...As Mr. Congeniality lay moaning in the shallows, Scuba Steve and I hunkered down on the sand in the back of the cave. I was shivering as he removed something from his belt that looked like a watertight fanny pack. He handed it to me, and I opened it to discover a tube of Neosporin and some other basic first aid materials.
Then he finally removed his goggles.
I scowled at him... There was something familiar about the shape of his face, and I never forget a face.
I tend to remember faces especially well when they are the faces of mysterious ninjas that I've helped while patrolling Concord, NH in the dead of night.
Oh, that's right children... Those shifty eyes, that rat-like face, the black cowl...
It was Shiro Linh.
*sigh*
Just what I needed... More Carlos-damned ninjas. Well, that's just fan-frickin'-tabulous.
You know... At any other time in my life I would probably have had some sort of reaction to such an unveiling...
But at that moment?
I had nothin'. I merely stared.
Actually... There might have been a need for me to wipe some Forest Gump style drool off my chin.
He dug into another pouch, and removed some snacks.
I swear to Carlos, this guy was like the Scuba/Ninja Mary Poppins or something. I wondered if he would pull a nuclear submarine out of a hidden pocket next.
He paused, then looked more closely at the snacks laid on the sand in front of him. Lying there, looking innocent and virtuous in their pristine packaging were:
1. A granola bar (oats and honey)
2. A protein bar (cookie dough flavor)
3. A package of Hostess Sno-Balls
AND (Carlos be praised!)
4. A lone Twinkie.
Before you could say, "Hey, gimme that!" I snagged the Twinkie and nearly ate most of the wrapper along with the sugary, spongy, cream filled treat. Mmmm... cream filling... yum.
I'm not sure that I actually chewed.
Shiro goggled at me momentarily before stating, "Well, if Twinkies are what you live on, it's no wonder you've lost your ship."
I hissed in his face and scowled at him. But then added, "Gee, thanks for the fortune cookie statement, Confucius. If you have a Red Bull somewhere on you I'll forgive you for that remark, otherwise, prepare to die."
Before I could move to put my hands around his throat, the Magical Elixir appeared in my hand as if it had been delivered by the archangel Gabriel himself.
I gripped the slender cylinder and admired it as though it were the idol from Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Arc. In fact, I could almost hear a heavenly chorus singing "Light My Fire" as I popped the can open and began to drink.
In my opinion, they could have benefited from a few more guitars and fewer harps... But that's just me.
When I finished, I placed the empty can gently on the sand next to me and gave it a little pat. Then I looked closely at Shiro, and asked him for the only information that is ever really necessary for one person to know about another...
"Shiro... Have you ever killed anyone in a knife fight?"
He raised an eyebrow.
I continued, "No, seriously. Have you?"
He munched on a mouthful of granola (ick... that stuff will kill you faster than... well, a shark).
"Not as far as I know... Though there was that one time... at Band Camp."
I laughed so hard I nearly regurgitated my Hostess Treat.
At last... Someone who understands me.
Too bad he's a damn ninja. I may have to kill him at some point in the future. Oh well, I suppose we can't have it all, can we?
Naturally this was when Mr. Congeniality finally pulled himself up on the sand, and sat next to me. Of course, when I say "sat" what I really mean is that he collapsed, and then fell over. He had landed entirely too close to me, totally "popping my bubble" as Saltmine inmates might say.
Before I could move away, or shove him to a safe distance, he reached across me and grabbed the Sno-Ball snack.
I snorted in derision... Of COURSE, he would like that one. After digging in, he moved so that he was laying down, put his head on my thigh and said, "When you two are done with girl talk, can you wake me up so we can start planning? Thanks, that'd be greeeat." He then appeared to drop instantly into a sound sleep.
I was just a tid bit miffed.
Okay, that's a lie. I felt a desire to perform acts of violence upon that smiling bastard more strongly than I ever had before... It was a new personal best.
I stiffened, and then grabbed for the hair on the back of his head in my left fist in preparation for an enormously pleasing "Sand-wash."
Just before I could rub his nose in the dirt, Shiro put a hand on my arm and said,
"Please Your Highness, I know he is extremely annoying to you, but I would take it as a personal favor if you did not abuse my brother any more... Right now anyway. When you get your ship back, please feel free to torment him at your leisure, but we might need him soon. Sand in the eyes could throw off his aim."
I experienced a complete brain bottleneck. You know that feeling, when you have so many possible questions and or comments in your head all at once that they get stopped up and you just can't seem to make any of them come out?
Well, that was me.
Comment Overload Girl.
I stared down at the back of Congeniality's head (he, I should add, had seemed to completely sleep through the homicidal impulse I had aimed at him, and was now making a sound that was midway between a snore and a growl), and then looked sharply at Shiro.
W. Tha. F.
"Brother? Brother? What?" I sputtered and foamed like a mad dog on a dirt road.
My overloaded brain just couldn't seem to handle this conversation... So I yowled a barbaric "GAAAAH!" at the top of my lungs and pounded the sand with the hand not holding my empty and slightly sticky Twinkie wrapper.
Let it never be said that I'm not a sparkling conversationalist.
Then I just kind of fell backwards to lie in the sand for a while. I had a somewhat muddy idea that I would wake up and be back on board the Unvanquished. Yeah right.
I tend to believe that my brain decided to take up my teacher persona without my permission...
It assigned me to a Time Out.
Friggin' know-it-all teachers.
Who the hell likes them anyway?
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
The Biography of the Pirate Queen
Excuse me, have we met?
Oh, I guess not... but your face did look a little familiar just then... Huh, that's weird.
Well, since we don't know each other, please let me introduce myself.
My name is Virginia, but since I like your face, you can call me Verge. Not Virg. VERGE...as in, "I'm on the Verge of doing something really f'in' crazy."
Let's see... What do you want to know?
Oh... Well, there really isn't that much to tell, but I'll give it my best shot.
I work in a Saltmine, and I try to make life bearable for the inmates.
I'm constantly battling ninjas, usually in the forms of standardized testing and people with no senses of humor or proportion.
Essentially, most of my life consists of doing these two things:
1. Telling stories
2. Picking up after people's messes, both literally and figuratively.
Since I work in a Saltmine I tend to be dirty, covered in germs, and exhausted.
I subsist most of the time on Redbull and hope.
I rollerblade in the dark, drive fast on dirt roads in the middle of nowhere at all hours of the night, and watch the sun come up from unlikely spots.
I like to pretend that superheroes could be real... I think I may have met one once.
I try to do my best, work hard, and I hope I'll make a difference in your life, now that we've met.
I laugh a lot.
I laugh as loud as I can.
I refuse to "grow up" or "take things seriously."
I think in haiku, and I meditate during long meetings.
I amuse myself by wearing name tags that say "Lola," "Bubbles," and "Trixie."
I'm always searching for the truth behind the lies that we all (myself included) seem to spout so easily.
I often refuse to sleep, because I don't want to miss anything good... or bad.
I hate milk.
I love cheesecake and white chocolate, and I watch football and basketball so I can yell at the screen.
If you come over here, I'll tell you a story... It's about some ninjas and a duck in White's Park.
I'll make you laugh if at all possible, sometimes at the most inappropriate imagery you'll ever hear. I used to have a sense of propriety, but I gave it up for Lent.
I'm not Catholic.
I was broken badly a few times, and I fixed myself... But I'm still not 100%.
I'm still hoping for a hero... but I'm losing my faith.
If you tell me what you need, I'll help.
If you smile when you see me, it'll make my day, and I'll do just about anything for you.
If you mess with me, I'll mess right back, but don't worry, I don't hit... Unless you're a redneck who picks on people weaker than you.
If possible, I'll save you... Or better yet, I'll help you save yourself.
Well, I guess that's all you need to know about me... See what I mean? I'm not all that interesting... I'm pretty much just like everyone else, but I keep hoping that someday I'll be as awesome as you are.
It's been nice talking with you... I hope you'll remember me when I'm gone, 'cause I could sail off into the sunset any day. And you never can tell when sharks, ninjas, or a bus with no brakes could strike.
Party like a rock star.
Just sayin'.
Namaste.
Oh, I guess not... but your face did look a little familiar just then... Huh, that's weird.
Well, since we don't know each other, please let me introduce myself.
My name is Virginia, but since I like your face, you can call me Verge. Not Virg. VERGE...as in, "I'm on the Verge of doing something really f'in' crazy."
Let's see... What do you want to know?
Oh... Well, there really isn't that much to tell, but I'll give it my best shot.
I work in a Saltmine, and I try to make life bearable for the inmates.
I'm constantly battling ninjas, usually in the forms of standardized testing and people with no senses of humor or proportion.
Essentially, most of my life consists of doing these two things:
1. Telling stories
2. Picking up after people's messes, both literally and figuratively.
Since I work in a Saltmine I tend to be dirty, covered in germs, and exhausted.
I subsist most of the time on Redbull and hope.
I rollerblade in the dark, drive fast on dirt roads in the middle of nowhere at all hours of the night, and watch the sun come up from unlikely spots.
I like to pretend that superheroes could be real... I think I may have met one once.
I try to do my best, work hard, and I hope I'll make a difference in your life, now that we've met.
I laugh a lot.
I laugh as loud as I can.
I refuse to "grow up" or "take things seriously."
I think in haiku, and I meditate during long meetings.
I amuse myself by wearing name tags that say "Lola," "Bubbles," and "Trixie."
I'm always searching for the truth behind the lies that we all (myself included) seem to spout so easily.
I often refuse to sleep, because I don't want to miss anything good... or bad.
I hate milk.
I love cheesecake and white chocolate, and I watch football and basketball so I can yell at the screen.
If you come over here, I'll tell you a story... It's about some ninjas and a duck in White's Park.
I'll make you laugh if at all possible, sometimes at the most inappropriate imagery you'll ever hear. I used to have a sense of propriety, but I gave it up for Lent.
I'm not Catholic.
I was broken badly a few times, and I fixed myself... But I'm still not 100%.
I'm still hoping for a hero... but I'm losing my faith.
If you tell me what you need, I'll help.
If you smile when you see me, it'll make my day, and I'll do just about anything for you.
If you mess with me, I'll mess right back, but don't worry, I don't hit... Unless you're a redneck who picks on people weaker than you.
If possible, I'll save you... Or better yet, I'll help you save yourself.
Well, I guess that's all you need to know about me... See what I mean? I'm not all that interesting... I'm pretty much just like everyone else, but I keep hoping that someday I'll be as awesome as you are.
It's been nice talking with you... I hope you'll remember me when I'm gone, 'cause I could sail off into the sunset any day. And you never can tell when sharks, ninjas, or a bus with no brakes could strike.
Party like a rock star.
Just sayin'.
Namaste.
And Once Again, The Proverbial Plot Thickens
Well, as much as I have often wished to die a super cool death at the teeth of a shark, I somehow discovered that I still had will to live.
Will wonders never cease?
As the big fish came closer I realized that I had very few choices. Despite my rather nimble skills as a swimmer, there was no way I could out swim this big boy. Also, I probably had almost no chance in a biting contest with him, regardless of the sharpness of my razor tooth incisors.
What's a girl to do?
And then, I remembered my feet. Luckily I was still wearing my spiky boots.
As the shark came barreling toward me, I aimed as well as I could through my complete and utter terror, and shoved my heels toward the master of the deep's nose.
I completely missed.
However, before the monster, who looked big enough to swallow me whole with one gulp (no chewing necessary), could chomp down and take both legs off at the knees, something latched on to me and yanked me backward and down, pulling the regulator from my mouth, but adding enough mass to my weight to pull me underneath the shark.
The beast, unable to stop his forward momentum, sailed over me like a yacht. I saw every inch of his ancient white belly sail directly over my face, mere inches from my nose. It was battle-scarred. For just an instant I experienced a total sense of awe and wonder at the big guy's power and majesty. What must it be like to be him?
Of course, that was probably just the effects of oxygen deprivation combined with adrenaline overload.
Unfortunately there was no time either to cheer or continue to wonder, even if I could have.
Already my body was once again beginning to scream from oxygen starvation, and whatever was pulling me down had me in a vise-like grip, pinning my arms to my sides and sending me, for the nth time that day into complete and utter panic.
Before I could really let go into all out terror mode, I saw the opening of the cave just to my left and down, and whoever had grabbed me let go.
Dammit.
Oh yeah, you guessed it.
Mr. Congeni-fucking-ality.
I barely had time to register my dismay at possibly owing the continuation of my marvelous career to that smiling bastard when my scuba angel grabbed my arm and began pulling me toward the mouth of the cave. Anxious to breathe again at some point in the near future, I gave my heart and soul to the swim.
The cave was nearly as black as the gaping maw of the shark that had almost sent me to the cool kid's table in hell... But had significantly fewer teeth.
The hold on my arm tightened, and I felt a splash on my face, and then, Thank Carlos, cool air filling my lungs. There was a second's pause, when it seemed like I had lost the knack of breathing altogether, but it was merely the fact that I appeared to be enthusiastically and heroically throwing up about 6 gallons of seawater. It tasted absolutely filthy.
I doubt I'll be having salt put on the rims of my margaritas for a while. Just sayin'.
The next thing I heard a crackle, and the sound of something being shaken. Within seconds a chemical glow stick lit up my surroundings.
So there I was... sitting in the shallows of an underwater cave with MysteryScubaGuy and Mr. Congeniality.
I was dripping wet, my leg was still bleeding, and I had absolutely no idea what the hell I was going to do to get my ship back or rescue my crew.
I wanted to put my head back under the water and resume trying to grow gills like a fish.Perhaps drowning wouldn't be such a bad way to go... It was certainly simpler than fighting...
Of course, Congeniality took this momentary pause in the action to give me a huge smile. He followed this impertinence up by saying,
"Hey, scuba guy, got any aloe or Neosporin in that pack? Queenie here owes me a rub down for saving her life."
He then had the unmitigated temerity to raise his eyebrows at me a couple of times in a distinctly smartass fashion.
I heard the person in the mask give a muffled snort of laughter.
The second thing I heard was a splash as Congeniality hit the floor like a ton of badgers. The third was a distinct moan.
Oh great... Now my knuckles are bleeding too.
Son of a bitch.
Apparently, Congeniality, in his infinite wisdom, managed to find the one moment in my mirth-filled life when I had lost every scrap of my Titanic sense of humor.
Maybe I should change his nickname to "Iceberg."
I hope I broke that smiling jackass' nose.
Rub some aloe on that, smartass.
Will wonders never cease?
As the big fish came closer I realized that I had very few choices. Despite my rather nimble skills as a swimmer, there was no way I could out swim this big boy. Also, I probably had almost no chance in a biting contest with him, regardless of the sharpness of my razor tooth incisors.
What's a girl to do?
And then, I remembered my feet. Luckily I was still wearing my spiky boots.
As the shark came barreling toward me, I aimed as well as I could through my complete and utter terror, and shoved my heels toward the master of the deep's nose.
I completely missed.
However, before the monster, who looked big enough to swallow me whole with one gulp (no chewing necessary), could chomp down and take both legs off at the knees, something latched on to me and yanked me backward and down, pulling the regulator from my mouth, but adding enough mass to my weight to pull me underneath the shark.
The beast, unable to stop his forward momentum, sailed over me like a yacht. I saw every inch of his ancient white belly sail directly over my face, mere inches from my nose. It was battle-scarred. For just an instant I experienced a total sense of awe and wonder at the big guy's power and majesty. What must it be like to be him?
Of course, that was probably just the effects of oxygen deprivation combined with adrenaline overload.
Unfortunately there was no time either to cheer or continue to wonder, even if I could have.
Already my body was once again beginning to scream from oxygen starvation, and whatever was pulling me down had me in a vise-like grip, pinning my arms to my sides and sending me, for the nth time that day into complete and utter panic.
Before I could really let go into all out terror mode, I saw the opening of the cave just to my left and down, and whoever had grabbed me let go.
Dammit.
Oh yeah, you guessed it.
Mr. Congeni-fucking-ality.
I barely had time to register my dismay at possibly owing the continuation of my marvelous career to that smiling bastard when my scuba angel grabbed my arm and began pulling me toward the mouth of the cave. Anxious to breathe again at some point in the near future, I gave my heart and soul to the swim.
The cave was nearly as black as the gaping maw of the shark that had almost sent me to the cool kid's table in hell... But had significantly fewer teeth.
The hold on my arm tightened, and I felt a splash on my face, and then, Thank Carlos, cool air filling my lungs. There was a second's pause, when it seemed like I had lost the knack of breathing altogether, but it was merely the fact that I appeared to be enthusiastically and heroically throwing up about 6 gallons of seawater. It tasted absolutely filthy.
I doubt I'll be having salt put on the rims of my margaritas for a while. Just sayin'.
The next thing I heard a crackle, and the sound of something being shaken. Within seconds a chemical glow stick lit up my surroundings.
So there I was... sitting in the shallows of an underwater cave with MysteryScubaGuy and Mr. Congeniality.
I was dripping wet, my leg was still bleeding, and I had absolutely no idea what the hell I was going to do to get my ship back or rescue my crew.
I wanted to put my head back under the water and resume trying to grow gills like a fish.Perhaps drowning wouldn't be such a bad way to go... It was certainly simpler than fighting...
Of course, Congeniality took this momentary pause in the action to give me a huge smile. He followed this impertinence up by saying,
"Hey, scuba guy, got any aloe or Neosporin in that pack? Queenie here owes me a rub down for saving her life."
He then had the unmitigated temerity to raise his eyebrows at me a couple of times in a distinctly smartass fashion.
I heard the person in the mask give a muffled snort of laughter.
The second thing I heard was a splash as Congeniality hit the floor like a ton of badgers. The third was a distinct moan.
Oh great... Now my knuckles are bleeding too.
Son of a bitch.
Apparently, Congeniality, in his infinite wisdom, managed to find the one moment in my mirth-filled life when I had lost every scrap of my Titanic sense of humor.
Maybe I should change his nickname to "Iceberg."
I hope I broke that smiling jackass' nose.
Rub some aloe on that, smartass.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
A Gallon of Atlantic Ocean Seawater Makes a Great Diuretic. Ask Me How!
...I hit the ocean in the face like a fist, and then sank beneath the waves.
Still blindfolded, and strapped to Mr. Congeniality, I sank like a platinum weight. (You ever notice how it's always a "lead weight" in the old saying? What's with that? I like to think I'm worth more than friggin' lead).
Sorry... tangent. ADD moment I guess.
Anyway, there I was, thrashing and flailing about in a complete panic, being dragged to the bottom of the ocean floor by a passed out and unbeliveably sunburnt pirate that I'd managed to capture and subdue with no small amount of effort, with sharks circling above me and wondering if I'd go well with a side of dolphin, when I felt myself grabbed by the hair.
What little rational mind power I had left... I lost.
I managed to throw at least a couple of weak and water-logged punches before the blindfold was torn off and I found myself staring into the face of... Captain Nemo?
No, seriously, it was someone in a wet suit, scuba gear, the whole works.
It was at this point that the blackness around the edges of my eyesight began to really take over. I nearly decided to try my luck at breathing water when a regulator was stuffed roughly in my mouth and I took my first breath in what felt like decades.
About the same time, an enormous weight was lifted from me... but I hardly noticed.
I mean, seriously.
No one can really ever tell you what it's like to suffocate... Your brain basically goes completely insane. You can feel your head pounding while your brain tries to escape from your skull in search of air, and every cell in your body shouts, "WHAT THE FUCK!!!" in unison.
Needless to say... It's not an experience I would recommend for fun and games, so... Don't try this at home kids.
While I marveled over how much fun it was to inhale something other than water, I had apparently been towed some distance by the diver, and there below us was a cave.
Well, that wasn't so bad, in fact, that was pretty friggin' sweet!
Of course, since my life is generally a series of extreme highs and lows that never seems to even out, it was at that moment that I noticed the twinge of pain in my leg from where I had been wounded in the battle for the Unvanquished. It didn't hurt overly much, but I did notice that a trickle of blood was flowing sluggishly along side me and my guardian scuba angel...
Huh. Apparently my brain still hadn't fully recovered from my dunking. I knew that there was some reason why it might be dangerous to be bleeding, out here in the open sea...
And that was when a shadow came gliding out of nowhere... It was the biggest goddamned shadow in the history of creation.
When I looked up, all I could think of was a line from one of the greatest movies of the twentieth century...
"I think we're gonna need a bigger boat."
And baleful eye of the biggest fish in the known universe fell upon me...
At that point... I completely forgot to breathe.
Meh, who needs oxygen really?
Still blindfolded, and strapped to Mr. Congeniality, I sank like a platinum weight. (You ever notice how it's always a "lead weight" in the old saying? What's with that? I like to think I'm worth more than friggin' lead).
Sorry... tangent. ADD moment I guess.
Anyway, there I was, thrashing and flailing about in a complete panic, being dragged to the bottom of the ocean floor by a passed out and unbeliveably sunburnt pirate that I'd managed to capture and subdue with no small amount of effort, with sharks circling above me and wondering if I'd go well with a side of dolphin, when I felt myself grabbed by the hair.
What little rational mind power I had left... I lost.
I managed to throw at least a couple of weak and water-logged punches before the blindfold was torn off and I found myself staring into the face of... Captain Nemo?
No, seriously, it was someone in a wet suit, scuba gear, the whole works.
It was at this point that the blackness around the edges of my eyesight began to really take over. I nearly decided to try my luck at breathing water when a regulator was stuffed roughly in my mouth and I took my first breath in what felt like decades.
About the same time, an enormous weight was lifted from me... but I hardly noticed.
I mean, seriously.
No one can really ever tell you what it's like to suffocate... Your brain basically goes completely insane. You can feel your head pounding while your brain tries to escape from your skull in search of air, and every cell in your body shouts, "WHAT THE FUCK!!!" in unison.
Needless to say... It's not an experience I would recommend for fun and games, so... Don't try this at home kids.
While I marveled over how much fun it was to inhale something other than water, I had apparently been towed some distance by the diver, and there below us was a cave.
Well, that wasn't so bad, in fact, that was pretty friggin' sweet!
Of course, since my life is generally a series of extreme highs and lows that never seems to even out, it was at that moment that I noticed the twinge of pain in my leg from where I had been wounded in the battle for the Unvanquished. It didn't hurt overly much, but I did notice that a trickle of blood was flowing sluggishly along side me and my guardian scuba angel...
Huh. Apparently my brain still hadn't fully recovered from my dunking. I knew that there was some reason why it might be dangerous to be bleeding, out here in the open sea...
And that was when a shadow came gliding out of nowhere... It was the biggest goddamned shadow in the history of creation.
When I looked up, all I could think of was a line from one of the greatest movies of the twentieth century...
"I think we're gonna need a bigger boat."
And baleful eye of the biggest fish in the known universe fell upon me...
At that point... I completely forgot to breathe.
Meh, who needs oxygen really?
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Shopping for a Superhero
As I write this missive, I am sitting by the side of the road desperately hoping a superhero will show up to rescue me... I'm pretty tired of rescuing myself.
I left Manchester a few hours ago, and on my drive home I got a little... well, sidetracked.
You see, there were these rednecks... And it just goes down hill from there. Suffice to say, I did manage to kick ass, but all I have to show for it is a few bruises, some road rash on my butt, and a car with 3 flat tires.
The rednecks look worse.
Still, while I'm waiting I thought I'd share a few thoughts with you on one of my favorite topics... Oh yeah, that's right... Superheroes.
While I was down at Double Midnight I scored some kick ass comics... 5 issues of Buffy, a bunch of Punisher and Wolverine team-up issues, 2 volumes of The Essential X-Men, one of The Essential Silver Surfer, and naturally, The Essential Amazing Spiderman, Vol 8. Also, I got a totally sweet comic called Death Ship, and I'm pretty much in love with the art. YAY!!
I'm the happiest little geek girl on the planet... Except for the road rash. I surely don't relish the thought of taking an SOS pad to my butt in order to get the gravel out of it. Ouch. That's going to sting, and it's hard to do, even with a mirror.
Yes, friends. I am a geek. I like comic books, games, and sports.
I never have been, and never will be, cool. I accepted this fact long ago.
I'm okay with it. You see, as far as I'm concerned... Life is all about my own personal amusement. To that end, I started thinking about all my most favorite superheroes.
I will list some of them below for your reading pleasure (if you are a fellow geek) and/or for your personal edification (if you are too cool to be geek).
1. Wolverine--- He's small, he's hairy, he's filled with the need to kick major ass pretty much 24/7. I have been seriously in love with him since I was ... oh, 13 years old. Dark and murky past, big claws, sarcastic sense of humor... What's not to love? Now don't get me wrong... I loved the X-Men movies, and Hugh Jackman is obviously a pleasure to look at... But let's face it, he's not really Wolverine... Close, but no cigar (heh heh---never mind, if you haven't read the comics, you won't get it). Wolverine doesn't wax his chest. Just sayin'.
2. Spider-Man---Number one: Basically, he can fly. Number Two: He is the funniest superhero EVER. Number three: He's always worried about important stuff, like paying his rent... Which makes him not only seriously funny and a badass, but also much more realistic than most superheroes. Also, being smaller than most of the others, he has to make up in attitude what he lacks in stature. If I ever grow up, I want to be like him... Only female of course.
3. Captain America--- I mean, come on... He's patriotic, he's strong, he's silent, he always has a plan, and he never gives up. He's nice to children and little old ladies. How is it possible NOT to love this guy? Yeah, yeah, I hear you grumbling that it's all a bunch of governmental propaganda... Blah, blah, blah. I still love him. Deal with it.
4. Batman---Dark, brooding, AND most importantly, super smart... And just look at that car. Admit it ladies, gotta love the bad boy with the sweet car. If I can admit it, so can you. It's Darwinian.
5. The Thing--- Again with the funny... I know, I know. But seriously, whenever I read anything he's in that's well written... I laugh out loud. Also, he's made of rock, but he's a major sweetie. Plus, he kicks the shit out of bad guys. Love it.
6. Beast--- He's blue, he's fuzzy, he's a complete smartass, and he has several doctoral degrees. Do I really need to say more? Well, just in case, let me say it again... He's BLUE, he's FUZZY, he's FUNNY, and he's SMART. He's basically the perfect man. LOL
7. The Silver Surfer--- Ever seen him? He basically looks like the Oscar statuette... Only silver. And he's got this whole "inner sadness/self sacrifice for the benefit of the world" thing going on. Just imagine a cross between Angel from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Rodin's The Thinker and you've got it. He's deep, yet he kicks ass mercilessly. Oh, and he's pretty much naked all the time. Gotta love that.
Hmm... Reading back over this list... I'm sure I've managed to somehow reveal inner workings about myself that probably shouldn't be shared with others... Oh well. Life sucks, get a helmet.
Oops... Well, I think a couple of these rednecks are starting to come around... I better make sure the ropes are tight enough.
Sadly, I don't think any superheroes will be coming to my rescue.
Dammit.
Why do I never get the chance to be a damsel in distress? When I ask for help, men usually just laugh and say, "Yeah, right, do it yourself."
*sigh*
It's tough to be a super hero.
Peace, out.
I left Manchester a few hours ago, and on my drive home I got a little... well, sidetracked.
You see, there were these rednecks... And it just goes down hill from there. Suffice to say, I did manage to kick ass, but all I have to show for it is a few bruises, some road rash on my butt, and a car with 3 flat tires.
The rednecks look worse.
Still, while I'm waiting I thought I'd share a few thoughts with you on one of my favorite topics... Oh yeah, that's right... Superheroes.
While I was down at Double Midnight I scored some kick ass comics... 5 issues of Buffy, a bunch of Punisher and Wolverine team-up issues, 2 volumes of The Essential X-Men, one of The Essential Silver Surfer, and naturally, The Essential Amazing Spiderman, Vol 8. Also, I got a totally sweet comic called Death Ship, and I'm pretty much in love with the art. YAY!!
I'm the happiest little geek girl on the planet... Except for the road rash. I surely don't relish the thought of taking an SOS pad to my butt in order to get the gravel out of it. Ouch. That's going to sting, and it's hard to do, even with a mirror.
Yes, friends. I am a geek. I like comic books, games, and sports.
I never have been, and never will be, cool. I accepted this fact long ago.
I'm okay with it. You see, as far as I'm concerned... Life is all about my own personal amusement. To that end, I started thinking about all my most favorite superheroes.
I will list some of them below for your reading pleasure (if you are a fellow geek) and/or for your personal edification (if you are too cool to be geek).
1. Wolverine--- He's small, he's hairy, he's filled with the need to kick major ass pretty much 24/7. I have been seriously in love with him since I was ... oh, 13 years old. Dark and murky past, big claws, sarcastic sense of humor... What's not to love? Now don't get me wrong... I loved the X-Men movies, and Hugh Jackman is obviously a pleasure to look at... But let's face it, he's not really Wolverine... Close, but no cigar (heh heh---never mind, if you haven't read the comics, you won't get it). Wolverine doesn't wax his chest. Just sayin'.
2. Spider-Man---Number one: Basically, he can fly. Number Two: He is the funniest superhero EVER. Number three: He's always worried about important stuff, like paying his rent... Which makes him not only seriously funny and a badass, but also much more realistic than most superheroes. Also, being smaller than most of the others, he has to make up in attitude what he lacks in stature. If I ever grow up, I want to be like him... Only female of course.
3. Captain America--- I mean, come on... He's patriotic, he's strong, he's silent, he always has a plan, and he never gives up. He's nice to children and little old ladies. How is it possible NOT to love this guy? Yeah, yeah, I hear you grumbling that it's all a bunch of governmental propaganda... Blah, blah, blah. I still love him. Deal with it.
4. Batman---Dark, brooding, AND most importantly, super smart... And just look at that car. Admit it ladies, gotta love the bad boy with the sweet car. If I can admit it, so can you. It's Darwinian.
5. The Thing--- Again with the funny... I know, I know. But seriously, whenever I read anything he's in that's well written... I laugh out loud. Also, he's made of rock, but he's a major sweetie. Plus, he kicks the shit out of bad guys. Love it.
6. Beast--- He's blue, he's fuzzy, he's a complete smartass, and he has several doctoral degrees. Do I really need to say more? Well, just in case, let me say it again... He's BLUE, he's FUZZY, he's FUNNY, and he's SMART. He's basically the perfect man. LOL
7. The Silver Surfer--- Ever seen him? He basically looks like the Oscar statuette... Only silver. And he's got this whole "inner sadness/self sacrifice for the benefit of the world" thing going on. Just imagine a cross between Angel from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Rodin's The Thinker and you've got it. He's deep, yet he kicks ass mercilessly. Oh, and he's pretty much naked all the time. Gotta love that.
Hmm... Reading back over this list... I'm sure I've managed to somehow reveal inner workings about myself that probably shouldn't be shared with others... Oh well. Life sucks, get a helmet.
Oops... Well, I think a couple of these rednecks are starting to come around... I better make sure the ropes are tight enough.
Sadly, I don't think any superheroes will be coming to my rescue.
Dammit.
Why do I never get the chance to be a damsel in distress? When I ask for help, men usually just laugh and say, "Yeah, right, do it yourself."
*sigh*
It's tough to be a super hero.
Peace, out.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Just When I Was About to Get Some Answers, Or, A Short Walk and a Long Drop
Well... The day started out annoying and rapidly moved past "bad" all the way to "friggin' awful" in about 2.2 hours.
Things seemed to be going well at first. Around 11 or so Mr. Congeniality began to really lose his charm under the direct gaze of the eye of heaven.
But by 1pm I managed to suddenly find myself blindfolded, stripped of my cutlass and multi-tool, and taking a short walk followed by a long drop.
Under the blindfold I could see a narrow strip of the sea below... And there were dorsal fins circling the ship.
Those weren't the fins of friendly dolphins.
Oh Holy Mother of Carlos...All I could think was, "Sometime in the next 15 minutes, I could be pulling up a hard plastic chair to join my brethren at the cool table in Hell."
Of course, though I did always fully intend to die young and tragically misunderstood after a life of glorious excess... This was not the time or place I had envisioned.
I know, I know... You're dying to know what happened, right?
Well, here's my sad tale of woe for your merciless perusal.
It was high noon. The sun beat down on my head, bleaching my hair and turning the deck of the Unvanquished a washed out gray. I stood before Mr. Congeniality with my multi-tool in hand, fully prepared to use any means necessary to get some answers.
His head hung forward limply, and the only thing keeping him upright were the few ropes I had instructed Cosgrove to leave tied about his chest.
For a moment, I almost felt a stirring of pity in my cold, cold heart.
I grabbed that feeling around the throat and choked the life out of it while it kicked, screamed, and begged. And then I pitched its still warm corpse over the side. I stepped up, grabbed Congeniality by the scruff of his neck and was about to begin my questions when there was a shout from the crow's nest.
"SHIP AHOY!"
Quickly, I scanned the horizon, and there I saw a ship, somewhat larger than my own fair lady. It's sails billowed out, and its flag snapping in the breeze.
The flag was entirely black. No cheerful jolly roger, no patriotic symbol of any kind...
Those damn ninjas. I should've killed them when I had the chance.
And then the deck seemed to pitch below me, tossing me like a rag doll against Congeniality's limp form. He raised his head, focused his bleary eyes on me and said,
"Not right now dear... I think I've got sunburn on my--"
The deck pitched again, and I pushed away from the smartass, running for the rails and shouting for my men to assemble.
Though we put up a tremendous fight, battling mercilessly, screaming like berserkers, our foe was too well armed, and willing to sacrifice every last ninja in order to bring us under his thumb.
It was that bastard, Shiruken the Younger.
He gave me a choice, go down with the ship, in which case all of my men would be put to the sword, or take a punishment of his choosing... In which case I would still meet my demise, but the men would live.
I knew he was lying... It was written all over his patchy face.
But what could I do? What choice did I really have?
God damn it. I really fricking hate ninjas.
The worst of it?
He thought that it would be absolutely hilarious to make me walk the plank.
Cosgrove started to explain that "Walking the Plank" is a complete wives tale, but of course he was silenced effectively with a boot to the face.
Oh, and even better?
Before being blindfolded, Shiruken also thought that it would be even more hilarious to tie me up... To Mr. Congeniality.
As I shuffled down the plank, practically carrying Congeniality on my back, I had time to ponder the great mysteries of the universe such as:
How in the deep blue and tan hell did I end up here?
and,
How had the ninjas found us?
and,
How come a decent manicure is cheap, but a pedicure is so ungodly expensive?
To many of life's mysteries... There is just no satisfactory answer.
The sharks circled.
I stood on the end of the plank.
Shiruken asked if I had any last words. I asked him,
"How come all you ninjas look the same? Afraid to stand up as individuals? And what with all those kung fu movies? Don't you know that superhero movies are the pinnacle of human civilization?"
With a growl of rage, the board was sharply yanked from under me, and I dropped like a groundhog into a deep well...
Things seemed to be going well at first. Around 11 or so Mr. Congeniality began to really lose his charm under the direct gaze of the eye of heaven.
But by 1pm I managed to suddenly find myself blindfolded, stripped of my cutlass and multi-tool, and taking a short walk followed by a long drop.
Under the blindfold I could see a narrow strip of the sea below... And there were dorsal fins circling the ship.
Those weren't the fins of friendly dolphins.
Oh Holy Mother of Carlos...All I could think was, "Sometime in the next 15 minutes, I could be pulling up a hard plastic chair to join my brethren at the cool table in Hell."
Of course, though I did always fully intend to die young and tragically misunderstood after a life of glorious excess... This was not the time or place I had envisioned.
I know, I know... You're dying to know what happened, right?
Well, here's my sad tale of woe for your merciless perusal.
It was high noon. The sun beat down on my head, bleaching my hair and turning the deck of the Unvanquished a washed out gray. I stood before Mr. Congeniality with my multi-tool in hand, fully prepared to use any means necessary to get some answers.
His head hung forward limply, and the only thing keeping him upright were the few ropes I had instructed Cosgrove to leave tied about his chest.
For a moment, I almost felt a stirring of pity in my cold, cold heart.
I grabbed that feeling around the throat and choked the life out of it while it kicked, screamed, and begged. And then I pitched its still warm corpse over the side. I stepped up, grabbed Congeniality by the scruff of his neck and was about to begin my questions when there was a shout from the crow's nest.
"SHIP AHOY!"
Quickly, I scanned the horizon, and there I saw a ship, somewhat larger than my own fair lady. It's sails billowed out, and its flag snapping in the breeze.
The flag was entirely black. No cheerful jolly roger, no patriotic symbol of any kind...
Those damn ninjas. I should've killed them when I had the chance.
And then the deck seemed to pitch below me, tossing me like a rag doll against Congeniality's limp form. He raised his head, focused his bleary eyes on me and said,
"Not right now dear... I think I've got sunburn on my--"
The deck pitched again, and I pushed away from the smartass, running for the rails and shouting for my men to assemble.
Though we put up a tremendous fight, battling mercilessly, screaming like berserkers, our foe was too well armed, and willing to sacrifice every last ninja in order to bring us under his thumb.
It was that bastard, Shiruken the Younger.
He gave me a choice, go down with the ship, in which case all of my men would be put to the sword, or take a punishment of his choosing... In which case I would still meet my demise, but the men would live.
I knew he was lying... It was written all over his patchy face.
But what could I do? What choice did I really have?
God damn it. I really fricking hate ninjas.
The worst of it?
He thought that it would be absolutely hilarious to make me walk the plank.
Cosgrove started to explain that "Walking the Plank" is a complete wives tale, but of course he was silenced effectively with a boot to the face.
Oh, and even better?
Before being blindfolded, Shiruken also thought that it would be even more hilarious to tie me up... To Mr. Congeniality.
As I shuffled down the plank, practically carrying Congeniality on my back, I had time to ponder the great mysteries of the universe such as:
How in the deep blue and tan hell did I end up here?
and,
How had the ninjas found us?
and,
How come a decent manicure is cheap, but a pedicure is so ungodly expensive?
To many of life's mysteries... There is just no satisfactory answer.
The sharks circled.
I stood on the end of the plank.
Shiruken asked if I had any last words. I asked him,
"How come all you ninjas look the same? Afraid to stand up as individuals? And what with all those kung fu movies? Don't you know that superhero movies are the pinnacle of human civilization?"
With a growl of rage, the board was sharply yanked from under me, and I dropped like a groundhog into a deep well...
Threats and Intimidation
Before dawn I emerged from a cat-like snooze and stretched until every joint in my body popped like a bowl of Rice Crispy's.
Damn it... Why must I always awaken before the "crack of sparrow fart"?
A Pirate Queen's work is never done. Besides, I am a firm believer that laziness is a sign of weakness... Unless of course we are talking about house cleaning, in which case I'm all for laziness.
But that's beside the point. Back to the narrative flow...
I carelessly tossed on some black clothing, strapped my cutlass to my waist, slipped black boots upon my feet, and shoved my damp hair under a jaunty blue bandana. I was out of the room in minutes and click-clacking up to the deck with a slight jangle of silver buckles.
Screw that "girlie-taking-forever-to-get-dressed-routine," that's so NOT me.
At this hour just before dawn, about half the crew was awake and sleepily looking to minor chores like swabbing the deck, or moving necessary supplies about. Cook was engaged in shouting obscenities at one of his hapless assistants, and the smell of coffee almost drew me to the galley.
Again, I restrained myself. The primary order of business was to begin a long day of questioning with the prisoner, Mr. Congeniality, and if possible I wanted to be the first thing he saw when he opened his bleary and bloodshot eyes.
I approached the mast with measured steps, wanting to make a point that I had all the time in the world to question him. Also, wanting to project the most menacing figure possible, I set my face in a scowl, and drew my dagger from my boot.
The sight that met my eyes was one of epically pathetic proportions. Congeniality was tied to the mast, stripped down to nothing, and he sagged limply in his bonds, head hanging forward, ropes digging into his exhausted form.
I sneered again, (just for practice this time, as he appeared to be sleeping/passed out) stepped to within inches, grabbed a hank of his hair, and shoved his head back against the mast, jarring his skull in the same place where my blow had fallen the evening prior.
He came to with a yelp, followed closely by a groan. For a moment he seemed to focus on my face with great difficulty, and I let go of his hair. Without my support, his head once again dropped to half mast and then he lifted it, looked into my irritated face, and said,
"Hey. How are ya this morning Queenie?" So saying, he lifted his brow and did that "guy nod" thing. For a fraction of an instant I actually found myself on the cusp of either a blush or a laugh.
WTF.
This REALLY pissed me off.
Instead of answering, I drew back my hand and slapped him across the face hard enough to make his head snap sideways and strike the mast again.
I tell you what... No one hits on me first thing in the morning without my express written consent, signed in triplicate, and stamped by the seal of a notary public.
No one...with the possible exception of Batman.
But, I digress.
I followed the slap by stepping in even closer, so close that I could see each and every follicle of stubble on his face, and said in my very best tone of menace,
"Shall we begin again? You see, this is how it works, I will ask you questions. You will answer those questions, or I will start hurting you. Or better yet, I'll just leave you here to broil under the hot sun for a day or two until you beg me to kill you. Do you understand?"
As I had spoken, his head had begun to drop forward again, but at the conclusion of my "Dirty Harry" impression, he raised it, and looked at me through one green eye. There was a second's pause before he finally answered.
He said, "Wow Queenie... Love that badass thing. I think I'll just... Hang out, for a while."
And then?
He laughed.
Damn... Maybe he really was insane. Well, I guess that would make two of us then.
Disgusted at what I could now see was going to be a long ass day, I stepped back and slowly shook my head. Why can't I ever get the easy ones? Why do my foes always fight with such ferocity when surely they know that it is their fate to either join me or die?
*sigh*
I slowly eyed him, going all the way from stem to stern (so to speak), and before I turned away, I said in a perfectly reasonable voice... "Cosgrove... You'd better cut some of those ropes away a bit... I wouldn't want our guest to end the day with too many unsightly tan lines..."
Behind me, "Brisket" Cosgrove laughed heartily and responded with a jaunty "Aye-aye, Captain!"
There was a swift intake of breath from the prisoner when Cosgrove's knife drew just a drop of blood as it slid beneath one of the ropes, and then he said, "Hey Queenie, could you bring me a coffee? Cream and sugar. Just one spoonful, I don't want it too sweet. Thanks, babe."
My spine tingled, and I could feel myself wanting to straighten up like a fireplace poker had shot straight up through my nether-regions and come out through the top of my head.
But I'm nothing if not a good actor; I faked a laugh of good cheer into the brightening dawn and slowly strode away, not once looking back or rising to the bait.
I found my way to the galley, got a nice steaming mug of coffee for myself, and then took a turn around the deck, never looking at or otherwise acknowledging my "guest."
Christ on a cracker... This was going to be an interesting day...
Damn it... Why must I always awaken before the "crack of sparrow fart"?
A Pirate Queen's work is never done. Besides, I am a firm believer that laziness is a sign of weakness... Unless of course we are talking about house cleaning, in which case I'm all for laziness.
But that's beside the point. Back to the narrative flow...
I carelessly tossed on some black clothing, strapped my cutlass to my waist, slipped black boots upon my feet, and shoved my damp hair under a jaunty blue bandana. I was out of the room in minutes and click-clacking up to the deck with a slight jangle of silver buckles.
Screw that "girlie-taking-forever-to-get-dressed-routine," that's so NOT me.
At this hour just before dawn, about half the crew was awake and sleepily looking to minor chores like swabbing the deck, or moving necessary supplies about. Cook was engaged in shouting obscenities at one of his hapless assistants, and the smell of coffee almost drew me to the galley.
Again, I restrained myself. The primary order of business was to begin a long day of questioning with the prisoner, Mr. Congeniality, and if possible I wanted to be the first thing he saw when he opened his bleary and bloodshot eyes.
I approached the mast with measured steps, wanting to make a point that I had all the time in the world to question him. Also, wanting to project the most menacing figure possible, I set my face in a scowl, and drew my dagger from my boot.
The sight that met my eyes was one of epically pathetic proportions. Congeniality was tied to the mast, stripped down to nothing, and he sagged limply in his bonds, head hanging forward, ropes digging into his exhausted form.
I sneered again, (just for practice this time, as he appeared to be sleeping/passed out) stepped to within inches, grabbed a hank of his hair, and shoved his head back against the mast, jarring his skull in the same place where my blow had fallen the evening prior.
He came to with a yelp, followed closely by a groan. For a moment he seemed to focus on my face with great difficulty, and I let go of his hair. Without my support, his head once again dropped to half mast and then he lifted it, looked into my irritated face, and said,
"Hey. How are ya this morning Queenie?" So saying, he lifted his brow and did that "guy nod" thing. For a fraction of an instant I actually found myself on the cusp of either a blush or a laugh.
WTF.
This REALLY pissed me off.
Instead of answering, I drew back my hand and slapped him across the face hard enough to make his head snap sideways and strike the mast again.
I tell you what... No one hits on me first thing in the morning without my express written consent, signed in triplicate, and stamped by the seal of a notary public.
No one...with the possible exception of Batman.
But, I digress.
I followed the slap by stepping in even closer, so close that I could see each and every follicle of stubble on his face, and said in my very best tone of menace,
"Shall we begin again? You see, this is how it works, I will ask you questions. You will answer those questions, or I will start hurting you. Or better yet, I'll just leave you here to broil under the hot sun for a day or two until you beg me to kill you. Do you understand?"
As I had spoken, his head had begun to drop forward again, but at the conclusion of my "Dirty Harry" impression, he raised it, and looked at me through one green eye. There was a second's pause before he finally answered.
He said, "Wow Queenie... Love that badass thing. I think I'll just... Hang out, for a while."
And then?
He laughed.
Damn... Maybe he really was insane. Well, I guess that would make two of us then.
Disgusted at what I could now see was going to be a long ass day, I stepped back and slowly shook my head. Why can't I ever get the easy ones? Why do my foes always fight with such ferocity when surely they know that it is their fate to either join me or die?
*sigh*
I slowly eyed him, going all the way from stem to stern (so to speak), and before I turned away, I said in a perfectly reasonable voice... "Cosgrove... You'd better cut some of those ropes away a bit... I wouldn't want our guest to end the day with too many unsightly tan lines..."
Behind me, "Brisket" Cosgrove laughed heartily and responded with a jaunty "Aye-aye, Captain!"
There was a swift intake of breath from the prisoner when Cosgrove's knife drew just a drop of blood as it slid beneath one of the ropes, and then he said, "Hey Queenie, could you bring me a coffee? Cream and sugar. Just one spoonful, I don't want it too sweet. Thanks, babe."
My spine tingled, and I could feel myself wanting to straighten up like a fireplace poker had shot straight up through my nether-regions and come out through the top of my head.
But I'm nothing if not a good actor; I faked a laugh of good cheer into the brightening dawn and slowly strode away, not once looking back or rising to the bait.
I found my way to the galley, got a nice steaming mug of coffee for myself, and then took a turn around the deck, never looking at or otherwise acknowledging my "guest."
Christ on a cracker... This was going to be an interesting day...
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Dick's Sucks... Or, I Never Learn Anything from My Past Mistakes
That's right. I said it.
Better yet, I meant it.
So... There I was, in the largest sporting goods store in Concord, NH, and this smartass with bad hair told me (and I do quote):
"We don't carry those. No one rollerblades anymore."
Well, fuck you very much, Brad. (Oh yeah, NATURALLY his name was Brad).
I wanted to reach up, grab one of his eyebrows, and pull every damn hair out by the friggin' roots.
All the more so because on my way up Loudon Road, I happened to drive past two people who were, you guessed it, ROLLERBLADING.
*sigh*
How is this possible?
Seriously. And clearly, I have learned nothing from history... Because this is the very same problem I faced two years ago when my last pair of rollerblades bit the dust.
I LOVE to rollerblade.
It is the one time in my gravitationally and aerodynamically challenged life when I can actually do a physical activity that doesn't require me to wear two sports bras in order to avoid unsightly bouncing.
Plus... It's really fucking FAST.
I love me some FAST.
(Oh go ahead and snicker you perv. I'll let it go this time).
Anyway, the last time, I ended up having to drive to Manchester, where there are two sporting goods stores in adjoining strip malls... BOTH have an entire aisle devoted to nothing EXCEPT rollerblades and rollerblading accessories.
So don't tell ME that no one rollerblades.
I fricken' know better.
So anyway... yes, I once again had to go to ManchVegas to score my drug of choice. But, it's all good. I'm happy with the ones I got.
I just wish I could cast aside for once and all the shackles of propriety and really give one of those Dick's employees the come-uppance they deserve. As it was, all I did was embarrass him pretty good by making one of my oh-so-appropriate comments.
You see, after he told me that they didn't have the item I desired, he continued to follow me about the store. When I stared unseeingly at a kayaking display, he informed me:
"We have all kinds of kayaking supplies...blah, blah, blah... We even have several top of the line flotation devices. Are you interested in purchasing some?"
I raised an eyebrow, looked pointedly down at my chest, then looked up at him.
His spray on tan turned a little pink.
Slowly, I said the following, at the top of my lungs, "Dude... Look at me. I'm a D-cup. I AM a flotation device."
My sister, and several other patrons overheard this.
One guy looked like he was going to swallow his own tongue.
Martha (my sister) laughed out loud, and then repeated what I said in a choking voice that must've carried clear across to the Penacook and Hopkinton town lines.
I then stalked out, with a jaunty step.
Fuck him if he can't take a joke.
I rollerbladed for an hour and a half when I got home... and I plan to go out again after dark tonight.
My sister, ever the nutball, said to me, "Watch out for weirdos."
I looked at her, again raised a skeptical eyebrow and said,
"Martha... I have a metal yardstick, an imitation sword, a plastic pirate hook, 3 pairs of stiletto heels, and a prom dress in my trunk. I AM the weirdo."
Her reply?
"You have a point. Don't hurt anybody... Or, if you do... Make it someone cute, and just wound him so you can bring him home after."
I love her.
This is a running joke for us, ever since I learned that if you are in NH, and you hit something, you get to claim it as yours and take it home.
Watch out.
Just sayin'.
Better yet, I meant it.
So... There I was, in the largest sporting goods store in Concord, NH, and this smartass with bad hair told me (and I do quote):
"We don't carry those. No one rollerblades anymore."
Well, fuck you very much, Brad. (Oh yeah, NATURALLY his name was Brad).
I wanted to reach up, grab one of his eyebrows, and pull every damn hair out by the friggin' roots.
All the more so because on my way up Loudon Road, I happened to drive past two people who were, you guessed it, ROLLERBLADING.
*sigh*
How is this possible?
Seriously. And clearly, I have learned nothing from history... Because this is the very same problem I faced two years ago when my last pair of rollerblades bit the dust.
I LOVE to rollerblade.
It is the one time in my gravitationally and aerodynamically challenged life when I can actually do a physical activity that doesn't require me to wear two sports bras in order to avoid unsightly bouncing.
Plus... It's really fucking FAST.
I love me some FAST.
(Oh go ahead and snicker you perv. I'll let it go this time).
Anyway, the last time, I ended up having to drive to Manchester, where there are two sporting goods stores in adjoining strip malls... BOTH have an entire aisle devoted to nothing EXCEPT rollerblades and rollerblading accessories.
So don't tell ME that no one rollerblades.
I fricken' know better.
So anyway... yes, I once again had to go to ManchVegas to score my drug of choice. But, it's all good. I'm happy with the ones I got.
I just wish I could cast aside for once and all the shackles of propriety and really give one of those Dick's employees the come-uppance they deserve. As it was, all I did was embarrass him pretty good by making one of my oh-so-appropriate comments.
You see, after he told me that they didn't have the item I desired, he continued to follow me about the store. When I stared unseeingly at a kayaking display, he informed me:
"We have all kinds of kayaking supplies...blah, blah, blah... We even have several top of the line flotation devices. Are you interested in purchasing some?"
I raised an eyebrow, looked pointedly down at my chest, then looked up at him.
His spray on tan turned a little pink.
Slowly, I said the following, at the top of my lungs, "Dude... Look at me. I'm a D-cup. I AM a flotation device."
My sister, and several other patrons overheard this.
One guy looked like he was going to swallow his own tongue.
Martha (my sister) laughed out loud, and then repeated what I said in a choking voice that must've carried clear across to the Penacook and Hopkinton town lines.
I then stalked out, with a jaunty step.
Fuck him if he can't take a joke.
I rollerbladed for an hour and a half when I got home... and I plan to go out again after dark tonight.
My sister, ever the nutball, said to me, "Watch out for weirdos."
I looked at her, again raised a skeptical eyebrow and said,
"Martha... I have a metal yardstick, an imitation sword, a plastic pirate hook, 3 pairs of stiletto heels, and a prom dress in my trunk. I AM the weirdo."
Her reply?
"You have a point. Don't hurt anybody... Or, if you do... Make it someone cute, and just wound him so you can bring him home after."
I love her.
This is a running joke for us, ever since I learned that if you are in NH, and you hit something, you get to claim it as yours and take it home.
Watch out.
Just sayin'.
Monday, June 21, 2010
It Starts with The Fixer and Ends with Two Horses
Part One - The Fixer
Okay, so here's a tale with two parts... and may or may not be true. (Though, as per usual, names have been changed in order to protect both the innocent and the guilty. Just sayin').
This is a story for anyone who has ever had a small, or large, fuzzy friend with a speech impediment. (No, I don't mean your cousin Denis. I'm talking about a pet, you n00b).
_________________________________________________________
So on Friday, I was sitting in the Literary Dungeon with Lockheed/Falcor and The Fixer, and this Wolverine-esque hero was resting on his heels (claws retracted for the moment).
He made an insightful comment.
This is something he is wont to do at various times, and leads me to believe that he is secretly (even to himself, no doubt) a Zen Master. This is entirely fitting since the greatest masters generally see themselves as silly and foolish, and as a result they absolutely refuse to take the world or themselves too seriously... And they have the most fun mocking all those people who walk around with 2x4's shoved firmly up their asses.
These wise people generally go about, teasing others and making them laugh out loud at both opportune and inopportune moments. (Naturally, if you were to make such a comment to The Fixer in person he would pantomime a rude activity, laugh, and walk away with an exaggerated swagger in order to cover his embarrassment over being called any such thing as "wise.")
The Fixer? Who is this Zen Master-like individual? I know you must be curious, since it is so unlike me to begin a story with myself as a subordinate character... Has the world gone mad??
No, no, not at all.
You see, I have recently gained employment at Professor Xavier's Saltmine for the Gifted, and The Fixer is on the "A" team (so to speak) of the facility. (I barely made the "B" team, and that's mostly because the coach felt bad for me... You'll see me at the games, sitting on the bench and drinking water, all suited up and no balls to throw--Ha ha... God I'm so juvenile, I still laugh when I hear the word "balls").
Anyway, I say this because I want you to get an accurate picture of the situation, and as you know, I'm all about characters and imagery. In this case, I was in a perfect position to see the reality of my new situation, because I entered the game so late in the year, when patterns had already been firmly established. I met The Fixer early on, and I recognized him immediately. If you'd been there, and been paying attention (as so few people do) you would've spotted him too. He's the guy that actually does all the stuff to make other people's grandiose ideas happen. Naturally, no one seems to appreciate this until he's not around for a few hours... At this point, generally at least 2 people will, at some point, say to someone else...
"I need __________. Where's The Fixer?"
You know the saying, "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone"? Well, it's a cliche for a reason, my friends.
Anyway, I digress. The real point is the comment he made, which will lead me into the second half of my tale.
I will do my best to quote him accurately, but if the statement comes out sounding slightly less profound than you are expecting after all this build up, believe me, the fault is entirely mine and in no way his.
He said (referring to Lockheed/Falcor), "She's the world's smallest therapist. Everyone needs that."
Simply stated, but true on so many levels.
This struck me as being both insightful and wise, and the words have run through my head at odd moments ever since, especially today.
Funny how the simplest truths are so often taken for granted, don't you think?
And here's the real point... The Fixer managed to say in less than 10 words what I am about to say to you with the entire second half of this story.
Perhaps someday I will be as good as that.
But I'm not holding my breath.
Part Two - The Horses
And now here's "the rest of the story" as a famous man once said.
My father is a caretaker for some very nice people who live in our part of the world. For the past three years, a large part of his responsibility has been to look after the care and feeding of two humongous black and white Clydesdales named, of all things, Ben and Bob.
Ben and Bob, for all their size and magesty, are aptly named. The two bonded instantly with my father, who had never been responsible for horses before. Whenever he arrived at the barn, they would come trotting out to him. If he was in their paddock, they would follow him around like two puppies, and he is the only human they would obey or take orders from. When Bob had colic, and the vet was afraid he would die of it, my father stayed up 24 hours a day with him for almost an entire week, laying on the barn floor, and keeping Bob from rolling and endangering himself.
Ben and Bob love my dad, and he loves them.
Imagine if you can two 3,000 lb., stunningly gorgeous and strong... well, puppies.
Over the course of the two years, I became quite close to those two boys also, and that's how this story comes as a result of The Fixer's comment.
You see, the boys left today.
I didn't cry when they got on their horse-trailer, headed for Wyoming... I was strong. I was me.
But after they left, I had a sudden need to go for an extended drive by myself.
I know... I know... You probably don't get it, so I'll explain further, but in order to do so I may have to tell you some things about myself that you haven't heard before... Please, once you've read it, destroy this communication. I don't want any ninjas to see it.
And don't let it ruin your image of me as a kick-ass, tough-as-cold-iron, heartlessly, ruthlessly evil bitch who doesn't need anyone or anything.
I am, and I don't.
So there.
Here's the deal:
Last April I received a tremendous blow. I found out, quite suddenly, that the Saltmine I was working in was going to be closing. I was absolutely devastated, though I think most people thought that I was fine at the time. Of course, they thought this pretty much because I didn't tell anyone.
No, I'm totally serious.
I told almost no one. You see, I own my house, but the property taxes on that house are almost 8,000 dollars per year, and while my parents pay half (they live on the other side of the duplex) they most definitely can not afford to take up the slack if I am without employment. Not to mention all the other assorted bills, etc. that I pay... oil, cell phone, electricity... You get the idea.
I couldn't tell them that I would be jobless.
I just couldn't.
And since I couldn't tell them... I pretty much couldn't tell anyone.
For two and a half months, I went about everywhere with a sense of dread pressing on me like a hand over a screaming mouth. I counted down the paychecks.
I ended by nearly making myself physically ill.
And I was absolutely lost. There was no one I could confide in. As you know... I walk alone.
I'm tough. I'm the one people rely on. I'm the "dependable" one; the one who does what she's told and doesn't complain. I keep a happy face and take care of other people. I blend in with the wall, and when I'm gone people don't really notice much.
I'm just... there.
Most of the time, I'm cool with this... But it can be hard.
I can handle it, but quite frankly... It absolutely sucks to be alone.
And I felt entirely alone, except for the boys.
On most days, when I left for school, I would leave extra early and drop by the barn.
Frequently I stopped in on my way home as well.
Ben and Bob were always happy to see me. I would walk up to their stalls, and they would come out and stand next to me. I could put my arms around their huge necks and just, rest. I told them everything... and I don't give a shit what anyone says about "not anthropomorphizing" animals... I know they listened. Just about the only time I could forget my abject terror was when I had my head pressed to Ben's or Bob's huge shoulder... Feeling their enormous heartbeats under my hands. That was the only time I could let go of control with no fear of being judged, told what to do, offered useless advice, or worst of all... Pitied.
I despise being pitied. I would rather be hated.
I would even rather be ignored completely... And I LOATHE being ignored.
Those two boys have part of my soul, and I gave it willingly.
Of course, considering the size of my small, dark, evil smelling soul... what they gave me was surely far more valuable.
Well... The story has a happy, yet bittersweet ending.
I managed to get another job exactly one week after school ended last year. On the day I was offered the job, I finally told my mother that I had lost my old one because the saltmine was closing... and as I anticipated, she totally lost her shit. Her question of course had merit. She said, "Were you EVER going to tell us?"
My response, "Only if I had to."
I mean really, what would have been the point? There was nothing anyone could, or would, do to help me. So why worry anyone else? I handled it myself, and it came out okay in the end. What more can anyone hope for?
See what I mean about the Lone Wolf thing? Yeah, I thought so.
Naturally... I utterly despised the new job from day one. But I took it, and I smiled, and I said "Thank you." Because it was what I had to do.
Luckily, some benevolent force in the universe finally took pity on me, and now I am working at Xavier's School for the Gifted.
Best. School. Ever.
It totally fucking ROCKS.
And, like the sands through the hourglass...time rolls on.
But today, Ben and Bob left for Wyoming, and a part of me that I can never have back goes with them.
What do I do without my large, sweet, funny smelling "therapists"?
I have no idea.
Good thing I'm so damn tough.
Afterall... The Pirate Queen rides alone, and to show sadness is to show weakness.
Weakness means death and mutiny.
So I smile and laugh.
And when I feel that empty place inside, I will try to fill it with the battle cry I use when I fall upon a ninja with sword and pistol.
And sometimes it will work.
It's the best I've got for now... and I'll take whatever I can get.
Good bye Ben. Good bye Bob. I love you.
Okay, it's time to wrap this sappy shit up before I drive you to an act of violence... Here goes:
If you, like The Fixer, understand the importance of "tiny therapists" my hat is off to you. You are wise, my friend, and I respect you enough to offer you a place on my ship when the inevitable zombie apocalypse threatens to drown us all in a tide of black bile and twitching body parts.
Thanks for everything.
Your loyal and fearless, (yet oddly clueless)
Pirate Queen
Okay, so here's a tale with two parts... and may or may not be true. (Though, as per usual, names have been changed in order to protect both the innocent and the guilty. Just sayin').
This is a story for anyone who has ever had a small, or large, fuzzy friend with a speech impediment. (No, I don't mean your cousin Denis. I'm talking about a pet, you n00b).
_________________________________________________________
So on Friday, I was sitting in the Literary Dungeon with Lockheed/Falcor and The Fixer, and this Wolverine-esque hero was resting on his heels (claws retracted for the moment).
He made an insightful comment.
This is something he is wont to do at various times, and leads me to believe that he is secretly (even to himself, no doubt) a Zen Master. This is entirely fitting since the greatest masters generally see themselves as silly and foolish, and as a result they absolutely refuse to take the world or themselves too seriously... And they have the most fun mocking all those people who walk around with 2x4's shoved firmly up their asses.
These wise people generally go about, teasing others and making them laugh out loud at both opportune and inopportune moments. (Naturally, if you were to make such a comment to The Fixer in person he would pantomime a rude activity, laugh, and walk away with an exaggerated swagger in order to cover his embarrassment over being called any such thing as "wise.")
The Fixer? Who is this Zen Master-like individual? I know you must be curious, since it is so unlike me to begin a story with myself as a subordinate character... Has the world gone mad??
No, no, not at all.
You see, I have recently gained employment at Professor Xavier's Saltmine for the Gifted, and The Fixer is on the "A" team (so to speak) of the facility. (I barely made the "B" team, and that's mostly because the coach felt bad for me... You'll see me at the games, sitting on the bench and drinking water, all suited up and no balls to throw--Ha ha... God I'm so juvenile, I still laugh when I hear the word "balls").
Anyway, I say this because I want you to get an accurate picture of the situation, and as you know, I'm all about characters and imagery. In this case, I was in a perfect position to see the reality of my new situation, because I entered the game so late in the year, when patterns had already been firmly established. I met The Fixer early on, and I recognized him immediately. If you'd been there, and been paying attention (as so few people do) you would've spotted him too. He's the guy that actually does all the stuff to make other people's grandiose ideas happen. Naturally, no one seems to appreciate this until he's not around for a few hours... At this point, generally at least 2 people will, at some point, say to someone else...
"I need __________. Where's The Fixer?"
You know the saying, "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone"? Well, it's a cliche for a reason, my friends.
Anyway, I digress. The real point is the comment he made, which will lead me into the second half of my tale.
I will do my best to quote him accurately, but if the statement comes out sounding slightly less profound than you are expecting after all this build up, believe me, the fault is entirely mine and in no way his.
He said (referring to Lockheed/Falcor), "She's the world's smallest therapist. Everyone needs that."
Simply stated, but true on so many levels.
This struck me as being both insightful and wise, and the words have run through my head at odd moments ever since, especially today.
Funny how the simplest truths are so often taken for granted, don't you think?
And here's the real point... The Fixer managed to say in less than 10 words what I am about to say to you with the entire second half of this story.
Perhaps someday I will be as good as that.
But I'm not holding my breath.
Part Two - The Horses
And now here's "the rest of the story" as a famous man once said.
My father is a caretaker for some very nice people who live in our part of the world. For the past three years, a large part of his responsibility has been to look after the care and feeding of two humongous black and white Clydesdales named, of all things, Ben and Bob.
Ben and Bob, for all their size and magesty, are aptly named. The two bonded instantly with my father, who had never been responsible for horses before. Whenever he arrived at the barn, they would come trotting out to him. If he was in their paddock, they would follow him around like two puppies, and he is the only human they would obey or take orders from. When Bob had colic, and the vet was afraid he would die of it, my father stayed up 24 hours a day with him for almost an entire week, laying on the barn floor, and keeping Bob from rolling and endangering himself.
Ben and Bob love my dad, and he loves them.
Imagine if you can two 3,000 lb., stunningly gorgeous and strong... well, puppies.
Over the course of the two years, I became quite close to those two boys also, and that's how this story comes as a result of The Fixer's comment.
You see, the boys left today.
I didn't cry when they got on their horse-trailer, headed for Wyoming... I was strong. I was me.
But after they left, I had a sudden need to go for an extended drive by myself.
I know... I know... You probably don't get it, so I'll explain further, but in order to do so I may have to tell you some things about myself that you haven't heard before... Please, once you've read it, destroy this communication. I don't want any ninjas to see it.
And don't let it ruin your image of me as a kick-ass, tough-as-cold-iron, heartlessly, ruthlessly evil bitch who doesn't need anyone or anything.
I am, and I don't.
So there.
Here's the deal:
Last April I received a tremendous blow. I found out, quite suddenly, that the Saltmine I was working in was going to be closing. I was absolutely devastated, though I think most people thought that I was fine at the time. Of course, they thought this pretty much because I didn't tell anyone.
No, I'm totally serious.
I told almost no one. You see, I own my house, but the property taxes on that house are almost 8,000 dollars per year, and while my parents pay half (they live on the other side of the duplex) they most definitely can not afford to take up the slack if I am without employment. Not to mention all the other assorted bills, etc. that I pay... oil, cell phone, electricity... You get the idea.
I couldn't tell them that I would be jobless.
I just couldn't.
And since I couldn't tell them... I pretty much couldn't tell anyone.
For two and a half months, I went about everywhere with a sense of dread pressing on me like a hand over a screaming mouth. I counted down the paychecks.
I ended by nearly making myself physically ill.
And I was absolutely lost. There was no one I could confide in. As you know... I walk alone.
I'm tough. I'm the one people rely on. I'm the "dependable" one; the one who does what she's told and doesn't complain. I keep a happy face and take care of other people. I blend in with the wall, and when I'm gone people don't really notice much.
I'm just... there.
Most of the time, I'm cool with this... But it can be hard.
I can handle it, but quite frankly... It absolutely sucks to be alone.
And I felt entirely alone, except for the boys.
On most days, when I left for school, I would leave extra early and drop by the barn.
Frequently I stopped in on my way home as well.
Ben and Bob were always happy to see me. I would walk up to their stalls, and they would come out and stand next to me. I could put my arms around their huge necks and just, rest. I told them everything... and I don't give a shit what anyone says about "not anthropomorphizing" animals... I know they listened. Just about the only time I could forget my abject terror was when I had my head pressed to Ben's or Bob's huge shoulder... Feeling their enormous heartbeats under my hands. That was the only time I could let go of control with no fear of being judged, told what to do, offered useless advice, or worst of all... Pitied.
I despise being pitied. I would rather be hated.
I would even rather be ignored completely... And I LOATHE being ignored.
Those two boys have part of my soul, and I gave it willingly.
Of course, considering the size of my small, dark, evil smelling soul... what they gave me was surely far more valuable.
Well... The story has a happy, yet bittersweet ending.
I managed to get another job exactly one week after school ended last year. On the day I was offered the job, I finally told my mother that I had lost my old one because the saltmine was closing... and as I anticipated, she totally lost her shit. Her question of course had merit. She said, "Were you EVER going to tell us?"
My response, "Only if I had to."
I mean really, what would have been the point? There was nothing anyone could, or would, do to help me. So why worry anyone else? I handled it myself, and it came out okay in the end. What more can anyone hope for?
See what I mean about the Lone Wolf thing? Yeah, I thought so.
Naturally... I utterly despised the new job from day one. But I took it, and I smiled, and I said "Thank you." Because it was what I had to do.
Luckily, some benevolent force in the universe finally took pity on me, and now I am working at Xavier's School for the Gifted.
Best. School. Ever.
It totally fucking ROCKS.
And, like the sands through the hourglass...time rolls on.
But today, Ben and Bob left for Wyoming, and a part of me that I can never have back goes with them.
What do I do without my large, sweet, funny smelling "therapists"?
I have no idea.
Good thing I'm so damn tough.
Afterall... The Pirate Queen rides alone, and to show sadness is to show weakness.
Weakness means death and mutiny.
So I smile and laugh.
And when I feel that empty place inside, I will try to fill it with the battle cry I use when I fall upon a ninja with sword and pistol.
And sometimes it will work.
It's the best I've got for now... and I'll take whatever I can get.
Good bye Ben. Good bye Bob. I love you.
Okay, it's time to wrap this sappy shit up before I drive you to an act of violence... Here goes:
If you, like The Fixer, understand the importance of "tiny therapists" my hat is off to you. You are wise, my friend, and I respect you enough to offer you a place on my ship when the inevitable zombie apocalypse threatens to drown us all in a tide of black bile and twitching body parts.
Thanks for everything.
Your loyal and fearless, (yet oddly clueless)
Pirate Queen
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Got Family?
Okay, so the truth is, I did not become a ninja battling pirate queen grammarian superhero without some assistance.
Believe it or not, I have a family.
In fact, I have an enormous family... There is actually a "Warren Family Reunion" today, and there will be over 200 people in attendance. It's crazy. It's in Maine, in a town called Buckfield. Trust me, there is no way I could have made that up on my own.
On my father's side alone I have:
7 uncles
2 aunts
25+ cousins (When I got to 25 I lost count in my head and gave up)
And that's not counting my cousin's children (There are over 12 of them now) or my grandparents and my great-aunts and uncles (Still over 10 of them at last count).
It's truly insane to me. (Which is probably why I live in NH, aka, a safe distance away).
That's not to say that I don't love them all... of course I do... But--25 freaking cousins? You have GOT to be kidding. And of course, lucky, lucky, lucky me... I was the oldest girl, surpassed only by my cousin Brent who managed to pop out of the womb a whole 3 days before I did, that rat bastard. Just kidding, we were total BFFs until he moved to Brockton. (Seriously, who does that)?
Of course, the most important ones to me are Varneta and Cheryl, since I spent my formative years running around in the woods with them, reading "Herself the Elf" and "The Black Cauldron" to them, riding bikes with no breaks while one of them sat on the back, and in general fighting, ignoring, laughing, mentally torturing, and playing dress up with them.
The others? I think most of them thought we were the crazy ones.
Huh. They were probably right about that.
But we made it look good.
Well, hell... At least I know that if I suddenly find myself in a gutter somewhere I can always haul my ass up to Maine, and chances are good that SOMEONE there will have to take me in, regardless of how weird or hopeless they find me to be.
Ahh... Family.
Believe it or not, I have a family.
In fact, I have an enormous family... There is actually a "Warren Family Reunion" today, and there will be over 200 people in attendance. It's crazy. It's in Maine, in a town called Buckfield. Trust me, there is no way I could have made that up on my own.
On my father's side alone I have:
7 uncles
2 aunts
25+ cousins (When I got to 25 I lost count in my head and gave up)
And that's not counting my cousin's children (There are over 12 of them now) or my grandparents and my great-aunts and uncles (Still over 10 of them at last count).
It's truly insane to me. (Which is probably why I live in NH, aka, a safe distance away).
That's not to say that I don't love them all... of course I do... But--25 freaking cousins? You have GOT to be kidding. And of course, lucky, lucky, lucky me... I was the oldest girl, surpassed only by my cousin Brent who managed to pop out of the womb a whole 3 days before I did, that rat bastard. Just kidding, we were total BFFs until he moved to Brockton. (Seriously, who does that)?
Of course, the most important ones to me are Varneta and Cheryl, since I spent my formative years running around in the woods with them, reading "Herself the Elf" and "The Black Cauldron" to them, riding bikes with no breaks while one of them sat on the back, and in general fighting, ignoring, laughing, mentally torturing, and playing dress up with them.
The others? I think most of them thought we were the crazy ones.
Huh. They were probably right about that.
But we made it look good.
Well, hell... At least I know that if I suddenly find myself in a gutter somewhere I can always haul my ass up to Maine, and chances are good that SOMEONE there will have to take me in, regardless of how weird or hopeless they find me to be.
Ahh... Family.
So I Went for a Drive, and Made a New Enemy Without Even Trying Very Hard
As I begin this tale, it is 5:05am Sunday morning.
All day yesterday I was Jonesing to go for a drive, but I wanted to go at an ungodly hour, so I set my cell phone to go off at 2am, and I attempted to sleep for a few hours...
It didn't take.
By 1:30 I decided the time was right for a moonless drive, so I got dressed, burned a special CD to commemorate the occasion, pounded a Red Bull, opened the sunroof, rolled the windows down, put on the music at MAX VOL and sped out of my driveway.
The night was "lovely, dark and deep." The roads seemed to actually sing to me as I sped in no particular direction. I hadn't a specific destination in mind, so when I got to Concord I thought... Okay, cool.
I drove through the city streets, seeking whom I might devour, and ended by cruising up Loudon Road. I stopped in at Club Seven for a quick soda, and that was when it happened.
Obviously, I had made no secret of my intention to go for a mini road trip, so when my phone rang it wasn't totally unexpected. What was strange was the "Number Unavailable" notification.
Still, I picked up and gave the usual greeting. From there the conversation went something like this:
Me: Hello? ... Hello? ...Uh...
Unknown Caller: static--then what sounded like a hiccup.
Me: Hello? Hello? Who is this?
(I'm known for my skill as a conversationalist with good reason as you can already tell).
Unknown Caller: Long silence, punctuated by, well, nothing.
Me: Well, okay, I guess I'll tell you about me then! It's 2:47am and I'm driving around Concord. (Light laugh) Anyone there? Hellooo?
Now this is where it gets weird. I'm just giving you a heads up.
Unknown Caller: (Almost in a whisper) I need help... Please... Oh god, they're coming...
Click. the silence at the end of the empty line was so thick you'd have to dish it out with a ladle and eat it with a fork.
At this point, I was dubious. Could someone possibly have the steel cojones it would take to mess with me?
Somehow, I didn't think so.
So, I resorted to my usual mode of travel when I have no place in particular to go, and no time constraints.
Psychic magnetism.
Oh yeah, I said it.
I never used to believe in anything like this, but it's worked for me so well in the past that I've learned to trust it as a valuable method of finding someone.
It goes something like this:
1. Clear your mind of all distractions.
2. Then, if you are looking for a particular person, try to envision him or her in your mind. SEE them there. Notice what they are wearing, and pay attention to facial expressions.
3. Next, simply drive, walk, rollerblade...
4. DO NOT try to use logic or think about where the person should be. Just simply go.
You would be surprised how often you will find the person you are seeking.
This also works well if you don't try to find a particular person. Eventually, just the right someone will cross your path. Seriously, it's weird I know... But oddly, serendipitous.
Anyway, back to the story part of this story.
I started my engine, turned the music down somewhat, and began to drive. I went back down Loudon Rd, took a left when I got to Main Street and then right on Pleasant St.
That's when I got the second call.
Me: Hello?
Silence
Me: Anybody there? Who are you?
Long pause
Unknown Caller: I keep running, but they just keep finding me. Please---
Me: Who is this? Where are you?
Unknown Caller: (In a whisper so low I could barely make it out) I'm on School Street, I'm on a porch. Please---Will you help me? They're coming.
Okay, now at this point, I feel that I need to interrupt this already someone disruptive story in order to explain something about myself. You see, whilst I was indeed a very odd little girl who grew up (physically at least, not so much mentally) into an even more odd woman, I don't generally pick strange people up at 3am.
In fact, I pretty much never pick anyone up that I don't know. Hell, I don't even pick up people I do know. I mean, when I'm driving, I'm in the f'ing ZONE. You could drive behind me for a couple of miles, flashing your lights and honking your horn and I would be none the wiser. Plus...
I've seen "The Hitcher" and I have no desire to end up skinned and worn by some psycho with mommy issues.
However, this was a special case.
I do not believe in coincidence, and the fact that I felt strangely compelled to follow my instincts meant something to me. So I took a deep breath, and said to the unknown person at the other end of the line,
"I'll be on school street in a minute. I'm driving a Corolla with pink fuzzy dice, and I'll be blaring the song "Driven" by Rush. Look and listen for me."
Unknown Caller: (the faintest whisper of a sigh) Okay.
At this point I was almost to School Street, so I raised the volume back up, and rolled all my windows down completely. I slowed to a cruising speed of about 10mph and kept my eyes open.
Just as I was about to pass a large yellow and green house, a dark figure darted out from under the overhang of its shadowy porch and made swiftly for the passenger side of my car. I unlocked the door and slowed down to crawl.
The person, clearly male, opened the door, jumped in, and yelled over the music, "Quick! We have to get out of here! Please!" I couldn't see much of him except his eyes, and they were desperate. He was dressed head to toe in what looked like dark blue pajamas and a, get this, MASK... Like, Lone Ranger style.
There were a dozen questions I wanted to ask, but they got tangled up in my throat like the shoelaces of a 5 year old just learning to make a double knot.
And then my back window exploded, shooting safety glass everywhere.
I slammed my foot down on the accelerator and drove up the hill as though... well, as though I were being shot at.
You know, it's funny... guns always seem so loud in the movies, but the sound I'd heard before my window exploded only seemed like a large fire-cracker. Of course that might have just been because my music was still blasting... Whatever.
The point is, I got us the hell out of there. I zoomed through a couple four way stops without slowing, then zigged and zagged around side streets until my heart stopped trying to bust out of my ribcage and into the night air.
We traveled in silence the entire time.
I finally stopped the car, hit the radio off button, put my car in park, and said,
"Who the hell ARE you?"
My passenger was silent as the grave.
No, actually, MORE silent than a grave.
He was in fact, gone.
In the seat beside me was... nothing except the detritus that has been building over the past week. Items found amongst the wreckage were: a 2010 yearbook from my school, my wallet, a credit card receipt from Starbucks, and my hat.
The hat was the thing.
You see, the brim was bent the wrong way... as though it had been sat on.
I held it in my shaking hands and just looked at it.
And then, as I smoothed the brim back into shape, I heard a crinkling sound, and a small blue piece of paper dropped out onto my lap. It read:
"Thank you, Pirate Queen. I am in your debt, and if I can ever stop running, I will find an repay your kindness to the best of my meager ability. For now I must go, as you are already in more danger than you can imagine, and I do not wish to have your blood on my hands as well.
Your reluctant debtor,
Shiro Linh"
I put down the note after reading it several times, started the car up, and drove aimlessly for a while. When it started to get light, I saw that I was heading down Rt 77, and I had no idea how I had gotten there.
Nearly an hour ago, I arrived home. It took me a few minutes to get up stairs to my bedroom, as my whole body was sore and achy from all of my muscles being clenched up for so long and the precipitous drop in adrenaline levels.
My back window is gone, I've apparently got yet ANOTHER band of ninjas with a grudge against me on my tail, and I still have some bits of glass in my hair.
Not to mention that the brim of my hat will take weeks to get back into the shape to which I am accustomed.
On the bright side... There's a ninja, or former ninja, out there somewhere who owes me a favor.
Which does leave me wondering... Who is Shiro Linh?
Better yet...
How in the sky blue pink hell did he get my phone number?
It's such a trip being me.
All day yesterday I was Jonesing to go for a drive, but I wanted to go at an ungodly hour, so I set my cell phone to go off at 2am, and I attempted to sleep for a few hours...
It didn't take.
By 1:30 I decided the time was right for a moonless drive, so I got dressed, burned a special CD to commemorate the occasion, pounded a Red Bull, opened the sunroof, rolled the windows down, put on the music at MAX VOL and sped out of my driveway.
The night was "lovely, dark and deep." The roads seemed to actually sing to me as I sped in no particular direction. I hadn't a specific destination in mind, so when I got to Concord I thought... Okay, cool.
I drove through the city streets, seeking whom I might devour, and ended by cruising up Loudon Road. I stopped in at Club Seven for a quick soda, and that was when it happened.
Obviously, I had made no secret of my intention to go for a mini road trip, so when my phone rang it wasn't totally unexpected. What was strange was the "Number Unavailable" notification.
Still, I picked up and gave the usual greeting. From there the conversation went something like this:
Me: Hello? ... Hello? ...Uh...
Unknown Caller: static--then what sounded like a hiccup.
Me: Hello? Hello? Who is this?
(I'm known for my skill as a conversationalist with good reason as you can already tell).
Unknown Caller: Long silence, punctuated by, well, nothing.
Me: Well, okay, I guess I'll tell you about me then! It's 2:47am and I'm driving around Concord. (Light laugh) Anyone there? Hellooo?
Now this is where it gets weird. I'm just giving you a heads up.
Unknown Caller: (Almost in a whisper) I need help... Please... Oh god, they're coming...
Click. the silence at the end of the empty line was so thick you'd have to dish it out with a ladle and eat it with a fork.
At this point, I was dubious. Could someone possibly have the steel cojones it would take to mess with me?
Somehow, I didn't think so.
So, I resorted to my usual mode of travel when I have no place in particular to go, and no time constraints.
Psychic magnetism.
Oh yeah, I said it.
I never used to believe in anything like this, but it's worked for me so well in the past that I've learned to trust it as a valuable method of finding someone.
It goes something like this:
1. Clear your mind of all distractions.
2. Then, if you are looking for a particular person, try to envision him or her in your mind. SEE them there. Notice what they are wearing, and pay attention to facial expressions.
3. Next, simply drive, walk, rollerblade...
4. DO NOT try to use logic or think about where the person should be. Just simply go.
You would be surprised how often you will find the person you are seeking.
This also works well if you don't try to find a particular person. Eventually, just the right someone will cross your path. Seriously, it's weird I know... But oddly, serendipitous.
Anyway, back to the story part of this story.
I started my engine, turned the music down somewhat, and began to drive. I went back down Loudon Rd, took a left when I got to Main Street and then right on Pleasant St.
That's when I got the second call.
Me: Hello?
Silence
Me: Anybody there? Who are you?
Long pause
Unknown Caller: I keep running, but they just keep finding me. Please---
Me: Who is this? Where are you?
Unknown Caller: (In a whisper so low I could barely make it out) I'm on School Street, I'm on a porch. Please---Will you help me? They're coming.
Okay, now at this point, I feel that I need to interrupt this already someone disruptive story in order to explain something about myself. You see, whilst I was indeed a very odd little girl who grew up (physically at least, not so much mentally) into an even more odd woman, I don't generally pick strange people up at 3am.
In fact, I pretty much never pick anyone up that I don't know. Hell, I don't even pick up people I do know. I mean, when I'm driving, I'm in the f'ing ZONE. You could drive behind me for a couple of miles, flashing your lights and honking your horn and I would be none the wiser. Plus...
I've seen "The Hitcher" and I have no desire to end up skinned and worn by some psycho with mommy issues.
However, this was a special case.
I do not believe in coincidence, and the fact that I felt strangely compelled to follow my instincts meant something to me. So I took a deep breath, and said to the unknown person at the other end of the line,
"I'll be on school street in a minute. I'm driving a Corolla with pink fuzzy dice, and I'll be blaring the song "Driven" by Rush. Look and listen for me."
Unknown Caller: (the faintest whisper of a sigh) Okay.
At this point I was almost to School Street, so I raised the volume back up, and rolled all my windows down completely. I slowed to a cruising speed of about 10mph and kept my eyes open.
Just as I was about to pass a large yellow and green house, a dark figure darted out from under the overhang of its shadowy porch and made swiftly for the passenger side of my car. I unlocked the door and slowed down to crawl.
The person, clearly male, opened the door, jumped in, and yelled over the music, "Quick! We have to get out of here! Please!" I couldn't see much of him except his eyes, and they were desperate. He was dressed head to toe in what looked like dark blue pajamas and a, get this, MASK... Like, Lone Ranger style.
There were a dozen questions I wanted to ask, but they got tangled up in my throat like the shoelaces of a 5 year old just learning to make a double knot.
And then my back window exploded, shooting safety glass everywhere.
I slammed my foot down on the accelerator and drove up the hill as though... well, as though I were being shot at.
You know, it's funny... guns always seem so loud in the movies, but the sound I'd heard before my window exploded only seemed like a large fire-cracker. Of course that might have just been because my music was still blasting... Whatever.
The point is, I got us the hell out of there. I zoomed through a couple four way stops without slowing, then zigged and zagged around side streets until my heart stopped trying to bust out of my ribcage and into the night air.
We traveled in silence the entire time.
I finally stopped the car, hit the radio off button, put my car in park, and said,
"Who the hell ARE you?"
My passenger was silent as the grave.
No, actually, MORE silent than a grave.
He was in fact, gone.
In the seat beside me was... nothing except the detritus that has been building over the past week. Items found amongst the wreckage were: a 2010 yearbook from my school, my wallet, a credit card receipt from Starbucks, and my hat.
The hat was the thing.
You see, the brim was bent the wrong way... as though it had been sat on.
I held it in my shaking hands and just looked at it.
And then, as I smoothed the brim back into shape, I heard a crinkling sound, and a small blue piece of paper dropped out onto my lap. It read:
"Thank you, Pirate Queen. I am in your debt, and if I can ever stop running, I will find an repay your kindness to the best of my meager ability. For now I must go, as you are already in more danger than you can imagine, and I do not wish to have your blood on my hands as well.
Your reluctant debtor,
Shiro Linh"
I put down the note after reading it several times, started the car up, and drove aimlessly for a while. When it started to get light, I saw that I was heading down Rt 77, and I had no idea how I had gotten there.
Nearly an hour ago, I arrived home. It took me a few minutes to get up stairs to my bedroom, as my whole body was sore and achy from all of my muscles being clenched up for so long and the precipitous drop in adrenaline levels.
My back window is gone, I've apparently got yet ANOTHER band of ninjas with a grudge against me on my tail, and I still have some bits of glass in my hair.
Not to mention that the brim of my hat will take weeks to get back into the shape to which I am accustomed.
On the bright side... There's a ninja, or former ninja, out there somewhere who owes me a favor.
Which does leave me wondering... Who is Shiro Linh?
Better yet...
How in the sky blue pink hell did he get my phone number?
It's such a trip being me.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
3am On a Tuesday
... When last I discussed my latest grand adventure with you I happened to be staggering back to my cabin for a few hours of well earned rest in my small but cozy Captain's bunk.
Sadly, my rest was to be short indeed.
*sigh*
No rest for the queen, as per usual.
I was just dropping my lightly clad form into bed, when I heard a commotion from the other end of the ship.
For a few seconds I considered simply lying to myself, and saying that it must just be some of the boys having fun with one another, but two things stopped me.
1. One of our Articles of Piracy addresses the issue of fighting on board ship... It is strictly forbidden on pain of marooning.
2. The sound was coming from the main mast, where I had instructed my men to tie and set guards to keep Mr. Congeniality from escaping until I could question him.
So, swearing quietly, I dropped a loose velvet shirt over my head, grabbed my sword in one hand, and threw open the door, taking off down the passage, and emerging onto deck.
The sight that greeted me was displeasing... in the extreme.
The prisoner was standing with his back to me, holding a pistol that he had doubtless secreted somewhere on his person. He was waving it about and holding off my men with threats of shooting wildly amongst them. In his other hand was a knife, stolen from one of my men in the fray that had doubtless ensued when the crew had discovered him extricating himself from bondage.
Well, granted I was wearing almost nothing, but the advantage for me was that I was behind him, and since I was barefoot I made almost no sound on the deck. Also, being dressed only in black, I was nothing but a quiet shadow lurking behind him. So far most of the men hadn't seen me, and the ones who had were studiously pretending that they hadn't.
Mr. Congeniality, sure that he had the upper hand was moving rapidly to the side of the ship and preparing himself for a leap into the ocean. Patiently awaiting my opportunity, I stalked him like a cat, and when he put the hand holding the knife to the ship's railing, I raised my sword, spun it in my hand, and clubbed him with hilt. He staggered back from the rail, trying to right himself, and looked up at me from his stooped position. His eyes went wide for a moment, and he said,
"Whoa... I had a dream like this once..." And then his eyes crossed, and he sank to the floor, witless.
Clearly, I needed to work on my technique. Either that, or I was going soft. I had intended to hit hard enough to drop him to the deck instantly, but at the last moment I'd pulled back on the blow.
My father would have been so disappointed. Hadn't he always instructed me to "follow through with your swing, Virginia"?
I heaved a last sigh, and said,
"What the hell happened here?" I scowled my blackest look at the shame-faced and mostly inebriated crew members who could manage to meet my gaze. They looked away and muttered imprecations at one another. They looked like nothing so much as a group of shame-faced 8th graders muttering about how they had forgotten to do their homework.
I shouted to the Quartermaster, and in quick words that jabbed like uppercuts, I instructed him to have the prisoner stripped. I would NOT have him pulling even more weapons out of unlikely hiding places to use against the crew or myself. I then told them to secure him with irons this time, and then bring the key to me for safe keeping.
A few of the men sniggered, and one or two actually looked embarrassed.
Seriously? I was disgusted by their cluelessness and prim attitude.
"I assure you gentlemen, I won't go into a case of the vapors and demand my smelling salts. If I can stand to look at him, then what the hell is your problem?"
Not one of them met my gaze. The Quartermaster began barking my orders, and the crew leaped to obey, not wanting to incur my wrath.
I let out a snort, and then stalked back to my cabin, to resume my graceful slumber.
Well, okay, so I'm lying. I'm probably the LEAST graceful and peaceful sleeper on the seven seas. I talk to myself, I move about, I some times wake myself up humming, and yes, I drool.
But still, you get the idea.
It was going to be an interesting day of questioning the prisoner, and I would need my wits about me.
As I sailed over the horizon into the land of dreams, a thought struck me... Mr. Congeniality had been closely guarded by several of my crew... There was no way he could have freed himself without assistance...
Was there a ninja in our midst?
Even in my sleep, a shudder rippled through me... An interesting day indeed.
Sadly, my rest was to be short indeed.
*sigh*
No rest for the queen, as per usual.
I was just dropping my lightly clad form into bed, when I heard a commotion from the other end of the ship.
For a few seconds I considered simply lying to myself, and saying that it must just be some of the boys having fun with one another, but two things stopped me.
1. One of our Articles of Piracy addresses the issue of fighting on board ship... It is strictly forbidden on pain of marooning.
2. The sound was coming from the main mast, where I had instructed my men to tie and set guards to keep Mr. Congeniality from escaping until I could question him.
So, swearing quietly, I dropped a loose velvet shirt over my head, grabbed my sword in one hand, and threw open the door, taking off down the passage, and emerging onto deck.
The sight that greeted me was displeasing... in the extreme.
The prisoner was standing with his back to me, holding a pistol that he had doubtless secreted somewhere on his person. He was waving it about and holding off my men with threats of shooting wildly amongst them. In his other hand was a knife, stolen from one of my men in the fray that had doubtless ensued when the crew had discovered him extricating himself from bondage.
Well, granted I was wearing almost nothing, but the advantage for me was that I was behind him, and since I was barefoot I made almost no sound on the deck. Also, being dressed only in black, I was nothing but a quiet shadow lurking behind him. So far most of the men hadn't seen me, and the ones who had were studiously pretending that they hadn't.
Mr. Congeniality, sure that he had the upper hand was moving rapidly to the side of the ship and preparing himself for a leap into the ocean. Patiently awaiting my opportunity, I stalked him like a cat, and when he put the hand holding the knife to the ship's railing, I raised my sword, spun it in my hand, and clubbed him with hilt. He staggered back from the rail, trying to right himself, and looked up at me from his stooped position. His eyes went wide for a moment, and he said,
"Whoa... I had a dream like this once..." And then his eyes crossed, and he sank to the floor, witless.
Clearly, I needed to work on my technique. Either that, or I was going soft. I had intended to hit hard enough to drop him to the deck instantly, but at the last moment I'd pulled back on the blow.
My father would have been so disappointed. Hadn't he always instructed me to "follow through with your swing, Virginia"?
I heaved a last sigh, and said,
"What the hell happened here?" I scowled my blackest look at the shame-faced and mostly inebriated crew members who could manage to meet my gaze. They looked away and muttered imprecations at one another. They looked like nothing so much as a group of shame-faced 8th graders muttering about how they had forgotten to do their homework.
I shouted to the Quartermaster, and in quick words that jabbed like uppercuts, I instructed him to have the prisoner stripped. I would NOT have him pulling even more weapons out of unlikely hiding places to use against the crew or myself. I then told them to secure him with irons this time, and then bring the key to me for safe keeping.
A few of the men sniggered, and one or two actually looked embarrassed.
Seriously? I was disgusted by their cluelessness and prim attitude.
"I assure you gentlemen, I won't go into a case of the vapors and demand my smelling salts. If I can stand to look at him, then what the hell is your problem?"
Not one of them met my gaze. The Quartermaster began barking my orders, and the crew leaped to obey, not wanting to incur my wrath.
I let out a snort, and then stalked back to my cabin, to resume my graceful slumber.
Well, okay, so I'm lying. I'm probably the LEAST graceful and peaceful sleeper on the seven seas. I talk to myself, I move about, I some times wake myself up humming, and yes, I drool.
But still, you get the idea.
It was going to be an interesting day of questioning the prisoner, and I would need my wits about me.
As I sailed over the horizon into the land of dreams, a thought struck me... Mr. Congeniality had been closely guarded by several of my crew... There was no way he could have freed himself without assistance...
Was there a ninja in our midst?
Even in my sleep, a shudder rippled through me... An interesting day indeed.
Friday, June 18, 2010
I Have Evil Thoughts, Or, Why It's So Hard to Be Good in This Big, Bad World
I tell you what... It's hard to be a ninja-battling, grammarian super hero sometimes. Especially when I have evil thoughts that clearly belong to someone like The Joker as opposed to the pure and innocent thoughts of say... Supergirl.
So here's what happened...
After school I met my friend Papergrrrl for a drink at Club Seven. It was chill, and all was well with the world. We talked of various things... ships, and shoes, and sealing wax, and whether pigs have wings... etc. (10 points to you if you get the reference there).
Well, I wasn't really hungry, having just recently feasted with the superheroes at Xavier's mansion, but Papergrrrl was feeling the need for some red meat, so we went to a local chain watering hole.
About 10 minutes after we got seated, coming from the kitchen I heard the sounds of rhythmic clapping and singing, and I cringed inside.
It was the employees, leaving their fortress of solitude in order to sing a "Happy Happy Birthday" song to some unsuspecting customer. The whole time they did their shtick, I had an overwhelming urge to slide down in my booth seat, and disappear from view under the tablecloth... completely reversing my transition to adulthood.
You see, until I was about 5 years old, I refused to sit anywhere except UNDER the table when my parents took me out with them to a restaurant. Honest. They would order, and when it arrived, I would stick my hand out from under the table, and my mother would pass me the food. It wasn't until my sister was born that I actually began to sit AT the table, and that was mostly because she did fun things that I could watch, like fill some stranger's pocketbook with ketchup-covered, half-eaten french fries. Seriously, totally true story.
But, I digress.
The fact is... I absolutely DETEST it when that whole, song thing happens in any restaurant where I happen to be dining. For some reason that I can't really understand, I feel embarrassment vicariously.
Now, I realize the irony here, since I frequently embarrass both myself and others... But that's totally by MY choice, not someone else's.
Now here's where it gets evil...
When the "blessed event" was over. I sat there for a minute... Thinking.
Apparently, my evil thoughts were evident in my smile, because Papergrrrl said, "What the hell are you thinking about? You look like a super villain concocting an evil plan.
Well, here's my thought...
How hilarious would it be, if I went to a restaurant where they do that sort of on the spot embarrassing song, picked a random person out of the crowd, called the waitress over to my table and said,
"Do you see that guy over there? Yeah, him. Well, I'm his "friend," and I happen to know that it's his birthday today. If I buy him a dessert and a drink, would you bring them to him and sing that song?"
Then, when they did it, more likely than not, the server would tell the guy who sent the cake, and I could totally give a little wave and a wink, and then walk out--a woman of mystery and devious wiles.
Damn, I've always wished I had wiles.
Sadly, all I've got is mousy brown hair and an ugly nose that makes me look like Princess Fiona (ogre version)
Still...
Just the thought made me totally laugh out loud and gave me a little thrill.
Can you imagine?
*sigh*
But of course, I can never allow myself to do such a thing... Just imagine if the poor guy was on a date? Or, even worse... with his wife. Oh Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick... I'd probably end up on the six o'clock news as a shooting victim.
I wonder if that death would be spectacular enough to get me a seat at the cool kid's table in hell?
I tell you... I do not regret for a moment choosing to defend the innocent and down-trodden, or taking the high road...(I really try to do these things, in my bumbling and imperfect way).
But there are times when I really really wish...
I could be BAD.
Oh well, perhaps in my next life I can come back as an arch villain...
I'm already practicing my evil laughter.
So here's what happened...
After school I met my friend Papergrrrl for a drink at Club Seven. It was chill, and all was well with the world. We talked of various things... ships, and shoes, and sealing wax, and whether pigs have wings... etc. (10 points to you if you get the reference there).
Well, I wasn't really hungry, having just recently feasted with the superheroes at Xavier's mansion, but Papergrrrl was feeling the need for some red meat, so we went to a local chain watering hole.
About 10 minutes after we got seated, coming from the kitchen I heard the sounds of rhythmic clapping and singing, and I cringed inside.
It was the employees, leaving their fortress of solitude in order to sing a "Happy Happy Birthday" song to some unsuspecting customer. The whole time they did their shtick, I had an overwhelming urge to slide down in my booth seat, and disappear from view under the tablecloth... completely reversing my transition to adulthood.
You see, until I was about 5 years old, I refused to sit anywhere except UNDER the table when my parents took me out with them to a restaurant. Honest. They would order, and when it arrived, I would stick my hand out from under the table, and my mother would pass me the food. It wasn't until my sister was born that I actually began to sit AT the table, and that was mostly because she did fun things that I could watch, like fill some stranger's pocketbook with ketchup-covered, half-eaten french fries. Seriously, totally true story.
But, I digress.
The fact is... I absolutely DETEST it when that whole, song thing happens in any restaurant where I happen to be dining. For some reason that I can't really understand, I feel embarrassment vicariously.
Now, I realize the irony here, since I frequently embarrass both myself and others... But that's totally by MY choice, not someone else's.
Now here's where it gets evil...
When the "blessed event" was over. I sat there for a minute... Thinking.
Apparently, my evil thoughts were evident in my smile, because Papergrrrl said, "What the hell are you thinking about? You look like a super villain concocting an evil plan.
Well, here's my thought...
How hilarious would it be, if I went to a restaurant where they do that sort of on the spot embarrassing song, picked a random person out of the crowd, called the waitress over to my table and said,
"Do you see that guy over there? Yeah, him. Well, I'm his "friend," and I happen to know that it's his birthday today. If I buy him a dessert and a drink, would you bring them to him and sing that song?"
Then, when they did it, more likely than not, the server would tell the guy who sent the cake, and I could totally give a little wave and a wink, and then walk out--a woman of mystery and devious wiles.
Damn, I've always wished I had wiles.
Sadly, all I've got is mousy brown hair and an ugly nose that makes me look like Princess Fiona (ogre version)
Still...
Just the thought made me totally laugh out loud and gave me a little thrill.
Can you imagine?
*sigh*
But of course, I can never allow myself to do such a thing... Just imagine if the poor guy was on a date? Or, even worse... with his wife. Oh Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick... I'd probably end up on the six o'clock news as a shooting victim.
I wonder if that death would be spectacular enough to get me a seat at the cool kid's table in hell?
I tell you... I do not regret for a moment choosing to defend the innocent and down-trodden, or taking the high road...(I really try to do these things, in my bumbling and imperfect way).
But there are times when I really really wish...
I could be BAD.
Oh well, perhaps in my next life I can come back as an arch villain...
I'm already practicing my evil laughter.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Enough Already With All This Happiness
I was just looking over my recent posts, and I find it to be totally ridiculous that I'm so damn perky all of a sudden.
Happiness and joy is so... NOT me.
So, to that end, I'd like to tell a little story that shows just how twisted and unjust life is.
I do hope you enjoy it so that we can get back to our regularly scheduled bitching, moaning, and complaining.
Here's the deal:
People are always telling me things that I don't want to hear.
It's almost like people look at me and they don't see a person, they see a fucking confessional.
In the Hess station the other day I was purchasing a Red Bull, and I made the rookie mistake of saying a cheery, "Good morning!" to the woman giving me my change.
What the HELL was I thinking.
She made sure to tell me exactly how her day, year, and life was going.
10 minutes later I knew that her daughter was pregnant for the third time, and that she has no idea which of the men she is sleeping with is the father. I had also been informed that this cashier was dating a skin-head who had recently been in an accident on his Harley, but since he was drunk at the time, and he nearly killed the old lady whose car he totaled, not only would the insurance be a problem, but that he had been jailed. She also (in a rather creepy and cheerful manner) informed me that she has some sort of skin condition that is becoming problematic.
Does anyone else have this problem? Or is it just me?
Keep in mind... I had never seen this woman before.
Why in the deep purple hazy hell would she ever think... Hey, this woman I've never met must be just dying to hear about all my problems.
What. Tha. Fuck.
OH, and did I tell you about the time when I worked delivering newspapers? Okay, so maybe there were a bunch of times, but the one that really takes the cake is when a woman I was working with, who I had NEVER SEEN BEFORE, told me and another woman the following charming story:
Crazy Bitch #1: "I'm trying to get my boyfriend back."
Me: Oh? (Thinly disguised disinterest)
Crazy Bitch #2: "Why did you break up?"
Me: (Eye roll. Internal thought, 'Who cares?')
Crazy Bitch #1: "Well, he's 13 years younger than me, but he's (and yes, she really did use this phrase) the captain of my heart!"
Crazy Bitch #2: "How are you going to get him back?"
Crazy Bitch #1: "Well, when he gets out of jail, I'm going to buy him an XBox360."
Crazy Bitch #2: "That's a good idea. I bought my boyfriend one and he really likes it."
Me: (Mentally punching myself in the face for even being with these two morons)
Crazy Bitch #2 continues: "How long is he in for?"
Crazy Bitch #1: "Three years"
Then she turns to me and says...
"Don't worry, Virginia, he didn't kill anyone. He was just accused of raping his sister."
Me: "Uh, okay... Well... uh, I'm going to get a coffee... Okay, bye.
Seriously. I cannot possibly make this crap up.
The worst part of the whole thing?
I saw the look that shot between these two women after they finished talking to me, and the look, roughly translated to English from Moron, made the following statement:
"Isn't it sad that she doesn't know how to communicate? She's not very friendly."
I was not at all sure how to feel about the fact that these two women apparently thought that they were doing me a favor by talking to me.
Seriously? Is this what passes for a conversation? How is it that I don't understand?
I guess I always just assume that most people don't want to hear every gory detail of my personal life. I mean of course I talk to my close friends about stuff that is important, but I would never dream of spilling my deep dark secrets to someone just because that person happened to hand me a 20 dollar bill and ask for 15 dollars on pump six.
Am I the crazy one? Seriously?
And you know what else really sends me over the friggin deep end into screaming insanity?
All of these women were dating.
Again I say,
W. T. FFFFF.
Now, I grant you... I have said before and I'll say it again, I have ABSOLUTELY NO DESIRE to associate with the caliber of male that that these "ladies" find attractive... But still.
Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick. This is ridiculous.
I have to believe that this is not the norm, because if I ever do start to believe that...
I will voluntarily smear chum all over my naked body, and leap, cheerfully singing "Oh What a Beautiful Morning" into the tank at the Boston Aquarium and sink to the bottom as bubbles flow festively from my mouth and nose.
When the shark attacks me, I will hug that big angry sucker and encourage him to end my misery with as big a bite of my entrails as he can possibly take.
---
And now back to this totally un-natural happiness and good cheer of mine.
Thank you, and good night.
Happiness and joy is so... NOT me.
So, to that end, I'd like to tell a little story that shows just how twisted and unjust life is.
I do hope you enjoy it so that we can get back to our regularly scheduled bitching, moaning, and complaining.
Here's the deal:
People are always telling me things that I don't want to hear.
It's almost like people look at me and they don't see a person, they see a fucking confessional.
In the Hess station the other day I was purchasing a Red Bull, and I made the rookie mistake of saying a cheery, "Good morning!" to the woman giving me my change.
What the HELL was I thinking.
She made sure to tell me exactly how her day, year, and life was going.
10 minutes later I knew that her daughter was pregnant for the third time, and that she has no idea which of the men she is sleeping with is the father. I had also been informed that this cashier was dating a skin-head who had recently been in an accident on his Harley, but since he was drunk at the time, and he nearly killed the old lady whose car he totaled, not only would the insurance be a problem, but that he had been jailed. She also (in a rather creepy and cheerful manner) informed me that she has some sort of skin condition that is becoming problematic.
Does anyone else have this problem? Or is it just me?
Keep in mind... I had never seen this woman before.
Why in the deep purple hazy hell would she ever think... Hey, this woman I've never met must be just dying to hear about all my problems.
What. Tha. Fuck.
OH, and did I tell you about the time when I worked delivering newspapers? Okay, so maybe there were a bunch of times, but the one that really takes the cake is when a woman I was working with, who I had NEVER SEEN BEFORE, told me and another woman the following charming story:
Crazy Bitch #1: "I'm trying to get my boyfriend back."
Me: Oh? (Thinly disguised disinterest)
Crazy Bitch #2: "Why did you break up?"
Me: (Eye roll. Internal thought, 'Who cares?')
Crazy Bitch #1: "Well, he's 13 years younger than me, but he's (and yes, she really did use this phrase) the captain of my heart!"
Crazy Bitch #2: "How are you going to get him back?"
Crazy Bitch #1: "Well, when he gets out of jail, I'm going to buy him an XBox360."
Crazy Bitch #2: "That's a good idea. I bought my boyfriend one and he really likes it."
Me: (Mentally punching myself in the face for even being with these two morons)
Crazy Bitch #2 continues: "How long is he in for?"
Crazy Bitch #1: "Three years"
Then she turns to me and says...
"Don't worry, Virginia, he didn't kill anyone. He was just accused of raping his sister."
Me: "Uh, okay... Well... uh, I'm going to get a coffee... Okay, bye.
Seriously. I cannot possibly make this crap up.
The worst part of the whole thing?
I saw the look that shot between these two women after they finished talking to me, and the look, roughly translated to English from Moron, made the following statement:
"Isn't it sad that she doesn't know how to communicate? She's not very friendly."
I was not at all sure how to feel about the fact that these two women apparently thought that they were doing me a favor by talking to me.
Seriously? Is this what passes for a conversation? How is it that I don't understand?
I guess I always just assume that most people don't want to hear every gory detail of my personal life. I mean of course I talk to my close friends about stuff that is important, but I would never dream of spilling my deep dark secrets to someone just because that person happened to hand me a 20 dollar bill and ask for 15 dollars on pump six.
Am I the crazy one? Seriously?
And you know what else really sends me over the friggin deep end into screaming insanity?
All of these women were dating.
Again I say,
W. T. FFFFF.
Now, I grant you... I have said before and I'll say it again, I have ABSOLUTELY NO DESIRE to associate with the caliber of male that that these "ladies" find attractive... But still.
Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick. This is ridiculous.
I have to believe that this is not the norm, because if I ever do start to believe that...
I will voluntarily smear chum all over my naked body, and leap, cheerfully singing "Oh What a Beautiful Morning" into the tank at the Boston Aquarium and sink to the bottom as bubbles flow festively from my mouth and nose.
When the shark attacks me, I will hug that big angry sucker and encourage him to end my misery with as big a bite of my entrails as he can possibly take.
---
And now back to this totally un-natural happiness and good cheer of mine.
Thank you, and good night.
Social Skills for N00bs
Note: This is something that I wrote back in September when I was still working at the most dreaded of places... the Insane Mountain School for Criminal Youngsters. Thankfully, I no longer have colleagues who are of only slightly higher caliber than the clientele we serviced at that fine establishment of lower learning.
I have since jumped ship for greener pastures, but I thought that you might enjoy this particular rant... And it still makes me laugh out loud.
You know what they say... "It's funny because it's true."
______________________________
Okay, so here's the deal... I have well and truly lost it. Whatever "it" is, it's friggin' GONE; gone like the snows of yester-year.
The other day, I finally got sick and tired of being treated like a complete NOOB and went on a rant.
RANT. All caps. As in, strident yelling. As in, multiple uses of the word F@$K.
Oh yeah. I did it.
Virginia has HAD it.
"IT" is goin' DOWN.
And I would just like to say... When VIRGINIA is the model of politeness and social skills in the group...
You've got friggin' problems.
So, anyway, here are the Goals and Objectives for the class I am currently writing a syllabus for. I want to share them with you, in hopes that even before I begin the noble work of teaching this class, you will begin to have an understanding of how the world operates... Or rather, how it should operate.
I'm just sayin'.
Course Title: Social Skills and Professional Behavior in the Workplace 101
Instructor: Queen Regina Magistra Lepidoptera, PhD.
Course Goals and Objectives: By the time you have completed the semester of instruction you will understand the following concepts and be able to apply them in your daily life. Course work will consist of skits in which appropriate social behavior will be modeled. Your final exam will take place during the last week of the course; at this point you will be randomly observed for a period of not less than 5 hours at your work place, during which you will be graded based on your ability to maintain politeness when dealing with co-workers, clients, and the general public.
1. When someone smiles at you and says a greeting, it is not considered couth to ignore them completely. You should, at minimum, respond with a nod or a repetition of the same greeting. It is not required that you smile while doing so, but it is recommended.
2. Even when communicating over email or a radio, it is still considered appropriate to say "thank you" and "please."
3. It is rude and unprofessional to speak to your co-workers like retarded 5-year-olds, whether from a distance (radio, email, whathaveyou) or in person.
4. When someone does something nice for you, it is best to smile politely, or at least say, "thank you." Ignoring politeness will not make it go away. Or rather, it will eventually go away, but you won't be happy when it does.
5. Do not berate your co-workers in the presence of your clientele. It makes YOU look like a jerk, not the person you are berating.
6. Just so you know... It is NOT all about YOU. Please get over yourself.
7. Helpful Tip: People who feel liked, or at least respected are much more likely to "get your back" when you need it later on. This is definitely something to consider, if you are at all concerned about self-preservation and/or karma.
8. Cardinal Rule of Social Skills: All other rules boil down to this simple request... Please, stop being a complete asshole. Thank you.
Tuition: Free, or a slice of cheesecake.
Thank you, and have a pleasant evening.
I have since jumped ship for greener pastures, but I thought that you might enjoy this particular rant... And it still makes me laugh out loud.
You know what they say... "It's funny because it's true."
______________________________
Okay, so here's the deal... I have well and truly lost it. Whatever "it" is, it's friggin' GONE; gone like the snows of yester-year.
The other day, I finally got sick and tired of being treated like a complete NOOB and went on a rant.
RANT. All caps. As in, strident yelling. As in, multiple uses of the word F@$K.
Oh yeah. I did it.
Virginia has HAD it.
"IT" is goin' DOWN.
And I would just like to say... When VIRGINIA is the model of politeness and social skills in the group...
You've got friggin' problems.
So, anyway, here are the Goals and Objectives for the class I am currently writing a syllabus for. I want to share them with you, in hopes that even before I begin the noble work of teaching this class, you will begin to have an understanding of how the world operates... Or rather, how it should operate.
I'm just sayin'.
Course Title: Social Skills and Professional Behavior in the Workplace 101
Instructor: Queen Regina Magistra Lepidoptera, PhD.
Course Goals and Objectives: By the time you have completed the semester of instruction you will understand the following concepts and be able to apply them in your daily life. Course work will consist of skits in which appropriate social behavior will be modeled. Your final exam will take place during the last week of the course; at this point you will be randomly observed for a period of not less than 5 hours at your work place, during which you will be graded based on your ability to maintain politeness when dealing with co-workers, clients, and the general public.
1. When someone smiles at you and says a greeting, it is not considered couth to ignore them completely. You should, at minimum, respond with a nod or a repetition of the same greeting. It is not required that you smile while doing so, but it is recommended.
2. Even when communicating over email or a radio, it is still considered appropriate to say "thank you" and "please."
3. It is rude and unprofessional to speak to your co-workers like retarded 5-year-olds, whether from a distance (radio, email, whathaveyou) or in person.
4. When someone does something nice for you, it is best to smile politely, or at least say, "thank you." Ignoring politeness will not make it go away. Or rather, it will eventually go away, but you won't be happy when it does.
5. Do not berate your co-workers in the presence of your clientele. It makes YOU look like a jerk, not the person you are berating.
6. Just so you know... It is NOT all about YOU. Please get over yourself.
7. Helpful Tip: People who feel liked, or at least respected are much more likely to "get your back" when you need it later on. This is definitely something to consider, if you are at all concerned about self-preservation and/or karma.
8. Cardinal Rule of Social Skills: All other rules boil down to this simple request... Please, stop being a complete asshole. Thank you.
Tuition: Free, or a slice of cheesecake.
Thank you, and have a pleasant evening.
On Letting Go...
Okay, so let's just agree for the next few minutes that perception is reality, just for the sake of argument.
I had a sort of epiphany today.
It was the day after the last day of school. No kids. Everyone kind of walking around, mumbling about getting various reports in, etc.
Generally on a day like today I feel nothing so much as an overwhelming sense of ending and loss... I realize that the year is over, and nothing will be the same ever again.
Today was different.
While I did get brain cramps from sitting in front of a computer screen and filling out end of the year reports and inputting grades, I found myself to be... well... happy.
Not happy that the year was over, but simply happy that I finished what I needed to do. Happy that I could look forward to next year with no particular expectations about what I was going to be teaching, who I might have in my classes, or what curriculum I needed to start working on.
You see, I realized that no matter what happens, all that stuff just ends up taking care of itself. I do whatever it is I need to do, help out in whatever way I can, and generally roll with it.
In life, I'm pretty flexible. (With the notable exception of my hacky sack playing, which sucks phenomenally).
For a long time I've had an overwhelming sense of dread and fear about what was going to happen next (with good reason).
Now, I'm just enjoying it.
What 'it' do I mean?
Well, I mean life of course, silly rabbit.
I am enjoying it, and I refuse to dwell on "should I..." thoughts.
I do what I do, and sometimes it works out.
Some days, I kick ninja ass, and on others I find myself tied up in the trunk of a stranger's car with a dead raccoon, a Japanese guy named Chuck, and a case of kielbasa.
So why fight it?
As Dr. Crazy would say, "It is what it is."
Just sayin'.
I had a sort of epiphany today.
It was the day after the last day of school. No kids. Everyone kind of walking around, mumbling about getting various reports in, etc.
Generally on a day like today I feel nothing so much as an overwhelming sense of ending and loss... I realize that the year is over, and nothing will be the same ever again.
Today was different.
While I did get brain cramps from sitting in front of a computer screen and filling out end of the year reports and inputting grades, I found myself to be... well... happy.
Not happy that the year was over, but simply happy that I finished what I needed to do. Happy that I could look forward to next year with no particular expectations about what I was going to be teaching, who I might have in my classes, or what curriculum I needed to start working on.
You see, I realized that no matter what happens, all that stuff just ends up taking care of itself. I do whatever it is I need to do, help out in whatever way I can, and generally roll with it.
In life, I'm pretty flexible. (With the notable exception of my hacky sack playing, which sucks phenomenally).
For a long time I've had an overwhelming sense of dread and fear about what was going to happen next (with good reason).
Now, I'm just enjoying it.
What 'it' do I mean?
Well, I mean life of course, silly rabbit.
I am enjoying it, and I refuse to dwell on "should I..." thoughts.
I do what I do, and sometimes it works out.
Some days, I kick ninja ass, and on others I find myself tied up in the trunk of a stranger's car with a dead raccoon, a Japanese guy named Chuck, and a case of kielbasa.
So why fight it?
As Dr. Crazy would say, "It is what it is."
Just sayin'.
Don't Tell Me that Skee-ball is Not a Sport
...the Skee-ball swooped through the air at the speed of awesome, and clocked Mr. Congeniality right on the head.
I always knew that someday the throwing arm I had developed delivering newspapers would pay off.
He dropped to the floor with a resounding crash, and his pistol fired wildly, slaying a Mrs. Pac-Man machine as it went off. The machine died with a furious whine of protest, and then shot a load of quarters into the night air.
For a moment the entire arcade was furiously silent and still, except for the rest of the machines, which continued to light up, buzz, and send out their cheerful racket into the atmosphere.
And then from somewhere behind me, a child stage-whispered to his mom,
"Mommy, doesn't that lady know that she's supposed to throw those balls into the holes to win tickets?"
The entire place erupted into shouts of laughter.
Another kid came running up to me. He tugged on my arm and said, "That was the best show I've ever seen! Better than the movie even! They mostly just hit people with swords in that one! Want some of my tickets?"
I thanked him graciously, and said that would not be necessary, I had been paid by the people at Funspot already for performing.
He then asked for my autograph.
I signed his t-shirt.
Then I borrowed his cell phone to make a local call.(Oh, and by the way, will someone please explain to me what a 10 year old needs his own cell phone for?) Anyway,
About 15 minutes later, a Hummer and a Tacoma pulled up and double parked in front of the arcade.
I had never been so glad to see my crew mates.
They were a lot of salty knaves who were very offended on my behalf, and after slipping me a cold and refreshing can of Red Bull, they looked about, surveying the damage. My first mate went off at my request to locate a manager and pay for any damages. (What can I say? The last thing I wanted was to get banned from Funspot of all places).
They picked up the trash and tossed it out onto the sidewalk. Naturally, by "trash" I mean the scandalous villains who had chased me.
All except one.
When the Cooper, Henry "Hank" Tisdale, and the Boatswain, "Brisket" Cosgrove grabbed my previous captor and were about to toss him with the others, I stopped them.
Oh no... a short nap on a sidewalk was far too good for him.
It was time for a bit of payback. However, not wanting to fall into the same trap as he, I informed the crew that this knave should be lashed to the mast and guarded carefully.
After we had left Funspot, we returned to The Unvanquished, and the Quartermaster, Lee "Mr. Pol" Pol finalized the watch list.
And then we settled down for an evening of carousing.
Tired and beaten as I was, this went on far longer than I had planned, but when I at last left the crew to their singing and saluting one another with rum, I staggered off to my bunk victorious.
I would look for some answers from Mr. Congeniality in the morning... I wondered if he'd be laughing the next time we spoke.
Somehow...
I thought not.
I always knew that someday the throwing arm I had developed delivering newspapers would pay off.
He dropped to the floor with a resounding crash, and his pistol fired wildly, slaying a Mrs. Pac-Man machine as it went off. The machine died with a furious whine of protest, and then shot a load of quarters into the night air.
For a moment the entire arcade was furiously silent and still, except for the rest of the machines, which continued to light up, buzz, and send out their cheerful racket into the atmosphere.
And then from somewhere behind me, a child stage-whispered to his mom,
"Mommy, doesn't that lady know that she's supposed to throw those balls into the holes to win tickets?"
The entire place erupted into shouts of laughter.
Another kid came running up to me. He tugged on my arm and said, "That was the best show I've ever seen! Better than the movie even! They mostly just hit people with swords in that one! Want some of my tickets?"
I thanked him graciously, and said that would not be necessary, I had been paid by the people at Funspot already for performing.
He then asked for my autograph.
I signed his t-shirt.
Then I borrowed his cell phone to make a local call.(Oh, and by the way, will someone please explain to me what a 10 year old needs his own cell phone for?) Anyway,
About 15 minutes later, a Hummer and a Tacoma pulled up and double parked in front of the arcade.
I had never been so glad to see my crew mates.
They were a lot of salty knaves who were very offended on my behalf, and after slipping me a cold and refreshing can of Red Bull, they looked about, surveying the damage. My first mate went off at my request to locate a manager and pay for any damages. (What can I say? The last thing I wanted was to get banned from Funspot of all places).
They picked up the trash and tossed it out onto the sidewalk. Naturally, by "trash" I mean the scandalous villains who had chased me.
All except one.
When the Cooper, Henry "Hank" Tisdale, and the Boatswain, "Brisket" Cosgrove grabbed my previous captor and were about to toss him with the others, I stopped them.
Oh no... a short nap on a sidewalk was far too good for him.
It was time for a bit of payback. However, not wanting to fall into the same trap as he, I informed the crew that this knave should be lashed to the mast and guarded carefully.
After we had left Funspot, we returned to The Unvanquished, and the Quartermaster, Lee "Mr. Pol" Pol finalized the watch list.
And then we settled down for an evening of carousing.
Tired and beaten as I was, this went on far longer than I had planned, but when I at last left the crew to their singing and saluting one another with rum, I staggered off to my bunk victorious.
I would look for some answers from Mr. Congeniality in the morning... I wondered if he'd be laughing the next time we spoke.
Somehow...
I thought not.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Do You Know the Pirate Queen?
As you may or may not know, I taught Journalism for several years... This makes complete sense, since I am easily the nosiest person I know.
In the spirit of Journalism, I wrote up a story that looks at my adventures from an entirely different angle... I hope you'll like it, but if you don't... Well, that's okay too. I'll still love you.
__________________________
Investigative Report, Submitted by Staff Reporter Harold Moffett to Editor-in-Chief, Erika Swenson of the Sunday Union Monitor, Concord, New Hampshire, 03301, USA
Title: Do You Know the Pirate Queen?
When Sheriff’s deputy, John Norwich (28) of Weare, NH, arrived at the house of one Benjamin Anders Cosgrove (26), he expected to find that Cosgrove’s hysterical neighbor had simply over-reacted. The Concord Sherriff’s office had received a 911 call from a Miss Angela James (56) of Fisk Road. She insisted that she was sure that her neighbor, Cosgrove must be dead, as it had been nearly two months since she had seen movement from his house.
To the deputy’s surprise, instead, he found a note, a last will and testament, and a riddle that leaves him with questions that he may never be able to answer to his satisfaction.
The home on 112 Fisk Road was purchased by Cosgrove in early 2003. Its appearance suggests that Cosgrove took genuine care of both his possessions and the house itself, but it does in fact appear to have been abandoned for some time. The lawn has not been mowed since the beginning of spring, and weeds are growing up in the driveway and between the paving stones of the front walkway. The door, while closed, was not locked. The kitchen table was set for one, and there were the mummified remains of a chicken dinner moldering away on it.
The television was still on, and Cosgrove’s laptop was off, but in sleep mode.
“It all looked as though the guy had just, I don’t know—gone out for a minute and planned to come right back… And then, just… didn’t. It still gives me a cold chill,” said a source close to the investigation. This statement was made after the source emerged from the house, which has been officially ruled not to be a crime scene.
“There doesn’t appear to have been any foul play,” said Sheriff Andrew Eastman, “and there is no proof that anything at all has happened to Mr. Cosgrove. He may simply have gone on vacation without telling anyone.”
According to his neighbor, Ms. James, Ben was a very personable man who lived alone and who had no close relatives. “He always seemed rather shy to me. But whenever I needed help with yard work, he would come over and help me. He was such a nice young man.”
Benjamin worked from a home office as an online writing tutor for a large company based in Florida, and had no pets, friends, or discernable hobbies other than watching television on his flat screen(mostly sci-fi), and playing Mafia Wars and Farmville on Facebook.
To say that his disappearance is strange is simply stating the obvious, but even the authorities have not been able to come up with a plausible explanation of where Cosgrove went.
According to another source, when Deputy Norwich entered the house, he could hear the television, and though the house should have smelled of mildew and rancid food, he smelled nothing except a cool breeze, marked by a tang of salt in the air.
“He swore to me that for a second he felt like he had stepped out of Concord, and onto the Boardwalk of Hampton Beach.”
It should be noted that Concord is approximately 55 miles inland from the Atlantic Ocean.
Deputy Norwich declined to comment on the matter, stating that the investigation had been officially closed.
It is a fact that the deputy never reported this mysterious breeze in his write up of the incident at the house, merely telling friends and family.
Still, all questions regarding the competence of our sheriff’s office aside, the riddle remains.
The real question is… Who is this mysterious Pirate Queen?
And what really happened to Benjamin Anders Cosgrove?
We may never know.
*The Text of Benjamin Anders Cosgrove’s final communication is included below, with no omissions, revisions, or additions of any kind. You must draw your own conclusions from its contents.
Harold Moffett
Staff Reporter
The Daily Union Leader –
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
June 14, 2010
From “Brisket” Cosgrove, to Whom it May Concern:
By the time anyone reads this letter, I will be long gone, having sailed off into the sunset to face whatever comes next. Please don’t worry about me; I look forward to this adventure in a way that I have never looked forward to anything else in my life. You see, my story begins (and ultimately ends) like this:
Once upon a time, a little over two weeks ago now, my car broke down in the middle of nowhere, and I was left stranded by the side of the road with 26 dollars in my pocket, no cell service, and a bad case of Poison Oak. One of my Nikes was only hanging on by sheer willpower. I was dressed in gym shorts and a ripped Bruins t-shirt, and I smelled like bug spray, old sweat, and dead leaves.
As you can probably gather from the above, it was not the conclusion of my best day ever.
After walking along the side of a state road in serious need of repair for a few hours, I at last reached a watering hole.
Seriously, it was a literal watering hole, or to be more specific, it was a well. Located in the exact center of a large quadrangle, it was bordered on each side by an old building. On the northern side was an ancient town hall; to the south was a small protestant church. To the east and west were houses that had reached such an extreme state of disrepair that they were barely identifiable as dwellings any longer. Each seemed to be leering at me, like the skulls of mummies, only instead of missing eyes, teeth and noses, they had lost their shingles, windows and doors. Just outside the square was a large green sign, welcoming me to “Scenic and historic Smallborotonville!” However, the condition of the sign made its very presence both disturbing and menacing.
At some point in the distant past, the sign had doubtless been equally as scenic as the town, but now the paint was cracked, chipped, and faded, and the wood from which it was made had been so chewed up by both insects and the weather, that I doubt if it would have continued to stand without the enormous pines growing up around it sheltering it from the breeze. In fact, those same sheltering trees crowded so closely around the sign that it was almost invisible from the road leading to the square.
Suffice to say, I didn’t feel that I had been particularly welcomed to the town. This forbidding place was more like a hidden castle in an enchanted forest, or a dead city in the heart of a jungle.
My hands actually started to sweat a little. Honestly, I wasn’t all that used to adventure. Actually, that’s a lie… I had never been on an adventure in my life, unless you counted getting lost in my back yard once when I was ten. Then, I cried like a baby. And now, here I was, stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no prospects, and apparently, no hope of assistance from any other human beings; I felt an unwilling lump rise in my throat, and I pushed it down as hard as I could.
How was this possible? I couldn’t be more than 10 or 20 miles from I-93 for crying out loud!
Bottom line? I had absolutely no idea where I was, how I had gotten there, or how the hell I would ever get home again. Somewhere along my staggering journey down the side of the road, I had actually begun to wonder if I might die before I saw anything but softwood forests, swamps, enchantingly picturesque abandoned farmhouses, and crumbling stone walls.
Even the center of town appeared to be deserted. In fact, it appeared as though no one had lived in this town since Abraham Lincoln was in middle-school.
Dejected, I approached the well, and pumped the handle several times. Luckily, this at least seemed operational. I suppose you might think that it was foolish of me to simply assume that the water was safe to drink. I mean, who knows what carcasses might have ended up down there in a spring flood or something, but by that time, I didn’t care if there was strychnine and a dead ‘possum in that well. It was wet and cool, and I intended to consume it and bathe my hot face and hands in it.
The water was as refreshing as possible under the circumstances, and I sat down in the grass of the town common in order to contemplate my immediate future.
This depressed me so much, that by the time I noticed approaching footsteps, I had simply given up and lain down on the grass like a deflated balloon. I even began to wonder if I wasn’t in a coma in a hospital somewhere… Did this place even exist? Did I exist?
And then I had the scariest thought ever… Perhaps I had died and gone to… New England?
Better than hell I supposed, though not by much.
And then a shadow landed on me. I looked up in shock, with a gasp of indrawn breath, and an intense full-body shudder. I rolled nimbly to my feet and said, “Oh my god! I thought I was never going to set eyes on another human being as long as I lived!”
Once I stood, I got my first really close look at a local.
To be honest, she wasn’t all that impressive, but I had no burning desire to complain, given that she was the first potential assistance I had seen in what felt like forever.
She was short and sturdily built, with brown hair and merry blue eyes ringed with nearly black pigment toward the outer edge of the irises. Her face was plain, but cheerful, with two small dimples and dark brows and lashes.
On a second perusal she began to really come into focus for me. She was statuesque, and wore black boots with spiky heels, which had sunk just a bit into the turf of the quadrangle. She wore black pants, and a black shirt made of some velvety material that flowed loosely. Her hair rioted in total excess about her round face. She seemed harmless… but also, oddly intimidating. There was something about the aura of confidence that she gave off that freaked me out a little.
She wore no adornments that I could see, save a delicate chain of white gold that held a single diamond, and a tiny charm of silver that was etched with a tiny heart. When she offered me her hand to shake, her shirt opened just a bit at the collar, and I could see the extreme edge of some tattoo on her chest above her right breast. As her body turned I saw that she carried on her hip, a scabbard, currently empty, and a holster in which she kept, not a pistol, but rather a … Multi-tool.
This was already the single strangest encounter I had ever had with anyone, not that I’d had many encounters, as a life-long geek and introvert, I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, and quite frankly, women as a species mystified me more than theoretical math.
I was shaking hands with an actual pirate, who must have some affiliation with Home Depot (considering the multi-tool anyway). Or, rather, I was shaking hands with a strange little woman who was dressed somewhat like a pirate.
This whole day had gone from weird to completely surreal with one handshake.
As we shook, she introduced herself. “Hi there, stranger. I’m called Virginia by those who know my family, Your Majesty by those who my reputation, and Verge by a select few. You look a bit—“
She was too polite to continue, and trailed off, leaving me holding the conversational reigns. It took me a second, but I climbed into the driver’s seat and took my turn at word craft.
I explained both who I was, and how I had arrived in Smallborotonville. Her eyes widened, and she listened to my tale with no hint of skepticism or disbelief whatsoever. When I finished, she looked down at her feet, took a deep breath, and said,
“You better come with me. I’ll help you get back home safely.”
And so she eventually did… Though the story is a long one, full of adventure, fantasy, and both people and creatures that even you would find difficult, if not impossible to believe.
In one day I saw and did things that I had previously thought impossible.
I battled a band of ninjas while a ship’s deck pitched beneath me; I ran through a dark Saltmine as though my life depended on it (which it did); I fought back a beast that took on a human shape made entirely of the muck from the bottom of a small pond.
Somehow, without even knowing it, I had fallen down some sort of rabbit hole in reality as a result of faulty wiring in my car.
It was the most amazing experience of my life, and at the end of the day, I wiped the blood off my cutlass, bowed low before the Queen, and thanked her for saving me from a fate worse than death…
Boredom.
Unfortunately, after returning me to my car approximately 12 hours later, Verge left me there alone, disappearing back into the woods with only a slight jingle of silver buckles. When I got in, my car started with absolutely no hint of its previous condition. Somewhat dazed, I drove back to my silent and empty house just outside of Concord. Fisk road had never seemed so safe and predictable as it did that night.
But I did not forget my adventure, or the charming and (to those who don’t know her well) mostly inconspicuous Pirate Queen with whom I had shared that adventure.
About 3 days later, when I could no longer stop thinking about it, I headed back in the direction of Smallborotonville, in order to see if I could replicate my amazing adventure again. I received a painful blow, as though disappointment were actually a physical weight on my shoulders.
The road I had been stranded on was gone. The entire turn-off had vanished as though it had never existed. Route 149 met met Route 77 innocently enough, but at the crossroads were only three possible choices… The fourth was simply not there.
I pulled over to the side of the road. The tightness in my chest was distinctly un-manly, or so my esteemed father would probably have said… but the thought that perhaps I had just dreamed up the queen’s existence was horribly depressing and I just didn’t care. I punched the steering wheel with both fists and swore obscenities I had never used before in my life. Other than that, there was no sound or movement anywhere around me. I sat in my still and by now hot car for over twenty minutes.
When I had finally collected myself, I restarted my car and began a u-turn that would return me to face my old life, turning my back on my one chance at adventure.
And then I saw it.
There was a brief flash of movement in the trees, and for the barest hint of an instant I saw what looked like a genuine pirate ship, moving silently and totally improbably through the woods, as though sailing through an ocean of leaves and branches.
On the deck of that sloop, there stood the Queen. As the ship rushed past and before it vanished back into the depths of the forest, she tossed something onto the ground beside my car.
When I had recovered myself, I opened the door to see what she had left behind… It was a clear glass bottle, of a kind that hasn’t been made in years, and contained within was a rolled up piece of paper.
I had to use a pen in order to remove the cork, and draw the paper clumsily out through the top. When I read the contents, I smiled, and I doubt that I have done much of anything else since, except perhaps to re-read the letter, and prepare for the journey to come.
This is what the note said:
To My Dear Friend,
Though we have only known each other a short time, I find that I am anxious to have you join with me to fight the forces of evil, which include but are not limited to: standardized testing, ninjas, and other assorted villains.
I think that you would be a valuable ally and friend.
If you would join my crew and I on our quest, simply return to this place during the next full moon. I make this offer knowing full well that you may reject it and me with it.
I will await you there, my friend.
If you do have second thoughts, do not be sad, instead simply remember me fondly, as your affectionate friend and servant,
The Pirate Queen, Virginia of the Salt Mines, Upon the hour of Twilight
I don’t remember the drive home, but I do know that all I thought about was going on line to find out the date of the next full moon. When I discovered that it was still two weeks away, I sobered a bit.
But since that day, I have thought about little else.
Tonight is the full moon, and the Unvanquished will be waiting, with the Queen and her crew on board.
Good bye to whoever may read these lines. I fondly hope that you are able to one day join the Queen on her adventures as well… They might just change your life.
That’s what they did for me.
Signed,
Benjamin “Brisket” Anders Cosgrove
Upon the dawn of Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Attachment: Last Will and Testament
__________________________
Writer’s Final Note:
Inasmuch as Benjamin really had very little to leave, his possessions themselves are of little note. However, he did dedicate that all his goods as were found to have merit should be left entirely to fund the higher education of worthy and needy students, and thanks to the value of the house he owned, several potential students may find themselves very fortunate indeed, once seven years have passed and he may legally be declared to be deceased.
–Harold Moffett, Staff Reporter, The Daily Union Monitor
Article Submitted on June 14, 2010
__________________________
Editor’s Response: Harold, most of the information in this piece can hardly be credited or cited, much less believed. I am, on a personal note, disappointed that with all of your training you would even attempt to pass off such drivel as “news” to the citizens who read our paper.
Consider yourself on warning, and stick to the Korner Cupboard and captioning photos taken for real articles, since you are clearly incapable of writing an investigative article effectively.
–Editor-in-Chief, Erika Swenson, The Daily Union Monitor
Article Summarily Rejected, June 14, 2010
In the spirit of Journalism, I wrote up a story that looks at my adventures from an entirely different angle... I hope you'll like it, but if you don't... Well, that's okay too. I'll still love you.
__________________________
Investigative Report, Submitted by Staff Reporter Harold Moffett to Editor-in-Chief, Erika Swenson of the Sunday Union Monitor, Concord, New Hampshire, 03301, USA
Title: Do You Know the Pirate Queen?
When Sheriff’s deputy, John Norwich (28) of Weare, NH, arrived at the house of one Benjamin Anders Cosgrove (26), he expected to find that Cosgrove’s hysterical neighbor had simply over-reacted. The Concord Sherriff’s office had received a 911 call from a Miss Angela James (56) of Fisk Road. She insisted that she was sure that her neighbor, Cosgrove must be dead, as it had been nearly two months since she had seen movement from his house.
To the deputy’s surprise, instead, he found a note, a last will and testament, and a riddle that leaves him with questions that he may never be able to answer to his satisfaction.
The home on 112 Fisk Road was purchased by Cosgrove in early 2003. Its appearance suggests that Cosgrove took genuine care of both his possessions and the house itself, but it does in fact appear to have been abandoned for some time. The lawn has not been mowed since the beginning of spring, and weeds are growing up in the driveway and between the paving stones of the front walkway. The door, while closed, was not locked. The kitchen table was set for one, and there were the mummified remains of a chicken dinner moldering away on it.
The television was still on, and Cosgrove’s laptop was off, but in sleep mode.
“It all looked as though the guy had just, I don’t know—gone out for a minute and planned to come right back… And then, just… didn’t. It still gives me a cold chill,” said a source close to the investigation. This statement was made after the source emerged from the house, which has been officially ruled not to be a crime scene.
“There doesn’t appear to have been any foul play,” said Sheriff Andrew Eastman, “and there is no proof that anything at all has happened to Mr. Cosgrove. He may simply have gone on vacation without telling anyone.”
According to his neighbor, Ms. James, Ben was a very personable man who lived alone and who had no close relatives. “He always seemed rather shy to me. But whenever I needed help with yard work, he would come over and help me. He was such a nice young man.”
Benjamin worked from a home office as an online writing tutor for a large company based in Florida, and had no pets, friends, or discernable hobbies other than watching television on his flat screen(mostly sci-fi), and playing Mafia Wars and Farmville on Facebook.
To say that his disappearance is strange is simply stating the obvious, but even the authorities have not been able to come up with a plausible explanation of where Cosgrove went.
According to another source, when Deputy Norwich entered the house, he could hear the television, and though the house should have smelled of mildew and rancid food, he smelled nothing except a cool breeze, marked by a tang of salt in the air.
“He swore to me that for a second he felt like he had stepped out of Concord, and onto the Boardwalk of Hampton Beach.”
It should be noted that Concord is approximately 55 miles inland from the Atlantic Ocean.
Deputy Norwich declined to comment on the matter, stating that the investigation had been officially closed.
It is a fact that the deputy never reported this mysterious breeze in his write up of the incident at the house, merely telling friends and family.
Still, all questions regarding the competence of our sheriff’s office aside, the riddle remains.
The real question is… Who is this mysterious Pirate Queen?
And what really happened to Benjamin Anders Cosgrove?
We may never know.
*The Text of Benjamin Anders Cosgrove’s final communication is included below, with no omissions, revisions, or additions of any kind. You must draw your own conclusions from its contents.
Harold Moffett
Staff Reporter
The Daily Union Leader –
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
June 14, 2010
From “Brisket” Cosgrove, to Whom it May Concern:
By the time anyone reads this letter, I will be long gone, having sailed off into the sunset to face whatever comes next. Please don’t worry about me; I look forward to this adventure in a way that I have never looked forward to anything else in my life. You see, my story begins (and ultimately ends) like this:
Once upon a time, a little over two weeks ago now, my car broke down in the middle of nowhere, and I was left stranded by the side of the road with 26 dollars in my pocket, no cell service, and a bad case of Poison Oak. One of my Nikes was only hanging on by sheer willpower. I was dressed in gym shorts and a ripped Bruins t-shirt, and I smelled like bug spray, old sweat, and dead leaves.
As you can probably gather from the above, it was not the conclusion of my best day ever.
After walking along the side of a state road in serious need of repair for a few hours, I at last reached a watering hole.
Seriously, it was a literal watering hole, or to be more specific, it was a well. Located in the exact center of a large quadrangle, it was bordered on each side by an old building. On the northern side was an ancient town hall; to the south was a small protestant church. To the east and west were houses that had reached such an extreme state of disrepair that they were barely identifiable as dwellings any longer. Each seemed to be leering at me, like the skulls of mummies, only instead of missing eyes, teeth and noses, they had lost their shingles, windows and doors. Just outside the square was a large green sign, welcoming me to “Scenic and historic Smallborotonville!” However, the condition of the sign made its very presence both disturbing and menacing.
At some point in the distant past, the sign had doubtless been equally as scenic as the town, but now the paint was cracked, chipped, and faded, and the wood from which it was made had been so chewed up by both insects and the weather, that I doubt if it would have continued to stand without the enormous pines growing up around it sheltering it from the breeze. In fact, those same sheltering trees crowded so closely around the sign that it was almost invisible from the road leading to the square.
Suffice to say, I didn’t feel that I had been particularly welcomed to the town. This forbidding place was more like a hidden castle in an enchanted forest, or a dead city in the heart of a jungle.
My hands actually started to sweat a little. Honestly, I wasn’t all that used to adventure. Actually, that’s a lie… I had never been on an adventure in my life, unless you counted getting lost in my back yard once when I was ten. Then, I cried like a baby. And now, here I was, stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no prospects, and apparently, no hope of assistance from any other human beings; I felt an unwilling lump rise in my throat, and I pushed it down as hard as I could.
How was this possible? I couldn’t be more than 10 or 20 miles from I-93 for crying out loud!
Bottom line? I had absolutely no idea where I was, how I had gotten there, or how the hell I would ever get home again. Somewhere along my staggering journey down the side of the road, I had actually begun to wonder if I might die before I saw anything but softwood forests, swamps, enchantingly picturesque abandoned farmhouses, and crumbling stone walls.
Even the center of town appeared to be deserted. In fact, it appeared as though no one had lived in this town since Abraham Lincoln was in middle-school.
Dejected, I approached the well, and pumped the handle several times. Luckily, this at least seemed operational. I suppose you might think that it was foolish of me to simply assume that the water was safe to drink. I mean, who knows what carcasses might have ended up down there in a spring flood or something, but by that time, I didn’t care if there was strychnine and a dead ‘possum in that well. It was wet and cool, and I intended to consume it and bathe my hot face and hands in it.
The water was as refreshing as possible under the circumstances, and I sat down in the grass of the town common in order to contemplate my immediate future.
This depressed me so much, that by the time I noticed approaching footsteps, I had simply given up and lain down on the grass like a deflated balloon. I even began to wonder if I wasn’t in a coma in a hospital somewhere… Did this place even exist? Did I exist?
And then I had the scariest thought ever… Perhaps I had died and gone to… New England?
Better than hell I supposed, though not by much.
And then a shadow landed on me. I looked up in shock, with a gasp of indrawn breath, and an intense full-body shudder. I rolled nimbly to my feet and said, “Oh my god! I thought I was never going to set eyes on another human being as long as I lived!”
Once I stood, I got my first really close look at a local.
To be honest, she wasn’t all that impressive, but I had no burning desire to complain, given that she was the first potential assistance I had seen in what felt like forever.
She was short and sturdily built, with brown hair and merry blue eyes ringed with nearly black pigment toward the outer edge of the irises. Her face was plain, but cheerful, with two small dimples and dark brows and lashes.
On a second perusal she began to really come into focus for me. She was statuesque, and wore black boots with spiky heels, which had sunk just a bit into the turf of the quadrangle. She wore black pants, and a black shirt made of some velvety material that flowed loosely. Her hair rioted in total excess about her round face. She seemed harmless… but also, oddly intimidating. There was something about the aura of confidence that she gave off that freaked me out a little.
She wore no adornments that I could see, save a delicate chain of white gold that held a single diamond, and a tiny charm of silver that was etched with a tiny heart. When she offered me her hand to shake, her shirt opened just a bit at the collar, and I could see the extreme edge of some tattoo on her chest above her right breast. As her body turned I saw that she carried on her hip, a scabbard, currently empty, and a holster in which she kept, not a pistol, but rather a … Multi-tool.
This was already the single strangest encounter I had ever had with anyone, not that I’d had many encounters, as a life-long geek and introvert, I wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, and quite frankly, women as a species mystified me more than theoretical math.
I was shaking hands with an actual pirate, who must have some affiliation with Home Depot (considering the multi-tool anyway). Or, rather, I was shaking hands with a strange little woman who was dressed somewhat like a pirate.
This whole day had gone from weird to completely surreal with one handshake.
As we shook, she introduced herself. “Hi there, stranger. I’m called Virginia by those who know my family, Your Majesty by those who my reputation, and Verge by a select few. You look a bit—“
She was too polite to continue, and trailed off, leaving me holding the conversational reigns. It took me a second, but I climbed into the driver’s seat and took my turn at word craft.
I explained both who I was, and how I had arrived in Smallborotonville. Her eyes widened, and she listened to my tale with no hint of skepticism or disbelief whatsoever. When I finished, she looked down at her feet, took a deep breath, and said,
“You better come with me. I’ll help you get back home safely.”
And so she eventually did… Though the story is a long one, full of adventure, fantasy, and both people and creatures that even you would find difficult, if not impossible to believe.
In one day I saw and did things that I had previously thought impossible.
I battled a band of ninjas while a ship’s deck pitched beneath me; I ran through a dark Saltmine as though my life depended on it (which it did); I fought back a beast that took on a human shape made entirely of the muck from the bottom of a small pond.
Somehow, without even knowing it, I had fallen down some sort of rabbit hole in reality as a result of faulty wiring in my car.
It was the most amazing experience of my life, and at the end of the day, I wiped the blood off my cutlass, bowed low before the Queen, and thanked her for saving me from a fate worse than death…
Boredom.
Unfortunately, after returning me to my car approximately 12 hours later, Verge left me there alone, disappearing back into the woods with only a slight jingle of silver buckles. When I got in, my car started with absolutely no hint of its previous condition. Somewhat dazed, I drove back to my silent and empty house just outside of Concord. Fisk road had never seemed so safe and predictable as it did that night.
But I did not forget my adventure, or the charming and (to those who don’t know her well) mostly inconspicuous Pirate Queen with whom I had shared that adventure.
About 3 days later, when I could no longer stop thinking about it, I headed back in the direction of Smallborotonville, in order to see if I could replicate my amazing adventure again. I received a painful blow, as though disappointment were actually a physical weight on my shoulders.
The road I had been stranded on was gone. The entire turn-off had vanished as though it had never existed. Route 149 met met Route 77 innocently enough, but at the crossroads were only three possible choices… The fourth was simply not there.
I pulled over to the side of the road. The tightness in my chest was distinctly un-manly, or so my esteemed father would probably have said… but the thought that perhaps I had just dreamed up the queen’s existence was horribly depressing and I just didn’t care. I punched the steering wheel with both fists and swore obscenities I had never used before in my life. Other than that, there was no sound or movement anywhere around me. I sat in my still and by now hot car for over twenty minutes.
When I had finally collected myself, I restarted my car and began a u-turn that would return me to face my old life, turning my back on my one chance at adventure.
And then I saw it.
There was a brief flash of movement in the trees, and for the barest hint of an instant I saw what looked like a genuine pirate ship, moving silently and totally improbably through the woods, as though sailing through an ocean of leaves and branches.
On the deck of that sloop, there stood the Queen. As the ship rushed past and before it vanished back into the depths of the forest, she tossed something onto the ground beside my car.
When I had recovered myself, I opened the door to see what she had left behind… It was a clear glass bottle, of a kind that hasn’t been made in years, and contained within was a rolled up piece of paper.
I had to use a pen in order to remove the cork, and draw the paper clumsily out through the top. When I read the contents, I smiled, and I doubt that I have done much of anything else since, except perhaps to re-read the letter, and prepare for the journey to come.
This is what the note said:
To My Dear Friend,
Though we have only known each other a short time, I find that I am anxious to have you join with me to fight the forces of evil, which include but are not limited to: standardized testing, ninjas, and other assorted villains.
I think that you would be a valuable ally and friend.
If you would join my crew and I on our quest, simply return to this place during the next full moon. I make this offer knowing full well that you may reject it and me with it.
I will await you there, my friend.
If you do have second thoughts, do not be sad, instead simply remember me fondly, as your affectionate friend and servant,
The Pirate Queen, Virginia of the Salt Mines, Upon the hour of Twilight
I don’t remember the drive home, but I do know that all I thought about was going on line to find out the date of the next full moon. When I discovered that it was still two weeks away, I sobered a bit.
But since that day, I have thought about little else.
Tonight is the full moon, and the Unvanquished will be waiting, with the Queen and her crew on board.
Good bye to whoever may read these lines. I fondly hope that you are able to one day join the Queen on her adventures as well… They might just change your life.
That’s what they did for me.
Signed,
Benjamin “Brisket” Anders Cosgrove
Upon the dawn of Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Attachment: Last Will and Testament
__________________________
Writer’s Final Note:
Inasmuch as Benjamin really had very little to leave, his possessions themselves are of little note. However, he did dedicate that all his goods as were found to have merit should be left entirely to fund the higher education of worthy and needy students, and thanks to the value of the house he owned, several potential students may find themselves very fortunate indeed, once seven years have passed and he may legally be declared to be deceased.
–Harold Moffett, Staff Reporter, The Daily Union Monitor
Article Submitted on June 14, 2010
__________________________
Editor’s Response: Harold, most of the information in this piece can hardly be credited or cited, much less believed. I am, on a personal note, disappointed that with all of your training you would even attempt to pass off such drivel as “news” to the citizens who read our paper.
Consider yourself on warning, and stick to the Korner Cupboard and captioning photos taken for real articles, since you are clearly incapable of writing an investigative article effectively.
–Editor-in-Chief, Erika Swenson, The Daily Union Monitor
Article Summarily Rejected, June 14, 2010
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Yup... you guessed it...some random person I'm putting up a picture of...no relation to me at all
Okay fine. It's me.
