The Birthday Thing

I hate my birthday. I really do. I’m not a big fan. I sort of white-knuckle through it with all the passion of someone who just felt the esthetician do a final rub of the cloth strap stuck to your bikini area..

That is what my birthday feels like to me.

Other than I never had my bikini area waxed so my emotional metaphors are all hypothetical - unlike my bikini hair.

Something about singing a weird song that's not in strophic form and setting food on fire. Come on, that’s weird.

I dislike the attention of people being all wide-eyed at me or the stereotypical "you're a woman so you look 25 LOLZ" which is BS. I almost didn't make it to my 27th birthday so having a couple more is nice. But if I try to tell people that, I have ruined the moment by talking about the D word and that's sad.

Also, I can't eat the cake and the whole event just reminds me how I'm not normal.

Birthday remind me I am not normal.

[Gestures wildly]

What I do every year to combat my negative energy over these cultural traditions I don't understand and always get wrong is to create my own tradition.

My first attempt was in 2007, I almost died and lost a lot of my memories. I asked people to send me autographed photos of themselves so I could frame them and put them in my den. Like when people make walls of celebrities and memorabilia. It would be a floor-to-ceiling black-and-white glossy 8x11 photos of everyone I knew. Then I wouldn't forget them - I could look at them and remember that these are the people in my life.

I never got any so I gave up on the request a few years later.

My next attempt I figure needed to be smaller and less based on other people. I heard there was this Jewish tradition that you should always give money to someone when you are on a business trip or entering into a new venture because then the endeavor would be blessed with good intentions.

I have no idea if any of that is true - but I liked the concept of good deeds.

I didn't have a lot of money and I had no energy. I knew I couldn't change someone's life. I was merely alive and trudging through existence. After a lot of running around in my mind, I decided I could donate a dollar for every year and maybe that would be some type of good deed to kick off my year.

If I can be lucky enough to have a birthday, I should have the privilege of providing some token to the world of which I stank up.

I try to ask people what they are donating to or care about in order to get people thinking about what they can do to make the world better with their time or cold, hard cash, and support those who are in various stages of need. It also gives me perspective on what matters outside of my own thoughts and circles.

This year, I donated to American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. I also will hopefully be walking in the Out of the Darkness Philadelphia Walk

If you are in crisis, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255). The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals.

So, no story today while I do what I am doing. Just a simple quote:

Jack London: A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog.

That Time I Put the Fun in Fungus

That time I got that rash thing - it actually was right where a horsefly bit me, so, I assumed that's what it was. Then it exploded so I decided to have some fun with it.

If you are going to have some weird disfigurement, why not have fun with it? Right? Here is the list of things I tried to "convince" people I had.

It was a vaccine gone wrong!

It's the mark of Satan - I'm a witch.

Cigar burn. I live dangerously.

Supernumerary nipple - supernumerary nipples are diagnosed in humans at a rate of approximately 1 in 8,000 people

Lab experiment accident...meth lab

Hipster tattoo of the sun over arrows.

I'm turning into pizza. Slowly turning into pizza.

It's all that's left of the twin I consumed in utero.

Firework accident.

It's the real Eye of Sauron.

Brown recluse spider bite.

And at the end of the day, it was actually...

Ended up being ringworm or Dermatophytosis if you think the word "ringworm" sounds gross.

I got it from one of the cats when I was cleaning cages and feeding and whatnot. You can pick up this common fungal infection anywhere - most commonly in lockers when you get Athlete's Foot

Things I Have Pulled Out of My Couch

I have this purple couch, the only one I ever had, so it's old. This is amount of things I have pulled out of it:

• Apricot pit
• Apron
• Barrette
• Books
• Bra
• Bullets
• Buttons
• Candy
• Candy wrappers
• Cat toys
• Cell phones
• Chicken bones
• Chopsticks
• Coasters
• Dimes
• Drivers licenses
• DVD remote
• DVDs
• Earrings
• Flask
• Fork
• Hair pins
• Hairballs (created by my hair)
• Hairballs (created by other mammals)
• Hand lotion bottle
• Handcuffs
• Horseshoe
• Kittens
• Map of France
• Matchbox
• Necklaces
• Nickels
• Pennies
• Pens
• Popcorn
• Pork chop
• Potato chips
• Quarters
• Rats
• Ribbon
• Seed packet
• Shirts
• Snow globe
• Socks
• Stuffed animals
• Sweater
• Tank tops
• Tapeworm segments
• TV remote control
• Underwear

The Development of the Emergency Friend and Brainstorming Death Scenarios

One thing I dealt with longer than most people I know - which is, granted, not a lot - is living completely on my own without a roommate. I never lived with anyone after my junior year in college, and I also pretty much lived alone my freshman year of college because my assigned roommate moved out. Then again, like, three of my friends piled in. . .soo...

Right.

Anyhow, most of my friends were living with their life-mates or roommate or whatever. They weren't alone as much as I was alone. Being alone isn't bad it just presents certain problems when it comes to life and death, let's say.

My friend, we'll call him Maximus McThunderfart, use to text me when he was going on a date and where he would be and at the end of the night he would text me he was still alive. Or my job was to text him the next morning to make sure he was still alive.

Same for me - I would let him know where I was going and with who. It was nice because there wasn't judgement or questions being asked about it.

Then we talked about how long it would actually take someone to find our bodies if we died. Like just randomly. The scenario was something like this:

Without having a scheduled day off or holiday, if you died on a Friday after you got home from work, how long would it take someone to come find you?

And the answers were:

Max: Tuesday
Maddie: Monday night

I argued that people where I worked knew I could die and knew I kept a pretty strict schedule so they would automatically assume I was dead if I didn't show up exactly at 8am on Monday morning. They would probably call the police and probably by Monday night someone would have found my body. Police do "wellness checks" these days if you think someone might be in danger or dead, once that alarm is raised you'd assume you'd be found within 24 hours.  

Then we adjusted the perimeters to see how long we would be decomposing before someone noticed. Here is how it played out:

Removing family or work form the situation - how long would it take someone to call the police due to your dead body decomposing?
Max: I would only leave off the fresh, sweet smell of roasted garlic. Everyone would rejoice.
Maddie: My building is old and I live over a retail store. Assuming I died in my kitchen, I would eventually be dripping down the pipes and someone would call because that's not good for a retail environment. If I died in bed, there would be a higher material absorption. Let's say a week?

How long would it take someone to find you if you died right after Thanksgiving day knowing it's a four-day weekend?
Max: 5 days
Maddie: No, 0 days. Because Mystery Case Files (MCF) comes out the day after Thanksgiving and I would literally come back as a zombie to play it. Then I would have the un-dead decency to let someone know I was dead. After I played all the bonus content.

You are murdered on a date, how long until your body is found?
Max: I keep a file on everything I know about the people I see on my computer. When would you call the police?
Maddie: I would say, if I didn't get a text from you by the following morning, by high-noon I would head over to your place. However, I think you need to be missing for 48 hours as an able-bodied adult for the police to start looking if there was no suspicious circumstances surrounding your missing-ness. I would gather that evidence and re-trace you steps in the meantime. Oh, probably call hospitals to see if you were admitted because you ate a peanut or something.
Max: If you didn't reply, I would just call your Dad. He would take care of the situation.
Maddie: Question is bunk. I was raised by a secret agent. If someone did somehow manage to murder me, they would be doing it with one eyeball and less than 10 fingers. And, yes, then you should call my Dad.

After these conversations, we decided we would be each other's Emergency Friend. If we sent suspicious communication or something, we would each know what to do and where to go for information. From that point on, we checked in with each other if we hadn’t heard anything in 24 hours. If there was no response, it would be our duty to go find the body and bring anyone responsible for the death to justice.

More people should have an Emergency Friend. If someone isn't willing to go on a hunt for your dead body, are they really your friend?

Only you can answer that for yourself.

The Hypothetical Food Truck Riot

One day, I will document how much I hated planning a wedding. And it was my wedding. I’m not a "wedding" person but I bit the bullet and did the thing.

Yay. Weddings give me purpose as an ovary-dominate person

One evening, I was over at my parents having dinner and we were talking about weddings. Because why waste the time talking about interesting stuff when there's a wedding.

Background information you need to know - so far, my Mom had blown the budget. I mean, she blew my proposed budget about 2 seconds after I showed her how much money it would cost for certain things and how I was going to keep the cost down. We were a couple months in at this point..

It's cool. I’m not paying for it financially, only emotionally.

And emotions don’t count.

Here we are, my loving parents and me, sitting around the table and this conversation happened:

Dad: This spending is out of control for this wedding. Do you realize 50% of marriages end in divorce, this is a lot of money to invest in something that has a 50% failure rate. If that was an investment fund, you wouldn't invest in it.

My Dad makes strong points.

Maddie: I know. I was ok with eloping to Vegas and just getting the money you would spend on a wedding in cash. Non-sequential, unmarked bills, I might add.
Mom: We have the money, what are you worrying about? This is a celebration! How often does your only daughter get married.

She had a valid point. I would never get married again.

Dad: Remember Jerry Petievich’s daughter?
Maddie: *eating steak, doesn't care*
Dad: Jerry Petievich’s daughter got married, what, a couple months ago?
Mom: It was a very nice wedding.
Dad: ...he was telling us about it when we went to visit and he was saying how out of control this whole thing is. He was saying they had a food truck pull up to serve hamburgers and milkshakes at the end of the night. Can you believe that? Out of control what you can spend on these weddings. It's so much money just down the drain. Food trucks, can you believe that? Hey, how expensive would it be to get a food truck at your wedding?
Maddie: *eating steak, doesn't care*
Dad: How much would it be?
Maddie: I really have no idea.

As a side note, we punked my Dad like 500 times with this wedding thing. I would print out the most horrible pictures of wedding dresses and say that was the one I got or tell him it was like a million dollars a person. It was great.

Dad: Well, who is that caterer girl?
Mom: Monica. He name is Monica.
Dad: Get that Monica on the phone, ask her how much it would be to have a hamburger food truck. And a milkshake food truck. You can't have hamburger without milkshakes.
Maddie: *unsure if this is a trap* ...We don’t need a food truck, Dad. I don't want one or anything. I think we'll have enough food there.
Dad: You know what, we’re in Philadelphia. It should be a cheesesteak food truck.
Mom: Yes! Cheesesteaks and milkshakes at the end of the night. Great idea! How amazing would that be when people are leaving they can get cheesesteaks and milkshakes right there? I think that would be great.

I had finished my steak, so, I was pretty sure I was being punked.

Dad: How much would that cost? At the end of the night if these trucks pulled up.
Maddie: Look, Monica is busy. I’m not going to ask her to price something out for no reason.
Dad: Well, let’s see how much it is first.

(Name dropping that I know someone who knows Gerald Petievich who is an American crime writer. He was a United States Secret Service Special Agent from 1970-1985. The following films were made of his novels: To Live and Die in L.A., The Sentinel, and Boiling Point)

As a dutiful daughter, I emailed Monica - when I had to email her, I always called her a different name. It was rarely her own name:

Strawberry!!
Thanks so much for your help today. :) it was cool seeing your sassy shoes. Woo! Now, on to a NEW demand. (Bwhahahahah!!). My adorable father was like, "hey, how about a food truck to serve burgers/cheesesteaks and shakes at the end of the night?" He said a lot of other things, but, I was eating steak. Remember when it was summer yesterday? So - have you ever...had a food truck show up at a venue? Or does jscottcatering (of course, one word) have one of those? Like…in a pocket or something? The idea is as people are filtering out they can get a burger/shake and head on their way.

Monica replied:

Hi muffin!!
Yay!! Such a good morning my pleasure!!  Love where Dad’s head is at BUT I can of course can do you one better we have our custom made cheesesteak grill where we can actually make the cheesesteaks in front of everyone!!! We can always walk them around as will with shakes no problem … I can get pricing for you, let me know what you think about the cheesesteaks and I can look into the other as well! ~Monica

We weren’t done. I reported this back to my Dad. The price and how it would work out. A lot of conversation happened which I think it important to note. Due to those conversations, I had to draft and send this email:

I think my parents have two concerns - one, that some people will leave before the end so how do we tell how many people to order cheesesteak/milkshake for. Not the full guest list, right?  

Next, how do we prevent people from taking more than 1? I mean, obviously, if someone comes up and says, "I want 100 cheesesteaks and 500 milkshakes". . .you know. . .someone is going to laugh at them. I told my parents, I assume you guys got this stuff down to a science.  

Just to clarify - second major concern - heart attacks happening in the parking lot due to over-consumption of cheesesteaks. Riots also breakout, women’s stiletto shoes go flying as they scream, "This milkshake brought me to the yard, but, it's mine!" Someone else screams, "There's no more left! He got them all!" Car tires screech, dripping cheese on the road, while children lean out of the windows hurling milkshakes at anyone who tries to stop them. 911 is called, police confiscate the cheesesteak grill and it is said they are eating the supplies. Torches are lit and a group marches from Molly Maguire's, flags hoisted as they sing the battle cry of the People - a cheesesteak and milkshake for all! Helicopters circle the venue. . .the US, Russia, Ukraine and the European Union are brought in to negotiate. . . 

Pinterest THAT, sister. 

Monica replied twice – first email:

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. I might need to save this email , by far the best one yet…I cant even process the question yet because I am crying laughing!
~Monica

So, production got stopped a little until she got to send the  second email:

Most people will only take one if they take one at all lol…the milkshakes we can make in the back and walk those around if you want to. Also , we can probably price them out for a lower guest count since it will be later than if there is any overage, you have a few days after the wedding to pay it. I will not have any flag rising on my watch! But of course will save the shoes!

And that’s the story of how cheesesteaks and milkshakes got served at my wedding while still maintaining a zero fatalities or causalities.

The Time I Got Stuck In A Vestibule At Work

To explain the ridges security system of this office:

• Visitors only have access through the front of the building - they must be buzzed in.
• Visitors have no access to inner doors unless accompanied by someone with a card
• Employees have cards to scan ourselves into the lobby - then into the working space
• Employees can only gain access through the front and back entrances. 
• Anyone can exit through any door. 
• Front and back entrances are filmed - other doors are not

I do this thing where I walk through the office to exit on the other side of the building which puts me closer to my car while keeping me in somewhat climate controlled and carpeted space. It reduce my time outside without adding any unnecessary steps.

To outline, my goal:

• As few steps as possible
• As little time outside as possible

There are two exits which put me an equal distance from my car - one is through a conference room and the other is outside the copy room on a length of hallway. In my obsessive need for maximum efficiency, I don't go through the conference room even though it is actually a little closer to were I park.

Reasons: I cannot see if the conference room is being used until I am standing at the door - if it is, I would have to walk back all the way back to the hall door. The way I average it, if there is one meeting a month in the conference room, I would have walked about 1 million more miles than necessary. Where if I only use the hall exit, I might walk more steps outside but I am walking less steps overall.

Wild card - the hall door opens to the outside so you need a card to get it to unlock. But, then it opens to a vestibule requiring you to have a scan card to unlock the actual external door and taste sweet, sweet freedom.

This is the only vestibule set up in the entire complex. All other external doors are just sitting there. You scan or are scanned and walk out. Since this is the only set-up, our security minded facilities crew got drunk and decided how they would make this area impervious to the outside world.

I imagine the conversation went like this:

Dude 1: Do you think we should hire actual security people?
Dude 2: I feel like I could make good security decisions. After all, we have Google!
Dude 1: That sounds like Leadership potential right there!
Dude 2: Ok, listen. We'll give everyone these scan cards they have to use to get into the building through any door. I saw that in a movie once. And to get out, too, they need to have the cards or the doors won't open.
Dude 1: That's f**king brilliant! Wait. What about in the event of a fire? People could be trapped and might sue us. Hmmm...
Dude 2: Ok, when the fire system goes off, anyone can exit?
Dude 1: How much does that cost?
Dude 2: 1 billion dollar.
Dude 1: That will really cut into the badge production. Besides, if we spend less, more for us.
Dude 2: F**k
Dude 1: Ok, how about this. No one needs a card to exit the building but...here's the savings-idea, people can only get into the building through the front and back entrance. We will even set up cameras to film people coming in.
Dude 2: What about people leaving?

Dude 1: F**k that sh**! I don't care if people work forever and die here. I only care about people entering.
Dude 2: You're right. That is logical.

I'd be safe if the conversion had ended there.

Dude 2: Did you see this on the blueprints? This is a box of space here with two doors. That's different. It's a vestigial vestibule!

Dude 1: I know what we have to do. Allow anyone to walk from the inside into the vestibule. But they need a card to get out of the second door.
Dude 2: Why would you do that? It's an exit, right? Why couldn't they just walk out both doors?
Dude 1: What if someone comes to the external door and breaks into the vestibule? Because no one can see them in that space, then they would be able to get into the building by the copy room. We can't have that. I say we lock that exit down. Also, they have to scan to get into the area. Yes! That is how it shall be! Scans everywhere!
Dude 2: Brilliant! Let's do that! This building is complete secure from forces we have yet to identify! Hey, how about we set timers that after something is scanned, it auto-locks for an arbitrary period of time? But, the catch is, we don't tell anyone.
Dude 1: Y.E.S!

I walked down the hall and scanned myself into the vestibule and walked to the external door and it beeped red meaning it knew I had a scan card to exit, but, I had not moved fast enough from the one door to the outside door and it locked down. I looked over my shoulder and saw the other door close - there is no card reader at that door because you can only enter the building through the two main entrances and this door enters the building... 

I was literally stuck in the vestibule. I could not re-enter the building and I could not exit. My thoughts were (in order):

• This is stupid
• I'm going to take a picture of how close the outside world is
• I can't go forward
• I can't go backward
• This is like my life
• No one is coming
• I'm doing to die here
• Will anyone miss me if I do die?
• THIS IS WHAT YOU WERE TRAINED FOR!

Actions taken:

• I knocked on the hall door but since it faces the copy room and no one else is really around it, no one heard me. Plus, it was the end of the day so no one was in the cubes closest too me
• I tried the external door again - no luck. It was still locked
• I attempted to card the lock. No luck
• I checked my phone - everyone at work had already left for the day that I could text. The one person I did text did not reply
• I had no items of which to break the window or door
• I brainstormed pulling the fire alarm - but the door would not open, I knew this, and everyone knew I went home so no one would come looking for me if they actually counted people

Then it happened - someone else walked through the door!

Maddie: OMG, don't let that door close!

Lady: AHHH!!!! (She also had an Indian accent which made her sound far smarter than me)

Maddie: I have been trapped in here for 20 minutes!!

Lady: No, you just need to wait a minute and the other door opens.
Maddie: It's been 20 of those minutes!
Lady: No, I don't think so
Maddie: ...

She walked to the external door and it unlocked, she opened it and we both walked out.

Further research into this situation showed that when she walked into the vestibule, her scan card reset everything in the area and after about two second the external door unlocked as it normally would since the hall door closed behind her.

And that's the story of how I got stuck in the vestibule and plan to trap future enemies in said vestibule.

Things I Have Set On Fire

Sometimes I make up lists in my head about things I think I should keep track of. Most people have "lists" like to-do and stuff like that. I tend to group together weird information. It's almost like I have to ask myself a question and store all the answers in a list in an ongoing way.

Sometimes they are useful, a lot of times, they are like this.

This is a list of things I have set on fire either on purpose or by accident:

• Blood
• Bread
• Butane
• Candles
• Candy wrapper
• Chair
• Cigar
• Cigarette
• Compact Disks (CDs)
• Corn
• Curtains
• Curtains
• Fingernails
• Fireworks
• Flowers
• Gasoline
• Glossy magazines
• Hamburgers
• Hearts (metaphorically by listable)
• Hot dogs
• Incense
• Kale
• Ladder
• Lampe Berger
• Leaves
• Magazines
• Marshmallows
• Milk
• My hair (twice)
• Needles
• Newspaper
• Oven mitt
• Photographs
• Pipe cleaners
• Plastic
• Popcorn
• Sausage
• Scrap paper
• Sealing wax
• Spaghetti noodles
• Sparklers
• Stone
• Stones
• Sweater
• Table saw
• Toaster
• Tobacco
• Walnuts
• Wires
• Wood
• Wool

The Time My Apartment Was Haunted

My senior year of college, I had an off-campus apartment because I had lived so seamlessly perfectly with my college roommate and she was a year older than me and had graduated. You can’t follow up that act. I had to either get a roommate (or three) or bug out.

I bugged out.

Might I add, working three jobs and freelancing while going to college did not make me enough money so my parents had to chip in to help me afford rent.

My apartment was a private rental. It was half of the upper floor of a house that had been converted into about four or five apartments. Two on the top, maybe three on the bottom. You know, everyone’s dream.

Get it? It’s sexual.

The top-top floor was the attic. Through a chain of events I will write about later, I knew there was the end of a fireplace up there. I had a doorway in my apartment to this attic, but, it was dead-bolted and padlocked. My first landlord told me to never go into the attic that it wasn't safe. And I was cool with that. He sold the building a couple months later and this other chick took over being the landlord. She was horrible.

The apartment opened to a fairly large kitchen, smaller living then a LONG hall which had the attic door on one side and bathroom on the other side. At the end of the hall, it was the bedroom. It was a very long, one-way type apartment.

At least once a week, but a couple times a week, along the long hallway on the attic door side, there would be all these little dirty hand-print marks. So, I did what anyone would do, I cleaned them off. Then they would reappear. They were about at my knee-to-hip level and I was a college kid. It was like 2002, so, honestly, I didn’t have time for this nonsense.

Hand-prints appear. Hand-prints cleaned off. Hand-prints appeared. Whatever. I left them and dealt with this collection of brown-tan prints.

Now, it was an older building and I often heard my neighbors on the one side and even my downstairs neighbor. They also reported hearing me. And also, if the guy in the lower apartment ordered porn or anything, we ALL got to watch it because there was only one line or something.

See, that's something I would mention. This statement will be important later.

When I graduated, I moved out. Because it was a small town, the people who moved in after me where friends of a girl I was friends with in college. She told me they were moving into my apartment and I told them it was a great little spot.

I told them about the porn thing and that the downstairs neighbor smoked and they don't need to immediately call 911 when the neighbors started fighting - you wait 10 minutes, if you hear sex sounds, everything is AOK. The best pizza specials were on Tuesdays and I left a bunch of these blue trash bags for them to use that you had to put your trash in by town-law.

You know - IMPORTANT stuff.

About a week later or a week after they moved in, I get this exchange.

Alice: OMG, did you know that apartment is HAUNTED?!
Maddie: Haunted? No, it’s not haunted-haunted.

As a fan of horror, I would not say that the place was haunted. Just to be clear.

Alice: OMG, it totally is. There are children’s hand-prints all over the walls that keep coming back.
Maddie: Oh, yeah. That happens. You just clean it off.
Alice: They hear the children running around in the attic!
Maddie: Yeah, that’s annoying, but, I mean, there is a lot of noise from the street and stuff.
Alice: ...and there is the sound of scratching and crying during the night. They hear crying.
Maddie: To to fair, it could be the neighbors...do you hear sex-sounds after?
Alice: It is not the neighbors. They moved out. And then they found all this weird sh** in the attic, too.
Maddie: Oh yeah, you never go into the attic. The previous owner told me that. He said, don't ever go into the attic.
Alice: THE APARTMENT IS HAUNTED!
Maddie: Oh. Yeah. I mean, in review, yeah, I guess you have some strong evidence there.

And that’s pretty much that story. No real conclusion. The people who lived there moved out a hot second later. I don't know who moved in after. I can't help think maybe they shouldn't have gone into the attic.

The Calpurnia Mission: Chapter 1: The Calpurnia Mission

The Calpurnia Mission: Chapter 1: The Calpurnia Mission. How many times can I write Calprunia without messing up?

Three.

The Calpurnia Mission is a low-fantasy adventure tale told through a collection of short stories that link together through siblings, Calpurnia and Derko. Well, I guess chapters. Originally they were short stories but then they became chapters.

The first Monday of every month, I am going to write about the stories I have written, about the characters or concepts, about what I have learned through this process of writing.

The only thing I have ever wanted to do was write. I loved writing since I could write and I have all these stories like movies in my mind. But, I never knew one could be a professional writer and I never invested any time in the business of it because anything "creative" was not stable and I sucked at so many things that I needed to invest my time in that - not in stuff I was better at than other people.

I never really knew anyone who wrote and I never had many people who thought it was a good idea for me to do it when I sucked so much at everything else. And probably sucked at writing because it wasn't view as anything...important. Writing groups, people offering help - all have been major let downs for me.

And now I have a mortgage. F**k.

But, I remain unreasonable persistent in the face of every contest I lose and writing professional who sees no worth in my work.

So, now I have this set of stories I am trying to finish before I die. It took me a little time to write this first story, I didn't think I would finish it. I have a finishing problem. I had this concept in my head for a while and visions of this woman walking down these streets while being hunted by something.

Boom. Story. Finished it.

Then I was like. . .this would be cool to keep going. And here we are. Me with an unfinished group of stories and a blog. No credentials. A full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and I'm wearing sunglasses

The Story: The Calpurnia Mission
In the first chapter, The Calpurnia Mission, you learn that Calpurnia and Derko have been transported into another world called Delvion from a world they accepted and knew as the only world around. Sort of like you, right now. Calpurnia had stumbled on a magical key that links the holder to other very normal and also very fantastical worlds. Delvion, however, is crumbling around them, threatening to kill them and the few people surviving in it. Calpurnia has her brain and her brother and nothing else but her slim education to attempt to save them. Her problems are compounded when she finds she is being hunted by a stranger named Fairscourt who attempts to trick her into imprisonment.

My Protagonist: Calpurnia
Calpurnia is the main protagonist - she does share the honor with her brother, Derko. She is female. Originally, I was like “Yeah, a female. She is going to female all over like a female and people are going to be like, WHAT? A female?” And then I realized how little that might actual matter when it comes down to the mechanics of a character.

Other than menstruation. That sh** is annoying.

I keep character notes on everyone, so, in my notes, I listed her as: black hair, brown almond shaped eyes. Sharp features, long nose. Tall, long torso. Probably 5’7-5’8.

It was important in writing that she, and all the other characters, are only described physically in relation to others or as idly as we would say “...has black hair. Kinda tall...” I build my characters with little physical description - you have an imagination, use it.

I defined Calpurnia by every female protagonist from my youth, mostly some type of princess or man-hungry traveler. But the darker side of that. What happens when the romantic story ends? You get Calpurnia. She is remarkably intelligent, resourceful, self possessed - and she is ruled by the laws of males, has been traded for her ability to breed to save her family, and her silence.

Her choices are not completely one-sided, though. She is less of a victim and more of a person facing remarkable circumstances and making choices to save the people she loves. Even in this life of the "aged princess" she finds more allies than enemies.

Calpurnia is aware of how words and looks work - she has mastered being a chameleon and wearing a mask to further her own means, but has never had to work or, you know, go outside. She perhaps a little entitled and a little forgotten and a little bit of a line in a contract.

What she is really good at is mastering what she can of her situation - she might have very few "adventure worthy" tools but what she has, she uses well. There is a element of toughness to her person which is not physical - there are deeply rooted fundamental elements of survival, loyalty and confidence in her.

Her mind is constantly working to find ways to evade danger, accomplish tasks and reduce injury. She learns easily - recycling other people's words or postures - even experiences - when she is unsure what to do.

She only speaks when it is necessary although she is no wallflower. She is not sexual, she is hard to insult, embarrass or offend - but she is no peacemaker and she can be less than forgiving. She has a very real ability to cut someone with her words because that is what worked for her.

The softer side of her is only apparent in her relationship with brother, Derko. They have a close and loving relationship which she is not afraid to show or ashamed of. He can make her laugh easily and sees the good in her no matter her choices. He is often the only one who sees her this way.

As she must be, she is flawed.

She is paranoid. Her logical and intelligence always sees danger and horror. At the same time, when something she loves is in danger or hurt, she becomes quite impulsive. Her main fear is that she will harm others over others harming her.

She is rarely grateful or soft to those around her. She is a bully, she is mean. If she sees someone has being under her, she can be downright nasty toward them. Inside her, she grapples with constant fear of having no skills under constant silence. She has pin-point focus that leaves little room for anything.

What I Learned From Calpurnia
Calpurnia is really hard to write sometimes because under all that her life has made her and her choices, she is a very deep and loving character. In another set of circumstances, she would be another person entirely. I wanted to build her to where if you thought about it, and the more you learn about her, the more you see how much of a different person she could have been.

How do I show that? I have to show it in almost every interaction so it’s this slow burn throughout the story. That's difficult. It's also difficult to show her growth and find her motivation to change what has - in her view - been the best way to operate in life.

Writing dialog is very hard with her sometimes. I do it by relying on re-writing. I write out a whole scene and interactions and then go back and find I can remove 50% of the dialog. By writing everything down in the first go, I have a good map of the situation, then I can go back and refine her - removing what might be my words and quips and turning her outward words into internal thoughts or slight motions.

She doesn’t joke, she isn’t frivolous with her motions or words.There is no filler language when dealing with Calpurnia and she does not dumb down anything for anyone.

Something real cool came out of her development (and mine) – when she is talking to another character, the other character really comes through for who they are. Because of who she is, I really had to make the characters around her just as complex and defined.

Calpurnia don't have time for your sh**.

On the super-upside, she can move dialog along at an alarming rate, which is perfect when I need to get to the point. It also is perfect because when she does speak or move, there is often a lot of meaning and weight.

I always have to be aware of her keen sense of danger and forward thinking. More times than not, I write something and ask myself “Why would she have gotten herself into his?”

Calpurnia might be all iron on the outside but she is not physical – for a story about adventure, this is hard on me. She cannot fight or physically overcome someone – she doesn’t do CrossFit. There is no scaling walls or fist-fights for her. No gun battles or epic sword fights. There is no hidden ninja skills. There is nothing - NOTHING - special or outstanding about her.

At the same time, she has to face the dragons and walls. I cannot dumb down the physical conflicts to prove she is a female and she is smart. I really had to learn how to think in 4D, and she also has to get hurt.

Key Rules of Calpurnia

• Calpurnia does not repeat herself
• She's got Acrophobia - fear of heights
• She doesn't yell
• She does not use bad language - not only does she not curse, she tends to speak well
• She is tough to the extent that she does not believe she can offer comfort to others
• She has surprisingly good cardio health, she can run and walk for days
• She refers to people by their full first or last name
• She clasps her hands in front of her when afraid
• She will never admit she is wrong
• Once she has learned something (or is afraid of something) she will never let that go
• She doesn't speak badly about people, she doesn't speak well about them, either
• She does not say "thank you"
• She is a master evader

Fin
If you have questions about them or The Calpurnia Mission you can email me at StoriesbyMaddie at gmail or TheCalpurniaMission at gmail.

What? I like gmail.

How I Became a Foster (Cat) Parent

I wanted a cat.

I grew up with a cat, her name was Smokey, and she was pretty awesome. I wanted a black cat because I was pretty sure I was going to be some type of witch and at 7-years-old, that means a black cat. My Mom called around to all the stores and finally found one a good distance away. When we arrived, I pointed to the one I wanted - the runt of the litter, a gray one with white paws.

My mom doesn't remember how long she was in labor with me, but, she remembers exactly how may hours, calls and miles she had to endure to find me a black cat only to have me pick a grey-and-white one.

For 20 years, Smokey was my cat.

Fast-forward to 2011 (I have no concept of time, so, this is a rough estimate), I saw a rescue had set up shop in the local pet store chain - which will remain unnamed due to their current unfair and unsafe adoption requirements so we'll just call it what it is...PetSmart - and I saw this black cat name Forrest. I was able to go into the back and play with him for a minute or two. Then I put in an application.

I get an email about a day later from this lady, Pat, saying Forrest had already been adopted but there were other available black cats needing homes.

I wrote back that I wasn't really taken with black cats specifically. I wrote that I was a single person living alone, I worked 50-60 hours a week, I had a one bedroom apartment and maybe if they had something without a tail or that stunk...a cat missing an eye or who hated everyone...maybe a cat who had some problems or was close to being put down...that's the cat I wanted.

I got a reply - oddly enough - asking if I would take a cat with Feline Leukemia (FeLuk). Feline Leukemia is a retrovirus in cats that remained largely dormant. The problem was when it comes out, it crashes the bone marrow and once your bone marrow died, you can't make red blood cells, so you die.

Maddie: well...how long was the death? Is this a long-term thing?
Pat: Hours maybe a day.
Maddie: How expensive is it?
Pat: Well, the rescue will cover all the medical costs. The cat will remain the rescue's cat, not really your cat...

...

...

Maddie:...Sign me up!

And then I went to this huge house to pick up the cat I wanted. I had the option of three:

• Lucy, a calico. She was the carrier of the FeLuk, she infected them all.
• Macadamia, a talker. He was petite. 
• Almond: A mostly white cat who hung out with Lucy. Almond was Macadamia's full brother.

Pat mentioned that the rescue would cover 100% of the food costs. But, even though I was a pretty low-salary type person, I couldn't take money for FOOD for an animal in my care.

I picked Macadamia. This boy-cat was laying on a bed in a spare bedroom with it's own bathroom, complete with claw-foot bathtub, and spiral staircase to some type of loft. It was bigger than my whole apartment, I swear.

Quietly, I whispered, "My place will be a step down from this, little guy."

Macadamia yawned. So, I felt a pact had been made.

Back at my much smaller one-bedroom (ok, plus den) apartment, this little cat curled right up with me and we watched TV. I was in motherfu*king love. The next day, however, I found it hard to call this little guy "Macadamia." That was such a BIG name. He was such a little guy who liked to meow and sleep.

So I named him Charlie. He was totally a Charlie. 

Charlie nuzzled with me every night - and meowed on Friday and Saturday nights when I did not go to bed at the right time. He didn't play, really. He just wanted to snuggle and be cute. 

It worked out for me because I am not cute and I also wanted to sleep. It was 2011, I was still in treatment for various blood borne illnesses and sleeping a lot. 

Then, one day, he wasn't feeling so good. I remember he wasn't eating. I remember I warmed up some food because warm, stinky food is best and little Charlie burned his mouth.

I died on the inside when he squeaked in pain. He had so willing dived into the food I over-heated. I died on the inside.

I could not apologize or love on him enough. I still feel horrible and I can still see his little body shoot back from the too-hot food with a little meow cry. OMG. Died.

He wasn't doing any better for all my nurturing and I went to the vet! I had to drop him off and then come back later to get him because of my new job and I didn't know how "pet friendly" they were. If I had to drop off a child, it would be cool. Not an animal. Not even an animal near death.

When I returned to the vet after work, the vet brought out his carrier and a vial of blood. Well, not a lot of blood. Just a little blood. He told me, the cat had almost no blood. The FeLuk was destroying him from the inside. Charlie was laying on the blanket in the carrier and weakly lifted his head to silently meow at me.

I was on the phone with Pat from the rescue. I was not sure I could care for Charlie. At that moment, I didn't know if I was the best person for him. I didn't know how to deal with sick animals. I didn't know what treatment he would need. I didn't know if I could make him safe and comfortable and happy. I was pretty sure I had done so many things wrong with him and he needed someone who could do something right for him.

Pat: I think he will be better with you, but, I can take him. I can do whatever you want

And Charlie got up from the back of the carry, from the folds of the bedding, put his head in my hand with a little meow and died.

The flurry of activity was me saying, "I think he died" and hanging up the phone and yelling for the nurse to come. He grabbed Charlie's limp body and took him to the exam room and touched his eyeball. 

I guess if you aren't dead, that'll wake you up.

He listened for a heartbeat, he checked for respiration. Charlie was confirmed dead. 

Pat: Oh, Amanda, I am so sorry! I know he was really sick, I think he was just holding on and waiting for you.

Charlie was fighting against death for me? Maybe? He wanted me to be there? He wanted me to witness his death, to hold him, to comfort him. I might have failed in everything with that little cat but I meant safety and love and cuddles to him. He used the last little bit of his strength to lay his head in my hand. 

We are ALL going to die, who would you choose to be with? Surrounded by strangers? Alone? Or in the arms of someone who you loved? 

Charlie loved me. He felt love from me. I loved Charlie. 

And it hit me. Holy f**k, there are terminally ill beings out there who die alone, unloved - with no choice but to die alone and unloved?

No one could have done this better. No one could do this job of animal husbandry better than me.

I thought about it for about 24 hours. Then I waited about 48 hours because I didn't know if it would be odd to the outside world that I needed another FeLuk

Maddie: Hey, Pat. Do you still have Charlie's brother? I think I'd like to take him, if that's ok?

Pat: Why don't you take both Almond and Lucy? Two cats are the same amount of work as one and they both need homes.

Maddie: Cool. :)

So, I mean, I knew early on Pat had this gift of, like, scamming and pushing cats on unsuspecting people and thusly making everyone's lives better. That's how rescue works. It's not about what you want or think and that's why everyone's life is suddenly better.

And that is how I got into the world of fostering, with a concentration in fostering cats with FeLuk. Life is unfair and sucks and is heartbreaking but between those moments and in those moments, there is love.

Refusing to love a life because part of that life might suck seems stupid to me.

That Time My Dad Defined My Entire Educational Career With A Briefcase

In the early years of education, one of the most important things teachers need to do to children is to bring in real adults to talk about their career choices and how everything the teachers are saying needs to be obeyed in order to be the acceptable type of career-minded adult.

As a side benefit, this enrichment education gives teachers and extra smoke break to contemplate the series of choices that led to this moment during...You guessed it...

CAREER DAY!

I was in elementary school when first introduced to Career Day. This was maybe doing the time of long-division - dark days...dark days.

Anyhow, the whole school or grade or whatever made banners and had balloons and made sure to treat each adult like returning royalty. Adult-time is very valuable because they are very important, children’s time is less than important because most of us didn’t know what "orthodontics" was and most of us only had our baby teeth and we still had to hear about it.

Sorry Patrick’s Dad, the Orthodontist.

There were always parades of suits because it was the 1980s and women didn’t work. Or they knew better than to waste some type of sick-day on coming into a school with 100 some brats trying to explain what Accounts Payable is or something.

My Dad has always been a fan of kids and he decided he would come in for Career Day.

Let me set the scene: Imagine the auditorium with its 500 flags from different countries around - including East Berlin but not including Narnia. The brown and black flicked linoleum floor that always seemed dirty holding the butts of like 10,000 children all jammed together with teachers walking at the flanks of the mass to keep everyone in line. I'm pretty sure one or two of them had those pool-cue type pointers or like a ridding crop or something to swat at anyone out of line.

The highlight of Career Day was the doctor guy who brought in a kid-sized robot that was suppose to make kids who were about to die feel better because it was funny. Or something. Kids dig robots.

Once that presentation is over, junk pretty much goes downhill.

Some lawyer comes up to discuss the important of tax law. Maybe there was some type of banker. Then Patrick’s dad. We could all agree teeth were pretty cool. ..I guess...he probably brought us toothbrushes which is like the worst thing you can get as a kid but he had the acrylic model of a mouth - so. . .it was a wash.

The natives are getting restless now - and up walks my Dad in a black suit with his briefcase. He isn't even dressed cool in scrubs or like a fish tie or something. He has no props - also a negative for elementary school kids.

Kids dig props.

Dad: Hi everyone, I’m Ernie!

So, really, a name like Ernie…it was not a good start. Kids are already starting to laugh. Ernie. Like Bert and Ernie. Hahaha. Yep. Kids, man. I want to say a lot of my classmates humor got more sophisticated, but, this is really where a lot of them peaked.

Dad: Thanks for having me. Who can tell me who the President is?

That’s my Dad. Boring the sh** out of us while the teachers are like “hush” and “shh” and all that. Some girl is like, "I know who!" Her hand shoots up and the kids around her are like "You're dumb!" and there's some racket in the back with the boys who are bad who were separated by the girls and probably someone just claimed someone else is getting married and...

BOOM!

...My Dad’s open briefcase hits the floor with the loudest, echoyiest bang you ever heard drawing every eye to the about-to-be laughable moment when adults drop stuff and everyone laughs...

...but no...there he was standing with an uzi that had been in the briefcase.

Silence.

Utter silence.

Dad: I'm an Agent with the Secret Service. My job is to protect the President.

Pretty much from that moment on, my educational career was established as the girl who’s Dad carries an UZI in his briefcase.

You could say my Dad single-handedly saved Career Day as he talked about all this secret agent stuff he did. I mean, the bulk of the job of the Secret Service is to prevent counterfeit money from entering into the economic – but other stuff is cool, too. At that age, anyone holding a gun is cool.

After all the presentations, we could go up to them and ask questions so everyone FLOCKED for my Dad. One of the "bad kids" ran up to him to try to claim the gun or whatever. He was followed by some teacher who was on bad-kid-duty and trying to make him not punch other kids and be a jerk.

He really wanted to touch the gun. REALLY. The teacher kept saying things like "No, now, that's not yours" and "ok, ok, ask for permission first" and "wait your turn" and "I'm going to count to three..."

He decided to stick finger into the barrel of the gun and my Dad was like “That’s one way to lose a finger.”

The kid backed the f**k down.

So, yeah, he was, also, one of the only parents to be invited back every year.

Kids: Does your Dad really carry an uzi in his briefcase?
Maddie: I don’t know, depends on the day.

As a side note, I was unaware other fathers did NOT carry guns until that moment. So it was an awkward mental transition for me.