My Mom is a Big Damn Hero

I'm a huge geek. Seriously. You're not surprised, right? Come on, I've got a cribbed Joss Whedon Firefly line in the header of this post. I love stories of overcoming adversity and aliens exposing the underlying truths of humanity and crazy superpowers and knights and wizards and all that jazz, and I can fangirl out at the drop of the hat for oh... anything. (Seriously. I got followed by @ConfusedCap, a fictional twitter account for Captain America, and I felt like a superstar.) My fandoms are as wide as the great expanse of space (including the uncharted Delta quadrant), and my shame at my enthusiastic love of most all things geeks is practically nonexistent. (I say practically, because parts of 4chan straight up scare me.)

I come by geekery honestly, though. My mom started my two brothers and me on Star Trek, musicals, crafting our dreams and reading classic novels before we grew out of the stage where everything is amazing, and as a result none of us ever really grew out of that stage. We never struggled with the suspension of disbelief, because the stories of overcoming ridiculous odds and generally being a hero never seemed too out of reach - we had an example right in front of us.

My mother is my hero.

Okay, she can be a geek at times as well.

She dropped out of college and worked various crap jobs (some literally crap jobs, she was a zookeeper at the Birmingham Zoo) and married the man of her dreams who had also dropped out of college and forged a life where their marriage could grow their faith as they provided for three kids on a one-kid budget and kept them all healthy and happy and fed, pushing through depression, going back and getting her degree as her youngest 2 graduated high school (twins, remember?) because she was writing curriculum for the field she was in, and they thought since she was creating the classes she should probably have graduated from them.

My mother should be your hero too.

She was the first (and was the only for most of her career) female fire fighter in Mountain Brook and saved lives and fought fires for over 25 years before retiring with the rank of Lieutenant. She was also an EMT and in her spare time joined DMAT (Disaster Medical Assistance Team), a volunteer-organized and led division of FEMA that responded primarily to natural disasters. I say primarily, because in September of 2001 she and her team AL-1 (Alabama Team One) deployed to ground zero. She was team captain of 13 fellow medical volunteers who treated the workers coming off of the pile. The workers digging through the rubble of the trade centers knew that the AL team would do their best to patch up any injuries and send them right back out there. People would duct-tape wounds shut out of fear of being pulled from their work and wait for her team's shift to start because they knew they'd only be taken from their duty if there was no alternative.

This was taken two weeks after impact.

Mom dealt with the crushing stress of working at ground zero with aplomb, sweet tea and the aid of her Toy Story Sheriff Woody doll. She came back with pins from the other DMAT teams from all over the states and the obligation to share her story with her home state. Luckily, Mom's skill at story-telling, well-honed from coming to my kindergarten class and reading The Highwayman and telling zoo stories and firefighting stories at bedtime, was well up to the task of expressing the horror and hope found in New York.

I was in middle school - I wasn't even really sure what the world trade centers were, and when I saw it on TV before the faculty were ordered to shut off the news and explain to the kids, I honestly thought the buildings being shown were somewhere in Japan or something. It was a shock to realize safety can be an illusion, even as far away from the more iconic cities as Alabama is. I don't remember much of her being away. I'm pretty sure she called us a few times - I know she at least called Dad, because our family is her favorite touchstone of support. I do remember waiting in the airport for her to arrive home and having a news crew there.

Of course, four years later she'd do it all again in the NOLA airport after Hurricane Katrina - I do remember her calling home from there, since the phrase "If you hear about a medic that's been stabbed, don't worry, it wasn't me" was in the conversation. She brought back a cat from that one.

My mom has been my hero since before I could express myself in writing. My dad too, actually. She's my hero for reasons that don't really have anything to do with what she's accomplished, but more with how she operates and works with her gifts and around her own flaws and just is generally amazing. The rest of the stuff just makes it easier to force other people to recognize and feel even a bit of the awe she can inspire.

So yeah, to further crib from Whedon, I believe in heroes. It's an old-fashioned notion, but not hard to do.

Because my mom is a big damn hero.

Explanation Post

So here's the deal. My mom is going through chemo for breast cancer. It happens. I found out about it on the car trip back to Alabama from Atlanta after being on a plane and stuck in an airport with people who I'd been exposed to for a solid week in Costa Rica doing church with, so I didn't take it well.

And I absolutely dislike when practical strangers force advice, condolences or support upon me regarding this subject. I'm dealing with it, my mom's dealing with it, you don't really give a crap so don't make me pretend to appreciate you. She ain't dying, I'm not her facebook, don't ask me for status updates.

And that kind of sums up my attitude on the whole thing. I felt this more strongly right at the outset in June, but I still don't want to deal with people about it.

BUT, it's kind of affecting everything I write, and my mom is basically my hero so I'm going to be gushing about her coping methods and I don't want to have to preface every awesome blog post about her Ugly Doll O'icks and his scrubs or the better non-pain scale with an explanation post. Also some drafts I've been working on are being hooked into this (especially my write-up of the trip to Costa Rica), so again, easy and (relatively) short write-up of exposition.

Sorry to be a Debbie Downer, vast and vaguely anonymous uncaring internets.

Ode to Missing Camera Charger - Balcony scene (Proof that my English Major ain't been in vain for nothin')

I originally wrote this in a Facebook note on Sept 1, 2011 in a fit of pique while trying to find my video camera charger. It's been a while since I updated the blog, and I found the note again while trolling my own profile (like you do), so I thought I'd share with the world, 'cause honestly it still tickles me. Of course, what's ironic is that this isn't an ode.

Me:
O Camera Charger, Camera Charger, wherefore art thou Camera Charger?
Deny thy maker and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but double in function,
And I’ll no longer buy batteries.

Camera Charger:
[Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I appear at this?

Me:
‘Tis but thy monofunctionality that is my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not a DC charger.
What’s DC? It is nor plug nor cable,
Nor port nor adaptor, nor any other part
Belonging to a charger. O be some other charger!
What’s in a charger? That which we call a USB charger
By any other word would work with my laptop;
So Camera Charger would, were he not Camera Charger call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Camera Charger, doff thy DC port,
And for thy DC port, which is a useless addition to a camera that has a USB connector already,
Take all my camera.

I was a childhood conman.

I was told to "blog something, FCOL" by my dad. Once I determined that FCOL wasn't something I should feel insulted at, I dug this gem out. I've been working on it a while, but I really don't have anywhere to go with it.

I am not a very interesting person, from a fictional standpoint. I mean, I can be occasionally pithy, and I do like to do things like wear wigs and sing spontaneous choral pieces (when enough friends of a similar mind and intoxication level are present), but I'd be straight-up screwed if I were a character in a novel. I have a very supportive middle-class white family with strong morals that would love me even if I ran away, shot up a butt-ton of meth-laced fruit loops, got pregnant and tattooed, cut off a toe in a drug-induced paranoid high, changed my name to Sunshyne, and became a lesbian hipster who ate other people's pets. Now that's love, people. Hipsters aren't generally accepted.

Image from LATFH

Part of that might have to do with the fact that I already have a tattoo, my mom apparently did drugs and went by Sunshyne in college (when she was a hippie backup singer), and my dad just REALLY REALLY wants grandkids, but most of it is love.

Anyway, back to the point - I'm not tragic enough to even rate a last name in a fictional adventure. I not only know my birth parents (and having a twin brother kind of makes it impossible to pretend I was adopted), but my mom's incredibly detailed genealogy projects mean I can trace my ancestry back 4 or 5 generations on my dad's side, and all the way back to the time of Columbus on my mom's side (His name was Samson Mason. He was a pioneer of justice and equality in a time of general raping and pillaging. Actually, I have no idea 'cause records aren't that detailed. His name was Samson, though, which seems a bit ill-fated to name your child since the dude started out blood-thirsty and donkey-abusing and ended up blind, bald, and in a bad BDSM situation after an interim of sex with heathens. Which actually, Samson Mason was around when the Native American nations were being universally labelled as "heathens" in a stunning display of ethnocentrism, so that kind of pans out if he's the side I get that 1/50th Cherokee blood from.). Also, I don't have superpowers that I know of. (Go waaay back to the beginning of that last parenthetical. It's a list of what I don't have, remember?)


I'm not particularly filled with angst, I don't suffer from anything other than the standard fits of depression that don't seem serious enough for medication since I'm still in the "college" age-bracket and that apparently is normal, and nothing particularly life-shattering has happened to me yet.

So basically, I'm a bit boring.

Oops

PERSON (leaving at 3:30): I'm out for the day.
ME: Lucky.
PERSON: It's for a visitation.
ME: ... Less lucky.
PERSON: uh... yeeeah.

Awkward.

Speak Friend and Enter Doormat - Step 1

This doormat is gonna freaking happen. First step is (as usual) getting references and deciding layout.

Using google-fu and thanks to a helpful yahoo answers entry, I found both the actual Tengwar characters of the Sindarin in an easy to decipher format as well as a great, clear jpg of the actual gate of Moria from the LOTR book.

Found at http://www.anarda.net/tolkien/moria_gate.jpg

This is gorgeous. It's also the wrong orientation for a landscape-style doormat. I figure I have a couple options: I could get a doormat that's the standard rectangle and slap this in the middle, I could mess with the Tolkein illustration to fill up the doormat in the proper orientation, or I could chop off the top of the graphic and smack it on a half-circle style doormat.

OR I could just put the Tengwar characters for pedo mellon a minno all fancy-like and have "Speak friend and enter" in dramatic allcaps across the bottom. I'm doing lots of crappy little thumbnails. I think what I'm going to have to do is (once I am no longer at work) go and make stencils of each element that I may want to include and just juggle them around manually to see what I like the look of best.

At this point, it's still only a model. But honestly, I kind of forgot I was planning on doing this... which is why it's taking so long. In other words, any progress is... at least progress, right?

Flammable Giraffes - It's How I Roll

I bought some stuff for my mom today from Perpetual Kid. I took the customer note box as a personal challenge.

This is a totally true story. Unless it isn't, in which case I was lied to.

I told my brother to put it on Reddit and make me famous.

Now I'm just waiting on the internet fame to start rolling in.

UPDATE: I took so long to write it in, they made me redo the whole order process. So I did.

This is, unfortunately, also true.

UPDATE 2: http://www.reddit.com/r/funny/comments/t3l1i/my_sister_bought_a_mothers_day_gift_online_and/
your turn, internet.

UPDATE 3:
I just got my stuff delivered, and attached to the packing list was the print out of my note:

Crappy photo brought to you by crappy camera phone! Filling all of your slightly blurry, dark photo needs!

S/he liked it! Made the whole thing worth it.

Chats with Dad

I read "Let's Pretend this Never Happened" by Jenny Lawson this last weekend, then started mainlining her blog (I'm on page 61 of the "previous posts").

So basically, I'm regurgitating her writing style as well as feeling pseudo-guilty that I never write blog posts frequently enough and at that point where it's like "no one's gonna read this anyway," so I thought I'd post random snippets of conversation with my dad.

From this morning:

Fishing: you're doing it wrong

From not this morning: 
me: Quick, give me a biscuit pun

 Daddy!: you are half baked

  i never have enough dough

don't get in a jam

  you'er toast

  you're

  moms

 me: your mom's face is toast

  thanks
This is how I found out my big brother was engaged: 

Daddy!: Oh yea

  U see ace is engaged

 me: I found out after patrick

8:10 PM Daddy!: Of sourse he's a douchbag

 me: I found out because patrick posted Congrats to your brother, and good luck being the only sibling not married.

  douche

  but i'm not really sure where my phone is

8:11 PM so if you call me a couple times i'll pretend i was tried to be informed before all of facebook

 Daddy!: Oh tay

 me: maybe a text too

  that's not from twitter

  and if you really want to be extravagant, a snail mail letter

 Daddy!: Want me z2 call ur phone?

 me: maybe some sky writing

8:12 PM nah

  i don't have it with me i'm pretty sure

  and i'm listening to live music

  it'd be a bit rude if it went off

 Daddy!: Calling 7 now

 me: 7?

  I'm 7?

  what??

  that's it, i'm changin your nmber to 3

  mom's now 2

8:13 PM I seriously have no idea where it is

  maybe it's in my bedroom

  ...

 Daddy!: I just called u
Conclusion: I love my dad, and I can't figure out the formatting tab to save my life. (why you no left-align, post? v.v)

It's not like it's pink-eye, right?

A conversation with my dad from earlier this week: me: yo

  u there?

 Daddy!: yes

 me: Did mom feel sickly last night?

 Daddy!: no did you?

 me: ... yus.

 Daddy!: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

9:31 AM me: i think i may have eaten some expired chicken for dinner.

 Daddy!: u at home?

 me: no

 Daddy!: Tazikis?>

 me: no

  that was lunch

  though it doesn't look near as good 10 hours later.

  :D

 Daddy!: did you blow chunks?

 me: indeed

9:32 AM it was gross

 Daddy!: nice

  i hate3 it

  hat3

 me: yeah

  but at that point, I was too nauseous to sleep

 Daddy!: not as3om3sauc3

 me: so I was kind of glad

  at what point do you know it's okay to go home sick as a grown-up?

 Daddy!: last time I was sick it was after Behold

 me: i know.

  I heard

9:33 AM Daddy!: u have sick leave use it

 me: this is true.

  but I'm not like, impaired

  and I'm not exactly pukey mcpukerton

 Daddy!: 'cept mentally

 me: thx

  i just don't want to eat anything ever again

 Daddy!: good plan

 me: and i have a weird headache that makes it hard to focus

9:34 AM Daddy!: go home, dummy

 me: ooo

  but if i hold out till 11 I'll only use a half-day

 Daddy!: and possible infect the entire office

 me: I don't think it's that kind of sick, i really don't

 Daddy!: take a vote at work

 me: pretty sure it's straight up "whatchu eat, willis?"

9:35 AM i thought i was having a migraine last night

  then it was like, OH WAIT

  bluuurg

  all better

 Daddy!: maybe it was bad comedy

 me: mebbe

9:36 AM Daddy!: steve Martin had a quote

 me: we had a steve martin movie clip at church sunday

 Daddy!: Comedy is the art of making people laugh without making them puke.

9:39 AM goota go -puke ya later

 me: thanks

  puke you later too. :/
I really don't know when it's okay to leave. When I was a kid, I'd get migraines during math tests, and my mom would be like, "Honey, I know you don't feel good, but I'm fighting fires right now and I cannot come to get you. Just do your best, okay?"
So I feel like I need parental approval to go home. Unless it's strep. Vague bad feelings? no idea on what the go-home point is. Being grown-up is hard. This is like the worst post ever. But don't blame me, I was sick on Monday ('cause that totally justifies this).

Cosplay update - Mockingjay

Let me start off by saying I'm not a furry.

This is important, because I want to cosplay as a bird. But I'm NOT A FURRY. No offense to the furry crowd, but that's not how I roll.

So I dressed as Puss-in-boots once... still not a furry.

I was thinking of dressing as a mockingjay, the offspring of mockingbirds and genetically engineered bluejays called jabberjays from The Hunger Games. I do NOT want to dress as Katniss in her mockingjay costume, or anything like that - though I may be able to get away with it, since I have similar coloring to the actress who played her in the recent movie. I just have always loved mockingbirds (they're everywhere here) for their attitude and abilities, and thought it'd be cool.

I'm still waaaaaay in the beginning stages of the project, though. I've found some pretty good reference images around the net, as well as an incredible lifelike wing tutorial and lady model template for designing the costume on deviantart.

inked by Dualmask

I also have got my hands on some Wonderflex to play with and I'm on the hunt for some liquid latex. I'm thinking some feather patterns on exposed skin using the latex and some body paint. A note on the Wonderflex - I ordered a sample sheet from Dani's Cosplay supplies and it arrived pretty quickly (in fact, it shipped less than 6 hours after ordering), but I had some unforseen problems. Nothing that could be blamed on the supplier; I just forgot that it's "spring" here in the South. Wonderflex is wonderful because it's easy to work with using heat, and 80 degree weather combined with the back of a mail truck equals partially worked Wonderflex. It bonded slightly to the envelope it arrived in. Obnoxious, but something I can work with.

To sum up, I'm concepting like a crazy person, but I'm not expecting this particular costume to be ready for Dragon*Con 2012.

Lent and other dryer problems

I'm a Methodist, right?

Not that that's a question, but I'm trying to break away from any decent kind of writing style and descend completely into my new stereotype as a friendly, but none-too-bright girl that seems to go along with "receptionist." (Not my coworkers, who know better, but just about anyone who asks me what I do for a living follows it up with "you know, folks like you tend to run the place, oh hohoho," while mentally dialing down my mental acuity.)

Anyway, pulling away from my misplaced defensiveness, I'm a Methodist. Among a variety of other things, this means I have the option of practicing Lent, a church "season" that takes place for the 40 days before Easter (not counting Sundays... so it's actually like 45 days). The idea is that you can choose to give up something for the duration, a kind of self-reminder of Jesus giving up his life combined with the 40 days he spent in the desert resisting temptation by the devil. 

Most of the time, people give up stuff like pizza or soda, and spend the whole time lamenting the loss of their pizza and deliciously fizzy drinks.

Drunk Blogging - the commentary

(blog post begun in December 2011)
Often I feel the urge to caustically comment on things I find in public forums - say, the incredibly stupid teenager-y comments put up by the kids I'm friends with from church (I swear to Bob, the chain status updates just never stop), the heartfelt messages with blatant typos, y'know, stuff that basically would make me a douche for actually putting down what I think in the permanent ink of the internet. A lot of the time, this doesn't really stop me. But then I feel guilty.

So I figured, heck, why not really let myself lose on the one person I'd never feel bad about maligning - Drunk!Me (come on, she's just begging for it).

So here's running commentary on my Thursday night drinking blog (it took me until today to really recover from that anyway). Drunk blog is in red, sober commentary is in black.

The Doormat Riddle - Challenge

This is a travesty.

There are apparently no such things as doormats with "Speak friend and enter" on them. Neither in English, nor in Elvish.

Underwear, yes. Doormat? INCONCEIVABLE! 

This must be corrected.

This WILL BE corrected. I'll be doing this at some point in the near(ish) future.

YEah, I'm drunk blogging

Shut up, it makes awesome sense.

My friend who runs Macabre Mansion is bitching about me never writing a review for the website I'm supposedly "sci-fi editor" of, so in retaliation I will write a review while slowly getting mroe and morre drunk off of red wine. an important thing to know is I've already had a full glass and 2/3 of a 750ml bottle of red wine.

So, this is my review of "Moby DIck: 2000"

Firs,t I need to actulally watch it. hold on.

screw that, I'm watching Adam off myth-busters talk about failure. I lvoe it too much to stop it, even though he's in the Q&A section. Which I guess proves my friend's point about not reviewing.

Fuggetaboutit.

Here's why I like Adam... whatever his last name is.  ^.^

He has twins. I am a twin. (twin WIN)

He's nice and not nearly as scary as Jamie (non-Cthulu beard WIN).

I met him all too briefly at D*C 2010 (He signed my Zombie shoe) I have a 3 second video, but come on, I'm blogging drunk. don't expect an upload at this pint~ ha! point. (MEETWIN)

I feel like if i send him this blog post via twitter, he'd actually read it. (crap. now i'm gonna do this)

HE's alright about talking about failure in a very real sense, and I'm so sure of failure in my life that I can really identify. plus, he's just really accessible to his fans without being creepily pandering, if that makes sense. I feel like I could buy him a drink if ever he came to Birminghame without him either taking advantage or being squicked. but come on, At this point, I do not need to be drinking additionally.

then again, I facebook challenged myself to finish the bottle. And I want to, now. so I think a will.

in a weird side note, sometimes "a will" and "I will" actually do sound identical issuing from my lips due to random southern accent. not often. Definitely not enough to make the televised "southern belle" accent hold any real-life water.

yeah. I'ma totes post this now.

Also, hats off ot Allie Brosh of hyperboleandahalf.com for doing it first (to my caring) and best. cheers.

bonus, no cussing. I rock.

In other news - random

In other, more random news, Patrick Rothfuss (the author of the ever-so-awesome Name of the Wind and Wise Men's Fear, the first two out of three Kingkiller Chronicles) looks almost exactly like my big brother. It's kind of creepy.

Patrick Rothfuss

My brother with his Christmas Monocle (his beard is longer now)

He sounds nothing like my Big Bro audibly, but his blog entries and responses to interviews is again, freakily similar. It makes for a weird mental disconnect when I hear youtube clips of Pat Rothfuss talking.

Like this clip from W00tstock 3.0:

It's weird. That is all.

EDIT: Patrick Rothfuss actually recently (as in today - or rather yesterday by the time I post this since it's like 1:49 in tomorrow morning) did a "machine gun Q&A" where he'd answer randomly questions fired (equally randomly) in the comments box. I wrote a question inspired by my ever-pressing fear of being sucked into an alternate dimension inadequately prepared, and he Totes McGoats answered it. 

And again, his answer is freakily similar to what Big Bro would say. Also brings up the reason 2m2l and i always, ALWAYS knocked on his door to wake him up rather than just walking in unannounced. To some people, pants are always optional.

Be Prepared!

The other day, I was wearing a button-up shirt under a brown halter top dress from J. Crew (what I think of as my "Maria Von Trapp" outfit), when I had the sudden realization that I would be completely unprepared if I were to suddenly fall into a mystical or dimensional vortex and end up in another plane of existence.

Brown dress + white button-up = not just for picnics anymore

This was strange to me.

Not the thought itself, but the fact that I was unprepared. I was the kind of girl who, growing up, only began to use a purse so I could put handy things in it in case I was ever abruptly abducted from reality. Common items included a length of string, yarn, or rope (depending on what I could find), scissors, shiny things (in case currency was different), and a butt-ton of writing utensils (because I was a firm believer in "the pen is mightier than the sword").

I had a queen-sized bed (that my brothers could unfortunately fit under), but a twin-sized body (pun completely intended). Because of this, I tended to store (or just lose) items in the areas of the bed I didn't take up with... me. Usually, this would just be a bunch of books, 'cause I'd read 4 or 5 at a time, and would frequently fall asleep in the middle of a page. But there were always some "just-in-case-of-dimensional-travel" things too.

Socks, for one. For some reason, I was sure I'd need an extra pair of socks in a different world. Also my nunchucks/college toy flippy things.

And after watching Labyrinth, I'd always have some cheap shiny jewelry for bribes (see previous note on currency).

These days, my bed is small enough for just me, and close enough to the ground so that no brother can grab my ankles without first digging a trench for his body underneath (it doesn't even matter that they both live in different states, they'd find a way). However, I'm still on the lookout for opportunities to become the main character in a sci-fi/fantasy novel. My car has become my new stockpile of "just-in-case-of-dimensional-travel" things.

It comes in handy more often than you think. Just last weekend, I was the heroine of the hour, because I had a roll of toilet paper, Halloween costume makeup, superglue, old earphones, packing tape, and scissors in my car.

What's funny about it is I really don't have anything in case of actual emergency. My jumper cables are crap, and I have absolutely no idea where my spare tire is, much less what I'd do if I blew a tire (other than calling my dad, obviously).

Since I have no plan on how to end this post gracefully, I'm just going to let it awkwardly peter out with this:

Next time you can't sleep, start thinking of what would happen if you were to be sucked into an alternate world carrying only what is in your bed, car, or purse.

I bet it changes a couple of your packing habits.

DragonCon 2011

I went to Dragon*Con 2011 - it was a BLAST!

But super exhausting as well. I need to attempt to get everything down before I start forgetting crap. More pictures and videos will be added as I manage to upload them.

My crowd left Thursday after work and drove to Cartersville, GA from Birmingham - which caused some craziness about 3 hours into the trip. Next thing I knew, we were attempting to sing Hotel California with a Jamaican accent. BFFC didn't know all the words, so I was shouting them out as quickly as possible before each line started; also, we didn't have the Eagles on CD and there was no iPod adapter, so I just had it cranked all the way up on the little sucker.

I met Misha Collins of Supernatural fame, and almost fainted.

I bought a corset, a teal wig, and several siege machines from "Siege the Day," as well as a copy of Bone for half price.

I'm kind of awesome.

I played "Who's the Werewolf" until 4:30 AM, then had to strategically time my journey back to the Westin to coincide with some Utilikilts so as to avoid the creepy creepster hanging out and waiting for me to walk by him.

I made it 2/3rds of the way through a marathon of The Guild and got to see Clara and Tinkerballa from the first row as they came to thank us for loving their show.

I saw a great exhibition from the New York Jedi, and shared my Cheezits with several of the performers.

I got to see the most recent (at that point) episode of Doctor Who a full hour before anyone else who watches BBC America (except for the 500 or so people also watching with us). None of us heard what Matt Smith (the 11th Doctor for those of you who have the poor taste to not know who he is) had to say in his special pre-recorded greeting for D*C between "Hello Dragon*Con," and "Enjoy the show!" because we all FREAKED OUT to see him. Since there were Absolutely No Recording Devices allowed on pain of expulsion from the convention, we may never know what he said.

I also ruined the big plot twist for the people in my row 'cause I blurted out what was happening right when Amy said "it's only wood" (that's what he said).

I got the theme song from Tetris stuck in my head for most of the weekend, successfully got random strangers to join in on singing "Living on a Prayer" while walking down a hallway, sang in the Elf Choir, and tore down the house with some stranger named Stephen or maybe Keith on the song "Love Shack" during Klingon Karaoke.

I posed with the TARDIS at 1 AM (the TARDIS wearing an evil mustache), got a personalized copy of a comic book as well as a picture with the author, said hi to Macabre Mansion friends Billy Tackett and  wife as well as Tracy and Ben Eller (from World of Strange fantastic apparel), and was in awe at the stage presence of Pandorica Celtica.

I watched D*C TV, caught snippets of the movie nights for Star Trek, was alternatively freezing and blazingly overheated, caught a few really quick glimpses of the parade, sat in on a Stargate: Universe panel that made me want to give the show another shot, and joined in with a roomful of snarky fans as we MST3K'd Sharktopus.

I saw Whil Wheaton (sorry, Family Guy influence) Wil Wheaton sign Colin Ferguson's man-boob (or "moob") during one of the Eureka panels, watched Something Something Dark Side while waiting in line for a panel on the casting of The Hobbit by TORn, and wrestled through suffocating crowds while toting railroad tracks tied to my back.

I met up with someone who had the EXACT SAME COSTUME as me, which was odd ('cause it included railroad tracks tied to your back...), successfully avoided giving blood the entire weekend, and saw Gareth David Lloyd from afar.

Oh, and I've already bought my tickets for next year, of course.

The Book - daddy edition

I promised my dad the other day (in this case, a couple years ago), that I'd write a book for him for Christmas.

Luckily, I didn't say which Christmas. 

For a while, every time we did anything together (or rather, any time he did something completely hilarious or outrageous) I'd tell him, or he'd tell me "this is going in the book."

So that's what the tag "The Book" is about.

The Monster Under My Bed - or why brothers are evil

When I was a kid, the books series Goosebumps by R.L. Stine scared the ever loving crap out of me. When I read them, my overly vivid imagination would eventually leave me in my closet with the lights on, because if you're in the closet, the monster can't fit in there. I was 12 or so (shut up, I had a really really good imagination).

Goosebumps the TV show, on the other hand, usually didn't phase me. Sure, the music was creepy, but anything put on by Nickelodeon at the time wasn't that frightening in terms of special effects, and the show always showed too much of the monster (an interesting side note is that I felt completely opposite about the book and television series Are You Afraid of the Dark? The books were mediocre but the show scared me to kingdom come).

There was a notable exception, however. There was a made-for-TV movie that was along the same lines called Don't Look Under the Bed that has left an indelible mark on my subconscious. In one scene a girl is sitting on the edge of her bed and something grabs her ankles and drags her away under the bed into some kind of horror world. That image still kind of freaks me out. Probably because it's scary as hell. The fact that I scare easily isn't a problem, though. The fact that I had brothers who knew I scared easily WAS.

Occasionally their antics would backfire - like the time they tried to play upon the fact that I had just watched The 6th Sense by opening all of the kitchen cabinets and putting the chairs on the table (I had gone straight to bed, or rather, my closet with the lights on and a non-scary book, so they just got yelled at the next day by our parents instead).

Occasionally, however, they'd scare me and scar my psyche for life.

My twin brother, 2min2late, managed to get me really really well this one time through a cunning use of electronics combined with sheer evil. To understand the depths of this masterpiece, you've got to understand the layout of the house. We had a great room with the master bedroom that my parents shared off underneath the stairs leading up to the second floor. All of us kids were on the balcony level. At the top of the stairs, 2min2late's bedroom was immediately to your left, while the bathroom we shared was directly in front. If you turned right, my Big Bro's bedroom with its attached bathroom was to your left in what was originally supposed to be attic space, and my bedroom was directly ahead. A crappily drawn MS paint version is below (and yes, I'm aware Hyperbole and a Half does MS Paint drawings. She's much more talented than I.).

Perspective is optional.

2M2L had been talking to me prior to my entrance into the bathroom, so I knew he was in his bed. He had also purchased a crappy little remote control for his bedside lamp, that apparently had fantastic range. After I entered the bathroom, he quickly stuffed pillows under his covers to look like he was still in it at first glance, and got into position in my room. When I exited the bathroom (above in blue), I said "Good night, bro" into his room, and he turned off his bedside lamp from inside my bedroom. 

At this time, I had a queen-sized bed. One that could fit a small and decidedly evil, snickering brother underneath. This is important.

Thinking my brother had gone to bed without saying goodnight, I journeyed into my room completely unaware of the horror that awaited me. I got to my bed and sat down - then promptly lost my shit when 2M2L grabbed my ankles and tugged. 

I know I kicked him in the face. He's really lucky I didn't manage to make it all the way to my weapons stash of those flippy thingys that were all the rage that I had decided would make pretty good nun chucks. 

College fad, or deadly weapon? You decide.

I screamed to high heaven, of course. What's funny is I don't usually scream unless I know for a fact someone will hear me - roller coasters, I'm terrified and absolutely silent. Roach on my own, completely quiet as I break out the flamethrowers. Roach with friends or knowing someone's close by, and let the Black Canary commence.

2min2late ended up in less trouble than I would like - while my parents were woken out of a sound sleep, my dad thought it was too hilarious and deviously planned to really punish.

I ended up making a request for a twin-sized bed that is too close to the ground to fit under for the next 5 years' worth of Christmases. I still sleep in it.