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I was reading This Old Post
(the blogasphere equivalent to This Old House, only, unlike the TV show, it happens only when you revisit a topic and discover something new)on Nathan Bransford's Blog
To be clear I have NOT been through a divorce. What struck me then and now
is the conversation about how our private lives creep into our social media, where we can (and, perhaps, because we can) make our "crap" known.
How does one navigate the minefields? What is too much and what is too little? And most important of all, if we only post the things in our lives that or positive, or frame all our actions in the positive, is that deceit?
Here's what I know: I find my own personal truth through the personal truth of others. And when I re-read a post, I sometimes find things I didn't see before.
So, what I'm saying is, I appreciate it when people are honest about their lives than those who use the internet to create a pseudo-perfect version of themselves. I mean I don't want to see you wearing your crotchless panties on Facebook, but I also don't think less of you for admitting you have them.
The other thing I know is that since I wrote the last post I've moved on. It's funny how putting a thing into words can also put that thing into perspective.
Ps: I have decided to do a Prism anthology. Please check back for more details soon.
Kickin' it with coffee beside the sale aisle!
Location: The Davinci Coffee inside of the Yeonju HomePlus.
Sometime around noon-- after weighing myself and discovering my relocation fugue has resulted a six pound weight gain-- I left my apartment and headed in the general direction HomePlus seemed likely to be. (HomePlus and E-Mart are the K-Marts and Wal-Marts of S. Korea, in Yeongju in December, about the only thing to do.)
I went the wrong way.
And then I went the right way. But in the interim, I walked and thought.
I came to the not so brilliant conclusion that I miss the boys and my roommates. Well not so much Stacy, the belligerent alcoholic divorce` (she just disappeared and saved me from having to quit) or the lesbian couple the father moved in to replace me (in typical K. Wilson fashion, I came home from work to discover characters right out of the movie Monster
living in the basement) but Ramon who was friendly and would sit with me by the fire and talk despite hardly speaking any English at all. But mostly it was the boys who occupied every Saturday night for the last 11 months.
It was crazy working for K.Wilson this last year, and a testament to how life can be stranger than fiction. And while it was mostly good, mostly drama free, there are moments that I look back upon and....I wonder why. I feel embarrassed, ashamed, as though I have done something wrong.
And as I walked, I realized my send off, or lack there of, still hurts. I hate that I invested so much time. I hate that I am still thinking about them, missing them when I am already forgotten. I hate above all things, how it was just a job: employer/ employee.
And while no one could predict the arrival of Selby (the nanny) and
Aileen Wuornos, I am still deeply bothered. I love the boys, perhaps always will. I hate that I was weak, saying nothing when I wanted to grab the boy's father, shake him and say:
"Think dam it! Think! Never mind that she doesn't have any source of income, or a driver's license, and probably has warrants out for her arrest in Kentucky... And I understand that you like to help people who are down on their luck. If you lived alone so be it. But you have the boys and she got kicked out of her last place for getting into physical altercation with Aileen in-front of the children! She was living with family, for crying out loud and they didn't want that shit around their kids, why would you invite that around yours!"
But sometimes life is so much stranger than fiction that there is nothing to be said. Sometimes you have to trust that life has a way of working itself out even when it shouldn't. Above all else, sometimes you need a good distraction like a short story that needs writing or a handsome co-worker (how happens to be in a long term relationship, darn). And sometimes you need to walk in the wrong direction before you can walk the right one.
But this brings me to one more thing: Edward Snowden and Prism. This and the above my seem completely unrelated, but they are not. (Everything is everything, after all.) For one thing, Prism is something that has bothered me greatly, something I have thought endlessly about, felt exceedingly helpless about. Because, even though the powers that be say, "Well, we only intend to use it for good," I can't help but think how messy life can be. How a life time of bad judgments or even the lack of foresight, could be complied and used.
Can you imagine a future where businesses pay money to get access to the emails of job candidates? I can. I simply have to look at the budget crisis and say, at some point government will look for alternative streams of revenue. And what is the biggest business to day? Data. What you buy how you buy and what you do with it.
It scares me to think that a future me could lose a job because I worked for a man who hired Selby to replace me. Or because I lived with Selby for two years. (To be clear her real name was not Selby. I'm using pseudonyms to illustrate character.)
A while back I started a short story about a future decent of Edward Snowden. In this reality, Prism is strong and well and (more technologically advanced than present day). The government uses the program to target the Snowden descendants (among the program's many nefarious uses). The Snowdens are targeted as a form of entertainment, distraction, and most of all a deterrent. For who would speak out against the government when, not only themselves, but generation after generation would be punished?
In the story, I address one of my predictions long held beliefs, which is the right to bear arms maybe constitutional, but what does it matter when technology has made constitutional rights obsolete. (There is a gap between the weaponry technology of governments and private citizens. The wider the gap, the higher the cost civil war. When the gap hits an apex, the right to bear arms offers zero protection for citizens: Think about how Avatar would have ended if all the animals of Pandora had not joined the war.)
Okay, so my mind is hopscotching today, but there is a point to my madness. I have been thinking about doing, not a contest, as in past, but opening submissions to an anthology about said subjects above. And by above, I mean Prism, not boss cum roommates who hire a highly inappropriate nanny replacement. Just so we're clear.
The nominative or subjective case = pro-nouns functioning as the subject.
am an alien.
(True. I'm an American living in South Korea.)You are an alien.
(I have no idea whether this is true for you.)
He may be an alien... or warlock.
The predicate nominative is a noun our pronoun after a linking verb that renames the subject.
Three linking verbs
The doctors are they.
The detective is me.
The happiest students are I and he.
Passive voice, oh my!
Grammar books say that the predicate nominative sounds too formal for speech, it should be used in formal writing. I would like to add the caveat, that it should be used rarely, because the predicate nominative is passive.
"The doctors are they," is passive. "They are the doctors," is active.
So, if your critiques say you have a problem with passive voice, there is a good chance you may have caught a case of the predicate nominative.
Homework- make the following sentences active.
The crazy person is she.
The psychopath is he.
The clowns are they.
The idiot is me.
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To "have arrived" is an idiom. It means to have reached a position of power, authority, or prominence.
An idiom is a form of speech or an expression that is grammatically peculiar or just wrong.
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Of course when I say, I have arrived, I mean it literally. I have arrived in South Korea.... with no small thanks to a friend who I took for granted.
When it was time to leave for Korea, one of my friends disappeared. Before we had ever met, she had gained about fifty pounds and her confidence was low. She had stopped going out. Having always struggled with being bigger, I helped her accept the body she has and become confident. In time she started going out more.
Are we friends???
As she made new friends and rekindled old friendships, she started blowing me off... and the blow-offs were always my fault. I asked her not to do that... and she did. She stopped making time to hang out altogether =(
Falafel House is how I roll.
And my roommate and "friend" (the one I worked as a nanny for) became angry with me when I couldn't lend him money after I said I would. There was another loan for a couple hundred bucks months old and not even five bucks paid. To be fair to him, I said it was okay. However another loan= bad idea. And really, he had been taking advantage for a year, and even though I had been willing... okay there's no good way to finish this sentence so see here, here and here and sprinkle liberally with nerdiness and a deep seated desire for a sense of family. (Also known as weird former foster child syndrome.)
So I said I couldn't explain, and offered emotional support. And he asked me to leave four days before my flight, saying I couldn't keep my stuff at his house and that my decision ended our friendship. And that I was being totally unfair. (I had also "unfairly" decided that I couldn't sign a falsified document for court case involving child support.) So, I tried unsuccessfully to relocate to a hotel and ran around like a chicken with my head cut off to find a place to store stuff including my car =(
But then there was Burt. He hung out with me while I ran errands, found a place for me to keep my car after the first place I found was a failure, and took me to the airport. This last part was super, extra wonderful as I discovered that United Airlines baggage overage charges are among highest in the industry.
Sometimes the odd egg out is the better friend.
As I knelt on the floor of the airport, near tears at the impossible task of weeding my life down to two suitcases 50lbs or less and one carry on ( remember, I was not taking a trip but relocating) he said, "You can do it." He got trash bags and took my overage out to his van (to be stored in my car for when I come back), and then sat with me for the twenty minutes or so until I had to go through security.
Thanks Burt! You are awesome!
Florida is a brilliant idea!
Not my friend.
I left the Korean consulate in Atalanta, GA with the news that I could pick up my Visa on Friday.
I might should go to Florida, I thought as I was leaving the parking garage. I've already been to Atlanta twice and, while I could go home, Florida sounds way more awesome!
"You're screwed, ha, ha," said Mr. GPS voice.
My TOMTOM is possessed.
So I proceeded to follow my GPS onto the highway via the carpool lane on ramp, which was totally not marked as such, I might add.
Ahead, there were three motorcycle cops stopping cars. Still unaware of my faux pas, I waited for my turn confidently that I was insured and doing everything legal. (Which is so much much better than years ago when I thought things like, oh, shit, what if they ask me for proof of insurance?)
"Driver's license," the cop said.
"Here you are!" (Hey, I was legal and excited to prove it.)
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Frowning, the officer said, "You were driving in a carpool lane which is illegal. Pull over there while I write you a ticket."
"You're screwed, mawahaha," the Mr. GPS laughed.
"What indeed," replied the GPS as I pulled over to where the cop had indicated.
Work visas will make you cry, who knew?
And then I started bawling my eyes out. The ticked sucked yes, but I was crying like world had ended. I had matured out of turning mole hills into mountains last year (mostly) so I knew the ticket couldn't be it. And then I realized it was that stupid work Visa.
No, no. I wasn't bawling about the work visa, but what it meant. That I am really leaving for S. Korea again and I'm going to miss my roommates boys very, very much. (And my roommate too, but I haven't gotten as close to him as I have his boys) and my friends and America.
And then, I realized that I want to go to Korea as much as I wanted to stay in the United States. That, I'd regret not going. So I started laughing while I cried.
Tap, tap. I looked up from my place on the floor of my car and hit my head on the steering wheel. Rubbing my head, I rolled down the window.
"Here's your ticket," the officer said. "Erm, are you okay?"
"I've never been better!"
"Really, because I've never had a driver crawl onto the floor of their car before. And the laughing and crying thing is weird."
"I do floors," I replied. "My blog readers can testify to that. The rest is subjective."
"Okay, well, if you need some help, you know, like a straight jacket, I can arrange it."
"No thanks," I said, taking the ticket. "I'm good."
And I drove away, laughing and crying.
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Definition: a current medium of exchange in the form of coins and banknotes; coins and banknotes collectively.
De Nero = Money
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I am one of those people who is hignly motivated by money. I like it, and I'm shamelss about this fact. When I got the awesome new job in Korea one of the first reasons I tell people why it's great: the pay.
And I love spending money. I like to get manicures, pedicures, messages, clothes, and new shoes. (Whoever said that diamonds are a girl's best friend was wrong. No, shoes are a girl's best friend. And cash.) I also love spending money on people I love and spending money to see the world.
But there's a big old catch to my love of money. I love spending MY money, cash that I earned. I feel proud of where I came from and the hard work into getting to where I am. I've never once desired to marry a rich man and be kept. No sir. That ain't the life for me. Nor do I want to die with a lot of money. I like money because of the things you can do with it, but, if I'm lucky, I'll die with 50cents in the bank and a valt full of expriences.
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Remember when I said Lamplight bought Jungle? Of course you do because you read my blog religiously. Okay, so probably not, but, that's not important. What is important is this:
Jacob Haddon is an awesome editor and not because he had the wherewithal to choose my story. No, no. He's awesome because he doesn't fool around. He gets stuff done. I Hence you can purchase LampLight today
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Have you ever missed something you never had? Me too.
It happened to me the first time recently. I lost something I never had and even though I never had it, I miss it.
Confused? Okay, let me explain this better. Have you ever heard of a show called, "I dream of Jeannie"? Okay, well missing something you never had would be a TV show called, "I Dream of Pipes."
Pink pipes are awesome!
I Dream of Pipes
channel WTF Mondays at 9 PM
No, no, no. I'm talking about pipe dreams, sheesh. I feel forlorn because I recently lost mine. I mean, you can't actually miss something you never had but ... I do, darn it. I miss it very much.
Pipe dreams, oh my!
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How do you spell the plural of status?
You add an es. I didn't know this. Writers don't know how to spell everything and anyway, I always got an A in creative spelling in school. That and lunch. Also, creative spelling wasn't a real class. No, really. I made it up just now.
Anyway, I have some statuses to explain. I'm working at a new call center.
Clearly, she has never worked in a call center.
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The new clutch that I put in my car so that it wouldn't breakdown went out. Thanks Firestone! (And by thanks, I mean the opposite sarcastically.)
But the great news is that Firestone was able to do a temporary fix until the parts came in from Kia. I drove my car less than ten miles on this temp fix when one of hoses to my radiator got a pin hole.
Firestone math: repairs = more repairs
Firestone = +*&%$
Thankfully, I only lost my job... and $300.00 in additional repairs. And don't get me wrong. They wanted to charge me more. A lot more. But I knew something was wrong when I got the car back from the initial clutch install. For one thing the clutch pedal was as soft as butter.
Four weeks prior to getting stranded and losing my job because I didn't have transportation:
Me: Why is my clutch so soft?
Firestone: They get hard before they go out. It's soft because it's a great clutch.
Me: It wasn't hard before. It was just firm. Also, why is my car running so rough? It sounds like crap.
Firestone: You're clutch was bad so your engine wasn't working properly.
Me: Are you sure. No, seriously, because that doesn't sound right at all. I really can't afford for this to go wrong because my job is 40 miles away. That's why I'm putting it in now. So, I'm not stranded later.
Firestone: It's fine. (In that condescending way men speak when a woman is being too female.)
Four weeks after the clutch was installed.
Firestone: You need this cylinder and that cylinder. It'll cost about $500.00
Me: If these parts were worn enough to go out exactly 30 days from the date of install, then the damage should have been obvious and they should have been replaced with the rest of the clutch.
I also, insisted they determine why my car was running rough and fix it. Of course, now the cylinders and the hoses have been replaced. And in all fairness the pinhole-hoses might have been coincidence. Then again my air-conditioner hasn't been working right since I got it back. But that too might just be coincidence.
To finish up the story, I asked them to put to box up "broken/worn" parts. I had every intention of getting them checked out. Despite making myself very, very clear on this the staff "forgot" and threw them out.
But even though this happened, I'm going to insist on this for every future repair. You see, I'm not a auto expert, but I can use Google like a fiend. I bet I could even take photos of the replaced items and get people who know about cars to tell me how serious and eminent the repair was. I'm not saying you should do this...
Wait, I am saying you should do this. Yeah, totally. If you go in to get an oil change and you come back with a tie rod need replaced say something like a tie rod... (Please note, I didn't pull this scenario out of a hat. It was a complaint I read about Firestone after I had my car repaired.)
"Well, I guess I don't have a choice. But box that part up. I'm going to have it check out to see what might have caused it to break."
Anyway, my clutch pedal is the way it was before they got their hands on my car. I've wondered if I called and asked "Why is my pedal firm... not soft, not hard, firm, if they'd tell that's because the clutch is bad? And that's how I went from one call center to the next, which in itself is a small miracle.
Most importantly, the call center I work at now, is actually a decent place to work. So it all worked out. Kind of.
So that's my statuses. Misuse intentional.
Today, I've announced some bad news but I also have some great news. My short story Jungle has been accepted by the all to awesome Lamplight Magazine.