Feed Me!

There are some days when you’re just hungry for no reason.  Today is one of those days for me.  I could eat the ass out of a dead skunk with nary a grimace, and ask for seconds.  A doctor might call this a drop in blood sugar.  I call it “the frantic search for sustenance or I might just kill somebody.”

I will SO hurt you.

Lunchtime could not have come soon enough.  Yes, I actually had the willpower to wait until lunchtime, chugging a bottle of tepid water, staring at my clock like a crazy person.  Finally the numbers flashed and I was out of my chair like there was a fire, racing for the cafeteria, cackling, shoving people out of the way…I gleefully grabbed a huge, tantalizing bowl of hot chili, a bag of barbecue chips, a cup of Greek yogurt, and a Coke, threw money at the cashier, and high-tailed it into the lobby…

…only to remember that today is Wednesday, and it’s Weight Watchers Day, and my ex-leader is in the lobby, looking right at me, smiling like a predator.  

“Hi!” she says brightly, beady eyes flashing over my stash.  You have to pay for bags in Monkey County so I put that extra nickel toward that extra large chili bowl, and everything was stacked up like a foodie Jenga game.  I could almost hear her totaling the calorie count in her head.

“Hi,” I replied, throwing her a grimace that passed for a smile.  Lady, do not judge me right now, I will take you out.

“Looks like quite a haul there,” she giggled.  I hope she didn’t hear the growl.  That could have been my stomach, or it could have been a warning, I don’t know…but I said something idiotic and ran for the elevator.  Bitch was eyeballing my Saltines.

I ran for my office, gleefully locked the door, and dove in to lunchtime heaven, the destruction of which took about 10 minutes tops.  I sat back with a sigh, stomach distended, lips and fingertips orange with chili and barbecue seasoning.  As I’m cleaning my hands with my little wet wipe, my brain made a warning sound. 

SIGNAL HAS NOT BEEN RECEIVED.

Shit. 

If there’s one thing I learned from that Weight Watcher’s class, it's that you need to wait for your brain to receive the signal from your stomach that it’s full.  Apparently I have faulty wiring.  Sometimes I get this signal loud and clear; other times, I’m not aware that the storage facility is rapidly approaching maximum capacity.  Only one time have I reversed gears from eating too much – and that was terrific spaghetti, too, dammit, which is probably why I ignored the mayday klaxon.  Today, however, appears to be one of those days in which my gastric process has blown a gasket and all I can think is that giant plant from “Little Shop of Horrors” screaming “FEED ME SEYMOUR, FEED ME!”

So okay, lunch was done.  I decided to ignore the clamoring and see if I could go the allotted 30 minutes – the time it’s supposed to take that signal to get from stomach to brain.  Naturally, that didn’t happen; within 10 minutes my hands were shaking, my eyes were bulging, and I was on the prowl for sugar.  Any sugar.  Packets.  Sugar cane.  The cardboard box that says "Sugar" on the side.

I can’t keep an emergency stash of candy on hand because I’ll eat the entire thing in seconds.  My co-workers have bags of candy in their offices that they take to meetings to share with others, and out of embarrassment, I stay away from those bags, because at this point I’d clear them out and they’d be left in meetings trying to explain to the chocolate-bribed executives what happened.  I can’t leave them in that predicament.  After all, chocolate-bribed executives are dangerous.

But I work in an office building, which has secretaries, who always have candy.  Always.  I know this for a fact, having been a secretary once myself.  I am surprised it’s not a job requirement.  “Must type 120 words per minute, know the intricacies of Microsoft Office, and keep candy dish filled with miniature Snickers at all times.”

So out the door I went, trying to look professional, wiping the beads of sweat from my forehead as I headed for the division secretary's desk around the corner.  My stomach felt like I'd swallowed a bowling ball.  God, I was full of food, and I was still maniacally hungry!  This sucked!  Stupid non-working brain signal! 

I made it to Catherine’s desk, ostentatiously checking my mail slot for non-existent mail.  She smiled cheerily.  “Is it too hot in here?” she asked, noticing the sweat beads.

“Nope!” I replied back, eyes searching for the candy.  There it was, in a little basket near her computer.  Oh God, Reese’s cups.  Full size ones.  Probably melted, because yes, it was too hot in here.  Didn’t care at this point.

“Ooo,” I said, trying not to slobber, “Reese’s!  Mind if I grab one?”

“Of course not!  Help yourself!”  So I did.  To three.  I didn’t even make it back to my desk and they were gone in one chomp.  I don’t even know what I did with the wrapping.  Did I even unwrap them?

Would you believe three full-size Reese’s cups still didn’t send the hunger signal?  Nope! Off I went with wallet in hand, grumbling to myself by now; I’m a bottomless pit, this is all going to my ever-burgeoning waistline, how the hell do I stop this, etc.  Our office building does not maintain vending machines on each floor, so I had to go find one tucked in the confines of another floor. Stair climbing.  Exercise.  Don't judge me.

Why is it, when you find a vending machine, that (1) the goddamned thing won’t take your money, and (2) someone always walks in to see you buying a second bag of M&Ms and looks at you like you’re the most disgusting person on the face of the earth?  I immediately grinned guiltily at the well-dressed young man who surprised me this time, while all the while I wanted to do this:

GET...OUUUUT!!!

But finally, FINALLY those M&Ms hit the switch.  I’m now sitting at my desk feeling bloated, and I’ll probably be reaching for my bottle of Tums later, but for now, the monster is sated.

Now…what’s for dinner?  Hmm.

--Rebecca

The Bag Lady

Any woman knows how it feels to cart around your life in a bag.  Some of you are smart enough to just use a wallet in your pocket, and I don’t know how you do it.  Millennials just put everything in their phone and I, a child of the 80’s, just freak out about that.  I have to carry around a pile of stuff – medications, a calculator, pens, a monster jangling pile of keys, note pads, coupons, a protractor (that’s a joke, although I really did carry a protractor for years, to my husband’s great amusement, just in case there was an obligatory angle that needed measurement), and of course I go nowhere without my trusty Kindle.  My hoard of goods always gave my where-is-it seizure-prone Type-A brain a wink and a buddy elbow of reassurance, knowing that if I needed that little container of hand sanitizer or a pair of tweezers, I was good to go. 

Not even close, bud.

I look at vacation pictures of myself from years past and I’m always the easy one to pick out in the crowd because I’m the one slouched over from the weight of the large canvas Disney tote with the camera, the direction book for the camera (in case I accidentally push a button that turns the camera into a little walking robot that laughs maniacally and runs away), the raincoats, the suntan lotion, the extra bottles of water, etc.  The weight of that vacation bag and the weight of my Brobdingnagian laptop bag that passes for a purse has given me a permanent groove in my right shoulder and has pumped up the muscles in my entire right arm – I can hardly pick up a cat with my left hand, but my right hand could probably hoist a hippo over my head and juggle it. 

But just how much stuff do I really need to carry around?  Other than my perambulating pharmacy, a wallet, and my Kindle, I can leave most of this stuff at home.  In fact, yesterday I decided to clear out the canvas tote I usually take to work with me.  I hadn’t looked in the bottom of this thing in years, and the results were quite comical.  Here’s what I found:

• My old heating pad, which I thought my husband had stolen years ago, and he swore he had his own.  Point to husband.
• A dish towel.  I guess I had this in case there was a random plate at work that needed to be dried.
• A bottle of Coke Zero.  God knows how old it was, it didn’t even fizz when I shook it.
• A shattered CD case containing an old self-recorded CD that I had never put back.
• A cracked CD case containing the pictures of our 2010 New England trip, pictures that my husband swore he gave me and I was pretty sure he hadn’t.  Another point to husband.
• A copy of my SF-171 (government employment application) from 1989.  Done on a typewriter!  I thought that typewriter was hot shit back then.
• A copy of my wedding certificate.
• A half-bent blue folder, frayed around the edges, containing…nothing.  This was ominous.
• A YMCA Activ-Trax workout form from 2011.  Probably the last time I went to the gym.
• A Christmas card from a co-worker. 
• A half-bag of mixed cough drops.  They appeared to be okay, and the wrapper came off of one easily, but I wasn’t going to take the chance.
• A plastic container of earplugs.  Again, they appeared new, but for some reason, they completely grossed me out. 
• Dust bunnies up the ASS.  Did something move in here and just shed? 
• Probably about 10 lanyards, in all sizes, shapes, and colors, mostly stamped with some odd government acronym (like iSOCCER – yes, that really stands for something, but I don’t give enough of a damn to look it up).
• A pair of white cotton underpants.  Seriously.  Was I planning a trip to the ER while at work – because, God knows, we always have to have clean underwear!
• My arthritis gloves.  Both pairs.  I bought the second pair when I couldn’t find the first pair.
• And finally, at the bottom, an entire package of the office supply saviors called “punch hole reinforcements.”  My husband calls them “paper assholes.”  (This is apparently a Naval term, but boy, did it apply yesterday.)  Anyway, the package had burst, and the adhesive backing over the years peeled off of nearly all of them, so they were stuck to everything…the underpants…the gloves…the lanyards…the dust bunnies.  I added a colorful adjective to the Navy term when I saw this mess (as in “fucking paper assholes”).  My dedication to this bag was evident as I was picking these things off of every square inch. 

These things suck.

So there you have it.  I’ve learned there’s a definite thin line between a woman carrying a purse and an honest-to-God hoarding bag lady.  I will continue taking that canvas bag to work, but it’s a lot lighter now.  As for the monster purse, well, I actually graduated to a smaller purse a couple of years ago, and while I went through the serious withdrawal of not having a sewing or makeup kit at all times, I gradually learned to move on.  I still have the protractor, though, but it’s on my iPhone now.  Yes, there’s an app for that.  Time marches on.

-- Rebecca

Being Sick

Being sick sucks. . .period. There is nothing that aggravates me more than catching some sort of funk. Last time I was sick was more than five (yes five!) years ago when I got some stomach bug. The years since then, nothing, not a cold, not even a sniffle.

And now. . .for the first time in over 20 years I have the flu. . .yup, the god damned flu. I haven’t gotten a flu shot in over 25 years, and now suddenly I am raging sick.

I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT!         

I have too much to do. I can write for a little while, but then I have to get up. . .I have no focus – look a squirrel – Like I said, being sick sucks.

I hate everybody.

And the medication the doc put me on. . .well it has psychotic side effects – look a pink polka-dot squirrel - So now I am seeing dragons in the kitchen and werewolves in the hall. Stellar! Look a purple and blue striped squirrel – They can stay. . .but that god damned bogyman in the foyer that looks like a clown needs to go!  

SQUIRREL!!!

Oh look, there goes a lion. . .no, wait. . .that’s live; just my ginormous kitty Zeus. He’s a wrecking ball of a cat – squirrel – I’ve never seen a cat that big that wasn’t a Maine Coon. Just a little ol’ barn cat with no known parentage to speak of – squirrel  –  Maybe he’s part mountain lion. . .we do have those around here. I mean, he is three times the size of my dog. But then again my dog is the size of a gnat – did you just growl at me you furry brat?

SQUIRREL!!!      

SEE! NO FOCUS!

And I need to write. . .so here I am spending four hours for this little blog. Did I mention there is a minotaur in my closet? This medication just might be more fun than drinking – squirrel.

My head is going to explode. Maybe I should just vegetate in front of the idiot box.

But first, I have to get rid of that bogyman. . .where the hell is my claymore. . .

-- Rya

Dealing with Writer's Block

For a week, I’ve sat here staring at a chapter I haven’t looked at since 2011.  I’ve got notes all over it.  “Need to expand this.”  “What does this mean?”  “Move this somewhere else.” 

Expand to what?  What does that bit mean?  Move it where?

A whole goddamned week.  What is the deal here?

Today I’ve read the same sentence over and over and my brain has turned to guacamole.  Guacamole is mush.  Awful-tasting mush.  That being said, I’d really like some Mexican food tonight for dinner.  No, I have spaghetti to make…or I could just go to Wegman’s to get some Chinese.  Oooh, egg rolls.

FOCUS, dammit!  See what I mean?  Get back to the stupid chapter!

Sigh.  Okay, this isn’t that hard.  It’s only 6 pages, for cripe’s sake.  I flex my fingers, look out the window, and…oh, look, the bird feeder’s empty.  Is that pileated woodpecker back again?!  Hot damn, I need more peanuts down there!  Did I buy any today…?  Dammit, I didn’t get woodpecker nuts.  Nuts.  Do I have any more peanut M&Ms over there?

Shit.  There I go again.  

There are three things I need in order to get myself into what I call "The Zone."  The Zone is my place of motivation, the push-button combination to unlock the Swiss Bank Account vault that is my wealthy stash of imagination.  It is sometimes a bitch of a place to find, but I do know how to look for it.  I need these objects, and a little bit of luck.

1.     FOOD

I keep talking about food, so I must need a snack.  That’s one way to keep your mind motivated, people – feed it.  So excuse me while I go grab a nibble…

(minutes pass)

Okay, I’m back with a cup of hot tea (with lots of Jack Daniels, natch), and a bowl of grapes and tangerine sections.  (I don't have any more M&Ms, so let's settle for Healthy Eating.)  

Back to work.  (taps fingers on keyboard) Okay, we’ve got dragons in an alternate realm.  Dragons falling from the sky and becoming…ow, is this a seed in this tangerine?  (taps some more) 

Nothing.  I’ve got nothing.  But I do notice I’m tapping my fingers a lot.

2.     MUSIC

When you’re as easily distracted as I am, you need two things from the musical realm: 

An awesome set of headphones.  Mine are the wonderful Bose QuietComfort 15 AcousticNoise-Canceling variety, terrific for blotting out screaming neighbors, ringing telephones, and my husband's TV show, and allowing me to turn up my music to stratospheric heights without disturbing people on the West Coast.

A magnificent playlist.  Nothing to sing; all instrumental.  I can’t sing and type at the same time because I’ll type out all the song lyrics instead and King Arthur will be belting out “Y.M.C.A.” by the Village People and Rya will wonder what the fuck I’m smoking when I turn these chapters over to her to read.  

The Knights of the Round Table can't be doing this...it would be hilarious though...

So for me, it’s soundtrack music.  Inspirational and awesome.  I have a 95-track list full of Hans Zimmer, John Williams, and John Barry – masters all, the jewels in my triple crown of imagination-filled tunes.  Oh, I have others, but nothing inspires quite like these guys. 

3.     QUIET.

No texting.  No phones.  I’m so easily diverted from the task at hand that the simple noise of a cat running down the hall with a toy will break me out of concentration and I’ll be left staring stupidly at the screen wondering what the hell I was trying to say.  Hence my side notes like “What does this mean?”  Fuck if I know…(hits delete button).  Knowing my luck I'll remember around midnight or 2am, but it'll be too late by then.

Sometimes, I enter The Zone without knowing about it, and my fingers develop a life of their own; 20 minutes later, I sit back and rub the ache out of my overheated, twisted digits, and stare at my cerebral vomit on the screen.  My response is always the same:  “Where the hell did that come from?” And unlike real vomit, the chunks are pure magic - at least they are in our little world.  

I really need to be there right now.  I’m fortified with natural sugar and enough alcohol to send my neural net tripping into the void, my headset is in place and switched on, Hans Zimmer’s score to “Inception” is cued.  “Need to expand this,” eh?  Fine.  One way ticket to The Zone, please, Maestro. 

--Rebecca

The Pen is Mightier than the Winter

Hey everyone.  It’s been a lovely week here at FarCrutch Productions.  We’ve been smacked hard in the face by Old Man Winter, who finally got off his lazy ass and dumped close to 30 inches of the white stuff on the D.C. area last Saturday.  (Guess he was making up for the 70-degree Christmas Day that had my allergies asking what the hell was happening.)  I got in my 6-month exercise regime by shoveling the thigh-deep snow on front walk and back porch, which nearly cause me to have a heart attack – take THAT, Richard Simmons, without a single note of “Twisting to the Oldies.”  

Oh my GAWD!  There's so much SNOWWWWWW!
(*Smack* Get a grip, Richard!)

Well, maybe a twist in the sacroiliac region that required me to swallow nearly ¾ of a bottle of Motrin by nightfall, but hell, it was exercise.  At any rate, I owe my lack of heart attack to my loving husband and his robotic, complaint-free shoveling technique, as well as our wonderful neighbor and his monster snowblower, after ours bit the dust.

That's a lot of white stuff.

So after making paths all over the place so we wouldn’t be floundering in clustered flakes, I made a nice pot of Canadian Maple tea and downloaded a bunch of songs for a new playlist; with my stereo headphones firmly in place and tea steaming in my big Tigger mug, I launched myself into writing mode.  Rya (currently enjoying the delights of Florida) had dusted off the first chapters of Book 3, which we have entitled “Dragon Resurrection,” added some updates, and sent them to me for review and input before she left.  Within a few minutes, I was completely immersed in the next adventures of our time-traveling heroines.  We’re hoping to get something out to you guys by springtime or early summer.  We’ll keep you updated and we’ll post some tidbits on our Facebook and Twitter pages as we move along.  Until then, I’ll leave you with a quote from Douglas Adams.

“Anything that happens, happens.  
Anything that, in happening, causes something else to happen, causes something else to happen.  

Anything that, in happening, causes itself to happen again, happens again.  

It doesn't necessarily do it in chronological order, though.”

No, it doesn’t.  Stand by for something to happen, folks.  It’s coming.

- Rebecca

The 2016 New Year’s Resolution

New Year. . .New Me. . .New You!

Wait, what?

I never really got that philosophy. It just never made any kind of sense to me. I will be the same sarcastic person at 12:01am January 1st that I was at 11:59pm December 31st.

Yep, you got it in one, Calvin.

So what is the big deal with all the “new” stuff? Honestly if there needs to be a change in your life, attitude, or whatever, do it now. Yes, yes, I understand the new year is supposed to symbolize a new beginning. . .but if it will be that beneficial, why wait? Like I already said - that just doesn’t make any sense.

Personally I just go with the flow and if a change needs to be made or addressed then I handle it then; especially because my Swiss cheese sieve of a brain isn’t necessarily going to remember to do it instantly on January 1st. Not to mention the fix to the problem may be right in front of you the moment you discover it. Better to handle it when it occurs – if something really needs to be done at all.

Truly, how many people plan to do something different with themselves or their lives and then get about 3 days into the new year and say “screw this?” (Rebecca, off to the side, is waving frantically, yelling, “Ooo! Ooo! Pick me, pick me!”) New Year’s resolutions rarely make it past the first month – hell I’d venture to say the first week. True life changes happen immediately, when they arise. Many times these things that need changing cannot wait for a set timetable. They simply cannot be ignored and need attention now.

I get it that for many people change is a scary thing. Whether it’s a big change or a little one, the unknown or new can be frightening to some, especially if they are going it alone. Many people can bolster their courage by attaching the change to coincide with the New Year. It’s a well-intentioned mindset. This works at this time of the year because those who are trying to make a change know they are not the only ones. It’s a herd-like mentality that offers a modicum of comfort.

There is a lot at stake with change, so you need to ask yourself a few questions first. Is this change really to my benefit emotionally, physically, or spiritually? Is this something I want to do or am I doing it for someone else? Will the change make me so different that I lose who I am at the core of my being, or will it compliment me as I am? Should I have done this before?

These are hard questions to answer. And no one can answer them for you. In this case you have to go it alone.

Don’t get me wrong. . .if you are one of those who really needs that “New Year’s Resolution” moniker and mindset to make it work, then by all means go for it! I’m just saying that the really important things don’t wait. They can’t in many cases.

So be brave and try to live a little. Believe it or not, change can be good, and even better, change can be fun! If there are things you want to take on, lose, or change around then do them now! Don’t wait! Don’t cheat yourself out of being a better person.

I will give this one small resolution for all who want to heed it – if nothing else, make a point to approach every single day with the intention of being happy. That alone can set you to begin on the right path. I’m not saying things will be perfect or always stay happy, but it makes dealing with things that go wrong far easier. Grab your life in both hands occasionally and shake the living shit out of it. You never know what will fall out and away to make room for something new and exciting. Take on the adventure and run headlong into 2016 with courage and strength. You just might find yourself in a better place.

Happy New Year to you all, from FarCrutch Productions!

...Rya

Christmas Crazies

It’s the moooooooost….wonderful tiiiiiiiiiiime…of the year...

Well, if you say so, Andy.  It all depends on your point of view, I suppose. 

Consider this:  You could be kicking back with your favorite holiday beverage (mine is currently hot tea with Fireball whiskey), with all of the household lights off and the Christmas lights on, a purring cat in your lap, Christmas tunes on the stereo, and a feeling of general well-being – the cards are sent, the gifts are wrapped, the holiday platters are ordered.  All is calm, all is bright, yadda yadda.

Straight outta Martha Stewart.

OR…

You could be running around in panic because you lost your shopping list, half of the tree’s lights don’t work, someone stole your outdoor Nativity set, the kids have eaten all the cookies (half of which were burned and you simply didn’t care), your shopping isn’t even started, Little Bobby won’t stop shrieking about getting that new Star Wars BB-8 remote-control toy that you refuse to buy for that price, your disgruntled teenaged daughter just destroyed your perfect Christmas cake by feeding it to the dog, who vomited it all over the holiday centerpiece you took hours arranging, the cards aren’t done, and your husband announced his entire family is coming to Christmas dinner.  And now you have to go to Walmart.  On the weekend before Christmas.  Fa la frickin' la!!

Why, God, WHYYYYYY

This is the perfect time for me to shove a shameless plug for our books, which I will, of course, now do.  *clears throat, drinks more Fireball tea, and clears throat again*

Hear ye, oh woebegone Christmas procrastinators!  For those readers on your list – and we know you have them – we proudly offer up our first two books.  You can buy them by clicking on the “Purchase Our Books” button above, and they’ll be delivered right to your door.  Here’s a nice Christmas ad for you, too.

Now, take a deep breath.  It's not all so bad, really.  Go find your list, it's probably upstairs by the bed – or make a new one – and stick to it.  Buy fresh cookies, and tell Little Bobby you'll think about the BB-8 toy if he cleans up the dog vomit, finds every piece of your Nativity set, and changes out the tree lights to your satisfaction.  Send your Christmas cards over email.  Send the teenager to Walmart and have her make you a new centerpiece.  Buy several of our books, pop them into gift bags, and voila, you’re all done.  Now, go sit in your chair with your Fireball, pick up your own copy of our book, and relax.  Dinner with the in-laws will be cake after that…and by the way, great cake.

Peace on earth, folks.  Enjoy your holidays.

- Rebecca