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Steven Erikson writes epic fantasy. Like Mozart wrote ditties. Makes Tolkien look like a short story writer who had trouble coming up with ideas. You gamers, and I am talking to you Bill Anderson, should check him out.
I also ran into Richelle Mead, urban fantasy phenom, who was kind enough to sign her soon to be released book. Soon to be released, as in signed and dated prior to the actual release date. Score. She was very sweet about it too. Even without makeup on she is still a remarkeably pretty woman. Not that I noticed.
Duane, Art, Sean, Steven and his wife Claire, some really cute young thing I had never met before. We all met afterward for fourth meal. It could have been fifth meal. I lose track after 9:pm.
The young writer in the group seemed a little nervous. Steve and his wife were very cool to ask her to join our group. It's nice to see someone following their dream to be a writer. We can always use more writers. Hopefully I can look back in ten and years and remember when.
Good times.
Terry often signs at the UW Book store and it is not unusual to see authors branch out and sign at different books stores in a town. It would be nice if B&N could get their act together and make it easy to find out who is signing for them. Right now it is like getting me to sit still through an entire episode of say, any daytime drama, or better yet, The Hills.
While I was there I shamelessly pimped local authors, Kat Richardson, Richelle Mead, Mark Henry, and Caitlin Kittredge. Who knows, maybe the book buyer really will contact Richelle or Kat and get them down there to sign. It could happen, and their could even be burgers, illicit or not, involved.
Apparently, more than one reader of a recent blog, had negative things to say about the butts of the Brazilian women's volleyball team. All commenting people just happened to have been female. Ladies! I did not in any way endorse said butts, I do not lust after said butts, and I am not saying that their butts were better than the American butts, I did not weigh in on whether their butts were feminine or masculine. I just said I liked the outfits. And yes, as one commenter noted, I am glad that not all female athletes wore those outfits, and yes, I am really extra super glad the men did not wear them.
I am not saying or even thinking that some of the commenters would not like to have people commenting about their butts in such revealing clothing, I am just happy that I paid good money for my own negatives.
Tuesday • September 2 • 7 pm
UW Books: Reading & Book Signing U District store
S.M. Stirling: The Scourge of God: A Novel of the Change (The Sunrise Lands) (ROC)
Sunday, September 14, 2008 5:30 p.m.
Location: Third Place Books LFP
Anathem by Neil Stephenson
Sun 7 Sep 2008,
• Brian Greene (Icarus at the Edge of Time) reads and signs at Town Hall, 1119 Eighth Avenue, Seattle WA, US, 1 p.m. (sponsored by University Book Store)
Monday • September 15 • 7pm
UW Books:
Neal Stephenson: Anathem (HARPER COLLINS)
Reading & Book Signing
University Temple United Methodist Church Sanctuary, 1415 NE 43rd St.
Tickets are free with the purchase of Anathem from University Book Store; otherwise tickets are $5. Books and tickets available beginning September 9.
Tue 16 Sep 2008,
Location: Third Place Books LFP
• Brian Herbert & Kevin J. Anderson (Paul of Dune) read and sign at University Book Store, 4326 University Way NE, Seattle WA, US, 7 p.m.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008 7:00 p.m. Brian Herbert & Kevin J. Anderson
UW Books - University Store
Friday • September 19 •11:30pm
Brisingr Release Party
The University Book Store is proud to announce that we are hosting Christopher Paolini, author of Brisingr, at Town Hall on October 6 at 7:30 pm. The first 400 people who pre-pay for their copy of Brisingr from University Book Store will receive two free tickets to see Christopher Paolini live at Town Hall. Books and tickets will be distributed beginning at 12:01am on September 20. Books and tickets will be distributed at the Mill Creek and Tacoma Stores at 9am Saturday, September 20, and at the Bellevue Store at 10am Saturday, September 20.
Sunday, September 21, 2008 5:30 p.m. Toll the Hounds by Steven Erikson
Location: Third Place Books LFP
Monday • September 22 • 7pm
UW Books U District store
Steven Erickson: Toll the Hounds: Book Eight of The Malazan Book of the Fallen (TOR)
Reading & Book Signing
Fri 3 Oct 2008,
• Neil Gaiman (The Graveyard Book) reads and signs at University Temple Chapel, United Methodist Church, 1415 NE 43rd Street, Seattle WA, US, 7 p.m. (a University Bookstore event)
Mon 6 Oct 2008,
• Christopher Paolini (Brisingr) reads and signs at Town Hall, 1119 Eighth Avenue, Seattle WA, US, 7:30 p.m. (a University Bookstore event)
If you look at the list you see that the Obama VP pick comes in about number 50 and everything else comes later. Myself, I spend more time here http://current.com/. I think the girl slapping bunny incident is a total shame and she should be locked up forever. The ‘parents using a stun gun on their children’ sounds perfectly plausible. I have had children, I should know.
Does this mean we are being lied to, misled, and manipulated? No, of course we are. It might look like he cares about what we are looking for online, but really he only cares about what we are looking for in context to what he finds interesting about the democratic presidential race. I’m sure the republican side will be next.
In the advertisement for this blog it does not mention that it is a political blog. I clicked only to find out if our search patterns had somehow changed. I am happy to see that Britney Spears, not in the top 50, not even Britney Spears the Antichrist.
The interesting thing wasn’t that a person would type in criteria according to a personal agenda and come up with interesting or unique answers, or even answers worth discussing in a blog. He has thousands more clicks on to his blog than I do.
What was interesting to see, after researching what people search for, was that the top fifty search terms were not sex related. This makes feel much better about the state of the internet and my fellow man. It also means that I might need to find other things to do with my computer. I found a few unusual things to do here http://therandomguidetothegalaxy.blogspo
Of course, I could just be bucking a trend; after all I have yet to actually watch the ‘Obama Girl’ video. I would have included a link, but that means I would have had to have searched for it. As a side note, when you type in sex scandal, John Edward’s name does not appear in the first 50 responses. That must be of great comfort to Mrs. Edwards who no doubt has her own use for a stun gun.
String Wars
Category: Writing and Poetry
A shimmering flux, I coalesced halfway in the middle of a table in the crowded bar room, happy the smell of smoke was just a combination of synthetics and cheap alcohol, and not the smell of burning flesh, but a little worried about the state of my avoidance systems. I slapped the portable string disrupter into critical, the whine higher than the human ear can follow but painful none the less. Pieces of the table began to bleed away and phase out in a wave of molecular explosion too painful for the eye to follow, and the air took on the famous burnt orange hue that meant hell on earth was no longer just a euphemism.
I screamed to be heard, "what's the time line?" People were still scrambling backward trying to avoid the disruptor wave front. Only military were tuned to another string and tethered, for every one else it was a painful and permanent death. Parts of me were screaming off into nothing but it all came back, eventually. The nanotech suit was the only thing keeping the various and sundry parts of my cybertech cohesive.
I screamed again as the floor began to dissipate, this time in pain, as I temporarily lost a large portion of my upper thigh, in a feedback loop.
Some guy behind the bar screamed back at me "Terran Prime, Time line B."
Wrong answer. So I shot him, and walked, my feet sometimes near the floor, sometimes in the floor, toward the huddled mass near the back. Tissue in my leg appearing and disappearing as the nanotech fought to bring back or remake muscle / metal interfaces. As I approached I knew the string I was tethered to would make me appear to be both moving forward and backward in a seemingly random sequence. "What's the time line? I'll give you one more chance."
I swung the gun toward the ensuing panic, now appearing to be ten guns, now twenty, now one huge gun in the gleaming metal hand of a perpetually bleeding giant. A young woman crying on the floor screamed "Terran Prime, Time line B."
I had a really bad feeling. "What's the Year?"
"2119." The answer came from several people, cowering at the back.
So I took them at their word. I did them all a favor and let the disruptor overload. Everything on Terran Prime, Time line B was unrecoverable before 2150. I must have just skipped in under the wave froth. It was time to split now, before the wave hit. String warfare didn't just destroy worlds, it destroyed echoes of worlds, it destroyed entire time lines. It was the real death, even for me.
The readouts that were supposed to be flashing in my eyes were gone. Something was wrong with the suit, it was more damaged than I thought or I was phasing out of tune. As I died again, I remember praying that the incredibly expensive super cooled brainwave pack could tune me in to my original string. I had died a dozen times today already and it wasn't even noon. I was praying, but god wasn't taking my requests.
Besides, politics is so much dirtier than sex. The problem with politics is that it takes more than five minutes to actually read the facts about someone. It is so much easier to form an opinion based on someone else's' opinion or on 30 second sound bites. Some political action committee should start printing political slogans on the bodies of naked women. Of course, men would still not bother to read the messages but hey, maybe it could have some subliminal effect. Women's groups would be appalled, which, of course, would give a bunch of free publicity. I'm sure The View would be distraught, but would still devote an entire show to it.
Free publicity for naked photos: see Britney, Lindsay, Paris, and Kim.
For those of you who don't do the research: all political ads are pretty much lies, fabrications, and truth which is stranger than fiction.
Strange truths:
As an industry insider, I got a good glimpse inside on why you can't believe the headlines. A few years ago, a law was passed that directly effects my industry. The proposed law had a title somewhat along the lines of 'The Children's Safety Initiative.' Voting against the bill would make a really bad sound bite at re-election time. Who wouldn't want to be on record as supporting child safety? Of course the bill had only a marginal connection to children's safety, but it still passed.
Stay tuned for 'The Children's Transportation Safety Initiative' coming soon to a senate floor near you. Gas taxes through the roof! 'The Children's Safe Water Quality Act' cannot be far behind.
Everybody has to vote for taxes, because everything has to be paid for. Everybody has to vote against taxes, because lawmakers try to stuff riders onto everything. It's like lettuce at Subway.
Did this candidate really vote to make a hundred thousand children homeless? Or did he / she vote against a bill that had some major flaws or some unconscionable riders attached to it. Sometimes laws aren't written well, and regardless of intent, need to be voted down. Did this male politician screw every man, woman, and intern, he could get his hands on?
I'm betting yes, most probably, yes. Just a guess, I could be wrong.I am thinking of trying to get my own pet bill sponsored. I'd like it to be called 'The Elderly Care Umbrella Program'. It would increase spending on the elderly by 1% across the board. It would provide one extra dose of Viagra for men in nursing homes every week. It would provide pepper spray and stun guns to all the women in the nursing homes, just in case. It would provide an extra case of 'Elderly Scotch' for me, for use at my discretion.
Hopefully, someone would attach a rider to the bill that would pay for someone to come out and clean my house for me every week. If I'm lucky it will be some nice foreign person, who actually knows something about politics and has an informed opinion. I hope they get here soon, the election is getting nearer all the time.
So the trip to San Diego was a success. I got my books signed, had a great time, ate some great food, and went to few fantastic places. Highlight: Body surfing in 75 degree water, when it was 90+. 
Nightime view from hotel room.
Fantastic places: Balboa Park, Mission Beach, La Jolla. I spent 5 hours on Friday body surfing, only to wake up in the morning trying to figure out why it felt like I had hiked 5 miles the day before. Meet more muscles you don't use much, unless, of course, you are a basketball player. Jump up, meet the wave, turn, and float with the current. Repeat a few thousand times. Good times. Till you wake up the next morning.
Bandar was the highlight of the food portion, authentic 'Persian' food. Why can't you say Iranian? Don't know. Food was fantastic though, so call it whatever you want. Chicken simmered and then barbecued. MMMMMMMM. 
I ate at two other really good restaurants, The Monsoon, and Asti's near Little Italy. Good, but not write in your blog good.
Where did the panic come in?
Since I packed with next to nothing to get all of my books to fit in my one allowed carry on, and my one allowed personal item, I was totally unprepared for a day at the beach. The work out shorts I brought had this tiny little pocket for carrying your locker key in the back. For the first 30 minutes, every time I checked my back pocket, while body surfing, my license and credit card, stuffed in said small pocket, where right there.
After one extra large wave hit me, (slammed me, smothered me) I was not exactly overjoyed to find that they where both gone. I was 100 feet from shore. No license, no getting on the plane to go home. There is nothing that can describe the cold hand of terror that grips your heart. Like waking up after five years of peace and bliss, only to find out that you are still married or something.
I searched the water frantically all around and saw my license in the front of an oncoming wave about fifteen feet in front of me and about fifteen feet to my left. I broke the human speed record for moving fifteen feet in the water, I am absolutely sure of it. Plucked the card out of the wave right before it smashed into me. After the wave hit, I saw my credit card about the same distance away in another oncoming wave. I am so hamn dappy that these suckers float!
I was so relieved that I was forced to celebrate by purchasing some liquid refreshment. OK, a lot of liquid refreshment. The babes were nice and talked a bit, but they just wanted to make sure all the guys were drinking, I wasn't fooled. But I did keep drinking. Note position of sunglasses. 
I went to several local music spots in the Gas Lamp area, but nothing was so good that I really had to stay and listen to more than a few songs.
The second panic attacked on the way back to the airport in San Diego. One of the reasons I packed all of my books so that I could carry them on and off, was so that I could be assured that they would not get lost or damaged. They were VERY heavy.
I took my eyes of of my bag for about ten seconds when the shuttle from the car rental made its first stop. As soon as the van pulled away, I noticed the driver had given away one of my bags. A bag full of books. I hope he pulled a muscle. He made me wait until he dropped off people at two other terminals before returning to the first terminal. Of course, he had no way of contacting the ticket counter at the terminal, even though he had both a phone and a radio.
If they were honest they would probably turn the books in to security. If they weren't, the would probably turn them into Ebay.
When I finally got back to that first stop, the people were trying to explain to the nice airline people about the bag they had, that wasn't theirs, the security people where just starting to pay attention. As they were telling me that I really should have had my name and number on the bag, I was quickly rushing out the door. I yelled thanks over my shoulder, as I bolted outside.
I rushed right over to the terminal where my departing flight originated (as in waited for a taxi, wandered around aimlessly at the terminal until I found my airline, you know rushed) They were so happy to see me that they gave me a friendly little pat down search, opened and searched my luggage, and performed a chemical residue swab on everything I own. At least he wore gloves... for his own protection.
Happy birthday Inga, not a day over 39!
How long though, will I have to run with this crowd before I can move up from the hike evite list to the social evite list. Although, if I have to be a designated '+ 1' at least I am getting the '+ 1' evite from a beautiful, sexy, single woman.
Not that there is anything wrong with beautiful, sexy, married women. Kat Richardson, is a babe, and she signed one of my books in a manner that is just far too racy to print. All I can say is that it involved the words illicit and hamburger in the same sentence. Meowerrrr. As a dog person, I was tempted to write wooooofffff wooooofffff, but I believe Kat is a cat woman and I therefore didn't wish to offend.
The number of cat women in my life is curiously quite large at the current moment.
All of this running around is just a prelude to the upcoming trip to San Diego, where I will be getting books signed by the uber talented, Orson Scott Card. While he has been gracious enough when signing my books by the armload previously, I am quite willing to whine, beg, and plead, if necessary. You too would sign, if only to get rid of me.
If you would like me to take a Card book down with me to get signed, I can only say, HAHAHAHAHA. You are far too late. I have already accepted so many books from others than I have no room in my luggage for clothes.
At this point we are talking cold hard cash, or perhaps something illicit, perhaps involving hamburgers.
I am not a writer, I am not a publisher, book seller, or reviewer. I am just a fan. One lone representative of his book buying public. There really is no reason that he should remember my name or spend even an extra second in consideration of me or my existence.
Greg Bear has remembered my name from the first time we met. He has never failed to be anything less than magnanimous. He has signed every book I have put in front of him, even the ones I bought second hand, you know, the ones he made no money from. But wait, there is more. His wife Astrid is every bit as gracious.
His soon to be released book, City at The End of Time marks a return to what Greg Bear is so very good at, Science Fiction. His forays into Suspense/ thriller were good, but give me a another Moving Mars any day.
His latest book has a limited hardback release in the US, and a very limited hardback release in the UK. Oh yes, I have them both on order. Now, if I can only find a copy of the ARC. I am in no way writing this blog in the expectation of getting a free promotional T-shirt. But if one just happened to come my way, I wouldn't complain.
:)
Too bad we don't have a way to edit what we say, before people get to hear it. I'm just glad I didn't find out about the question until after I left the party, the nerve of some people. Of course if you consider dinner and drinks, I guess I did kind of pay her, but that's entirely beside the point.
I saw the new Mummy movie. It is just not the same without Rachel Weisz. Jet Li needed more screen time and Michelle Yeoh gave the best acting performance. I'm sorry, the Yeti were a wee bit ridiculous, and the popcorn was a trifle salty, I'm blaming Universal Pictures. One thumb up, one thumb sideways.
Finally, I finally saw the Blue Angels perform from a good spot, I'm sure the ear damage won't be permanent, the bleeding has already stopped. I was invited to a family gathering on Mercer Island. The food was very good, the people I was with were all very nice, and the hostess was a bit, shall we say, intimidating? She meant bidness. Here's a full plate of food, thank you for coming, now get out my kitchen. Now.
The cool part was how much she meant every bit of it. She was really glad you came. She really hoped everybody had good food, fun, and fellowship. She would really have kicked my butt for breaking any one of her household rules, now get out of my kitchen and I mean now, shut the door when you go outside, don't talk while I am telling everyone that I love them, and suffer my wrath if you throw away one of my plastic utensils.
I was not the only full grown man to beat a hasty retreat.
So how was your weekend?
Saturday, August 2 at 2 p.m.
Doug Dorst's northern California-set debut novel, Alive in Necropolis (Riverhead) offers some imaginative re-presentation of what could be a formula story, taking as it does the perspective of a young police officer. But what an officer, what a town, what a story. "You will never read a more exciting debut than Doug Dorst's funny and fiercely imagined Alive in Necropolis. Here, peace officers patrol a city of cemeteries, and the living and the dead walk the same streets and lawns, haunting each other's worlds. Prophetlike, Dorst can place his hand on the marble of a tomb and conjure the human story within. Alive in Necropolis contains the mystery, grace and glow of the human soul. So open this book, step into its light." - Adam Johnson, joined in early praise by Dan Chaon, Thom Jones, Stephen Elliott, Julie Orringer, Publishers Weekly, and others.
Tuesday • August 5 • 7pm @ the University Book Store
Kat Richardson & Richelle Mead
Underground (ROC/PENGUIN) & Storm Born (KENSINGTON)
Reading & Book Signing
Private Investigator Harper Blaine is a Greywalker—an individual who moves easily between the worlds of the living and the dead. With this paranormal power comes paranormal responsibilities, as Blaine's caseload has become increasingly odd and zombie-filled. Seattle's underground is filling up with the living dead, and Blaine must hunt down the culprit in this new book. Seattle's Richelle Mead reads from her new book, Storm Born, about a mercenary shaman who discovers a prophecy that says her first-born child will threaten the future.
Thursday • August 7 • 7pm @ the University Book Store
Eldon Thompson
The Divine Talisman: Book Three of the Legend of Asahiel (EOS)
Reading & Book Signing
An elf, a mad witch, and a fallen hero must work to save the embattled land of Pentania, and perhaps the world. Divinely written riddles hold the key in this, the third book in Eldon Thompson's fantasy series
Tuesday • August 12 • 7–8:30pm @ the University Book Store
Greg Bear
City at the End of Time (DEL REY)
Reading & Book Signing
Three young people dream of a city at the edge of time—the Kalpa—and find themselves hurtled into it. There, they inhabit the bodies of two inhabitants who have been retro-engineered to possess the qualities of ancient humanity. They hold objects, stony artifacts that move forward and backward through time with them, always unchanging—and it is these that a powerful entity, the chalk princess, wants to possess. Check out cityattheendoftime.com. For a signed copy of City at the End of Time, email our resident scifi/fantasy expert Duane no later than August 12 @ noon.
Thursday, August 21 6:30 p.m. to 7:45 p.m. @ Ballard Branch Seattle Public Library
Hear Matt Ruff read from 'Bad Monkeys' to celebrate the book's paperback release
Matt Ruff's "Bad Monkeys" garnered huge popular and critical acclaim on its release last year. Now Matt and the Monkeys are back with the paperback version. "Bad Monkeys" has been praised as "clever, imaginative, fast-paced, hallucinatory, and even maniacal."
Tues, Aug 26, noon, Seattle Mystery Bookshop, Olympia's Caitlin Kittredge,<br> Pure Blood (St. Martin's pbo, $6.99). Homicide Det. Luna<br> Wilder (introduced in Night Life, also a St. Martin's pbo,<br> $6.99) finds herself in the middle of a war between rival clans<br> of witches. Not a good place for a cop – or a werewolf – to find<br> herself.[Please note, this is a change from an earlier schedule<br> that had Caitlin here on 8/30.]
Tuesday • August 26 • 7pm @ the University Book Store
Terry Brooks
The Gypsy Morph (The Genesis of Shannara, Book 3) (DEL REY)
Reading & Book Signing
This third book in the Genesis of Shannara series deepens an already deeply realized fantasy setting. The mortal world and the magical collide as Logan Tom must protect the world's only hope for salvation—and settle a score with the demon who killed his family.
I think the best way to support the Seahawks is to tell their players to stop drinking when you see them in public. This could stop people from smashing them with street signs and save Lofa Tatupu from some untimely public DUI embarrassment. But really, is there a good excuse for not hiring a driver when you make a bazillion dollars?
I mean with as much money as sports figures and celebrities make, couldn't you hire someone to sit in the back seat and mix you drinks and still have money left over for a driver. Why ruin a good buzz by trying to drive? Sure, ex-child stars might have to pool their money and share a driver, or gasp, call a taxi, but shouldn't Shia LaBeouf have enough cash after Transformers to rent a limo? Buy me a round trip ticket to LA, introduce me to Megan Fox and I'll drive you around all weekend. Unless Megan and I hit it off, of course.
Bobby Engram, if you are reading this, as underpaid as you are, I would be happy to give you a lift home, any night of the week, for free. Of course an autographed ball would still be nice.
If you have lots of money and no brains, it doesn't mean you are famous, but, it would allow you to buy some cool new contacts. By cool, I mean incredibly stupid.
At http://blogs.abcnews.com/oddities/2008/0
If you have no money and no brains, you can start printing your own money like ex-Mariner, and ex-big leaguer, Julio Mateo, who was heard to say, as they were frisking him last weekend, prior to telling him why he was being arrested, that he didn't know anything about the fake money. His wife, no doubt afraid of experiencing more of the domestic violence which led the Mariner's to unload him, probably said nothing and just braced for impact.
All and all, I think I would kind of like to run into him at a future golf game.
I've heard dancing says a lot about how a person is as a lover. Which means that whoever dates a certain friend of mine is in for a pretty wild time. I suggest seat belts. And health insurance. Investing in a football helmet, also a good idea.
What does it say about a person in regard to how they react to certain, unavoidable bodily functions when you are dating? Do they get all pissy and self righteous, or do they grin and pull your finger? How early in a relationship can you expect to get away with passing gas? If she giggles is she a keeper? If she rips off a louder one than you is that a deal killer? I guess it might depend on if it really was an accident or if they yell 'hoo yeah' afterward.
As a former body builder, I know high protein diets are high in gas production. Whenever I think of fiber, I think of certain, even less savory bodily functions, but lately, I have noticed the same high gas production with carbs. I am left with only one conclusion. I am a gas producing super organism. I can take any edible material and convert it into methane in 90 minutes. Hook up a hose and I could supply the energy needs of a town the size of my sister's old Barbie condo. Yes, I could make life comfortable for an average size Habitrail. As long as the gerbils didn't run their drier all day. As long as it was just an energy source and they didn't have to actually breathe it. I'm not looking for any trouble from PETA mind you. Pamela Anderson would probably make a video of me torturing the little buggers.
Say, isn't methane a greenhouse gas? OH MY GOD, does that make me a REPUBLICAN? First, I employ toxic chemicals in my work; second, I drive a big gas guzzling truck; third, I produce green house gases - which directly lead to global warming. My brother is going to be ecstatic, he will probably try to buy me a gun. Please, I beg of you, whatever you do, do not tell Al Gore where I live. I'm not sure if he would be really concerned about my emissions or not, but I told him, in no uncertain terms, there would be no third date!
Not at all. I slept like a baby. A baby who had dulled the pain with much medication and a fair amount of alcoholic beverages. Walking up and down mountains makes you hella tired.
I woke up all refreshed, bright eyed, and bushy tailed.
OK, so I woke up bleary, all squinty eyed, and I have no clue what bushy tailed really means, but if you've seen me, if it has anything to with body hair, I've got it covered.
But at least I wasn't sore. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Well, it no longer feels like people are taking turns smacking my knees and hips with hammers. It feels like people smacked my knees and hips with hammers, no more than say, 24 hours ago, and I am still in excruciating pain.
I will probably get my work schedule this morning and find out that I am climbing up and down ladders all day. If you see me, holding on to a ladder for dear life, crying silently. Shoot me. Please! Besides, I would never cry silently, I would curse loudly and often.
I am also, much to my chagrin, woefully low on Vicodin, as in, I have no Vicodin. Please send your extra Vicodin to P.O Box 5757, Lynnwood..... Do it today!
I am heading downstairs now to make my morning coffee. Right after I stretch out my calves enough to actually bend my feet.
Or, I am calling in sick, climbing back into bed and writing off Monday. I'm pretty sure I have some medicated cough syrup somewhere.
I was coerced into hiking by a hot young babe. By hot I mean, smokin'. By young I mean younger than me. Four miles in four miles out, a mile and half gain in elevation. Piece of cake. In a car…
Actually, it wouldn't have been bad… if the trail was smooth and paved, if they had a mocha stand half the way up, or if they had horses to do the grunt work of hauling my sorry ass up to the summit.
There were however, none of these comforts of civilization. Thank god for naproxen sodium, Tylenol, and Vicodin. I might have never made it back down.
Who knew that hikers had all the good drugs. Several of them had Vicodin or the equivalent. I think I need to have a friendly chat with my doctor about my new favorite hobby. Even if I never hike again.
The best part of this hike was not the fact that a large part of the hike up the mountain took place in a dry stream bed, replete with foot sized loose rocks. Nor was is it the fact that at the top the sky opened up and blessed us with a torrential down pour. It certainly was not hiking back down in the rain in the no longer dry stream bed.
The best part was the encouragement I received from my hiking partner who was unfailingly positive. Until her knees cramped. Until she was soaked to the skin. Until she had to pee. Bad. The group of people we went with were all very nice and helpful which was great, but no one offered to carry me down.
Also on the quite excellent side, my hiking partner did change her clothes in my truck when we arrived back at the parking site, down the mountain. I was a perfect gentleman and gave her privacy. No, really. I only peeked twice and never seriously. EDIT: Peeking has not yet been authorized. Writing about it has not been authorized either. In the hopes of future potential peeking this part of my post has been revised. Please edit your memory if you read this post earlier.
But things are looking up. At least my truck is getting some action. And by action, I mean... nothing. Not a damn thing. So she changed her clothes. I am still jealous though.
It was dark. I was tired. My mind was still reeling from a date with this dame see, and my brain was all foggy with cheap scotch and the heady smell of her sweet perfume. I didn't hear anything, I didn't sense anything. I barely made it inside my door before they struck. I still had my keys in my hand. My poor dogs were still in their kennel, helplessly watching as I was attacked by a wild band of chocolate bunnies.
Ten, maybe twelve, or it could have been just one, hyper active energizer type, dark chocolate bunny. A bunny on a mission of mayhem. Later, as I tried to make sense of it all, I couldn't quite remember, did they/he jump out of a cupboard at me or did they follow me in through the open door?
The attack was vicious, determined, and do I dare say, delicious? It took my undivided attention, but I managed to bite, chew, and lick my way to victory. As I stood there in my kitchen, reeling from the sudden sugar rush, alone in those bleak early morning hours, tending my chocolate inflicted wounds, I couldn't help but wonder what terrible things might happen, if some poor hapless unsuspecting broad tried to surprise me, wearing some innocent little pair of bunny ears atop her head. It wouldn't be pretty, but it would sure be tasty.
On another front, I have not won an audition to be on 'So you think you can dance.' Yep, although it would be outrageously funny, I will not be kickin' it live. Although, if they had a 'So you think you can dance after downing a couple of martinis, hopefully with that hot babe you've been buying drinks for for the last hour', I would so clean-up. As long as the audience had been drinking as well.
Finally, on a side note to anyone who just happens to be reading this blog and doesn't know me well enough to know that I am just being silly. I would never ever embrace a life of celibacy willingly, not even for cash. I am here, kicking and screaming, punching and scratching, the entire way. I would only pass out flowers at the airport if I knew someone who worked there. Someone of the female persuasion. I would seriously consider slaughtering chocolate bunnies by moonlight, but I get my cattle products in the meat case. I would however be very willing to buy attractive single females drinks to dance with me.
If you are an attractive single woman and you would like some free drinks and you are willing to dance with me...
Done with one web site; still at work on the other two. Passing time at: wine tastings, singles mingles, parties, and book signings. Not to mention painting, darn that Richelle and her blissful blathering about paint colors! Gardening, because its like, spring, already. Dog walking, feeding, grooming, and ceaseless spoiling. Volleyball, and now apparently some sailing; oh yes, and still hard at work, flirting at every opportunity. You never know. Someone, somewhere, at some time. It will work, you just got to keep the faith.
Gary
- Mood:
content
Late last night, I stepped on a wooden brace in my stocking feet. I caught my toenail on the brace as I was stepping down. I broke my toenail back about a half inch from the tip and tore it out of the root bed.
I did not scream, I did not cry, I bled quietly.
I worked on it today. It was sore and bled all day. I did not scream, I did not cry, I swore under my breath all day.
I guess that is why you keep your toenails trimmed.
- Mood:
sore
