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

...my function in this universe is to clean up other people's messes, take all the blame, and never have anything positive to show for it.

I don't like it much.

This really can't be all there is to life.  I can't believe that at all.
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A very Merry Dumas-mas (the holiday formerly known as "Litamas") to all of you out there!

For those of you unfamiliar, Dumas-mas is the yearly anniversary of THIS.  Which was the day I decided to get my head out of my ass.  Please note the significant weight loss during those two years.

Weekends are never long enough.

However, at least today is only a half day at work (yay!).  And I have another interview today, rescheduled from the mess last week.  And, productively, I have plotted out BASIC plots for Parts 1 through 7 of SitC.  I have the series tentatively planned for 10 parts, with several chapters deviating from the main storyline (and possibly one of those parts being devoted entirely to a supporting member of the cast who won't show up until part 3 anyway).  Also, I have set up a myspace for the Stakes main character, Taylor Lourdes.  You can find her here if you have a myspace and want to friend her.  She'll most likely friend you back.

New chapter of Stakes in the City is pure shit  now online.

...I have to post a new chapter this week, don't I?

Shit.  Better get working on that.

...I cut my hair at about 7PM EST on Friday night.

Britney shaved her head that same night.

This could only mean: BRITNEY SPEARS WAS TRYING TO ONE UP ME!

This post contains spoilers for "Cursed"

In some ways inspired by Cleolinda's "Movies in 15 Minutes":

All you really need to know about Cursed:

Gypsy: You're gonna die.
Slutty Girl: Yeah right.
Other Slutty Girl: What she said.

Cute but geeky little brother: Can't find my dog.
Love interest: I'd date you, but...um...I'm with the dumb jock.
Dumb Jock: Gay gay gay gay gay gay gay!

Cute but disturbed older sister: Oh, geeze, if only I had a backbone.
Perky Publicist: I prove you have no backbone!
Hot semi-famous guy: I like disturbed girls.

Little brother: Bitch bitch bitch.
Older sister: Whine whine whine.
*CARWRECK*

Slutty girl: The only thing that could make this worse would be getting mauled to death by a werewolf. Oh...fuck...
*WEREWOLF MAULING*

Little brother: Okay, that werewolf bit us.
Older sister: Except it wasn't a werewolf.
Little brother: Fine! Don't believe me.
Older sister: Okay, I won't.
Little brother: *googles*

Older sister: As if my life couldn't get worse, I just got felt up by Scott Baio.
Hot semi-famous guy: Hey.
Older sister: Can't talk now, found out you're a man-whore.
Hot semi-famous guy: Can you BLAME me?

Other slutty girl: SHOULDA LISTENED TO THE GYPSY.

Little brother: *beats the fuck out of the dumb jock*
Dumb jock: GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY!

Wes Craven: Okay, that's it, I'm done. Find somebody else to finish this piece of shit.
Studio: Okay!

Perky publicist: I pwn you, h0r!
Older sister: YOU AND SCOTT BAIO CAN KISS MY LYCANTHROPIC ASS!

Little brother: Okay, silver hurts.
Dumb Jock: Okay...so...um...I'm gay. Wanna date?
Little brother: Not gay, werewolf.
Dumb Jock: ...you can't be a gay werewolf?
Little brother: My dog went nuts, let's go find my sister.

Hot semi-famous guy: So, yeah. I'm a werewolf.
Older sister: Bastard! I should have known your voice was quiet and low pitched for a reason!
Hot semi-famous guy: Yes, to cover up my shitty acting in this even shittier movie. But, more to the point, you're changing into a werewolf and KEYS TO MY GROIN!
Older sister: *escapes like WHOA*

Little brother: Gotta find the head werewolf!
Older sister: I've been dating him.
Little brother: WTF?

Werewolf: *attacks at party*
Dumb Jock: *wolf smacked*
Little brother: Oh fuck.
Hot semi-famous guy: I was born a werewolf. I can control it. It's okay.
Perky Publicist: You also fucked me and made me a werewolf.
Hot semi-famous guy: Oh...snap.
Perky Publicist: Now I kill off your ex's. That'll make you love me.
Hot semi-famous guy: Your logic sucks like my acting...KNEE TO MY GROIN!

Cops: *burst in* Where's the animal?
Older sister: Up there.
Little brother: Werewolf.
Older sister: Whore.
Werewolf: *flips her off (NO I'M FUCKING SERIOUS)*
Cops: *shoot*
Werewolf: *DIES*

Little Brother: I'm gonna miss the sex appeal and strength...wait, why did we reverse the curse again?
Older Sister: My werewolf boyfriend is gone.
Little Brother: Um...okay, so many things WRONG with that statement.
Older Sister: Basement. Lights. Now.

Hot semi-famous guy: I came back for you.
Older sister: Okay, why am I still a werewolf.
Hot semi-famou guy: Because to end the curse you have to kill me. But you're not going to do that because we're in love and now you're my mate.
Older sister: Um...okay, so many things WRONG with that statement.
Hot semi-famous guy: Oh, and by the way, I'm gonna kill your brother.
Older sister: How about no?
Hot semi-famous guy; YOu're really not liking this werewolf thing? Okay. Cool. I'll kill you, too.
*FIGHT*
Hot semi-famous guy: SILVER TO MY GROIN!
Older sister: I cut your head off for great justice.
Little brother: Okay, now we're not werewolves.
Love interest: I can date you now.
Dumb Jock: So can I!
Little brother: Um...going with her, thanks.
Dumb Jock: Fuck it. You're gonna regret this when I grow up and have superpowers!
Older sister: GTFO.

*meaningful shot of moon, end credits*

Wes Craven: Dodged that bullet like WHOA.

Berlioz was a famous composer in...I wanna say the romantic period.  Anyway, he was this struggling composer who ended up falling head over heels in love with an English actress.  He wrote her love letter after love letter, but they all went unanswered.  It seemed she knew nothing of his existance.

So, Berlioz writes a symphony for this woman, entitled "Symphonie Fantastique."  It works on themes of lost love and includes an opium trip, a hanging, and a trip to hell where the main character discovers that the woman he loves is a witch.  It is a wonderful piece of music, truly emotive and powerful.

Anyway, two years after it premiers, it gets back to the actress that Berlioz wrote this for her.  And she's so impressed she finally agrees to meet with him.  And they fall in love and get married.

Nine years later, he divorced her.

This raises interesting questions:

1) Was Berlioz really in love?  Was he just obsessed?  Or was he just in love with the idea of being in love?

2) Why is it that back in those days, someone could write a symphony for a celebrity they've never even met and have it be praised, where as today something like that would be laughed at or considered stalking?

3) Isn't it just terrible when you find a piece of writing you had forgotten about, re-read it, love it, and then realize you can never let anyone else in the world read it because it will be laughed at?

I just chopped all my hair off.

Pics to follow.

So, after yesterday's job related fit, I spent an evening eating comfort food (brownies and sushi, my hips are hating me for it already) and then spent about half an hour meditating.  Seriously.  Not just deep thinking, but serious meditation, which I haven't really done in awhile.

Basically, I was looking for some sort of sign that things were going to change for the better.  I really just CAN'T take my job anymore, I literally spent half an hour crying at my desk after my boss sent me an e-mail once again reminding me that he treats me like I am less intelligent than your average 10-year-old.  On top of that it looks like I probably didn't get the library job I'd interviewed for and I've been beginning to feel like the perpetual runner up in everything I do: the only way I can win is if I'm the only one competing.  No matter how hard I try, or how much I give of myself to something, I'm always going to be at best second best.  And anytime I get turned down for something, I get told by people "Oh, it just wasn't meant to be," or "That just means there's something better out there for you!"

But that implies that what IS meant to be, for right now, is a job where I am repeatedly made MISERABLE by my boss.  I'm not sure if it's because I'm female or because I majored in English instead of something "real" but it doesn't matter.  That man has absolutely no respect for me.  And why should he have any?  He only hired me because he was desperate and he didn't want to upset the woman who suggested me, since he does business with her.

So, anyway, last night I ask for a sign that something's going to work out, that I should keep going.  I came very close to slipping back into some bad habits last night...luckily I avoided that.  But that's beside the point.  Point is, I basically begged for a sign.

I use my old stereo as an alarm clock.  It was a Christmas present years ago and I love it.  Basically, one of the features I love is being able to set which song on whatever CD is in there is going to play when the alarm goes off.  The current CD I have in there is called the "Remember the Moonsault" mix, a reference to the fact that it's basically a fanmix I put together for (former) WWE Diva Amy "Lita" Dumas, a personal hero of mine.  This is the woman who changed my life when I got to meet her (is there a DORK sign over my head yet?  No?  Good), gave me the courage to turn myself around and...well...let's just say I'm a lot better off these days.

I had been lazy and had just been waking up to the first song, "One Girl Revolution" by Superchick (not huge on the band, but I love that song).  Anyway, this morning, I hear the telltale whizzing noise of the CD starting up and start whispering "No.  No.  No," because I did not want to get up and have to come into work today.

"One Girl Revolution" does not start playing.  "Lovefurypassionenergy" by Boy Hits Car does.  This was Lita's entrance theme for her last few years in the WWE.  And with my mad C and P skills, I recreate the lyrics for you here:

I did not change the song.  The only way to change the song involves turning the stereo on (which I had not done the night before, I had been wearing my I-pod instead), press a series of buttons, and then program the song.  This is not a difficult process, but the odds of it happening pure by coincidence?  Not very likely for that EXACT combination to be pressed to bring up that particular song.

I think I got my sign.  Musically, even.  So, um, whoever or whatever is out there and helped me out with that?  Thanks.  I mean it.

...it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how hard I try, or how hard I put myself out there.  It doesn't matter how much time I spend bent over words and lyrics, it doesn't matter how much of myself I've poured into them.

It doesn't matter how good I make myself look or how perky or professional I am.  It doesn't matter how I dress for an interview.  It doesn't matter how big my smile is or how good my eye contact is.

It doesn't matter how hard I want it, or how much I think I deserve it.  It doesn't matter what platitudes I convince myself are useful, how many times I repeat those same cliches.  It doesn't matter how often I console myself with "It just wasn't meant to be."

Because I'm sick of not seeing mine despite working for it.  I'm sick of being told to be optimistic when the facts lean towards pessimism.  I'm sick of waiting for "meant to be" because that implies what's meant to be right now is misery and disrespect.

But it doesn't matter. 

I finally know my role, so I'll shut my damn mouth.

Okay, brain, why have you decided we will be listening to a shit ton of swing music?  Was this really nessecary?  I don't know why all of a sudden I have the desire to hear "Zoot Suit Riot" by the Cherry Poppin' Daddies, but okay.  Let's go with it.  It's not like we're going swing dancing...

...BECAUSE, brain, we've got no one to go with.  And we haven't gone in years.  And the last time we went was a disaster in so many ways.  And you probably can't anymore between the knee and the weight you've put on...

...NO, brain, we will not be trying to see if we still can.  Because, in case you'd forgotten, NO ONE TO GO WITH.  Plus, you haven't been swing dancing since 2002, do you even remember how?  And you weren't all that good back then, anyway.  Deal with it...

...yeah, brain, if you really want to, we can go home tonight, loop "Blues in the Night" and you can work on that story idea from freshman year.  If it will make you stop begging me for swing dancing.  Deal?

...home alone on Valentine's Day, you're flipping through a mix on your I-Pod and up comes "Here's to the Nights" by Eve 6.  You danced to this song at your senior prom, the last night you ever really remember feeling beautiful.  You were in the arms of your first love, who never really felt the same way about you. 

And six years later, the song makes you start crying.

Sometimes, music, you betray me and let me down.  How dare you.

...for your Valentine's Day pleasure:

We are pain and what cures pain, both.  We are the sweet cold winter and the jar that pours.  I want to hold you close like a lute, so that we can cry out with loving.  Would you throw stones at a mirror?  I am a mirror and here are the stones.

~Rumi

I never really even had a good Valentine's Day with my asshole ex (who I have taken to calling "The Idiot Man-Boy").  He basically looked at the whole thing as "I take you out, then I get sex, hooray."  He'd get me the most traditional gift he could muster.  He'd get me red roses, despite my dislike of red roses.  Not really dislike, but more...I'd have preferred him getting me something tropical, like Asiatic Lillies or something.  But then again, he was so all about tradition...UGH.  It wasn't about us celebrating in a way that made us happy, it was about celebrating in a way everyone else would look at and think "wow, those two are REALLY normal.  Nothing weird about them at all.  Nope."

I think it was his obsession with being normal that destroyed me.  My friends were all too weird for him.  They were too into weird things, like...I dunno, thinking?  They didn't all have dreams of white picket fences and church bake sales in their future.  Well, I think we did have dreams of hot gluing plastic farm animals to white picket fences and crashing a church bake sale to hand out pamphlets about Beakism (Become a Beaknik!  Or don't...we're really sort of indifferent...you guys got any beer?  Oh!  Sweet!  Brownies!).  And I say "we" there because, as much as he hated to admit it, I wanted weird and out there and kooky.  Yes, I did just say "kooky." 

And all he wanted was to be able to look respectable.  To be NORMAL.  But he wasn't normal and you could see it in bits and pieces, but he had to keep up appearences and I never totally understood why.  Like, I could understand for work functions and for the judo people, but I never understood why he wouldn't let himself be himself when nobody else was around.

To tell the truth, I think The Idiot Man-Boy's so far in the closet he's found Narnia.  And that's not an insult, it's an observation that makes me sad.  It makes me sad that he can't confront himself about who he is and let himself be himself and be happy with himself because it will upset his mother and father or cause his brother to make fun of him.  Everyone back home in his small town (that he's moved back to since breaking up with me...) would KNOW there was something different about him and that would be bad.  The man is 27 years old and he's still such a fucking CHILD.  And that's funny and sad at the same time.

Granted, I'm 24 and I'm still a fucking child in a lot of ways.  But I don't run away from who I am.  I meet myself head on these days because I don't want to have to live ashamed with myself and constantly thinking "what if somebody finds out about me?"  For a long time I ran away from myself and the person I was and the person I wanted to be because it wasn't "acceptable" or "normal."

Normal is overrated.  Long live the freaks.

Just in time for Valentine's Day.

Why do people keep believing this myth that I am such a sweet, nice girl?  Without even talking to me they assume I'm this sweet nice girl who just wants to pretend she's a pretty pretty princess and find a nice strong prince to take care of her.  Do I really look so FUCKING weak that you assume I can't take care of myself or that I have to define my selfworth based on who my boyfriend can beat up?  Has all the time I've spent trying to make myself strong not worked, because when people look at me they apparently see some silly weak thing who should be so exicted to go to work because she probably has all the boys there telling her she's pretty and offering to take her to lunch?  Fuck you.  I don't want protection, or cute little pet names or pity.  ESPECIALLY pity.

And why is it that only the old perverts or the fucking crack heads are the ones who offer up some sort of conversation because I look like the sort of nice girl just trying to find herself a good husband to KNOCK HER UP a couple times because EVERY WOMAN WANTS BABIES?  And the boys I want to talk to me about things like literature or music are too busy LAUGHING AT THE FAT CHICK CHECKING THEM OUT?  I don't want to settle for the lowest common denominator again.  Ever.

But am I going to have to?  In order to not be alone am I going to have to settle for something terrible?  Smart guys want stupid girls, stupid guys want child bearing hips.  Where is the middle ground?  Why is it that the guys I'd like to be with are too busy talking about something pettier with something prettier?  More over, am I going to have to settle for the idea that, if I ever want to find someone to share my life with, I'm going to have to agree to let him knock me up?  Am I going to have to surrender my body and the next 18 or more years of my life to a kid because I wanted to be with someone in my life?  It's not fucking fair. 

I'm sure there will be more like this in the coming days.  After all, Wednesday is Valentine's Day.  HOORAY for sweet MOTHERFUCKING romance.

Ordered my camera yesterday and it has already shipped!  Hooray!  Should be here sometime next week.  I'm really really excited about this.  And my mother justified my spending, so I'm happy.

BTW: New Chapter of SitC went up about a minute ago.  It's scary...that's actually two updates I've completed on time.  What is this world coming to?

Dammit weather!  WARM UP!  I want Dave and Andy's ice cream and it's TOO DAMNED COLD for that right now!  Do you hear me?!  WARM UP!

I would like a soda.

Problem: Cannot drink soda on current diet.

Exception: unless it's a cheat day

Observation: it's not a cheat day

Further Complication: have no cash for soda machine

Sidebar: don't think they have cherry coke in soda machine

Ruling: no soda for the Amazon.

New chapter of SitC will go up tomorrow.  That's two on-time updates.  HAS THE WORLD GONE MAD?

...I really need to start working on the next chapter of SitC, don't I?  Considering it's going up on Friday...

In other news, the spa I wanted to go to in Pittsburgh can't fit me in for a massage the weekend I wanted to get one.  I find this out as I'm online pricing digital cameras, since I've been thinking of getting a new one ever since my ultra-crappy one was stolen back in December when our house was broken into (please note, the only thing they took was my camera they could have pawned for MAYBE $5, I know this because I worked at a used camera store for awhile, and my housemate's broken laptop that didn't even start up anymore.  Worst.  Burglars.  Ever.).  Well, turns out I can get a 5 megapixel camera with a free 1 gig memory card for the same amount I was going to spend on my massage.

So...yeah.  I'm ordering a new camera.  I'm a bad, bad girl.  But everyone's talking me into it, so I might as well, right?

I also ended up thinking of something terribly strange yesterday: a combination of "Heroes" and "House," my current two favorite shows on TV:

Foreman: House, that Bennet girl was nearly DEAD an hour ago, and suddenly she's just fine?
House: Yes, I know. I can't explain it either. And that bothers me.
Cameron: Maybe it's just a miracle.
House: No, what's a miracle is that Chase hasn't tried to get into her tight little cheerleading skirt yet. The sudden regeneration is just strange. I refuse to base a diagnosis on the assumption that she miraculously healed. *glares at Chase* Or that she's a superhero. So don't even try that one. I saw it coming.
Cuddy: House, the girl is fine, drop it and get back to the clinic.
*Mohinder Suresh rushes in*
Mohinder: Doctor Gregory House? My name is Mohinder Suresh. I have to speak with you about a list...

(a few minutes later)
House: So, you're saying I have superpowers?
Mohinder: I'm saying you have a genetic mutation which gives you certain gifts.
House: What?  The ability to be so cynical nobody can stand to be around me?  Thanks, but I'd already figured that one out.
Mohinder: No.  I'm not sure what your gift is, but if you'll give me time to find out.
House: I don't have time.  I have a girl who's spontaneously healing herself and I need to figure out why.
Mohinder: I already know why.  Because that's her gift.
House: So, you're saying I've got a female Wolverine in my hospital, and I have superpowers.
Mohinder: Yes.
House: Great.  I can discharge her and get back to work.
Mohinder: Aren't you even curious about your gifts?
House: I already know what my gift is.  It's figuring out what's wrong with people.  Jury's still out on what's wrong with you, though.
Mohinder: Dr. House, you could be using your gift to help people.  To save the human race.
House: That's assuming the human race is worth saving.
Mohinder: How can you say that?
House: You seen a lot of humanity, kid?  We are dirty, ugly creatures.  I'm not entirely sure we're worth saving.
Mohinder: Then why are you a doctor?
House: Why are you?
*walks away*
Mohinder: That could have gone better.  Wouldn't you agree?
*Peter suddenly becomes visible beside him*
Peter: Probably.  But you know...he does remind me of someone else I know...

...my interview at the library last night went better than I had expected.  I'm beginning to suspect I didn't get the Dorrance job because I'm supposed to be interviewing for this one.  It would be less money, possibly even taking a pay cut from where I am now, but it would come with the sort of perks I could get behind.  Better health coverage and more than likely I could swing dental and vision as well.  Free bus transportation, since I'd be working for the University, and also free access to two of the on campus gyms, meaning I could force myself to start working out regularly and lifting again.  Even better, the tuition assitance program would mean I could potentially go back for my MFA in English Writing without driving myself too much deeper into debt.  The only problem at that point would be getting into the MFA program, since they only take 7 people a year in Fiction and...well...academic writers don't tend to like my stuff.  They tend to push more towards:

She looked into the teacup and thought about death.

Whereas I write more along the lines of:

She looked into the teacup and thought about death.  Then she killed some vampires while a ninja wailed on a guitar in the background.  After that?  Crazy tiki party.

So...yeah.  Academia and I don't get along that well, but I think having an MFA wouldn't be a bad move.  More importantly, it would at least be a MOVE.

It's -17 degrees (with windchill) in da 'burgh and Peyton Manning has a Superbowl Ring.

LOLMONDAY

Personally, I'm blaming Tempestia for all this shit.

P.S.: I've decided I'm chopping my hair really short again once I'm skinny enough to do so.

But when I got home, what did I find in my mailbox?  Why, my copy of "Infinity on High" direct from Fueled By Ramen.

I'm going to open it up and lick the disc so that it will be mine and no one will ever be able to take it from me.

Dammit boys, this had better be worth it!

EDIT: (Track 8) TOTALLY WORTH IT.  TOTALLY FUCKING WORTH IT.

The literary bullets in my brain are shooting blanks.

...didn't see his shadow.

This predicted an early spring and me not getting the job.

DAMN IT.

EDIT: On a much happier note: The last Harry Potter book is being released in July!

I knew what my muse looked like.
Then I could imagine myself shooting her in the face for this sudden onset of writer's block.
Charon's Coin is kicking my ass.

...if I mentioned, but I dyed my hair again.  It's a much lighter brown...almost blond-ish, but with some nice redtones to it so I don't look totally washed out.  I got tired of the dark, after awhile it wears thin on me.

Though, I'm getting dangerously close to a weight where I can attempt the redness again (my weight/hair color thing is...a personal quirk.  I do not allow myself to dye my hair red unless I think I'm thin enough and my hair is long enough.  I can't entirely explain it, so please don't ask me to).  Can't really do that at the current job, but I don't think they'll get bitchy about it if I get hired at Dorrance.  They seem a little less...shitty about things in general.

I'm going to a Knit and Taste this weekend, a combination knitting group and wine tasting.  Sar-Sar talked me into it.  I might actually get that scarf I've been working on finished (it is v. v. cute and ribbed.  And green!  I will have to do one in either black or red next.  And then, I try the intarasia with the wristbands for my brother.).  Eventually I will try the sweater I want to make, but that's still a long way off.  I think I'm going to do the felted bag I have the stuff for first.  My mother got me the pattern and the yarn for Christmas, and I haven't even touched it yet!  It's going to be cute, though.  I hope.

And of course, "Infinity" next week.  I squee.  I'm embarassed to admit it, but I squee.