Friday Photoblog: "I Only Have Eyes For You" Edition

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen display at a local Wal-Mart
(Too bad I couldn't keep that sign. He would have been adorable on my wall...)

Micro Vacation!

I'm on a bit of a vacation right now; by the time you read this, I'll be screaming my head off at a Milwaukee Brewers game. It'll be a full week: two Brewers games and DairyCon, too. With everything that's going on, I might need a vacation from the vacation!

--Weasel, "Time away from work is an awesome thing."

Friday Photoblog: "How I Waste My Time" Edition

An ad for the TF Collectors Club at BotCon 2007.
(Yes, I'm a member and so is Prime. I have no life...)

Heard Around the House

The Scene: Our den, right in front of Alexa-1.
The Time: Last night, during King of the Hill.

Prime: (Sitting in front of Alexa-1) Hmmmm...
Me: Are you thinking again?
Prime: (irritated) I'm always thinking!
Me: (pressing my luck) Is that such a great idea?
Prime: (sighs loudly)

Isn't That a Little Impossible?

So I just watched (and actually paid attention to) the trailer for that new Tom Cruise film Knight and Day. Looks like your typical action flick and it might be semi-interesting, if it weren't for the couch-jumping midget. But did anyone else notice that when Tom Cruise is kidnapping Cameron Diaz he says that he'll kill himself, then her?

Uh. Huh.

That's gotta be one helluva trick. I'd pay money to see that. It would probably be more entertaining than the stupid movie.

--Weasel, "If that were in the flick, it would be majorly awesome."

Memory Rosary

"When you're up high, all the stuff that looks confusing and messed up... suddenly becomes crystal clear."--Senna
Bleach: Memories of Nobody

It has been said that if you write, your characters will "speak" to you.

Whoever said that I'd like to punch in the face. Trust me, your characters don't just speak to you, they show nearly every detail of their lives. Some things are beautiful, other things are terrifying. It's like having four different people tell you about their childhoods, their hopes and dreams, their worst fears and all of their personal preferences at the exact same time. But they don't simply tell you about it. They show you everything. You can see inside their homes, what clothes they are wearing and how they had styled their hair when something, good or bad, happened to them.

It's like having multiple personalities shouting for your attention all at once. And trust me, they don't like taking no for an answer.

So I keep a pair of notebooks in my knapsack at all times. Anything that they tell me, I write down when I have a chance. It could be anything from what someone's favorite food could be or as to why they fear the dark. But if it's relevant to a character, I scrawl a few sentences about it.

Ever since I started writing, I began to grasp some of the things Senna went through. It's like being a memory rosary: I'm seeing memories that don't belong to me. They're so tangible, so realistic but I know that they, and the "people" who experienced them, don't really exist. But everything I see in my mind looks very real. I can see the sunlight bouncing off the flat roof of a building. I can hear the wind rustling through the trees. I can hear people chattering and laughing as they walk to their destinations. It's wonderful, it's eerie and I really don't want it to end.

For a few moments, I can walk away from this world and slip into another. It's a nice feeling. It isn't a perfect world, but it is a nice escape. It's certainly more pleasant than standing behind a cash register and prattling on about Brad and Angelina or Brett Favre while I total up someone's order of seven different pizzas, a box of cereal and a tube of KY Warming jelly.

I could get used to this. I just hope I can get lucky enough to get paid to do wander though such memories and places for a living.

Are You Shitting Me?!

I did not just read this: Obama plan expands offshore oil drilling.

Awesome. Just fucking awesome. I've been down this road before--twenty years ago when I was living in NC. I fought like hell to make sure this bullshit wouldn't happen. We were able to dodge the bullet for a while but not anymore, it would seem.

They'll be drilling in Virginia. How long will it be before the Outer Banks are ruined? What are the chances Wrightsville Beach will end up spoiled? We all know spills have a tendency to spread out; like it or not this will affect NC. To hell with Michael Bay, this rapes my childhoods. I could absolutely cry.

Stop the world, I wanna get the fuck off. NOW.

Primus, am I ever glad I voted third party.


EDIT @ 1:08PM: CNN just showed us a nice big fat map of areas approved for offshore drilling. Guess who's on there? If you said the coast of North Carolina, you'd be right. (I just screamed at the television in abject rage when I saw that.) Godmotherfuckingdammit. Now I am going to go cry.

GAH!

That's pretty much what I said about twenty minutes ago. Only it was louder and a lot angrier.

As you may or may not know, I've been on the world's biggest writing tear as of late. I'm doing my damnedest to write what looks to be a novel (which is why I've been slacking in the blog department... gotta work on that...) and it's been coming along pretty decently. So twenty minutes ago I opened up my file on Alexa, preparing for another fruitful day of writing.

That's when I noticed that the word count was off by nearly 2,500 words. Oh and seven pages had simply vanished.

What. The. FUCK?!

Where the hell did my work go?! Sure, it doesn't seem like a whole helluva lot, but it's a shit-ton of blood, sweat and tears for me. And here it had simply disappeared into the freaking ether or something. About a third of a chapter was gone, along with a bunch of edits I had made to some of my previous stuff. It wasn't there. It was as if I had closed the file without saving any changes at all. And yes, that is completely impossible because I hit CTRL+S about three times before I closed the file late yesterday. I always make sure I save my stuff. Always.

Yeah, I kinda wanted to cry at that point. And trudge back upstairs to get my notebook so I could re-transcribe everything I had written yesterday. Not an awesome prospect, I tell ya.

That's when I remembered that I had always backed up my file on a 40 gig drive that Prime had purchased from a coworker a couple of months ago. Earlier this month, I told him I didn't exactly want just one lone copy of what I was working on; bad things could happen and if the file was accidentally deleted, I'd be in a shitload of trouble. So he suggested I save a back up on the 40 gig. It sounded like a good idea, so I did. So I opened up the external drive and prayed that the same thing hadn't happened to my secondary file.

The back up was fine. Everything was there. So that external hard drive just paid for itself by saving my sorry ass. (Thank you, Prime. I seriously owe you for this!)

So what did we learn, class? "Always back your shit up!" Very good! Trust me, it's a lesson I ain't gonna forget.

--Weasel, "Now if my damned heart rate would come the hell down and my hands would quit shaking, I'd be fine...!"

Friday Photoblog: "Where's the Beef?" Edition

The most awesome cow statue in the universe, spotted at Miller Park. From 2008.
(I like to milk baseball season for all it's worth...)

Friday Photoblog: "Bottoms Up" Edition

Wedding gifts Prime and I received during the dinner. September 21, 2009.
(No, we haven't popped the cork on either bottle, if you're wondering.)

It Will Smell Like Axle Grease and Awesome

Yes, you are reading that right: Transformers Cologne by Hasbro. (Link was originally found here.)

I need this. Badly. I don't care if it's for guys. I wanna smell like Bumblebee!

--Weasel, "I'll bet Bumblebee smells totally yummy..."

...and nothing of value was lost...

Today was not a good day.

To be perfectly blunt, I should be writing a five page rant here, screaming and yelling about just how screwed up my job really is and just how much I fucking hate it.

But I won't. I feel absolutely no need.

So what happened today? Oh, nothing much--I found out that I had inadvertently taken several fraudulent coupons. (What should have pissed me off about that? They all scanned and it has been drilled into our heads that if they scan, we can take them. Guess not.) On top of that, one of the heads proceeded to bitch me out because she swore that I came back from my last break late. (Why should that have pissed me off? I got to the break room at three minutes past four. I got back to the front at 4:19. That's 16 minutes, not twenty-two. Somebody fails at math. Hard.)

Three days ago, I'd be pissed off beyond all words in the known English language. But as I type this right now, I feel nothing. No anger, no frustration, no nothing. Why? Because I figure it doesn't really matter anymore. I can't force myself to give a royal shit about that job. It's nothing. All it does is provide a paycheck that helps pay my bills. It is nothing to me. It holds no meaning, save for the money.

What I truly live for, what I truly do, what actually holds meaning to me, I do at home.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to put on some mood music (Joe Hisaishi, natch) and add a few more words to that story of mine. Even if all I do is a quick edit, I'll actually accomplish something worthwhile today... unlike the eight hours I spent behind a register doing absolutely nothing of consequence.

--Weasel, "I've gone from hating my job to total apathy. I don't know if that's awesome or not."

A Quick Reminder

Happy Daylight Savings Time and pleasant dreams.

Friday Photoblog: "Building Bridges" Edition

Lincoln Logs, as displayed at Hasbro. BotCon 2007.
(I knew they had been around for a while but damn...!)

Friday Photoblog: "A Sign of Welcome" Edition

Sign spotted at Hasbro during the first leg of our tour. From BotCon 2007.
("Welcome" to Hasbro? Man, I never wanted to leave...)

Heard Around the House

The scene: Our bathroom.
The time: Monday night

Prime walks in; he's rotating his arm.

Me: What's the matter? Were you leaning on your arm?
Prime: (nodding and grumbling)
Me: Is your arm asleep?
Prime: (more nodding and grumbling)
Me: (bending close to his arm) Here, let me help. (yelling at his arm) WAKE THE FUCK UP!!
Prime: (after slapping me on the ass for a few seconds) Jackass.

Trouser-Shattering.

Wreck and Rule, bee-yotch!

Friday Photoblog: "Dare to be Awesome" Edition

Weird Al. At the Paramount Party. Total awesome. BotCon 2009.
(I totally dorked out when I met him earlier and called him Mr. Yankovic. I am a pathetic nerd...)

FUCK YEAH!!!

TF 3 will be filming in Chicago.
I need times, dates and locations because I am so fucking there!

--Weasel, "Just one glimpse of my sweetie-bot. That's all I ask of you, Primus."

Taking Risks

"Risk"
And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to blossom.
-Anias Nin

I have never been the type to take risks. One of the biggest risks I have ever taken was going out with my ex-boyfriend.

I spent well over five years with him. It didn't end well.

After that, I pretty much swore off taking anymore risks. It wasn't worth it. I decided that I should stick with the safest path possible. Nothing bad would happen to me if I did.

Then came July 1999. I decided to take another risk. This was a huge one. I hopped on a plane and went to St Paul, Minnesota to attend BotCon and meet Prime. I wasn't sure how this would turn out; I had played it safe for two years. I wasn't sure if I was truly ready for another risky undertaking. I had no idea how this would turn out.

A week later, I told Prime I loved him.

It was a risk well worth taking--Prime and I have been together for over a decade. He's the light of my life and pain in my ass and life couldn't be better.

Now I'm taking another risk of sorts. I'm writing. I have no idea how this risk will pan out, whether or not it will be successful but by Primus I'm doing it.

Because not doing it would be too painful. And I'm sick of living a normal, safe life. I just want to take the plunge for once and see how things go.

Hopefully, everything will go well. But even if they don't I'll know that I tried.

100 Words

Yesterday had to be one of the stupidest days I have ever suffered through. I won't go into details about, for if I did this post would crack 10,000 words easily. Most of those words would be expletives. Suffice to say, it was a miserable day.

Things changed a bit when I got home.

Prime let me hop on Alexa for a bit. I spent a few minutes rifling through various and sundry sites that would put me in a slightly better mood, hit my YouTube account, picked some really good music and began to spot edit my project.

I spent about 45 minutes on it. I added a grand total of one hundred words. My current count is well over 17,000. One hundred words is a mere nothing.

It was only 45 minutes and a hundred words. Compare that to the eight hours I spent in hell. Again, what I did was a trifle.

But in that 45 minutes I actually felt like I accomplished something. It felt worthwhile.

I never have that feeling when I'm at my "work". All I feel while I'm on the clock at my job is a sense of frustration. I feel as if I'm wasting time, like I'm doing nothing.

I never feel that way when I write. When I write, I feel like I've actually done something. I enjoy that.

It's a good feeling. It's one that I could certainly get used to.

Friday Photoblog: "What a Cute Little Bastard!" Edition

BotCon exclusive Bug Bite. From BotCon 2007.
(Cutest little evil bastard evar!)

The Bullshit Report

I've been meaning to make a post about this, but I haven't had the time or energy until today.

My current locale is becoming exactly like the old hellhole. Even down to the backstabbing and lying.

We've had at least four people fired in the last couple of weeks. One was the lone overnight cashier who was supposed to be terminated at the beginning of her shift, but management waited until she was nearly done for the night to finally walk her out the store. (The truly idiotic thing? They waited for her to say something they didn't like so they could let her go for that. I just love working around spies and backstabbers, don't you?) One of the cashiers who works around the same hours I do has a second job. He's told people he has a second job. Three days ago he was marched into the office by management and chewed out for "trying to recruit people to his new job". No, that wasn't the case but management doesn't give a flying fuck. As for myself, I've somehow injured my left foot so walking is complete torture for me. I don't know exactly what I've done, but the area near my heel is swollen. I've been using a myriad of different muscle rubs and pain relievers to help take the edge off but to no avail. There have been days that I've left the building about to cry, the pain is so bad.

There's really nothing I can do about it. I have to hope to Primus it heals on its own.

I'm just a cog in the machine, easy to replace.

Like I said, my job is little more than a time waster. I want to write. I don't want to stand behind a goddamn cash register and stare at the unwashed masses all day. Every second I'm at that hellhole is one less second I can write. And it frustrates me to no end.

The one thing that keeps me from losing my mind? The fact that I can come home to Prime and hop on Alexa for even a few moments. When my fingers touch the keyboard, I become so relaxed and...dare I say it? I'm happy. Listening to some really good music helps, too.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some more writing to do. I have to make the best of my days off, you know.

Downward Spiral

I'm frustrated, tired and fed the hell up.

Work has gotten worse. A helluva lot worse. It's getting to the point that I don't even want to walk into the goddamn building. (Technically in my case, it's more like limp into the building but I digress.) There's been a shitload more backstabbing and bullshit than I want to go into.

I'm fucking tired of it.

I don't want to be there anymore. I don't even want to walk into the building. I just want to stay home and write. That's all I want to do. I can't help it--if I'm not writing, I feel like I'm wasting my time. And that job is the biggest time waster of all.

I really don't know if I can make it to June at this rate. Primus knows, I'm burned out as it is.

--Weasel, "I'm gonna go scream now."

Friday Photoblog: "Cupid in Disguise" Edition

2010 Camaro, spotted outside a Holiday Inn Express in Raleigh, NC. September 20, 2009.
(How do you know if your marriage is blessed? Primus sends you an angel. Or Cupid. Or in this case, both.)

IT'S OVER 9000!

(Don't get the joke? Click the title.)

Been writing a lot lately. I've already passed 9,000 words and I'm closing in on 10,000. And I don't want to stop, not until I'm done. I've had the idea in my head since 2007; I want to tell the tale, however long it takes. (I'm thinking it's going to end up being a novel. And possibly part of a small series. Quite possibly a trilogy.)

Oh and Prime? You doing a bit of clean-up here and there? Cause I've noticed little changes. They're helping the flow a bit. Keep it up. Just don't let me catch you at it, 'kay? ;)

--Weasel, "May Primus bless me on this venture. I'm gonna need it."

WHO DAT!

Congrats to the Saints, for winning their first ever Super Bowl. I'm happy as hell for you guys!

--Weasel, "Yeah, I was pullin' for ya."

Exhaustion

If you've been wondering why I haven't been updating as frequently, it's really due to my job. As of late, all my days off have been split which has been hell on me and the blog alike. (I never feel rested when my days are split. It's as if I never leave the building.)

And you don't want to know just how bad the job has been lately. The sheer amount of stupid there has been driving me closer to the edge. The front end has gone downhill, in more ways than one. The shit that has happened could literally fill volumes.

But I'm tired of dealing with the shit. Very, very tired of dealing with the stupidity and bullshit that is my pathetic job.

What's helped me cope? Prime. And the fact that I'm writing. (Funny story--it seems Prime inadvertently read some of my writing. He liked it. Now I'm a bit torn: Should I take that as a compliment or should I smack him for reading my stuff without permission? Like I said, kinda torn on this one.) At the end of the day, those are a couple of the things that help me keep it together. Well, that and looking forward to BotCon.

I'm just so sick of it all.

--Weasel, "I swear to Primus, I just can't give a fuck anymore."

Friday Photoblog: "I Can't Deal With That Now!" Edition

Robert Stack's Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. From the Hollywood tour, BotCon 2009.
(And yes, I could deal with taking that picture right now! ...er, then. Whatever.)

Repercussions

The net seems to be working fine... for now. But just to make sure I won't miss one, I've done two months worth of Friday Photoblogs. I'm good until the first of April.

It's weird--I could live without the phone and if the TV had gone out, I think I would have been okay... but life without the net sucked. Hard.

--Weasel, "Guess I'm addicted..."

Internet Problems

Well, we've had some... ah, interesting problems that have developed over the last several days.

Don't ask me how (I'm thinking the January thaw had something to do with this shit) but we lost the phone for a few days, followed by the internet.

So yeah, no 'net on my day off. I was one unhappy little Weasel.

Everything seems to be working again, 'net wise. The phone is more or less working; it does cut in and out but at least the damned thing can ring and get a freaking dial tone! *headdesk*

This has not been an awesome week. Not in the least. All this bullshit was just a few more nails in the coffin.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go slam my head into the wall until I frigging pass out. See ya.

--Weasel, "The fireplace'll be perfect; it's made of stone. Not like it gets any other use..."

Friday Photoblog: "Your Ship has Come In" Edition

A whale watching boat, watching our whale watching boat. From BotCon 2007.
(I wonder if we looked the same to them...?)

Friday Photoblog: "You Ought to be in Pictures" Edition

Billboard advertising Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. Spotted on our way to the Paramount party. From BotCon 2009.
(Maybe I should have asked the driver to pull over so I could steal me that sign...)

Birthday Bot

OR:
The Problems of the Far Flung Future of 2007 Can Be Solved by the Ancient Technology of the Year 2007

Transformers may not be as smart as we'd all like to think. There's even a G1 episode that illustrates this fact--Daniel wants to throw Ultra Magnus a surprise "creation day" party, yet no one knows exactly when he came on line. Hell, even Magnus himself didn't know!

Leave it to human ingenuity to solve such a thorny problem.

Several days ago, I was crashed out in bed, snuggling with my much loved Slumblebee. (How loved is this little stuffed robot? A lot. He's been to two BotCons and will probably hop aboard a plane with me to head to Orlando in June. I'm also thinking of taking him to Dairycon this year. Stop snickering... I know I'm pathetic.) I had to get up and go to work, but I really didn't want to move. As Prime tried to kick my lazy skidplate out of bed, he noticed something on my Slumblebee's tush tag. Apparently, the tag had a date code stamp on it which Prime deciphered for the hell of it.

It would seem my much loved little bot's "spark day" is January 16, 2007. So today, he turns three, if you will. (Think I should get him a cake?)

All this makes me wonder: Why in the hell didn't Cybertron have date code stampings on all its residents? The whole damn debacle of Daniel and Wheelie stealing a ship and getting kidnapped by Cyclonus could have been prevented if someone could have looked at Ultra Magnus's ass and said, "It says here October 23. I didn't know you were a Scorpio."

--Weasel, "It's food for thought."

Every Little Bit Helps

We all know what happened in Haiti. Here's a list of organizations that can help. If you can, donate. Every little bit helps.

You can also send donations to UNICEF and the American Red Cross.

Thank you.

Friday Photoblog: "Go Directly to Jail" Edition

An original Monopoly "board", on display at Hasbro. From BC 2007.
(It's not really a board, per se. It's actually a tablecloth.)

Friday Photoblog: "A Bowl of Cherries" Edition

Freshly picked cherries from our cherry tree. From summer 2009.

(I believe these are sour and not bing... at least they tasted pretty sour to me!)

Your (Semi) Annual Random Thoughts

Just for shits and giggles, it's that time again!

* Whoever is scheduling the breaks at my store must be stupid. I wish I were joking. We've had more and more instances of people being sent late because there is no one to cover for them. We're supposed to have four head cashiers to help take care of this crap, but I think that all they are doing is getting in each other's way. Or socializing. Your choice.

* People are still bringing their cell phones and portable gaming systems on the sales floor. Looks like everyone is ignoring that wonderful little rule. I figured as much.

* Since Ca$hma$ is now officially over, we're trying to clear out our holiday crap at my store. Normally, I don't do the 'buy it cause it's cheap' thing, but I found myself suckered into spending this year. I grabbed a few discounted stickers (Shut it, Prime!) and bought as much of the ROTF gift stuff as possible. I now have Bumblebee gift tags coming out of my ears. I couldn't be happier.

* This past Saturday, BBC America aired the second part of Doctor Who: The End of Time. I watched. I bawled like a baby. 'Nuff said. [/lie] Mister Tennant, we didn't want you to go, either. You will always be 'my' Doctor.

* I have gathered all my convention clothes together and later today, the packing will begin. Woo hoo.

* I've had a particular piece of music stuck in my head for the last few days. It's been driving me a bit crazy, even though the music is rather soothing.

* We're getting a Leader class Bumblebee. Fear it. FEAR IT!

That's all until next time. Tune in next time for even more boring crap!

This has been--

--Weasel, getting set to pack her bags.

Friday Photoblog: A New Year Breaks Edition

A humpback whale, spotted during the whalewatching tour at BC 2007.
(I kinda felt like I was in Star Trek IV--"Admiral, there be whales here!")

I'm Doomed! OMG!!111eleventymillion11!!

At least according to this article.

For those of you who don't want to click over to the fail, here's a rundown of some of the "gems" on the list:
Don't be smarter than your mate.
Don't have an "immature" hobby. (Action figures? Comic books? Video games? Oh no!)
Don't take a dump in front of each other. (Gotta maintain the "mystery", whatever the hell that means.)
Don't take separate vacays.
Don't have kids.
Don't have a big bed. (You totally need a cramped little twin sized bed so you can like cuddle and make out and stuff!)
Don't have a TV in the bedroom.
Don't change your appearance. At all. Ever.

Prime and I collect Transformers. Our hobby is the reason why we met. We had a big TV in our bedroom at one point... and used it to play video games. I dyed my hair red a few years ago. We sleep in a huge-ass king sized bed. And we just got married this year, after being together for damn near a decade. Yeah, we're seriously doomed. /sarcasm

--Weasel, "This just in, CNN fails. Film at whenthefuckever."

And It Starts Again...

Yesterday, I cleaned out my suitcase and washed my laundry. All of it. Anything that I hadn't worn in a few days got pitched in the washer.

The suitcase is empty, for now. But I'll probably be ready to pack up by the end of next week.

I know, I know... why in the hell would I want to get ready this soon? I've got damn near six months to wait.

Well, there's a saying: a man begins to enjoy his vacation the moment he arrives while a woman begins to enjoy hers the moment she starts to pack. It goes without saying that I want to enjoy every last second of BotCon. So I start as early as possible.

It's also one of the few things that helps to perk me up during winter. Knowing that I can grab my already packed suitcase and simply GO at the drop of a hat brings a smile to my face. It doesn't seem like much, but it means a lot to me. And considering the length of most Wisconsin winters, I'll steal whatever joy I can get.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to work on getting my toiletries done....

--Weasel, wishing for summer already.

Friday Photoblog: What I Really Want for Christmas Edition

Hardcopy of the unreleased 6 inch Transformers Titanium Series War Within Bumblebee. From BotCon 2007.
(I would sell an internal organ or three to have him. He would be so loved. Many tears were shed over "what might have been" that day.)

White Christmas

It was twenty years ago when I experienced my first white Christmas.

I was living in North Carolina, right along the coast. The coast of NC rarely gets snow, if at all. Our winters were simply too warm. Any and all precipitation we would receive was in the form of rain. If we ever got any frozen forms, they were sleet or the ubiquitous freezing rain.

None of those are fun if you're a kid. When you're young, you want snow. That's just how it is. Especially around Christmas.

So in 1989, the Christmas week weather forecast called for rain with cold temps. But don't worry, the meteorologists all reassured, there was simply no way we would get snow. It was impossible.

But the impossible happened.

Saturday night, I was holed up in my bedroom, blaring Solid Gold Saturday Night from my stereo. Out of the blue, my dad called for me. So I trotted down the hallway and into the living room.

Dad had the curtains open and the floodlights on. There was something swirling in front of the bulbs. It didn't look like rain. Because it wasn't.

It was snow. We were getting snow. The impossible had happened.

The next day I awoke to a land covered in white and still more was falling. I was dressed and out the door before my parents could even blink.

I spent the better part of the day in the snow, cavorting like there was no tomorrow. I had never had such fun; we rarely got snow in that area of the country. But all good things must come to an end--eventually, the flakes stopped falling. But by that time (mid-afternoon), the ground was covered in a thick blanket. We had gotten eighteen inches.

The snow lasted for a week. The entire city was practically shut down, since most southerners had no idea how to drive in the frozen stuff. For weeks after the event we had letter after letter in the local paper complaining about it.

But for me, it was perfect. And it was the best Christmas present I could receive as a young teen--a once-in-a-lifetime event that I will never forget.

The Worst Christmas Ever

Once upon a time, back in the 1990s I dated a jackass. I do not kid about this fact.

It was around Christmas time, many years ago when said jackass wanted to know what I'd like. I told him--G2 Dreadwing. This was the only item I wanted for Christmas that year: I didn't want jewelry, I didn't want clothes, I just wanted that Transformer.

The days passed. I bought my gifts for my jackass boyfiend and my other friends. Then one day, the jackass tells me that he's done his shopping and he got an extra special, completely awesome gift for me. He swears I'll love it.

My heart jumps. Oh God, I think. He got me Dreadwing! I can barely wait until I get my gift.

When we have our party, I'm practically dancing with delight. I can barely wait to rip the wrapping paper off my brand new TF.

We go through the usual stuff, we trade gifts, rip them open, thank each other. I'm impatiently waiting to get my "special" gift; the jackass has been swearing for days that I will absolutely adore it.

Then the moment comes. My jackass boyfiend and one of my other friends comes out, dragging a large box. They then launch into a song: "The 12 Days of Yaksmas".

A Ren and Stimpy song.

Did I mention that I hated Ren and Stimpy? And that my jackass bf loved to exploit that?

The special gift was little more than a damned joke. I was pissed.

I spent the rest of the party outside, so pissed I couldn't see straight. It was not a good night.

Thankfully, the jackass wised up a little and realized that he had hurt my feelings. So to smooth things over, he bought Dreadwing for me that night. At least that didn't suck.

As for the crap in the giant box--most of it got pitched. The only thing I kept were the socks.

They lasted longer than my ex. They also were a lot more useful.

I'm Going to Disney World!

And it's not to see that stupid rat, either!

BotCon 2010: Walt Disney World Dolphin Hotel and Convention Center, Florida June 24-27

Thank Primus I was off today: I was able to reserve our hotel room. If I hadn't been here it would be another waking nightmare like this year.

And I'm gonna have to fly. Again. Gods, how I hate flying. (But if Mark Ryan comes back as a proper guest, I'll be more than happy to board the plane. But I digress.)

--Weasel, "Screw Ca$hma$--BotCon is the most wonderful time of the year!"

Friday Photoblog: "Here's Your Sign" Edition

Sign at Universal Studios Hollywood. BotCon 2009
(I didn't climb it, but I did want to hang my head over and spit. Just for shits and giggles.)

Ten Years

He looks in the mirror and sees
a thousand things he'd like to change
like his hair
because it sticks out too much and
doesn't do what he wants it to
or his nose
'cause he doesn't like the shape and
the way it looks
or his deep barrel chest
because he thinks it's too big
and so many other things about himself that
just don't seem to measure up.

But I see things differently.

I see tousled hair that reminds me of
pleasant dreams and
lying next to the one I love or
a large chest that is perfect to
lean against when I am upset or lonely or
broad shoulders that I can lean on after
a hard day at work or
soft hands to hold onto when I am groping
in the darkness, alone.

In my eyes, I see perfection
no matter what others may say.

He sees a thousand things
he'd love to change about himself,
but I would never
change a thing.

I love you, Prime. Now, forever and always.

Friday Photoblog: Under Strain Edition

Plankton net at Wood's Hole.
(Random fact: When you swallow seawater, you're not just getting a dose of saline but protein as well! :gag:)

Aftermath

So, the storm's gone. We actually have some sunny weather for once. Cold, but sunny.

I called my parents last night, so they would know that we're not forced to build igloos in order to survive. Talked to my mother and since there's no delicate way of putting this, I'll just come out and say it.

She's been diagnosed with breast cancer.

Yeah, it hit me like twelve tons of bricks, too.

It's stage zero and the cure rate is 99% which is damn good. But still. This is one of those things that's supposed to happen to someone else. But when you think about it, you're "someone else" to somebody else.

I'm surprised I'm even up and blogging about this: my first reaction this morning was to roll over and sleep the rest of the damned day. The only reason I'm doing this is if I don't keep my mind occupied, I'll just crawl back into bed, yank the blankets over my head, grab Slumblebee and start sobbing. Which of course, serves no real purpose. It might make me feel better, though.

This also means I now have a family history of cancer. Again, if there were some actual functioning and affordable robot upgrades, I'd trade in this meatsack in a nanosecond. Who's with me?

Suddenly those damned pink ribbons and that Pinktober stuff doesn't look so frigging ridiculous.

....fuck.

[snow] Blow Me. [/snow]

As promised--or perhaps threatened--10-14 inches of snow in our area, wind blasting it around like a bitch.

Boy, does our city suck when it comes to plowing the streets. Especially our street. It really seems that way, anyway, I mean--how the hell do you plow one way, then the other, back-and-forthing at the corners, and still leave gigantic rows and ruts in the road? The driver had to have positioned the plow six inches above the road surface to 'accomplish' the piss-poor job I saw. Completely tossed off the street at the end opposite of ours--just pushed it into high pack there, except for the path left where the truck initially turned in. That's some high-horsepower FAIL, right there. I hope that's not supposed to be S.O.P. for some reason--it seems damned stupid.

Hilariously, a couple of these dipsticks will, now and again, call into the local talk radio station and complain about people who blow the snow from their walks into the street and how tired they are because that (somehow) rrrrreally increases their workload. Uh, yeah, it's sure tough to half-assedly drive that big ol' truck; it just makes you do most of the work--how inconsiderate of that big ol' machine! Give me a break--if homeowners are doing it after the road's been made clear, that's one thing, I suppose. But if a plow truck hasn't been by yet? Bite our collective asses. Stupid local laws...

Prime got up sometime after six to get the blower going to clear our driveway. He test-started it last night and it revved right up on his first try. Naturally, it fought him this morning. John Deere = stubborn ol' cuss. Maybe I'll see about getting him a flamethrower for the holidaze...and tell him to use it on that yellow-and-green jerkwad machine first.

In any case, he finished the driveway and two-thirds of our sidewalk before having to stop so he'd have time to shower and get ready for work. He had to go over all the concrete we have when we got home, as it was still falling and blowing at a good clip. I'll point out that he is not one of those who blows the snow into the street, regardless of when a truck's been by--as he puts it, he has better things to do than pay an idiot fine because some dickwad neighbor takes personal offense and gives the city a call.

I made it into work fine; Prime was about ten minutes late. Not bad, considering the state of the streets/roads/etc. out there. He passed a truck on his way to work that was trying mightily to pull another pickup with a plow attachment outta the ditch, with a single chain. That really says...something, I don't know what.

By the way...chances are high that your local Walmart was/is still open, too, and waiting with bated breath for your business--be sure to waltz on in there sometime today and tell management that you're just tickled pink that they're ready to satisfy all your shopping needs, because you just don't know what you woulda done if you hadn't been able to pick up that 24-pack of Mountain Dew and that holiday sausage gift box you needed so badly.

--Weasel, "This momentary and pathetic attempt to brighten your day with a bemused smirk was brought to you by the letters S, N, O, W...A, another A, R, G, and H."

Snow Day

It must officially be winter here; we have a winter storm dumping a crapload of snow on us. At least we'll have snow on the holidays. I guess that's kinda awesome.

--Weasel, "Now the idiots on the roadways are a totally different matter."

Friday Photoblog: Get a Grip Edition

Sign For Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen at BotCon 2009.
(At least he's not flipping us off, thank Primus...)

I <3 Patrick Stewart

Just read this and you'll understand why.

(And I admit it, I cried while reading it.)

--Weasel, "Captain Picard FTW."

I Wish

The shopping season is in full swing. I'm already exhausted.

Supposedly, we didn't have too much trouble on Black Friday; I didn't work that day so I can't be certain. We were "steady" this weekend--not crazy busy but busy enough. Monday was slow and Tuesday was nightmarish. I didn't get the self checks worth a damn which sucked. But not everything sucked.

For the past few weeks, I haven't seen head cashier Cathy at all. So I asked around a bit. Here's what I heard: Head cashier Cathy is on leave. She hurt her ankle and took an LOA. But the real kicker? She may not come back. Her husband may get permanent disability and if he does, she won't come back to work.

This is the same woman who screwed me out of the self checks every chance she got, who rode my ass constantly, who didn't know what the fuck she was doing and who panicked over the slightest thing.

Yeah, I'm hoping like hell her hubby gets disability for the rest of his life. If Cathy never steps foot in that building again, I'd be ecstatic.

--Weasel, "Now, if only I can make it to BotCon..."

Friday Photoblog: What I'm Thankful For Edition

Sign at BotCon 2007.
(Yeah, I'm always thankful for BotCon. And for the chance to hang out with my friends.)

Friday Photoblog: One Man's Trash Edition

Theater display at Hollywood Cinema for Transformers. From July 2, 2007.
(Prime and I put it together. Every piece is from our collection. Impressive, no?)

Insert Scream

As if dealing with cranky customers isn't bad enough...

The past few days have been pretty slagging busy and filled with enough bullshit to choke an elephant. But nothing can compare to what happened on Sunday.

Sunday I was on the grocery self checks, talking to the cashier on register 4. It seems our wonderful heads have a new trick up their sleeve. They're talking to cashiers, at least six a day, and telling them how they can improve their customer service skills. Among one of the points? You guessed it! Smile more!

Not only are they fucking spying on us, they're busting us for a bullshit reason. This is seriously getting out of hand.

Tell me again why I tolerate this shit? Oh yeah, I don't want to live in a cardboard box by the fucking river. But that's the only goddamn reason.

--Weasel, "Let's skip this horseshit and go straight to BotCon. Now."

Friday Photoblog: Welcome Home Edition

Optimus Prime sign at BotCon 2007.
(Nothing says "Hello there" better than a sign sporting a giant robot who looks ready to smack you in the face. Ah, I love BotCon...)

It Begins

We now have all of our Ca$hma$ crap set up, signs and all. Thankfully, we haven't been blaring any "holiday" music, which is nice. (The in-store ads on our TVs do from time to time, but it's bearable.) But the shopping has already begun. I've already sold more toys in the last week than I usually do during the year. Had a few $300+ orders, too.

At least the holiday doesn't completely suck; we have a few gift wrapping items that feature Bumblebee. I'm thinking of buying the store out of those.

--Weasel, "It'd be the only good thing to come this holiday. That and some Prozac."

Friday Photoblog: Post-Season Blues Edition

Sign at Miller Park, from my very first Milwaukee Brewers game.
(Never thought I'd be a baseball fan and never thought I'd say I miss baseball season...)

Dear Mattel,

You're the same toy company that has a huge problem with making any female action figures, yet you produce this?

Palm Beach Sugar Daddy Ken. Are you serious?!


I guess so. Wow.

But seriously, what the fuck? This looks like a freaking parody, not a legitimate collectible.

Maybe you guys should quit while you're ahead. Or take a cold shower. Or both. Me, I'm just gonna go slam my head against my brick fireplace until I pass out. Then maybe I'll think that this was just a bad dream.

Sincerely,

--Weasel

To "(1)"

Twelve years ago, you broke my heart, turned all of my former friends against me and turned my entire life into a living hell.

I have rarely spoken of what you did, rarely been able to tell any of my former friends what truly happened between us, rarely had the chance to defend myself. I would do so, but there is no point: My former friends have already made up their minds. It would make no difference if I spoke my piece to them. I would simply be wasting words.

But it was hell--you literally put me through hell. There is no other way of describing what you did to me then. The pain, the loneliness, it was hellish. It literally hurt for me to breathe. I spent days crying over what you had done. I spent weeks, completely and utterly alone.

I spent a year like this. It was one of the longest years of my life.

I would wish such a thing on no one. The pain, the depression, the bitterness--they were almost too much to handle. I'm still not entirely sure how I survived.

Well, that's not entirely true: the CybCon and its members helped pull me away from the brink. A little stingray named Depth Charge helped, too. Then there was Prime and my Action Master Bumblebee...

But for all you have done, I thank you. My life is so much better because of everything. I just wish you had done it all sooner. If you had, it would have spared us both a lot of pain.

May you find some happiness in the life you now live.

Friday Photoblog: "It's an Option" Edition

The Ironhide GMC Topkick pick-up truck, who made an appearance at the Paramount Party. BotCon 2009.
(You have no idea how badly I wanted to hug him. But he probably would have smacked me if I had tried.)

Montage

Step one you say, "We need to talk."
He walks, you say, "Sit down, it’s just a talk."
He smiles politely back at you,
You stare politely right on through,

October 30, 1997

I am sitting in (1)'s car, staring at him. He has just told me that he has slept with "L", (4)'s sister. It feels as if I have been kicked in the gut. I can barely breathe; how could this have happened? Wasn't I good enough for him? Didn't I love him enough? "You lied to me!" I scream.

He begs for forgiveness. Even though I am hurt and angry, I relent.

"We'll try and work this out," I say hopefully.

Some sort of window to your right.
As he goes left and you stay right,
Between the lines of fear and blame,
You begin to wonder why you came.

Three Weeks Later

I am on the college campus, sitting in (1)'s car. We have just argued; as to what it was about, I cannot remember. I only know that (1) is angry, so I try to calm him down. I begin to stroke his face with my free hand; (1) begins to growl like a wild animal. My thumb brushes close to his lips. Before I can react, he clamps his teeth around my thumb and bites down. Hard. I am too shocked to say anything or to even scream. When he lets me go he sneers, "It's not that bad. I didn't even break the skin."

For three days, a circlet of angry red marks surround my thumb. It takes a full week for them to finally fade.

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend,
Somewhere along in the bitterness.
And I would have stayed up with you all night,
Had I known how to save a life.

December 1997

I am at (3)'s Christmas party. "L" is there. She apologizes to me but I am forced to wonder if she truly means it. Things are very awkward between us.

I don't want to look at her and I have to fight the urge to slap her.

Let him know that you know best,
'Cause after all you do know best.
Try to slip past his defense,
Without granting innocence.

January and February 1998

I can only remember rain, flood warnings and fighting. Every time I try and speak to (1), he begins to argue with me. Worse still, he is angry at (4) for some reason; he never tells me why. He only says that (4) is an asshole. "He treats me a helluva lot better than you do," I shoot back.

Only much later I would learn the truth: (4) got a promotion over (1) at the quick serve restaurant they both worked. Since I didn't automatically coddle (1) and say he deserved that spot (which he really didn't), then I was just as much an "enemy" as (4).

It would not be the last time (1) would behave like this.

Lay down a list of what is wrong.
The things you’ve told him all along.
Pray to god he hears you.
And I pray to god he hears you and,

March 21, 1998

I am at the Raleigh NC Fairgrounds. It is 45 degrees and drizzling rain. I have been waiting for (1) for almost three hours. He is supposed to be there by ten o'clock to pick me up; we are to attend an anime convention together. It is quarter to eleven and I fear I will have to leave before he finally shows. I am getting very concerned. Even though I'm freezing, I don't want to go into any of the nearby buildings, lest I miss him.

I am frustrated and near tears. Please don't make me leave yet, I think. He'll be here, I'm sure!

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend,
Somewhere along in the bitterness.
And I would have stayed up with you all night,
Had I known how to save a life.

Later That Day

It's now 11:05 and I am in my mother's car. We are leaving. (1) has never arrived.

I spent most of the trip out of the Raleigh/Durham area in tears. The rest of the way home, I manage to take a few fitful naps.

As he begins to raise his voice,
You lower yours and grant him one last choice.
"Drive until you lose the road,
Or break with the ones you’ve followed."

March 23, 1998

(1) stops by my house. He is bringing me my souvenirs from the convention. He says he missed me, but does not act sorry at all. Oh and by the way, (2) had invited herself along. He had forgotten to tell me about that.

He gives me the pins he has bought for me with my money, then tells me he used a hundred dollars of my cash to buy himself a VHS box set. But don't worry, he assures me, he'll pay me back.

He drives away.
I never see (1) again.

He will do one of two things.
He will admit to everything,
Or he’ll say he’s just not the same,
And you’ll begin to wonder why you came.

Early June, 1998

I'm trying to call (4); his mother answers. As I try to politely pull myself away from her, she suddenly blurts out an apology. I'm not the only victim of "L".

It seems she has thrown herself at every one of (4)'s guy friends, save for (3). And she's broken up more than one couple. (4)'s mother is distraught and upset. "I'm so sorry she did this to you and (1)," she says. I accept her apology, but I am numb.

(1) was little more than a notch on "L"'s belt.

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend,
Somewhere along in the bitterness.
And I would have stayed up with you all night,
Had I known how to save a life.

My Birthday

I call (1) and ask brightly, "Ready to go?" My plans have been in place for over a month--(1), (4) and I would go to a local pizza place and have lunch. It would be like old times.

"No," he says coldly.

"Why the hell not?!" I demand.

"Because (4) is going and he's an asshole," is the reply.

I say to hell with it all and go out by myself. When I get home, I call (1); he's eating dinner. I leave a message for him to call me at 8 o'clock. When he does, I lay down the law: Pay me back the one hundred dollars that he owes me by the first of August.

"Don't call me, I'll call you," I say sharply before ending the conversation.

For once, I refuse to cry. I realize he isn't worth my tears.

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend,
Somewhere along in the bitterness.
And I would have stayed up with you all night,
Had I known how to save a life.
How to save a life.
How to save a life.

August 1998

I am at work. (3) drops by to visit. He is upset and confused; (1) is no longer talking to him. I call (1) and ask why only to hear the same tired answer: "Because he's an asshole."

I already know where this is going.
The bottom falls out of my world.

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend,
Somewhere along in the bitterness.

September 8, 1998

I am out cashing my check. I meet a friend of mine named "B" and we begin to talk. It seems that (1) is crushing on (3)'s girlfriend; he even proceeded to throw a massive tantrum when she said hello to him. (1) also acted like a spoiled brat while in Raleigh, throwing screaming fits when things didn't go his way.

I am actually thankful that (1) stood me up.
I would never have been able to stand (1) or his behavior.

And I would have stayed up with you all night,
Had I known how to save a life.

November 1998

I am about to have all four of my wisdom teeth pulled. The phone rings at 10:30 that morning; I don't answer. Instead, I call (1) and ask if he had called. He says no.

We talk for a half an hour. In the end, we are both crying.
It is the last time I ever speak to (1).

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend,
Somewhere along in the bitterness.
And I would have stayed up with you all night,
Had I known how to save a life.

A Few Years Later

It is October, a month that I loathe. The only thing that the changing leaves remind me of is how my life fell apart so long ago. Why does it hurt so much? Why did I fail? Why couldn't I save him?

Then it hits me--I did save someone. I saved myself.
And I am suddenly very grateful for all I have been through.

How to save a life.
How to save a life.



As you can imagine, this has been one of the most difficult things for me to write. To say it was painful would be putting it gently; I had to go through some of the worst times of my life in order to put this post together. So why in the hell would I do this? Because I am damned sick of bottling this up. I've never had the chance to actually tell my tale so I am doing it now. It's not an easy thing to read, I know, but I thank everyone for sticking with this.

It may be agonizing, but I feel so unburdened now. And trust me, after so many years of bullshit that is a great feeling indeed.

Best Wishes!

As you all know (or should know by now), today is Dan Gilvezan's birthday. As always, I wish him nothing but the best, for he is awesome.

Enjoy the day, Dan. Your fans love you, now and always.

Friday Photoblog: Cease and Desist Edition

LAPD police car. Spotted during the Hollywood tour at BotCon 2009.
(No known brutality was reported.)

Another Round of... Random Thoughts

Because I'm sick of bitching about work and want to blog about something different, here's a few more...

Random Thoughts(with added texture & flavor by Prime)
* Last month I found my old and incomplete journal. Apparently, I hate leaving things undone because I am writing in it. Again. I stopped writing in that book damn near ten years ago. (Undone...yyyyeah, the bathroom wants a coupla words with you...)

* The current weather in my area sucks. We are looking at grey skies, rain and cool temps. It's like fucking November already. I'm surprised that my SAD hasn't started kicking in! (/eyeroll)

* Store exclusives are going to make my ass go completely broke. Prime and I already have at least four copies of ROTF (two DVD, two BRD, for which we own precisely zero players)... and we're not done yet. May Primus have mercy upon my wallet. (Wha--your wallet, I'm the one payin' for 'em all...)

* I've been married a month. Let me take the time to say: Happy one month, Prime. I love ya, ass-for-breath. ;) (Backatcha, butt-for-brains.)

* I have no idea as to why, but I've been paging through my old high school yearbooks lately. Sweet Primus, I looked like ass. (Ya did not, dipstick.)

* I know I have often complained about October sucking out loud, but things are quite a bit better this year. I know, I know, I've been blogging about some royally shitty things that happened to me years ago.... but it's helped. I know it's the most boring, pointless shit to read, but thanks for reading it anyway. I've needed to get this slag off my chest for a very long time. (Yeah--your bra's heavy enough. HA!)

And that's all I've got to say. Tune in next time when I blog about something a lot more interesting.

--Weasel, "At least I hope it'll be more interesting than this."

The "Burning" Question

A few days ago, I dug up my old high school yearbooks. Got a pretty big chuckle out of reading some of the shit I had written in them... until I got to my junior year.

Buried in the pages of my eleventh grade yearbook were several notes and a rough draft of a story. All of them were from my ex.

So here's the question: Do I keep the blasted things or should I just burn them?They're not taking up too much space; there's only like five of the damned things. And yes, they are an interesting look back on my high school years. But part of me just wants the blasted things gone. All those written words from him just sound so damned hollow.

So I'm forced to ask myself--should I just burn the damn things and get it over with? Or should I keep them as a reminder to myself? It's so damn hard to decide.

--Weasel, not as nostalgic now as she was a few days ago.

...whaaaat the heeeeeeell?

Prime is watching NASCAR.

...what?!

NASCAR?!!

--oh. He changed the channel 'before this invocation rot started'. Phew.

...wh--changed it BACK?!

Did...did he get replaced by his hick counterpart from an alternate univ--

...oh. Geez. Shoulda known it was something like that.

--Weasel, "That was damned scary. Heheheheheh..."
(/nervous yet relieved laughter)

Better Left Unsaid

It was September of 1997 and (1) was visiting (2) at her place of employment: a pizza place. (1) began to make idle chitchat with the pizza maker; it seems they got along rather well. As a joke (1) said, "So when's our first date?"

She took him seriously. So did (2).

What happened next makes me very glad that I was not in attendance: (2) unleashed a torrent of abusive language directed at me. It seems she thought I was nothing more than a controlling, domineering bitch that only used (1) for my own selfish purposes. According to her, (1) and I needed to break up immediately because he would be better off without me.

(1) was shocked and confused. When he told me, I could barely keep my jaw off the floor. I didn't know what to say or how to feel.

Three weeks later, (1) decided to stray. My life began to implode shortly thereafter.

I have often wondered if what (2) had said may have encouraged (1) to cheat. He admitted his confusion at her outburst; perhaps he may have believed that what he was doing was actually a good idea and he was just spreading his wings, so to speak. Maybe her words meant nothing to him. In either case, I'll never really know.

But what really hurt was (2)'s characterizations of me. I was the bitch. I was using (1). I was the problem.

First off, (1) was the user. (More on that on a later date.) Secondly, (2) had little room to talk--she was with a guy simply because she could use him as a way to move out of my parents house. She had already dated two different guys (the first of them she went back to twice) and dumped them soundly before suddenly throwing herself at a third man that she barely knew.

Yet I was the user. I was the problem. I was the one who needed to go away.

(2) got her wish: once (1) cheated it was the beginning of the end of our relationship. After weathering through "The Year of Hell", I eventually was able to pick myself off the floor and take a chance on love. Eventually I moved out on my own and lost contact with my friends in NC. Then out of the blue, (2) contacted me. We emailed each other a few times. Things seemed to be okay. Then (1) was mentioned.

In her email (2) said that he barely spoke to anyone, whether online or in person. She said she didn't know what I had done to him, but he just wasn't the same. But I wasn't totally to blame--I had met someone else and moved on with my life.

Again, it's my fault. (1) escapes the blame and I'm left holding the bag. It didn't matter that (1) cheated on me, that (1) began to turn his back on me, that (1) slowly began to turn all of my friends against me, it's all still my fault.

I'm fucking sick of being blamed for something that I did not do.

I haven't emailed (2) in a very long time. I honestly don't know if I want to; I'm sick and damned tired of trying to defend myself when I have done nothing wrong. It would be wonderful if my old friends would at least try to understand that.

Heaven only knows if that will ever happen, though.
I'm not holding my breath.

Friday Photoblog: Moving Pictures Edition

Sign at the Fitchburg IMAX theatre. From our little roadtrip to see ROTF this summer.
(The trip cost us a tire, but it was so worth it!)

It's All Downhill From Here

It's only October and I'm about to burn out. We haven't even hit the "real" Ca$hma$ shopping season and I'm about ready to rip my hair out.

Work is going straight to hell. And there is nothing I can do to stop it.

For the past several days I haven't been anywhere near the self checks; all but one of the heads have been going out of their way to make damn sure I don't get sent to either one. Instead, they're sending people who hate being on self checks over there and it's pissing everyone off. I've had other cashiers asking me why I'm not over there: I just say that I haven't a clue.

We're short a head and a cashier, so the front end is in a total disarray, there are fucking spies who are reporting people to management on bullshit charges, the latest schedules are total messes, it's a fucking nightmare.

And there is nothing that can be done about it. The company knows that the job market is extremely tight right now, so they can abuse us and we won't do or say anything.

I don't know how much longer I can deal with this. I'm close to the breaking point as it is.

--Weasel, trying to make it to BotCon....

Because I Owe Him This Much

Eleven years ago, someone saved my life. And he wasn't a human. He was a Maximal.

His name was Depth Charge. And this is our story.

Back in late August of 1998, I saw my friend (3) for the last time. At the time, I had no idea that I would never see him again. If I had known, I would have done things quite differently. But that is beside the point.

(3) visited me at the doughnut shop where I worked. He told me something extremely distressing: (1), my then paramour, was no longer speaking to him. This was right after we had been hit by Hurricane Bonnie.

(3) had no idea what was going on. Neither did I.

I was confused, to put it mildly. (1) and (3) had been friends for nearly a decade; why would anyone want to throw that sort of friendship away? It made no sense to me. My curiosity got the better of me and the next day I called (1) under the guise of my usual post-hurricane check up. I asked him how things were going and if he was okay. He said yes, but curtly. I asked if he had spoken to (3) and he replied no. I asked why. The answer shocked me.

"Because he's an asshole."

My heart dropped to my knees. The last time I had heard (1) utter this sentence, he had been referring to (4) and they had stopped speaking months ago.

I knew exactly where this was going--I already knew the next act in this hideous play. (1) would begin to blame (3) for all of his problems then shut him out of his life, all the while complaining how (3) was alienating him. It was a sick, twisted fantasy that I had dealt with for over ten months: I myself had been blamed by (1) for his failings. What made that worse was the fact that most of my former friends had taken (1)'s side. It seemed as though (4) were the only human being who gave a damn about me.

Most of my former friends didn't like (4), for whatever reason. At that point, I was past caring what they thought. They didn't seem to care about me anyway.

My life had been spiralling out of control since the end of October '97 and this was the final blow. I had been fighting depression for many weeks but on that day, I laid down arms. The depression won. I had no desire to go on with my pathetic excuse for a life.

I no longer lived, I merely existed. My life had fallen into a pathetic routine of eating, sleeping and working. I cared about nothing and truly believed that no one cared about me. I was worthless, the scum of the earth--how could I not be? I had driven the one boy who cared about me into the arms of another girl. Of course, I had never forced him to cheat but it was my fault all the same. I was little more than a waste of flesh. How dare I draw breath?

I spent a number of nights lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, fighting the tears. I was not worth shedding tears over. I was nothing. I was scum. I deserved no one's pity, especially not my own.

I hated myself.

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months. Autumn came and the threat of hurricanes faded. One bright fall day, I decided I needed to get out of the house for a few hours so I went for a ride. I hit my local Toys R Us, KMart, Target. Then I headed to Wal-Mart.

I spotted him, sitting on one of the shelves in toys: Depth Charge. He was gorgeous. Since I had just been paid, I bought him. Satisfied, I took him home.

For two weeks, he sat in my bedroom, unopened. I have no idea why I didn't open him immediately; I only know I just didn't. But one crisp October evening, I decided to take him out of his box. Grabbing a pair of scissors from my kitchen, I began to slice into the tape.

"Let's get you out of this little prison," I said softly.

One moment later, I froze.

I was just as much a prisoner as Depth Charge, only I had locked myself into a prison of my own making. But unlike Depth Charge, no one was going to come around and let me out. I had to do it on my own.

It was enough of a jolt to find urge me into action.

I actually began to go out again. Instead of sitting at home brooding, I went out and tried to live--I went out looking for new Transformers again. Since I had no way of getting on the internet at home, I asked my parents for a computer for Christmas. In other words, I started to reclaim my life.

It wasn't easy. It took many months and quite a few "baby steps" to actually get back to a semi-normal life. But I owe everything to a Transformer. If it weren't for Depth Charge and one simple, throw away comment I may have never gotten over those feelings of worthlessness.

Being a Transformer geek saved my life. Having this hobby helped me to get over one of the worst times in my life. And I've never been happier.

Friday Photoblog: Hasta La Vista Edition

A T-70 Terminator from T2 3-D: Battle Across Time at Universal Studios Hollywood.
(I knew they were fake, but they still scared the living hell outta me...)

Sometimes, This Whole "Horoscope" Thing Scares the Hell Out of Me

Yesterday at work, I was reading a crappy magazine in our crappy break room, just to pass the time. It was one of those cheap "women's" type mags--the type that have 500 different uses for leftover hairspray and 20 different meatloaf recipes. Yeah, that kind.

I was just paging idly through it, not really paying attention to any of the articles (they're usually crap anyway) until I hit the horoscopes page.

Now, I haven't read my horoscope in months. I quit paying attention to that sort of thing a long time ago. But I did a double take when I read this thing.

It basically said that in order for my astrological sign to have a brighter future, those born under my sign would have to make peace with the past.

I damn near fell out of my chair. It made perfect sense.

Every blasted autumn, I fall into a funk. It always starts in October and comes to a head near the end of the month. And it has everything to do with my past. There are a lot of regrets and no real closure.

I'm dead sick of feeling like shit every fall. I want it to stop. I was just never sure what to do about it.

Talk about a slap upside the head which was sorely needed. Wow.

--Weasel, "Time to clear the junk out of the 'attic', so to speak."

Happy Sucktober

(Got some suitably depressing music playing in the background; I can't tell if it's making my mood better or worse.)

So it begins in earnest. I can't say I'm too surprised. It is October, after all.

Head cashier Chris is in fact gone; the front end is falling apart. The new heads are completely useless and my new schedule....

In two weeks I'm pulling a 12:30 to 9. I haven't had one of those since I left the old hellhole. To say I was pissed off beyond words is putting it in the mildest terms possible. I'm glad that it's a Saturday shift, but it's still irritating as hell. But for once, I actually got off my ass and did something about it. I grabbed an availability form and changed my hours; I'm now open from 8AM to 8PM. It's a reduction of an hour, but it should prevent another noon to nine shift from ever happening.

In even worse news, I went to my local Blockbuster to ask if I could possibly have the ROTF DVD poster they have in the window once they're done with it. I was told no. By a manager. Normally, I'd be slightly pissed but I'd let it go. Not this time.

It's a Bumblebee poster. So yes, I'd give him a great home, but I can't thanks to that bitchy woman manager. He's basically going to sit out there and get weathered, then get tossed into a fucking Dumpster. And there's not a goddamn thing I can do about that. I feel as if I've been kicked in the fucking throat. And I get that same feeling every damned morning and evening when Prime and I drive past him. Prime, as usual, tried to calm me down when I told him what I got for an answer--really, I should have realized myself that the answer was to 'go hit all the other stores in the area'...they're not necessarily all run by the same manager. If it's become a chainwide policy since we acquired the HUGE four-panel DVD poster from that same store after the first movie's DVD release, I guess I'll be reduced to watching eBay now and again. There's always SOMEone who manages to grab the ungrabbable, after all...

I hate October. I really do.

When I lived in NC, one of my friends complained about November and just how much it sucked. He did have a point--he got suspended from high school almost every November. But for me, it's October. And it's been that way for damn near 12 years. This was the month that my friends and I would plan our trips to Raleigh, where we'd spend a weekend hitting places like Foundation's Edge, Buy Rite Video Games (long since out of business) and the Raleigh Flea Market Mall. It was a chance for us to spend a few hours in a hotel room, watch anime, eat pizza and act like total idiots.

They were also some of the best times of my young life.
And they'll never happen again.

October was the month my then boyfriend (Or should I say boyfiend?) decided that the "grass was greener", so to speak. Ever since then, October has sucked out loud. Nothing good has ever happened to me during this damned month. It's always been nothing but bad luck. The changing leaves and cooler nights do nothing but remind me that this bullshit is coming.

I'll be the first to admit I've never been big on fall. I prefer summer. But October... Ugh. I'd love nothing more than to skip it.

Can we please just fast forward to next year and BotCon? Please? I don't think I can deal with this shit anymore.

--Weasel, "I got tired of it twelve years ago."