Traitor to My Generation

Why is it that when our devices go down, we think it’s the end of the world? Because it is, right? GOD FORBID we’re not able to download an App or access our video games or stream our favorite music. Or do whatever else it is we do, because online devices have now become our way of life. Our forefathers would be proud.

… Wouldn’t they?

As Cher admits at the begining of Clueless, “I don’t want to be a traitor to my generation or anything…” but I’m not a techie. Is that even the right word? I wouldn’t know because I’m not really in the scope of things happening in today’s social media market. I’m more hanging onto the late 90’s or early 2000’s technology wave. Maybe because that’s the last time I really gave a shit. I care—I do—about like, survival. I do just enough to get by and most times it’s not even enough. My mother knows more about today’s happening trends then her 28 year old daughter.

Doesn’t that tell you something?

I remember when she asked me if I knew what Twitter was a few years ago and I was like, “uh, sounds like something stupid.” I don’t tweet. Not that she does either, but it seems like EVERYONE does. Everyone accept me (and her). For real—I’m glad I can use email. And like, set the clock on the microwave. That’s about it. I had to have Batman show me how to turn on the television and access HBO (because we have it now. Score!) Everything else I’m lost. Completely, utterly lost, like a cavewoman-walking-around-Best Buy-looking-for-the-wheel lost. This is so not my generation.

I always thought I was born in the wrong decade. I figured I was supposed to born around the thirties or forties and something in the cosmos got mixed up, like I showed up late and got deferred to the eighties. I don’t know… there’s just something magical about the thirties and forties. To me, at least. And no, NOT because of their AMAZING fashions (although that has a pinch to do with it), but because the music is also simply FANTABULOUS, and I always really enjoy movies and books set during that time. So clearly that means I belong there, right? I really think it would have been awesome… except for the whole war thing. That would’ve sucked. Put a huge damper on it, actually. Okay, so maybe the thirties or forties weren’t the decades for me—I don’t know. I can’t imagine that going back any further in history would’ve been better. From a female standpoint, at least. The whole voting and equal opportunity thing. And shaving. And women needs. Like, I don’t think I could survive before Tampax pearl. Sorry, but it’s the truth. Ladies, you understand.

I guess every decade, every era, has its own issues. Things it could improve on. I’m not saying technology is ours per say, because apparently it’s the BEST thing. I agree. I’m fully excited to get light by switching on a simple switch. It totally rocks. Especially when it’s the middle of the night and I have to pee. Go Edison. But I’m talking about the over-technology. The please stop staring at your phone and look at my face. It’s right here. Or please drop your God-d*** phone and drive, you fucker! The whole world is happening RIGHT OUT HERE, past your nose and all you’re concerned with is hash-tagging and telling the world what you ate for breakfast. I know that sounds hypocritical because I’m blogging and currently focusing on a screen myself, which I just preached I hate. But this is my online journal sort of thing. If you comment, that’s awesome! I hope you do, really. But this blog is actually more for me than you. Sorry. It’s like my thought bubble exploded and splattered all over this word doc, which is really the sanest way a thought bubble could explode. It’s either that or the ten minute conversation with me rambling on about evil spiders and adorable puppies and how ninjallamas really do exist, like Platform 9 3/4 quarters. You choose. Although both would be awesome for you. 😉 A real win-win.

PLUS this blog is therapeutic. It’s one of the only things that I use this computer for (currently I’m on Batman’s, but the reason for that is an ENTIRELY different story.) I pretty much only use my computer for Microsoft Word. Honest to God. Every once in a while I’ll pull up a game of minesweeper, or if I’m feeling super frisky, Majong. But basically it’s Word. And the web. That’s it. And on the web? I’m one of those boring people who only use it to pay bills, watch some clips on Youtube and check the weather. That’s what I do with my devices. NOTHING. And I’m happy. I’ve never played Angry Birds or Words with Friends (although I hear it’s fun and I’d love it) or even tweeted. I should care, shouldn’t I? Maybe I’m just too lazy to care. That’s probably it. I’m too lazy to be so busy and in my phone’s face all the time. I don’t know. I like staring out the window and daydreaming.

And I’m really good at it.

Today is the Day

Today is the day.

I’m sweating bullets but you can’t see that. Good. There is a positive side to this whole communicating without physical presentation thing—a.k.a blogging. You might be wondering why I’m sweating bullets and it’s a good thing you ask. No, I didn’t just come from outside where this damn Florida heat can knock someone out with a just a walk to the mailbox. (Believe me, it has, and no amount of Mitchum can cover that up.) And no, the bullets are definitely not due to exercising. You can’t hear me, but I’m laughing at such a silly possibility. I mean, yes, I do exercise, but I find I’m much better at sitting in the recliner writing. We all have our talents.

The reason that today is the day and I’m sweating bullets, is because I am *finally* self-publishing my debut novel, Escape from Harrizel. Yikes! But a good yikes! I’m so excited that the last few years of work have come to fruition in this story that I hope you’ll love! But what if I want to go back and change something? Or I find a typo? Eeek! I have the ability to re-upload, yes, but I want it to be absolutely perfect and no, there’s no such thing. I realize this. I really should have a glass of wine. Or two. Or seven…

It’s a big thing—big to me, at least. I’ve wanted to be a writer since… wait, let me think about this… *scratches chin*… oh yeah. Forever. I’ve wanted this since forever. So, it’s been a pretty long time coming to see a dream finally realized. We have a local book event (not as awesome as it use to be) where actors would dress up as deceased authors, walk around, and have conversations as that person. I think I had the pleasure of meeting Mary Shelly one time. Even as a girl (I’m still female—just want to clear that up), I wanted someone to dress up as me in the future, sporting my 2000’s fashions. Ambitious, I know. But as Batman says, you’ve got to dream big. So I have. And I hope you like what I’ve come up with:


This is now available for you reading pleasure. Only $4.99

(Also available on Amazon, Kindle….)

My friend, Red, said I need more pictures in my blog. I agree with him, but I hope it wasn’t a hidden insult about the content not being awesome enough on its own. I mean *flips hair* how could the content not be amazing enough to hold your attention? But I guess it is true. As much as I loved reading Harry Potter, I did enjoy seeing the little sketches at the beginning of every chapter. That might not be the same thing, but it’s relatable. So, for your viewing pleasure, he’s a picture of a really pretty plant I saw on a walk I took around my office building today:

Pretty bush

And another one:

Up close pretty bush

Nice, huh? I thought so. I took a few more shots but these are the best. I also thought about taking a picture of the two flies that got caught in my coffee mug this afternoon, but that’s somewhat morbid, right? I mean, here they are—two buddies, I’m assuming—in their last hour of life. Would it be ethically right to snap a shot? Their tiny wings and skinny little legs kept flapping, trying to free themselves, but we all three knew it was futile. At least they were able to float in a delectable concoction of Folgers roast and French Vanilla creamer. It’s actually not a bad way to go. Until, of course, they took the slide down the sink drain when it came time to clean the mug.

I wonder what their final conversation consisted of. Maybe they discussed their crash landings, or how the world changed since their entrance 24 hours earlier, or maybe, they regretted not finishing everything on their little fly bucket list. And before they knew it, they were being tsunamied, never to get another chance at life.

If I ever find myself in a giant mug of hour-old coffee and the inevitable swim down the drain is upon me, at least I’ll know I did my best. I tried. There will be a check next to the “publish a book” box on my own bucket list.

And that’s good enough for me.

…God, I really hope one of them wasn’t Jeff Goldblum.