Fuck you Frog

Okay, let me first point out that this blog in no way discriminates against the French. Lol It, indeed, is truly about frogs--you know the slimey, beady eyed, throat billowing frogs.

Also... this blog is not connected to Fuck you Penguin, nor is it a homage. I am not talking about how cute frogs are, or how they are trying to take over the world... okay I lied about the last part.

They are trying to take over the world ladies and gentlemen. How do I know this, you ask? Well it's simple really.

I was born and raised in Michigan, and I can't recall seeing frogs or toads except a handful of times. Is it possible that perhaps as a precocious young thing, I wasn't quite as observant--sure it's totally possible--HOWEVER (you knew it was coming) As a girl who wasn't too fond of snakes, worms or anything deemed slimy--I would totally remember having seen them around and their ick factor.

Okay so, growing up--nary a toad or frog.

Then I moved to Florida. Frogs weren't that rampant when I lived in a suburb--we had beetles and lizards there. However, then we moved to a swampy area... That is ground zero of the frog invasion... Every morning I'd wake up to little froggy suctiony foot prints on my windows--and a few dried up carcasses in the kitchen--suicide mission for reconnaissance I'm sure.

Back to present day--Michigan: In the last few weeks my mother has had toads invade her car. They crawl in to the part where the door opens by the hinge, and there they lie in wait. You open and door and there they sit--intimidating at first--then you just wait.

I laughed off my mothers paranoia. It was just a toad, come on, how bad could it be?

Then I drove her car.

There I was, minding my own business in the afternoon driving my mom around while we went shopping and voila! A toad appears when I open the door. It can't be, they've only shown up in the morning, and here it is, the middle of the afternoon... and yet there it is. I was okay, until I mom told me to knock it off and leave it in the parking lot.

Then I got to thinking, as I'm wont to do. What if it hops on me when I'm trying to knock it off? (Yes I know, I do have a girly side, but I hide it from myself until it rears its blonde, curly Q'd, pink clad, head in the worst of moments) Or worse, what if it hops in the car and then jumps on me while I driving.

I decide to ignore the toad.

Okay my mom's car is infested with toads--not big deal right? She's recently been on vacation and rained quite a bit there so a few hitched a ride--no biggie.

EXCEPT!!!! When they were on vacation and I housesat; I spotted a frog perched upon a glass decorative ball on a planter on the front steps.

Now.. onto me (we know that's what's most important anyway right? This is MY blog afterall.) The past two times I've driven my van... (Let us pause here so I can set the scene for you... I drive not just any van, but a giant conversion van. A 1995, white Ford Econoline 150--complete with queen size bed, dvd player, tv, party lights and yes... a dust buster.) A frog and/or toad has hopped on to my windshield and conveniently (I say it's planned) stayed right below the line of wipers.

Two different frog/toads, same spot. I suspect a frog language transmitter exists in the spot on my van where the windshield wiper fluid comes out. The fluid is blue, and everyone knows blue is a very good conductor.

Now here, ladies and gentlemen, is where I point out our weakness-our MAIN WEAKNESS-- where the frogs are concerned.

They are not bugs. They won't just crunch and lie on the ground in a neat little pile when you step on them--no--they squish. There may even be some sliding around on the flesh, guts and blood should you accidentally step on them. We, as humans, really don't want to get so messy.

I know, for if the toad and/or frog had been in the sights of my windshield wipers, I don't know that I would've used 'em.

We are doomed.

Like all good writers I am susceptible to peer pressure

Okay the whole first half of the title is a big fat lie. I have no right to lump myself in with the greats and I have no idea what they are susceptible to, but it sounded good, didn't it?

My BFF extraordinaire and coincidentally the Cheerleader of Doom (CoD)decided it would be best for her to blog on a specified day so that she can amass a readership. Brilliant idea I think. Unfortunately, brilliant ideas mean that I must follow them too.

I know it's a great idea and I know I should do it, but damn it I'm just afraid of commitment lately (can that apply to blogging?) I mean really, how can you schedule creativity... (Yes I know I am trying too hard)

My vain attempts at talking my way out of this aren't working.

Seeing as I'm blogging right now and it's Wednesday I guess this is as good of a day as any. However, I will preface my future blogs by saying this: My definition of Wednesday is not the standard definition. I have until approximately 5 am on Thursday to blog and it still counts, seeing as that is when I typically go to bed. So I guess check on Thursdays then lol

See you in a week! Oh and don't forget to check out the CoD's blog. http://cheerleaderofdoom.blogspot.com/ She blogs on Fridays!

This needs to be shared and celebrated

I don't have a whole lot to say, as this piece speaks for itself. I will say this art form is incredible and I am quite inspired by this. It is profound. It makes me feel full and yet lacking at the same time. I feel happy, yet want to cry as well. To me, conflicting feelings are always a good indicator of amazing creation.

I salute you, Kseniya Simonova.

Talents I wished I posessed

I'd like to believe that with practice and patience, all things are possible. But perhaps that isn't the case? Or perhaps I just don't have the damned patience to make it possible?

While my patience with others is limited, patience with myself is downright nonexistent.

I'd love to be able to not only play a musical instrument, but compose music as well. And yet I wasn't born a prodigy, therefore I do not pursue it.

I've love to tool around on a skateboard and do tricks. And yet, here I am, uncoordinated.

I'd love to sing and have a beautiful voice that even sounds nice without accompaniment. Yet, I'm afraid I may have my father's tone-deafness and have never really pursued it.

I'd love to dance and be able to express emotions with every part of my body. And yet, here I am... out of shape and inflexible.

Are some of these things possible--sure... but maybe if I were a different person. Oh but you think that with practice I could do these things.

Perhaps you are right, but I will never practice. My self confidence, or lack thereof--or perhaps we should call it pride, won't let me. It won't let me fail--and that means falling, hitting a bad note, or not finding the right key.

I will say that I am getting better at opening myself up to embarrassment. Or at least that's how I think of it... or at least how I used to. I don't see showing the world my faults quite as embarrassment anymore. However, I'm not willing to show the world ALL my faults yet.

I am still unwilling to fall, to hit the wrong note, or to dedicate the time needed to play an instrument. Physical and creative faults are still too close to home to expose to the world.

I have made progress. I am willing to admit I am wrong. I am more fully able to say I'm sorry.

I'd say these are big ones to have conquered. They deal with interaction with others. Being a loner, sometimes I forget the need for other people, but I do need them--desperately in fact. So having managed to make fun of myself, to admit I'm wrong, or that I simply don't know the answer is a big step. And this step makes it easier for me to have something I desperately need.

Besides... perhaps writing is the only outlet or hobby I need right now. Everything else would just take time away from it, no?

Okay here is a motivational speaker. I'm sure this is helpful and says good things, but I can't get over how open his eyes are and how high his eyebrows stay all the time. Let's not even talk about him teleporting across the screen with youtube magic.

Cruel or funny?

Should the chance at a joke overpower my empathy? Probably not, but it did today...luckily my mom is used to it.

Sometimes I'm such a brat.

My dad went to take out the dog on a commercial break. I was eating a Dove chocolate... you know the kind with sweet little messages inside? My message said "Share a chocolate moment with someone you love."

I read it aloud, then passed a chocolate to my mom, who smiled.

Then I said "Give that to Dad when he gets back."

My mom's face went to an expression we like to call the "Russian School Teacher Face" I'm sure you can imagine a strict Russian woman--now make her a hard assed school teacher... yeah that's the face.

My mother calmly placed the chocolate over where my dad was sitting. I laughed and told her of course I was kidding and tried to hand her another chocolate. She'd have nothing to do with it. It took a second to convince her to take it but she did.

However, she wouldn't touch it with her hand. No, she extended her cane (Yes I'm even more evil cause now I'm being mean to my mother who has a cane) and I had to balance the candy on the cane, then she had to keep it balanced while she brought it back to herself... All without looking at me.

Then my dad comes in, she tells him the story and he laughs at what I did. He says "She was just happy she didn't have to take the dog out."

Ugh. My poor mother. My Papa and I are two peas in a pod.

Trouble writing the troublesome

I'm having a hard time writing a scene. It's an action sequence which normally I don't have a problem with--however something bad is happening to Samantha in this scene. Maybe that's why I can't see it in my head...because I don't want to? Maybe I can't/won't/don't want to put myself in her place?

As a filmmaker, I'm quite visual. I see everything first before I write it on the page. I can't see this. I can't see the movement, the blocking--what will make it the most suspenseful? Nothing is coming to me. This is frustrating. Before when something like this happened I was able to write the action and throw in the emotion later, but that isn't working. The scene in blind to me.

All I see are the treetops swaying in the swamp. Nothing else is happening. I know that all kinds of horrific scary things are happening on the ground, or will be shortly, but those damn trees just keep swaying and nothing else happens. It's like I'm a DVD with a big ole scratch on it. I'm stuck on a scene. You can move to the next scene just fine, but you'll miss that important scene which explains all the ones after it.

I don't think I can write the scene after without knowing what exactly happens in this one first. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place.

This scene is rather new to me. I just came up with it a week ago or so. Maybe it needs time to percolate in my brain pan a bit more.

I go through this phase occasionally

Every few years or so I get this urge to contact old friends. It tends to be different friends every time. I wonder what stars align, hormones rise, or parts of my brain start working again to make this happen.

While Facebook is potentially the worst time suck in the world, it is making keeping tabs on old friends and reconnecting that much easier. So while it forces me to plant raspberries on Farm Town every 2 hours (Gotta be a good capitalist and get that mansion!!), it also enables me to scratch this itch.

In this case I am reconnecting with someone I haven't seen in 11 years. Unfortunately it's been longer than that since we've been friends. I had a habit of being surly in high school and I'm sure that affected a lot of my friendships.

Okay, now onto the funny video. I couldn't stop laughing at the video from yesterday, but today's could be even better.

Run for your lives...

The Gauntlet has been laid in front of me.

Damn, good news doesn't last long. Here I am, thinking I'm being all good and shit by blogging (it wasn't almost two years since my last blog ya know--hint hint) but that wasn't good enough. NOW I have to blog everyday. (no promises, that was sarcasm)

You see ladies and gentleman, I have someone who is my whip cracker. I am not the whipping boy, no, I deserve the whippings, the beating, the verbal assaults--yes even the name calling. I entrusted them with a job to get my butt in gear.

Don't ya hate when that comes back to bite ya?

So this is my blog today. I blog to honor the whip crackers behind every author. Those who are willing to take a little of their own backlash for the greater good. Those who are willing to don pink pom poms, short skirts and the garish striped socks.

Of course I'm speaking of the Cheerleader of Doom.

Check her out, support her, because she supports me. Or just go over there and give her a hard time for me. Keeps things interesting. :-P

LMAO....