t know.

I just know I’ll never forget.

Acosta-ed! pass the sunblock, would you? – review

I’ll tell you one thing:
It sucks you in and leaves you craving for more!

I have to hand it to my friend who introduced me to Marta Acosta’s Casa Dracula series back in college. After reading the first novel, I became enthralled with Milagro de los Santos, the narrator and no-one-takes-me-seriously-but-I’m-very-serious-right-now-party girl.

Thrall? Vampire? Get it? Too soon? Oh, well.

You can imagine the sheer joy I felt upon discovering that Acosta planned to develop this into a series, which calmed my nerves after the first novel Happy Hour at Casa Dracula left me with some unanswered questions.

Acosta’s series is as follows:
1. Happy Hour at Casa Dracula
2. Midnight Brunch
3. The Bride of Casa Dracula
4. Haunted Honeymoon

Her sharp, sassy, side-splitting funny voice takes the reader into a world that invites you to sit a spell for a meal of beet salad and tomato juice.  (In this world, apparently one does not necessarily need blood, but a high abundance of red-colored foods.)

Using the idea of vampirism as a “condition,” Acosta’s main character, Milagro de los Santos leads you into a world that debates clashes of the classes, what is true love, and how much sunblock does one undead person need?

I may or may not have laughed so hard that I fell out of my chair… literally. But would never admit to such a thing.

I give the Casa Dracula Series and Marta Acosta an A. The only reason this series did not receive an A+ is because you should definitely this series in order. If these had been written as standalone novels with the larger story arcs they cover, it would have been much easier on me as a reader.  Otherwise there are some serious gaps in knowledge until Haunted Honeymoon.  At least in her final book of the series, Acosta gives what I believe to be a decent sendoff for her characters whom I fell in love with. Milagro de los Santos is the big-hearted best friend you wish you had, and want to root for even when she’s making decisions that tear your hair out! Marta Acosta is a true winner and I’ll never be able to stop sharing Milagro with others as my friend had shared Milagro with me.

This review is solely the opinion of Katherine Bacher. I am in no way affiliated with Marta Acosta, nor her works, and wrote this review purely on my own terms. Check out Marta Acosta’s Casa Dracula series. You’ll never put them down!

sometimes you have to rip it off like a bandage

Breaking up is hard to do. Or, so I thought.

I love my Macbook. We have been in a relationship for about 5 years.

So what if the Mac version of Microsoft Word has completely different looking toolbars and I have to re-educate myself from PC to Mac every time I open the program? So what if my vision is bad and trying to read a 10-word sentence is difficul-

Huh?  What’s that, Pilot?  You’re willing to help me purchase a new laptop because I’m technologically illiterate and scared to purchase an item with something called 4GB of RAM or GOAT or SHEEP or something? Hmm…

1 HOUR LATER…

Feeling giddy!  Just got back from purchasing a new laptop that is twice as fast, half as heavy and provides a much bigger monitor for myself with Windows 7. It won’t be ready until tomorrow, but I can wait. I’m a somewhat-patient person.

Sorry Macbook.  It’s been a good run.  It’s not you. It’s me.

No wait, it WAS you. Anyone want to buy a Macbook?

The ongoing war of computers.  Which are you, a Mac or a PC and why?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 10: Your character has dreams, ambitions and goals don’t they? What are they? What are they doing to achieve them? Write a scene that shows these aims.

Sparks arched out in a halo of light as the metal changed from a dull grey to a bright white-orange while the piece of steel began to bifurcate.

Just one more cut right… there!

Stopping the flame generating from her finger, Lorelei lifted her welding mask up from her face. Using the sleeve of her coveralls she wiped the sweat from her brow.  Blowing out a breath, she checked her watch. Four eleven. She better stop now if she had any plans of making it to work on time.

The phone rang off in the distance.  While putting the receiver to her ear, she pressed Send.

“Hello?”

“Hey Lorelei, you better get down here quick!”  Lorelei rolled her eyes and sighed.  She took the welding mask off her head and set it down on the hallway table.

“Hey Mitch, don’t worry. I’ll be there on time. My shift doesn’t start until six.”

“Hold on a second.” She heard him cover the phone with his hand as he yelled something inaudible, then returned to speak with her.

“I need you to come in early. We’re supposed to gear up for Hell Outta Dodge tonight, but the wiring’s on the fritz again. Can you come down and see if you can fix the soundboard?”

A local band was making their debut tonight at the club.  It was an old warehouse from the eighties that had been renovated into one of the new hotspots downtown. Although the façade of the building looked good, the wiring was still old and required constant attention.

As thoughts of a relaxing bath began to dissipate, she replied, “Sure, Mitch. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Thanks, you’re a doll.” Click. The line went dead. Mitch wasn’t exactly for small talk.

She pulled at her hair tie and shook her red hair loose.  Placing it next to the mask, she put her hands on her hips and looked down at her Chihuahua, Blazer.  Blazer’s little pink tongue was sticking out the side of her mouth. Lorelei gave her little dog a small smile.

“Well, looks like I’m going to have to save the day again!” she announced. Blazer’s ears picked up, tucking her tongue back in and wagged her tail in response.

—

Longingly looking at the water flowing into the tub, wishing she could have taken that leisurely soak, Lorelei twisted the knob and stepped into the spray for a quick shower instead.

Hopefully my muscles won’t be too sore later if I turn up the heat. She twisted the knob again to heat up the spray, stretching her shoulders and turning to make sure her back was in the massaging water. As she shampooed her hair, her mind began to wander.

What am I going to do with my life?

The club had been a great job with the best tippers in the city for some extra cash each night. People tended to tip better with a drink in them.  And she couldn’t beat the hours. Having a night job allowed her to work on her sculptures during the day when the noise wouldn’t bother anyone.

A desk job hadn’t suited her. Lorelei had learned that the hard way.  Being cooped up in a stuffy office away from the outside, only able to look at the sunshine through a window was torture.  Apparently her boss recognized that when he fired her.

Lorelei had acquired quite the resume over the years. She had been a short-order cook by using her magic to fire-roast each burger, making them the exact temperature each customer wanted.  At one time she had been a chauffer for a limo company specializing in first-class clientele.  An apprenticeship with a local plumbing company went well for about six months until a pipe she was working on burst and flooded her client’s home causing massive water damage to their kitchen.  After that, no one wanted to hire her. Oh, well. That job probably would have been better suited for her sister anyway, who could use magic to control water.  Now, she was a bartender slash electrician for Headliners, a punk rock club located in South Seattle. 

If only there was a way for her to find what she was good at along with having a schedule with the freedom to work on her sculptures whenever she wanted. Away from neighbors and have a little privacy as well.

Mrs. Walters was great. A woman who allowed Lorelei to rent the basement unit and pay extra for the garage space to work on her art.  But Mrs. Walters was in her early seventies and required a quiet environment in the evenings.  Having direct access to the garage was nice so Lorelei wouldn’t tromp around the house to get to the front door and disturb her.  But she always felt guilty each incident where she lost track of time and Mrs. Walters would have to call from her bedroom asking for quiet.

Turning the water off, Lorelei lightly squeezed the towel around her hair, and put her makeup on. Going to her bedroom, she dressed for work, a sleeveless button down green shirt to match her eyes, black leather pants and black boots.  She took one last glance in the mirror.

Something has got to change, she thought to herself.

Giving Blazer a quick snuggle, she grabbed her keys and left for work. 

first kiss hijacked by unknown kindergartner!

ANNOUNCEMENT:
Earlier this week, I was asked to guest post on 5thingstodotoday!  Thanks to David Ridings for the amazing opportunity and for helping me check this milestone off my my blogging bucket list!  Check it out and share a comment on how YOU beat writer’s block!  

Oh man, my first guest posting and I haven’t had this blog for a full week! <Squee!>

Now, back to your regularly scheduled program…

———-

Today’s DWC asked me to write about someone’s first kiss.  Boy did that bring up memories!  I wish I could tell you my first kiss was with my husband, a serious boyfriend or even a mere crush.

Well, it wasn’t.

Sorry to burst your bubble, but under full disclosure: my first kiss wasn’t even romantic.  

I don’t even know his name.

I was a plucky, annoyingly-perky kindergartner waiting impatiently for the recess bell, as all kindergartners do.  Rushing to be one of the first people in line, I marched along with my other kiddie classmates to the wood chipped playground.  Recess time is about all a four-year-old lives for, other than finger painting.

Utilizing my time carefully, I climb the “Big Toy,” run down the slides in the exact manner we were instructed not to do and play foursquare with those intimidating rubber bouncy-balls.

You know the ones. The scary ones notorious for marring children’s innocence during lethal games of dodgeball.

While making my ascent to fulfill my plan of going across the monkey bars-

I’m going to make it all the way across this time, I know it!

-my plan was being interrupted by a boy from another kindergarten group. He was about the same height as me with light brown, somewhat-curly hair, his little face complete with dimples. He runs up to me and said, “You’re Katie! I like you!”

Smack!

He leans over and kisses me square on the lips. Pulling back after a mere fraction of a second, he gives me a partially-toothy grin and runs away.  Standing there blinking at the empty space which only a second prior had held a human being.

So what happened next, you might ask?  Well, I did what any logical four-year-old who had just been hijacked emotionally does.

I tattled on him.

I run right up to the teachers monitoring (and apparently not very well) the children at play, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. I raise a serious finger toward my pint-sized-temporary-captor, stating in a steady but angry voice, “That boy just kissed me!”

The teachers looked at me.  They looked at each other.

Then, they laughed.

They laughed!

Well, you can imagine the indignation I felt as the color worked its way up my collar.

My mom was into turtlenecks at the time. No, I don’t get it either. To this day I hate to have anything tied around my neck.  To this day, scarves are worn loosely, if at all.

I gave these inept people an evil stink-eye, promptly stomping away from the useless supervisors the school had hired for my education, and tried to fill the rest of recess time with some other activity to get over the humiliation.

Now, some parents might say the cause of this humiliation is due to boys and girls thinking of each other as having “cooties” during this stage of life.  Well, for me it was quite the opposite.

Being born a hopeless romantic is really tough on the psyche.  As a matter of fact, in preschool (yes, preschool) I had huge crush on a boy named Tyler, and I’d kind of hoped he was going to be my first kiss.  Even at this tender age, I must have been destined to be a romance novelist because I never went through the “boys have cooties” stage.

Do you want to know my reason for being completely undone by this unknown culprit?

Every little girl is told that her first kiss will be a special one with a special boy.  We’re assured our first kiss will be a magical experience making us feel like fairy princess, and we’ll always remember it.

My first kiss was hijacked by an unknown kindergartner.

We’re also told you can never get it back, because once you’ve had a first kiss it’s gone. Forever.

Doesn’t that sound a little harsh to you, too? Yeah. I thought so.

Even to this day, my own mother was never able to figure out who the boy was, which group he was in, or even his name. This boy’s innocent kid-crush completely obliterated any ability for me to attach emotion to my first kiss.  I was devastated.  The experience was gone and I was never able to get it back.

Looking back on that first kiss, it makes me ponder the idea that maybe this unknown boy is why I’ve kept romance in my heart for the rest of my life.  My four-year-old self’s emotionally crippling day made me want another kiss. One that meant something.  Now, as an adult I can say I’ve had a kiss, <rolling eyes> (ok, maybe a few), with boys who actually meant something to me.  Some meant happy memories, others… Well, lets just say some were regrettable.

In several ways you have to give mad props to that brave and brazen kindergartner, whoever he is.  Spending countless hours (ok, maybe some years during my youth), trying to picture who this man is today sparked endless possibilities for me.  Maybe he’s in the military, perhaps an artist, or most likely, just normal guy who is probably married and even started a family.

Either way, it’s a sweet notion and I look back on that “Hijacked Kiss” much more fondly than my four-year-old self.  Today, I even have my own (at one point in my life) “mystery man” who became the love of my life.

To that boy back in kindergarten, thank you.  You have become the inspiration for several make believe men based on whoever you *might* be today.

To my husband, Pilot, I thank you. You are the inspiration for all of the wonderful traits my heroes have and will carry with them for the rest of my life.  You’ve made all my romantic possibilities come true.

<Blows Kiss.>

I want to hear from YOU!  What was YOUR first kiss like?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 9: How was your character’s first kiss? Who with? Where was it? How old were they? Write the scene.

The sky was filled with brilliant purples and pinks as the sun was making its lazy trek home toward the mountains.  Ethan stopped and pulled out the quilt and thermos of homemade hot chocolate they brought for their sunset hike. 

Spreading the quilt out onto the mossy grounds of the woods, they each sat looking out at the view.  Keeping their voices low as if sharing secret information with each other, they watched the daylight slowly recede from view.

Ethan shook his head.  “I’ll never understand people who live in a flat, landlocked state.”  Molly looked at him, absorbing how the light reflected off of his hair and illuminated him in a soft orange glow.  He shifted his gaze to hers.  “They’re missing out on one of nature’s greatest shows!”  She poured him a cup of the hot chocolate, handing the steaming container over to him.  She then poured herself one and took a sip.  Mmm… Heaven in a cup.

“Really?  People in the Midwest have to have daytime and nighttime just like anywhere else, right?”  Molly raised her eyebrows.

Shaking his head a second time he said, “It’s not the same.” He pointed off in the distance to the mountains that were glowing with a fiery red, slowly being consumed by a growing dark purple sky.

“Here, when the sun sets behind the mountains, we still get about a half hour to an hour more of sunlight.  In the Midwest where it’s flat, there’s no twilight. It’s sunny, then black.  Hardly a transition.  There’s no time to enjoy it.”  He slowly turned back to her, and Molly noticed a glimmer of something emanating from his eyes.  “Or enjoy it with someone.”

Her eyes widened slightly as he took her hand. Her hand looked so small in his.  His palm warm against her skin, his fingertips slightly scarred and padded from hours of guitar playing.  As her pulse quickened she watched his eyes journeyed from her eyes to her hair.

“What?” she asked softly.

“Your hair-“ he paused.

“Yeah?” She was beginning to feel self-conscious now. Please don’t let there be a bug. Oh, please no!

“It always seemed dark brown, but it’s red in the sunlight.”  One corner of his lips quirked up in a shy half-smile, causing her to melt inside.

Ethan’s face relaxed as if lost in a daydream. The sun was now touching the snowcapped peaks. One at time, he set their drinks down.  Shivers of delight tingled throughout her body as she felt his fingers pass through her curly locks and felt them lightly twist the end of a strand.  He dropped his gaze back down to her lips.

“Molly?”

“Uh huh?” Words evaded her now.

“I-“ he sighed. His eyes glowed with some affection she wasn’t ready to identify yet. “God you’re beautiful.”  He placed both of his hands on her face, and before she knew it his lips were brushing hers.  There was a final spark of light permeating the sky as the sun disappeared, the last burst of color before final nightfall.

Mfph. A breath caught in her throat as she felt his lips brushing hers. A kiss so gentle it grounded her, unable to move. All too soon he pulled back slightly, leaving her insides fuzzy.  Molly slowly opened her eyes feeling dazed and warm.

His eyes searched hers.  “Was that ok?” he asked softly.

She felt his breath on her face as she let this moment sink in.  After blinking a few times, she slowly wrapped her arms around his neck and scooted closer.

“That was very ok,” giving him a slow smile.  Ethan raised his eyebrows in amusement and a corner of his lips quirked up.  Molly looked at his lips, the ones that had just touched hers a mere moment, yet forever ago.

“So you liked it, huh?” His eyes squinted slightly as he gave her an ear-splitting smile. 

“Why, yes. I did.” Molly gave him a quick nod in confirmation.  He laughed.  The sky was dark now, glittering with the stars all around them.

“In fact,” she continued, raising an eyebrow at him.  “I think it’s about high-time you kiss me again, just to make sure we did it right.”  He laughed harder as he put his arms around her waist bringing her body flush against his.

He shook his head at her.  “You’re too much.”

As he leaned back in to kiss her again, she made sure to kiss him back this time.