“Yeah, except you don’t really have any black friends.”


Wakanda Forever!

Insomnia is kicking my ass.  I’m seriously considering sleeping medication at this point.  I’m too tired to care.  The long pauses to stare off into space for no reason are annoying.  I’m not going to the studio today because driving is presently beyond my attention span.  You’re welcome, everyone driving in Sioux Falls.

I was planning to overclock my old PC tower today.  It’s not happening.  It would end in tears.  Adobe recently announced they’re raising prices for Creative Cloud.  When my subscription expires, I’m not renewing. Apparently whoever is in charge of these things has been smoking crack or something.  $1200 a year when I honestly only use Photoshop and Illustrator is ridic.  I already purchased Affinity Designer and Photo to replace them.  $100 forever.

I’ll get Final Cut Pro when I’m ready to move up in video editing.  I’ll add Motion, too.  $350 forever.  Better yet, I vastly prefer these apps as they load quickly, have a lower learning curve, can use Photoshop plugins, and no monthly fee.  DIAFF, Adobe.  I’ve been rebranding my favorite jeans by ironing patches on the back pocket and unstitching the branding.  Now my black Levi’s say Black Girl Magic instead.  I also used an R2-D2, and a Colin Kaepernick.  Etsy rules.

I’m thinking about getting some ribbon to sew on the legs like an Adidas stripe, too.  (Assuming I sleep soon so I can operate heavy machinery again.)  I should probably get something besides sneakers, but the only other footwear I like are combat boots. I think I’m beyond the age where I care about how others feel about my attire. It’s a startling development compared to how I felt about it in high school.

When I was a teenager, having to wear the same outfit to school twice in a row was the most severe punishment my parents enforced. It was worse than having my bedroom door removed for slamming it in anger. It sucked being their 9th teenager. I used to get told off for things I was only thinking about doing.


Now (in my 40’s) I create my own uniform and am steadily moving toward an all-black wardrobe. I feel good when I’m wearing black jeans, a black top and my black Nike Air Force 1’s. Especially if the black shirt has someone fabulous on it. Like Stevie Nicks, or Huey Freeman from The Boondocks. I should look for some Black Panther patches and shirts. Wakanda Forever!

I’m off to search for some combat boots and Black Panther everything. Did I mention I love Etsy? 🙃

“Do you know what happens to a butter-based frosting after six decades in a poorly ventilated English basement?”

drum kit

I had a busy weekend, spending most of it practicing with my band.  We played two songs I created, and I’m thrilled by how much they liked them.  I would have strutted around like I’m Stevie Nicks or something, but it was also my first time singing while drumming.  I was pretty anxious about it because I figured it would take months of practice before I could pull it off.

I’m surprised to report I pulled it off to some degree.  The fact that I regularly sing to myself has finally paid off.  Instead of getting odd looks from strangers, I managed to provide backup harmonies with a headset mic.  I’m sure it helps that I know the songs better than anyone else.  Heh.  I used a poem I wrote as a teenager for the lyrics, (but only until I rewrite it.)

The poem is horrible, so I’m not going to share it.  I was going through a descriptive phase, and my subject matter mainly consisted of things I thought were delightfully revolting.  I was like a stereotypical boy for most of my childhood.  Watching my big brother swallow worms or goldfish on a dare was probably my favorite hobby; as well as the subject of the poem to which I’m referring.

He had god-like status in my eyes, and I wish he were still alive, so I could tell him I’m in a band, and I miss him.  He’d think my playing the drums is lame, but would still be impressed.  I suspect my band leader reminds me of Steve, a bit.  He’s somewhat mean but funny about it, so I don’t mind.  I’m content doing anything if I’m laughing through it.  It’s what most appealed to me about serving in the Army.  It’s full of should-be comedians.

When we did the gross song initially, I was able to sing but not loudly enough.  Plus, I dropped a stick and had to get up to retrieve it.  It led to a lesson on always having extra sticks close at hand, and not losing them while playing.  Emphasis mainly on the last bit.  I need to adjust my kit at home to mimic the acoustic kit’s positioning.  My muscle memory finally kicked in so I need to be mindful.  While I was up, I turned up the volume on my mic because duh.  😂


I’m supposed to work on not grinning like I just won the lottery while I play.  My band leader demonstrated what I looked like, much to my amusement.  At least he didn’t tell me I should audition for Disney; which is the feedback I received when kicked out of my first band, years ago.  I didn’t understand what “sing edgy” meant.  Thank you, Adele, Stevie Nicks, and Amy Lee.  Now I know.  🙃

Incidentally, that band broke up a year later over an argument about whether or not Hootie and the Blowfish sucked.  Heh.  (I think Darius Rucker is talented.)  M. has been planning our trip for next month.  We’re going to visit as many pinball machines as we can find.  We’re both obsessed with the game and highly competitive when playing on PlayStation 4.  I prefer the old-fashioned version, though.  The digital version is wicked distracting with all the animations (that sometimes get in the way while playing.)

He hasn’t managed to beat my high score on the Family Guy version.  I must still have a part of me that’s amused by fart jokes because it’s my favorite table.  I also like Thor.  I doubt they have real versions, though.  M. is an excellent photographer, so we plan on documenting them as we go.  I can’t wait.  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks while not smiling.

“Sleep is separate from that.”

Sleepy kitty

I need to focus on my sleep issues.  I haven’t been able to sleep for more than a few hours in a row this week.  While it’s enough to function, it’s not enough to interact with other people.  I lost count of how many times I’ve completely misunderstood what others were saying in the last two days alone.

I feel like I’ve been speaking English and everyone else is speaking Mandarin.  Only it’s worse because I don’t realize they’re not using English (in real time.)  My balance is wonky, too.  I slipped on some ice during my run this morning, and now I’m sporting road rash on my chin.  I didn’t even get to do the precarious dance first; just face planted.

Fortunately, I have clear band-aids.  Fabulous invention.  Now people who aren’t the shade so rudely referred to as flesh tone don’t have to announce their injuries from across the room.  Yay.  I reread Animal Farm by George Orwell last night.  Now I’m reading The Descendents, by Kaui Hart Hemmings.  It’s fascinating so far.  Next, I’m going to look for my copy of Watership Down by Richard Adams.

I thought I was going to stick with women authors this year, but it didn’t work out.  Plus, John Scalzi has a book release soon.  I did read lots of novels by Octavia Spencer and Ursula LeGuin, but then I decided gender is irrelevant in authors.  Women authors don’t write more gently, as I anticipated.

I built a soundproof chamber for Amelia Bedelia.  She loves it.  I can get in up to my shoulders, and it’s fabulous.  I’m fascinated by my cat’s personality.  When she’s in her chamber, she wants to be alone.  If I acknowledge her in any way while she’s chilling in there, she bites me.  That’s a stern, “no.”  Heh.

I ordered DirecTV Now (because M. had a cow.)  I didn’t realize I was an asshole for canceling cable without discussing it with him first.  It seems to be superior to Playstation Vue, and I discovered I get free HBO for life (not sure whose) for being an AT&T wireless customer.  Yay.  Sony rearranged which channels go with which tier, and the options suck.  It’s tailored to Fox News watching sports lovers.  Hard pass.

We’re watching Gattaca tonight.  It’s one of my favorite films.  M. hasn’t seen it yet.  I think he’ll enjoy it, too.  I’m off to make the popcorn.

movie night popcorn

“I hate anyone who ever had a pony when they were growing up.”

Girl admiring a pony

I passed the kidney stone early this morning.  I’ve been dancing and singing ever since.  I forgot about the post-kidney stone euphoria.  It’s fabulous, even though I’m so tired I could cry.  I know I’ll be sleeping well tonight.  Imagine me with a massive grin on my face and a spring in my step.

Thanks to everyone who made thoughtful comments and provided suggestions.  (I feel like I should have a statue to go with this speech or something.)  I’m loopy, and I like it.  I made another video, but I promise it doesn’t suck as hard as the first one did.  The accompanying music is two short songs I created.  The first was my initial GarageBand effort.  The other was the last time I used GB before switching to Logic Pro X, more recently.

I used stock video footage to make it.  I don’t think I’m ready to move up from iMovie yet.  (Shup, I’m learning.)  😂  I have Adobe Creative Cloud, so I’m trying to build my skill level to where I can transition to Premiere Pro and After Effects.   (Because I’m paying for them even if I don’t use them, and I’m probably cheap.)  I did install them, but the amount of time required to open PP exceeded my patience.  Remember when 16GB of RAM was terrific?  Sigh.

I refuse to build a video editing rig.  Look, Adobe.  Put that shit in the cloud on professional editing rigs with uber RAM and video RAM.  I want to log into an editing rig with my laptop and edit 4k video on it, then publish it to YouTube (or whatever.)   Call Nvidia and AMD and make that shit happen, because I’m not building or buying a $10,000 desktop computer just to run your unbelievably bloated software.

Nvidia already lets me do this with video games, so I don’t have to build any more gaming rigs.  Get with the program or go obsolete.  In fact, make it work on my phone.  I speak on behalf of the 99% (who didn’t game the economy to compensate for a teeny, tiny penis.)   And without further ado, my second video.

I hope you didn’t hate it.  I’m off to read.

“I wouldn’t drink anything called Moland.”


I’m still trying to pass this damn kidney stone.  I’ve not fought one this stubborn since my first, when I was 18 and in the Army.  I had surgery to extract it, then had a stent installed.  I remember my roommate telling me I looked like I was in pain all the time.  That’s when the pain became conscious, and it explained why I was peeing blood.

I didn’t become alarmed until the pain overwhelmed me.  Invincible youth.  I was living in an apartment with my husband, who was away for training.  I low-crawled to the next apartment and beat on the door.  Two sleepy men opened the door, then looked down at me and called an ambulance.

I also recall I took a bath just before that, because I knew I needed medical intervention, and I was all sweaty and gross.  The paramedics kept trying to give me oxygen while I fought them to quit messing with me, I was in pain, dammit.  Finally, they figured out I was a soldier and took me to William Beaumont Army Medical Center, where I had the surgery.

While being assessed in the emergency room, they gave me a morphine drip to help with the pain.  It didn’t work.  It just added hurling to the party.  I remember a nurse putting a tiny kidney-shaped basin under my chin to catch it; only I looked at it, then puked on the floor.  I wanted to ask her if she was kidding first, but couldn’t speak.

I’d never heard of a kidney stone and thought for sure I was dying.  It was the first time I had surgery and turned out to be quite an adventure.  My mom said it was from eating meat, candy and drinking Mt. Dew.  I figured she was right; she was almost always right.  I didn’t realize it would continue plaguing me long after I stopped, though.  Sigh.


I still ate in the mess hall, even after moving off-post.  I wish I still had access to one.  My unit was attached to the International dining hall.  It was awesome.  There were TV’s all over the place, usually on MTV.  The salad bar was divine.  And I got to eat with Japanese Air Force members, and soldiers from the United Arab Emirates.  When we ran PT, the Islamic call to prayer blasted over the quad.  It was my favorite unit.

I observed UAB officers prefer driving Mustang’s in custom painted neon colors, exclusively.  You could tell which units were American by what was in the parking lot.  The GI Cadillac back then was the Nissan Sentra.  There were over twenty in various colors parked outside our barracks alone.  I was friends with a guy who was a prince of some sort.  It was a cultural mishmash of awesome.  I miss it.

I miss living in the desert, too.  Today, I awoke to rain, followed by hail, and then snow.  It’s still snowing.  I’m tired of this damn stone and want to get back to my life.  At least I’ve done a lot of thinking about my novel.  The last time I was in Denver, I saw a homeless man on the street outside my hotel.  (I still say, “hi” to strangers I encounter briefly.  In Sioux Falls, it’s rude to walk past someone without acknowledging them.)   We made eye contact, and I recognized him from somewhere.  Probably the Army.

I could tell he recognized me, as well.  But we just stared as he walked on.  I’ve been thinking about him since.  I can’t remember where we met before, so I’m going to include him in my novel with an imagined life.  I’m trying to reason with my ambition since I read a lot of epic serial stories.  Part of me wants to write one, but Logic thinks it’s adorable.  Logic is mean sometimes.  Heh.  I’m off to practice cussing during another wave of pain.  (I’m an ace swearer when pain is the motivation.)  😂