Ghost-of-a-Chance

Y’all, my husband needs a warning label. I’m sitting here, sucking on a peppermint and minding my business with headphones on—the better to block out his party chat trash-talk—and I hear THIS: “You ain’t had pussy since you came out a pussy.”
I don’t know who was laughing louder, the recipient of the burn, Cold, or me, but I very nearly had a Star-Brite lodged in my throat.   This guy kills me.
 

Just now, I saw something absolutely smoking hot on the internet. I mean, she was a seriously sexy beast—the kind of beauty I see in my dreams and drool over in centerfolds, regardless of whether I’m in public. If I encountered her on the street, I would absolutely embarrass myself, stare like a loon, and profess my undying adoration to her. 
 
A wolf-whistle, three muttered “damns,” and a couple of impressed tongue-clicks later, my husband gave in. Cold sighed, rolled his eyes, and grumbled, “just show me the car.”
He knows me so well. 😆 It was, in fact, a classic muscle car—a ‘67 Oldsmobile Tornado. In my defense the lines on this bad girl are what wet dreams are made of, and I pity Cold for his lack of taste. It’s a sad way to live.

Just now, I saw something absolutely smoking hot on the internet. I mean, she was a seriously sexy beast—the kind of beauty I see in my dreams and drool over in centerfolds, regardless of whether I’m in public. If I encountered her on the street, I would absolutely embarrass myself, stare like a loon, and profess my undying adoration to her. 
 
A wolf-whistle, three muttered “damns,” and a couple of impressed tongue-clicks later, my husband gave in. Cold sighed, rolled his eyes, and grumbled, “just show me the car.”
He knows me so well. 😆 It was, in fact, a classic muscle car—a ‘67 Oldsmobile Tornado. In my defense the lines on this bad girl are what wet dreams are made of, and I pity Cold for his lack of taste. It’s a sad way to live.

Just now, I saw something absolutely smoking hot on the internet. I mean, she was a seriously sexy beast—the kind of beauty I see in my dreams and drool over in centerfolds, regardless of whether I’m in public. If I encountered her on the street, I would absolutely embarrass myself, stare like a loon, and profess my undying adoration to her. 
 
A wolf-whistle, three muttered “damns,” and a couple of impressed tongue-clicks later, my husband gave in. Cold sighed, rolled his eyes, and grumbled, “just show me the car.”
He knows me so well. 😆 It was, in fact, a classic muscle car—a ‘67 Oldsmobile Tornado. In my defense the lines on this bad girl are what wet dreams are made of, and I pity Cold for his lack of taste. It’s a sad way to live.

Life has been crazy lately, between my car being totaled, granny having a brain bleed ER managed to staunch to having a minor stroke directly in in the ER. Alot is happening all at once. 😅

So, as I’m sure many have noticed, I’ve been busy trying to work myself to death for the past five years or so.  So, in that time, I’ve worked ridiculous hours with very little time off, and often multiple shifts in a day.  As a result, I was more than a little unproductive here.
I retired the end of March, and spent the first fourish months doing nothing but sleep.  Have one final test from my doctor on November 22nd, so should be done with all that shit for a bit as well by then.
In the meantime, I am now checking all the email addresses I always did before, as I now have the time.  Am easing back into the archive repair, minor hunting, and other things I did as well.
Sorry for the absence, but, glad to be back

Y’all, my husband needs a warning label. I’m sitting here, sucking on a peppermint and minding my business with headphones on—the better to block out his party chat trash-talk—and I hear THIS: “You ain’t had pussy since you came out a pussy.”
I don’t know who was laughing louder, the recipient of the burn, Cold, or me, but I very nearly had a Star-Brite lodged in my throat.   This guy kills me.
 

Y’all, my husband needs a warning label. I’m sitting here, sucking on a peppermint and minding my business with headphones on—the better to block out his party chat trash-talk—and I hear THIS: “You ain’t had pussy since you came out a pussy.”
I don’t know who was laughing louder, the recipient of the burn, Cold, or me, but I very nearly had a Star-Brite lodged in my throat.   This guy kills me.
 

Y’all, my husband needs a warning label. I’m sitting here, sucking on a peppermint and minding my business with headphones on—the better to block out his party chat trash-talk—and I hear THIS: “You ain’t had pussy since you came out a pussy.”
I don’t know who was laughing louder, the recipient of the burn, Cold, or me, but I very nearly had a Star-Brite lodged in my throat.   This guy kills me.
 

Y’all, my husband needs a warning label. I’m sitting here, sucking on a peppermint and minding my business with headphones on—the better to block out his party chat trash-talk—and I hear THIS: “You ain’t had pussy since you came out a pussy.”
I don’t know who was laughing louder, the recipient of the burn, Cold, or me, but I very nearly had a Star-Brite lodged in my throat.   This guy kills me.
 

Y’all, my husband needs a warning label. I’m sitting here, sucking on a peppermint and minding my business with headphones on—the better to block out his party chat trash-talk—and I hear THIS: “You ain’t had pussy since you came out a pussy.”
I don’t know who was laughing louder, the recipient of the burn, Cold, or me, but I very nearly had a Star-Brite lodged in my throat.   This guy kills me.
 

When I was young, I didn’t appreciate just how much of adult life would be taken up with trying to answer the eternal question of “Is this shirt still damp or just cold?”.  I can’t pretend to not be disappointed.

Whoever has the Ghost Chance voodoo doll right now, if they could give it a break, that would be nice. I don’t want to share details, lest my family find this site, recognize those details, and realize it’s me—right now, the last thing I need is a mass-shunning because I’m bi in a family of homophobes. But…
Woozle. Our cat, Woozle. The little bag-obsessed orange garbage-baby. Our sweet, smelly, mouthy, single-braincell-bearing fur-son. That Woozle. We just found out he’s incredibly sick, the kind of sick that creeps in without warning, may not even show, and will eventually end his life. Right now, he’s still healthy and happy enough that his quality of life isn’t in question, but that could change without much notice. It could be a few years, or a few days, or who knows how long, but my little monster is terminally ill, and I’m a fucking mess right now. We’re doing everything we can, but there’s not much we can do to begin with.
So. Yeah. Give your pets some cuddles for me. I’m probably going to go cry again because this fucking sucks.

Whoever has the Ghost Chance voodoo doll right now, if they could give it a break, that would be nice. I don’t want to share details, lest my family find this site, recognize those details, and realize it’s me—right now, the last thing I need is a mass-shunning because I’m bi in a family of homophobes. But…
Woozle. Our cat, Woozle. The little bag-obsessed orange garbage-baby. Our sweet, smelly, mouthy, single-braincell-bearing fur-son. That Woozle. We just found out he’s incredibly sick, the kind of sick that creeps in without warning, may not even show, and will eventually end his life. Right now, he’s still healthy and happy enough that his quality of life isn’t in question, but that could change without much notice. It could be a few years, or a few days, or who knows how long, but my little monster is terminally ill, and I’m a fucking mess right now. We’re doing everything we can, but there’s not much we can do to begin with.
So. Yeah. Give your pets some cuddles for me. I’m probably going to go cry again because this fucking sucks.

Whoever has the Ghost Chance voodoo doll right now, if they could give it a break, that would be nice. I don’t want to share details, lest my family find this site, recognize those details, and realize it’s me—right now, the last thing I need is a mass-shunning because I’m bi in a family of homophobes. But…
Woozle. Our cat, Woozle. The little bag-obsessed orange garbage-baby. Our sweet, smelly, mouthy, single-braincell-bearing fur-son. That Woozle. We just found out he’s incredibly sick, the kind of sick that creeps in without warning, may not even show, and will eventually end his life. Right now, he’s still healthy and happy enough that his quality of life isn’t in question, but that could change without much notice. It could be a few years, or a few days, or who knows how long, but my little monster is terminally ill, and I’m a fucking mess right now. We’re doing everything we can, but there’s not much we can do to begin with.
So. Yeah. Give your pets some cuddles for me. I’m probably going to go cry again because this fucking sucks.

Whoever has the Ghost Chance voodoo doll right now, if they could give it a break, that would be nice. I don’t want to share details, lest my family find this site, recognize those details, and realize it’s me—right now, the last thing I need is a mass-shunning because I’m bi in a family of homophobes. But…
Woozle. Our cat, Woozle. The little bag-obsessed orange garbage-baby. Our sweet, smelly, mouthy, single-braincell-bearing fur-son. That Woozle. We just found out he’s incredibly sick, the kind of sick that creeps in without warning, may not even show, and will eventually end his life. Right now, he’s still healthy and happy enough that his quality of life isn’t in question, but that could change without much notice. It could be a few years, or a few days, or who knows how long, but my little monster is terminally ill, and I’m a fucking mess right now. We’re doing everything we can, but there’s not much we can do to begin with.
So. Yeah. Give your pets some cuddles for me. I’m probably going to go cry again because this fucking sucks.

No. No. HAY-ell to the no!  We have had enough fucking tornadoes  here for several lifetimes, and I’m fed the fuck up with them. 🤬
Yes. Tornado in 2011. Tornado several years ago. Tornado last month, and another last freaking night. Yes. Last night. My family, husband, and I are all safe, and I believe all our friends are safe. We didn’t live within the danger zone this time, but my PTSD was already kicking up over the season and impending trauma-versary. This? This is going to give me night terrors. Again. Can’t have Ghost go more than a month without dreaming about Cold dying a bloody, gruesome, tragic death in her arms, now can we? 😭 It’s a good thing I put everything on hiatus because I’m barely able to function right now, and it’s just gonna get worse.
If you see this post and you live in the United States, take this as your cue to go buy a weather radio and keep it on and stocked with batteries. The sirens in my hometown didn’t go off, and they weren’t sounded in another nearby town last month. Weather alerts on your phone won’t go off if the cellular network fails, and you can’t count on hearing the sirens, and a tornado can happen anytime of the year, on any continent, given the right conditions. If you’re looking for volunteer opportunities, there are several communities that are going to need help over the next week or so.
 
Seriously. Fuck tornadoes.

No. No. HAY-ell to the no!  We have had enough fucking tornadoes  here for several lifetimes, and I’m fed the fuck up with them. 🤬
Yes. Tornado in 2011. Tornado several years ago. Tornado last month, and another last freaking night. Yes. Last night. My family, husband, and I are all safe, and I believe all our friends are safe. We didn’t live within the danger zone this time, but my PTSD was already kicking up over the season and impending trauma-versary. This? This is going to give me night terrors. Again. Can’t have Ghost go more than a month without dreaming about Cold dying a bloody, gruesome, tragic death in her arms, now can we? 😭 It’s a good thing I put everything on hiatus because I’m barely able to function right now, and it’s just gonna get worse.
If you see this post and you live in the United States, take this as your cue to go buy a weather radio and keep it on and stocked with batteries. The sirens in my hometown didn’t go off, and they weren’t sounded in another nearby town last month. Weather alerts on your phone won’t go off if the cellular network fails, and you can’t count on hearing the sirens, and a tornado can happen anytime of the year, on any continent, given the right conditions. If you’re looking for volunteer opportunities, there are several communities that are going to need help over the next week or so.
 
Seriously. Fuck tornadoes.

No. No. HAY-ell to the no!  We have had enough fucking tornadoes  here for several lifetimes, and I’m fed the fuck up with them. 🤬
Yes. Tornado in 2011. Tornado several years ago. Tornado last month, and another last freaking night. Yes. Last night. My family, husband, and I are all safe, and I believe all our friends are safe. We didn’t live within the danger zone this time, but my PTSD was already kicking up over the season and impending trauma-versary. This? This is going to give me night terrors. Again. Can’t have Ghost go more than a month without dreaming about Cold dying a bloody, gruesome, tragic death in her arms, now can we? 😭 It’s a good thing I put everything on hiatus because I’m barely able to function right now, and it’s just gonna get worse.
If you see this post and you live in the United States, take this as your cue to go buy a weather radio and keep it on and stocked with batteries. The sirens in my hometown didn’t go off, and they weren’t sounded in another nearby town last month. Weather alerts on your phone won’t go off if the cellular network fails, and you can’t count on hearing the sirens, and a tornado can happen anytime of the year, on any continent, given the right conditions. If you’re looking for volunteer opportunities, there are several communities that are going to need help over the next week or so.
 
Seriously. Fuck tornadoes.

It’s never an easy decision to make, but I’ve had to make it: all my active stories are now officially on hiatus. 
Nothing (very) bad’s happened – at least, this time around, nobody is dead, dying, or terminally ill. Life’s just thrown us a curveball and Cold and I are even busier than usual. Most days, I barely have the energy to handle day-to-day work, let alone time and energy to write. Heck, I haven’t even gotten anything written on my most recent chapter of my novel in a few months now; that’s how crazy it’s been lately. Since my fanfiction may not be updated anytime soon, I decided to head it off at the pass before readers start deciding I’m dead.
...yes. That’s always a possibility, considering how infrequently I can update.
It sucks, but better to give myself permission to not write than continue to bludgeon the desktop with my head when my brain is too stress-fried to write. On FFN and AO3, I put notes in my current stories, and updated the summaries of the stories that have fallen by the wayside. AFF frowns on author’s notes as chapters, so I’m not sure where to go beyond adding something to the summaries.
I hope the fanfiction writer’s curse has missed more of y’all than it’s hit, that spring is treating you well, and that this doesn’t last too many months. Now if any of y’all need me, I’ll be in my burrito-blanket muttering there’s no place like home and fuck-this-shit-I’m-out.

“Ambition is a poor excuse for not having sense enough to be lazy.”  (from a former coworker of mine)

It’s never an easy decision to make, but I’ve had to make it: all my active stories are now officially on hiatus. 
Nothing (very) bad’s happened – at least, this time around, nobody is dead, dying, or terminally ill. Life’s just thrown us a curveball and Cold and I are even busier than usual. Most days, I barely have the energy to handle day-to-day work, let alone time and energy to write. Heck, I haven’t even gotten anything written on my most recent chapter of my novel in a few months now; that’s how crazy it’s been lately. Since my fanfiction may not be updated anytime soon, I decided to head it off at the pass before readers start deciding I’m dead.
...yes. That’s always a possibility, considering how infrequently I can update.
It sucks, but better to give myself permission to not write than continue to bludgeon the desktop with my head when my brain is too stress-fried to write. On FFN and AO3, I put notes in my current stories, and updated the summaries of the stories that have fallen by the wayside. AFF frowns on author’s notes as chapters, so I’m not sure where to go beyond adding something to the summaries.
I hope the fanfiction writer’s curse has missed more of y’all than it’s hit, that spring is treating you well, and that this doesn’t last too many months. Now if any of y’all need me, I’ll be in my burrito-blanket muttering there’s no place like home and fuck-this-shit-I’m-out.

It’s never an easy decision to make, but I’ve had to make it: all my active stories are now officially on hiatus. 
Nothing (very) bad’s happened – at least, this time around, nobody is dead, dying, or terminally ill. Life’s just thrown us a curveball and Cold and I are even busier than usual. Most days, I barely have the energy to handle day-to-day work, let alone time and energy to write. Heck, I haven’t even gotten anything written on my most recent chapter of my novel in a few months now; that’s how crazy it’s been lately. Since my fanfiction may not be updated anytime soon, I decided to head it off at the pass before readers start deciding I’m dead.
...yes. That’s always a possibility, considering how infrequently I can update.
It sucks, but better to give myself permission to not write than continue to bludgeon the desktop with my head when my brain is too stress-fried to write. On FFN and AO3, I put notes in my current stories, and updated the summaries of the stories that have fallen by the wayside. AFF frowns on author’s notes as chapters, so I’m not sure where to go beyond adding something to the summaries.
I hope the fanfiction writer’s curse has missed more of y’all than it’s hit, that spring is treating you well, and that this doesn’t last too many months. Now if any of y’all need me, I’ll be in my burrito-blanket muttering there’s no place like home and fuck-this-shit-I’m-out.

So. Is it colder than a witch’s cunt where y’all are, too? No? Just us? Muh-zurr-uh’s done froze over, folks. 

That moment when you keep hearing a soprano velociraptor playing one-sided Marco Polo out in the hallway and realize, oh, no, it’s just the Velcro cat wailing pitifully because you locked him out of the office. 
Woozle. Because of course, it’s Woozle. Never mind that I locked him out because I have cramps, a headache, and writer’s block, and I don’t feel up to fending off his usual shenanigans. By Shenanigans, I mean shaking slobber everywhere, whining, trying to insinuate his fat butt between the desk and my rack, and trying to scale Mount Mom’s-Desk and causing a landslide.
Kid, Mama needs to work! Stay in your box!