Comic-Con with my Bro. Day 1

We're sitting in the hotel after the first full day of Comic Con and boy, do I have to poop.

I left the computer open, and Dan had typed that while I was in the bathroom.  Not pooping.  Ok, I might have been pooping.  Sue me.  People poop.

Dan and I got back two days ago from an exhausting and exhilarating 5 days in San Diego. I intended to blog as we went along so I wouldn't have to try to remember what happened and when, but that fell by the wayside with nightly exhaustion after hours of walking and over-stimulation. I'll try to describe the trip in as much detail as possible with the fog that is currently surrounding my travel addled mind.

Dan came up on Tuesday night with the family after a giant meal at Maggiano's in Boca, where he lives.  The excitement of the trip got to both of us, and we stayed up a little later than expected for our 5:15am wake up call.  I stumbled into the shower.  We made it to the airport with loads of time to spare. I grabbed Starbucks.  Dan did not eat, as he did not want to have to go boom boom on the plane. We made it to the back of the plane, and in my seat sat an older Asian woman, who insisted that the aisle was her seat.  Not wanting to com-plane (ha), I took the middle seat next to my brother, who immediately fell asleep with his head on a sweatshirt pillow. I was not so lucky. Aisle lady elbowed me. Then threw off her wrap and slapped me with it.  Then, pulls out a tupperware with grilled SALMON, rice, and a baggy full of what looks like carob chips. She proceeds to eat with her hands, lustily sucking the salmon fat off of her chubby fingers while slurping tomato juice that the evil flight attendant handed her.  I'm sure Salmon Lady had a dietary restriction that caused her to bring her own food on the plane.  However, it was gross and annoying. And smelly.

An uneventful second flight dropped us into the beautiful city of San Diego. We got to our room via an airport shuttle, as my brother thought a cabbie would try to bone collect us.  The La Quinta was nice, but we dropped our stuff and immediately got on the shuttle to pick up our badges. Little did we know they would be dropping us off at the WRONG PLACE. We ended up at a smaller site where normal badge pick up was being held so traffic was lessened at the actual convention center. We were told by a kid who looked like he was barely out of puberty to hop on the trolley and it would take us to where we needed to go to pick up our passes. A couple of stops later, and a couple of conversations with a nice gentleman with few teeth who told me he'd heard of PMS Adventures, we were there. We got in a huge line and made our way to the badges. After acquiring our swag bags and PROFESSIONAL badges, we sought food and found it at an Irish pub that Bailee, Lori and I hung out at last year. The food was delicious, and we headed back to check out the exhibition hall.  It was Dan's first time in the great hall of money spending and sites to see, and I enjoyed our tour.   We then headed back to the hotel, via the shuttle, to plot the next day of panels and shenanigans!

WEEEOOOOO!!

TOMORROW!!  TOMORROW!! I LOVE YOU!! TOMORROW!  YOU'RE ONLY A DAY AWAY!

This is us.

We leave for San Diego tomorrow. This will be my first Comic-Con as a professional, and I'm blessed that my older brother, Dan, agreed to blow off work for 5 days and go with me to Nerd-vana.  Last Tuesday, we were on the phone at 2am plotting all the wonderful things that we were going to try to do, see, and experience while out there. If you have never been to a Con, you are missing out and should rectify that as soon as possible.  There's an energy that fills your body when you are surrounded by people who love the same things you do.  There's a thrill when you make it into a panel, beating out thousands of other people and grabbing a seat. A joy when you get to hear your favorite famous people speak about all the things they have done that made you love them. 

Have no fear.  We will be posting photos, blogs, and tweeting about our trip ad nauseum. 

My brother and I have always had an interesting dynamic.  Being the younger sister, the second born, I was a little bit more serious than he was growing up. There was a period of time when I idolized him.  Then I hated him and we fought every day. Then I realized that everything he loved was a major influence in my life. He listened to Scorpions.  I listened to Scorpions.  He read comic books.  I read comic books.  He played video games.  I played video games.  He introduced me to the Evil Dead movies. Some of the greatest memories I have of growing up included him.  He took me to Lollapalooza '96, my first un-chaperoned rock concert.  I was 15 and got hit in the face with a flying pizza plate as he and his friend moved closer to the speakers, leaving me by myself, but it was still exhilarating and gave me an appreciation for Metallica and Rage Against the Machine.

I moved away from Florida after college, but remember a Christmas when I found and sent him a Deadpool action figure.  When I got back into comics, I started collecting Deadpool because my brother loved him, which meant I would love him.  I wouldn't be who I am today without this weirdo. I'm so thankful he's going to go with me, though I really wish I could take the whole family as they are each nerds about so many different things.  May need to take one with me each year!

I guess I'm trying to say that I am excited to be heading West tomorrow for a whirlwind 5 days of panels, comics, parties, meeting new people, meeting famous people, photo opps, Walking Dead obstacle courses, and getting to hang out with the coolest brother a girl could ask for.  Is it 8:15am on Wednesday yet?!?!?!?

A guide to dating someone in the Guarded Area.

Title could also be: I'm an asshole and I don't know why you are dating me.

After some miscommunication this weekend, mainly on my part, the boyfriend and I are back in good spirits and getting along swimmingly.  After a 45 minute high school-esque phone conversation this evening (with me laying on the bed twirling my hair while he probably lifted weights on his end while fixing his hair with a switchblade comb), I made an offhand comment about him needing an instruction manual for dating me.  We laughed for a minute, then he said, in his serious voice, "Can you do that for me?"

I'm not proud of the fact that my boyfriend of 3 months has to ask me for a guide to dating me. In fact, I'm quite ashamed and feel my woman card should be revoked for being such a jerkface that I make loving me this hard thing to accomplish.  But I am who I am and he seems to want to be with that person, so I decided to take a stab at it. Here's a how to guide to dating me.

1) Don't take anything I say personally. Anything. I'm like a 5 year old with no censor.  Yes, you snore sometimes, but I didn't really mean that I was gonna suffocate you with a pillow if you did it again. I grew up with all guy friends, and that's how I know how to talk to men.  Like we're buddies.  I may even lovingly punch you in the arm sometimes.  It's not my fault.  I blame the testosterone. Theirs, not mine.

2) Don't assume I don't know something, cause I have an ego the size of Bruce Campbell's cleft chin that has been tried by condescending buttface ex boyfriends, and I will respond to you with snark and sarcasm.  I'm sorry  for the Tweet about you trying to tell me that Halo is a video game.  I know that. Assume that I know...and that if I don't know, I will ask.  Or I'll Wikipedia.

3) I have triggers. The word bitch has ALWAYS been a trigger for me, from the good old days in college when I had to move out of an apartment with my then boyfriend because he was a mentally and physically abusive and posessive jagoff.  I don't like it.  I also, like a five year old, don't like being told what to do. See above trigger from jagoff ex-boyfriend.

4) I don't need romance.  I need honesty and laughter and being goofy.   Romance makes me uncomfortable.  See above comment about growing up with guy friends.

5) My family and my friends are as important to me as you are.  I need time with them, and I need them  to know that I am here for them, as well as for you.  Balance is everything to me. I also really like hanging out with myself. It's weird, but I'm used to it after two years of singledom.  I'm independent, and that's what you love about me.  If I start being a jerk and bogarting too much time for pj/no shower/Eureka marathon days, it's ok to say so.  I may say I want to go to Istanbul by myself, and THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. Just me being me and needing to conquer things on my own.

6) You are an important part of my life, but realize I'm still adjusting to having an amazing, wonderful, great smelling handsome man around.  I often feel like I don't deserve it, but I'm getting better and I'll continue to improve as time passes.

That's all I have for now. I'll probably think of more things I should warn you about, and if you are a friend or family member who reads this blog, please feel free to chime in!  But be nice. Or I'll get cranky.

EDITED ON 7/5 CAUSE THE BOYFRIEND TOLD ME THERE WAS A TYPO. 

DID NOT GET POINT OF BLOG AT ALL. 

EDITED ON 12/20 BECAUSE I BROKE UP WITH HIM IN AUGUST.  OOOPS.

ANGST!

I currently have a feeling of ennui.  A gentle, nagging feeling that the life I am currently living is not enough.  I live vicariously through others in the baby, travel, and grabbing life by the horn departments. I worry that I'm losing myself, in a job that's really just to pay the bills, in a new relationship, in friendships that are so comfortable it doesn't seem like any effort is needed.  Which can all be good things, because at least the bills are paid, and I'm dating a wonderful guy, and I don't need to be anyone but me with my friends.  But there is something severely lacking, and I think that thing is adventure. 

I traveled the world at 18 and got to be a brand new independent person overseas.  I came home at 19 and went right to college. I moved away from home and tried to make it as a performer. These things made me who I am today, and I don't regret a single moment. Well, maybe a couple of moments, but we all have those stories, don't we?  But I'm worried that I did too much too fast and now I'm the balding high school quarterback at the reunion who has gone nowhere but down since those bygone days.

I'm a thrill seeker stuck in a soccer mom's body. An adrenaline junkie stuck in a 9-5 job.  A jetsetter that flies West once a year for a comic book convention and longs for the sights and sounds of a new locale. I want to taste every single food ever made, regardless of if it's slimy and makes me barf like calamari. I want to smell the breeze in the Alps and buy handmade turquoise jewelry in Santa Fe.  And I also want to have a home that is mine that I have created. I want to explore and be a homebody at the same time.  And the conflicting desires are pulling me apart like string cheese wielded by an overenthusiastic toddler.

I recently became an adult at the age of 31.  Getting approved for a car loan was a giant leap from the broken 27 year old who fled Northern Kentucky with an empty bank account and a maxed out credit card to her name. That person is no more. But the girl who chose to take a chance on a new life is still inside of me, aching and calling to get out there into the world, to leave the safe and comforting behind and to make treks to places she has only dreamed about in the depths of the darkest night at her parents house.  Maybe that part of me should go away so that I can be content with the abundance that I am blessed with in my life now. Or maybe she needs to take over and allow me to stop being scared to take chances.

Stop or the wine gets it!

I haven't blogged in a while, as I have had little to say.  But at this moment, I say this.  I want more.  And I'm damn well gonna go get it. 

Blame the boyfriend.

 Hmm. How can I distract Lauren with my attractiveness and willingness to love her?

I haven't written here for a while. I told Jason that I was going to blog and blame the lack of entries entirely on him.  Because it would be fun and easy for me to blame the new boyfriend instead of a complete lack of creative energy.  Instead of blaming him, though, I'm gonna blame the real culprit.

Republicans.

I kid, of course. There's no problem here except for time management issues and a bevy of things to distract me. Marvel Avengers Alliance.  The firing and relocation of several co-workers.  Being sick for a week.  Being in a new relationship.  Stand up.  Singing. Writing other things.  Shiny objects. All seasons of Eureka on Netflix. Sloth videos.  Burning Love. Bleu cheese or blue cheese? I don't know.  But it's definitely a distraction.

I feel like I'm being pulled in too many directions. A visit to my doctor yesterday revealed that I have gained 4 pounds since my last visit on the 17th of May.  Penciled in workouts ASAP.  Work is insanely slow one moment, and then the next is busy and overwhelming with a lack of support that is astounding and frustrating.  It's often an indication that you should pursue different avenues when your staff of 30 is down to a staff of 10.

PMS is back up and running. YAY! The new artist is working hard, and I can't begin to express how amazingly awesome she is and how excited I am for the future of this weird little comic.  Already have a T-shirt on the way for Comic-Con, so my professional badge will not be squandered! On that note: My older brother, Dan, and I will be attending the Con this year.  It was a very last minute decision, and thankfully, everything fell into place.  We got a less expensive hotel about 5 miles from the Convention Center, so we'll be in for some shuttle shenanigans and a lot of nerding out.  He taught me everything I know about nerd-dom, so it will be amazing to get to experience San Diego with him, with a Professional badge around my neck and a Professional Guest badge around his. I told him that we should re-enact the road trip from Paul on the way home, but alas, we don't have enough vacation time accrued to do that right now.  Some day.

Needless to say, things get busy and sometimes a blog falls by the wayside.  Some people might comment that now that I'm in a lovey dovey, barfy relationship, maybe it's time to retire the Guarded Area.  Love should make the area less guarded, right?

To those people I say: I guess you don't know me that well at all. 

Until next time when I attempt to do a fiction Friday on my birthday after a late night opening for Adrian Mesa in Boca Raton. So. Drunken Fiction Friday.  YAY!
   

Fiction Friday-WOOOOO!

News: I  have an official boyfriend, he met the family, they love him, Bailee quit PMS, I cried and now I'm PMS'ing.

Now on to Fiction Friday.

I had a friend comment on a status update with "Mmmm, brains." So. That's gonna inspire today's Fiction Friday.  I hope you like it.

Brains

by This Girl

I've been sitting here, in this jar, for what seems like ages. Floating around in formaldehyde, with no stimulus other than the occasional mad scientist's assistant coming in to steal one of my neighbors for some crazy, misguided experiment. They never pick me.  They barely even glance in my direction.  I'm going to be honest and say that it's beginning to effect what was once a brilliant and somewhat egocentric mind.  I was never the last one picked. Always the first, always the best.  And now there is a film of dust covering the label on my jar that screams to the world two names that during my life were connected with the word genius.  I honestly couldn't tell you at this point of my death what those two names were, but I hope you'll forgive me as it's been years since this brain was actually inside a skull.

I can remember how I died. An argument with the wife distracted me whilst I was combining elements that required precision in measurements, and boom! My hands were blown to smithereens and I bled out on my laboratory floor while she screamed like a banshee for help that never came. Why I ever married that woman is a question I have pondered on countless occasions while on this shelf. I should have stayed in the lab when my dear mother told me to come upstairs for that ridiculous party.  I should have never bowed to societal pressures and began courting that ridiculous creature, and should definitely not have placed a carbon allotrope ring on her finger.  She was always nagging about how I loved my work more than I loved her, and she was right. That night she had gotten upset about my missing a dinner party. She claimed my absence caused her embarrassment.  Usually, her complaints fell on deaf ears, but the addition of flying missiles being hurled at me from the staircase caused my attention to wander.  I'm sure she has since remarried, or has died of consumption. I don't know and I don't care.

I long for the day when a hunchbacked Igor will grab my jar from the shelf.  When a Dr. Frankenstein will take my gray matter into his hands and plunge me into the cavernous skull of some patchwork cadaver, then animate me with the electricity of the gods.  The day will come when I will be able to walk and talk and create again.  My research was on the verge of completion when that harpy ended my life with her absolute idiocy.  An irony to die while researching immortality, but no one can say that I don't have a sense of humor.  Didn't have a sense of humor, as I can hardly laugh in my current state.

The day will come. I'll be plunked from the death I could not avoid and live again. My hands may be larger and rougher than my delicate, white hands with which I was born.  My gait may be lumbering.  My speech may be impaired, but the ideas and the genius behind them will be immediately recognizable.  I will outreach even my new master in regards to fighting and beating death.  I will conquer death and with it, the world.

If I had a mouth, I would maniacally laugh right now.

   

Fiction Friday, Finally.

To my few readers who enjoy the Fiction Friday Format, I apologize for the delay in postings.  New relationships are wonderful and all consuming, so here I am, a week late in continuing the story created two weeks ago.  I apologize to my dear readers, and hope you will stay with me on the incredible journey of love and blogging. Ewww. Insert barf noise here.

Hope Returns

by This Girl

(continued from two weeks ago)

I heard a rustle and realized that Ms. Adaams was making her way over to my table. The scent of cigarette and Jovan White Musk hit me first. I heard her take a breath to speak. My own breath sucked in, a defense mechanism from years of non-smoking. And she said, with a voice raspy from menthol's and screaming orders to the kitchen area, "What'll you have?"

Looking at the food smeared menu that served as a place mat, I pointed a shaky finger to a breakfast combo that looked large enough to feed a family of four.  Eggs, hash browns, bacon, toast...the standard diner fare.  After a series of follow up questions that I answered with one word sentences, she sauntered away to grab my  coffee and small orange juice.  Realizing that staring at the wall and identifying various stains was not going to amuse me for the entirety of my meal, I reached into my purse and snagged my dogeared copy of Jane Eyre.  Taking out the gas station receipt bookmark, I entered the alternate world of a down on her luck governess and her passionate affair with the lord of the house. Immersed, I barely looked up as Morticia dropped off my drinks, instinctively pouring suspect creamer and sugar into the coffee in the exact measurements required by my palate.  Morticia hesitated a moment, inhaled to speak, but seemed to realize that I was not in a talking mood and turned on her heel, squeaking her shoe as she walked away.

Ten minutes later, she was back and I took a break from the goings on of Thornfield Hall to gaze upon a mountain of breakfast food that had been placed before me.  As I unwrapped my silverware, Morticia spoke up. "That's one of my favorites, although my copy is a little worse for wear," she said, gesturing to the book that was now lying open on the chipped table. I was surprised by her comment, having made assumptions about her character and intelligence based on her profession and appearance.  "Really?" I asked. "What's your favorite part?"  Her face softened, revealing a hint of hidden beauty behind the cosmetic facade.  " The end. When Jane goes back to Rochester and he's been hurt. It's so romantic. Much better than that 'haunting the moors' nonsense of Wuthering Heights. Well.  Enjoy your breakfast."

She walked away as I sat, dumbfounded.  I had judged her harshly, given her surroundings and my own perception of societal norms. Given my mental state, I allowed myself a moment of indulgence that road weariness and my own life being so overwhelmingly shitty that I had merely transferred my negative emotions onto this poor woman who had done nothing to me but look differently. I dug into my meal, my book now laying ignored on the table as I ate with a gusto that had come from nowhere.  I swore to myself that the next pass the waitress took of the table would find me in a more talkative mood.

As she wandered over with a coffee pot to top off my cup, I finally looked into the face of the woman who was taking care of me.  The makeup was harsh, but underneath the eyeshadow were hazel eyes that shone with intelligence and life.  Her lips may have been crimson and over drawn, but there was a genuine warmth in her smile that reached two small dimples in her cheeks. I finally looked at her name tag, wanting with all my heart to know the name of the woman that I had given such a harsh nickname. "Hope," I said, glancing up at her face as she poured a fresh cup with an expert hand.  "That's my name," she said, "and what I believe in. Jane had it.  Rochester had it.  And I have it, in abundance."

As she turned to walk away, I reached out and placed my hand gently on her coffee wielding arm.  Without thought, tears welled up in my eyes as the words "Thank you" came tumbling from my toast crumb dusted lips. She stopped, turned towards me, and winked. Walking away, she called out to the boys at the counter, teasing a laugh from them with her words.  I didn't hear what she said.  I only knew that I would be leaving the diner with something that I had not come in with. And that was a big ole helping of Hope.