2:00 AM Paranoia, X-Files Style

I’ve found myself telling this story twice this past weekend, so, I figure it’s time to write it down.  That, and it's a continuation on a theme of rednecks gone wrong.  So, it's a gimme, really.

As a teenager, I was a fan of the X-Files.  I watched the entire first season on the couch with the then love of my life.  For later seasons, I was in college, so I’d catch them when I could.  It was tough since it was on a Friday, but now and again, I managed to catch a new episode.  I’d either find myself in one of the campus lounges, or I’d be perched in my desk chair, craning my neck to see the picture on my tiny 13” TV/VCR combo.  Home was one of those I saw as a first run.

A Very Deliverance Breakfast

After I wrote the sea beaver piece, I was talking to Stumpy about it, and how we've got a bunch of stories that really need to be told.  I think I'll be working on a few of those in upcoming posts.  However, as a followup to the honeymoon sea beaver story, I gotta tell you about my Deliverance Breakfast. 

Contrary to popular myth, there is not a buffet open 24 hours a day on a cruise ship.  They shut down for a few hours each day.  Not many, mind you, but they do.  I guess they eventually have to do dishes, or something.  Now, because Stumpy can't get central standard time out of his head, when his internal alarm hit "breakfast o'clock" he was awake and ready for his pop tart.  Or, whatever he was eating those days.  So, groggy as I was, we tromped up to the Lido deck to get ourselves good and gorged on the breakfast buffet.

Let us not forget that this is the fogey boat, so half the guests have been up for over an hour, and the dining area is a beehive of activity by the time we get there.  The only place we have the option to sit is at a table that makes up half of a two-table booth horseshoe.  Not a problem.  I like people, and I'll talk to anybody.  We'll take it!

Sea Beavers, Bean, Bean, & Ham Soup, & Other Ancedotes

Why I didn't immediately say "Thanks for playing, here's a copy of the home game as a consolation prize." when my now ex-husband said I could call his house and ask for "Stumpy", I'll never know.  True to form, we met online.  I've been meeting people through the tubes since I was a teenager in the 90s.  You know, before the internet when the BBS scene was the geek chic.  He was not so much a geek, he was trying online dating because it's hard to meet women when you're a mechanic.  There aren't a whole lot of women in the car biz.  Oddly enough, that's what we had in common.  I turned wrenches on computers and had worked selling cars when the original .com bubble burst in the early 2000s.  So, we could talk cars.

Lightfooted Linebackers

It had been ages since I've seen my buddy Willis.  Ok, so that's not his real name, but it's what I knew him by in high school.  He was part of a group of friends who played probably more tabletop roleplaying games than was healthy.  (I still credit that to my lack of melanin.  Later, it would be my choice to go into IT.)  Our game of choice was anything that White Wolf produced.  Of course, we were also LARPers.  Yes, we were the kids moping around public parks after sundown, waving boffer weapons and skulking around with Halloween fangs in our mouths.  And we liked it, dammit!

Like I said, it had been ages.  But then, through the 6 degrees of Samurai, we got back in touch recently because of our penchant for standing up in front of people and saying whatever the fuck we wanted to.  It was just tonight, after I was able to usher him to the stage after I was done performing with a throwback "What'chu talkin' 'bout Willis?" that I was reminded that I have a story about the old gang that's just aching to be told.

Humility in Knee Socks

I either learn something new about my fellow Samurai, or have an experience with members of the audience that convince me that I gotta keep doing that whole spoken word thing.  Last night, I got to hear that our own Travis and Dave met at a book signing when Dave was waiting in line to have Jim Butcher sign his latest book.  Travis was there signing one of his novels as well.  Interesting how the world throws us into each others' paths, isn't it?

Later, after the show, as I'm tearing down the setup we've got to stream the event on the internet, two gals come up to me and tell me I'm their hero.  I don't think that's quite sunk in yet, so if you hear a story on the news about a woman passing out in her soup for no good reason, the idea of being a role model finally caught up with me and my brain suffered vapor lock.

I still am seriously not used to the appreciation of the people who come to watch our gigs.  It boggles my mind that people have been to more than one event, remember my schtick, appreciate the plus sized pervert in the mini-dress, or know me as Ephemily before they know what's on my birth certificate.  Shit guys, I do this for fun and because it comes naturally.  I never expected anybody to take me seriously!  Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you do.  It feels kinda good.  But, I'd do it even if nobody was listening.  Thanks for playing with me so far.  It's a wild ride!

Mouthpiece For a Rant

When I think about fan fic, normally in involves some illicit romance between two characters that have no interest in each other in the original source material.  However, today changed my opinion.  After waking up to a back knotted tighter than a BDSM playroom swing, I gave the world the finger, took the good drugs, and went back to sleep.  When I finally woke for good a few hours later and could manage to sit up without groaning or swearing, I checked my favorite social networking site.  There I found a message from a gentleman I have only had the pleasure of sharing the same space with on two occasions.  Our very own Samurai, Dave Nesbit was actually there to help facilitate the first meeting at the Valentine's Day social for the Steampunk Society two or so years ago. 

In this message, he tells me that he has written a spoken word piece that he thinks I could really give voice to, and asks if I'd be interested in reading it.  Then, a few hours later, he sent the completed story on, asking if I'd let him know what I thought.  I missed the original message, but responded as soon as I could saying, I'd love to read it, and I'd get right on it. 

This is what I was given:

My First Cougar - The Planned Parenthood Experience

Some of you know that I’m a long-time supporter of Planned Parenthood.  I’ve been with my local clinic since I was a teenager.  I’ve seen them through 2 states, 3 clinic locations, and countless checkups, depo boosters, and positive experiences.  I’ve seen all walks of life pass through those doors; scared teenagers, mature women, young men accompanying their girlfriends, and mothers offering support to their daughters.    I have not once felt judged, shamed, intimidated, or unwelcome after passing through those front doors.  I know where the roots of the organization lie.  While I can’t say I endorse all of the things the founders and major contributors stood for, I stand behind their mission as it is today.  I would also gladly confront those who would picket their locations, spread hate and misinformation, or employ harassment and scare tactics to further their agenda based on “moral superiority”.  I fully support Planned Parenthood, and I don’t care who knows it. 

Mini Cooper Owners' Cheat Sheet and FAQ

I am the proud owner of a 2008 Mellow Yellow Mini Cooper whom I have named Donovan.  I joke that not only is my relationship with him the longest, most stable one I’ve had, but that I like to ride him hard and put him away wet.  I’ve had people roll down their windows at stoplights, flag me in parking lots, and corner me in elevators to ask me about him.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ll talk to anybody and I adore the car.  But, I thought perhaps it might save time to have a list of the questions I get asked all in one place. 

The Birth of Ephemily

So there I was, sitting in a scalding hot bubble bath, reading Jim Butcher's Ghost Story and simultaneously thinking about shoes.  (I multitask for a living, for me this sort of thing is normal.)  It occurred to me that I've come a long way from the unhappily married tomboy with no discernible gender and an "I give up" haircut from a few years ago.  That thought was what led me down the path to Ephemily's origins. 

The year was 2009, and a great convergence was upon me.  At the tail end of an emotionless marriage, trying to figure out a way to afford a divorce (debt consolidation plan or bankruptcy?  Turns out, the chapter 13 would have actually been the better option.  Live an learn, right?)  My ex, his girlfriend and I were all sharing the same roof, and I was finally starting to live for myself for the first time in, oh, ever.  (My opinion about marriage, and relationships in general is that it's more about Us than Me.  Thing is, that only works if both parties play out of the same rulebook.)

The Short, Happy Life of Charlie the Dog

Sam and his nearest and dearest were enjoying a balmy Saturday night in the yard, lighting fireworks, enjoying time together as the sun's last rays slipped away.  Charlie, I can only imagine, was full of boundless energy, smiling, and running his people ragged with that puppy spirit that made him such a treasure to begin with.  This 1 year old puppy was a rescue dog, adopted from the humane society and given a loving new home.  I imagine he had a yard to play in, squirrels to chase, a rope to play tug of war with, and a warm soft bed to sleep in at night.  It wouldn't surprise me to learn that Charlie snuck food from the table, and when caught, used those huge puppy dog eyes to avoid a scolding.  (Those same eyes would work on me.)  On cold evenings, I can imagine him curling up on his person's feet, providing warmth and company.  I bet any windows facing the front door are covered with nose prints, and his talent was in getting someone to pay attention to him, especially when they're feeling down.  Charlie was full of vim and vigor, bursting at the seams and in a hurry to live his life.

I knew Charlie in life for about 3 seconds.  In that time, and the gut-wrenching hour afterwards, I came to learn how special he was.  My evening had been previously spent sharing dinner with one of my closest confidants at a local pizza place.  We'd spent about an hour or so talking Big Ideas, laughing at absurd things, and generally enjoying each others company.  We were headed home on a major street in town.  It's two lanes each way, and I was all the way to the right.  My friend and I were talking, the music was on low, and the windows were down so we could enjoy the night.

Twilight had set in, and it was somewhere between 9:30 and 9:45 PM when Charlie, in all his enthusiasm, darted out from the neighborhood  into traffic.  Like a greyhound after a mechanical rabbit, he was a streak in the shadows.  I didn't see him till he was in front of my right headlight.  Before my friend could finish exclaiming "Look out!" I had jammed my feet on the brake and clutch.  I wasn't able to avoid Charlie, and his body collided with my hood and grill.  I was able to stop quickly though, only pushing him about 9 inches across the pavement.  However, because my car is so small (It's a MINI Cooper) and low to the ground, I wasn't able to clear him, and I'm afraid the undercarriage may have further injured him.  I will never know if the initial impact, or my trying to get the car off of his body was what caused his death.  For his sake, I hope it was the first strike.  In my dreams, I tell myself that it was fast.  Nobody deserves the pain of a lingering death. 

Not knowing what the damage was, I pulled my car off the road and into the closest parking lot.  I didn't know if I'd get it started again when it came time, and I didn't want to tie up a major street.  After getting out and inspecting the front end for damage (there was what seemed to be very little, and at the time, assumed it to be drivable.) I walked back down the block to the scene of the accident. 

By this time, people had gathered around, and who I first assumed to be the owner was standing there, looking mournfully at the body of his pet in the road.  I was shaken, but neither of us were hurt.  The impact wasn't enough to set off the air bags (which is good since I don't much care to look like I went a round with Mike Tyson.  That, and there's no way I could have driven away since when they deploy, it disables the car.) and no other cars were involved.  In terms of people damage, it was minor.  In terms of emotional damage to Charlie's humans, I have no words.

I spoke briefly with the older man who was first on scene.  I apologized to him, saying I was so sorry to have hit his dog.  (I've never hit an animal before.  The bird who kamikase'd into my windshield at 17 doesn't count.)  He told me there was nothing I could have done.  He just bolted from their yard and took off full tilt.  When he heard the thump and the brakes, he knew he'd been hit.  I don't remember when it was that Sam and what I took to be his girlfriend arrived.  I could tell he was devastated.  I wanted to comfort him, tell him that I was so sorry about his dog.  I was afraid I'd be the evil driver who murdered their dog, but did it anyway. 

Sometime in the next hour, I made several calls.  The time is awash in lights, reports, and sadness.  The first was to 911.  They sent a cruiser with two of the area's finest to take a report.  They also sent the Humane Society to collect the remains and discuss the next steps for the owners.  I called my insurance agency to report the loss so I could get the claim started.  My companion inspected the damage to my car to see if I could drive it away.  Perhaps it seems cold, thinking about the authorities, insurance, and how I was going to get home in that moment, but someone had to do it.

While we waited, there were tears, hugs, and apologies.  I hugged Sam and his girlfriend, told them that I was so sorry for their loss.  Mine is only in time and money.  Theirs is in companionship and love.  Mine is nothing in the face of that.  They told me that I shouldn't blame myself, that Charlie was just wild and in the moment, and there was nothing that could have been done differently.  I was not to blame. There was hugging, crying, and the first stages of mourning.  Sam stayed with his dog, hand on his head, grieving the loss of his best 4 legged friend.  My heart broke for him.  That kind of love is rare, and to see it in person in such a time of loss can really be hard to watch.  I may have no maternal instincts, but I wanted to comfort this stranger in front of me anyway I could.

Not knowing that the police would exchange our information for us, I handed the older gentleman one of my calling cards with my contact information on it telling him to please send me his name and contact info because I would like to make a donation in Sam and Charlie's name to the Humane Society.  It might not be much, but I want to do something since, without my being on the road, the night might have ended differently. 

In the end, I don't know what happened to Charlie.  When I left to go look at the car a little more, the animal rescue officers were discussing cremation and had Charlie wrapped in a blanket and moved to the side of the road.  I hope he was afforded a dignified end.

Donovan, my Mellow Yellow MINI Cooper ended up with a dent in the hood, a couple broken pieces to the grill and hood, and a damaged radiator and AC condenser.  Sam's lady friend asked if we were alright to drive, or if we'd like her to give us a ride somewhere.  (I was floored by her generosity.  Say what you want about Omaha, but we have big hearts when you come right down to it.)  I politely declined, thinking it would be fine to get it the mile or two down the road.  I had about 2,000 miles left on the warranty, so I was able to get the car towed to the repair shop from my friend's house.  It was about midnight when the flatbed showed up, and I'm sure the neighbors were curious why their street was full of flashing lights.  But, I got all of my valuables out of the car and bid Donovan goodbye. 

Gary from Markel Collision called me bright and early on Monday.  We discussed what was wrong with the car, and told me that he'd be in touch with a prognosis and an estimate.  Later, when he called back, I was told that it was best that I hadn't driven it farther than the mile or two to get it back to my companion's house since there was damage to the radiator and compressor after all.

I was able to borrow a car for the time he's being worked on, so that's good.  I haven't done more than commute from work to home since I don't want to burn too much gas in the little Honda I've been driving.  I'm thankful to have the wheels.  It's Friday of the following week, and my Donovan is coming home from his little Plastic Surgery adventure good as new.  I missed my little buddy. 

I'm still planning on making a donation to the humane society.  I know this has been tougher for Sam and his family than it has for me.  I would like to at least minimize that if I can.  If you're interested in participating with me, here's the web site.  Even if you don't want to donate in Charlie's or Sam's name, they're a fantastic organization.  All of my pets have been rescue animals (I'm a rescue human after all, it makes sense to support that cause).  They can use any and all help they can get.

*Edit.  It is March 13th, 2012.  In an unrelated conversation with my insurance agent, I came to find that the deductible that I paid for the initial repairs was recovered by my insurance company the day prior.  I should see that check in the mail in about 7 days.  The irony here is that as of today, my dog is at the vet with a UTI and I was worried how I was going to pay the bill.  It seems that I will be able to use these funds to care for my own dog.  The universe works in strange and mysterious ways, if you listen.