Tag Archives: computer

What You Would Do if You Were Me

catgrin1What you would do if you were me and had…. A SHIT-load of leftover rice.

1. Get a pan.

2. Get a can of beans

3. Make enchilada sauce

Mix can of beans with leftover rice. Layer on corn tortilla shells with enchilada sauce. Throw in oven and pray.

Oh oh oh..... yum

Oh oh oh….. yum

What you would do if you were me and had…. No gas in your car.

1. Dig out all possible change in your vicinity

2. Pray

3. Baby talk your car into running just a little longer

4. Sweet talk your car into running just a little longer

5. Naughty talk your car into running just a little longer

6. Beg your car into running just a little longer (Come on, I’ve pretty much covered the entire verbal reproductive act here)

7. Finally dig up enough quarters to run just a little longer.

Magic, isn’t it?

Please baby, run just a little longer? Seriously, what car wouldn't for that?

Please baby, run just a little longer? Seriously, what car wouldn’t for that?


What you would do if you were me and had…. Insomnia and have tried EVERYTHING but sticking my head in the oven….

1. Take a shit-load of benedryl right before bed.

2. When you’re groggy in the morning (because of said benedryl) make the damndest strongest cup of coffee you can (it helps if you go to Italy, or have a friend in Italy send you a really awesome coffee maker because their coffee is STRONG- Thanks Jay πŸ™‚Β  )

3. Don’t drink coffee after 3 pm (or your 2 benedryls turns into 3)



What you would do if you were me and had…. Your massage therapy license.

1. Absolutely opposite of all advice you give to your clients to keep healthy

Crap. I’m seeing a theme here.

I included this picture purely to say... WTF?? That poor kid, not even born and already heading into a life of sickness and dietary disaster.

I included this picture purely to say… WTF?? That poor kid, not even born and already heading into a life of sickness and dietary disaster.

Ooh! Dinner’s done!

Pray for my enchiladas, dear readers. And sleep well, my pretties!





β€œI became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity”

-Edgar Allan Poe


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Is This Supposed To Be Saint Patty’s Day Themed?


Have you ever had one of those nights that so many thoughts are going through your head you can’t keep track of them all? They rush by so fast you can’t grip a’one of them greased pigs to hold them still long enough to figure them out.

Of course you have, we all have!

Well that’s the night I’m having. That’s the night I’ve been having for the past week. It’s put a damper on my ability to sleep and function like a normal person might (whatever normal is, and whatever my ‘normal’ happens to be.)

As I think to myself, “What do my precious followers want to read from me tonight?” A number of things go through my mind. The ones that slow down enough to glimpse? My penchant for being a Grammar Nazi? NAH. Music? MAYBE. Probably not. WRITING. Maybe! Maybe? Um, the new book I bought (called “The Well-Spoken Thesaurus” by Tom Heehler) but that may just lead me into Grammar Nazi mode and nobody wants me to go there.

We’ll go with writing. It has the least amount of “hell no’s” attached.

First, I must say, “You Can Do It” By Ice Cube (which just started playing on my new Ipod) is not the appropriate music to read literary quotes with.Β  There we go. Bach.

Our subject being Poetry, I propose to speak not only of the art in general but also of its species and their respective capacities; of the structure of plot required for a good poem…” -Aristotle, The Poetics.

Along with wonderful suggestions on how to word things not so commonplace, which is helping my writing tremendously, this book also has some damn fine quotes.

Anyway, that’s right… writing.

I wish us writers were still referred to as “poets”, regardless of whether we write poetry or not. Once upon a time, anyone who took up a pen and parchment was referred to as “the poet” and I believe that term had a certain sort of (pardon the pun) poetical aspects to it. Also, a respectable aspect as well.Β  We may be seen as flighty, or scruffy, artistic and maybe a little odd- but it was well respected. Nowadays, I tell someone I’m a writer, and they say a noncommittal “oh, how nice” and move on. Has it now eluded the common man that writing, no matter what it is that is being written, is no more simple or commonplace than it is to paint a masterpiece of art?Β  After all, writing is nothing but a painting of words, a mural pieced together by those of us who see words for all the fine color and beauty they are.Β  I am both an artist and a poet (in the modern literal and past respective meaning of the word) and I tell you, it feels exactly the same to paint as it does to write. The same places in my body, mind and soul are active- and what, besides these two functions (and music) can you say awakens all three parts of the complete human?

Out of many who shrug it off as more-or-less an “eccentricity” or “laziness” to be overlooked or “tolerated” from me when I say I am a writer, are the ones who assume I am in it for the money. This bunch I like to refer to politely as “ignorant”. Everyone has heard of the term “starving artist” Well then, “starving poet” quite applies in most scenarios as well. Furthermore, even if I was somehow “getting rich” from my writing, I’m appalled at the inference that money is the only reason I do it.

The Utopians wonder how any man should be so much taken with the glaring doubtful luster of a jewel or stone, that can look up to a star, or to the sun himself.” Sir Thomas More, Utopia

It is because of these attitudes that I consistently fight the urge to feel lazy and unfit during the times I am writing, or sitting down to write. As we all know, writing takes time, and trying to figure out what to write takes longer. To sit here and do nothing but think, and wonder, and come up with ideas to discard and reexamine, then discard again, looks to others as a waste of time (trust me, I wish I had great amount more time in which to devote to my writing).Β  They say I should just write the whole time I set aside to write, if I should set aside any at all. To me, that’s like trying to paint a rainbow without mixing your colors. You can’t make a truly believable rainbow with the only three prime colors Red, Yellow and Blue. If I don’t contemplate my words thoroughly, then one of two things happens: 1. It comes out poorly and fake. And 2. It doesn’t come out at all. Everyone knows that writers can “suffer” from writer’s block on a fairly regular basis- I don’t need to feel lazy on top of it. It just distracts me from all the magnificent writing I COULD be creating.

It was only that, having written down the first few fine paragraphs, I could not produce any others- or, to approximate Gertrude Stein’s remark about a lesser writer of The Lost Generation- I had the syrup, but it wouldn’t pour.” William Styron, Sophie’s Choice.

I realize times have changed quite phenomenally, even from when I was a little girl, curled up in bed with a book begging my mother to let me finish “just one more chapter” before bed (then trying to see how many chapters I could get in before she came back to “remind” me that I was allotted just “one” more chapter- I can’t tell you how many books I finished this way. “I’m almost done with the chapter, I promise!”) to nowadays, when the most reading I do on days I don’t write includes the horrendous forced short-hand of texts with the even more horrendous awareness that current education is failing this new generation- It’s appalling. I’m not saying one has to know how to spell to magnificent proportions, or that short-hand is a bad thing (with 160 word limits on my texts, I am a sad-to-say habitual user of texting short-hand myself) but the attitude looked upon (and down) the written word, the lack of effort put into its productivity and completion, the lack of caring one has pertaining to the way they “sound” when they write is… how should I put this delicately? Borderline stupidity? Ignorance not to be ignored? Ignorance of the worst kind, indeed. Regardless of the technological era and the fact that our children nowadays can name hundreds more video games than they possibly could species of flower or animal or even book titles, people still fail to realize that more than half of communication we do (ESPECIALLY during this technological age, with the internet readily available and texting now easier than dialing a call) is WRITTEN. Why can we not find it in ourselves to learn to use our words properly?

By profession he is, or has been, a scholar, and scholarship still engages, intermittently, the core of him.” J.M Coetzee, Disgrace

I’ll admit now, I am little less than screwed if I did not have my computer’s spell check (from a publication standpoint, where professionally published novels and their readers are unforgiving of more than a couple spelling errors). But I do not turn it off and I do not choose to ignore it- I learn from it. Every red underlined word I find I MUST understand WHY it is “wrong” (if indeed it is). This creates new learning every time I write. Whether it be that I mistyped a word I know, and how to train myself from making the same mistake again, learning to spell a new word or even an old word I can’t for the life of me remember how to spell- it isn’t a cheat. It’s a learning tool. Did anyone ever refer to a dictionary as a cheat? I use dictionaries, thesauruses and the internet to define words for me all the time, and often learn better ones to use in their stead. In conclusion: Words just fascinate me. Maybe I’m being too harsh on the rest of the world to say they should learn to spell correctly. Maybe I’m sounding pompous. Or maybe, just maybe…

This new “trend” of short-hand texting coupled with the deplorable education system of this nation is driving me crazy. “What” is not “Wut”, “Brother” is not “Bruther”, “Psycho” is not “Syco” I mean, I realize many schools start out their kindergarteners and first-graders with their words using phonetics and sounds- but then they seem to forget to teach them the rest. English is not a sound-based language, sad to say. The WORST advice I got BY FAR in school was this: “Just sound it out.”

Oh boy, I think I’ve trailed into Grammar Nazi land again. I realize I’ve dedicated my life to the written word (among other things) but it is not my place to correct others, I realize that. If the urge to correct others drives me this insane, perhaps I should have pursued being a teacher instead (I’ll pass).

No, us poets were meant to learn our words and utilize them to the best of our abilities. Not everybody is meant to be a poet. Just like not everyone is meant to be a mathematician. As I am sitting here complaining of the atrocious spelling I find all around me, somewhere out there is a Math Nazi blogging “Why can’t they just learn simple division??” Or “She” in my case. There’s my own piece of humble pie, served straight from Humbledoore to my ego’s mouth-watering appetite.

Chomp Chomp. Nom Nom.

… And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief…” T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land

There is something to be said for the technological age. The fact that I can cart around 1000 (more or less) books in something the size of a paperback novel and read it wherever I want. That I can listen to Bach and Beethoven with headphones as I write and not madden the others in my vicinity. THAT I HAVE THE ABILITY TO WRITE AT ALL. This computer, a modern-day poet’s savior. I have written well over 3,000,000 words in my 19 years as a writer (my first published writing was a well-worded book review at the age of nine) I could not even get half that down (or anywhere close) if all I had was an ink pen and parchment. Everything I’ve written by hand, I’ve altered and added upon transferring to an electronic device.

But, in my stubbornness, my penchant for the old fashioned, and in yearning for respect as a writer, I still maintain it would be fantastic if us writers were once again referred to as the “poets” of our society.

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful, for the freest action form’d under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing.” Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, Book 1 “Inscriptions”

I am by no means laying claim to the theory that my writing is in any way shape or form better or worse than my fellow poets. But I write from the heart, always. Leaving me to leave you with this one last quote, taken from the book but with no explained source:

If his performance was not electrifying, at least it was believable.

Thank you, and Happy Saint Patrick’s day.




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Fantasy Versus Fiction

“Versus”- A word denoting competition. One over the other. One differs than the other. This isn’t true.

That is, this isn’t true for fantasy and fiction. Because all fiction is fantasy.

Although, not all fantasy is fiction. Does that make sense?

No, no I promise, no booze is involved with this blog. Coffee, yes, booze, no.

Though I’m feeling more random today than I was yesterday. I suppose I haven’t been listening to Weird Al today, I’ve been listening to Bruce Springsteen, CCR, and a tiny bit of old school Ice Cube.

Mainly, I’ve been writing for hours and it’s felt GREAT. Especially since this is a book that’s been rewritten twice and still haven’t gotten right- and for the first time, I figured out how to get it right.

Oh well, it’s time to work on my wordpress for my series, because I haven’t touched it in awhile and it needs done. Check out its first post:Β  Intensity

And one last thought of the night:Β I can’t explain it, but every time I hear “Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangster” I feel cool. Every time I listen to “Pour Some Sugar On Me” I feel sexy. This is going to lead me into the post I promised awhile ago about playlists and writing. Soon enough, my fun-loving friends. Soon enough πŸ™‚

Have a gorgeous night!



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From: Unsigned.

I must make this quick. I have limited time. I am in danger of my computer shutting down on its own again- and this isn’t even my computer. Mine is in the process of committing suicide, the coward’s way out. I hope to survive this, perhaps revive my own computer when the unthinkable has happened. Wipe out its memory and reinstall Windows. Hopefully, my plan will succeed, and I’ll get out of this alive.

For the sake of my life, this letter shall remain unsigned. Hopefully I can slip it past my captors (the evil PC corporation) I fear the rest of my hardware is in danger. I’ll be in touch when I can.



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Backin up’s so hard to do….

Yeah yeah, corny play on song title, ha. ha. But truthfully, sometimes I think backing up your computer IS as hard as breaking up. I’ll tell you why…

I have too much shit.

Hundreds of poems and over a decade worth of books and short stories and articles. Tons of saved stuff, hundreds of photos, so on and so forth…. and so on and so forth.

This is insane.

But due to a glitch in my computer screen just now, I have this horrible feeling my computer may be on its way out the door (if that happens, I’ll borrow someone’s to do my blogs and writing, gulp.) But although most everything is already backed up, I’m discovering some of the things I’ve placed in “My Documents” are not on my thumbdrive. Some full documents, some updated documents, and… whatnots.

Ok, so I’m avoiding saying that if I lose this computer, I’ll be devastated. Ugh. I better just try and get this fixed and hope the screen thing really was just a glitch. I really can’t afford to lose my computer this close to publishing my novel and working on other stuff as often as I am.

Anyway, I’m off to try and do a few tricks to help along my computer (get rid of unneeded programs, defrag again, remove this mothereffing antivirus that has been acting like a virus and fucking up my computer ever since I got it on, downloading a better one, running SpyBot, you know… all of that shit.) Wish me luck.




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Love Ode to my Computer

A love ode to my computer called, “O’ Computer, How Thou Hath Me”



O’ Computer, how thou hath me,

In thy precious grip;

O’Β  Computer, how thou lost me,

In thy confusing glyph.


In thy comforting embraces,

Click-clack of thy keys;

Gentle glow o’ firelight,

Coming from my screen.


O’Β  Computer, how thou hath me,

Such turmoil in my eye;

Slowing down and freezing,

The story of my life.


O’ gentle glow o’firelight,

How thou hath turn so blue!

Glaring, blind, O’ blue screen o’ death,

Whatever hath I done to you?


Pop-ups, freezing, thou hath done me wrong!

Waiting, waiting, waiting- Thou refuse to play my song!

Sending me signs of terror, death… and misery!

Thou art Low on Virtual Memory!

How can it be??


O’Β  Computer, how thou hath me,

In thy comforting grasp;

O’ Computer, how much I love thee,

Enough to put up with all your crap.





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A Love Story to my PC- Part One

I don’t know how I could possibly explain my absence from Words of Fantasy better than my picture blog can. In Tribute To My M***** F***** Computer and Printer

More tomorrow.Β  Don’t worry, be happy! πŸ™‚




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Setting Up My Web Cam- Written Version 2

And contrary to my Chihuahuador’s belief- she isn’t actually “helping” in the strictest sense. Luckily, she’s gone off to play elsewhere for the moment.

I’m taking a break from the perilous task of plugging in a microphone to gear up myself (and heat up my coffee) in anticipation of figuring out how exactly this software I found to record video from web cam works. I’m afraid. I should be afraid. This is what I was afraid of. Having to learn new software!!

And slipping off that desk. However, until my headset is needed- and it only will be for skyping in the future, not for this task- no further work is needed behind the computer. The dusty, cobwebby computer- when was the last time I cleaned this thing??

Don’t ask.

I’m wondering three things now in my three-hours-of-sleep lethargic funk- 1. When the hell is my coffee going to be done? 2. How long is it going to take to learn this new program? And 3. Should I record anything looking as horribly tired as I do? I don’t know. I think those decisions are best left up to the sound judgment of thick organic espresso.

More as events unfold.

P.S. Question number 4. Why does my computer’s dictionary not recognize “Chihuahuador” but it DOES recognize “cobwebby”? Is “cobwebby” really a word? I’ll have to look it up in a dictionary I actually trust.


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