Living in the World of Make-believe: Lady Luck and Her Tales of Adventure

This was previously posted on my other blog, however I am working to combine them. To do this, I am slowly going through the posts of the other blog and re-posting anything I find worth while onto this one.

Acelynn Beecher is a 27 year old woman who's never lost a bet in her life. She's also never turned one down. Que her brother Aidan who bets she can't make it six months on her own without their wealthy family to pay her way. Ace is as independent as they come, and she goes through men as quickly as her shop-a-holic sister, Grace goes through clothes.
Meanwhile, Grace bet Ace when she was 17 that one day she'd find a guy she couldn't walk away from.
When she goes on her brother's bet, she meets Devlin, an unlucky-in-life guy working in a Diner, dreaming of becoming a lawyer. They become quick friends, but he's feeling more than friendly towards this wild, high-on-life woman. Problem is, Ace might be falling too. Will she win her sister's age old bet and walk away, just to prove she can, or will she finally cry defeat and stay with the guy who finally brought her to her knees?

Story title is "Ace is Wild"

Only YOU can help prevent apartment fires...

So my son has taken to hiding himself in the closet with the cat litter box to watch the cat poop. He also put some cat litter in his diaper. I'm not entirely sure why this is suddenly a thing. I mean I know he knows poop is yucky, and I know he knows he's not allowed to put cat litter in his diaper. And that the cat doesn't like being locked in the closet as it poops while he watches.

Also, he's taken to telling people, "I start a fire" with a smile. Yes, he started a fire in our microwave with my magnet clips. Yes, I told him it was bad and a mommy touch. No, he does not care one iota and yes he is proud of this accomplishment. The microwave is now officially unplugged until he grows up and moves out.

Things You Wish You'd Said: Lover's Quarrel

I will be slowly combining my three blogs into one. So keep in mind I started this when I was 18-20. I can't say I'm matured entirely, however thing's have changed ever so slightly. For example, I now have a two year old spawn of Satan. That's right...I'm a mother.

For the first combination, I will be reposting 'Lover's Quarrel'

• "You're cute." "Thanks." "You're super cute. Isn't she super cute?" "You can all look away now, I'm not going to get any cuter."

• "Are you always this stubborn?" "Only Monday through Sunday."

• "I'm not your type?" "No. I make it a habit not to date outside my species."

• "I love you as much as Romeo loved Juliet." "You mean you'd willingly commit suicide just because I was taking a nap?"

• "There are other fish in the sea." "Unless those fish have two legs, two arms, own a motorcycle, and goes by the name of Harley, I'm not interested."

• "I'm going to catch him. Hook, line and sinker." "...You don't even own a fishing pole."

• "People say we make a cute couple." "People also said the world was flat; it's not the first time they've been wrong."

• "If I said I loved you-" "I'd say go get your head examined."

• "What do you have against love?" "Love? Nothing. You? Everything."
• "So...if this date goes well, do you want to go to your place or mine?" "Oh, yeah...you just failed."

Online Dating for Dummies

Hey All,

It's been a very long time. I'd say I've been busy, but why lie? I got bored with writing blogs that weren't ever going to be read anyway, however recently, I decided that it could be worth restarting because it's really just my public diary.

I wanted to take  a minute to rant about online dating. It's becoming increasingly common, and because I have the social knack of a porcupine, I'll admit to using it as a crutch, but I can't help feeling that it is utterly useless. Top five complaints (and feel free to comment with your own) would be:

1. Selfies of you blowing smoke, I do not know or care how high you are. In fact, I'm going to go ahead and say no on principle, but thanks.
2. Bad grmmr. i mean, smrt fones com w/ spellchk, dn't they? do u wnt to red ths txt? no.
3. Long messages about how you saw my picture and you never do this, but it was love at first sight, and what do I think? Do I think we could go out for a date? I will go ahead and assume you've sent to thirty other girls. And no, we can't.
4. Immediate sexting. Everyone likes it, no I'm not a nun, but I'm not going to start telling you what I like, who I've been with, when we can meet up, or if I'll call you Daddy. Get Tinder.
5. Men 20 years older than me hitting me up with "Hey gorgeous." You're my mother's age, I do not want to date my mother's friends, so no, I do not want to talk to you either. 

Am I too picky? I'm sure that I am, but hey, no one is forcing you to converse with me, are they?

Until next time!

Keep your pants on princess, I'm getting there

To the point I mean. And there really isn't one, is there? I can't think of one. But is it really necessary to rush a person? Do you think that the circle you're drawing with your hand, eyeing me, telling me to hurry up and get to the point is really making me get to the point any faster? Hint: no it's not. So put your hands in your pocket, zip your stupid, frowning lips, and listen or leave. I'm more than happy shutting up, just give me the word.
The problem is I like to talk and I don't particularly care if I'm making sense or not, and the more irritated you look, the more angry I get and the more things I have to say. And let's be honest darling, you say the word and I'll move onto my next victim. You don't have to look so shocked when I say something insulting. If you give me an opening, I'm going to make fun of you. Facts of life my friend.
That said, my rant is complete and you can all go back to your fun little lives. Yippee.

Virgin Mary was a Genius

     It's an old and overdone joke to be sure, the whole Mary and Jesus thing, but think about it. She was the first person to think to use that as an excuse. And it's a damn good one, isn't it? "No, I didn't cheat on you...God sent an angel to speak to me, I'm having God's baby!" I mean you can't really call someone out on that, can you? And then no one else can really use it and get away with it. "Nice try Cheryl, but God already got one woman pregnant, I doubt he needs two sons to die on a cross." I'm not going to attempt a religious debate, that would be silly, don't you think? Everyone has their beliefs, no point in trying to change them.
     It's been quite a while since I attempted to post anything, hasn't it? Man, I don't even remember what was going on the last time I spouted out nonsense on this website. So, what to do? Oh right, well I started seeing this guy. Cool as a cucumber this boy. Silly as a clown. As emotionless as the Godfather. I like him a lot. "L" word him a lot, but it's not a word to be tossed around by the like of me. So I treat it the way I should the curse words I dole out without pause. And...and well I might be pregnant.
     Not Virgin Mary pregnant, bastard child pregnant. Or I could be overreacting like I do in almost every case. That's all for the day. Have a nice life, until next time.

I am, You are, She is

I'm almost absolutely done with this moron. He's not NOT interested, but he's really busy and he doesn't have time for a relationship, at least that's what he keeps saying. I don't think he's much of a liar, but I'm having trouble buying this crap. He's really driving me insane, and I wish he'd just come out and say he wasn't interested. Otherwise I fear I may go insane.
Here's the thing; I am, like most people, full of complications, but I'm fairly certain I'm simple to understand.

I'm sarcastic, more so the more irritated I get. I'm happy-go-lucky, paranoid, self-conscious, unsure, cautious (for certain things), ridiculously reckless (as in I enjoy driving in horrible weather, I don't get scared, I get irritated and I'm not very concerned with potential muggers/rapists). I'm a liar, a story-teller, a complainer. I love to argue and pull pranks. I love laughing, and I enjoy fun. I talk too much, I concern myself with what others think. I imagine how things could work if only they'd just work. I ask random questions as they come to mind for future reference, I start random polls just because I need help deciding, and then I ignore all tips and helpful hints and do precisely what I had planned to do in the first place. I tell you I'm fine, and that I don't want to talk about it because I want you to ask again, again, and again so that I know you're not just asking because, but because you REALLY want to know. I cry, I get more sarcastic when I'm upset because it's defensive. I laugh when I don't want to because it makes me feel better. I give blank stares when I have nothing to say and I don't know what you're going on about. I don't drink, but I don't care if you do. I don't smoke, but you're free to. I have a temper, I'm stubborn and I have a smacking tendency that I'm trying to break. I share my life story with anyone who asks, I cry on every one's shoulder without fail. If I really like a guy, I try not to share too much. I don't share with them as easily because I seem crazy enough without the baggage.

In short, I want him to like me. I want him to see this stuff and realize that I'm not all bad, that maybe he COULD like me. I could be good for him, I could not. I just want the chance to try you know? And I don't think it's fair what he's doing to me. I like him, I spilled that to him, and he can't even text me without needing something. Guys suck.

Outdone by my own Creativity

So that guy that I mentioned I liked? Still like him. He's still a great guy, and I'm still forever trying to read him. Every sentence that comes out of his mouth gets analyzed, re-analyzed, set aside, then analyzed again. I keep trying to find his motivation, his internal plans, his quiet feelings.
We went out to a movie once, I've hung out and watched t.v. one other time with him, and I understand he's busy, but I'm just so flippin' paranoid.
I don't drink, smoke, do drugs, have sex, go party, etc. He was the first guy in all my eighteen (nearly nineteen) years that I've ever gone on a date with, hopefully the first guy I kiss, but I can't help panicking.
What could a guy like him, see in a girl like me? I'm so 'clean' it's not even funny and I'm not at all like his last girlfriend. I'm not saying I'm a bad bet, but what would you think in my position? I'm 'corruptible' and he's a nice guy who doesn't seem the 'corrupting' type, you get me? Plus he goes to bars with friends, and I don't have a problem with that okay? I don't have a problem with drinking, he's legal after all, but I can't go can I? That's one of his favorite past times and I can't even go. What does that say?
In my mind, I see all the best possible outcomes, and I mean those far out ones too. The ones where he loves me, where we're dating, where he meets my family. Maybe that tells you that I want that, and so what if I do? It's not a crime.
And I'm not saying it has to be him. I'm not saying I love him even because I don't, plain and simple. I admire him, sure. Think he's a great guy, like him a lot too, but I don't love him. I don't want him to meet my family. I just like the fantasies. I've also mentally created all of the possible bad outcomes. The ones where he just doesn't want to hurt my feelings, where he's gay, he's married (not really all that likely) or dating someone else no one knows about. The ones where this is all an elaborate joke, something to laugh about later. "Look what I got her to do this time!"

Point is, I can't take the not knowing, the uncertainty. I just want to know what's what. I want to know what he's thinking and feeling at this point. I want to know if I mean something of any remote value to him, not much just a speck. Is that too much to ask? Why are guys so complicating?

So What if I do?

So what if I like you? So what if you're all I think about? So what if you're the only person I really want to talk to all day? So what if it irritates me that you haven't responded? That I'm struggling to accept that you're not avoiding me (though I'm convinced you are), that you're just busy? So what if I'm obsessed?
That's my personality. I assume the worst and freak out until proven wrong. If you don't like me and I was right? If you really are avoiding me? Well I'll get over it. I'm not in love, I'm not fantasizing about love, I just want to talk to you. I admit that I obsess, I admit that I'm not totally confident.
If you don't like me, tell me. If you do, show me. I need to be shown, I need it proven.

The Truth the Whole Truth...And A Few Bonus Features

So after embarrassing myself and telling this guy that I liked him (in the funniest way possible), he said that he'd like to take me 'for a night on the town'. Except he gave me some general statement, and no round about date...and he hasn't talked to me since. Mayhaps he hasn't had time to text, but in my 'writer' mind I've already come up with a thousand reasons why, and only two of them are good. Here's the list of possibilities;

• He dropped his phone in the toilet
• He ran over his phone
• He was just being nice and he doesn't actually want to go out with me***(winner)
• I somehow managed to change his mind at my response to HIS response.
• I've already annoyed him to death
• This is all some game, he wanted to see if I'd admit I liked him and he's in cahoots with Brandon.
• He is actually secretly married/dating someone.
• I'm not his type.
• He decided we're way too different to make it work.
• He overdosed on drugs and no one has thought to tell me.
• I'm over reacting and he just didn't have time (I do not think so, but everyone else seems to want to give him the benefit of the doubt).

Those are the reasons I have come up with...so maybe I'm not as self-confident as I should be...not my fault. Also, I lied to him about my sister eating all my milkduds...there's still a box left. But I couldn't exactly say, "My sister ate ALMOST all of my milkduds" could I?

Outsmarted by the Master

So I've been trying to save my money so that I can get this year of college paid for, but I've been spending said money like mad. I had $12 in my pocket this morning to buy matches for class, but then ended up mooching some off of dad. I thought, 'Hey great! Now I can buy lunch!' And then as I was getting out of the car to rush off to class, I took the money OUT of my pocket because I decided the temptation was too strong, and I really should save the money.
Three hours later, I walk out of lab, walk into the union, grab a bagel and milk and head for check out. Only of course I don't have my money because I knew beforehand that that would happen. I can't believe I fell for that...

Those Damned Depressing Thoughts Again

They've come back again, not that I should really be all that shocked. Those thoughts that everyone has, that everyone worries about...probably. What happens when the years pass and I'm still by myself? I don't mean that I don't really enjoy hanging out with my friends, or that I'm faking it when I'm smiling and laughing with them, I mean that there are still things that I want to experience and they're not happening.
No one shows interest, and if they do (I can think of like two) I panic and back away like they have some horrible disease. Granted, I didn't really see myself with those guys anyway. I'm having those panicked thoughts that I'm going to settle because I was to scared to voice my admiration for the guy I really liked.
Are you picking up what I'm laying down? (Sorry, I felt like no one uses that phrase anymore and it's a damn shame.) I want someone to come show an interest. To show me I'm not some whacked out psycho and that guys really can like me. Please.

If owning a pencil makes you a writer, then this football makes me a football player

I try to be supportive in everyone's dreams and ideas, but I hate when I tell people about an idea I have for a story and all of the sudden they're writers and they have a great idea for a book too. Writing is the one thing I've never grown tired of. The one think I work at, take classes for and stress over. You can't just walk up to me and say, "You write? Me too! Or well...I have an idea for a story, I just haven't had time to write it out, but I have a great idea for one!"
When you tell me you're going to be a surgeon, you don't hear me saying, "Yeah? I happen to be a very good sewer, I could sew people up too." To assume that what I do is child's play is like saying you think I'm of little importance.
I read, I learn and I experiment constantly. My stories are never finished and I'm constantly looking for a way to dive into a different genre. Everything I do is to help me with my next story. Point of view, plot formation, folklore, popular culture, foreign language, television viewing, chemistry...eventually it is all tied into something for me.
These people don't do this stuff. For most of them, their knowledge on point of view doesn't go beyond first person and third person, the stuff we learned in third grade. And the idea of plot is simply rising action, climax, and falling action. Second person may as well be non-existent, metaphors and alliterations belong in poetry, and as long as they have character dialogue and throw in as many descriptive words as possible, the story's going to be great.
Subtlety is lost on them, metaphors aren't used and their description of anything is in list format instead of sprinkled throughout the story like chocolate chips in a chocolate chip cookie. no one wants a cookie where all the chips are concentrated in the middle. We call that a screw up.
Granted I tend to take metaphors and alliterations for granted. As always, alliterations are just things that happen in whatever I'm writing (and if you caught that I used it in the beginning of the sentence, then congrats).
The point is, I know how to use them and I'm fairly certain that I use them well when I do use them. Writing is an art form. You don't just pick up a brush and paint a Monet, and you don't just pick up a quill and write like Shakespeare.

When the Hell Did I Cross to this Parallel Universe and How Do I Get Back?

I was followed today by a man with a beard and he wore a dark cloak that went down to his ankles. He was whistling 'It's a Small World' and eating cherry pie. After about five minutes I finally got fed up and turned around to confront the creeper whose name turned out to be Alex...what an un-stalkerish name to have. Now Jason...that's a good stalker name. I'm just saying.
Ha ha, I'm just kidding. I haven't been stalked of late, however there had been a woman walking behind me while whistling creepily and I felt as though she were stalking me. She wasn't of course, but that's paranoia for you isn't it?
Now me, I'm the Stalking Queen and so I am insulted when someone is trying to out stalk me. Granted that was not the actual case because she was not, in fact, stalking me. Well whatever, it was fun while it lasted.
Mom's getting along with me now and I feel weirded out. Between her and Brandon I'm just not ready for this. Brandon's being nice now too and I can't for the life of me figure out what that punk wants. Mom seems to be making an attempt to take an interest in my life and I just don't know how to handle the situation. I just keep waiting for something blow up or overflow, but she just keeps saying nice things and I want to ask in the most polite way possible, "Who are you and where is my real mother?"
But hey, maybe I changed too and just haven't noticed it much. Either way, I hope I get used to these nice people because if I don't I fear I'll go insane due to paranoia.

Play It Like a Movie

I couldn't wait for college. All summer I was just waiting impatiently to jump into the college life and take my college classes, but now I just want everything to freeze. Class starts Monday, it's opening weekend and I just don't want to take the next step anymore.
Don't get me wrong, I've had my reservations about the future all summer, but I've gotten over them and moved on because I always figured, 'Everything's going to work out, don't sweat it.' Except what if it doesn't? What if I'm not driven enough to get a story published? What if I'm not good enough to become a writer? It's all I've ever really wanted, and I just can't see myself doing anything else.
Well hell, why can't we just freeze it like I said? I'd stay here, my friends would stay here, I'd continue writing with the hopes for tomorrow and I'd never have to risk having my heart broken when it didn't happen.
Sometimes I feel like life would be better if it were a movie.

Yes I'm Drunk! Why aren't you?!

Had my graduation party tonight. Met my third cousin who is also a writer (and a good one if the information I've managed to gather is correct). I have a feeling that if we had ever lived in the same state, we would've gotten along quite well, and been close friends.
I spent the majority of the time with her, though I avoided her in the beginning since everyone was pushing for us to chat. I'm not fond of being pushed, but I'll admit I was extremely curious as to what her stories were about.
Uncle Gunther and Aunt Ericka (my grandmother's siblings) came out and chatted happily about old times. Gunther got drunk, as did most of the adults at the party. Kids ran about playing in with the slip and slide, dogs rushed under tables for scraps. My friends each stopped by in turns to laugh, eat and be on their way.
I didn't expect to have so much fun with everyone, but it was a blast, and I think that Allie (my third cousin) and I could really benefit from one another, bouncing ideas back and forth...editing a little.
And God, to see so many German-Americans standing around a keg laughing and accidentally slipping German words in with their English. It's a scene you'd have to live through.

Red Lights, Hopeful Dreams and the Hell that is Science Class

Brandon is constantly running red lights after work. We watch him and warn him laughingly that he's going to get pulled over one day. Well I guess last night was the night because he ran the red light with me behind him. I waited for it to turn green and start to go, nearly getting T-boned by a cop car who then takes a right following after Brandon.
The ironic part? He just finished his 'Safety Class' after getting a speeding ticket. I had to laugh.

In other news, I've sent out six query letters to Literary Agents. Two have replied with 'not interested' and the other four have decided to keep me holding my breath for a while longer yet. Still anxious to get away, still resigned to sitting in my room.

I wish someone would at the very least call and ask me out or something. Anything to get away from the boredom that is my room. I've a few books under my bed and I've been going through them in whatever spare time I have between work and sleep. I'm panicking over Chemistry class for my first real semester of college. I hate science and yet I decided to sign up for one of the most difficult ones. Bravo.

The Art of Not Existing

It seems that half year lull in the arguments between mom and I has come to an end. We are fighting again. Not as bad as before, but bad enough that I've been flat out leaving and not coming back until it's time for bed. Then I show up, say five words or so and close my door.

I don't want to be here. Maybe it's just my age, not a child but not quite an adult. Every other night I find myself wondering if they would even worry if I were to go rent a hotel room. Could I? Am I old enough? Sometimes I know you have to be twenty-one to rent a room.
I want to disappear for a night or two. I want to not have to hear about everyone's problems, everyone's expectations, their favors.

I just want to not exist even more than I already do for a day or so. I'm not big on silence but maybe with no one to talk to I can get some things straight, make some decisions, do something to help my future.

We'll see how it goes.

Damn Good Stalker

So there's this guy (sorry I've not been writing, been busy with stuff and other stuff) in creative writing workshop that I'm sure I've told you about. Being me, and considering I know myself fairly well, I knew the day I saw him that he was just going to be one of those guys I moon over, crush on, consider asking out and then run away because I know I'll never get the words out of my mouth. So I just stare at them, listen to what they say, read what they write, and try to decide if I can continue to like them based on the words that come out of their mouths.
He, bless his cheery little soul, passed the talk test. Meaning he actually had decent things to say, and I could tolerate his opinion because he seemed genuinely open-minded.
Until that dreadful, 'don't mess with the writer' day occured and he made the mistake of not liking my story. Don't get me wrong, I don't expect everyone to like my stuff, but when he was the only one to say something really negative about it, I got pissed. And then the guy that happened to skip class that day, the idiot who is narrow minded and idiotic, e-mailed me some crap about how my story lacked plot and a conclusion and character development...I'm not going to drag you through the details because they are unimportant for this particular story.
Anyway, I send the cute guy (the guy I like, remember?) an e-mail because the other guy managed to push me to my limit. I e-mailed him a long angry e-mail basically demanding to know what he thought my story was missing, and how I could 'perfect' it. And when I hit the send button I had one of those, "I'm going to regret this for the next three weeks until I forget about it" moments.
I get back from work later that night, still shaking my head because I knew I sounded like a moron and what do I find? An equally long apology from that cute guy from class.
So I started slowing my pace or speeding my pace up so that I could leave class with him and we could talk. About anything really, I just enjoyed talking to him, you know?
Then today we did his story in class, workshopped it I mean, and I was all ready to tell him what I thought. Except I didn't. I just couldn't think of anything 'brilliant' to say and I didn't want him to think I was a moron.
And after class? I booked it. I was out of there.
Buuuut I slowed down as I was walking out. I knew he was about twenty feet behind me and I knew he walked slow, at a kind of lazy pace. I am not fond of lazy pacing unless the situation calls for it. I was curious to see if he'd catch up to me this time. He did.
"My God, you just would not shut up would you?" he asked. "Hard to get a word in edge-wise, it was kind of embarassing."
I laughed, "Yeah, I tried to contain myself, but sometimes my mouth just gets away from me, sorry." He laughed and I added, "I really liked your story, I was going to say something but Kirk (that guy I don't like who said I lacked a conclusion) was doing his thing and I just didn't want to interrupt."
"Yeah, but I have to admit that Kirk was...." blah blah, about Kirk.
I smiled and looked over at him. "Yeah and I have to admit that while he was talking I was busy trying to come up with the loudest song I knew to drown him out."
"And how did that go?"
"Poorly," I admitted. "I kept switching stations."
Made my day, right? Right.
But then I used my detective skills (which no one seems to think I have) and looked him up in the student directory. It only gave his number, his e-mail and where he was living. Nothing of interest (what am I going to do with his number? I know the line between creepy and acceptable, calling him when he didn't give me his number would be creepy) there...so then I looked him up on google. JACKPOT!
I knew he lived in Michigan, but I was trying to determine his age. If he was in GSW (which he happened to mention he was) he was likely a Freshman, maybe a sophmore. Then google, my lovely search engine friend, directed me to a paper from his old high school. He got an award in 2009 for something with Boy Scouts. Translation? He graduated last year. Meaning? His age was from 18 to possibly 20, but he's smart so no older because he wouldn't have had to repeat a grade.

I just don't understand why people don't think I could be the next Sherlock Holmes. That's got to prove something, doesn't it?

Barbie and Tutors and Jobs, Oh my!

So I have an unhealthy obsession with Barbie movies, and I will freely admit that. I am quite fond of watching the movies, I find them interesting. What I find amazing though, what really boggles my mind is that when talking to my manager, John (the 38 year old with daughters) he admitted to watching and enjoying them too! Yeah, I thought it was a joke, until he started listing them off and saying which were the best and which needed work.
How could I not stare at him in wonder? It would've have been extremely difficult.
So then we went from Barbie to talking about jobs. I want to switch from night to morning during summer vacation so that I can get a second job at Walmart, not a bad idea right? I mean I do have to pay for college and everything, I could use the money. He says that they'll likely throw a fit and refuse, and he'd hate to lose such a hard worker (I'm not making it up, I really am a hard worker...when I see cause), but at the same time, I needed to do what I had to do, and Walmart would most definitely pay better.
So you get the part in my title about jobs and Barbie, but what is this about tutors? Do I need a tutor? Am I finally losing my brain? No. Don't be ridiculous I don't need a tutor.
What happened is I got a 60% (D) on my last chemistry exam. Yes, that's a bad grade, no I don't usually suck that much. I just got bored with the class and ceased paying attention. My mistake, and I'm fixing it. My parents seem to think I need a tutor...or well they did. Mom suggested it, but I explained what went wrong and she just shook her head and asked what I learned from this and what her concerns were. Dad on the other hand, keeps pushing it. I said over my dead body would I go meet a tutor for tutoring that I do not need, and he decides he's going to tutor me.
Not only am I not okay with that, but I hate when dad teaches me anything. He can't use simple, understandable terms, he has to teach you by telling you a number of extemely complicated things before he even gets to it, and by that time you're too confused to learn anything anyway.
Oh, the joys of living under your parent's roof. Boy I tell you...