Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Finally, a New Post

Happy Birthday to anyone reading this who just happens to have a birthday today!!!

Sunday, November 27, 2016

Banned from the Fort Wayne Reader!!!

A customer came in today, and told me she read my column. It really made my day, because most of the time, I wonder if anyone reads it. I feel like Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller's Day Off: "Is anyone reading my column? Anyone? Anyone?

I'm thinking if this column had been published, a LOT of people would have read it. And probably complained. So that's why the editor said to send him something else.

But I thought I'd run this anyway. Because if you are going to do borderline bad taste in commemorating a terrorist act, fuck that. Go full-bore, balls-deep bad taste. I did.

Sixteen years ago, on September 10, September 11 was just the next day. For my parents, or rather my mom, it would mark her 47th anniversary. My father had passed away in August of 2000.
I didn't realize that fact until I saw their marriage certificate a few years ago. Because in 2001, I don't think she was thinking about that trip to Angola in 1954, the justice of the peace who married my parents, or the outfits they wore. But I'm sure it was exciting. My parents eloped. My maternal grandfather didn't like my father, and so they ran away to be married. I think Grandpa Meyer finally came around, but the note he had written to my mother, complete with an inaccurate racial slur against my father, chills me. I have it somewhere. The pink paper it was written on gave it a deceptively innocent air.

I wasn't thinking about that Sunday. I was so swamped with work, I didn't stop to think that the world changed, the U.S. changed that sunny September morning. I guess that was some generation's version of Pearl Harbor.
I'm sure there were more formal observations of that anniversary, somewhere. But here in Fort Wayne, we had something called the Fort Wayne 9/11 Stair Climb and Public Safety Day. I didn't attend, but the little I've read about it leaves me feeling a bit ... confused.

The event was supposed to kick off the "Be a Tourist in Your Hometown" event. From what I read, the stair climb seemed a variation of the various walks/fun runs for charities, causes, and organizations. Apparently, 403 people, some of them public safety workers, walked up the stairs at Parkview Field. For a donation, you got a t-shirt. According to INC Now, the event emphasized the  "goal of using physical activity to remember the impact September 11th had on lives across the country.

Um, yeah. Exactly how high are the steps at Parkview Field? If they HAD to do something like this, why not have participants climb stairs in One Summit Square, or whatever they're calling that building now? Is it the Indiana Michigan Power Tower? That would have been a more realistic (but far from accurate) simulation of what firefighters, First Responders and police had to face in the World Trade Center. But no, climbing up the stairs of one of our taller buildings downtown was probably too much to ask for. Wouldn't want to strain ourselves.

I guess I'm critical of this event because it seems a shade too party-like for the event it's supposed to memorialize. I don't like going half-assed on anything, so if it's borderline bad taste, make it over the top bad taste (and yes, I've got some ideas for next year). Okay, so it raised money for the FWFD and FWPD Fallen Hero Fund, which is a good thing. But to me, the climb is in that awkward zone between trying to do something positive and bad taste. I wasn't there, so maybe it wasn't what I thought it would be. What I'm trying to say is that walking and jogging and biking and swimming and bowling are all fun. There are other fun sports/activities too. But climbing stairs of a building on fire to save someone is to me incredibly brave, and a completely terrifying concept, that walking up the steps of a frigging ballpark wouldn't even begin to compare with what individuals had to deal with that day. To me, it trivializes the event. I do hope that the Fallen Hero Fund made a lot of money. There is one hell of a difference between getting to your seat at a ballpark (even if you're sitting in Purdue Pharma's OxycontinTM Sky High Section) and walking up a burning building to help someone down.
So, if you're going to make money off 9/11, DO IT RIGHT. Since I have a sick sense of humor, may I suggest the First Annual Fort Wayne 9/11 Fest. Here are my suggestions for activities and who could step up to sponsor them:

Instead of having a pie toss booth, paint the Twin Towers on a big sheet of plywood, and cut holes in the tower part in various sizes. If you can toss replica commercial jetliners through the holes, you win prizes. Sponsored by Fort Wayne International Airport.

Since the festival would naturally be held downtown, fireworks would be shot off Summit, er I&M Power Tower and the PNC Building (that's the old Fort Wayne National Bank, right?) at 8:46 a.m. and 9:03 a.m. Maybe not a lot of fireworks, but just a loud boom. I don't know who should sponsor this. Anyone? Anyone?

Right after that, there would be a "Loudest Scream" contest at Headwater's Park. Perhaps an ear, nose and throat outfit could sponsor this, and perhaps some grief counseling services.

"Exodus From Downtown" would start right after that, with a 5K/fun run/walk across the Martin Luther King Bridge to Science Central, where there would be interactive demonstrations of physics, fire, and how hot metal has to be before giving way. Lots of sponsor potential here: Parkview Hospital, Three Rivers Running Company, Kelty Tappy Design, Martin Builders, Speedway Redi-Mix, Fort Wayne Metals, Gladieux Refinery.

The FWPD and FWFD could sponsor "Are You Fit Enough To Do Our Job?" tests and see how many festival goers could actually hustle up a burning building, or catch up with a criminal on foot. Better have Parkview Hospital or Dupont or Lutheran sponsor this too. Lots of ER potential. Participants MUST sign waivers.
Of course, a beer tent and various junk food vendors would be near Headwaters. It might be fun to put vendors on corners, to recreate the street food ambiance of NYC, but Fort Wayners don't want to walk too much for food that will kill them. What's the point?

Church services throughout the day for those who want to pray/remember in a more dignified environment than a beer tent or in back of the Whistle Stop Pizza booth.

Find Osama bin Laden contest. For individuals and teams. An individual dressed up like bin Laden is somewhere in downtown Fort Wayne. First one to "execute" him with a paintball gun wins.

Mayor Tom Henry re-reads a collection of statements/speeches that Giuliani made, and declares September 11, 2017, the First Annual Fort Wayne 9/11 Festival Day.

Cinema Center can have a 9/11 Film Festival, showing movies about the event.

At the end of the day, we can have a bunch of F-15s fly over downtown, followed by more fireworks off the IM Power Tower and PNC Building.

If this happens, I want the usual 10 percent cut.

Friday, November 18, 2016

NaNoWriMo 2016

I'm at 30,005 words right now. The target is 60,000 words. I'm not sure if I can squeeze the story in. if I reach 60,000 words by November 30, I will be satisfied. Since this is my master's thesis as well, my target there is 100 pages, which I'll reach no problem.

I do want to get the novel finished and polished before a writing conference in February. I think I'll have to submit some of my writing to this one too. I really hope I am accepted, as it has been a long time since I've been to New York City as a tourist or anything else. I did pass through as a truck driver, and I'm glad to say I drove a semi in NYC, but I understand those truck driving ads where they say "no East Coast." #themoreyouknow

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

NaNoWriMo and IPFW's Fall Student Reading

I participated in my second IPFW student reading yesterday, and it went well. There were some really talented people there. I read an excerpt from chapter two of Spanked! where Connie and Trevor have sex, and the bed collapses on Libertarian, the cat. Don't worry, Libby escapes with just a broken leg. My word count is 28,173.

Seems though, I can't escape from my past. One of my weirdo former friends showed up at the event, presumably to read something, but chickened out at the last minute. In case you've been keeping score, this is the guy who came from California to Puerto Rico to visit me when I was on vacation, and the same one who hung out with me in Chicago, and shared a hotel room with me, WHILE HE WAS ENGAGED.

He also came to the Graduate Colloquium I was in last spring. He looked in my direction constantly and was smiling, but didn't come to say hello after the event.

It's okay, really. I expect him to come to my book signing next semester, but not say anything. I've been stalked before. It's 2016. What woman hasn't?

Monday, November 14, 2016

Another Rerun

An oldie but a goodie. We probably all need a laugh right now. I thought this was going to be a regular feature. I thought I'd critique dating site profiles. I was having fun with it, but then it seemed like the profiles were the same thing repeated over and over. Some were even stolen, as I'd seen the exact same words used by several different men. 

Plus, I get bored extremely easily, which is another reason why I stopped doing them. Maybe I will look for some less mainstream dating sites, and start these back up again.

This ran in January 2016, and I think it was the second post on this topic.

Time for another installment of Creepy? Creepy How?

A big thank you to fellow Bruin Tim S. for creating this hilarious (and horrifying) meme of Buffalo Bill paired with an actual excerpt from a guy's dating profile (typos and creepy vibe intact.)

In case you are late to the show, I've been scanning through some dating profiles and laughing my ass off. I've posted some excerpts on Facebook with my snarky commentary in boldface (because I'm a bitch) and the reaction has been extremely favorable. People are actually wondering if these profiles are for real, and they are. And the photos? Technically awful. Lots of sunglasses, hoods, hats, shade, back lit photos, and women cropped out of photos. Or not. 

So, here's a few more. I dare you to not laugh at these.

So, cannibal, rapist, or serial killer? Or maybe it’s unlawful conduct with punctuation.

I’m looking to meet U, an almost voluptuously curvy
Almost voluptuously curvy??? WTF?

I like to be dominant when comes to sex, anything from just vanila to role playing ,tieing up, blind folding and some spanking, The lady always set the limits ofc
How about my limit being I never want to meet you? After all, this site is NOT Plenty to Talk about TMI!!!

So I really had thought by this time in my life my inner child would have been tasered, Ha!
Why? Were you abused as a child?

You can sit on my lap anytime as I'm playful like that
So he’s into pole sitters??? HAHAHAHAHA!

it' has been hard since my only daughter went to sleep in the Lord 3 years ago,
If this is how Heaven works, I’m not sure I want to go there.

I like trying different types of food from American to Chinese to Sushi
So, basically, from American to Asian. Wow. So different. Many cuisine.

Boy I hate writing about myself
And I hate reading about you! Ba-dum crash!

There is no way for you to tell from this profile that I once had long hair and played guitar in a heavy metal band.
Um…didn’t you just fucking tell me that?

Ask me about the shark I once kicked.
I hope you kicked it because it was attacking you. If you just kicked it for fun, you’re into hurting animals. What’s next? People? Huh? Answer me, you potential murderer!

You see these pics and you can easily come to a view that I am some entitled yuppie
He works in finance/hedge funds. He’s so not a yuppie. I mean, yuppies work as fry cooks and deliver pizzas. And his pics? Looks like an aging frat boy. Be still my heart! Fuck off, yuppie.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Makin' Music

Here's my first remix of Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode.

In Response ...

to an awful week (I couldn't get access to my anti-depressant, great timing, amirite?) throwing up a $42 dinner, and the death of Leonard Cohen, I couldn't resist making this meme.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Doing NaNoWriMo This Year

Hoping I can get Spanked! finished in November, and finalized over winter break. There's another writing conference that I would like to be accepted to, which happens in February. I'm at 5000+ words right now.

Thursday, October 27, 2016

This is why I quit

To those who tell me not to give up:

I implore you to go out and beat a dead horse. Hit it until it comes back to life.

That's how it feels for me. Every day.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Sunday, October 9, 2016

I miss you mom

Wilhelmina Norma Marie Meyer "Jane" Diaz
21 February 1931  8 October 2004

Monday, September 26, 2016

I Can Haz Feedback?

Chapter Three

            I fought with the late afternoon traffic while making my way from the south side of Three Rivers to the north, where 24/7 Fitness was located. In a few miles, I could get onto the highway and zip up to Chalmers Road.
            But crawling through rush hour made me think about what was going on in my life. Trevor and Blake. Two total opposites. The honeymoon period had worn off with Trevor. I felt like I was still working on our relationship, while he wasn’t. I wanted some romance, and I hated that I had to initiate date night, as well as pay for it. Through the dinner and the movie, Trevor would sit silently, as if enduring the tedious burden of free food and entertainment. I remembered the anniversary of our first date, and bought him a gift and a card. He just sat on the receiving end, while I felt like a plate spinner, frantically trying to keep the Corelle Dinnerware (or similar) from crashing to the floor while Katchaturian’s “Sabre Dance” played in the background. I remember the very early days of our relationship when he made an effort.
            Then there was Blake, totally out of my league. But he seemed interested—or was he? I’d been burned so many times, and experienced so many weird behaviors from men, that I never knew what to think anymore. My man radar was totally off. When guys were interested in me, I’d think that they weren’t. Then, when I thought a guy was interested in me, he wasn’t. Did Blake really care, or what he just out to get what he could? And was I horrible for craving our workouts?
            The traffic finally cleared, and I was on the highway, speeding to Blake. I was starting to obsess over him, which is what happens when a guy pays attention to me. I tried to rein myself in—if I managed to lose weight and tone up with these “workouts”, then it was all well and good. But that’s all it might be. I tried not to get overly excited about him, but how could I not? Blake always smelled good. He dressed in workout gear which actually fit him. He had enough hair on his head, not too short, not too long. He seemed sympathetic. He also seemed worldly, gentlemanly, but with a pinch of naughtiness to him.
            Then there was Trevor, with his skin-tight Pillsbury Dough Boy t-shirt that fit him 40 pounds ago. Trevor, who once stood in front of me and asked if he smelled bad. I couldn’t detect anything particularly rank, but asked him why he asked. He said it was because he couldn’t remember the last time he took a shower. Trevor, who practically shaved his head bald, to save money on shampoo. Trevor, with his robot-like approach to the world and spot-on ability to say the least appropriate thing at the worst possible time. Trevor, a college graduate, but who acted like a 14-year-old boy, who ruined a cashmere sweater because he didn’t know you couldn’t wash cashmere. I pushed him out of my mind as I saw the exit for Chalmers Road. Hopefully Blake would be there. Was that last workout just a dream?  I parked my car and walked towards the entrance, the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

*  *  *
I used my electric key fob to open the door. The gym was starting to fill up with nine-to-fivers. I looked around, but I didn't see him. There was someone in the office, but it was the manager. I put my stuff in a cubbyhole and went over to an elliptical machine and plugged my headphones in. The gym had cable, and the treadmills, the ellipticals, and the stationary bicycles had television screens.  This was a treat for me, because I didn't have cable. I worked too much to make it worthwhile. I flipped through the channels until I saw Clean House. It was one of my favorites. I also liked Hoarders, because I could always think, my house doesn't look like that. At least, not yet. And yeah, there was underwear on my coffee table, but at least it was clean and in a nice, neat pile.
I was deep into the episode when all of a sudden …
“Oh! Hi!” I squeaked.
            “Haven't seen you in a while,” he said, looking at me in a rather concerned way.
I yanked my earbuds out, unplugged them, and carefully stepped off the machine. “I’ve been busy.”
            “So what do you do for a living? Blake asked. “I guess either I didn’t ask, or you told me and I forgot.”
            “I have three jobs. I work retail, doing delivery for High's, the home improvement store, and I teach at Oaks Community College and I write for RiverJournal.”
            “Wow. You are busy. That sounds insane.”
            “Yeah, and to make things worse, my schedule at High's is all over the place. 7-4 one day, 1-9 the next couple days, then back to 7-4, then a mid-shift, then, a closing shift, then I open again. Then a day off, then the next day it starts all over again. It's a rotating schedule, so I eventually get a weekend off, but when I do, I have to work the next six or seven days. And I have to squeeze in my grading and lesson planning in when I can. I told High’s I needed to open two days a week on the days I have class, but of course they will have me close the night before.”
            “Okay, now that really sounds insane. As well as completely unhealthy,” said Blake.
              “At first I wanted to work a lot, because the summer before I was hired at High's, I was out of work and just barely scraping by. I was scared. And I realized that I didn't have a whole lot of help from anybody. A couple of my friends tossed some odd jobs at me, but …"
 “Well, work has been insane—they never have me on a set schedule, and I am teaching two classes at Oaks, and on my days off from High's, I usually grade papers.”
            “I was wondering,” Blake said. “It's been weeks. I thought maybe, well ... maybe I'd scared you off.”
So it really DID happen! I seemed to get involved in situations where something so wild, so unbelievable had happened, I often just stood in shock, wondering if that customer had really said how women shouldn't work outside the home, or if that toddler had really head-butted me right above the back of my left knee. Working retail was a lesson in humiliation. No matter how much education you had, or how smart you were, if you wore a smock or vest, you were a servant.
            “No. Well, maybe a little. I mean … it was uh, a different experience. And I really have been busy and tired. And I've not been well, either. Work is frustrating, and I, uh, I cry a lot and I've been throwing up and my, um, periods really hurt.”
              “You've lost weight too, haven't you?” said Blake.
              I looked down at my still protruding stomach. “About 30 pounds. Um, well, actually I've lost additional weight since dropping the 30 ... I think it's an extra 15 pounds or so.”
            “Have you called the doctor?” he asked.
            “Yes. Twice. Both of them. They said, 'it's not uncommon, especially after surgery.'”
            Blake really looked concerned now. “Keep an eye on that. If it gets worse, or if you lose 10 more pounds in say, two weeks’ time, call them. I mean it.” He looked right into my eyes.
"Have you kept up with your core exercises?”
            “Kind of. I've been in a lot of pain … my periods are making me miserable. Sometimes, I'm in so much pain, I can't move. I've been downing Aleve and Midol. That's the only way I can make it through my twelve-hour days.”
            “So … what about this pain you've been having? Did the doctors really blow you off?”
            “Yup. Both of them. So I guess I just keep going until I can't go anymore.”
            “Please don’t do that,” he said. “Keep bugging the doctors. Aside from everything else, have you gained any strength in your core? I know you said the pain is bad, but ...”
              “I think I've gotten a little stronger.”  "I can do more reps, and despite the menstrual cramps and pain, I feel different. Of course, that could be the tumor breaking up. “So in that sense, the operation did work. But as for my periods, they're pretty much worse than ever.”
            “That’s not good. Don’t let that go too long.” He looked at me, concerned. “So, are you up to a workout today? I'm assuming you are, at least to some extent.”
            “Oh yes,” I said. “Are you planning to 'motivate' me?”
            “I thought you'd never ask. Well, come on, then.”
I started walking back toward the room (it was all I could do not to skip with glee) but Blake went to the front office, and spoke a few words to the manager. I paused in the open office that led to the back hallway. Blake appeared a few seconds later.
              “Sorry. I just wanted to tell Jim that I wouldn't be available for a few minutes. It's 4:15 p.m. now; I've got someone in for a training session at 4:30 p.m. I'll need to keep an eye on the time, but we can get some activity in. Better a little, than none at all,” Blake smiled wickedly. He walked to the back office and unlocked it.
I was pretty well worked up, and we hadn't even started yet. I couldn't help but compare this gym with Shape, all-women gym I'd previously been a member of. It was nice and all, but there weren't any trainers that looked like Blake, that was for damn sure. And there were about twenty stations with workout equipment in a circle. The idea was to work out at each one for two minutes, then move on to the next one. I'm sure the premise was to keep from being bored with the workout. With Blake, there sure wasn't any danger of that.
He brought in a small mat and took out the paddle. “Okay,” he said. “Lie down on the mat on your back. Slide your sweatpants off.”
            Awkwardly, I got down on the mat and slipped my shoes off, then my sweats. Thank goodness I put on something resembling lingerie today, instead of my usual ancient, shredded white cotton bikinis I fondly referred to as "Swiss Cheese." I laid on my back.
            Blake observed me for a moment, then grinned. “I like the undies.”
“Thought you would,” I smiled back.
“Okay then, legs together, up in the air.”
            I raised my legs. From my point of view, my feet looked like I was hovering over the ceiling tiles.
            “Okay, I want you to put your hands behind your head. Bend up as far as you can, then go back down. I'd like to see thirty reps.”
              I crunched up as far as I could go, then back down. I settled into a rhythm, but because of my belly, it was hard for me to articulate the effort of each crunch. It was also hard to breathe. I tried to squeeze in a breath when she eased back down, but it wasn't easy. Exhale on the way up, inhale on the way back down, I told myself.  I hoped I wouldn't cramp up. I thought I'd read somewhere that breathing deeply helped avoid muscle cramps. I fought through it, and got to fifty. I eased back down and smiled.
            “I'm impressed,” smiled Blake. “You've gotten stronger, that's for sure.”
            “Yes, I can feel it. But I don't think I've gotten any smaller in my torso. I've lost nearly fifteen pounds, so I can feel it in my pants, especially. I had to start wearing a belt with some of my jeans.”
            “Okay, take a break for a couple of minutes. Then, bend your legs. Keep your knees close to your chest.  Hands behind your head. Then, crunch up, but do it diagonally. Not straight, but angle to the left. Try to touch your right elbow to your left knee. Twenty reps.”
            I knew this would be harder. I looked at the clock on the wall. After the second hand had swept around twice, I took a couple of breaths and started. It was even harder to breathe, doing the crunches diagonally. But when I looked in the mirror sideways this morning, I was horrified. When I stood normally, I looked pregnant. My belly stuck out even more than my breasts, and I was rocking a 38D bra. Gritting my teeth, I curled as far to the left as I could. My right elbow barely touched my left knee. After the tenth rep, I could feel sweat on my forehead. At the fifteenth rep, I was starting to ache. At the seventeenth, the cramp hit. “Ow!” I whimpered. “Oh God, it hurts.”
            “Okay, on your stomach,” said Blake. Stretch your arms out.
              I rolled over, and took deep breaths. The cramp felt one percent better. Then, a smack on my behind. It wasn't hard, just enough to get my attention.
“So you did eighteen crunches, here come eighteen spanks." Blake just flicked his wrist, instead of putting a full, arm-length swing behind it. The first one was square on my behind, then the second one was lower, on the bottom of my butt. Then, the rest of the smacks made the full tour around my bottom. And the intensity varied. Here was a tap, there was a hit with a little heat on it, the next one was a bit restrained. Oh. My. God. This was beyond hot. The last five were hard—several seconds between each whack—and each one in a different spot. Blake finished, then said, “okay, on your back again. You need just two more reps, and you'll be done.”
I got into position, then completed my two reps. “I'm sorry I wasn't able to do them all at once.”
            “I'm not,” Blake grinned.
            I laughed. “Yeah, I didn't think you were sorry.”
            The clock read 4:25. “Twenty reps on the other side. And hurry it up. I've got a client at 4:30.”
            “So what will you do if I can't do them all at once?”
            “If I tell you, it ruins the surprise. The only reason I mentioned it that first time I ‘motivated’ you was to see if you'd take off. You didn't, so I figured if you came back, I could surprise you.”
            I thought about this. My bottom was tingling, I was sweaty, and I couldn't really understand why I was so turned on. Was it because it felt forbidden? Couldn't Blake get in trouble for this? Was he taking advantage of me and I was too dumb to realize it? Or did he have a radar for women with lousy sex lives?
              I made it through, keeping an eye on the clock the entire time. After I was done, I collapsed. “Two minutes to spare. And I got through all the reps. Aren't you impressed with me?”
            Blake smiled. “Yes and no. I didn't get to spank you that time. So I'm glad you're getting stronger, but I was really hoping to work you over.”
            “Maybe next time,” I smiled back. “And I'm going to work on the core stuff at home more. You're supposed to push me, remember? You were the one who offered to help.”
            Blake's face became serious. “That I did.”
            “And there's something else I'm doing; that I want to show you. But it's a surprise,” I said.
            He glanced at the clock. “Too bad we're out of time. I would have tickled and spanked that surprise right out of you.”
            My stomach flip-flopped. “Really?”
            “Yes, really. Be careful when you say stuff like that. Remember, I'm here during the day. I want to see you here more often.”
            “I told you about my schedule. Sometimes I'm working seven days a week.”
            “Yes. And I also remember you saying sometimes you were scheduled 7-4, and then you close. You can come in after work, and you can come in before. I expect to see you at least once a week.”
            “Well, I do want to show you something. I want to, well ... I guess I want someone's opinion, and I don't want to show Trevor.”
"He's my um … boyfriend."
            Blake and I looked at each other for a moment.
            “Now I'm really curious; but it will have to wait. Come on, we have to get out of here, and I have to lock this office.”
              I went for the door, and Blake put the paddle away. He joined me, opening the door and leading me out. He grabbed the doorknob and locked it.
            “See you soon,” he grinned.
            “See ya,” I said.
            I waited a few seconds for Blake to walk out into the gym, then I followed. I found I couldn't keep my eyes off him, but I managed to get a drink of water before I resumed my solo workout.
            But my eyes fixed on Blake again as I made my way to the front of the gym where the elliptical machines were. His client had indeed showed up. All the good, sexy feelings I had vanished as if I had been shoved into an ice-cold shower.
His client was Stephanie Zoslukova. An acquaintance of mine. I couldn't really call her a friend, because friends don't insult you in front of other friends, or let loose with condescending remarks. Stephanie, who always needed an audience, especially when she was putting me down. Stephanie, who made every gathering with my group of friends a minefield, was talking to Blake. That five-foot tall, three-hundred-and-fifty-pound total narcissist, all-around self-centered bitch was flirting with Blake (as she did with every man) and I went from horny to furious in a nanosecond.
Furious, and jealous.

 I need some feedback on my thesis. I've uploaded chapters on Wattpad and 
I need something besides, "I like the spanking and tickling stuff" and "Blake seems blank." 

He's not as perfect as he seems, but I don't want to give it all away in the first couple chapters.


Monday, September 19, 2016


I had a shitty day today.

Just so you know.

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

My Current View

A Rerun from January 2009

New Restaurant For Downtown Fort Wayne

Coming to downtown Fort Wayne just in time for the opening of Harrison Square is Peckers, a restaurant catering to female sports fans. “Pecker Boys” will wear yellow Speedos and serve chicken planks, fries, and will offer “lite” fare for sporty ladies looking to watch their weight.
A spokesperson for Peckers says Fort Wayne is an “ideal” location for the new fast food chain, a feminist response to Hooters.
“If women agree to serve food to fat guys too chicken to walk into a strip club, and are willing to work for $2.33 an hour plus tips, we figure we can find men who are willing to wear skimpy swimsuits and do basically the same thing.”
The spokesperson admitted that because of the Peckers philosophy of finding comely, fit men to be Pecker Boys, the entire Fort Wayne staff was imported from more physically fit areas of the country, like Southern California.
“If Hooters doesn’t have fat-ass, ugly women, we feel we shouldn’t have fat-ass, ugly guys,” said the spokesperson. “These men are indeed servers, but they are sex objects as well. We want the ladies of Fort Wayne to be confident they will have quality food brought to them by handsome, fit men, unlike the guys they are married to.”
The spokesperson expects more Peckers to spring up over northeast Indiana in the next three years.

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Creativity Abounds featuring Shameless Self-Promotion

I've had a really cheap music software program for a while, but never really figured out what kind of music I wanted to create. Since going to Hush, I figured it out. So, here is a shortened version of something I made the other night. It's not perfect, but I like it.

I also threw in some info about my erotic fiction. Speaking of which, I uploaded the first chapter of the revised version of The Trainer, which is now entitled Spanked!

You can check it out here.

And what got me interested in EDM? Blame this guy.

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Hey Kids! It's Time for another "Where Do You Meet These People?" NSFW!

Subject: male
Location: Fort Wayne, Indiana
How We Met: Uber driver gave me his number
Length of relationship/friendship: March 2016 to August 2, 2016

I was having continual car trouble on and off from November 2015. It was right after I came back from a wonderful week in San Francisco. Figures--less than 48 hours back home and everything goes to shit.

One of the Uber drivers I used in March gave me the number of a mechanic starting up on his own. She sung his praises. His prices were very reasonable and he was honest.

To his credit, he fixed what was wrong with the Neon. Or rather, he took it some place that figured it out. This, after McMahon Tire and Goodyear either "fixed" the problem and charged me, or looked at it, pronounced the car fine, and charged me $50. He charged me less than it cost for McMahon to "fix" it--and he actually FIXED it. (Crank sensor.)

So I took my car to him again. His shop was close to my house, I could walk there if I needed to. And he was very reasonable in terms of prices. Everything seemed okay. Until August 2.

I was at Cedar Point again, and I got a text on the status of my car. The overheating problem was solved. The oil still needed to be changed, and he was waiting on the latch for the hatchback, which still wasn't working right (this was the second trip to get this fixed.)

The mechanic said his phone was randomly sending pics during texts. You know what's coming, right? His phone "accidentally" sent not one, not two, not three, but FOUR pictures of him in various stages of undress. The last one left no question as to what it was. 

Dive-bombed again. I tend to be way too naive when it comes to things and people, especially men, so I'll just assume that all men are total asshole pigs until they prove themselves otherwise. Because of men's nonsense, I can't believe them, nor do I know when they are telling the truth. I'm not going to apologize for this attitude. Forget that. YOU prove to me you're not an asshole.

I only wish I'd sent this one to him and said, "My cock is bigger."

Monday, August 15, 2016

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

I Remember the Thunder

I guess it was a good thing that I went to Cedar Point again yesterday. It was the sixteenth anniversary of my father's death.

Like then, it was a beautiful day. I was up early, like I was then. So the trip was a nice distraction (and a lot of fun).

But when I got back last night, I thought about how long it had been. And how it seemed like no time at all. Dad had been sick for some time, and watching him being assisted by a home health care assistant caused me to almost faint. I couldn't believe that my dad was so weak, he needed help.

I loved him so much.

One of the things I remember most about my dad is about how he smelled. It was a combination of tooth paste, hair oil, after-shave, and soap. Even when on the weekends, he was clean-shaven. The only time he wasn't shaven is when he was sick. I knew that if dad didn't shave, he was seriously ill.

I didn't talk to him much about the final diagnosis. He probably wouldn't have lived through the biopsy, but he probably had cancer spots on his liver and lung. I remember kneeling down by him one night and crying. I said that I was sorry he was sick. He said, "these things happen in life." I remember the way he said it. Slowly, like he knew there was nothing to be done. But strong. I don't remember him crying about it.

We spent time together. He took me to hockey games when I was three or four, and that continued through college, I think. We played catch in the backyard. We would go out for dinner on Fridays, so that mom didn't have to worry about cooking. After that, we'd go to the mall. I'd teach myself how to ice skate, and dad would pay bills before coming back to get me. Sometimes we'd go to breakfast, and before Indiana got the lottery, I would ride with him to Van Wert to buy lottery tickets.

He got me interested in photography and astronomy. And hockey.

He had a sense of discipline that I'm sure I inherited. For a long time, I thought I couldn't do certain things. Gradually, I've started to relax about things.

I wish, though, that I could ask him about things.

He died right in front of me. Nothing prepares you for that.

I had gotten home from work, around 2:45 a.m. I thought he wanted water and I got it from him. He wasn't responding, so I woke my mother. He was gone.

Phone calls were made, and I went to bed after a few hours. I remember my brother coming over. Someone came to take dad away. By then, it was about the time for mom to go to work. She insisted on going about her usual routine, but both my brother and I offered to drive her wherever she needed, but she refused. I was scared, because I knew she was going to get into a car accident. I knew that, like I know I'm going to die someday.

I finally went to bed. I woke up around 3 p.m. to a quiet house. I went out to the dining room table to find a note. Mom and my brother were at the car dealership, seeing how much it would cost to get the car fixed. It was totaled. Mom was okay. Just a little cut on her wrist. The accident happened within walking distance of the house.

Later on, we went out to Applebee's for dinner. I remember when we left, there was thunder, after a typically hot August day. I couldn't help think it was dad arguing with St. Peter. If it was about getting in, I hope he got in.

When I went to bed that night, I was afraid. For a long time, dad had slept in the living room to make it easier for the home health care assistant to help him out. Even though dad couldn't have protected us from an intruder, I was scared. It was the first night I knew I'd never see my dad again.

Rafael Carmelo Diaz
December 10, 1922--August 2, 2000

Dad, April 1955.

Dad and I, my brother's wedding, August 24, 1984.

Monday, August 1, 2016

Please Vote!

This is the link to my photo! Please vote!

Sunday, July 31, 2016

The Picture

This is the picture I was talking about. Voting for this picture starts tomorrow, August 1, at noon. Here is the page for it:

Please vote for it. The grand prize is $15,000 and I sure could use it. I will be posting this same page for a little while. Also Twittering it as well. And Facebooking it. If you like it vote. And be sure to share the link!

P.S. No, it wasn't taken at night. This was taken at 11:57 a.m. June 21, 2016.

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Are You Going to Allen County Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and, oh forget it. More like elephant ears, pork tenderloins and fries. This IS 2016 in the United States after all. No true loves of mine exist here, so let's get the show started, shall we?

Yours truly won two blues and two reds. I entered the last photo in the photography contest. Voting starts August 1 at noon, and yes, I will be posting the link so that you can vote. I can use the grand prize money of $15,000, so please vote often!

Yet the poster says nothing about sticking my finger up my ass. I know from, um, other people I mean, that I shouldn't do that.

Pretty nifty. At $95,900, it's way out of my range, but it's been one of my goals to get something similar and drive around the country and take pictures. The guy I spoke with says driving around the country is a pretty common desire. Maybe someday, with a used one.

I love the fair, because there's so much stuff to learn and discover, including free spiritual guidance!

HAHA! They said ass!

The 4-H horsey set always goes all out in decorating the horse stalls.

Most of the horses didn't seem to want to be photographed.

This guy is the son of a champion show jumper. He also likes doing dressage, too.

This is his dad.

See what I mean by decorating? You can't see it, but to the right is a TON of stuff this 4-H'er put up.

Obviously a miniature horse that just wants to be left alone.

See what I mean by decorating???

A pretty chestnut getting its feed on.

Painted with bubble wrap. Pretty clever!

Madonna is a very small horse. I checked. She wasn't vogueing. 

Me, content after some onion rings. I love my Superman curl!

Lactose-free chocolate cherry ice cream. YUM!

See, now I have a handy guide to parasites in goats!

Framed with plastic spoons! Pretty cool!

A miniature Lego model of this year's fair.

Velma and Shaggy are at bottom left.

Yes, this is a radio. Not a Mexican radio, but a radio just the same. Looks like it was made with tiny skateboards.

A NYC skyline, in Legos.

The most notorious interstellar crime boss will be Donald Trump.

Trophies! Hundreds of trophies!

I should have cleaned the lens before taking this.

There, that's better!

I love my Samsung Galaxy III. I know it's outdated, but I will never give this phone away. I love the filters on it, and it's taken some kick-ass pictures. 

I think I set this on the blue point filter.

Sunset, first night of the fair.

The blue point filter setting.

Red yellow point filter setting.

Don't know what this was on.

Red yellow point again.

Blue point, set for night.

Set for night.

Not sure what this one was.

Blue point, obviously.

Not sure about this one, either.

Blue point.

Green point.

No filter. Just a shot. Or maybe it was red yellow.

Red yellow?

Solarize! I used to do this to my black and white prints in high school!

Solarize from a weird angle.

Doesn't this look like a giant transformer with really long arms???

Set on negative. That's why the sky looks white. The dinosaur is actually green.

Green point.

Red yellow point.

I love that the o in the Fairgrounds is in the shape of a ribbon. Also, the d is sporting a pennant.