Blahh...Og

Ant Person

2011-10-11T21:19:00.000-07:00

Liberty. Bubble Gum. And the Pursuit of Happiness.

2011-03-25T12:53:00.000-07:00

xxx

In The Price Is Right, 3 bucks off makes you the biggest loser ever.

At the grocery store, .30 short makes you the same thing.

The only way to win is at the gumball machine....

And even that will cost you a quarter. But anyone can find a quarter or find five aluminum cans. Once you find your five cans, just take a ten mile walk to the nearest recycling center, walk ten miles back to the gumball machine at the grocery store. At that point, you may just want to pocket your well earned quarter, because you almost have enough for that loaf of bread you were thirty cents short of. And gum? Well, you can peel a pink wad off the nearest parking lot. But I don't suspect that has the same winning feeling. In fact, that puts us back in loooser city. You were thirty cents short for a loaf of bread at the grocery store and were going to blow a quarter to feel like a winner. At least you weren't going to bomb a country to be in an elitist club and feel important. At the same time, who is responsible for voting or perhaps, not voting these politicians into office? Now, that's the jawbreaker.

Writing Sauce

2010-12-14T19:10:00.000-08:00

Yes, that is what I’m calling days like today. Writing sauce. Do you know why? Because the Texas border seems to have some kind of obsession with sauces, and today it really pissed me off.

First off, there’s all these Texas BBQ pits. Why can’t they have the same meats and veggies? You just never know what you are going to get and the workers are always impatient.

Sometimes, I go to these restaurants because I feel it helps me get in touch more with the culture… but 8 times out 10, I end up pissed. And then I get more pissed that I’m pissed because I wanted to feel happy or appreciative of what other southern border Texans love so much. I don’t want to get angry at yet another stupid Texas thing.

So today, I pull up to this place every one in TARNATION “jest cain’t BELIEVE ya haven’t gone too. Yes, Sireeee! ‘Cowpokes’ is best BBQ pit round these parts.” Blah. Blah. Yeehaa.

So, these BBQ places are always rush! Rush! Gush out a bunch of wordssoquicklyyouhavenoideawhattheysaid…. Today, there were gobs of trucks parked at ‘Cowpokes’. I didn’t feel like trying to be lovey dovey with the community. I didn’t feel like being looked at funny, and yes, they do look at me funny because

A. I’m white
B. I’m not a usual white person
C. I don’t know

So. I go through the drive through. At least, I thought it may be a drive through. There are no signs that say it is a drive through. Then I see a crumpled up sign on the window that says,

‘Rib-eye steak! Saturday nights! 5-9pm! $17.35’

And that’s when the window opens up. I hear the rustle of voices blending together in the background and the gal says, “What do you want?”

No "Hello!". No “Welcome to ‘Cowpokes’!”. So I just sort of gape at her. I see a menu inside the restaurant. And I say, “Hi. Do you have pulled pork?”

She says, “No.”

I say, ”How about chicken?”

“You want chicken?”

“Yes, BBQ chicken.”

She yells back. “She wants BBQ chicken!” And turns back to me.

I say, “On a sandwich?” Because I didn’t know if they had freakin’ sandwhiches, you know?

She says, “You want a BBQ chicken sandwich?” And I’m like. “Yeah.”

She yells back a mess of words. I have no idea what she’s saying. Then she turns back to me. And just looks at me.

I say, “And… french-fries?”

“We don’t have french-fries.”

“What do you have?”

“Well… we have green beans.”

I’m like. Woah. Green beans? That’s weird. But. Whatever. “Green beans are okay.”

“What kind of sauce?”

This is the DANGEROUS part, America!

In border Texas places, you never know what kind of hell sauce they are going to put on your sandwich. Sometimes it’s just ketchup, and mustard. GALLONS of mustard. It’s like racial profiling: White American citizen…oh, she must want mustard. Lots and lots and LOTS of it. Sheesh! I should sue. But there’s also chili cheese bean sauce… stuff, jalapeño sauce, salsa sauce, taco sauce, hot sauce, mild sauce, mozzarella sauce, hot buffalo sauce, mild buffalo sauce, pizza sauce, normal ranch sauce, hot ranch sauce, dill sauce, also ranch or Italian dressing- for heaven’s sake!

I say, “BARBEQUE SAUCE.” Very slowly so she understands me. And then I say, “PLEASE, No mustard.”

She says, “Ya want ljsflksajdkljfklasjdfklasjfakl?”

I don’t know what that is, so I say, ”Why don’t you just put that on the side. And put the BBQ sauce on the side too, please.”

She says, “You want iced tea?” This is always the dreaded question, folks. I don’t like iced sweet tea. I like coffee. I’m from Seattle. I can’t help it. Seattle is rainy and when it’s rainy you drink hot coffee. I’ve refused to give up my habits. I say, “No sweet tea, thank you.” And she gives me the mean, dejected look. The look they all give me when I say no thank you to sweet tea.

She finally smiles. She finally understands. They always finally do and ask what I’ve heard a bazillion times since I’ve been here, “Ya ain’t from around these parts are ya?”

“No. Washington.”

Her eyes brighten up. “DC?”

When we get to this part. Their eyes always brighten up. And I dread it because I know what happens when I have to say what I say next which is, “Actually, the pacific northwest.” They always look away and say “Oh.” And she did.

I say, “What else comes on the plate?” just so I wouldn’t be surprised. Giant fried pickles or whatever. And she says, “OH, you want the plate? You’ll need another side order.” I don’t want to think too hard and I can’t see the menu so I say, “French fries I guess…”

“We don’t have French fries!” She yells at me. At this point, the conversation has just gone on forever. And I’m just like… what American restaurant does not have French fries. And She says,”We have green beans and lkajfklasjdflksjdfklajsdklfajskldf” And I don’t know what else she says.

So I say, “You know what? I’ll just take the BARBEQUE chicken sandwich.”

She says, “What kind of sauce do you want with that?”

“BARBEQUE SAUCE. On the side.” And she looks at me for a minute so I say, “NO mustard. Please.”

Money and paper bag is exchanged. I drive to the only park around. There is no shade. It is “fly season”. (I call it that because right now there are flies everywhere as if the world was a giant meat house.)

So I’m sitting in the suv in December, when the rest of the world is enjoying a holy night chilly santa season and the sun is shining in my face and it’s hot. So I roll down the windows. My car fills with flies. (Duh!)

So I play roll down the window wave my arms, so the flies will fly out the window. But then one kept flying in when one flew out. The person sitting in the truck beside me probably thought I was crazy (I think I am too). And finally there are no flies inside the suv, so I turn on the air conditioning and open up the white sack. I find a chicken sandwhich. BBQ sauce on the side (praise the heavens!) and a cup of potato salad. And a spoon. No napkins. Onions and dill pickles in a sandwhich baggy. It ended up tasting gross. So I threw it all away.

Then I went to burger king. And as a great big fuck you to Texas, I got a large HOT coffee. I then sat in the sun with A/C on high and drank it… I felt a little bit better. So does writing this. All true. Writing Sauce is the best kind of sauce.

What’s your favorite kind of sauce?

***

Sadism

2010-12-08T18:53:00.000-08:00

Right now, Richard Godwin is interviewing me for The Slaughterhouse. Per his usual, the questions are mind bending and a delightful challenge to answer. He’s brought up some topics I’ve dabbled, but have not immersed myself in. So I decided to swing by Barnes & Noble when I was in town, and see if I couldn’t find anything to educate myself further. The experience left me giggling like a crazy person, and I will totally write this scene some day in a book. I thought it would entertain you too..

Barnes and Noble:
The guy at the helper desk. I've seen him before. Slightly overweight, black longish hair, thick dark rimmed glasses, pale skin. The 'intelligent- I- read- books- but- like- to- pretend- I- look- goth- and- I- go- to- school- at- nights- cuz- its- in- style-' looking sort. Very serious. Doesn't look as if he's ever smiled. Probably not many friends or girlfriends. You know the kind.

I say, “So I'm looking for a book called ‘The Romance of Agony’ by Mario Praz.”

He types it in and some kind of interior design instruction manual comes up. He asks me if I'd like to order it in to the store. I laugh and say no thanks. So then I say, “Okay. Do you happen to carry any of the works or perhaps a biography on Marquis de Sade.”

If you could have seen the look on his face- his eyes bulged behind his glasses and his jaw dropped. He tilted his face down and looked at me over his glasses, he whispers, "THE Marquis de Sade?"

I nod and say, "Yeah, that's the guy. I can't pronounce his name, I don't speak French."

His eyes grew wider. He says, "Marquis de Sade. What the fuck. You know what he-"

"Yes." I cut him off! And he says, "He's the one who wrote --"

I say,"Yes, uh huh, that's the one I’m talking about."

He stands straight up and looks me up and down. I wore jeans, a sweatshirt and my favorite sneakers- nothing special, right? Not your average looking for some sadistic fun goth bad girl. He finally picks his jaw up off the floor and says, "You'll have to excuse me. You're the only person I've encountered here who even knows about his works. Come here, lets see what we got."

At that point I'm thoroughly amused and can't help but give him a mischievous grin (oh - evil Jodi!). So he flips the monitor around and he types the name. Various books pop up. He whispers, "So this is the deal. The first book you'll want to read is Justine. The second is Letters from prison (I think that was the one) and third is 120 Nights of Sodom." He nodded his head. "In that order."

It was my turn to be surprised that he'd read the books. (They are voluminous!) and he didn't look like 'the sort'. But he totally had this look on his face and no doubt he had a full on you know what. And we just stood there eyeing each other suspiciously. Priceless!

He finally leans over the counter. "Look, he writes twisted shit. Obviously, you know that. I suggest 120 Nights of Sodom. It’s really short. Some people read it for the--"

"Uh huh." I cut him off.

"But I had to read it for a psychology class. Purely for a philosophical & pseudo point of view."

"Gotcha,” I say.

He says, "If you are doing research, I'd suggest that book."

At which I said, "Yes, purely for research." I winked at him and said, "I'm a writer."

His eyes lit up again, and then this really weird, crazy lady yelled from the other side of the help booth. "I need a book about Libras!"

So I thanked him and scooted away before anything else could transpire. I had a good laugh in the car. Seriously, though? Now that I'm fully educated on the subject. It's some pretty twisted stuff. Some of Sade's philosophical theories are quite interesting, genius even. I might have a quarter of respect for him if I didn't want to kick him in the gonads so badly. "How's that feel, buddy? Ya want more?" Sick Narcissistic Twisted F*ck.

I love learning. I love researching. I love writing.

Who else has researched Marquis de Sade's work or life? What do you think?

The Very Hungry Zombie

2010-11-10T21:05:00.000-08:00

I got a complaint this blog hadn't been updated in awhile. It isn't because I haven't thought of anything, I have so many topics I'd like to pick your lovely brains on. But the writing it in such a way as not to terribly offend by thought or spelling has been a pain under the current circumstances. SO. Here is a pretty thought for today. Remember this book?

Yeah. I figured. Since everyone seems to be writing cookie cutter formulaic crap that is basically someone else's book and plot- well, hot damn!- I should too. So I'm going to write a children's book called.

THE VERY HUNGRY ZOMBIE

On the first day, the zombie ate 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar's' brains and it tasted good. But the zombie was still hungry.

On the second day, the zombie ate a mouse's brain. And it was mousy. But, oh boy! He was still hungry.

On the third day, he found road kill. Yum! So he just kept eating and eating. Brains galore! Ant eater brains, wolf brains, cute little pea sized robins brains , and even sasquash brains! But he was still hungry.

On the fifth day, he climbed the Seattle space needle and looked around at all he could see. People. He saw people. So he climbed back down and ate people brains. Lots of them.

On the sixth day, he wandered to Texas and hot ~~damn~~ darn! He found a crazy southern man pointing a gun at a guy who had a fro and pants hanging to his knees! Despite their skin colors, their brains tasted the same, but their racism gave him indigestion and his tummy hurt. So he went and wrapped himself up in a coffin of wood deep down beneath the dirt.

On the seventh day, he awoke. And he was no longer a zombie! No sir. He was a sparkly vampire!

The End.

The next book in the series would be called: The Very Thirsty Vampire.

**All comments and critiques are welcome, but unnecessary. I'm a rich b*tch and hollywood is printing this up becuz ya'll like my kinky hair, ~~fake~~ boobs, and faux rattle snake skin boots.

©JodiMacArthur, 2010

One Way To Get Shot In Texas

2010-09-09T20:33:00.000-07:00

So, I snapped this at a gas station a block or two away from my place. I'm not sure if this was an innocent mistake made by someone who is unfamiliar with the English language, or if it's a trucker's nasty joke, but I didn't go inside to find out. Ahhh... nothing like Texas

This was inspired by Anthony Venutolo's post today about an unusual note left on a fridge.

ps. Yes, I do intend to write about writing again at some point. ;-)

Jodi vs Texas MadLib Style With Photos

2010-07-25T17:52:00.000-07:00

Hey,

Most of you know I'm off the net for the next few weeks to finish my novella, Xscents --------------->

Mari Juniper, Sam Adamson, Margo and I have been talking about spiders, scorpions, roaches, and lizards of TX. I have a couple pics I've taken here and there I thought I would share. Not for the squeamish. There is splattage here. This is almost like madlibs, so please bear with me!

Lightning storms like this:
(Yes, that's lightning, I took this when it was dark!)

is the reason these come out:

and I have to gather my weapons...

and, well, you know.

and

Look at those legs! This sucker was huge and trying to get in the front door. Hello! Not on my watch.

Not all of them die.

I like this critter, it's a Horny Toad Lizard.

I wonder if they really eat toads?

And you guys remember the 6inch lizard I found in my pants? AFTER I put them on.

I named him Timothy,
and set him free.

It can get scary sometimes.

And one gets impatient

and has to put their foot down

And tell those critters where they belong

See that hollow in that
oak? That looks like a
cozy home for a critter.

These little air plant fungi things live
on oak trees, they blow off all the time.

When it

I like to write (in my ac/dc shirt)

Everything turns

And I wonder if that's how they grow 55,00,0000 lbs of these:

And I start finding these in my popcorn

He's a stray. I'm calling him Charlie.
I think he's keeper. What do you think?

Sometimes Texas seems really lame

And I feel like I don't belong

This is another stray that's living with me. I've named
her pickles. She's deaf and blind in one eye. Sweet dog,
but also a tad aggressive. She and my Hagsy don't
get along very well, so I need to find her somewhere
else to shack up. Cute, huh?

But Hagsy reassures me all is well.

(Hagsy is my lab. And she ate all my garden squash
And then she ate the plant. Even the roots! That's
why she looks so pleased with herself.)

Days like these remind me I'm as free as a bird

Maybe Texas isn't so bad. ;-)

Hope you enjoyed the photos! See you all on the other side!

Disclaimer: All these photos are mine, I've taken them with my very own camera using my very own fingers (except the pic of me in the dress, sis did that), and have not stolen from the interwebs, except the one with the sword, that was from a "paste your face in here and be a pirate --arrrrr!" site.

How To Tell If You're REALLY A Writer

2010-07-15T10:32:00.000-07:00

This advice has been every where lately (I'm not picking on any one particular individual), offered from one 'experienced' author to a novice. The novice question:

How can one tell if he or she is REALLY a writer?

The answer from the wise and knowledgeable often goes like this:

Wait until the still of the night, the midnight hour, when all is quiet, when moonlight is streaming through the window in shiny shimmers of oily slivers with speckled gold sparkles, ask the spirit deep within, your heart, the question of which you speak. And if your heart cries out, YES! to the question, then you are truly a writer and that is what you must do and continue to do, from now and to forever, amen.

Baloney. It means you have an ego issue. Visit a shrink. I have to tell you folks, if you hear me crying out YES! in the middle of the night, lets just say writing or poetry has nothing to do with it.

Here's my thoughts on how to tell you are a writer: you write. You create. You dream. You think. You READ.

What do you think? How can you tell if you are a writer or spittin' at the fan?

Burn, Baby, Burn

2010-06-30T11:15:00.000-07:00

Hi,
I know. I've been MIA. And not reading blogs. And not doing much on the interwebs of our worlds. BUT the projects I've taken on are wrapping up and I have to tell you that I'm exhausted and loving every stinking minute of it all. I miss you all. Bear with me awhile longer.

Oh. And these are wandering about. Try to catch one. It ain't easy.

WWFI - Wonder Woman Fatal Impact

2010-06-04T19:33:00.000-07:00

I awoke in the middle of the night to something scampering up my arm. I screamed and brushed it off. I could hear it scuttle on the sheets. I gave them one rapid shake, then the scratchy scuttle noise was on the hardwood floor. I reached over and turned on my lamp to see a GIANT ROACH THE FREAKING SIZE OF MY HAND run to a towel I had thrown on the floor the evening before (this is why you should always put your laundry inside the laundry hamper).

As I got out of bed and was trying to decide what to do, it slithered out of the towel and made a dash for the door. This surprised me since usually once they find a dark place to hide they stay put. I grabbed my super nifty wonder woman notepad I keep beside my bed, aimed, and threw it as hard as I could. To my extreme amazement it splatted the thing dead on. Guts smeared across the floor. I felt like a ninja crackin' out the moves. We're talking 3 or 4 am folks!

I typically have a rule, if its bigger than my thumb I suck it up with the vacuum hose. In this case, it was too splatted to suck up. So I had to do the Kleenex thing, which really grossed me out because the antennas twitched. *Yikes* I hate that.

Anyway, I just felt like I needed to get that out of my system. And you guys wonder why I write about bugs so much. Nothing like the wilds and wonders of Texas. Thanks for reading.

Of Ant People and Of Middle Age-ry

2010-05-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

Earlier this year, I was able to turn everything off and focus on finishing Devil’s Eye. This time around, (while I’m supposed to be editing, but am I? No. I’m frolicking around with horrid ant people and some kind of pied piper in a catsuit.) I feel like I can’t turn that switch off.

Is my will less strong? Do I have too many ideas? Do I talk to too many writers? Do I have ADD? Is there some kind of magic bean that I do not possess? Why is there a beanstalk growing out of this riverbed of unedited manuscripts? And why is there an ogre-ish thing with a fork crawling down it? Am I freak? And where the heck are my glasses !?!

DOES ANYONE ELSE FEEL THIS WAY?
(I’ll pay you $5 to say yes)

ps.Today is my birthday. This day always feels strange. Is this the year I'l be branded with MIDDLE AGE across my forehead? Tomorrow, I'll get over it. Time moves on. Life moves on. Young, vivacity is all in the mind, right? RIGHT? BTW- I'm 21. I would have said 18, but then I wouldn't be legal so...

The Secret Of The Whistling Deer Head

2010-05-27T08:20:00.000-07:00

“The whistling deer head is stuck to the wall.

It can not get you from there.”

Two children are kept in a dark basement and have never been introduced into to the real world. Their worlds are imagined and whispered between meals. There is a giant, terrifying deer head that is mounted on the wall. It covers a heat or cooling vent that is open to the outside world. When the wind blows, it makes this whistling noise that sounds like its coming from the deer. The boy hears the voice of the deer head in his mind one day. It tells him what must be done.

The girl never actually hears the voice, but she believes that her older brother has. The reader is supposed to think the boy is crazy, until in the end, they reach The City of Lost parents. I like to think the story is a metaphor for sheltered children finding their way. But I’m pretty sure the whistling deer head tells them much more. Because of the way they were kept at home, they have no sense of reality or even morality. They can be adorable murdering darlings and never give pause.

The black rabbits are a symbol. They are everywhere in this world. A kind of watership down influence, I suspect. Anyway, I’ll write this into a real story one day, perhaps a short novella.

Arguing With Inner Moral Codes & Reading 'Doom Magnetic'

2010-05-25T16:36:00.000-07:00

I received and read a much anticipated bizarro book by William Pauley III today(!). It's one of the weirdest things I've ever read. The characters are so charismatic and visual. He has a crazy imagination and everyone knows how I feel about crazy imaginations.

Another cool thing is on the inside page he wrote down all the songs he listened to while he wrote it (a whopping three weeks for the first draft- so jealous). Sound track is awesome. There are some bands I've never heard of before-- oing a boing or something like that.

Also decided to temporarily halt all edits on Devil's Eye. I'm being possessed by a novella I'm daring to call bizarro, although if it actually ends up in any genre field I'll be surprised. Of course, it'll be horror themed.

I'm curious (that is, if anyone at all ever reads this) does anyone else ever write their protagonist as having opposite values as themselves? It's almost as if you are arguing against yourself, your inner moral code. This novella will be very much that way.

And those are my thoughts for today.

Beto's Haiku challenge.

2010-05-24T19:41:00.000-07:00

Breathe in their dance

Malady of peace and chaos

Starry Night serenade

Pizza & The End

2010-05-24T19:31:00.000-07:00

The other day I was at a pizza restaurant. There was an end of the year baseball party going on. All the stereotypes were there. The Semi Hot Coach who thinks she's ALL THAT and has a fake bleach blonde put in pony tail (the one you buy at the mall). The the super super Fat Mom holding a toddler with a diaper bag spilling of blankets extra clothes stuff stuff stuff.... she's giggling nervously and can't stop staring at the Semi Hot Coach and stuffing food into her infants mouth.

Semi Hot Coach flirts with Fat Woman's husband. Thusly, Fat Woman starts stuffing her own face instead of toddlers. (I'm not making fun of Fat Woman, but I wish she'd loose the loser hubbie and fill herself with esteem and self love vs food.) Soccer moms babble, kids dump rootbeer down their shirts, there is a general 'we are supposed to be having fun' feel, and yet no one is really having fun. Except maybe the Semi Hot Coach, everything she does causes attention and she likes that.

How can one not notice when her fake hair is fluffing unnaturally to the side and she keeps bending over and sticking her a$$ in people's faces? By the way her jeans hike up the great divide, it's obvious there is nothing underneath and that she has some developing cellulite. (ahem cough sneeze).

People are worried about Iran but I say people with fake hair, fake nails, fake boobs, and tight pants riding up their ripply rears will be the death of the human race.

Then you got the goth crowd of teens huddled in the tiny corner of the resturant -- they're wearing holy jeans, have earrings and tattoos up the ying yang, or on the ying yang (HA) but they are laughing and having a good time. Focused on the moment. There were three teen girls walking by me. One of them stops to look at something and holds out her pop glass. The other girl leans over and sips out of the straw, and the third was aware of neither and slams into the pop holder and the straw sipper. The pop spills over all three of them and they are just giggling and laughing. (including me). Sigh. Love that age. I don't know what this paragraph has to do with anything, but... here it is.