w00t w00t booyah

Pity she was such a facile liar. Because man, could she tell a tale.

Once upon a time, I knew a young lady through the QL circles named Joyce Hatcher (actually, there is a long list of names between those two, if I was to believe her, but that's another story for another day) - she was the person who introduced me to silverkun all those years ago...and she did things for me when both Cliff and I desperately needed them, things nobody else could have done. I never regretted inviting her to come into my home to help care for him, but in the end - lies and money issues ended the relationship. And did I see it coming? Sure - but you always hope you're going to be the exception, right?

Anyway.

She had a lively cast of characters I never met, but that I understood to be family.

admnaismith was talking about a chili cookoff this morning (this came about after finding him winning an ARC in a contest sponsored by seanan_mcguire, and glad I was to see it - holy chrome. Yes, I'm still finding awesome people on LJ - that's just how I roll.) and it twigged a memory of one chili cookoff Joyce told me about.

She had a cousin who was a Marine Corps drill sergeant (I think - this is over ten years ago, bear with me) down at Camp Pendleton - and while I often heard about Cousin David in various references to the military, its culture and whatnot, the best stories involved him and his pet iguana, Sgt. York.

And Sgt. York had always been described as BIG, green and harmless...unless you came in unawares to where he hung out in the bathtub to use the facilities. Maybe Cousin David remembered to tell you about Sgt. York before you got there...but you had a savings throw to make to be sure he did. People often came out of loo blanched and flailing and yup, Sgt. York had claimed another one.

So, there was this chili cookoff. Cousin David was doing the cooking, with some of squad helping out and at the critical juncture, the meat was required.

From what I understand, it was a pound or two of something esoteric, like bison or venison - something less than common fare - stew meat cut, right? And it was out in the truck, in the front seat. Telling the young recruit to go fetch it, he jokingly added "...and you might have to kill it." Adding to the mystique and all that.

Connected the dots, have you?

Yup, Sgt. York had been left to 'guard' the secret ingredient. I'm pretty sure the recruit had come from a part of the country where field-dressing something was common practice, so when he came back with about a pound or two of dressed chunks of meat...nobody said anything.

And damn, they won the cookoff, whadya know!

Cousin David was berefit when he got back to the truck and found his 'secret ingredient' still sitting there in the cooler where he'd left it...and Sgt. York was nowhere to be found.

I don't know what happened to the recruit after that.

But every time somebody mentions a chili cookoff, secret ingredients and quirky recipe titles, I think of this story. I have no reason to think it's true...entirely...and no reason to think it's just a tall tale...entirely.

And I love the idea of someone in the Marine Corps having a pet iguana named Sgt. York.

Pity she was such a facile liar. Because man, could she tell a tale.

Once upon a time, I knew a young lady through the QL circles named Joyce Hatcher (actually, there is a long list of names between those two, if I was to believe her, but that's another story for another day) - she was the person who introduced me to silverkun all those years ago...and she did things for me when both Cliff and I desperately needed them, things nobody else could have done. I never regretted inviting her to come into my home to help care for him, but in the end - lies and money issues ended the relationship. And did I see it coming? Sure - but you always hope you're going to be the exception, right?

Anyway.

She had a lively cast of characters I never met, but that I understood to be family.

admnaismith was talking about a chili cookoff this morning (this came about after finding him winning an ARC in a contest sponsored by seanan_mcguire, and glad I was to see it - holy chrome. Yes, I'm still finding awesome people on LJ - that's just how I roll.) and it twigged a memory of one chili cookoff Joyce told me about.

She had a cousin who was a Marine Corps drill sergeant (I think - this is over ten years ago, bear with me) down at Camp Pendleton - and while I often heard about Cousin David in various references to the military, its culture and whatnot, the best stories involved him and his pet iguana, Sgt. York.

And Sgt. York had always been described as BIG, green and harmless...unless you came in unawares to where he hung out in the bathtub to use the facilities. Maybe Cousin David remembered to tell you about Sgt. York before you got there...but you had a savings throw to make to be sure he did. People often came out of loo blanched and flailing and yup, Sgt. York had claimed another one.

So, there was this chili cookoff. Cousin David was doing the cooking, with some of squad helping out and at the critical juncture, the meat was required.

From what I understand, it was a pound or two of something esoteric, like bison or venison - something less than common fare - stew meat cut, right? And it was out in the truck, in the front seat. Telling the young recruit to go fetch it, he jokingly added "...and you might have to kill it." Adding to the mystique and all that.

Connected the dots, have you?

Yup, Sgt. York had been left to 'guard' the secret ingredient. I'm pretty sure the recruit had come from a part of the country where field-dressing something was common practice, so when he came back with about a pound or two of dressed chunks of meat...nobody said anything.

And damn, they won the cookoff, whadya know!

Cousin David was berefit when he got back to the truck and found his 'secret ingredient' still sitting there in the cooler where he'd left it...and Sgt. York was nowhere to be found.

I don't know what happened to the recruit after that.

But every time somebody mentions a chili cookoff, secret ingredients and quirky recipe titles, I think of this story. I have no reason to think it's true...entirely...and no reason to think it's just a tall tale...entirely.

And I love the idea of someone in the Marine Corps having a pet iguana named Sgt. York.

One of the things I got to do on the flight over to Taiwan was actually watch "The Devil Wears Prada" - something I'd never gotten around to.

Holy crap.

Substitute advertising for the fashion biz, and that was my first job out of school, working as an assistant to the producer, agency side - in commerical production.

Substitute the great clothes for pet food and breakfast cereal. (We made commericals. 30 seconds of hell that take weeks to produce.) Do NOT substitute any of the attitude, personality or lack of personal space. Want to know how I produce miracles with only a phone? Yeah, that.

I lasted a year, minus a day, in that job. Walked away with no notice after I finally had had ENOUGH of not being Good Enough, day in and day out - DONE.

And yes, I had that moment of 'oh my ghad, I could BE my boss someday' - and ran.

Yes, that really is someone's life, right now.

I'm looking back into my journal to the first year I was posting, looking for an entry I did on fandoms. I'll find it. But in the meantime, I'm finding comedy gold.

Like the one time Jim and I considered going to Yaoi-Con.

9/11, 2002.

Finally. There it is.

Media Thingies I have Loved Before...

Having doreentracy on the FL (took me long enough to find out she had an LJ - *eyeroll*) has brought a number of things. One, she's my favorite audience, bar none. Jim, a close second, tends to wear me out because he wants to read everything as it comes up on the screen. SHOO.

She always waited until I was done. And I would read to her over the phone. Best audience EVAR.

But she and I have a history - both good and bad. (Oh bother, we were awful to each other at times. We're the same age and did the same stupid things to each other at the same time that I think everyone does. You aren't grown up at 21. Trust us on this. Things I know now I should never have done, can recognize them for the mistakes they made and have never made again. But we both carry some scars from it.)

She's also still writing in her Quantum Leap alternate history/afterworld, and doing the same fine job she always did.

For me, the memories aren't good enough yet - and the smarting has yet to fade. I remember - and cringe.

The one who seduced you and screwed you over and broke your heart in a million pieces and then just laughed about it with all his friends: Quantum Leap.

I've had the mile-long stare and deep sighs this weekend. I think of what I'd want to hear from people who I dealt with, back in the day - and haven't dealt with since. People I don't think even like me, much. She says there's to be another convention, y'see. I was in regular contact with the back office at QL, was acquainted with a number of people who worked on the show. I did the march on NBC...but I also designed the first convention. When I borked booking the talent - and this is where I can't say anything more about it, I swore up and down I would not - I withdrew. Just in time too, Cliff got hurt during the process and by the time the convention actually happened, he'd been in the hospital having amputations and so forth. From there, Life was taking care of Cliff until he died.

But I never went back to the business. I'd found out just how much my age and gender had impacted any chance I'd ever have of making a living there. (How? BADLY. Like, fuggetaboutit. Oh, and BTW? You're just a fan, and that's all you're going to be seen as. A female fan, too. The worst kind.)

I remade my skill set and got a job paying enough to support me. In time, you see me as I am today - making enough to support four people. If I had stayed in the business, I'd likely still be a secretary - at best.

And it still hurts. When I remember.

If you want to absolutely gut me, all you have to do is completely misread my intentions and accuse me of doing things I would never tolerate towards me or anyone I ever knew. Make assumptions about my motivations so far off in left field, my first reaction is "HUH?" before the reaction sets in that my age and gender have done me in again, and I can do nothing about it.

And do it such a fashion that it lasts.

I was flatly amazed it still had that much power left in it.

I'm looking back into my journal to the first year I was posting, looking for an entry I did on fandoms. I'll find it. But in the meantime, I'm finding comedy gold.

Like the one time Jim and I considered going to Yaoi-Con.

9/11, 2002.

Finally. There it is.

Media Thingies I have Loved Before...

Having doreentracy on the FL (took me long enough to find out she had an LJ - *eyeroll*) has brought a number of things. One, she's my favorite audience, bar none. Jim, a close second, tends to wear me out because he wants to read everything as it comes up on the screen. SHOO.

She always waited until I was done. And I would read to her over the phone. Best audience EVAR.

But she and I have a history - both good and bad. (Oh bother, we were awful to each other at times. We're the same age and did the same stupid things to each other at the same time that I think everyone does. You aren't grown up at 21. Trust us on this. Things I know now I should never have done, can recognize them for the mistakes they made and have never made again. But we both carry some scars from it.)

She's also still writing in her Quantum Leap alternate history/afterworld, and doing the same fine job she always did.

For me, the memories aren't good enough yet - and the smarting has yet to fade. I remember - and cringe.

The one who seduced you and screwed you over and broke your heart in a million pieces and then just laughed about it with all his friends: Quantum Leap.

I've had the mile-long stare and deep sighs this weekend. I think of what I'd want to hear from people who I dealt with, back in the day - and haven't dealt with since. People I don't think even like me, much. She says there's to be another convention, y'see. I was in regular contact with the back office at QL, was acquainted with a number of people who worked on the show. I did the march on NBC...but I also designed the first convention. When I borked booking the talent - and this is where I can't say anything more about it, I swore up and down I would not - I withdrew. Just in time too, Cliff got hurt during the process and by the time the convention actually happened, he'd been in the hospital having amputations and so forth. From there, Life was taking care of Cliff until he died.

But I never went back to the business. I'd found out just how much my age and gender had impacted any chance I'd ever have of making a living there. (How? BADLY. Like, fuggetaboutit. Oh, and BTW? You're just a fan, and that's all you're going to be seen as. A female fan, too. The worst kind.)

I remade my skill set and got a job paying enough to support me. In time, you see me as I am today - making enough to support four people. If I had stayed in the business, I'd likely still be a secretary - at best.

And it still hurts. When I remember.

If you want to absolutely gut me, all you have to do is completely misread my intentions and accuse me of doing things I would never tolerate towards me or anyone I ever knew. Make assumptions about my motivations so far off in left field, my first reaction is "HUH?" before the reaction sets in that my age and gender have done me in again, and I can do nothing about it.

And do it such a fashion that it lasts.

I was flatly amazed it still had that much power left in it.

I just got back from the PO Box. I set this up back when we moved from Ontario into Torrance almost four years ago now, and decided to keep it because it was a great place to send people away from the physical address if I didn't really want them to know much about me.

The box has turned out to be a wonderful catch all for charitable groups who want to ask me for money.

I've got more address labels than any sane person. Seriously. Everyone sends them.

And last year, in the heat of getting the Christmas cards out - we used a bunch of them. You know, I should have thought more about not getting many cards returned to us due to invalid addresses - but I didn't.

Well, I've got four more sets of address labels.

And a bunch of returned Christmas cards. 16 of them. The little box was packed solid. There were also Christmas cards folks had sent back, using the return label for a guide that I hadn't received.

The pile included some LJers. Both received and returned. Oh boy. It's almost March. I keep saying I need to check that box more often, but this is ridiculous.

Uh, yeah. I'm going to try to resend the ones I can. Jim did the addressing, and I can see where he just didn't think to check - but I can almost be glad I have to redo the list from scratch during this year - boy, the return rate is just sucking ASS.

In other news?

A San Francisco weekly newspaper that bills itself as "The Voice of Asian America" is facing harsh criticism from that very community for publishing a column Friday titled "Why I Hate Blacks."

The original article. Proof positive that hate has no color.

I'm white and Christian. Should it be noted my groups are as hard hit as the others by this tool?

A 41-year-old Redding man charged with molesting a 12-year-old girl told investigators the child was his girlfriend and he loved her, court records show.

The relationship was exposed when Hakmiller telephoned Ontario police from Northern California and asked them to check on the girl because he feared she had been raped in her home.

Uh. She got siblings? Holy chrome.

I don't have to say I haven't missed Ontario once since I moved, right?

Okay, up to date on the mortgage payments. We are still lean, mean and catching up - but I think the worst of the lean is over for the moment.

It's good practice.

I'm still working on putting some better financial tools together, including the magic spreadsheet (more on this later). No, I don't think I'll add Quicken back in yet. (Yes, I did all three at one time - checkbook, Quicken and the magic spreadsheet. I had to - I had too many people second-guessing how I was spending money.)

Small little 'ooo I'm a greedy little miserly miser' moments - I have rainchecks for some Smart Ones frozen dinners (this is too easy not to do, trust me on this) for 12 dinners for less than $1.75 each. Opened one I got yesterday (4 for $10.00) and found a coupon in it. Yeah, I'll be able to use it with the rainchecks. Lunch for less than $1.50 anyone? And stuff I like, too. Hot slurpy food that doesn't taste like ass.

Hope I find more coupons.

There is still the really great used book store down the street with a $2 rack out front every day too. Weather being as good as it is (you folks back East? Holy fucking - wow. No words. None. Stay safe, y'all.), I have no excuse not to get outside and take advantage.

Except I have too many books to get through as it is - and a bit of programming to overcome. Every time I sit down with a book right now? I find myself awake in two hours, cold and stiff. I've fallen asleep sitting up. The reason for this is I used to put myself to bed every night with a book - it was the only thing I could use on a nightly basis that worked, was affordable and allowed me to remain a light enough sleeper to wake if the monitor went off.

Yeah. I slept with a baby monitor next to my bed upstairs, because Cliff was downstairs with his cycler and adaptive equipment. I couldn't carry him upstairs, so that's what the last two years were like at home. I slept upstairs with a monitor. It was a riot when he played horror movies, lemme tellya, before going to sleep. Yes, he did. Most of the time it was Fantasia - but.

Programming. I'm trying to sit down when I'm not so tired to read. It's helping. I'm getting through more books.

There are days when old events just freaking bite. That one is small potatoes.

*blows air* I really wish I could manage to take the shit flung at me with the same indifference as which it was flung. I mean, nobody and nothing means me harm or foul. It just happens. And then I get all emotional and more shit happens and I look back and go DAMN and wonder what the fuck that was all about - and remember what the fuck it was all about and then say DAMN again and wish I really could manage to take the shit flung as me with the same indifference in which was flung.

Repeat a few more times.

Remember not to take it personally. Remember not to hold it against them. Consider the source. Let it go.

It/They/Whatever did not know what they were doing. Nobody can hurt me or insult me or make me do ANYTHING without my permission and express knowledge thereof.

I'll be okay. I'm sure of it.

I just wish...that when people got mad at me? It was something I actually did and meant for people to be angry with me about? Looking back, the one-sided stuff has just confounded me in ways I just keep untangling layer after layer.

I truly don't understand why people get angry at me when I didn't intend them to. Naive? Eh. Maybe. But it's a constant.

I may complain about all the psychobabble that goes on about early-child development and all of the "personality" diagnoses thrown about - but back in 1969 or so, when I was so scared of everything I wouldn't swallow my own spit for fear of poisoning myself, nobody knew about PTSD or RAD. I really think about that time because as strange as it seems, it's hard to get back into that headspace, and that WAS my childhood. I was there.

The more I find out about the alphabet soup I just mentioned, the more familiar it sounds. The parameters are all there - and the players? Had plenty of trouble of their own. I wasn't the only one, and the matrix was just right for all kinds of suck to happen.

All before I was 10 years old. Amazing. I'm sitting here, 46 years old and going over stuff that old - because so much ties right back to it.

I have no trust in relationships with people who have a SO or other close friends who don't like me. It's like the thought registers intellectually - but emotionally? Run for fucking cover when I find out. Thinking about this, in conjunction with reading the RAD literature the last couple of weeks, it really becomes clear when I look at who Jim and I see on a regular basis.

Very few married pairs. And if I know one, and don't know the other? I'm not comfortable until I do - and that relationship is on stable footing as well. It's not like there haven't been opportunities. But if you fall in love with someone? I wanna know. One, because it might be just as good as knowing you! But two? If they hate me, you'll be gone soon too.

This has so little to do with attraction, sex or just getting along it's pathetic. This is clearly a pathology.

What to do about it, that's the rub. Just start trusting people you know isn't something you just fall off a log and begin doing. It's almost a physical repulsion at this point. I really don't feel safe. Clearly, this is a safety need that got compromised, and I think I know where it began - and ended. And I can't even get upset about it - it's one of Those things where nobody meant any harm. Life just tossed it over in its complete indifference.

And it got written into my psyche as a Rule. Quirk? If that's what it is, it belongs to me.

Oh yes, it's done damage recently.

I'll write up the Why soon - promise. It also has a lot to do with why Donna does not approach weddings with happy anticipation, but with the dread of finding the Weakest Link in the Family. And getting bitchsmacked with it.

It feels like describing the moves in a chess game. Who were the players. What actions they took. What happened after that.

I need some better programming - and no, I don't think apologies will fix the damage this quirk causes.

But then again, nobody meant any harm. It's never that way. *chuckles* It's like the only time things resolve is when you have mutual 'I'm going to git you sucka' activity - you both get mad, you both do damage and you both walk away satisfied. Hmm. That's worth a few clock cycles.

Okay, up to date on the mortgage payments. We are still lean, mean and catching up - but I think the worst of the lean is over for the moment.

It's good practice.

I'm still working on putting some better financial tools together, including the magic spreadsheet (more on this later). No, I don't think I'll add Quicken back in yet. (Yes, I did all three at one time - checkbook, Quicken and the magic spreadsheet. I had to - I had too many people second-guessing how I was spending money.)

Small little 'ooo I'm a greedy little miserly miser' moments - I have rainchecks for some Smart Ones frozen dinners (this is too easy not to do, trust me on this) for 12 dinners for less than $1.75 each. Opened one I got yesterday (4 for $10.00) and found a coupon in it. Yeah, I'll be able to use it with the rainchecks. Lunch for less than $1.50 anyone? And stuff I like, too. Hot slurpy food that doesn't taste like ass.

Hope I find more coupons.

There is still the really great used book store down the street with a $2 rack out front every day too. Weather being as good as it is (you folks back East? Holy fucking - wow. No words. None. Stay safe, y'all.), I have no excuse not to get outside and take advantage.

Except I have too many books to get through as it is - and a bit of programming to overcome. Every time I sit down with a book right now? I find myself awake in two hours, cold and stiff. I've fallen asleep sitting up. The reason for this is I used to put myself to bed every night with a book - it was the only thing I could use on a nightly basis that worked, was affordable and allowed me to remain a light enough sleeper to wake if the monitor went off.

Yeah. I slept with a baby monitor next to my bed upstairs, because Cliff was downstairs with his cycler and adaptive equipment. I couldn't carry him upstairs, so that's what the last two years were like at home. I slept upstairs with a monitor. It was a riot when he played horror movies, lemme tellya, before going to sleep. Yes, he did. Most of the time it was Fantasia - but.

Programming. I'm trying to sit down when I'm not so tired to read. It's helping. I'm getting through more books.

There are days when old events just freaking bite. That one is small potatoes.

*blows air* I really wish I could manage to take the shit flung at me with the same indifference as which it was flung. I mean, nobody and nothing means me harm or foul. It just happens. And then I get all emotional and more shit happens and I look back and go DAMN and wonder what the fuck that was all about - and remember what the fuck it was all about and then say DAMN again and wish I really could manage to take the shit flung as me with the same indifference in which was flung.

Repeat a few more times.

Remember not to take it personally. Remember not to hold it against them. Consider the source. Let it go.

It/They/Whatever did not know what they were doing. Nobody can hurt me or insult me or make me do ANYTHING without my permission and express knowledge thereof.

I'll be okay. I'm sure of it.

I just wish...that when people got mad at me? It was something I actually did and meant for people to be angry with me about? Looking back, the one-sided stuff has just confounded me in ways I just keep untangling layer after layer.

I truly don't understand why people get angry at me when I didn't intend them to. Naive? Eh. Maybe. But it's a constant.

I may complain about all the psychobabble that goes on about early-child development and all of the "personality" diagnoses thrown about - but back in 1969 or so, when I was so scared of everything I wouldn't swallow my own spit for fear of poisoning myself, nobody knew about PTSD or RAD. I really think about that time because as strange as it seems, it's hard to get back into that headspace, and that WAS my childhood. I was there.

The more I find out about the alphabet soup I just mentioned, the more familiar it sounds. The parameters are all there - and the players? Had plenty of trouble of their own. I wasn't the only one, and the matrix was just right for all kinds of suck to happen.

All before I was 10 years old. Amazing. I'm sitting here, 46 years old and going over stuff that old - because so much ties right back to it.

I have no trust in relationships with people who have a SO or other close friends who don't like me. It's like the thought registers intellectually - but emotionally? Run for fucking cover when I find out. Thinking about this, in conjunction with reading the RAD literature the last couple of weeks, it really becomes clear when I look at who Jim and I see on a regular basis.

Very few married pairs. And if I know one, and don't know the other? I'm not comfortable until I do - and that relationship is on stable footing as well. It's not like there haven't been opportunities. But if you fall in love with someone? I wanna know. One, because it might be just as good as knowing you! But two? If they hate me, you'll be gone soon too.

This has so little to do with attraction, sex or just getting along it's pathetic. This is clearly a pathology.

What to do about it, that's the rub. Just start trusting people you know isn't something you just fall off a log and begin doing. It's almost a physical repulsion at this point. I really don't feel safe. Clearly, this is a safety need that got compromised, and I think I know where it began - and ended. And I can't even get upset about it - it's one of Those things where nobody meant any harm. Life just tossed it over in its complete indifference.

And it got written into my psyche as a Rule. Quirk? If that's what it is, it belongs to me.

Oh yes, it's done damage recently.

I'll write up the Why soon - promise. It also has a lot to do with why Donna does not approach weddings with happy anticipation, but with the dread of finding the Weakest Link in the Family. And getting bitchsmacked with it.

It feels like describing the moves in a chess game. Who were the players. What actions they took. What happened after that.

I need some better programming - and no, I don't think apologies will fix the damage this quirk causes.

But then again, nobody meant any harm. It's never that way. *chuckles* It's like the only time things resolve is when you have mutual 'I'm going to git you sucka' activity - you both get mad, you both do damage and you both walk away satisfied. Hmm. That's worth a few clock cycles.