About the story: The Importance of Undergarments at Science Fiction Conventions

Well the first draft of the story, The Importance of Undergarments at a Science Fiction Convention is completed. For those of you new to this, please start at Part 1 and work toward the conclusion-Part 11, you will better appreciate the story from the beginning. This is a first draft and I imagine there will be changes as there always is.

As many of you who have read my work know, I am one for quirky endings so I hoped I maintained that in this one. As you may have noticed I tried to mix humor with a bit of seriousness with the story. The humor about conventions is all meant in good fun. The romantic element I felt played a role in developing Mike's character and also to emphasize that those that go to conventions are just like everyone else. For those of you that need that all conclusive ending...well I didn't give you one. I left it for you to decide what is real and what is fantasy. And for those of you wondering about what is truth and what is not in the story--well that is left for you to wonder about.

If you have been following the story since its beginning, I thank you and if I made you giggle a little, I succeeded in what I attempted to do. Comments are always appreciated. Post to the blog or email me at aruggs@aol.com.

The Importance of Undergarments at a Science Fiction Convention-Part XI (11) The Conclusion

Part XI (11) The Conclusion

Previously: “Well, I began in my best James Bond voice, “how about you come back to bed and—”
“We can’t honey, the fourth floor no longer exists,” she said matter of fact like.


“And it did last night?” I asked.

“Of course it did. Don’t you remember?”

“Trista I don’t remember anything passed the elevator,” I said as my frustration peaked to new heights. “I really want to understand all this—what happened last night—who the hell you are—and what is really going on here!”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “Sorry about that—it’s all part of the process honey.”

“The process?” I asked. “I thought it was about you and experiencing the con?”

“Well sort of Mike,” she started hesitantly. “I don’t think you quite understand what is happening here.”

“Well, that’s an understatement,” I agreed.

“You see Mike— I’m your con fairy.”

“My what?”

“I’m your convention fairy and I am here for your convention experience—not mine.”

“Whoa…back up Trista my head is spinning!”

And it really was spinning. The room felt as if it was going 80 miles per hour and the G-forces were pinning me to the walls but in this the case the walls weren’t just drywall and plaster but a new reality of some sort.

“How can I explain this,” she began. “You see Mike, this is a new program that was initiated by the Fairies Customer Service Branch for the Betterment of all Mankind FCSBM, to show our appreciation to those like you that go to conventions. You keep us alive and vivid in the imaginations of thousands. So to show our appreciation in a way for all that you people do, we thought it would be appropriate to thank you in a way by giving YOU a real life fantasy for a change.”

“This is a joke right? Someone at the convention is puting you up to this? Either that or one of us is suffering delusions from consuming too much Nth degree tea at the party which I also do not remember attending.”

“No Mike, no tea—no party—this is as real as it gets considering it still fantasy.”

“Okay,” I began, “then if that is the case, why can’t I remember anything from last night?”

“Well you will, but not yet.”

“Huh?”

“I am a fairy Mike. I live in your dreams—not in the real world. So when we were on the fourth floor, which is really the area between the fantasy world and real life, what we experienced there will come to you in your dreams.”

“But you are physically here. I remember your grip on me—that wasn’t fantasy.”

“You’re correct. This physical shape you see before you is real, but only a mere shell of life with a very limited span of time. My real essence lies in that realm…”

“On the fourth floor..." I said as my voice trailed off and my thoughts beckoned to the dream part of my mind for answers.

“Yes,” she agreed. “And it was very special Mike I assure you. As a fairy I can experience not only physically but also your emotional psyche. “You’re a very special guy Mike, in another world or dimension I think I could easily fall in love with you.”

“I wish I could…understand what happened,” I said.

She stepped to within a few feet of me and placed her hand upon my forehead.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

I closed them and within a few seconds I was overcome by a warmth and sensation that I could only describe as an emotional bliss. She was there and I could feel her touch on me which both comforted and excited me. I had never known such feeling or emotional contact with anyone else. Was this how love felt—I don’t now. All I knew was that it was a feeling I did not want to part from. I stroked her face with my hands and bathed in the luxurious feel of her flesh. I kissed her fingers and held them to my own face feeling their softness in such stark contrast to my own.

I felt her remove her hand from my forehead and the euphoria I experienced dissipated immediately leaving me feeling empty.

“In your dreams I will come to you…” she said.

“But I don’t know if that will be enough,” I answered. “This is too wonderful to just leave to my dreams. There must be something else that can be done.”

“There will be other conventions,” she said and then smiled that grin that was somewhere between evil and innocence. “You never know…”

“But…suppose…” I grappled to find the words to ask the right question to get the answer I wanted. “Suppose I want to give you a rose or something…(at this point for some reason I don’t think I will ever comprehend, the Meatloaf song of “You took the words right out of my mouth,” came into my thoughts and ever since has been imbedded there.) I continued my line of thought “…you know just for GP, that’s general purpose, how would I get it to you?”

“Just leave them where you will and I will find them,” she said. Then she kissed me and finished getting dressed.

I watched her dress, not out of any sexual gratification, but out of the sheer enjoyment of watching her every movement. We didn’t talk for those few moments, it was as if we had telepathically agreed to not talk as we sorted everything into its place—or at least some form of temporary holding cell for later contemplation.
When she had finished dressing she said: “I must be on my way and you must drive me,” she said.

“To where,” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, “my time is almost done,” and offered nothing more.

From the time we left the hotel and on the drive home, we talked about everything as if we had known each other for a long period of time. We held hands; we kissed and just simply enjoyed the moment. I felt like asking the clichéd question, “Is this heaven?” but the thought that someone would say, “No, and that it was Iowa,” encouraged me to leave well enough alone.

So this brings us back to the beginning of this story. As I said, I was driving down the road and she had placed her head in my lap. She had fallen asleep, as evidenced by the snoring that emanated from her. I have to admit that the fact that fairies snore was a little disturbing but it was also a fact that I think I could easily overlook in this instance.

As she slept, I looked at the souvenir she had given me earlier which hung from my rearview mirror, the black bra. I couldn’t help but snicker about the whole affair. As I did so, I actually experienced a dream flashback to what I had experienced earlier in the hotel when she had touched my forehead. The euphoria was momentary but oh so gratifying and any attempt to place into words would be meaningless. But emotions and feelings may be transformed into words and I heard her words clearly…as well as the words that softly crept across my lips…I love you too…

This euphoria was quickly replaced by the sound of a siren and the flashing of blue lights in my rearview mirror—a State Trooper. A quick glance at the speedometer confirmed I was going about ten miles over the speed limit. I began to decelerate and pull off onto the shoulder.

“Trista,” I said as I gently shook her, “Wake up.”

She looked up at me with those blue eyes. Her eyes were the brightest blue I had ever seen. As I looked at her they grew brighter and brighter until the front seat of the car was encompassed in a blue-white light. Then it suddenly went dark leaving my vision full of those white spots you see when a flash goes off directly in your line of sight.

“Sir, can I see your license and registration,” the officer’s voice boomed into my consciousness.

I ignored the voice as my eyes cleared and saw that Trista was no longer here with me. My eyes told me she was gone but my mind refused to accept the fact because it simply did not want to.

“Sir, can I see your license and registration,” the officer repeated.

“She’s gone,” I said.

“Who is gone sir?” the officer asked.

“Trista,” I answered. “She’s gone.”

The officer shined his light into the interior of my car. The beam stopped on the bra.

“Sir, can you step out of the vehicle,” the officer said in a more authoritative voice. “Do you want to tell me what “that” (referring to the bra) is about?”

In moments of despair or anguish, we take much comfort in strangers. I relayed the entire story to the police officer. After I had finished I was asked to sit in the police car and was later transported to the police station. After retelling the story again, I was evaluated by the police psychiatrist on duty. He placed me on an overnight hold due to possible suicidal tendencies due to an emotional breakdown. I was released the next day into the custody of my parents and court ordered to seek professional assistance in dealing with an undetermined trauma.

That was about nine months ago. Since that time I have had many sessions with a psychiatrist and have been deemed no risk to society. Talking with the shrink the goal was for me to rationalize what happened with Trista, the shrink’s answer was that it was all a fantasy that I had played out in my mind.

“So what about the bra?" I asked? "It is physical evidence that proves her existence?”

“It is much more probable,” the shrink began, “that you went out and bought it subconsciously as part of your fantasy and somehow managed to block it from your mind. It’s the only reasonable and plausible answer.”

This seemed to be a sticking point so I thought it best to just agree with him and move along. Once I did, I was deemed fit to return to my meager existence of life as I knew it. I agreed readily with the shrink because he could not touch those dreams that were locked up in my head. Those were mine and I kept and cherished them.

I still go to conventions and I haven’t changed my routine very much while there. I go to panels, talk with friends, and just hang out. I sit in the bar and have a drink. I will grab a table that has two chairs and make sure that the other chair is left unoccupied. I leave a rose at the front desk at each hotel for Trista. I don’t know if they are ever picked up or not but I leave them anyway. If the shrink knew I was doing this he probably bring me in for my counseling so let’s just keep this between us...okay?

As to my own theory as to what happened that weekend…I keep it in my heart and my dreams. As to what is real and what is not—well when it comes to a matter of the heart, those things are best left alone and you just follow them where they lead you in life.

As to the bra—well I still have it…and the assortment of colors it comes in.


THE END

I hope you have enjoyed the short story.

The Importance of Undergarments at A science Fiction Convention Part X (10)

Part X (10)

Previously: “Trista, there are only three floors. There is no fourth floor. And what was that about back there when you said—”
“No fourth floor—is that what you think,” she said and grabbed me…well…let’s just leave it at that.

There comes a day in our lives when something both bizarre and wonderful happens. And I think that night in the elevator at that moment, it was my time. Call it fate, destiny, or whatever word works for you. The event changes us forever as it molds and shapes us into what we were meant to be. That was what happened to me that night that much I am sure of. My epiphany had finally arrived…

The only problem is that I don’t remember a damned thing!

I awoke in my hotel room on Sunday morning. I was naked and my body felt as if I had been run over by a tractor trailer…several times. The sound of the shower running indicated that I was not alone. A few minutes later Trista came out of the bathroom.

“Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning to you sweetie,” she said. “Sleep well,” she said and then winked at me.
“Ah…well I’m not sure,” I said because well…I wasn’t sure of much of anything at the moment.
“You should have,” she said with a very provocative edge to her voice. “You were very much on target last night.”
“Well that’s good,” I said without knowing what the hell she was talking about.

Of course one would associate that comment with the act of…well you know what. But at this point if I had not learned anything else, I had learned to not take anything at face value with Trista.

“Did we…ah—”
“Yes,” she continued, “you were quite helpful to a needy woman last night. You made my convention experience complete. I now understand it all.”
Trying to be subtle I asked, “So this on target was a good thing?”
“Oh yes,” she purred, “a very good thing and several times while we were on the 4th floor.”
“The fourth floor,” I said remembering the elevator and the button that only went to the three floors that the hotel claimed to have.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Ah…and because of what happened on the fourth floor, you now have a complete understanding of the convention experience?”
“Oh yes, and all thanks to you.”

Okay that was it. If this wasn’t a complete role reversal and the most bizarre occurrence I have ever had…or anyone else for that matter I don’t know what is. I had come to the con, scored with a beautiful woman, and couldn’t remember any of what I did on a floor that doesn’t exist. Yet here was Trista with this complete and utter look of contentment on her face and if she felt any more fulfilled she was going to need another room to fit her disposition in. Talk about not being fair—and yes I know what fair is—a place for cotton candy and rides. I wanted my due. I wanted a memory of the convention and I was going to have it.

“Well, I began in my best James Bond voice, “how about you come back to bed and—”
“We can’t honey, the fourth floor no longer exists,” she said matter of fact like.

To be continued…

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part IX (9)

Part IX (9)
Previously: As she ushered me into the elevator she placed her arms around me and kissed me…deeply. I say again…deeply.

Did I mention that there were people on the elevator? And not just people but con-goers of all shapes and sizes. Of course you will ask: Well how did you know—didn't you have your eyes closed when you were kissing her. There could be several dignified answers to that question but I will just have to say no. No, I did not have my eyes closed. It was in an elevator for God sakes. Who closes their eyes when on an elevator? Besides, don’t you remember what happened in Fatal Attraction…never mind…

Anyway, there was someone dressed up as a Wookiee—and a darned good one too—it was so good I could feel the hairball forming in my throat. It just tilted its head in my direction and with its furry hands and gave me the proverbial thumbs up.

Then there was the woman who was dressed up as…well I guess it was as Blade or something (why would a woman dress up like a man…never mind). She wasn’t smiling though—she just stroked the sword that was encased on her back…which I hoped was not real.

Next there was a…you guessed it a pirate…dressed as none other than Captain Jack Sparrow, he winked at me showing me a full mouth of gold—more than I cared to see.

And for the coup de grace, there was the poor mundane couple. A plain ordinary middle aged couple who for sure had 2.5 kids and two cars of which one was an import—you can just tell these things sometimes as well as their candid reaction to unfortunately being at a hotel where there was a convention going on. They were wide eyed and slunk as far back in the elevator as they could get from all of us.

Well when I regained enough of my composure to try and communicate this fact to Trista she seemed to already sense my trepidation and she broke away from the kiss while still remaining in my arms. (No resistance from me either.) But as she backed away from me she looked different somehow. At first I couldn’t describe it but when she spoke it rocked my world…again.

She turned toward the Wookiee and said: “That must be hot as hell, huh?” And then without missing a beat she turned to the woman dressed as Blade and said, “You need to reexamine your feminine side,” and of course the pirate was not left unscathed as she fired a broadside at him, “I bet you don’t know any good pirate pick up lines—do you?”

That left only the normal mundane people to which I assumed would be left alone. Wrong. She looked at them and said, “I bet someone is going to get lucky tonight? Come on admit it, the costumes are kind of kinky aren’t they?”

Okay so at this point I figured that someone switched the girl I had been talking with earlier because this was certainly not the unsure and naïve girl I remembered. This girl was Miss SNARKY, circa 2006.

“Trista,” I said not sure if I was stating or asking it. “Are you alright?”
“Of course.” she said. “The update is working fine.”
“The what?” I asked.
“Never mind,” she said.

I could feel her winding up for a next assault on the poor people and tried to think of someway to not have her decimate them. So I did the first thing that came to my mind and placed a lip lock on her that left her unable to speak. I kept her that way as we hit the second and third floor.

On the second floor the mundane couple got off the elevator trying to seem very cool with the whole scenario they found themselves in, yet failing miserably. As con-goers you get used to this kind of thing and it really doesn’t faze you any more. On the third floor the rest of the people got off as well heading off to one of the con parties—a usual Saturday night.

I released Trista from my grasp and made a move to get off the elevator. But she pulled me back in.

“What?” I asked. “Are we going back down?”
“No,” she said calmly, “we have one more floor to go.”

Now I have to admit that I had been paying absolutely no attention to the elevator keypad and the circles of numbers. But at that moment something told me to look. When I finished my thorough examination I returned my attention to Trista.

“Trista, there are only three floors. There is no fourth floor. And what was that about back there when you said all that weird stuff?”

“No fourth floor—is that what you think,” she said in a purring sound that sent a complete armada of goosebumps into motion. Then she grabbed me and…well…let’s just leave it at that.

To be continued…

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part VIII (8)

Part VIII (8)

Previously:
“Well there was this magazine I picked up, the title was a temperature reference or something, and I was reading a story about a man and woman that drove into a parking lot. She asked him to park in a dark area and—”

“Whoa…” I exclaimed, not wanting to go there…well at least not yet anyway. I needed a distraction. Then as if a miracle (insert heavenly music here) was beamed down from wherever they come from, I saw one. My miracle came in the simple version of a paper flyer which was posted on the wall.

“And the parties are a true con experience you don’t want to miss out on either,” I said.

“Party? A body of persons united for some common purpose...this is an important part of the ritual?”

“Important! Why of course. You see, there are the daytime activities and then there are the night time activities. Parties are a common theme at most conventions.”

“Describe them more,” she said.

I felt her hand tighten on mine—must be really into this touching thing I thought—will save that for later consideration.

“Well let’s see, there are a few that are regulars such as the bar-nymphs, pirates, other conventions promoting themselves,” I rambled off the top of my head quickly.

“Bar-nymphs? This terminology is very conflicting. A bar is a place of drink or similar social activity, but nymph may refer to maidens or the young of insects? Please explain,” she said as that perplexed look that I was becoming accustomed to come over her face…again.

“Well, it’s just a group of fun folks that get together and have a good time.”

“Specifics please—she said firmly as her grip on my hand squeezed tighter. “I need to understand the terminology.”

“Ah…let’s see,” I began, “I’m not really that sure about the connotation behind the name, perhaps they start off as the insect version of nymphs and end up as maidens? Alcohol can be a wonderful transformation tool if you know what I mean…”

“I do not,” she said, “how can insects turn into maidens?”

“You missed my attempt at humor,” I said.

“Apparently,” she agreed readily.

“Look, it’s just a group of people. They’re fun and entertaining—well most of them anyway.”

As I waited for her response, she tilted her head to one side and kind of looked off into that distant place she had a habit of going to. But this time it was different than before. Her face held a bemused look as if she was …I don’t know how to explain it—before she had that look…very vague and indistinct. Earlier I coined it as she was off somewhere having dinner with Elvis or something. But now it was as if she was communing with Elvis…or worse. She had this mischievous look on her face that well…both scared me and delighted me.


“Hello?” I said.

“What about the pirates?” she asked surprising me by coming out of her trance and changing the topic away from the bar-nymph issue. “What do pirates have to do with a science fiction convention?”

“Ah…good question. Never really thought about it before but I guess they play in the fantasy realm enough to qualify,” I answered. “Regardless they are still a very fun crowd and some of the wenches…well we’ll save that for another time.”

“As you wish,” she said simply.

At this point I am starting to wonder why she is agreeing with me and letting this stuff go by without any further explanation. Something had changed. But if she was going to be agreeable—this seems like an opportune time to suggest some extra curricular activity of my own. But I needed to ease into it somehow.

“Can I get you another drink?” I suggested.

“Do you want me to change like your bar-nymphs?” she asked.

Hmmm…I said to myself. Was that a touch of Snarkism I detect? That’s new. Maybe she has this alter personality going on or something. Maybe its time to ratchet this up a notch and—

“We shall go to the 4th floor,” she said. “Now! I am ready!”

“Ready for—” I began as she snatched me out of my chair and motioned me toward the elevator.

“In a hurry are we?” I asked.

“Yes,” she simply said with no explanation. “We must get to the 4th floor.”

As she ushered me into the elevator she placed her arms around me and kissed me…deeply. I say again…deeply.

To be continued…

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part VII (7)

Part VII(7)

Suddenly she reached out and grabbed my wrist. I was shocked and yet at the same time I felt a surge of goose bumps envelop my entire body…I say again…my entire body! For a few seconds she didn’t say anything but just looked at me intently. I felt as if I couldn’t move, but then I didn’t want to anyway.

Maintaining that grip, she said, “I’m confused.”

“Well join the club darlin,” I answered. “Everyone here is confused in some way or another. That’s part of the con experience. We come to escape.”

Her stare seemed to become vacant for a few moments as if she was thinking about something completely distant or she was having dinner with Elvis. Yet she maintained her grip on me and I have to admit...I was pretty excited about it. My name is Bond...James Bond...

Finally she spoke, “I am sensing your elevated hormones which are focusing on the sexual aspect.”

"Say what?" I said aloud and then I muttered numerous and sundry silent curses. I too was feeling the elevation…so to speak. I felt very transparent and a wee bit embarrassed. I crossed my legs.

“Yet,” she continued, “I sense that there is much more you are not telling me. Where I am wrong in my information?”

Her hand slid from my wrist and down to my hand where she maintained a firm grip. Her hand was warm and very inviting. I was about to grasp it with my other free hand (Yes, I was still plying the sex angle--damn it!) when she spoke.

“Tell me,” she said again. “How is my information incorrect?”

“Well your information isn’t really wrong,” I said starting to back pedal quickly before I ruined an all too good to be true scenario. “Let's start from the beginning. Maybe you can tell me where you got your information from?” I asked.

“Well, I read about it the literature on the table in the hallway. The one where there are stacks of paper which are free.”

“The freebie table?”

“Yes,” she said and then acquired a puzzled look on her face. “The name is curious. In terms of slang, it constitutes an act between a man and woman—”

“Not exactly,” I said and then added quickly, “Look a Klingon,” I said pointing at someone at the bar. I needed a few moments to regroup and…reorganize. I was beginning to feel like I was on a game show: What’s Your Most Embarrassing Moment or How to Screw Up an Opportune Moment…where is she getting this stuff from!

“Interesting,” she said as she returned her glance back to me, “more of the experience as you say?”

“Of course,” I said and launched into a big sigh of relief. “Where did you say you were from again?”

“The fourth floor,” she said casually.

“But that’s just where you are— oh never mind,” I said not wanting to tempt fate any further. This conversation was becoming like the Abbott and Costello routine: Whose on First? (for you "younger folks" you haven’t lived until you have—go here for an audio sampler of it: http://www.phoenix5.org/humor/WhoOnFirst.html)

“So you were saying earlier?” I asked.

“You were explaining the true significance of the freebie table.”

“Right. Well you can’t believe everything you read over there…there’s a lot of stuff there that doesn’t have an ounce of truth to it.”

“Then why is it there if it contains incorrect information?”

“Well maybe incorrect is not the right word,” I said. “The table is a place for people that might be marketing either an event, like another convention, or there are things there from writers that are marketing their own work. There are magazines, buttons, pens and a whole bunch of stuff. But youhave to keep in mind, its allself serving so there might be some truth strectching going on.

“Ah I see now how I may have made the wrong assertion,” she said.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what else did you read from there?”

“Well there was this magazine I picked up, the title was a temperature reference or something, and I was reading a story about a man and woman that drove into a parking lot. She asked him to park in a dark area and—”

“Whoa…” I exclaimed.

To be continued…

Fun In The South

A short break from the story. Attended TRINOC this weekend in Raleigh, NC--had a really great time catching up with friends and of course always more fodder for stories.

I was really impressed with the thoroughness of the vampire presentation complete with the special effects--thanks to all who assisted in the delivery and execution. Roses and messages were a really nice touch and if it was any more realistic--it wouldn't have been a fantasy. Maybe it was real?

Personal note: If driving in the area, beware of the parking lots that let you in...but don't let you out. They tend to keep coming back to haunt you:)

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part VI

Part VI
“You wish to have sex first? This is part of the ritual? Is this where the naked chef comes in as well as the card game?”

Another Moment of Decision Time

Okay…now here I was sitting in the bar with this gorgeous woman who appeared to be lacking in the brain department but made up for it in the other sundry areas. You know what I mean; clueless doesn’t even come close to defining her mental capability. So one could tell her about the misconception she has or someone could take shameless advantage of it for their own personal gain.
I chose to do the right thing and point out her misconception. I really did. Honest and cross my heart and all that stuff (for about a millisecond).

Don’t shake your head or say tsk…tsk…tsk as you wag your finger at the computer screen. You would have done the same thing I did and you know it. At conventions there is an implied leeway to the rules of decorum…you check them at the lobby and that’s where they stay. You know the saying…what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Well at conventions it’s sort of the same thing except it’s just a lot less glamorous or if you prefer…spiffy.

Okay, back to the conversation. After overcoming my shock at given any thought to refusing this offer, I found my voice and continued.

“Trista, I’m not sure about the naked chef thing or the card game, but the sex is a big YES in order to truly experience the convention and all its subtle nuances.”

“But the naked chef thing, I thought that was important to? If you lost the bet playing cards you had to cook dinner—naked?”

“Honey w-h-a-t-e-v-e-r. But you must have your wires crossed with the Food Network or a combination of those wacky reality shows. I don’t know about the naked chef thing or the card thing, but if that is a requirement for you—well then I’m all for it. I’m sure I could find an apron and a deck of cards…after all it is a convention and weirdness abounds in every corner and crevice. It’s just the way it is…”

To be continued…

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part V

Note: I have not received very many comments about the story so far which is rather disappointing. If you don't want to respond to the blog...you can email me at aruggs@aol.com with your thoughts. Hint: I need some encouragement to keep going with this folks :()

Part V
“Ah…yes, well con virgin. Sorry, it’s just a term for people attending their first con and then there’s the other meaning…well we don’t need to go into that. You’re not from around here are you?
“Yes I am,” she countered.
“So you’re local then?”
“Well not at the moment. I like to think of it in relative terms. I’m from the 4th floor.”
“I’m confused,” I said lightheartedly but I really was confused.
“That’s not really important,” she said.
“Right, you want to observe the…ritual as you said.”
“Will you help me?”
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
“Everything. I want to be…how do you say…I want to be intimate with the ritual so that I have a complete understanding.”

“Intimate,” I said as my mind immediately went in the wrong direction with the word. Now here is another of those moments when you either say something really slick or you fall completely on your face in embarrassment by making a bad joke. Being me, I of course chose option number 2.

“Intimate,” I repeated, “shouldn’t we get to know one another a little first? My name is Mike and you are?”
“Trista,” she said and then appeared to think over what I had just said.

I felt the impending cloud of doom settle upon me as I waited for her to either slap me or pour the contents of her drink into my crotch. My self preservation instinct kicked in and I tried to change the subject so that I could try and cover my butt with that last remark I made.

“So Trista, that’s a pretty name. What is its origin?”

She didn’t answer. It was like she was communing with the silence or deciding how she was going to kill me. I could deal with option one but not two.

“Of course,” she finally said in a tone that flowed assuredly as if she had just discovered some exiting medical breakthrough or something. “Now I understand your earlier reference to virgin.”

“Huh?” I said totally confused. I removed my hands from my groin area where they had gone into the defensive mode. “What do you understand?”

“You wish to have sex first? This is part of the ritual? Is this where the naked chef comes in or is it the card game?”

To be continued…

The Importance of Undergarments & Science Fiction Conventions-Part IV

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. All persons, places, and events are FICTION. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Part IV

When my heart settled back into place, it was then that I realized that she was talking to me. So naturally I did the manly thing and ushered out in my most charismatic tone possible the first coolest words I could imagine at the moment.
"Excuse me, are you speaking to me?" I asked. ( I said it was at the moment, what did you expect.)
"Yes," she replied with a smile that fused the rubber soles of the Payless shoes I was wearing to the floor. "Yes, I was talking to you," she said again.

**Insert Moment of Decision Time**

Do I stay or do I go, (some song lyric which I can't remember the title to). I actually thought, for a very brief instance, of going off to a panel and giving the table to her. But then an epiphany of extraordinary proportion rocked my world!

(angelic quotes)Maybe just maybe she wants to sit here because I am here. (angelic quotes)

I almost choked on my own thought which is actually harder and more dangerous than choking on actual words. Try it sometime and you will see what I mean. Anyway I figured why not? I didn't have anything to lose considering that the panel selection of the hour mainly consisted of drum circles or a reading by John...somebody.

I quickly looked around the bar to see if anyone I knew was there to ensure that if I got dumped in vivid color they wouldn't see it and then have the details show up in somebody's blog or something. People that go to conventions will blog about anything (consider yourself warned)!

Finally when I realized that she was still standing there, (of course remember that all of these thoughts were a blur of mere seconds in my mind), I spoke.
"Sure," I said loudly so that anyone nearby could see what was happening in case I woke up the next day with no recollection of the event. Proof is always important in these situations as you will see as this story progresses.
She smiled and sat down. And there she remained not saying a word and just looking at me.
"So," I began, " you're obviously not here for the convention judging by your attire. Are you here for another event, a party or something?"
"No," she said, "I am here for the convention. I want to observe the rituals of the gathering."
"The what?" I stammered.
"The ritual," she repeated. "I've heard that these events are quite popular so I wanted to see what it was comprised of."
"Ah, okay," I said wondering what the heck she was talking about. I assumed she was a foreigner or something that came from a country where they didn't have any conventions. But she didn't have any accent that I could discern. Could she be pulling my leg? Maybe she was just one of those snarky women that go to cons and prey on innocent men like myself and watch dwarf mud wrestling competition for thrills---(sorry for ther image-but they are out there).
"Are they not popular?" she asked sounding disappointed and interuppting my most pessimistic thought of impending rejection of the absurd.
"They are, it's just that...well the way you are dressed, you kind of stand out at a convention. Is this your first one?"
"Yes it is."
"A con virgin," I said without even thinking and wished I could take it back. Not only did I insert foot in mouth--but numerous other anatomical parts as well.
"A virgin," she said, "a young woman who has never had sexual intercourse. I don't understand the correlation of the two? Can you please explain that comment?"

To be continued...

The Importance of Undergarments & Science Fiction Conventions-Part III

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. All persons, places, and events are FICTION. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

The Importance of Undergarments & Science Fiction Conventions-Part III

I probably need to go back to the beginning. I was at a science fiction convention. Now before you go into convulsions and start waving the Vulcan “V” symbol with your hand and everything, it’s not that kind of convention. While were on the subject, lets also dispel another nasty rumor that always comes up when someone says they go to science fiction conventions— I am not what I would call a geek—maybe you would but I don’t think so. I have a life outside of this activity as well—thank you very much and I do not live in my parent’s basement although I do know many that do fit into this category, but that’s another story (see the Panel from Hell blog that hasn’t been written yet). But even that is not going to compare with what happened to me that weekend.

The conventions I go to are more about the books and media. Anyway, I go to conventions because I like science fiction, fantasy, and horror stuff. I also go to hang out with my friends and have some fun talking about the latest trends and all that stuff. So like I was saying, there I was at the convention and it was a Saturday night. I was sitting in the bar relaxing and having a beer as I perused the programming schedule to see what I wanted to do next. People I know were passing by and saying hello—just the usual things that happen at a con. But then the unusual happened.

The voice came from somewhere but I wasn’t actually sure where. It was as if the voice surrounded me like some home theater system—the sound simply resonating all around me.

“May I join you?” a woman’s voice said.

I looked up and saw this woman standing next to my little table and looking at me. Now first impressions are usually important in terms of understanding events. Let me explain, she was wearing this very slinky black evening dress…you know the kind with the little straps that look like if you pull on them they will fall apart. The first thought that came into my mind was that she was not attending the convention—convention goers are usually not known for their dinner dress apparel.

The rest of her that was tucked into this little dress was quite interesting…okay she was freaking gorgeous! Long brown hair that tickled her shoulders and a face that not only could launch a thousand ships, but which could launch an entire universe for that matter. Blue eyes that glittered with the reflection of light that gave the impression of a flickering candle. Soft smooth cheeks that seemed to beckon to be touched…and often. That's whenI should have realized I was in trouble.

To be continued...

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part II

See the title is starting to change already.

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. All persons, places, and events are FICTION. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Part II

The Importance of Undergarments and Conventions

Like I was saying, I was driving that night. I was on the interstate on the way back from a science fiction convention. Trista, I still don't feel right using that name because I'm not really sure if that was her name, but I guess it's the only proper way to identify her rather than by saying she all the time.

So there I am driving and the next thing that happened was Trista leaned over my seat and rested her head on my thigh. This was after she had taken her bra off. It was hanging on my rear view mirror. I remember the part about the bra well because: (a) its such a rare occurrence and (b) she smiled that grin she seemed to always be able to summon on demand. I thought of it as an evil grin but never complained, why ruin a good thing right? She said it was a souvenir to remember her by. I thought the words were harmless at the time, you know, just having some fun and making a coy comment and all. Later I realized it wasn't.

So here I am driving with her head in my lap. Is the suspense killing you yet? Well it was killing me at the time this was happening. But that was one of the many strange things that kept on occurring. I say things because there are so many but right now I am just referring to this one particular instance.

So there I was and there she was. Well after a few minutes she stopped moving. I thought she had died or something but when she started snoring I realized that she had only fallen asleep. Some of you may be wondering what effect her falling asleep had on my male ego but after you hear the rest of the events, you will learn that this was the least of my concerns in comparison to the police, the psychiatrists, the dwarfs, the snarky women—a regular cast of thousands. But all that comes later.

(I may be pushing the envelope a little with the dwarfs but the rest is pretty solid.)

To be continued...

The Importance of Undergarments & Conventions- A Continuing Story-Part I

Okay...as this blog is designed to have something to do with writing, I have decided to create a short story. As I mentioned in a previous post--the ideas have been fermenting for a short story and one dealing with conventions is well overdue.

How it will work. I will attempt to post daily portions of the story as I create it. I will probably only post a paragraph or two at a time until I feel more confident with the direction so please be patient. Any comments along the way will be greatly appreciated. The title is tentative so we will see as the story moves along if it stays the same.

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION. All persons, places, and events are FICTIONAL. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental unless you hang with dead people and that is an entirely new issue.


The Importance of Undergarments and Conventions (Part 1)


I have the bra to prove she was real. It is one of the few credible pieces of evidence that is keeping me from going insane.

The chain of events is a little convoluted in my mind but there are certain things I remember for sure. I am going to try and explain what happened using these specific instances that I can recall as markers so as to keep the timeline of events in order.

I remember I was in my car driving with a semi naked woman. I have her bra to prove it. I know I already mentioned that but I want to keep that in the forefront of your thoughts because it's very important. It is black in color, one of those types without the straps. Specifics are always important in any given setting however the fact that the bra was black and did not have straps is not really important unless you are taking personal preferences into consideration. But even in that consideration, this is not the most exciting or bizarre part of the story. That comes later.

To be continued...

The Joys of Short Story Fodder

I really need to allow myself to sink back into the realm of writing short stories. I haven't really written any more since Aliens and Satanic Creatures Wanted: Humans Need Not Apply was published.

The joys about short story writing are many: they are much shorter in length so they are finished a lot quicker, they are easily launched from the mind--at least mine are anyway, and are quick to be formulated, and lastly...they are so much fun.

I have a habit, yes one of many,in that I tend to write them pointedly in that there is some underlying social comment in them. If you haven't seen that underlying tone, take a look at:

Invasion or Subversion
Lucky Lucifers Car Emporium
Reap What You Sow
the list goes on and on but these three are good starting points...

If you would be so kind...let me know what you think it is. And if you're correct...there might even be a prize for you.

But the real joy in short stories is the kick off point. By this I am referring to the actual moment when the thought behind the story kicks into high gear. It never ceases to amaze me how small the actual triggering event may be yet how quickly the story forms around this single point. Lately there have been quite a few and this probably has me thinking about this topic so much.

Maybe its time to go back to the short story...and have some fun (insert evil grin here).

Work--the Perfect Companion

Shaking your head already are we? Well not so fast.

Work (and in this case I am referring to writing although it could be just about anything)is my/our good friend. It doesn't have reasons why they can't do whatever or something doesn't come up unexpectedly...heck it doesn't even have to wash its hair on a Friday night. It never argues with you and most of the time it is quite complacent to your desires. It doesn't even give you a dirty look when you use its toothbrush either. So therefore--there is no disappointment.

Someone get Mr. Freud there to sit back down--I'm not ready for him yet!

We all have our quirks, I tend to work more (write) when I am not in a good mood of sorts, bored, frustrated...whatever, maybe that is why I write some dark stuff. Yeah...I know dark and brooding. Sometimes it almost feels like a guilty pleasure to be light-hearted or humorous. Anyway I do write when I am in a good mood and of course it is probably in a more positive light which makes a nice balance if there is enough of it.

Not yet Mr. Freud...you'll get your chance--believe me!

Call it a form of escapism if you will, I would because that is what it is. Work allows us to channel energy, whether negative or positive into something that ultimately and hopefully will be a good thing if done correctly. Now of course, this may not be healthy and of course social interaction is probably the best, but sometimes we just can't get what we want and we have to settle for what is available.

Okay Mr. Freud...Take me away...I'm all yours.

Whose Deja Vu Is It?

The term deja vu is defined as " a distortion of memory in which a new situation or experience is regarded as having happened before, or as already seen." (Websters Dictionary.

Recently, while in conversation, someone suggested an event that I would be involved in and went into great detail describing it. Well it didn't dawn on me at that moment, but while doing some editing work, I virtually came across an identical event that I had written in one of my forthcoming books.

So whose deja vu is it...theirs or mine? Is it my deja vu because I wrote it and then heard someone tell me about it later...or is it theirs because they relayed an event that they had no knowledge of me writing and then discovered it? Yet there is another possibility as well...what if I am writing about things that have yet to happen to me? Am I writing what will be my fate and more importantly do I have control of my own destiny through what I put on paper?

I don't know about you...but this is freaking me out some here. Granted this may not be as bizarre as Demon Ducks but it is in a way a bit more scary in that it is now--right now and not bones in the dirt of things from the past. This deja vu is now...or is that incorrect? Perhaps I have yet to experience the deja vu for this event.

Please leave comments or have you done that already and it just has not happened?

I'm all confused...

A Subtle but Important Rebuke of An Earlier Post

A while back I posted a comment on how electrons and words don't mix. As I do subscribe to that philosophy, I have recently learned that there is room for exception and some hope.

I recently taught this play called "Sure Thing," in one of my classes. Basically it is about a man and a woman and they are having a conversation. As they move through the discussion, the conversation reaches a point where a bell will sound indicating that the conversation has ended because one of them has said the wrong thing and at the wrong time. The point is that timing is everything in conversations.

Recently I had a phone conversation with someone (one of my precious editors whom I adore for putting up with me) where it ended on a so-so note...okay call it a bell--maybe the timing was off or whatever but my/her point didn't get across. Well, surprisingly, a little later I received an email with further clarification of what I/She had tried to express in our conversation and it made it alright...well better than alright actually.

So electrons came through this day...and that's a good thing. So maybe there is hope if the timing is right and the context is clear:), or perhaps it is just a factor of how well you know someone. Anyway, it's all good at the moment.

Multitasking and Missing Out

This is not about any one person, a group of people, or organization--but rather a social commentary of sorts...

I know in this day and age that we have to do things at the same time and all--busy-busy--busy. With the electronic wonders of the day, it becomes even easier to accomplish several things at once and I imagine that younger folks are probably better at this to some extent having grown up during the electronic revolution and it is part of their world moreso than the older folks. Yet, I do it as well, for instance as I sit here and type this I am burning CD's as well. But my point--yes there is one--it seems like there always is one lately--is that I am not interacting with some one at the same time.

Maybe I am just showing my age. But sharing actual moments with people whether its casually or of a more important nature, we owe it to each other to show attention to one another. I have this thing about attention. When two people are interacting, this surpasses anything else that is happening in the background. For instance, suppose you are walking down the street and meet someone you know and you start talking, do you partake in the conversation while you trim your nails, pick your nose, think about what you did last night, go through your calendar of events for the week...I hope not. If you do, you need to develop some personality skills.

So why is it so different when we are on line? Why do we hold multiple conversations at the same time while surfing the web looking for something that probably can wait to be looked for?

I feel slighted. Yes...slighted when this occurs.
If I am conversing with someone, I like to think that I am important enough to garner their attention--all of it. Is that so difficult to understand? Maybe it is...

The signs of impending doom: the long pauses in between the IM's or worse...over the telephone you hear the keyboard clicking away in the background. I have even had it happen when the person got the little conversation boxes mixed up--boy that did make me feel good when I suddenly had a different name and the conversation was about something I didn't really need to hear...nor wanted to. I can go on and on with this but what really is the point.

Some will say that I am being difficult or overthinking this kind of stuff. And maybe I am. But as people we all need to feel wanted--that we are important to others whether its work--pleasure--whatever.

Electrons and all that stuff is great. I love it. But when it replaces or changes our perception of what "real" is, then I am concerned. When I am no longer a real person, but just a name on the email list or instant messenger roster, I feel degraded. When I talk with people, I give them my attention...I put aside what can wait for a few moments and experience the voice or for that matter the electrons. I get a cup of coffee or smoke a cigarette as I imagine the real person on the other end. They deserve my attention and I want theirs in return--is that really so much to ask?

In the future...maybe we will be able to create a pseudo electronic person that memorizes your keystrokes so it can talk to people for you--that way you won't have to have that nasty personal interaction. Heck, maybe hand holding or touching will be translated into a series of bleeps--acronys--or maybe even a mouse that sends pulses or something to your hand to simulate the actual thing.

Fortunately IM's can't be sent to the grave...not yet anyway.

Why Write & The The Moral Responsibility

Well the great debate was due to arise at some point so...why not. Some of the possible answers that I am aware of are:

(a) enjoyment/satisfaction
(b) to make a living
(c) notoriety/self esteem
(d) to escape their own lives
(e) none of your business
(f) all of the above
(g) other variations or combinations of above

Let's take a look at each one. First (a-enjoyment/satisfaction), this one makes sense to most folks. If writing is something you enjoy, whether you are making loads of money or not, (insert snicker here),then the satisfaction derived is common sense. There is also the satisfaction derived from receiving feedback from readers that they (hopefully) enjoyed your work. Although there are exceptions to every rule, this holds true in most cases. So, lets move on.

The second choice (b-to make a living)many wish to fit into this category although the actual number of writers that can honesty say they do (and not starve)is fairly small overall compared with the number that actually play in the field. I would guess maybe 10% or less. However, many hope to reach this level and consider it a major goal and like most things can either enjoy it or not if money is a primary driving force.

Our next category (c-notoriety/esteem)Some might consider this as strong a point as choice b-making a living. Receiving the acknowledgement or recognition of others in and out of your craft can be as rewarding as the financial aspect itself. For some, who do not need to worry about financial concerns, because they do not have to or they realize that their writing will reach only so far, may tend to reside within this category. Then there is the other side to this category that there are those who "command" this rather than earn it. You know who you are out there...get back in line!

Moving on brings us to a highly sensitive area(d-to escape their lives). Some need to escape their actual physical and mental world and use writing as a tool or therapy if you will to leave it all behind. (Freud is looking over my shoulder here so I need to be careful). This applies to both writers and readers. The main difference is that writers have the choice of creating their own "place" whereas readers have to pick from what the writers offer. Personally, I think that escape exists in many forms so if it isn't hurting anyone else--why not. Although with anything, a sense of concern exists as to not fall completely into the "escape" that has been created for we may not ever get out and back to the reality in which we must live.

There are those who will just say..."hey my reasons are my own and it's none of your business," and thats okay and we respect that but you have to wonder a little about that.

Finally, there are combinations of the choices above which can be mixed and matched to each individual. Some might even select each category and even this makes some sense. And I am sure that there are other areas as well that are possible choices for folks.

However, what I think needs to be kept in mind here though is a double edged sword.

HINT-sounds like the moral of the story coming folks.

There is an evil that lurks within these reasons that some people are not aware of and they subconsciously fall prey to it. There are also others that consciously use this evil to their advantage.

Evil I say--read on...

Write what you want and for the reason you want to is a great philosophy to live by--but--how you are perceived is something that should be considered as well. Whether you want to believe it or not, for whatever reason you chose above, once you place something out there for public consumption--you are now responsible for it.

There are many people out there that will hang on your every word and faithfully await your next work. YOU owe these people. They have adopted you to a certain extent and it is now your duty to not disappoint them by acting the arrogant and pompous fool. We see this with many sports figures and celebrities these days who use their position to espouse their feelings which range from politics to social criticism. This is not their job and it should not become yours whether you are with a major publisher with print runs in the thousands to small presses with print runs in the hundreds.

The bottom line is that no matter what reason you choose to write--your responsibility is to the people that read your work and to keep them happy. It should not be to delude them with your own personal biases.

A Bite from the Past for the Present

Years ago I heard this song but then I was not writing and of course my mind was going in other directions. Anyway, re-hearing it again recently I couldn't help but snicker at the implications in terms of genre and other things that are fresh in my thoughts at the moment and potentially a new story. And yes...I do have it on my IPOD! The moral of the story is at the end.

(Courtesy of nomorelyrics.net)

BOY: On a hot summer night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
GIRL: Will he offer me his mouth?
BOY: Yes
GIRL: Will he offer me his teeth?
BOY: Yes
GIRL: Will he offer me his jaws?
BOY: Yes
GIRL: Will he offer me his hunger?
BOY: Yes
GIRL: Again, will he offer me his hunger?
BOY: Yes!
GIRL: And will he starve without me?
BOY: Yes!
GIRL: And does he love me?
BOY: Yes
GIRL: Yes
BOY: On a hot summer night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
GIRL: Yes
BOY: I bet you to say that to all the boys.

It was a hot summer night and the beach was burning
There was fog crawling over the sand
When I listened to your heart I hear the whole world turning
I see the shooting stars
Falling through your trembling hands
You were licking your lips and your lipstick shining
I was dying just to ask for a taste
We were lying together in a silver lining
By the light of the moon
You know there's not another moment
Not another moment
Not another moment to waste
When you hold me so close that my knees grow weak
And my soul is flying high above the ground
I'm trying to speak but no matter what I do
I just can't seem to make any sound
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
Now my body is shaking like a wave on the water
And I guess that I'm beginning to grin
Oooh, we're finally alone and we can do what we want to
The night is young
And ain't no one gonna know where you
No one gonna know where you
No one's gonna know where you've been
You were licking your lips and your lipstick shining
I was dying just to ask for a taste
We were lying together in a silver lining
By the light of the moon
You know there's not another moment
Not another moment
Not another moment to waste
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh it must have been while you were kissing me



So the moral for all you guys & gals out there thinking about this kind of approach--I guess you need to invest in some scarves.

The Boston Curse Goes on Holiday

I know for those of you who are reading this blog...you are dying to know (insert sarcasm here) what the results of the Boston Curse was this weekend that I mentioned in the previous posts.

Well--I survived. Actually I had a very pleasant trip. Most things stayed "on target" with the schedule of events, a few minor misdirection or skirmishes, but all in all it was an excellent weekend.

The hotel was much nicer than the downtown hotel I have stayed at for some of the other Boston cons. Note of caution: The Elevator...hold onto your stomach. It literally drops from floor to floor very quickly making the starts and stops quite unsettling for those that are sensitive to that kind of thing. People were very nice and special thanks to Patrick and company for inviting me to the local BBQ--(and of course the rides to and from the train station),I had a very nice time and the company and conversation were indeed a refreshing break from the convention. Insert note of envy here: I want one of those towers too--no home is complete without one. Anyway many thanks for company and help at the convention!

The convention was a different kind of convention, I think it was too small for the number of the guests which equaled limited participation. However, my vampire presentation went quite well--many thanks to Mary for running the computer for me on short notice. Did an excellent job and hardly missed a beat of the slide transition.

The train on the way up was okay except for the meat locker temperature maintained throughout the night. However,the return train trip on the high speed train was soooooooo cool! I only wished it ran all the way back to Richmond. It was quite a change switching over to the old train for the last leg of the trip.

So...the Boston Curse has gone on hiatus--for now (yeah--I gotta be me in terms of lurking future disasters. All the preconcieved notion of disasters did not materialize as I had feared--and there were many believe me, but this trip which I hope becomes the norm and one that I look forward to in the future with the same company of success and enjoyment.

What looms on the horizon--TRINOC in Raleigh, NC.
OUTLOOK: somewhat pessimistic on a few issues.

Until later...

Boston Curse Clarification

Before anyone jumps on me about the "Boston Curse" mentioned in the previous post I thought I would clarify that I like Boston, it just seems that it doesn't like me for some reason. The folks I have met at the convention were really cool and even took us to some nice places to eat. The background behind this is that I have made two previous trips to Boston for conventions in January. The first time I was there I ate a meal in the con suite...hey it was lasagna so how could I pass it up. Anyway to spare all the gruesome details, lets just say that I was stopped up so to speak the "entire" weekend and then some. So I did not have a really good time at the convention--heck, I barely remember it I was so blah feeling.

The next year I went back--now I know what you are thinking...January and Boston is a dangerous combination. Well my traveling companion and I (Tee Morris)flew up...yes he talked me into flying,(flying is another story for another time-see short story: Have A Nice Flight). Anyway we get there and the blizzard of 2005 comes with us. We decided on Saturday to get out of town while the getting was good. So unable to get flights, we hopped the train. The weather conditions were so bad, that ice formed on the inside of the door to the train car. Sleeping on the overnight trip was next to impossible due to teeth clattering. Still though, getting out of Boston was still a good move. Most people had to stay 1-2 extra nights before the airport opened. There were even rumors of cannibalism at the hotel (only kidding--I think.)

Anyway, that is the story behind the "Boston Curse." I am hoping that this trip will be better.

They don't get blizzards in July there--do they?

On the road again...

I didn't get any work done this weekend--but you know what--that's okay. Although I was on the "road" this weekend, I managed to kind of sit back and relax quite a bit more than usual and it was soooooo cool! Good company on the road trip was of course an asset, along with enjoyable mystery meals, conversation, some cards (I kicked butt!) and even finding time for squeaking in a movie. For once being on the road was not so tiring as it usually is...well except for the bottle of liquid soap that decided to open and spill all over my toiletry items and some clothing.

But even that incident did not manage to darken the nicest trip I have had in quite a while. I am sure that there is a moral of this story somewhere...perhaps it is sitting back a little more and chilling is better than sweating everything else--huh?

Next week..onto Boston. Wish me luck on breaking the "Boston Curse" which seems to wait for me to arrive in the fair city. From snow to bad food...I'll be ready this time!