Tag: Sparky

Sweet Talkin’ Woman

Pay-the-Bills Wednesday has rolled around once again, and I am up early, as per the norm. One more day on the office, work-at-home Friday, and then a three day weekend. I have also taken off the Thursday and Friday after Labor Day, because of Bouchercon….so a three day weekend leads into a two-day work week. Ah, well, sometimes it happens, doesn’t it?

I had a good laugh at my own expense yesterday afternoon, as oblivious Greg finally had the proverbial lightbulb come on above his head. I’d been wondering about the fatigue and mental exhaustion of the last couple of weeks (even after the infusion fatigue died away), and even yesterday I was wondering about “maybe” being depressed and not recognizing it since I don’t have anxiety any more…and then it hit me, right between the eyes: The twenty year Katrina anniversary is this Friday! I’ve been reading old blog entries from that time, watching documentaries and videos about Katrina and the aftermath (because I wanted to write an essay for the anniversary), and duh, you think those memories might have had something to do with that possibly-depression? One of the reasons I made Valerie so oblivious in A Streetcar Named Murder was because I, too, am completely oblivious. Some things, apparently, never change. I always am a bit down this time of year. Always.

Yes, I’ve been immersing myself in a very depressing subject and then wondered why I was probably depressed…not much ever gets past me, does it? Heavy heaving sigh. But that’s the obliviousness I was talking about. One can never go wrong assuming I am clueless.

I was also delighted to hear that Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift are engaged. As always, the right lost their minds the way they always do–after all, she’s an anti-Trumper and therefore in their eyes a demon sent from hell to corrupt Amerikkkuh–and I honestly don’t understand why they are always looking to get outraged over things that don’t really concern them or are, frankly, none of their fucking business. See also Sydney Sweeney ad (no one cared except them and a few academics parsing it) and the Cracker Barrel logo nonsense. (They have changed their minds and are keeping the old cracker and the barrel on their logo.) Dean Cain (aka worst Superman ever) made a fool of himself making an ICE recruitment video, which I did enjoy a few cruel laughs over.

All of this begs the question: where are the Epstein files?

So, I am hopeful that tonight I’ll be able to get some things done when I get home. Sparky was needy yesterday because Paul went into his office, so he was home by himself all afternoon…he’s always super-clingy after he’s been left alone, which is very sweet. I don’t know if Paul is working from home today or not–which will determine Sparky’s neediness when I get home, but I just have to remember to pick him up and let him sit on my shoulders (draped around my neck like a stole), which always soothes him and makes him very happy. I did manage to do some of the things on the new to-do list I made up before I left the office yesterday, and I am not berating myself for not getting more done because it was overly ambitious in the first place.

But let me get going with this day and head into the spice mines. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow morning.

An obelisk in the Karnak temple with the moon overhead.

Whenever I Call You “Friend”

Good morning, Sunday! I slept late again this morning despite Sparky’s best efforts, and after all those years of insomnia, I do enjoy getting up later. Yesterday was a pretty decent day, overall. I did some things, ran some errands, did chores and kind of overdid it…I was tired by the mid-afternoon, so just hung out in my chair with Sparky in my lap, and we watched some television while Paul dozed on and off for the rest of the day. Some of what we watched was research, so it’s not like I blew off the entire day or anything. The weather has also cooled; it was in the mid-eighties yesterday with a very low degree of humidity so it was actually pleasant outside (and yes, calling the mid-eighties pleasant and almost fall-like is an indication of how hellishly hot here these last few months)–supposed to be similar today, and since I have to walk to Walgreens later on, I’m hoping it is just like yesterday. I think we’re supposed to have cooler weather the rest of the week? The Katrina anniversary is also this Friday–so glad it’s my work-at-home day.

We finished watching Smoke last night and we really enjoyed it. Taron Egerton is a terrific actor, and I love Jurnee Smollett in everything I see her in. There were lots of twists and turns, and the show changes its centering in almost every episode, with some very clever writing sleight-of-hand along the way that always keeps you guessing. It was very well done, and I do recommend it.

I also watched the HBO documentary The Serial Killer’s Apprentice (I also have the book in my TBR stack). I’ve been interested in the Dean Corll/Candyman murders since I first heard about them when I lived in Houston back in 1989-1991, and one of my future projects is rooted in that horrific true crime story. We certainly do know a lot more about psychology, abuse, and grooming nowadays, and so Dr. Katherine Ramsland, who wrote the book based on her interviews with Corll’s teenaged ‘helper’, Elmer Wayne Henley Jr. The documentary doesn’t get into what Corll and his helpers did to those poor boys, but it was horrific. One torture detail that has stuck in my mind all these years since I first heard about the case and read a book about it–I don’t remember the title, but it was fairly old and was written shortly after the trials, and wasn’t terribly long. (When I talk about The Summer of Lost Boys, that’s my Candyman book.) Watching this documentary gave me some other ideas about how to write and structure said book.

I also had the television on for background noise while I was cleaning and doing things yesterday, and tuned in for the Kansas State-Iowa State game from Dublin (KSU lost). I cannot believe it’s football season already, with LSU playing this coming Saturday at Clemson.

The Cracker Barrel uproar from the MAGA morons has been incredibly amusing, but they do have a point. The redesign of the interiors is soulless and horrible, but as for removing the old man and the barrel and the words “old country store” off their logo? It is just rebranding to try to get a new customer base since theirs is dying off. Why is change so hard and terrifying for people to accept? I’ll never understand the perpetual victimhood of right-wingers, myself–yet they call us snowflakes. God, there are few things I despise more than hypocrisy. The only constant in life is change, so fighting change is a fool’s errand, and I sure don’t have time for that, although it sure seems a lot of other people do. It must be nice having a life that allows you the energy and time to waste bitching about a corporate decision that ultimately doesn’t affect or impact anyone in any way, shape or form.

But they have opinions, and of course, it’s the libs’ fault, even though most of couldn’t possibly give less of a shit about Cracker Barrel’s logo. But that redesign of the restaurant space is a mistake, a very big mistake. I maybe eat at a Cracker Barrel once a year with Dad when I’m in Kentucky, but that’s about it. Cracker Barrel hasn’t gotten this kind of attention since they were racist homophobes back in the day.

Had I but known how triggering this would be for the right-wing snowflakes, I would have pushed for a logo redesign for Cracker Barrel decades ago.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. There’s a lot of mess I need to clean up this morning, and I want to read a bit before Paul goes to his trainer. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back either later or tomorrow, okay?

Ah, those Chippendales calendars in the 80s!

You Can’t Hold On Too Long

Saturday and I don’t have to go into the office! Man, I was tired last night when I got home from the office. I came straight home, too. The day at the office wasn’t bad, and I fell asleep pretty early in my easy chair after watching the season premier of Peacemaker. I also did some laundry (I wound up washing the bedding once I got home), and I still have some things to do today. I have to run errands (not many, and not too terrible), I have some cleaning and so forth to do around here today, and want to do some reading and some writing as well. I guess it all depends on how much energy I wind up having today. This past week was ever so much better than Last Infusion Week, but I was still tired by the time I got home from the office. Recovery is taking forever, isn’t it?

And it’s not like I’m the most patient person alive.

I did sleep late in spite of Sparky’s biting and clawing attempts to get me up earlier. It felt good, although I do still feel a bit tired. The coffee tastes delicious this morning, and I feel a little low blood sugar this morning, which means I should eat. I’ve not been eating as much in the mornings as I had been these past two weeks. My weight is still climbing–slowly, around a pound per week–but I’m not going to worry about my weight until after Labor Day and my first self-injection. The next few weeks are going to be busy ones–LSU’s first game of the season is next weekend, and then it’s Labor Day and right after that, Bouchercon. I don’t have a lot of plans made for the week of Bouchercon, and I might just leave the weekend as it is already and not make any more plans…I can use that time to write and clean and read and get my act together going into football season. Sigh. I’m trying to not get overwhelmed with so much to do, but…nothing to do but apply nose to grindstone and focus on one task at a time. I’ve got to be better about my to-do list.

I think this morning I’ll go ahead and read for an hour before getting cleaned up and running my errands. I’m not progressing as quickly as I would like with my three current reads, and so need to desperately pick up the pace on my reading. I will never get through the TBR pile at the rate I’m going, and the way I keep adding books to the stack…my TBR pile is like the Hydra. I read and donate a book and add two more. This is not a winning strategy, methinks. But I think my focus is coming back–it’s rusty and needs to be nurtured and encouraged–and that will help with everything.

I’m also still reveling in the death of James Dobson the hateful homophobic misogynist racist advocate of child abuse in the “name of God.” Lord, how I hated that piece of shit and his so-called “ministry”–how much damage did that prick do in the name of money and power? I was thinking about writing a newsletter about Dobson and his hate–I’ll never forget that time I heard him calling me a pervert and pedophile during the Virginia thing on his radio show…but I’ve been toying with doing a lengthy, multi-part one about Christianity and my tangled, complicated relationship with the faith I was groomed into. I’ve also been reading old entries back from the original days of my blog (2005!!!) to get a sense of Katrina to write about again (I’ve started writing it, and hope to have it finished for posting on the anniversary next Friday) and it really is amazing to see how much not only my writing voice has changed but me personally; that’s what I want the Katrina entry to be about, how both the city and I have changed since Katrina because of Katrina. (Which is also my way back into writing Hurricane Season Hustle).

Last night I got my birthday meal of shrimp lo mein at last, and it was quite marvelous as it always is–you can never go wrong with shrimp, noodles, and a sauce, I find. I’m not sure about what meals to make this weekend, but probably will barbecue burgers either today or tomorrow (most likely tomorrow, since I won’t be leaving the house; today I feel is going to be an easy day for food).

And on that note, I am going to take my coffee and go read for a bit before showering. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later; one can never be certain how I am going to do things on an easy unplanned day. If not, tomorrow morning for sure.

Night Spots

Friday and I have to go into the office today. No, that’s the wrong attitude. I get to go into the office today! Huzzah! I am going to keep a positive attitude about this day, even if it kills me! (That’s kind of an odd thought, but so be it.) I got to sleep a little later this morning because I don’t have to be at the office until nine for Staff Development Day–which is the kind of thing I usually hate and consider a waste of my time. (I’ve been there for twenty years…) But I am trying to be more positive about things and life in general going forward–who needs to create more negativity in their life–and so I am going to enjoy myself today. After work I’ll probably come straight home and have a lovely evening hanging out with Paul and Sparky, while tomorrow I will get back to writing. I may read some tonight when I get home; we’ll have to see, I suppose. I also have some errands to run this weekend, too, but nothing terribly horrific or anything. I have to make some groceries at some point–not much of anything, mind you, just enough to get through the weekend, and I have to get the mail. I may wash the car and clean it out while out and about tomorrow. We’ll play things by ear.

The extra hour of sleep this morning certainly helped. It’s Friday and I don’t feel fatigued! That’s a win, methinks, and also a good sign going forward, too. Usually I am very tired on Friday morning, and the tedium of data entry and quality assurance inevitably makes my eyes cross by the time I am done for the day and other than laundering the bed linens, I don’t get much else done on Fridays. I do have a dishwasher to empty and a load of clothes in the dryer that need folding, but I can get that done tonight and out of the way for the weekend so I can focus on finishing the downstairs cleaning I began last weekend. I want to finish reading The Hunting Wives this weekend, too.

I saw yesterday that someone has tested positive for bubonic plague in South Lake Tahoe; woo-hoo! The plague isn’t eradicated, I don’t think, we just don’t hear about it that much (I do know there was an outbreak here in New Orleans before World War I) but I have every confidence in RFK Jr the “health genius” who has done his own research rather than having a medical or health science degree of any kind. (You know, if I believed in that sort of thing I’d say the country is being punished by God for its hubris–plagues, earthquakes, fires, floods…they’d be blaming this all on the Democrats if they could. God knows trash have always blamed that sort of thing on queer people…which brings me to yesterday’s good news.

Christofascist and false prophet James Dobson died, and I sincerely hope that it was deeply painful, while knowing nothing could be as painful as that piece of shit deserved. His hellspawn, who should probably be pitied more than reviled (they were brainwashed into heresy from birth), do carry on the family’s toxic faith/business, but they apparently aren’t all that interested in courting fame the way their unholy father did. (I also find it interesting that Dobson named his daughter Danae–which is from GREEK MYTHOLOGY. No Biblical name for his daughter!) As for anyone saying I am terrible for celebrating the death of a monster? I don’t give a shit. Maybe don’t be a monster before you die if you don’t want to be dragged for the filth you were when you go into the ground.

I may even make a pilgrimage to piss on his grave.

I’ve also been laughing my ass off at the morons so upset that the Minnesota Vikings added two men to their cheerleading team. That is going to be the subject of a newsletter at some point–as will the foul James Dobson.

And on that note, I need to get cleaned up and head in for my day at the office. May your Friday be marvelous, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow.

The moon over the temple at Luxor

When I’m Sixty-four

For the first time in decades, I am not taking my birthday off.

That’s why I am up at this ungodly hour, swilling down coffee and consuming coffee cake like it’s going out of style. I need to conserve my PTO, because I am going to the panhandle (barring unforeseen circumstances) for a week with my dad in October after a weekend in Alabama for Dad’s and Mom’s birthdays. I also have to take some time off during Bouchercon–there’s no way I can work all day and then host Noir at the Bar that Thursday, and probably not going to be able to do much work that Friday, either. I think I’ve managed to get it all planned out so that I will have just enough vacation time left to do the family thing in October, and then let things start building back up again for the new year. It’s going to be weird going to work on my birthday–I generally take the day off because I don’t need or want the attention that comes with it–but I will survive, I am sure.

Sixty. Four.

Christ on the cross.

I never planned for my future because I never thought I would have one. When I was a kid, I was certain I wasn’t going to have much of an adult life; I always had nightmares about not only dying but how I would die; either in a car accident, or a fall from a high place. This is why I am always, to this day, a little bit tense when I’m in a car and a LOT tense when I am the passenger. In my early twenties, I thought I was going to seroconvert and die from AIDS–why would I ever think that I would survive that pandemic? The next thing I knew I had somehow made it to fifty, then sixty–and now I am sixty-four, with another milestone birthday just a year in my future, should I make it till then. I am woefully unprepared for retirement, so most likely will continue to work for another few years to at least try to get my debt down to a manageable place. Ha ha ha ha, I’m so adorable, aren’t I?

I guess the ship has sailed on me dying young, hasn’t it?

But it’s been a pretty good life thus far, I have to say. I’ve written and published a shit ton of work, which can never be taken away from me, and neither can the awards I’ve either won or made the shortlist for…how many authors never make a shortlist of any kind? But the childhood conditioning that celebrating myself and things I’ve accomplished is a hubristic tempting of fate; how many stories and myths and fables are there about hubristic humans who anger a god? Like I often say, I live in the city I love with the man I love doing work that I love. All of my dreams came true, no matter what happens in the future.

My sixties haven’t been easy on me, and I don’t have the energy I used to have so recovery from physical, emotional, and professional blows doesn’t happen as fast as it used to; but I’m still pretty pleased and happy with my life. I try not to worry about future outcomes that I can’t control, and can only prepare for the things I can. If my thirties were about getting myself mentally healthy so I could have the life I wanted, and the forties were about getting started in my career and the fifties were about getting further along and getting better as a writer, my sixties have been a time of revisiting and rethinking my past, finally getting to understand myself and where a lot of my neuroses stem from. The anxiety medication has helped me enormously in that regard, too. Realizing how emotionally crippling my anxiety was when I was a minor also has enabled me to remember, and those memories aren’t painful anymore because so much of my misery was directly attributable to said anxiety.

So now I am sixty-four. I am older than my grandparents were throughout my childhood, which is also a staggering realization. It’s also weird to think that I was born sixteen years after the end of World War II, the country was sinking into the depths of the Cold War, and President Kennedy hadn’t even been in office for a full year yet. I never imagined what it would be like to be this age, mainly because I, as stated earlier, never thought I would live this long. I’m trying not to be that old person–you know, “When I was your age” or “We used to call it” and that sort of thing, because no one really wants to hear it. I’ve seen a lot in my life, witnessed all kinds of events (the Challenger explosion, 9/11, Watergate hearings, on and on), and lived through all kinds of things. I’ve lived in Alabama, Chicago, Kansas, California, Houston, Tampa, Minneapolis, and New Orleans. I went to two high schools in different states, and two colleges in different states. I went to Italy for a week over ten years ago. I’ve had so many jobs, but being a writer/sexual health counselor were the only things that took with me.

Life’s been good to me so far.

After work, I am going to head home and just hang out with Sparky. If I had to hazard a guess, Paul will probably get us Hoshun for dinner tonight. But I got my vacuum cleaner last week, and that’s all I really cared about.

Happy birthday to me! And may my next year be a lovely one!

The only picture of my face as a baby, my first day home from the hospital.

Dangerous Type

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment, and i am dealing with a hyperactive cat that wants to play so keeps leaping on me, claws out. I feel good and rested this morning, no fatigue, and so I am hopeful for a productive day. Paul will be gone most of the afternoon for a board retreat, so I am hoping to be able to get some things done.

I love my new vacuum cleaner, period. I’ve never had much luck with them; the last two or three I bought never worked that great to begin with and then stopped picking up anything entirely after only about six months of use. So, since the last one–and yes, I tried fixing them–stopped working, I’ve had to sweep the rugs and shake them outside, and they never ever felt truly clean. Well, I put the new one together yesterday and used it in the living room. I am very pleased. It looks so clean in there now…I am going to use it in the kitchen this morning so long as Sparky doesn’t make me bleed out before I can. His claws are SHARP. So I did some great cleaning and organizing yesterday, and will hopefully finish the downstairs today.

I can’t seem to find my phone this morning, either. There are worse things.

Yesterday morning I ran my errands, and then came home to work on the house while playing highlights of LSU football from past years on Youtube (I also sometimes watch when I am in a dark mood; the highlights are my happy place). I tried to read for a bit as well without much success, but that was from being mentally scattered as I tried to work on the house, too, listening to the highlights in the background, and occasionally sitting down to rest and watch for a moment, as I still had some physical fatigue working on me yesterday. But it was so nice to come downstairs this morning to a living room with a clean floor. It’s amazing how much of a difference that makes–just like how much cleaner it looks inside when the windows are clean. It’s too hot for me to clean the windows for at least another four weeks, but I am really looking forward to it.

In a little bit I am going to go read The Hunting Wives for a little while before getting cleaned up and buckling down for a good day of cleaning and writing and reading. I also want to work on an essay on El Dorado Drive by Megan Abbott for my newsletter–if you’re wondering, I’ve decided my book/television show/movie reviews belong on my newsletter. So, if that’s why you pop by here, and have been wondering why it seems like I’m not writing those anymore, I am–just in a different place.

I also want to start rereading Hurricane Season Hustle, since I am going to be getting back to work on it relatively soon. I have so much writing to do!

And on that note, I am going to go read for a bit and thus bring this to a close. Hope you have a happy and lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and will be back in the morning tomorrow.

I love Venice, and would love to go back.

Double Life

Man, yesterday was rough.

I do not know what was up with that final infusion, but I was very fatigued physically yesterday, and while my mind was alert, it was incredibly foggy. I managed to get through my work day, but in the late afternoon I began to wonder. I was exhausted when I got home (I did stop and make some groceries) and was asleep before Paul got home around nine. I was too tired to do much of anything last night other than watch videos on Youtube. I am physically exhausted this morning already; making today into a definite challenge. We’re not as busy as we were yesterday, so we’ll see how I am doing at the end of the day. Today is also Pay-the-Bills Day, which I’ll try to get taken care of at some point today–and probably during my lunch break.

I really just want to go back to bed.

My birthday is a week from today, but I think I’m not going to take the day off and will just go in; I have to take some time off at the end of the month and I’m supposed to go to the panhandle for a week in October, so I need to be hoarding my vacation time as much as I can until I have a week of it, and right now I am sort of skating the line as to whether I will have enough time accrued for the trip. Heavy heaving sigh. I need to figure all this shit out, don’t I? Heavier heaving sigh. But I don’t want to. Which is always how my tendency to laziness resurfaces and I revert to the spoiled little boy I was (still am) and pout, “I don’t want to.”

I am looking forward to reading The Hunting Wives, but was too fatigued last night to really do anything productive. I hate that for me, really. I did remember to turn the dishwasher on, though, so at least everything in it is clean. I’ll unload it tonight when I get home, and do another load…unless the fatigue is completely out of control by then. My preference would be to run uptown to get the mail, pick up some prescriptions that are ready, and swing by the pet store to get Sparky some treats. I just have to make it through today and tomorrow, because I work at home on Fridays and thus don’t have to be at work before eight am.

I see that Kim Davis has gotten some attention again for trying to get the Supreme Court to overturn marriage equality. She looks exactly the same as she did all those years ago when she put her religion ahead of her job (“render unto Caesar” and all that) despite her multiple divorces, bastard children, and adultery; and clearly has not removed the mote from her own eye. Of course, Christian apologists will claim that she repented and found God so is forgiven her earlier sins, yet that forgiveness certainly didn’t engender any love, compassion, or empathy in her stony heart, so I’d say her “repentance and forgiveness” is clearly on shaky ground; frankly, if people like her have a golden ticket to Heaven isn’t exactly the kind of ringing endorsement that will get people to start going back to church, is it?

She also still dresses like she only shops at the Little House on the Prairie collection for K-Mart, and that hideous hair and eyebrows. She doesn’t really have much standing to get a personal appeal heard by SCOTUS…but this court cannot be trusted. They do not respect precedent, they issue contradictory rulings based on their morning prayers, and are a disgrace to both the country and the legal profession. But what can you expect from cosplay Christians, who are just in it for the judging and superiority, with no basis in Jesus or his actual ministry. That is the kind of shit that drives me insane–and droves of others from the church.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. See you tomorrow morning, and have a lovely rest of your day.

All Mixed Up

There are three “disturbances” out in the Atlantic with the potential to develop into tropical systems. None are a threat to the Gulf Coast (at least, not yet), but we are heading into the time where hurricane season is super-busy. This year is also the twenty-year anniversary of Katrina, so I’ll be avoiding all the coverage of that for the most part. Even after twenty years, it’s still hard for me to watch any of that stuff–but maybe this year I should break the power of the PTSD and watch it all. It was such a horrible time, truly…but we did watch that show about Memorial Hospital (Baptist). But twenty years on, maybe it is time to watch some of the coverage that I pointedly ignore every year. I dunno, we’ll see.

Yesterday I felt a little under the weather–stomach again–which had me concerned that I was having a reoccurrence of the colitis, but this morning I feel fine, even well rested for a change. I managed to get a lot done at work yesterday, which was great, and I made groceries on my way home. I was tired when I got home, but I wrote for a very little while before Sparky’s need for attention wore me down and I went to my chair. We watched some more Unspeakable Sins, which is such an amazing rollercoaster ride. More has happened in the seven or eight episodes we’ve watched than happened in an entire season of Melrose Place. Nobody does soapy thrillers quite like the Spanish language production companies. So far, we’ve had a failed blackmail seduction, two kidnappings, one faked death, and several criminal syndicates–and of course, lots of videos of wealthy and prominent people at sex parties. We also have a teenager whose stepfather got him addicted to drugs and abused him.

That is seriously one fucked up family.

We’re finally out of the heat advisories, and the maximum temperature for today is 89…which is low for August but I’ll gladly take it. Rain (gasp) is also in the forecast. The rain is predicted for late this afternoon, around when I’ll be coming home, actually, so no errands tonight for sure. I didn’t want to get up this morning, but…that’s really nothing new on a work day, is it? This is a slow week in the clinic (next week is busy busy busy), which is nice, since we’re having a site visit tomorrow. I think I have everything done that I need to have done for the visit, which was the entire goal for yesterday.

I am feeling good about most everything and am not being critical of myself for not pushing myself harder, you know? I’m also kind of still adjusting to life again, which seems to take longer to do the older I get, and seems more necessary as well more often. This has not been a great decade for me, and I can definitely state that my sixties haven’t been the best so far (I’ve pretty much forgotten the fifties, in all honesty). But the inexorable passing of time continues, as the sand in my hourglass continues to run, and my instincts are telling me to make the most of my time, so…sure, I get the I don’t want to’s still, and of course, the temptation of recharging with Sparky in my lap is always there, but I know I can get the work done when I put my nose to the grindstone.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow.

Just What I Needed

Monday and back to the office with me today. Yesterday was nice and relaxing; I worked on writing for a while, didn’t do as many chores as I should have, and watched a couple of shows. I didn’t want to get out of bed again this morning–no surprise there–and am a little bummed to not have another day off as of yet. But I’ll survive, as I always do, which is no more than I should expect, one supposes. It’s hard to believe that it’s August and my birthday is looming, as is football season and Bouchercon is also coming to New Orleans the first week of next month. I’ve got a lot to get done in the month of August, and I really need to buckle down and apply my nose to said grindstone. It’s just tough when you have to battle fatigue and exhaustion all the time.

We watched the Netflix documentary series Amy Bradley Is Missing, which was interesting and terribly sad at the same time. I cannot imagine the pain of having a family member disappear without a trace the way Amy Bradley did off that cruise ship. As a disappearance of a family member is the crucial plot element of a book I am researching to write at some point in the future (The Summer of Lost Boys), watching this kind of counted as research for that, as it gave me insight as to how a working class family would react to such an occurrence and how the family would be permanently damaged….which also got me thinking about aftermaths to crime and horror stories. How do you go on with your life after fighting supernatural threats? Or after being a murder suspect? Or having someone close to you commit a serious and most heinous crime?

After dinner, we started watching a new Mexican erotic thriller series on Netflix, whose title translates to Unspeakable Sins. Like all Spanish-language erotic thriller series, there’s plenty of sex and nudity; we only watched three episodes (there’s two seasons of nine episodes each) but even trying to summarize the plot thus far–but the primary plot concerns Helena, a wealthy woman in a very controlling marriage to an older man, who starts having an affair with a very hot young escort, whom she convinces to flirt with her bisexual husband so they can get video of the two of them together and she can use the video as leverage to divorce him. Ivan pretends to be a journalist doing a story on Claudio, Claudio is attracted to him, but things go south–they fight and Ivan’s story is he ran away. But there’s blood all over the house and Claudio is now missing…can Ivan trust Helena or is she playing him for a fool, setting him up to take the fall for his murder?

That’s the primary story, but there are subplots as well that are just as intense.

Ivan is played by gorgeous Andres Baida. I mean…

Sexy Andres Baida
He was also in Control Z and Who Killed Amy?

Gorgeous, just gorgeous.

I also spent some time processing seeing friends from high school that I hadn’t seen in almost fifty years. (The fact that it’s been almost fifty years since I graduated from high school also needs processing, but that will have to wait until I am done with this initial processing.) Every time I’ve had a conversation with someone from high school in the last thirty years–it’s not often and it’s not many–how they remember me, and high school, are vastly different from how I remember things, but they also never knew how miserable and unhappy I was. I always put on a good face; I always try to make the best out of every situation I find myself dealing with as they come up, especially when it’s not something you can change or alter in any meaningful way. As I’ve stated before, I’ve always thought I was odd-looking and never really had a fit body until I was in my thirties. But…seeing pictures from back then…I was wrong about how I looked (I’ve always been wrong about that, frankly) and my impact on other people. Both women remember me as having a really muscular fit body and being handsome and very kind and considerate and thoughtful–and funny; I’ve always been funny.

And I did work on writing yesterday. I edited another piece and wrote out what changes need to be made to it to make it stronger. I also did some laundry and a load of dishes, but didn’t pick up too much of the mess in the apartment. I do enjoy spending down time with Paul and Sparky, and really wish we were both retired and just hanging out around the apartment all day. Paul likes to be busy, though, so I do think he will take some adjusting if and when he finally does retire. I won’t be retiring for another few years yet; not going at 65, much as I would like to, so I have to get my shit together leading up to when I finally do.

After work today, I have to make groceries on the way home, and I’m hoping to do some writing tonight before we jump back into Unspeakable Sins.

So on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be checking in with you again in the morning.

I’m In Touch With Your World

Sunday morning and I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning. Sparky, of course, had opinions, so I got up and fed him and had a cup of coffee and now am feeling a bit run down this morning. I think after I post this I am going to repair to the easy chair for the rest of the morning, and do some reading before settling into the saddle to write. I didn’t write yesterday–I ran all my errands in the morning and then spent the rest of the day cleaning and organizing everything we bought/had delivered on Friday. We finished watching The Hunting Wives (more on that later), and then caught up on the news before I got ready to meet some people for dinner (more on that later). After dinner I came home and fell asleep in said easy chair, and Paul had to wake me so I could go to bed.

And here we are.

I really enjoyed The Hunting Wives, which was Dynasty-like in its over-the-top characters and storylines. The first season ended on a cliffhanger, and a humdinger of one at that, with a body being buried in the woods. The show was full of twists and turns and surprises, but I was pretty sure who the killer was and, he typed modestly, I was proven right. I did doubt myself a few times, but every time someone else would all under suspicion, I couldn’t figure how that person–despite their motive and their actions–could have done it. Brittany Snow was amazing as lead character Sophie, and overall, the entire cast was excellent in their roles. I’m going to probably read the book at some point, now. Perhaps another new-to-me author I am going to enjoy? I don’t need more authors to read at this point, but…I kind of want to see how different the book is from the show.

So, last night I had dinner with two women I went to high school with in Kansas and their husbands. It was nice to reconnect with the distant past once again–I graduated from high school almost fifty years ago, and maybe the most interesting thing about said reconnection is hearing how people you went to high school saw you back then as well as what they remember. We’re always so certain that people see us the way we see ourselves, aren’t we? I was, for the most part, miserable for the most part when I was in high school, for any number of reasons, but I always thought, you know, like I was weird-looking and there was the gay thing and being dorky and all of that. It’s strange to hear contradictory opinions to what I was so roundly convinced was true, you know?

Not to mention seeing people who knew me when I had hair. I don’t encounter that very often.

So, it was very nice, actually. I’m still processing it all, to be honest, but…I’m glad I made the time to meet them all for dinner.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, and I’ll be back on the morrow.

Adrian Zmed