I'm not posting the next part of TSOMD tonight. I'll probably do it tomorrow...wait, it's after midnight, so technically it already is tomorrow...well, you know what I mean.
Tonight, I'm going to post a video of me performing at a bar. This is from a little concert my voice teacher put on in May. It's (I think) the first time I'm actually posting a video of ME. Unfortunately, something kind of funny happened with the camera during the first song, and it cut out for a few seconds. But overall, I think it's OK, at least OK enough for me to share it with you. Watching it makes me realize that I really need to learn how to play the guitar, if only so I will have something to do with my hands while I sing. I look kind of awkward just standing there...
Anyway, here it is, enjoy:
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Monday, June 4, 2012
The Story of My Death Part 1
Here we go...wind are you ready? There is some caution coming your way in 5...4...3...2...
Yeah, so, this is the story I've been working on/complaining about/ putting off writing by doing really productive procrastinating (I've talked to you about that before right? It's where instead of doing the thing you ought to be doing you do something else that is actually productive and useful, such as cleaning your apartment, but still not what you are supposed to be doing.). It's not finished. I can't promise that it will ever be finished. I'm also pretty sure it's not very good. I mean, I like it, but I'm totally biased. And with that rousing endorsement, I'm certain you can't WAIT to read it. So with absolutely no more ado, here it is:
Oh, wait, before I do that, I did want to direct your attention to the right hand side of the blog, where you will find a place to put your email address so that you will get an email whenever I update this blog! HUZZAH! You no longer have to periodically check to see if I've updated only to be disappointed! I have entered my own email address and will be putting this service to the test with this blog. So yeah... Onward.
The Story of My Death
Yeah, so, this is the story I've been working on/complaining about/ putting off writing by doing really productive procrastinating (I've talked to you about that before right? It's where instead of doing the thing you ought to be doing you do something else that is actually productive and useful, such as cleaning your apartment, but still not what you are supposed to be doing.). It's not finished. I can't promise that it will ever be finished. I'm also pretty sure it's not very good. I mean, I like it, but I'm totally biased. And with that rousing endorsement, I'm certain you can't WAIT to read it. So with absolutely no more ado, here it is:
Oh, wait, before I do that, I did want to direct your attention to the right hand side of the blog, where you will find a place to put your email address so that you will get an email whenever I update this blog! HUZZAH! You no longer have to periodically check to see if I've updated only to be disappointed! I have entered my own email address and will be putting this service to the test with this blog. So yeah... Onward.
The Story of My Death
June 19,
2011
Whoever said dying was easy has
clearly never been through the experience.
You see, for some of us, it’s not as simple as lying down, closing our
eyes, and drifting off into nothingness.
Well, not for me anyway. I’m a
vampire. Correction: I’m THE vampire. As in, the only one in the world.
Listen, I’ve watched just about
every cheesy, fang-bearing, stake-shoving, cross-waving vampire movie ever
made. I’ve also read every book I could
get my hands on, and while some land closer to the mark than others, the one
thing that nobody has gotten right is
the fact that there can only be one vampire in the world at a time. See, the process of making someone into a
vampire involves the maker dying and passing along their vampireness to the
makee.
Yeah, it sucks (excuse the
pun). Not only are you a member of the
undead, destined to roam the earth drinking the blood of the species you once
called your own, but you have to do it alone.
I was always afraid of death. I suppose that’s a big reason why I chose to
become the vampire when it was offered to me by the current one. His name was Mirkus, by the way. He said he chose me because I was strong;
strong enough to endure immortality. He
also said I would know when it was time to end it.
That time is now. This is the story of my death.
Mirkus was a little crazy. He couldn’t take immortality, watching the
world change as he remained the same, separate from it. The vampire before him had already descended
into madness when he made Mirkus vampire, and Mirkus told me he hadn’t been
‘chosen’ so much as he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. He said he was never meant to be vampire, and
that he didn’t want to make that same mistake.
He searched for years for someone he
deemed “worthy”. Don’t ask me how he
found me or what he saw in me that made him confident I wouldn’t crack after
the first few hundred years. He said he
wanted me to “last”, that it was the only way the vampire could learn and
evolve.
So, what have I learned? Hell if I know. Maybe that’s why I wanted to write this
little memoir, to reflect on the lessons of my life.
No, sorry, that’s bullshit. I don’t want to tell you about my life at
all. What did I say? “This is the story of my death.” If it were the story of my life, it would be
a hell of a lot longer.
I’ve lived for 3481 years and in
that time I have learned many secrets of the universe, but I never learned the
secrets of the afterlife. I was born in
the year historians call 1470 B.C., just three years before Hatshepsut became
pharaoh of Egypt, and Egyptian religion was my first guide to the mysteries of
death.
I’ve studied every religion, large
or small, desperate for answers, and I have found none. I suppose what I fear the most, is that I
will simply become nothing. Or maybe
that would be a relief.
You might be asking why, if I am so
terrified of dying, I would choose to end it all in the first place. It’s a question which requires a complicated
answer, (too complicated to go into here) but the simple answer is: I have
found my replacement.
I wasn’t looking for him. I was walking the streets of New York
(excellent city for a vampire, New York; you can be surrounded by people and
still be alone), when I saw him. Took me
completely by surprise. But I knew he
was the one.
Now I just have to convince him of that. Others have discovered what I am before, and
it’s never ended well. They either go
mad, try to kill me (and no, stakes and crosses won’t do it), or beg me to
“turn” them. Any relationships I’ve
maintained with mortals have had to be carefully orchestrated to be sure they
never learned the truth about me. These
relationships didn’t last, for obvious reasons, but I enjoyed them anyway.
But back to my replacement: Grayson
Finch. How do I know he’s the one? I could get all mystical on you and say I got
a “feeling” but the truth is I see myself in him. He’s adaptable, curious, creative, and…terrified. I’d recognize that fear anywhere, especially
now, when I feel it so keenly.
The hard part (after convincing him
that I am what I say I am) will be giving up this world and all its
wonders. I have plumbed the depths of
the oceans, mapped the deepest jungles, and seen the best (and worst) of
humankind.
I was always an explorer, eager to
learn the secrets of the world, and being indestructible allowed me access to
the remotest regions. You would not
believe the shit that lives down at the bottom of the deepest oceans. I don’t have to breathe, so I tied rocks to
my legs and just let myself sink.
Animals generally go out of their way to avoid me, but I met some
monsters of the deep that didn’t care what I was, only that I was in their
territory. I can’t wait for humans to
develop the technology which allows them to dive that deep. The things you will discover…too bad I won’t
be around to see it.
And the jungles – you think you’ve
put a name and a label on just about everything, but you haven’t even scratched
the surface. The number of species of
spiders alone is enough to blow your mind.
And how about when you lot start
conquering other worlds? Who knows what the universe will offer.
There it is, I’ve gone and made
myself depressed. It’s time to go out,
anyway, so I’ll pick up this narrative tomorrow. I’m going to hunt, and then I’ll check on
Grayson. I’ve just watched him so far, I
want to be sure he’s really the one before I do anything rash, but I’ll have to
speak to him soon. I have to move
quickly, before I lose my nerve; but still, there’s time enough to savor the
end, maybe visit a few old haunts, “put my affairs in order” as you mortals
say.
Tomorrow, dear reader.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
In Which I Do NOT Drop a Baby
I have become rather adept at pretending to like children. Really, the act is almost too good, as evidenced by the incident which took place on May 10th, at approximately 4:36 PM.
Let the record show that I was working.
A woman had come in to my place of business with her baby, a child who had only known life outside the womb for a few short weeks. The baby was ensconced in a stroller/crib. You know the ones...they look like a crib, but, you know, on wheels. Woman wanted to try things on, and parked Baby in it's croller just outside the dressing room.
My coworker (let us call her Leela to protect her identity) was attempting to entertain the child with such devices as silly faces, and soft, cooing noises. Baby seemed to enjoy this, and it kept Baby from becoming upset whilst it's mother donned various articles of clothing, such as are sold in the store.
Leela was called away, and Baby became agitated. Not wanting Woman to feel she needed to stop in her quest for new garments, I stepped up to the croller, in full view of Baby, and smiled. Baby smiled back.
I then spent several minutes engaged in what I believe is a rather cruel game known as "peek-a-boo". I managed to convince Baby that I had disappeared from existence the moment my hands passed in front of my face, only to magically reappear upon drawing them away. Baby seemed delighted to discover that I was still alive every time my face became visible. Still, Baby began to twist and squirm, seeming to search for something which was absent. Was Baby looking for Woman? Or was Baby merely becoming distressed by the number of times I vanished into nothingness only to return whole and seemingly unharmed from that abyss. How many times can one really visit such a place before one is simply gone for good, Baby wondered...perhaps.
Fortunately, Woman had completed her task, and relieved me from my duty to Baby. I took those items she wished to call her own in exchange for money, and she picked up the fussing Baby, and cradled it in her arms lovingly.
But then, alas, a cardigan caught her eye, and it pleased her. She wished to admire it on herself before deciding to own it, and she turned to me beseechingly.
"Do you mind holding her while I try this on?" quoth she. My blood ran hot then cold. My arms came up in a gesture of defense, and my feet took one or two shuffling steps backward. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion as several thoughts at once clamored for my attention.
Of course you can hold Baby...what could possibly go wrong?
What if I drop it...have I ever actually held a baby before?
You won't drop it, and really, can it be that much different from holding a cat?
Yes. Yes it can be very different. For one thing, cats land on their feet if you drop them. Babies...erm...bounce.
But you were sort of getting on, you and Baby. It's actually rather cute when it's not screaming...
But it can turn on you in an instant. Oh sure, you're friends now, but any moment Baby will transform into a shrieking rage monster with huge, pointy teeth, and a taste for entrails.
Yes, better not.
"Oh, um...no, I'm not really..."
"Oh, OK." Seeming to sense my fear, Woman set Baby back in the croller and proceeded to contemplate the cardigan.
I let out a deep sigh, and congratulated myself on having narrowly avoided disaster.
But this is a dangerous road I walk, pretending to like children. Sometimes (and I only confess this to you because you are my closest confidant) I even think it might not be pretend.
They terrify me, and yet I am oddly intrigued by them. After all, was I not once one of their ilk?
It is an interesting question. Very interesting, indeed.
Regards,
Julia
PS-The above is a slightly exaggerated true story. Also, I had a conversation about dinosaurs with a little girl yesterday, just so you know I'm not a complete monster. We decided that while we would not like to meet a dinosaur in person, they are really cool.
Let the record show that I was working.
A woman had come in to my place of business with her baby, a child who had only known life outside the womb for a few short weeks. The baby was ensconced in a stroller/crib. You know the ones...they look like a crib, but, you know, on wheels. Woman wanted to try things on, and parked Baby in it's croller just outside the dressing room.
My coworker (let us call her Leela to protect her identity) was attempting to entertain the child with such devices as silly faces, and soft, cooing noises. Baby seemed to enjoy this, and it kept Baby from becoming upset whilst it's mother donned various articles of clothing, such as are sold in the store.
Leela was called away, and Baby became agitated. Not wanting Woman to feel she needed to stop in her quest for new garments, I stepped up to the croller, in full view of Baby, and smiled. Baby smiled back.
I then spent several minutes engaged in what I believe is a rather cruel game known as "peek-a-boo". I managed to convince Baby that I had disappeared from existence the moment my hands passed in front of my face, only to magically reappear upon drawing them away. Baby seemed delighted to discover that I was still alive every time my face became visible. Still, Baby began to twist and squirm, seeming to search for something which was absent. Was Baby looking for Woman? Or was Baby merely becoming distressed by the number of times I vanished into nothingness only to return whole and seemingly unharmed from that abyss. How many times can one really visit such a place before one is simply gone for good, Baby wondered...perhaps.
Fortunately, Woman had completed her task, and relieved me from my duty to Baby. I took those items she wished to call her own in exchange for money, and she picked up the fussing Baby, and cradled it in her arms lovingly.
But then, alas, a cardigan caught her eye, and it pleased her. She wished to admire it on herself before deciding to own it, and she turned to me beseechingly.
"Do you mind holding her while I try this on?" quoth she. My blood ran hot then cold. My arms came up in a gesture of defense, and my feet took one or two shuffling steps backward. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion as several thoughts at once clamored for my attention.
Of course you can hold Baby...what could possibly go wrong?
What if I drop it...have I ever actually held a baby before?
You won't drop it, and really, can it be that much different from holding a cat?
Yes. Yes it can be very different. For one thing, cats land on their feet if you drop them. Babies...erm...bounce.
But you were sort of getting on, you and Baby. It's actually rather cute when it's not screaming...
But it can turn on you in an instant. Oh sure, you're friends now, but any moment Baby will transform into a shrieking rage monster with huge, pointy teeth, and a taste for entrails.
Yes, better not.
"Oh, um...no, I'm not really..."
"Oh, OK." Seeming to sense my fear, Woman set Baby back in the croller and proceeded to contemplate the cardigan.
I let out a deep sigh, and congratulated myself on having narrowly avoided disaster.
But this is a dangerous road I walk, pretending to like children. Sometimes (and I only confess this to you because you are my closest confidant) I even think it might not be pretend.
They terrify me, and yet I am oddly intrigued by them. After all, was I not once one of their ilk?
It is an interesting question. Very interesting, indeed.
Regards,
Julia
PS-The above is a slightly exaggerated true story. Also, I had a conversation about dinosaurs with a little girl yesterday, just so you know I'm not a complete monster. We decided that while we would not like to meet a dinosaur in person, they are really cool.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Ghost Spider
Sheesh. Every time I sign in to update my blog, there has been a complete overhaul of blogger.com, and they show me page after page explaining why the old blogger was crap, and this new version is the best thing since sliced bread, and I'm like, "OK, but can I still, you know, SEE my blog? Cause I'm in a writing mood, and you're harshing my buzz, dude."
Ugh. The window where I write the blog part of my blog is all different looking now. I don't like it. I fear change. And just what, exactly, are all those buttons on the side? NO! DON'T TELL ME. DON'T EXPLAIN ANYTHING, JUST LET ME WRITE, DAMMIT!
OK, I'm stalling.
Here's the thing.
This is the thing.
The thing is...
I have this story that I've been working (AKA long hours spent staring at the screen punctuated by short bursts of typing which ultimately result in one or two sentences) on for-what seems like-ever. It's not finished. Not even close. But I'm oddly tempted to start posting it here anyway. Just throw caution to the wind and let the pages fall where they may. Hear that wind? Some caution is about to SMACK you in the FACE!
"Chips" fall where they may. I actually couldn't remember the real phrase for a moment, but "pages" seemed appropriate.
I know, I know: more stalling.
Let me tell you a true story:
The other day, I found a spider hanging out next to my bed. I mean, right where I put my head, and this dude was just hanging there, like some kind of pervert, waiting to watch me sleep.
I caught him in a glass and then, because he was trying to make his escape, drowned him with water.
And now I feel bad.
Usually, I leave spiders alone. They kill other bugs, which makes me happy, because then I don't have to kill them. But when a spider is all up in my business, I tend to mush it. Still, I try to make the deaths quick and painless. So why did I drown this one? I don't know. I panicked.
I'm sorry, Mr. Spider, if I caused you undue pain. Please don't rise as a spider-ghost and goad all your still-living spider friends into amassing an army and marching on my apartment at dawn, so that I may be dragged from my bed and sentenced to death by hanging.
Why hanging? I don't know, I just figure spiders have a lot of rope to work with...
What is it with me and bug stories lately? First Bee Pimp, now Ghost Spider?
I should maybe mention that I am drinking and blogging again.
Hey! Don't you judge me! Tuesday is like my Saturday. I didn't work today and I don't work tomorrow. Technically, this is my weekend. I can do whatever I want.
And now I have succeeded in distracting myself and you from the whole purpose of this post...
Just kidding, I didn't forget about the whole caution v. wind thing. Let me see if I can make anymore headway on this story, maybe clean up the first bit somewhat, and I'll think about posting some of it.
Lates,
Jules
Now where is the "post" button...
Seriously.
Where...? Oh there it
Ugh. The window where I write the blog part of my blog is all different looking now. I don't like it. I fear change. And just what, exactly, are all those buttons on the side? NO! DON'T TELL ME. DON'T EXPLAIN ANYTHING, JUST LET ME WRITE, DAMMIT!
OK, I'm stalling.
Here's the thing.
This is the thing.
The thing is...
I have this story that I've been working (AKA long hours spent staring at the screen punctuated by short bursts of typing which ultimately result in one or two sentences) on for-what seems like-ever. It's not finished. Not even close. But I'm oddly tempted to start posting it here anyway. Just throw caution to the wind and let the pages fall where they may. Hear that wind? Some caution is about to SMACK you in the FACE!
"Chips" fall where they may. I actually couldn't remember the real phrase for a moment, but "pages" seemed appropriate.
I know, I know: more stalling.
Let me tell you a true story:
The other day, I found a spider hanging out next to my bed. I mean, right where I put my head, and this dude was just hanging there, like some kind of pervert, waiting to watch me sleep.
I caught him in a glass and then, because he was trying to make his escape, drowned him with water.
And now I feel bad.
Usually, I leave spiders alone. They kill other bugs, which makes me happy, because then I don't have to kill them. But when a spider is all up in my business, I tend to mush it. Still, I try to make the deaths quick and painless. So why did I drown this one? I don't know. I panicked.
I'm sorry, Mr. Spider, if I caused you undue pain. Please don't rise as a spider-ghost and goad all your still-living spider friends into amassing an army and marching on my apartment at dawn, so that I may be dragged from my bed and sentenced to death by hanging.
Why hanging? I don't know, I just figure spiders have a lot of rope to work with...
What is it with me and bug stories lately? First Bee Pimp, now Ghost Spider?
I should maybe mention that I am drinking and blogging again.
Hey! Don't you judge me! Tuesday is like my Saturday. I didn't work today and I don't work tomorrow. Technically, this is my weekend. I can do whatever I want.
And now I have succeeded in distracting myself and you from the whole purpose of this post...
Just kidding, I didn't forget about the whole caution v. wind thing. Let me see if I can make anymore headway on this story, maybe clean up the first bit somewhat, and I'll think about posting some of it.
Lates,
Jules
Now where is the "post" button...
Seriously.
Where...? Oh there it
Sunday, April 15, 2012
The First Step Is Admitting You Have a Problem
My own mother is encouraging me to drink and write. Doesn't she know that that is a dangerous combination?
Let's be honest, I did crack another beer...
And here I am, composing another post. Now, if only I remmebered how to sepll.
Whatever, I'm an awesome drunk-speller. I did just get 60 points on words 2ith friends for "moot". Yeah, that's right. I am awesome.
Now if only I didnj't keep having to get up to pee...
Seriously, though, as hilarious as I am, drinking and posting is a real issue with people all over the internet. And our biggest tool (haha, "tool") to combat this very real danger? Awareness.
So, if you know someone who is drinking and blogging, please. Make them aware, that you are aware.
That is all.
Let's be honest, I did crack another beer...
And here I am, composing another post. Now, if only I remmebered how to sepll.
Whatever, I'm an awesome drunk-speller. I did just get 60 points on words 2ith friends for "moot". Yeah, that's right. I am awesome.
Now if only I didnj't keep having to get up to pee...
Seriously, though, as hilarious as I am, drinking and posting is a real issue with people all over the internet. And our biggest tool (haha, "tool") to combat this very real danger? Awareness.
So, if you know someone who is drinking and blogging, please. Make them aware, that you are aware.
That is all.
You Can't Prove That
*Pretends it hasn't been forever since she last posted*
So, Deirdre and I were walking home from work today, and this GINORMOUS bee suddenly dropped down between us and hovered for a moment, keeping pace with us.
If I didn't know better, I could have sworn I heard the bee say, "Hellooo ladies!" in his most pimp-daddiest of bee voices. He then stretched his wings around both of our shoulders and said, "What's a-BUZZin?"
OK, that's not true. The wings around our shoulders part, not the other stuff. That other stuff totally happened.
It's possible that I have had two beers, and am a light weight, and therefore am mildly-buzzed-(see what I did there?)-posting. Which is probably better than drunk-posting, which could lead to many tears and regrets later. It's possible. But you can't prove anything.
Uh oh, Cold as Ice by Foreigner just came on...time for a dance break.
That was awesome. I have some sweet moves. And you can't prove that I don't, because you did not just see what went down on that dance floor AKA my rug.
This concludes your evening of Drinking With Julia.
Please tip your waitresses. Or waiters. Tip somebody.
So, Deirdre and I were walking home from work today, and this GINORMOUS bee suddenly dropped down between us and hovered for a moment, keeping pace with us.
If I didn't know better, I could have sworn I heard the bee say, "Hellooo ladies!" in his most pimp-daddiest of bee voices. He then stretched his wings around both of our shoulders and said, "What's a-BUZZin?"
OK, that's not true. The wings around our shoulders part, not the other stuff. That other stuff totally happened.
It's possible that I have had two beers, and am a light weight, and therefore am mildly-buzzed-(see what I did there?)-posting. Which is probably better than drunk-posting, which could lead to many tears and regrets later. It's possible. But you can't prove anything.
Uh oh, Cold as Ice by Foreigner just came on...time for a dance break.
That was awesome. I have some sweet moves. And you can't prove that I don't, because you did not just see what went down on that dance floor AKA my rug.
This concludes your evening of Drinking With Julia.
Please tip your waitresses. Or waiters. Tip somebody.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Less Thinking, More Slow-Motion Sword Fighting
Don't you hate it when you are watching some show which you think is just mindless entertainment, requiring no thought beyond, "Dude, cut your hair, it's driving me mad" when suddenly...whaBAM! it ends an episode on a completely ambiguous note and you are suddenly forced to THINK about it and decide for yourself what it all meant?
That totally just happened to me. And this is from a show the whole first season of which was so clearly marked in black in white, good versus evil, that they actually had the bad guy KILL A KITTEN! That's right, folks, no gray area here. And suddenly, they want me to THINK? The end of the episode was literally a conversation amongst the main characters half of whom believed the chippy they just met was the Creator, and the other half certain that she was a fraud.
No. I don't want to decide for myself. I want answers!
I kinda think she was the Creator. But if she was, she would have known...but then again she did know about that other stuff...but, come on, the real Creator would never...
I don't know.
Ugh. This show is too much stress on my heart. Every week it's "hey! we have this great plan, let's watch it all go to pieces as one or more of us almost get killed and/or horribly tortured and/or turned evil."
There was a lot more fun in the first season, back when all we had to worry about was Darken "Kitten Killer" Rahl.
Just had to get that out. Thanks. I'm done now, you may return to your lives.
That totally just happened to me. And this is from a show the whole first season of which was so clearly marked in black in white, good versus evil, that they actually had the bad guy KILL A KITTEN! That's right, folks, no gray area here. And suddenly, they want me to THINK? The end of the episode was literally a conversation amongst the main characters half of whom believed the chippy they just met was the Creator, and the other half certain that she was a fraud.
No. I don't want to decide for myself. I want answers!
I kinda think she was the Creator. But if she was, she would have known...but then again she did know about that other stuff...but, come on, the real Creator would never...
Ugh. This show is too much stress on my heart. Every week it's "hey! we have this great plan, let's watch it all go to pieces as one or more of us almost get killed and/or horribly tortured and/or turned evil."
There was a lot more fun in the first season, back when all we had to worry about was Darken "Kitten Killer" Rahl.
Just had to get that out. Thanks. I'm done now, you may return to your lives.
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