Really?

Anyone have a copy or two of Lynne Truss's EATS, SHOOTS & LEAVES they can spare for the journalism world? These two headlines were taken from today's news:

Police: 14-Year-Old Hospitalized, Struck By Car (The Hartford Courant)
Don't worry--as it turns out, he was struck by the car before he was hospitalized, not after. Because being struck by a car in the hospital would be awkward and disturbing.


photo credit: SOAPnet (from a General Hospital episode, apparently...who knew?)


First a spat, then boy, 3, goes missing (CNN)
Again, rest assured. Only the three-year-old went missing (after a fight with his mom), not the boy and a spat. Phew! For a second there, I thought we had some sort of bizarre serial kidnapper on our hands!





Now it's really the word order and choice, not the punctuation, that's screwing up those headlines. But still. Lynne Truss's clever book would probably be of some kind of assistance...

Attention Gamer Girls!

Dudes. Activision has pulled some shit.

Apparently they released codes for free black ops gear for your Xbox avatar with the Hardened and Prestige edition packages of Call of Duty: Black Ops--only the codes would only work on male avatars.

Because, you know, no women like to play that sort of game. And there are definitely no guys with girl avatars--at least, none who would play a real man's kind of game like Call of Duty.

O.o

I'm holding back my full-on expletive-filled crazy ass code red nuclear rant because Activision has already released the girls-only gear codes to make up for their idiocy error. Thanks to my husband Ben for alerting me to the situation and thanks to Joystiq for posting the article with the codes.

I don't play the Call of Duty games because I'm no good at first person shooter games--NOT BECAUSE I HAVE TWO X CHROMOSOMES. But I sure as hell suited my avatar up in the free gear as soon as I got home from work tonight. Take that, Activision!

Here are the codes, in case you'd like to do the same:

GYVF8-PF7RY-28D7V-VGWV8-CFGRM gets you the "SR 71 Flight Suit" as pictured on my avatar below:

And this code:
R76BQ-CR3MF-G2TTF-9G36R-BQWJD gets you a "Woods Outfit" (which is the one I'm sporting, as seen below):

Feel free to cross-post. I'd love for Activision to see thousands of Black Ops girl avatars out there! Jerks. >.<

Failtastic

Going on blog hiatus until there is less writing fail happening, lest I post thousands of words of grumpiness, whining, profanity, pleas to a god I don't believe in, etc. etc. Perhaps I'll be back tomorrow, perhaps next week. Comments are off because there is just no need for sympathy, only less fail. Be good while I'm gone (mostly). xo

This DISGUSTS me

Thanks to inbabies for the cross-post. Click through to read about how an elderly gay couple in CA was physically separated by Sonoma County. Perhaps you, too, will be nauseated. We do unspeakable things to each other.

Grrr.

Apparently today I am a bitter, hateful person. And, really, what better to do when one is a bitter, hateful person than dole out fashion advice? Let us begin.

1. Girls. For the love of Manolo Blahnik, don't buy the shoes if you can't walk in them. I understand that heels the height of skyscrapers are "fashionable" right now but for fuck's sake, listen to me: I don't care how curvaceously fantastic they make your calves look. I don't care how delightfully petite they make your ankles look. If you think everyone is looking at you because you're the sexiest thang in the hallway, you're sadly mistaken. Even children will stare at a fully grown, physically fit human who is shuffling for no other apparent reason than the ridiculous things she's strapped to her feet. You're just making a goddamn spectacle of yourself and knocking the rest of your gender down a few rungs on the ladder of equality. My advice? Save them for the bedroom, where you don't have to walk more than a few paces at a time.

2. Let's discuss pony tails, shall we? Boys, if you have a pony tail please ask yourselves the following questions: Is there more than a centimeter's worth of hair gathered in the tail? Are there more than "a few" fly away strands that routinely pull free of the tail? Does the hair that is gathered into the tail have to circumnavigate a medium- to large-sized bald spot prior to reaching its destination? Because if the answer to any of these questions is yes, you need to cut that shit off. It's time to face facts that the pony tail is a hair style that is in your past. The good news is, you don't have much to mourn because it doesn't look good on you anyway. Find a decent barber or hair dresser (Supercuts DOES. NOT. COUNT.) and allow them to help you find a haircut that will flatter you. Really. You'll be happier and so will we.

3. While we're on the subject of boys, let me say this: Do not fool yourselves into thinking you're getting away with anything when you try to adjust yourselves with the leg shake. Women are not idiots. We are intimately familiar with the male anatomy and it's basic needs. We can use the power of our minds to deduce what is happening when you suddenly shake your legs and hips like you're doing a tribal dance in the middle of a fucking mundane conversation. It is not subtle. It is not--in my opinion--more appropriate than just discreetly adjusting yourself with your hand (over the pants, just to be clear), which would surely get the job done quicker and more accurately, no? Thus preventing the rebound leg shakes that seem to happen so often, in quick succession to the first leg shake? Really, people. We've got to get over all this bodily embarrassment crap. Also, may I suggest boxer briefs? Still sexy and with added support.

4. Girls, I couldn't let the boys leave us outnumbered. Not when I'm All About the gender equality. A word to the wise: See this shirt?

See the horizontal seam in the upper portion of it? Yeah, that's intended to go under your boobs. Under, girls--not over, not on top of, not straight across. Fucking. Under. It is meant to accentuate your breasts, to make them look perky! and young! and desirable! Know what happens when you wear a shirt like that and the seam goes across your boobs? You look like you have The Sag. And The Sag, my friends, is neither perky, young, nor desirable. To anyone. So you, like the dudes of the shittyass pony tails, must accept that your breasts are either too saggy or too large for this style of shirt and LEAVE IT AT THE STORE. Just like the dudes, you're not mourning much because it doesn't look good on you anyway.

Incidentally, I have just witnessed someone vomiting on the side of the road. Surely this is a sign that I should stop spewing my venom upon the interwebs. I'm going to go find some alcohol and bathe in it. Have a pleasant evening.

My Lucky Underwear

I finished plotting The Language of Silence today.

Wow. Let me say that again: I finished plotting The Language of Silence today.

If you've been following this blog with any regularity or, heaven help you, know me in real life, you'll understand what a triumph this is for me. Six months in the making, people. Six months of breaking myself against a wall and bleeding all over my keyboard. Six months of questioning whether I was really just a *shudder* one book writer after all.

I had my first finished book plotted in ridiculous detail within two weeks from the moment I conceived of the idea. I was so freaked out over my inability to pull this story together--a story I knew was there--that when I finally started making progress, I was terrified it would stop.

Last night the story was coming hard and fast and I could barely keep up with the ideas. I had to grab a business card at the restaurant where I got dinner so I could jot ideas down on the back of it in my car, sort of clear the queue for more to come in. Today at work--while praying the mojo stayed with me--I reached for a piece of gum from my desk drawer.

And had the most ridiculous thought. "No, I better not chew that gum. I was chewing the mint last night."

I realized that for days, I had been doing the equivalent of wearing my lucky underwear on game day. I'd been carefully listening to the same music, chewing the same flavor of gum, sitting in the same place, etc. hoping that one or more of those things were the secret to my recent successes with plotting.

What a load of horse shit.

Not to say that you can't condition the mind to certain triggers, because you can and that has its place on the list of helpful things to do. I have a playlist for every book, for example. But chewing Sweetmint Orbit gum while listening to Breaking Benjamin wasn't the magical combination that suddenly unlocked a secret room the story had been hiding in. (Please note: This does not, in any way, diminish my love of Breaking Benjamin. I've gone waaaaay over the edge into obsession with them now. <3)

So what happened? I finally figured the story out.

I got enough of the right plot elements together with enough of the right characters in my brain for a creative reaction to occur. I knew the exact moment I had everything there--I literally felt it. The story finally felt full enough. I still had to piece everything together, but at least I knew I had all the parts there, waiting for me.

Whoa, did I take the long road on this one. Part of it is that I'm way out of my comfort zone and trying a lot of new things. But part of it is that I forgot some basic lessons I'd learned the last time around, too. Things like, if it isn't working one way, try another. And to bounce ideas off other people. And to give myself the time and permission I needed to let the story come in its own time.

Someone remind me of this next time I'm looking for my lucky underwear, 'kay?

Fashion Advice (or: The Horror That Was My Afternoon Coffee Break)

As I mentioned yesterday, I work in Corporate America. A very large office building of a very large company where people are, presumably, professionals. There is a dress code. Allegedly. Therefore, I should not have to be subjected to the horrors of nastyass mancleavage while innocently getting an afternoon coffee!!!!

This dude in the cafe this afternoon had his shirt unbuttoned to his freaking solar plexus. Not kidding. No t-shirt underneath. Now, some people can get away with that.

Robert Pattinson is one of those people. I don't find him especially attractive but...he's Robert Pattinson. Done.

Also? This guy:

My man Andy Gibbs was rocking that shirt back in the day when this photo was taken. We could all live without the package-master spandex pants, but the point here is the shirt.

David Beckham sporting the mancleavage? Two words: yum*.

This dude in the cafe? Not so much. His shirt was unbuttoned about as far down as Beckham's but spread about as wide as Andy Gibb's. But don't be fooled! There was no tanned, muscled, sexy-hairy or baby smooth chest on display. It was pasty white, sprinkled with a few curly hairs and seated atop a good headstart on a hideous, over-the-belt pot belly. And, may I remind you, this was AT THE OFFICE.

Oh, and there was a chain, natch.

*shudders*

Men: Do not do this! Keep your mancleavage to yourselves and your partners! And, for the love of rhinos, keep it out of the workplace!!!


*This is not a typo. Yum is actually two words when referring to David Beckham in any sense. Now quit proofreading me and pay attention to my fashion advice.

Holiday shopping tip

When you're holding items, the amount of space you occupy becomes larger. No, it's true. For example, if you're holding an armful of clothes on hangers, the amount of space you take up now includes the clothes and hangers you're holding. Weird, I know. It's good to keep in mind, though. Especially when you're waiting in a very, very long checkout line and said clothes and hangers keep poking the person in front of you in the ass.

There you go. A little free advice from me to you.

On Thanksgiving, Bitter Thoughts Of

I'm going to do something compleeeeeetely uncharacteristic and tell you what I think about something. (I know, I know. Prepare yourselves for the shock.)

Specifically, Thanksgiving. I think it's...false. Just like Christmas.

I mean, really.

Here's what we actually celebrate: A day with the family, whom we may or may not see very often, on which we allow ourselves to overindulge in a level of gluttony that takes days to prepare for. Occasionally, there's a bonus moment or two of actual thanksgiving (in the dictionary sense, not the branded word Thanksgiving (tm) that calls to mind google-eyed turkeys joyfully advertising their own flesh for consumption).

Here's what Thanksgiving really is: A day designated to celebrate/acknowledge a false friendship between white settlers and the Native Americans whose land we took over. I realize that's a terribly pessimistic view of things, but there you have it. That's how I feel.

Here's what it should be: What it was originally intended to be--a harvest festival meant to be a chance to offer (wait for it...) thanksgiving to the earth for a plentiful harvest that will get families through the winter. A time to reflect on the blessings each person, each family, has received throughout the year or their lives. A time to give thanks to each other for their support in the hard times and their shared rejoicing in the good times.

Much like with Christmas, we have strayed far from what this holiday was meant for. It's true that our lives aren't so desperately dependent on local harvests for survival anymore. But our lives are far more complicated than they used to be way back when this tradition first began. We have many other things that we depend on to keep us happy, healthy and safe--things that our minds skitter past in our hurried day to day lives.

I guess the point of this rather long and grumpy post is that I wish everyone would take this whole week and, in fact, every week of the year to think about the blessings in their lives. Actually, I'd really, really love for people to act upon the sense of gratefulness I'm certain will follow this type of reflection, but we'll start with baby steps. :)

/grumpiness

Please support Judy Blume & Planned Parenthood

Thanks to Lilith Saintcrow for posting this on her blog and bringing it to my attention.

Judy Blume, wonderful children's author of such books as Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret, wrote an email appeal for Planned Parenthood and has been getting slammed with hate mail ever since. I have an incredible amount of respect for Ms. Blume for the quality of her books and the truths in the perspectives she offers the young women who read them. I am also a strong advocate of Planned Parenthood.

The California NOW (National Organization for Women) website has a few links where you can send a note of support to Ms. Blume (though, please note, the link through the Planned Parenthood website is no longer active). Click here if you'd like to express your support to a fellow writer who was standing up for something she believed in and took a bunch of heat for it.

Friday Five

1. I made it all the way to 10:57 a.m. before I had to jam my headphones on with shaking hands and get my Fray fix like the junkie I am. I consider this progress. It also helps that I'm learning the songs enough to be able to play them in my head when I can't have them in my ears. :)

2. Have I told you of the curse of the nail clipping? Oh yes. I believe I've mentioned one of the incidents before. In my humble opinion, clipping one's nails (fingers or toes) is private hygiene business meant to be taken care of at home. Apparently, this isn't a widespread opinion. In my old department, I would hear a clip-clip-clipping noise at least once a week in the mornings. An investigative stroll around the surrounding cubicles revealed a coworker clipping her fingernails at her desk. WTF?, I thought. That has got to be the strangest thing ever, I thought. What a singularly weird person, I thought. Several months later, we hired a new manager. Clip. Clip clip. Clip. Yep. New manager is clipping his nails at his desk on a regular basis. (Oddly enough, the original nail clipper reported to him.) Then came the freakishly disgusting incident I linked to above. This week? A new department moved into the room next door to us and my cube has a direct diagonal line of sight (and sound!) to one in the new departments. Clip. Clip. Clip clip clip. You guessed it! She's clipping her nails at her desk!! WTF???

3. Does incorrect grammar in songs bother you? When you sing the song, do you correct the lyrics? For me, it depends. For example, in Kelly Clarkson's "Sober", she has a line that says, "At the end of this road I might catch a glimpse of me." The me should be myself, if I'm not mistaken. However, I let this one go because it fits with the rhyming scheme (ends with an "e" sound, rhyming with maybe in the previous line). However, there are other songs where I'll correct the grammar when I sing. Probably because I'm the world's biggest dork. The one that really gets me is using "that" when it should be "who", because I think it's such an easy rule to remember. Are you talking about people? Use who! Ta-daaaa! Easy peasy. For example, "You're the one who broke my heart." Not, "You're the one that broke my heart." There's a Staind song that screws this rule up and I always correct it when I sing it, but I can't remember which song it is now.**

4. (Jesus, this is long for a Friday Five!) I'm trying to cook more. Does anyone have any easy, tasty vegetarian (or easy to fake-meat-swap) recipes that don't have any dairy and don't take a long time to cook? Eggs are okay. I'm struggling a bit with the new no-dairy restriction.

5. My to do list for the weekend has 25 items on it. Toooootally do-able. O.o


ETA: I meant to add a little footnote last night to correspond with the double asterisks to acknowledge my very imperfect grammar. This rant is by no means implying that I'm a master grammarian--just that I sometimes wish songwriters paid as much attention to their lyrics as we writers do to our manuscripts.