Why isn't 'Batgirl' a valid career choice?

I will hear about the job early next week.  Part of me is so sure I got it that I want to write out my two week's notice right now and plan on how I'm going to throw it in my boss's face.  The rest of me is saying that's jumping the gun and maybe I didn't get it.

But there is no part of me completely sure I didn't get it.  Which is a good sign.

Maybe this is the start of things getting better?  Maybe my luck is turning around?

Oh, that's right.  I believe I make my own luck.  So I'm going to make my luck turn around.  With profuse usage of a flamethrower!

(I once used an acetylene torch to clean out my freezer.  It was the best day ever.  My dad was proud of me.)

I take far too much delight in the suffering of others.

But I think it's only fair, in some strange way.  Oh, right, because I'm a bitch.

...of the rabbit hole, into the looking glass.

If this is going to become cyclical, I want to stop the ride and get off now.

Because at this rate I'm eventually going to have to hunt the Jabberwocky.  I'm not ready for that yet.

Another new project is in the works.  Long short story/short novella entitled "Charon's Coin."  SitC will still be updated and my other projects are still being worked on, but this has jumped to the forefront of my writing.

How much you wanna bet I abandon it halfway through?

...in just a few hours.  Wish me luck!  I really fucking need it.

As a side note, it is my brother's 17th birthday.  I feel old.

EDIT: (ignore what buzznet tries to tell you, it's 2:39 where I am) OMG.  Went really well.  Keep your fingers crossed for me.  Unless you've gotta play guitar or eat or something.  Then you should probably uncross your fingers.

The first full chapter of Stakes should go up sometime tomorrow.  For right now there may be a chapter every Friday...if my interview tomorrow goes well it may change to every other Friday as I would expect to have less slacking time at the other position.

And remember, folks, Lindsey Jacobellis is SERIOUS BUSINESS (warning: I am providing a link to this for context.  Please do not get yourselves involved) and we should never point out she made a mistake at the Olympics unless we are Olympic class snowboarders ourselves.  For crying out loud, if I remember correctly she laughed at herself after the fact and realized how she'd messed up.  And yeah, she's still one hell of a snowboarder, she'd have to be to even make the fucking Olympics.  If my mockery had seriously been that she only won the silver medal why the HELL would I have quoted Gretechen Bleiler, who was a silver medalist herself?  I'd have been sitting there going "LOLSILVERLOSEROMG!"  It's not that Lindsey ONLY won a Silver, it's that she COST HERSELF an assured gold medal through an easily prevented mistake.  It SHOULD have been a Gold.

May I also point out that by that mouse's logic(and I would have appreciated my friendly neighborhood mouse to have left an e-mail or an identifying name to prevent me from naming it myself.  My current choice is Anglemouse, named after Kurt Angle.  This would be in reference to the period of time in the WWE where he would bitch at anyone who tried to criticize him by responding with "Where are YOUR gold medals?"  I think it's a fitting name, myself, however I offer my sincere apologies to Kurt Angle) Tony Kornheiser and Michael Wilbon have no right to criticize anyone in a sport they have not themselves dominated.  I guess that Adam Sessler is not allowed to provide his opinion on video games unless he has written, designed, coded, and played a number of them, and recieved awards for all of his work.  And let's not get started on Rodger Ebert.

I hardly think I was harping on her.  I believe that is the first time the name Lindsey Jacobellis has ever appeared in my lj.  My whole point was simply this: Gretchen's comment combined with Lindsey's fall at Torino was funny.  At least, I thought it was.  Maybe I have something wrong with my sense of humor.  Should get that looked at, huh?

So, a year or two ago I wrote this poem.  I actually got into an intense discussion with the editor about whether or not to keep the last line.  My argument was that the last line sealed the idea I was trying to get across: the idea of this desolate lost generation.  After the poem was published with the last line included, the editor confessed to me I was right about fighting to keep it in.

But that's not the point.  The point is that this morning I began thinking about the lost generation again.  About both my generation and you young 'uns just coming into your own.  Whippersnappers.  But the idea is a generation lost, without identity.

And we're so desperate for identity that we begin labeling and seperating ourselves.  We label and divide ourselves into groups and then stick to our own kind, seeming to constantly repeat the mantra of "Four legs good, two legs bad!"  We become offended when people don't see our way of life, but at the same time we're refusing to see theirs.  And so our generation is made up of hundreds of tribes, constantly preparing for war with each other.

Is it really any wonder, then, that there's so much in the way of disaffected youth?  We worry so much about our own cultural norms that in an attempt to be considered "individual" we can't deviate from what other people are doing or thinking.  And so we lose ourselves, become someone lost, and our generation becomes lost and without a purpose besides performing for everyone around us.  We turn to something, anything, to make us feel real again, and in some cases these are "vices," drinking, drugs, sex, hell even poetry.  In some cases we try to throw ourselves hard enough into the herd that we can forget who we are.

And that's not just aimed at the so called "preps" and "cheerleaders" out there.  It's aimed at everyone.  Because to a certain extent we all do it.  Yes, even the "goths" and the "emo-kids."  You give yourselves these labels, I did it as a kid (goth phase: sophomore year of high school), and I still don't really understand why.  Humans are delightfully messy, do you really think any one word or phrase can sum us up entirely?

I suppose this entry makes less sense than I'd wanted it to, and went off on an entirely different direction.  But I'm still going to hit "save" because it's the sort of thing I do.

It is literally amazing the difference it makes when I wake up after the sun has risen and knowing I have more than an hour before The Horror of Normalcy.  I didn't get out of bed with this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, with the single thought of "Oh no, not again."

But I need to start thinking on the positive side.  Which is fucking difficult.  I'm BAD at positive.  It kinda makes me nervous.  Being positive, that is.  I'm sure that the moment I get positive, something horrible is about to happen.  I'm not saying it's a universal law that I can't be happy, but I am saying that it is difficult to find time to be happy when I keep getting shit thrown at me.

My boss was pissed because I had to take the morning off to wait for drywallers who should have been here Sunday but never showed and I had errands to run.  My housemates were both busy and my landlady works as well.  And they have all taken time off to do this sort of thing while I worked. But of course, it is OH SO IMPORTANT that I be in that office every morning in case there's something only I can handle.  Of course, let's remember that according to my boss I'm too STUPID to handle anything by myself, so it makes one wander exactly WHY this is going on.

I really need a fucking change.  I need something to happen here.  I really don't want to leave Pittsburgh that much unless there's a really good opportunity, and the position I'm in right now would make it hard to do face to face interviews in either Chicago or New York (the two cities I've been looking at moving to) because that means I not only have to figure out how to afford to fly to either city and get transportation around, but it also means I have to tell my boss I'm taking more time off to go interview in other cities when I've only been with the company for about four months.  But I'm fucking miserable.  And 3/4's of it is the way I get treated.  I don't understand why he thinks I'm stupid, I don't understand why I can't even wear jeans to work on Fridays.  There are four people in the office, including myself.  What, those three people seeing me in jeans on a Friday would destroy the company and burn the building to the ground?

Think positive, girl.  Something's gotta come along.  Let's just hope it's soon. 

EDIT: 9:41 AM EST: Well...the publishing company I applied with wants to phone interview me.  Wish me luck!

EDIT: 12:19 PM EST: Did the phone thing.  Have a face to face Friday at 1.  Wish me even more luck.

...I am far from athletic enough to have fucked up my back.  So why does my back feel fucked up?

*sigh*  Makes me glad I'm getting myself that massage as part of my Valentine's Day gift to myself.  I'm also getting myself Infinity on High (have already pre-ordered it from FBR), a decent dinner and maybe some wine.  Or flowers.  Not entirely sure.  If I can find flowers I'd like, I'll buy them for myself.

Tried on a pair of pants I couldn't get zippered in December.  They are baggy on me now.  It looks like I'm going to hit my weight goal as well.  I'd do a little happy dance, but, well, my back.  Which is not good as I have errands to run today.  This sounds like a job for Alieve.

That was the secret I learned in Judo: Alieve cures EVERYTHING.  Broke a toe?  Alieve.  Dislocated your kneecap (yeah, that hurt like hell, too.  I'm kinda glad I sort of went into shock at that point.)?  Alieve.  Pregnant?  Alieve.

Okay, I'm kidding with that last one, but you knew that.

So, yeah.  Alieve.  Errands.  Work tomorrow...SUCKS.  My boss is apparently convinced I am borderline retarded and calls me to accuse me of doing things wrong when I haven't.

I need something else.  Why is nobody calling me back?!  *heavy sigh*  Ah well.  Just gotta get by and get out, I suppose.  Just like high school.  Only in high school I had a definite graduation date and friends.  So, totally unlike high school, then.

...so if you're interested, please check out Stakes in the City.

Now, let's see if I can actually keep this damned thing up...

Serial novel finally has a title and an idea for a first chapter.  Maybe I'll write it today.  Then I'll link you all to it.  It'll be fun, like bloody, screaming death.  It borrows from my Nano, but is not my Nano.  Because my Nano was bloody, screaming death.

I think I'm kidding myself with thinking it'll go anywhere, but I have plotlines for at least three or four parts (each part broken down into chapters...I'd like to be able to post one chapter every two weeks or so).  So maybe if I can pimp it out enough I can get enough readers to be famous on the internet.  And you guys can be all "We knew her BEFORE she was internet famous." 

And the new fans can be all "SHUT UP AND DON'T CALL ME A N00B!"

And you can be all "I didn't call you a n00b, n00b."

And they can be all "OMG OPPRESSION!"

And you can be all "STFU."

And then it makes fandom wank and I truly feel like I've done something with my life.  For roughly 15 minutes. Then I remember, fuck, shit, wait, no I haven't.

And all the things that came have past
The answer's in the looking glass
There's four and twenty million doors
Down life's endless corridor
Say it loud and sing it proud
And they...

Will dance if they want to dance
Please brother take a chance
You know they're gonna go
Which way they wanna go
All we know is that we don't know
What is gonna be
Please brother let it be
Life on the other hand won't let you understand
Why we're all part of the masterplan.

~Oasis "The Masterplan"

...condensed into one easy to process entry:

I'm looking out the plane window and all I can see is black.  Night sky above me, swirling clouds below me.  And for the first time I understand the idea of void.  Part of me wants to somehow get out of the plane and fall into the void, because for the first time I'll be completely alone.  Maybe when I'm with nobody but myself I'll finally figure out who I am and whether or not I can live with myself.  Maybe I'll go insane from it all, but it's all okay.

More imporant, I've realized that something is missing.  I'm looking out this window into nothing and I'm not filled with the gut wrenching terror I usually get when I travel, or when I do anything remotely daring anymore.  I'm not scared.  I've accepted that if it ends, it ends quickly and there's nothing I can do about it and that BOTHERS me, but at the same time it lets me feel more free than I have in years.  I forgot what it was like to live without terror and anxiety.  I could get used to it.

====

Sometimes, when I'm with the two of them, it's like he's Peter Parker and she's Mary Jane.  And I'm sitting in the backseat, not sure what part I've been cast in.  All I know is that Gwen Stacy has been dead for YEARS.

====

I'm sure you're just something I can't understand that I've put a different face on.  You don't have to play the part for me anymore, I promise.

====
I had a great time in Philly.  Went to South Street on Saturday, got some awesome yarn for a new scarf and a great moonstone pendant.  Sunday was King of Prussia, which was intimidating but cool.  Today was mostly a flight home, which could have been better but could have been much worse and resulted in me having "Snakes on a Plane (Bring It)" caught in my head the entire way home.

Overall, I like Philly and I'd rather be headed to work at a record store on South Street than headed to The Horror of Normalcy tomorrow morning.

...it looks like I woke up just in time, huh?

Somebody get this friggin' duck away from me!

Sorry.  Couldn't help it.

So the week has slowly been getting better.  No major fuck ups at work...at least, none that I haven't been able to cover up extremely well...and the morning from hell has not exactly been the morning from hell.  The meeting wasn't so much a meeting as it was our accountant sitting behind a partition and occasionally asking me to print or photocopy something.  I still hate this place, but honestly?  Today has been borderline painless.

Watch...that just TOTALLY jinxed me.

Can also now post from home again...that actually happened a couple days ago and has been refreshing.  Hence why I've been able to comment and update at night.  Still have no idea why my IP was blocked...but oh well.  I think I'm going to blame David Carradine for it.  Because I've taken to blaming a lot of things on David Carradine.  I just really hope he never finds out.  Because he could kill me.

Immediately after work for tomorrow I'm off to Philly for the weekend.  Wish I was going to be able to make the show out there, but didn't have the cash for tickets, and odds are I wouldn't have been able to get them before they sold out anyway.  Ah well.  I'll just have to hope FOB decides to show Pittsburgh some love sometime this summer and that I can afford tickets when they do.  Come on guys, the Steelers are out of the playoffs and we just lost Coach Cowher.  We need something good around here.

When the most unfaithful bitch I ever knew (I'm pretty sure she hooked up with my asshole ex while he and I were still together) lists "infidelity" as one of the things she would never tolerate in a relationship.  She also claims the one thing she would never do is "be unfaithful."

She keeps using those words.  I do not think they mean what she thinks they mean.

...to get over it and get on with it...

...far past time, actually.

Hi.  I'm Ashly.  Often I am batshit insane.  I think I just found reality again.  It's nice to meet you.

Evil lies.

But that doesn't mean good tells the truth.

I get to figure out how many lies my parents told me.

Hard work, determination and wishing don't get you what you want.  A skinny waist combined with big tits and blow jobs is what gets you what you want.

Being yourself doesn't make you a happier person.  It just makes you a more aware of yourself miserable person.

Optimism is just another fun form of self delusion.

You can never be an individual.  Because no matter where you go, people have already decided what social group you fit into.

Loving yourself doesn't come first.  Hating yourself enough to make yourself into something other people can love comes first.

In ancient Greece the muses had names like Melpomene and Polyhymnia.  For my generation of writers it seems our muse is either Depression or Desire.  It doesn't matter which, they both end in tears.

(can apparently still post from work.  Whoo-hoo!)

...well, not technically.  But we decided a Firefly marathon would be a good way to spend an otherwise horrible weekend.  By "we" I mean me and my housemates.  We watched every episode of the series and we have plans to watch Serenity tonight to round it all out.

Of course, watching that much Firefly in one sitting does things to your brain.  And, when you have three people who already pick up mannerisms and speech patterns very quickly, that much Firefly results in conversations such as:


It also leads to the following being written on the white board on our refridgerator:


And of course, we've all got our work divided up:


Burn the land and boil the sea
you can't take the sky from me...

For whatever reason, buzznet has partially blocked my home IP address.  I am posting from a friend's computer currently because at home I cannot get to any url with [name].buzznet.com.  I get forwarded to a url with "blocked.html" at the end.

So, until this gets taken care of, I can't get on from my house. 

I'm a little miffed.  I've sent about four messages to support and posted to the help boards.  It's obviously not my account as I can still access that.  And I have not recieved ANY notfication of my IP being blocked, or any explanation for why.

It's been a banner fucking week.

The poetry is coming too quickly.  And it doesn't read like mine used to.  Am I challenging myself to write about what scares me?  My poetry was never about flesh.  I think I need poetry of flesh.

I would fuck your words and read your skin
if you would only let me close enough to either.

I don't even dream of contact. There' something wrong with me.

The Bloomfield Skate Shop has been replaced by an insurance agency.  If you look down that street, it seems like youthful rebellion is dying and the tattoo parlor is the next target.  Is this some sort of metaphor for the world, for my life or just a depressing Friday morning?

Never dyed my hair blue.  Wait too long to get inked (should have been for my 21st, turned out to be a college graduation present for myself).  I got pressured into normal.  I don't LIKE normal.  But now that I'm so far in I don't know how to get myself out.  I'm writing this and picturing a rebellion of words and ink and hair color not found in nature while I wear suit pants and desperately cover up my tattoo for fear of being fired.  The rebellion I wanted isn't underground, it's been buried alive.

And now I switch the topic completely.

I can forget that I hate myself until I find a mirror and then I remember that it's all BETTER but it's still not good.  Even when the pants are too big, the next size down isn't small enough.

Don't defend me to myself.  Boys who think I look good are either fucked up or don't know any better.  I know what I look like and I don't like myself much.  I know what I want and won't be happy until I have it.

She can't remember a time
When she felt needed
If love was red then she was colour-blind
All her friends they've been tried for treason
And crimes that were never defined
She's saying
Love is like a barren place
And reaching out for human faith is
Is like a journey I just don't have a map for
~ Savage Garden "To the Moon and Back"

...for me to forget how much I love candles.  I remembered last night.  I remembered a lot last night.

The moon's been gorgeous the past few nights.  Clear skies and a full moon.  That's what helped me remember.  I'm sure I'll forget again, I can never remember for too long.

I just wish the moon could bring me serenity.  Instead it fills me with something else, not a peace or a calm, but something I can't explain.  Explain it for me?  Make it easier for me?

I know, I'm asking for too much.

All right.  Dream for me?

Power of words have you over me.  Power of tears have you over me.

...I don't like the mask much, either.

It's not a good fit.  It's uncomfortable.  My face can't feel the sun.  Power of sun have I over thee.  Power of moon have I over thee.  But  I don't know if I have the right to call on those powers anymore, call on the power which is your own.  I don't know where my power rests anymore.  Speaking in a strictly figurative sense.

I suppose the corallary is "You have no power over me."  But right now, I don't have any power over me either.  I'm being tossed about by waves of dread (power of water have I not), blown about by the winds of fate (power of air have I not), burned alive by fire of passion (power of fire have I not) and buried alive in the earth (power of earth have I not). 

Power of words have I over thee.  Power of tears have I over thee.

By December 31st, 2007:

I will stop wearing masks.

I will spend less time worrying about what I should or could have been.

I will spend more time concentrating on what I'm going to be.

I will rock your fucking world.

I woke up on January 1st feeling the need to be someone else.  I cleaned, I wrote, I made such plans.  I will be the person I was meant to be.  I will stop pretending to be someone else and start pretending to be who I really am.  I will take chances, be industrious, stop surviving and start living for a change.

Then January 2nd dawns grey and last year's mask goes back on my face.  I still have to be someone else 8 to 5 on weekdays.  Momentum would carry much further if I didn't run into a wall of reality.

So I'm going to cushion the wall a little bit.  Reach out, find a wall I don't hate hitting as much.  Might mean I'm headed to New York, could New York handle me?  Could I handle New York?  Would anyone handle me in New York?  I think too much about sex, don't I?

I'm sick of wearing a mask of achievement when all I've done is hide.  Time to stop that.

Philly in 10 days.  Not for The Show, just for kicks.  And the Queen of Hearts screams "Off with her head."

...hello there 2007.

2006 was a pretty good year.  You have a lot to live up to.  You'd better deliver.