Deviant Dispatches

...without having properly met him. 1. Based on the number of shoes in front of his door at any given time, he either has two or six children. 2. Based on the number of coats in front of his door last night, his apartment has recently developed a selective black hole, which sucked away his hall closet. 3. He can't hear very well, to the point that his music must be loud enough to rattle my floors for him to hear it properly. 4. He only likes very loud, very bad heavy metal and Gagnam Style. All other music is sub-par. 5. His reaction to my presence suggests that he's often been asked to "turn it down a little." 6. He only plays his drum kit immediately after showering. This leads me to believe he has a sterilized drum kit in a  clean room . 7. Today, I learned that yelling at 5 a.m. is his favorite. His kids' too.

Today's post is kind of bizarre because I'm running on very little sleep. Spousal Unit and I got all excited last night in our 80-degree apartment, because we thought the air had finally been turned on. So we closed all the windows and cranked it, but still didn't fall asleep till late (for us). And then we woke up at 3 a.m., realizing that it wasn't AC, but some weird form of cool air that just made it hotter for us. Finally, after camping out in the living room, hanging blankets to block the street light, and opening every single window, we got to sleep. But neither of us had more than a few hours of it. So! Here's a thing I found out about yesterday, about which I'm kinda-sorta interested and kinda-sorta pissed. The Glimpse by Claire Merle   This looks just like every other dystopian young adult book I've seen/read/heard about recently: Girl is young! Girl has a bright future in crappy society that she thinks is pretty fly! Girl is destined t...

This customer I'm about to describe to you was real. (Presumably, she's still real, but no longer a customer.) I have not made any of this up. As my friend Nan says, "You can't make this shit up." At the bookstore yesterday, we had an event, during which we turned off the store music and spoke quietly so as not to interrupt or disturb the authors as they spoke. Some people are just oblivious to these clues; this customer was one of them. I dub her Oblivia. She wasn't shouting, but she definitely spoke much louder than most people I know, and she was one of those who just liked to talk. Sometimes, customers don't like to ask for suggestions, for whatever reason. Instead, they just start telling you everything about themselves, and everything they've ever read, hoping you'll pick up on the clues with your incredible mind-reading abilities. Sometimes it works, but customers, please understand: we are not psychics. Most of us don't even want...

*This post has way more information about my internal organs than you may be comfortable with. Also, there's some crazy in it. Be warned.* A couple of weeks ago, I'd convinced myself that I either had cancer or a misplaced appendix. Not misplaced like, oh no, where did I leave my appendix, it was just here a second ago. Misplaced as in, possibly in the wrong spot on my body. It happened to someone I know, and my left side has felt like an angry cat is trying to claw its way out for a long time. The reason I thought it could be my appendix, after such a long time of hurt, is that an appendix can, apparently,  seal itself over before getting its toxins all up in your hizzy. Again, this happened to someone I know. So, hey, it could be both on the wrong side of my body and sealed over at the same time. Not the most likely scenario, but still possible. This pain, as I said, has been happening for a while, but only recently could I do anything about it, as we had insurance ...

I have a new job. Same dance, new song: I'll still be working at a bookstore, but it's a primarily new bookstore instead of a primarily used bookstore. No more books that smell like cigarettes and mold, no more fun discoveries of bugs and underwear in book boxes, no more offering customers 50 cents for nice copies of Walden and Emily Dickinson. No more throwing books away like they're last week's leftovers. I will miss certain things, certain people, certain perks; that is the nature of change. The new job is part-time, at least for now. This means I'll be developing a regimen for novel work and exercise, to be focused on daily (or very, very often). Hopefully, I can get myself and my novel whipped into shape. (Don't worry; I'll still post terrible book covers for you whenever they come my way.) Unfortunately, this also means some degree of insanity in the next several months, yet again. I've already had my first couple of freak-outs about the new...

Property of our friend Bill It's official: Spousal Unit and I got the apartment. We're moving in tomorrow. On the one hand, I'm excited. We're finally getting our own place, after months of our friends graciously putting up with our antics and sheltering us from heat stroke, frost bite, and raptor attacks. We're venturing out into the big ol' world out there for what's left of our first year as newlyweds. We get to settle into a new place for the second time in our lives together, and it can be as much alike or different from our old place as we want. We'll be discovering a new part of town: new favorite places, new favorite walks to take, new adventures with the building's washers and dryers. We will go exploring when we're not bone tired from moving in, and even if we're cranky when we go, we will still love each other more for it. On the other hand, we're stepping forward into unknown territory. It's a change of surroundings, with...

As a counter to yesterday's post, today I bring you books that are interesting and well done, as opposed to written by monkeys and lining birdcages. The first in this installment of "Books I Will Read at Some Point and Might Also Like to Own" is Population 485 by Michael Perry. Michael Perry has returned to his hometown of New Auburn, Wisc., after a ten-year absence. To feel more in-touch with the town again, he joins the volunteer fire department, putting out flames and saving lives when he's not putting words on a page. This is the story of rural life: everyone knows everyone (including their history), and life is mostly taken at leisure - except when there's an emergency. The first chapter tells of Perry's connection to New Auburn, and also the story of Tracy, whose car went out of control at a dangerous turn. His telling of the two stories is immaculate, bits from one followed by pieces of the other. His language choice is perfect. Describing the accident:...

November is upon us. I have yet to decide if I will fully participate in this year's National Novel Writing Month , but I will at least give my novel more focus. If nothing else, I will use this time to craft my characters and improve at least the first 30 pages of my novel, which are probably the worst pages I've ever written. For those who plan to participate (or who just like writing), I provide for you here some of my favorite writing-related implements of creation. Write or Die is a great way to get out the required number of words in a short amount of time. If you stop writing, the screen gradually turns pink, then red, then starts screeching at you in a most terrible manner. Beware: on occasion, rather than screeching, the program has removed my most recent words letter by letter. So, you know, keep cheating by hitting space and backspace over and over. (Also, you don't have to buy this. Look for the online edition on this website, in the right column.) Dragon Writin...

*If you'd like any preconceived notions you have of me to stay in place, then here's a fair warning: don't read this post. Go here instead, where things make more sense.* Sometimes I wonder if it’s not other people; it’s me. Starting a new job always makes me self-conscious – more so when it's in such a prim and proper place as the tux industry. I worry about whether I've said the right thing, especially in a job where certain words and phrases are banned. I'm not even allowed to say "Can I help you?" - a phrase that's been drilled into me for ten years. I'm always on my toes to behave so damn properly, and most who know me know I don't care what strangers think of me. I am more than willing to help people and more than willing to do whatever I can for them, but I want to feel like myself when I do it, and this job strips me of personality. I feel like a shell at work and always find myself saying the wrong thing - customers don...

I'm writing to you from the future, and the future is Toledo. Be afraid. It's an hour ahead here, and it was plain to see why the moment we pulled off the exit ramp and into our Days Inn parking lot. Looks very promising, doesn't it? At the least, the building shape seems to suggest a unique establishment bristling with interest. Well, kinda . We were astounded from the start. It's clear that this hotel sees routine maintenance. Why, even when we checked in, they were sending maintenance folk hither and yon on a mission to repair various AC units. Understandable, as there's a high of 98 today, and on the bright side, we were upgraded to a suite for free because our room's AC was also out. In the hallway, I noticed several large, grey bells - the round ones you typically see in old cartoons, or in boxing matches. *DING* "In this corner, we have..." All I could think when I saw them was, it would really suck to hear that go off tonight. In the room, we ...

I have a new fabric arts goal. (Yes, I suspected setting all that aside wouldn't last long. Or take at all. I just like crafting too much.) I want to start knitting lace. So far, the only thing lace-ish that I've knitted were my wedding gauntlets. This picture belongs to MCM Photography They turned out very nice. It took me until a couple of days before the wedding to finish them. Eventually I'll add the lace trim I started. But I want to make more things like them. And I found a gorgeous book to work my way up to. Picture copyright by the people who did this book This is definitely not a beginning lace book. You can tell from the size of that shawl on the cover. See how it's folded over? That thing is the size of the girl modeling it. It's enormous, and it's knitted on size 4 needles. Size 4, seriously. Size 4 is about the size of the average twig on the ground. I used size 4 needles to make my niece's blanket several years ago and it drove me batty. Not ...

And now for an announcement most of you are already aware of. We are moving very soon. We are saying goodbye to the Land of Enchantment and heading back to America's Dairyland, where the cows are actually happy and our families await us in clover-filled fields of awesomeness. Well, Spousal Unit's family is in Illinois, but you get the idea. Spousal Unit's thesis will be complete enough that he can finish most of it from afar. We love the friends we've made here, and I love my job, but it's time for us to move on. We've wanted for many years to end up back in the heart of Wisconsin, so that's where we're going. A couple of our friends are generous enough to host our corporeal ghosts in their basement until we find jobs and are able to stand on our own feet, rather than theirs. I was a cellar waif once before; I shall soon be one again. Ideally, here's how it will go: we'll both get good jobs within a month or so. Spousal Unit will head off to Fran...

I swear that every time upper management leaves the store and I'm the only one in charge, the crazies come out and Chaos reigns supreme. This doesn't just happen occasionally, either. Without fail, as soon as The Universe sniffs out that I'm the one everything is going to, it sends out its trusty minion Chaos to royally screw me over. As happened last night. Manager's been out for the week anyway, and the other two ladies in charge left early yesterday, around 4 p.m. or so. Let the countdown begin: two hours to closing. Can we make it that long without the store catching fire? I nervously glance over my shoulder, hoping The Universe doesn't catch word of my crossed fingers and the empty offices upstairs. People begin sauntering in, casually picking up every book in sight and piling them on the floor. In the back, three teenage girls wander in, acting like teenage girls. I keep my eye on them, but gave them space. The tall one with bedhead behaves most oddly. Chaos h...

Several very fun things happened at work yesterday. 1.) Creepy Bald Guy learned my name. He sets off my Perv-Dar like crazy - I make an effort to not be around him, and was very discouraged to find he knew my name. He asked to use the bathroom (always does when he comes in). "Thanks," he said as I was unlocking it. "I just went to that cafe next door and ate, and I really gotta go." Dude. Please don't tell my why you want to use the bathroom. I think I can figure it out. 2.) The Man in Black came in to use the bathroom, as he does (I'm seeing a trend). I asked how he was doing. "Good. I'm doing a show at the Blackbird [Gallery] this weekend. Acid rap. It's going to be scary." He was clearly thrilled at how scary it was going to be. 3.) Million Dollar Hobo came in again. He wore old sweats, new stink, and few teeth. He first showed up last week and asked my manager if we had change for a million-dollar bill, hence the nickname. No, sorry, w...

Once upon a time, I was broke. (Yes, that's also now upon a time, but let's look at the former.) I barely managed to make it back to school at the beginning of junior year. I signed my first born over to Susie May for a loan (a.k.a. Vampires R Us) to make it back. I found a job at the lovely Picky Slave to start my fourth year working in grocery, this time a minor peon once again. I was willing to do anything to stay in college. Anything. The first few weeks made it clear that this job was going to be the seventh circle of hell (right between being stuck in a burning tomb and sinking in human excrement). It was going to be a revolting year. I knew all the produce codes as well as I knew the garbage compactor number from Star Wars: A New Hope (3263827), but still had to watch The Training Video of Torturous Doom (you know which one - it's the same everywhere you go). They made me pay $15 I didn't have for a work shirt barely one step above sackcloth and ashes. I had to w...

About a year ago, my coworker and I were visited by The Name Fairy. I work at a magically delicious bookstore, much like Lucky Charms in that books are also a form of crack. It's in the middle of nowhere. Well, not quite. Just down the street from my store is the fun-and-perky mental hospital's day office, for those who no longer need four padded walls, but could still use bumpers when bowling, if you get my drift. This makes my walk to work very interesting. Sometimes the work day is too interesting. Especially in winter, when it's cold and the former patients decide to see what's up in all the downtown shops. Most of them are perfectly nice people, and very interesting to boot. The Man in Black, named for the character in Stephen King's Dark Tower series, dresses in a black trench coat and floppy black cowboy hat. He is very open about his schizophrenia and likes to talk about how much he hates Nazis. Hop (nickname only slightly changed) is older and rather quiet...