Grocery Shopping Makes Me Homicidal

I think I've mentioned before somewhere along the line about my utter loathing for grocery shopping (but that was a long time ago on my old blog which has since been shut down so I think it's time for a recap). Whether is the local supermarket or the fucking hell-on-earth called Walmart, I hate it all. I can't quite understand what goes through the minds of some of the miscreants that frequent these establishments.

If you haven't visited peopleofwalmart.com, you're missing out.

I've decided that the only way to hang on to the tiny shred of sanity I might have left is to wear the following t-shirt every time I'm forced to push my squeaky-whealed cart around a supermarket.

Need one? Click HERE for dark colors, HERE for light colors. Available in all kinds of styles.

Or this one...

Click HERE for dark colors, HERE for light colors. Also available in all kinds of styles.

I'm really hoping that this will force my fellow shoppers to give me a wide berth. And possibly just get the fuck out of my way when they see me coming.

Here are my top 5 pet peeves of the dreaded trip to the market:

5. The idiot that finds it necessary to drive his/her cart down the middle of the aisle at a snail's pace no less, not allowing me to pass. And then they stop right in the middle to peruse the shelves... I blow my fucking top.

4. The tandem shoppers who each have their own cart. Now don't get me wrong, I'm ok with this if they split the list and go their separate ways. I'm not ok with this if they travel through the aisles as a pair. Most likely these shoppers are elderly. Sorry, not an excuse.

3. The person who has no idea what they need and they stand on one side of the aisle while their cart is parked directly behind them on the other side of the aisle, completely blocking the whole thing. And then you think they'll just be picking up what they need and moving on... and you think wrong. They need to pick up every fucking can of vegetables trying to find the exact style of corn desire.

2. The pack leader who shows up at the store with not only their children, but at least a half dozen other random kids from the neighborhood. They move through the aisles as a loosely formed pack with an occasional straggler kid that almost always darts out directly in the path of my cart. And I'm usually hauling ass up and down the aisles. Get in, get out... that's my motto.

1. The tiny shopping cart. Yes folks, nothing makes me want to bash my head against the milk cooler more than the miniature carts designed for the kids to push around so they feel like they're doing the shopping. I'm pretty sure Fisher Price makes toys for that experience. Buy them. I thank everything that is holy for those not being available at my local grocery store. 

I sometimes feel like I'm the only one who despises grocery shopping. Is that true? Do you guys love it or hate it? Please... don't make me feel all alone!

Reckoner Part VIII [Twilight Fan Fiction]

Well hey hey hey,

Sorry about the whole not posting last week situation. All I can say in my defense is, well. Nothing, actually. This scene was just really super duper tough to write, because there's a ton of action and writing action is not my forté, as they say. I'd written this scene many, many times before and never got it right. It took the interference of both Snarkier Than You and dear old Mr. Myg to get me through it this time. To be perfectly honest, this chapter (chapter? scene? whatevs...) is a collaboration between me and Mr. Myg. Meaning, I wrote it, and he rewrote it and literally just deleted and rewrote entire paragraphs, which I then tweaked. So I suppose we co-wrote this one, which is pretty damned cool if you ask me. I hope you'll enjoy it.


We either have one or two more posts to go before we're done here. Not sure yet. After that I'll be compiling into a .pdf and an ebook so remember, if you donated to FGB you are welcome to have copies of those. Just email me at mygdala (at) gmail and I'll add you to the list. That said, I think Latchkey Wife has me on the posting schedule for every Friday in March so if I run out of Reckoner I suppose I'll have to spam you all with pictures of Ioan Gruffudd. You'll thank me. Eventually. I think.


If you're new to Reckoner, a quick recap: This is a prequel to Osa Bella in Edward's point of view. I wrote it for Fandom Gives Back but wasn't able to finish it, so Twitarded let me post it here. If you'd like to start it, please go here and scroll all the way down, click older posts until you get to the end, and then read from the bottom up. Or just email me your FGB receipt and wait until I send out the full thing.


Thanks to those of you who have been reading this and giving me feedback on it here and on Twitter (I am @Myg on Twitter, fyi). You truly make it all worthwhile.


Love,
Myg

RECKONER PART VIII

They’ve brought us to the edge of the woods, Edward. We’re standing at the bottom of that sloping western pasture on the Kaine Estate. The one not accessible from the road. They’ve lit a fire and the flames are at least twice as tall as you. Smoke is billowing to the south. I have no idea how they’re keeping a fire this big under control with the wind so strong tonight—it’s a wonder it doesn’t spread into the trees. Someone must be using magic to contain it, but who? It can’t be Allston—Oh God, I hope they didn’t get a witch involved.

All the Kaines are here now, so that’s ten of them and the two of us. I realize these are not good odds, but I have a plan. If I can distract them for a minute, you can shake off the three holding you, right? Timothy has your left shoulder, and he’s pretty easy to drop. The problem is Mark has your neck and he’s quite strong. If you lose your head you won’t be able to do much fighting. But if we lose, so be it, right? We can’t just let them burn you without a fight. I won’t face eternity letting you die like this. I can’t believe Carlisle left you on our own. I never would have imagined… Wait…

Edward, the dead man’s family is coming now, and they look like their insides have been replaced with…I don’t know. Lead, maybe. There’s a draining, heavy kind of energy about them—that must be the grief. But there’s something else there, something churning and hot and I’m not sure what it is. Secrets. Very dark secrets, I’m guessing. Oh God, this is awful. They’re all in black except the older woman, I think it’s his mother. Yes, it must be her. She’s in a burgundy wool cape and there’s a thick, black wool scarf wrapped around her head. There’s a young woman holding her hand. It looks like there are two other sons besides the daughter—I’m assuming that’s her daughter—and they are all churning black grief and red rage in their abdominal cavities. They’re coming over to you now. Oh sweet Jesus, Edward, this is terrible.

I’m going to start a riot. I will take the father out first. If I make it bloody enough, some of these vamps will get a good, strong bloodlust on and we might have a chance to get away. We’ll run to Canada and get a flight to Spain. I know how you love Barcelona. So that’s the plan, then. I’m going to let them get into position here and then I’m taking out the father. Maybe I should take the daughter? She’s the youngest and probably has the sweetest smelling blood. I’ll make it so bloody every vampire on the hill will lust, I swear. I’m not letting them just take you without a fight. I know you’re listening. Just turn your right foot out and let me know you’re with me. You’re not turning your foot, Edward. Okay fine then, move  your left pinky. Come on, Edward. Don’t let them slaughter you, please. For me? Fight.

I didn’t signal Mercy because I wasn’t even remotely hopeful her plan would do anything besides get her killed right along with me. If I was going down, so be it. I wasn’t happy about it, but I was past existential regret by then. I just didn’t want Mercy to die.

I couldn’t see a thing with the tape over my eyes and the canvas bag on my head so I listened carefully to all of the threads of thinking from the vampires in that pasture for any insight into what Allston had planned for Mercy after I was dead. Then Allston’s very targeted message came through.

Edward, I know Mercy will do something stupid to try to save you, and as much as I am loathe to credit you with anything, I know you know a bad bet when you see one. When Mercy makes her move, you will have a choice. You can fight and then bear witness as I personally maim and then burn her to death. Or, you can let me subdue her and if I’m feeling generous, I might let her live. How’s that for an easy decision?

I couldn’t hate this fucking guy more. I swore if I ever lived to kill again, he would be first on my god damned list.

The taste and stench of the gasoline-soaked rag in my mouth was overwhelming and killed any chance I had of using scent to orient myself. The heat and the roar of the blaze behind me reminded me I was one wrong step away from being cooked. Mark had his hands wrapped tightly around my neck, gripping the base of my head to keep me from running once Timothy and Adam tore my arms from me. They were waiting for Allston to give the signal, but they’d been ordered to go ahead if I gave any signs of trouble. They’d burn my arms and legs and make me watch before taking my head, just so I could have the most fucked up death possible. They looked forward most to the moment Allston would rip my head from my shoulders himself, and Allston was nearly giddy contemplating that moment in as much detail as possible for my benefit.

You! A desperate, screechy sounding thought penetrated my own. You killed my boy!
“I present you with Edward Cullen,” Allston said as the Kaines pushed me forward towards the bereaved family.

“Cullen?” The gruff voice of an older man sounded disbelieving. “I know the Cullens. They don’t hunt humans. What is this?”

“He didn’t do it!” Mercy shouted. “You’ll have no satisfaction from his death. There’s no justice in it!”

“Where is the real killer?” the man demanded.

“You’ll have to ask him,” Allston said. “He’s the only one who seems to know, and he’s not talking.”

“I want to speak to it.” A woman’s voice, matching the one I’d heard in my head, was strained with grief.

“He can hear you, Mrs. Reynolds,” Allston said. “Speak your mind.”

“I want to look into its eyes.”

“Why? It won’t make any…” Allston started to argue, but stopped when the bag on my head flew off as though a specific gust had forced it from me.  

Allston began to mentally grope for the right response, and it was then I knew he was afraid. That’s when I had my first glimmer of hope.

Allston ripped the duct tape from my eyes and I whipped my head around to survey the scene. Mercy was behind Allston, with two females on either side of her. They were closer to the tree line and too close to the fire. Mercy looked worried, but determined, too. I turned and saw the silhouette of my form cast a shadow, a second cloud of darkness over the grieving family. There wasn’t much that could have broken my spirit more than gazing into the eyes of a murder victim’s mother, no matter how awful the man had been.

My heart, my heart, my dead, black heart… you have no idea what you have done to me, creature… Her eyes glazed over with thick tears, red and orange light reflecting in the whites of them, her grey face warmed by the fire’s glow.

“You will tell us who killed my son,” she said.

“It’s not a good idea to let him speak,” Allston said. “He’s weakened from our preparations but he still has some of his… capabilities.”

The woman laughed a sad, sick laugh. “What are you more afraid of, Allston? His words or his bite?”

Allston hesitated as I looked at him. I cocked an eyebrow to taunt him and he glared back before ripping the tape from my mouth. You cannot win, Edward, he warned. I promise you I will rape, torture and murder Mercy right here, right now, in the most hideous spectacle you can imagine if you so much as try.

From behind him, Mercy urged me. Make blood, she thought. As much blood as possible. Go for the girl—it’s our only hope.

I spat the rag out onto the ground at Allston’s feet and a spark from the fire caught it and it burned into the dead grass. Allston stepped quickly away, frowning. I turned to face the woman, tuning into the churn of her troubled thoughts.

“I’m the one responsible for your son’s death,” I said.

“You don’t have a killer’s eyes,” she said as she stared into mine, disbelieving. “Look at these other vampires. I’d sooner believe it was one of them.”

“You’re welcome to kill one of them instead,” I said, turning on every last bit of charm I had left.

The Kaines laughed. “Oh, I’m sure,” Allston said. Go on and try then. Oh, please do…

“You didn’t kill my son,” the woman insisted, her face twisted with anger and anguish. “Why are you saying you did?”

“I marked him,” I said, looking at Mercy from the corner of my eye, who silently urged me to stop charming and start killing.

“But why?” the woman asked, and the look on her face was more painful to me than just about any look I’d ever seen cross a face. There was no beating, no breaking, no burning that would injure me the way this grieving mother’s perfectly reasonable question did. But I had no answer that seemed adequate.

“Because I’m a vampire,” I said, unable to read the flurry of words and feelings and rage in her mind.

“No!” she yelled in my face. “Don’t lie to me.”

Edward… Mercy’s thought broke through. She’s… a…

“You’re a witch,” I said. Her broken smile was all the confirmation I needed.

We are in deep trouble here, Edward. I’m taking the girl out in ten seconds, Mercy thought, her mind racing with anger and panic as she called out her inner killer. Ten… Nine… Eight…

“No,” I said, but before I could stop her, Mercy lunged at the witch’s daughter and put her in a hold, her arms wrapped around the girl’s waist, her mouth poised over her neck for the deadly kiss.

In the confusion, Mark let his grip around my neck ease slightly and that was all I needed. I knocked him and Timothy to the ground and grabbed Mercy just before she sank her teeth into the girl. Adam grabbed my neck but I kicked him in the gut and he staggered back, too close to the fire. A stray spark caught his jacket and in an instant he went up in flames, a plume of green and gray smoke and ash ascending.

“God damn it!” Allston cried as the rest of the Kaines closed in around us, alarmed and enraged by the sudden, surprising loss of one of their own. “Burn them! Now!”

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her!” Mercy cried. Mercy clung to the witch’s daughter, who didn’t bother to struggle against her. Somehow the girl already looked lifeless, resigned, her thoughts a swirl of grey fog. Unreadable, unknowable.

The witch towered over us, now twice her original size, her arms long and thin, her feet hovering inches off the ground. Her face was contorted in anguish and rage.  

“Come here, Jenna,” the witch commanded to the girl. “The vampire won’t hurt you. She’s a humanitarian. See the amber of her eyes? Don’t be afraid.”

Mercy bared her teeth and hissed and I stepped back from her, impressed at her display of aggression. I’d never seen Mercy as a real killer, not even back when I first met her and she still was one. It never seemed to fit her, but here she was, downright terrifying.

“Take Edward!” Allston commanded his coven, but Mercy put her lips to the girl’s neck and the witch’s eyes grew wide with fear.

“Stay where you are!” the witch cried.

Do it… the girl thought. Please just do it now…

“Let us go!” Mercy cried. “Or I’ll kill her right now.”

“I just want to understand, creature,” the witch said to me, her eyes softening as she faced her daughter, encircled in Mercy’s arms. “You are a humanitarian—why would you mark my son for death?”

“He’s a decree hunter from Boston,” Allston said. “He’s killed plenty of humans.”

“Reckoner?” the witch asked, her eyes wide now. “You’re the Reckoner?”

“I was,” I said.

“Then why my son?” she asked.

What the hell is that? The thought came from Timothy Kaine, who along with every other vampire there turned to look towards the woods, from where a wickedly sweet, pungent scent drifted, carried on a stiff breeze, cutting through the smoke billowing off the fire. Human blood. The scent was so overpowering I nearly reeled from it myself, and as it grew stronger every vampire there, even Allston, began to think of slaughtering and draining the human family who stood there unaware.

Where is the human blood scent coming from? Mercy thought. It’s making me dizzy… and this girl smells so good, Edward. So good…

“Give her to me,” I whispered, and pulled the girl from Mercy’s grasp. She didn’t even try to break free.

“Tell me!” the witch bellowed in our faces.

“Fine,” I yelled back. “I marked him because—”

“He was a rapist!” Rosalie’s voice finished my sentence with a ferocious howl tinged with the crackle of the fire it came from, not around us but within her, hot and vengeful. She, Carlisle, Emmett, Alice, Esme and Jasper all emerged from the tree line and with them, that overpowering scent of fresh human blood grew exponentially. They were covered in it. It was smeared on their faces, running from their mouths. Blood soaked their clothes, reflected blackly on their skins, and clotted in their hair like corruption on the scales of Medusa’s serpentine coils. Terrifying and glorious, and I couldn’t have been more grateful to see them, or more sorry as I knew the coming battle would be all our ruin.

You’re all dead, Edward, Allston thought. Every last Cullen.

“Holy mother of God,” Chief Reynolds whispered at the sight of them.

“So it was you?” the woman shouted at Rosalie, stared into her red eyes. “You killed him!”

“Yes, I did!” Rosalie cried. “And it was better than he deserved.”

The witch’s face contorted in agony. She tugged at her greying hair, and then cried, low mewling sounds that cut through my skull like a bandsaw. She pounded her own skull with her fists.

“You!” she cried, shaking her fist at her husband. “You could have stopped this!”

“How?” Chief Reynold’s was red in the face, his pulse pounding so loud in his chest I thought he might go into cardiac arrest any minute. “How could I stop a vampire from killing him?”

“Not the vampire, the boy, the boy,” she cried. “Jenna told you last year what happened, and you did nothing!”

Last year? I’d been telling you both for years how he used to come into my room at night… Why did you think I asked for a handgun when I turned thirteen? The young woman’s thoughts were a chilling arrow straight through the heart of my intentions, her eyes black and wide with rage. I tightened my arms around her.

“We offer a truce,” Carlisle said. “Let Edward and Mercy go and we’ll be done with this sad business.”

“Done with it?” the witch seethed and stepped into Carlisle’s face. She was taller than he now, her face graying and flickering in the light of the fire that began to burn higher, more intensely, slowly encroaching on where we all stood. It roared and sparks began to fly from the top, into the trees. The careful control that had kept the blaze contained there began to erode and it began to spread slowly across the field, towards the woods. “Do you think this is a grief I will ever be done with? Fool!”

“Should you suffer more losses then?” Carlisle asked, gesturing to her daughter and two other sons. “Can you kill us all before you lose another child?”

“I want that one!” she yelled, pointing at Rosalie. “Then I will have justice!”

“You will take no child of mine,” Carlisle said. “I don’t care what your grievance is.”

“Kill the Cullens! Now!”” Allston shouted. The Kaines flew towards us then, all but Timothy who in the flurry of movement tackled Chief Reynolds and bit him on the back of the neck. The man cried out and but was silenced quickly and twitched beneath Timothy’s pulsing body.  The kill caused several other Kaines to pause in their assault and debate whether to attack us or the remaining Reynolds family. Carlisle pulled Timothy from the ground and throttled him. In their struggle, Carlisle pushed him so hard, he stumbled back into the fire and then disappeared in a funnel of smoke. “Burn them!” Allston cried. “Burn them all!”

With the death of Timothy, the rest of Allston’s coven charged, fueled with hatred and fear as they came at us, bodies clashing, teeth gnashing into iron bones. Two females pulled at Alice’s arms and Mercy and Jasper dropped them while on the opposite side of the fire Emmett and Rosalie fought alongside Carlisle and Esme as they brawled with the other Kaines.

I let Jenna go and whispered “Run… run as far as you can. Into the forest…” because I was going to kill Allston. No matter what else happened, I wanted to be absolutely certain that motherfucker was dead when this was over. Jenna didn’t run, she just stepped to the side and then he came at me with teeth bared. I lunged at him and we collided in mid-air, Allston twisting so that he landed on top of me as we struck the ground. I felt his teeth on my neck, tearing at my throat.

I drove my left hand up under his jaw, pushing his head up and away from me. I used the momentum to roll back and throw him off of me. As I stood I saw the witch walk into the fire, right into it, but the flames didn’t touch her at all—they parted. She was surrounded by flame, licking at the hem of her skirt, dancing up her arms, encasing her like an aura, and then she walked back out, her arms stretched out in front of her. In them she held an orb of fire, the size of a cannon ball.

Emmett had just pulled two Kaines off Rosalie but they in turn managed to pin him to the ground next to her. I could see her neck was broken from the odd angle of her head where she lay on the forest floor. She was vulnerable, twitching as she waited for her neck to repair itself. The witch’s sons held her down and the witch carried the fire and held it out, right over where she lay.

“No!” I tried to yell but no sound came out.

“I am tired of your kind,” the witch said to Rosalie. “You think you have any right to kill my son? To justice? Look at you, lustful, soulless filth. You are no human--you will always be more foul than the most wretched human alive.”  

As she was about to drop the fire on Rosalie, Jenna threw herself protectively over her, and the witch faltered and stepped back from them. “Traitor!” she called, looming over, larger than even Emmett. “You would protect the monster who killed your own brother?”

“Killing her won’t erase what’s already done!” Jenna cried. “We should leave this place!”

Emmett broke free and tackled the witch at the knees. She fell to the ground and there was a sound like shattering glass as the ball of flame landed on her, just missing Emmett’s face. He leaped up and jumped away from the witch, back to Rosalie and Jenna. The witch rose, levitating as she had before, her legs hanging like cadavers from her long skirts, her mouth speaking some necromantic tongue, fingers tracing in the air. Fire began to roll off of her, cascading onto the ground. She began to turn, to spin, slowly at first and the fire spread out to the edge of the clearing where a tree caught fire, and then another. As the witch spun faster, five trees ignited at once and the flames began to leap from tree to tree. The witch’s sons carried Jenna off to the north, protected from the flames by some other unseen spell, running from the conflagration as the battle continued. Clearly under the witch’s control, the flames circled around, sealing our escape. “You will all die here!” she shrieked. “Burn in hell, where you will never end and never begin again!” And then she stepped through the flames as they closed off any chance we had of running to the north. We were surrounded.

“What do we do, Alice? What do we do?” Rosalie shouted.

“I can’t see,” said Alice. “I don’t know.”

In a panic, Mark tried to run through a section of flame that was no higher than our knees, but as soon as he touched it, he went up in a flash like dry tinder, and was gone a moment later into ash and smoke. All the vampires, Kaines, Cullens and all, huddled in the middle of the field looking for some way out.

“Look what you’ve done!” Allston roared. “Mercy, can’t you do something? A counter-spell for the fire?”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t practiced magic in a century!” she cried. “You brought this on all of us, you ass! You trusted a witch and thought she wouldn’t turn on you? Fool, fool, fool!”

“I’ll at least have the satisfaction of watching you die first!” He said and came at me again. He caught my head and the force of the blow was disorienting. I heard scraping and felt my neck tear where he had bitten me. He was separating my head from my body.

Carlisle and Emmett pulled Allston off of me, kicking and struggling while the remaining Kaines stood by watching, apparently having lost the will to fight. Esme and Rosalie grabbed Allston by the legs and I felt Alice and Mercy pull me to my feet, drag me away from the encroaching line of flames. Then Carlisle himself, the pacifist, charged at Allston and the two of them tumbled into the line of flame.

I wanted to shout but I still couldn’t speak. We watched, horrified as we were certain Carlisle was about to burn right along with Allston, but instead he fell on top of him and for just a second, the fiery fence opened. A tongue of flame caught Allston’s sleeve and his arm caught fire. Carlisle jumped back just before the fire could touch him and a moment later Allston was nothing but a tower of black flame. Another moment and he was gone. I was too awed to be disappointed I hadn’t killed Allston myself.

The fire burned higher, brighter, spreading into the forest in a boil of smoke and blue and red flame. We were all dead, I was sure of it. There was nothing to be done. As my family huddled there in the center of the fire, there was so much I wanted to say to each of them but with my neck still healing, I still couldn’t speak. I wanted to tell them how sorry I was, how much each and every one of them meant to me. How they made life worth living and how I would have done anything to keep them out of harm’s way. How with everything I mistakenly thought I’d lost, in that final moment I realized what I’d had all along but couldn’t see—and it was each and every one of them. How badly I wanted to thank Mercy especially for her loyalty and her trust and how sorry I was then I’d never loved her the way she truly deserved.

I felt my vocal cords knit back together. I was about to open my mouth and say it all while I still could. But then I couldn’t speak because right there in the moment when I could least stand to see it, I saw her—the woman I’d loved and lost. I must be dying, I thought. This must be the end, because this vision was more tangible, more real, more vivid than any other I’d ever had of her. Her face was so close I could almost touch it.

Good bye, Edward. Mercy turned and gave me a pained, hopeless look.

“Mercy…” I whispered as I reached for her. She took my hand and squeezed it tight and I pulled her into an embrace and we both fell quiet inside.

I’m sorry, Edward. This is my fault. Thank you for trying to save me. Rosalie clung to Emmett, and all Emmett could think was, Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Jasper held tightly onto Alice and was sending out all of the soothing, loving energy he had left in him and I’m sure it helped because after Carlisle and Esme shared a final kiss, Esme reached a hand out to me.


“At least we’re all together,” she  said. “We still have each other.”

“Right,” I said. “No one can ever take that from us.”

Not even you, Edward, Carlisle thought. I’m glad you know it now.

“Carlisle…” I started, but then realized I had no idea how to finish.

His hand clasped on my shoulder and squeezed as I looked away. I love you too, son, he said.

We all moved closer, our heads touching, our arms linked together and our backs to the flame. The heat began to sear and I just prayed for a quick death for all of us. The roar grew louder, and louder, and then it didn’t sound like a fire at all, but a real roar. A terrifying, angry roar. I looked up and turned my head and then he was there—the great white bear, Midor, on his hind legs, bellowing up into the sky and clawing at some invisible opponent in the air. The fire had stopped its approach and was burning out in a ring around us.

Cold, heavy rain began to fall--a soaking torrent, drenching the trees and the ground and what was left of the fire. The stench of wet, burnt vegetation and ash choked us. Just beyond Midor was a troop of enormous black bears, possibly thirty in all. They began to roar, too, and approached us with terrifying, aggressive faces, teeth showing and haunches flexed. They were disturbed by all the blood that my family wore, that trick that had caused the Kaines so much confusion. They thought they’d slaughtered humans. They were shape shifters—how could they know Carlisle had taken the blood from the hospital?

“Run!” Carlisle commanded. “To Reckoner!”
~~~


And they're off! See you all next time, lovers.

Open Letter to the Old Man Moaning on the Train

Dear Mr. Moany McMoanfuck:

This morning started out like most mornings - I woke up late as fuck, rushed to shower and get ready and screamed profanities at all the cars in front of us on the way to the station because what the fuck why are you driving so SLOW??? while ML kept making sure the windows were rolled up.

 What the universe tells me. Every day.

Then I raced up the stairs to the train platform-- which is really more me stumbling up the stairs trying not have a stroke because I'm out of shape and drink too much-- before leaping throwing myself bodily onto the train just as the doors shut. Like a delicate flower. Or a bag of bricks. One of those.

Honestly? By the time I flopped into a seat and tried to catch my breath, I was pretty much done with the day and I'd only been up for 40 minutes. Which explains why I forgot my number one Rule of Goddamn Commuting.

Put in earbuds and turn on iPod. Immediately.

 I nicknamed mine "this is the only reason I haven't fucking strangled someone during my commute"...

So there I was, sans musical goodness piping into my ears, sitting on the train and trying not to blind myself with my eyeliner pencil when I heard you.

Moaning. Grunting. At first I thought perhaps you were in pain but... you sounded quite the opposite, if I do say so myself.

Now, I've heard lots of things on those rusting shit-boxes of transportation before but never did it sound like someone was shooting a porno in the seat behind me. Soap operas, yes. Porn? Not so much.

For the first two minutes, I kind of just sat there, one eye done all purty, making me look like Alex from A Clockwork Orange, but less ultra-violent and rape-y and more exhausted and perturbed. Because for the first time in a long time, I didn't know what to do.

 To be honest, I think my facial expression on a daily basis is very similar to his...

Do I turn around and confront you? I'll admit it was my first thought -- to indignantly stand up and lambast you for your pornographic behavior (because honestly, it sounded like you were fucking someone, albeit somewhat quietly) but I was afraid I was going to come face to one-eye with your penis and I've already seen a penis on public transportation and I'm still scarred from it.

Do I tell a trusted adult? Well, frankly, I trust my fellow commuters about as far as I can throw them, though I did tell an entire car full of them a few years ago about the guy sitting next to me who kept dropping his hand on my thigh under the guise of sleeping and that took care of the problem right quick. But what am I going to say? "Hey conductor, I think the guy behind me is jerking his purple-headed monster. Can you go look?"

 That's what happens to masturbators, mister!! Go jerk off in the train station bathroom like everybody else!!

No, that wouldn't do. So instead, I just sat there like a fucking jackass, listening to you mewl and grunt because I just couldn't bring myself to look. Thankfully, you stopped after about 10 minutes and I turned on my iPod and fell asleep.

But I totally saw you when you got off the train in New York, Mr. Moany McMoanfuck. You, with liver spots and salt & pepper hair, in your crisp fancy-man grey suit. I was the one in pigtails who was looking at you like you just took a shit in the aisle, by the way.

Here's the thing - all day long, I've been wondering just what the fuck you were doing behind me for ten minutes that made you so ecstatic with pleasure you were goddamn moaning and groaning on a public train.

Were you really fapping back there? If so, gross to the Nth degree, dude. Or maybe you were deep throating a particularly savory banana? Does doing a crossword puzzle get you off? Were you learning an alien language that sounds exactly like moans of ecstasy? Or perhaps you were watching an episode of Downton Abbey, because apparently everyone is orgasming over that show.

I just don't know. It's probably better that I don't.

At any rate, I hope you cleaned up after yourself.  And I memorized both the car number and the row you were in.

That seat is dead to me now, thanks to you.

No love,
Jenny Jerkface

Sending out the Twi-Signal!

Hello!

We need your help...

Don't worry - we're not asking for money to pay someone to track down RPatts for us. Or for anything else (although if we DID have an opportunity to procure ourselves an RPatts, we would of course expect your financial support).

We need something more important - your creativity, your ideas, your suggestions.

There's no easy way to say this if you haven't already thought this through, so I am just going to rip this muther humping BandAid off right now: we can't be Twitarded forever.

 Don't pout! We're not going anywhere (like it or not).

I mean, sure, we'll always be Twitarded - Twitards are forever! - but blogging only under this name can't go on forever. It's possible one or two of you might have even noticed that we don't blog exclusively about Twilight, Robert Pattinson, or Jenny Jerkface's BMs anymore.

But we would never abandon this ship...

...or this one. {{{sniff}}}

In our usual style, we haven't really quite figured out how this will work. Not that anyone is going to panic, but we have no plans to shut down this blog. It's been an amazing ride and we're not ready to hand in the keys to the Twimobile just yet. But we do want to start a new site.

As you might expect, we've been talking about this for a while without doing anything about it. But we need to make this shit GO. Because we've bandied approximately 3,247,367 potential names back and forth since we started talking about it, and nothing has stuck so far. But I am obsessed. I even drove home tonight with my radio off so that I could think about blog names while sloooowly trudging my way up Route 1. And I NEVER ever EVER drive without the radio on. I love music, I love news, and I hate hearing any noise my engine might be making (if it gets loud enough to be heard above the radio, I'll deal with it).

This is where you come in! We would love to hear your suggestions for a new blog/website name.

Because frankly we are going to kill each other if someone doesn't come up with something that we can all agree on soon-ish.

Here's the tricky part: no profanity (put away your Creative Cursing books and close your Profanity Candy app for the time being) - so we won't be starting the Twat Waffle blog (I know - this makes me sad, too). We'd like it to be something that isn't going to get us bloggy blacklisted right from the get-go. Don't worry - we'll earn that right later... Preferably, it should be something that isn't too long, can be spelled by slightly drunk people, and would look good on a tee shirt (I want a tee shirt and we haven't even named the damn thing yet). Also, it can't be one of the 97 kabillion blog names that are already taken by people who wrote one lame three-sentence post in 2001. Thanks, Blogger and Wordpress, for allowing a name to be taken forever even if it's inactive for over a decade. Great system you have there...

Aaaaand GO!

P.S. If we pick your name, we'll send you...something awesome. I have no idea what, but you'll like it. Probably.

My House Might Kill Me

Because having a newborn on top of my usual hectic schedule left me with too much time in my day, we decided to move in the middle of all of this. And not just move, but buy a house that needed to be renovated. We roll hard.

We've always bought new houses in the past, so this was an adventure for us. Did I say 'adventure?' I meant 'soul-sucking nightmare.' The prior owners seemed to have (A) never cleaned anything ever, ever, ever, (B) had daily mixed martial arts fights in every room, and (C) painted every wall to look like a circus tent on acid. I don't want to give too much detail on the house because we found a bunch of Twilight paraphernalia squirreled away in the most unusual places and I fear the prior owners read this blog. The last thing I need is for me to talk shit about someone who knows where I live. That whore Jenny Jerkface excluded.

A few weeks after being cut open and having a person removed from me, I was at the new house (with a lovely case of the flu) gathering trash, priming walls, beating down cobwebs the size of Rhode Island, and coughing up a lung. I've taken to watching old episodes of Hoarders to see if my house was ever featured. We paid a professional to remove all the trash (and I can assure you this was NOT another man's treasure) and it took his crew three trips. The garage was waist-deep with just stuff from the attic.

 

Not my house, but every room looked similar to this. Coincidentally, this is exactly what the inside of my stomach looks like. (Whataburger and Shipleys? These peeps are totally from The South.)

We cleaned up some of the overgrown yard (Seriously, nature had reclaimed this place.) and found a wheelbarrow in the weeds. A motherfucking wheelbarrow! Every time we would think we had a handle on the trash, we'd open another closet or cabinet and find more. I swear it was reproducing in the dark. The kitchen was a whole new level of OHMAHGAWD!  Literally hundreds of magazines were squirreled away in the cabinets. Did you know Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston divorced? If not, I can lend you some tabloids and you can read about it like it's 2005. Better yet, if you're worried about Y2K, I can hook you up with some handy preparedness articles. Now I just feel stupid for keeping plates and glasses in the cabinets all these years.

 This is pretty much what my kitchen looked like after I cleared out all the cabinets, except with a few inches of dust on top. *wheeze*

I seriously can not talk about the master bath. I'll just say that I have used an entire bottle each of Soft Scrub, Comet, and Kaboom in the shower and it's still pretty frightening in there. We've had a ton of work done on the house, but there's still so much left to do. I think we've single-handedly bumped a couple of plumbers and electricians into a higher tax bracket.

We're still not done unpacking because we have to demolish part of each room, decontaminate it, and paint it before we can use it. I feel a little bit like the canary in the coal mines and I keep expecting to kick the bucket any day now. Speaking of kicking the bucket, my washer and dryer did.  Yay me! Money that was set aside to replace kitchen appliances went into buying a shiny new washer and dryer. It was either that or trade in my La Perla panties for Brawny and Scotch tape. I really considered going with the latter, but I have three other people in the house and one of them spends most of their day peeing, pooping, and spitting up. But enough about Mr. TK.

These are all attributes I admire in a good pair of underpants. 

If I don't knock down this house in a fit of rage one day, these little bastards will. Meet the new cats we adopted.

She doesn't come out much, so this is the best photo I could get. This is Echo. In the background is the leather bean bag she peed on. Could've done without that. 

This is Persephone. They are named after a goddess and a nymph, but they are bitches. Bitches who owe us a couch now. And a bean bag.

I really do like the house and it will be beautiful when we finish renovating it. I just hope I can survive the renovation. Please make me feel better and tell me you have similar housing stories. Please.

PSA: When Vodka and Ice Don't Mix!

It's true. As much as we love our vodka and whatever in a tall glass of ice, there are times when the two just don't mix. I found it hard to believe myself. I gasped, actually. If vodka and ice are a dangerous combination, how does that bode for the future of our cocktails? I'm distressed at the thought.

A match made in heaven... It started with a video I recently found on the Huffington Post twitter account. The absurdness of the some of the stories on this website... it's nearly unbelievable. So if I never saw the video proof to back this story, I would never have believed it.

A feller from Norway recently documented the effects of drinking vodka and ice skating. Now I love ice skating and I like to think I'm actually pretty good at it. But the thought of trying to balance myself on two slivers of steel while guzzling the goofy juice is a feat that would most surely end with a serious injury. I know walking is a chore for me when intoxicated.

Take a looksy and see what I mean... although I will warn you, there are some pretty cringe-worthy parts to this vid. This guy is pure nucking futs!

   

Now let's review. I have a few fears that revolve around thin ice. One - falling through (me and water aren't that close) and two - falling through and getting swept under the ice away from the hole. That's the shit my nightmares are made of. I get seriously claustrophobic just imagining it.

Also, you know when you stick your tongue on a metal pole and it sticks (think the kid in A Christmas Story)? How the hell does this guy slide nekkid on the ice without it ripping a layer of skin off his body? Maybe the vodka has lubed him up enough?

Let's discuss the sheer ridiculousness of this guy in the comments. Seriously? Is there anything in this video you see yourself doing? Come on... I triple dog dare you.

When Fashion Trends Go Very, Very Wrong

I'm a people watcher. Nothing fascinates (or enrages) me more than humans. Of course, New York City is absolutely perfect for people-watching and is packed to the gills with Everyday Joes, Beautiful People, Freaks, Geeks and the Bottom of the Barrel. And then some.

Since I'm surrounded by such a large demographic, it becomes pretty clear which people are following fashion trends and which people are wearing newspapers because they're homeless and cold, not because they're trying to be ironic.

Most of the fashion trends are pretty innocuous or innocent. I'm convinced that other trends were developed just to see how willing Americans are to go along with something totally retarded because "it's cool" or "in". Like rompers. The person who thought that rompers would look good on anyone over the age of four needs to be pummeled. Repeatedly.

I heard next year they're going to try to bring feety-pajamas to the forefront of edgy fashion.

Over the past few months, I began to notice that people were wearing something that should never, ever be worn. It is the ultimate symbol of extreme social awkwardness. It's tacky, dorky (in a bad way), unflattering and just... stupid.

Naturally, the hipsters appear to be embracing it as some kind of new ironic fashion statement.

Hispters. Needing a nutpunch since... whenever they became a species.

It's the goddamn Fanny Pack.

 Huh. There are a lot of similarities between this pic and the one above. Maybe this guy is the original hipster... 

When I first saw some chick wearing one, I thought maybe she lost a bet and that was her punishment. But then I began to seeing them everywhere. Not a lot, mind you, but enough that I was worried that the Fanny Pack might be trying to wheedle it's way into popular fashion. To be sure, I headed straight to the Hipster Uniform Website. If they weren't selling Fanny Packs, then we were safe.

We're not safe.

As if it wasn't bad enough, these manufacturers are now making Fanny Packs with fringes or studs. I don't care what you do with it - tie-dye it, crochet it, put a fucking bird on it - it's still a Fanny Pack.

 Oh, those studs and fringes make this Fanny Pack so cool. And by "cool" I mean "bring me some gasoline because I want to light this on fire".

Just... no.

Part of me understands that the functionality of a Fanny Pack is good. I get that it's easy to strap one on and have your phone/wallet/Metamucel within quick reach but... they're just SO... not cool. When I hear the phrase "Fanny Pack" I imagine some hapless tourist with shorts pulled up to his nipples, socks and sandals, wandering around some big foreign city, his Fanny Pack a beacon for all the muggers around. I just can't help it. It was never a good look, not even in the 80's (unless you're reading this and use a Fanny Pack. Then you looking FUCKING HOT).  But whenever I see someone wearing one, my first thought is "that dude/chick is never getting laid. Ever."

 This man decided he wanted a splash of color on his chastity belt...

So, level with me, readers. Are Fanny Packs dorky? Is it time to give them a second chance? Am I just an asshole or should we form an Anti-Fanny Pack society?