Welcome To My Nightmare Roller Coaster Ride To Hell and Back

My faithful darlings, here we are once again. You my faithful reader and me needing to vent because life sucks in general sometimes, and I seem to have a somewhat captive if not compelled audience. So this week has been full of some interesting highlights. Went to Chicago for a conference for work. Got my very first story, “Push Button, Get Bacon” read by the indomitable Nelson Pyles on his podcst the Wicked Library. Which you can follow this link to. 


A few years ago, one of my first blog posts way back when was my first exposure to working in a cube farm and working out social issues. I’m at it again. Working in a new office and trying to figure out the social bullshit. I feel very overwhelmed with it most days. You will note, that I figured it out way back then. I’m feeling less confident that I will figure out this new situation. It is full of people who don’t communicate and who communicate in very cryptic ways. I thought I was at least keeping my head above the water until yesterday.

I have to imagine the conversation that happened before this. The assistant director, the director, and the HR person all on the phone (conference call, of course). “Well, you know, she said something very weird last week.”

“What was that?”

“Well, she said that she writes zombie stories so that she doesn’t have to eat the real children.”

Just think about that for a minute. I’ll pause while you let that sink in. Got it?

Okay. So then I get yanked into a sit down with the director and the HR person where another odd conversation takes place. Much odder than the one that they are “not officially writing you up” for.

“It’s come to our attention that you have some outside activities. We’ve found out you write zombie stories.”

I’m thinking, yeah, big fucking secret. I have zombies plastered all over my facebook page, my author page and I freaking put it on my resume that I’m a published author. When asked in the interview, I told them. Apparently the problem comes when someone asked me why I write THOSE kind of stories. My normal smartass whydoyouasksuchfuckingstupidquestions response is because I work with preschoolers all day. Zombies love preschoolers, taste like chicken.

“So, someone told us that when asked you said that you write zombie stories so that you don’t have to eat real children.”

Are you letting that sink in? Did no one’s ridiculous button go off here? I mean, seriously? You are pulling me in here to talk to me about whether or not I might eat children?! We are talking about the fucking zombie apocalypse and that I might eat a child?!!!

I was flabbergasted. I know, that in typical autiezombiegirl style, my face went completely blank while my brain was trying to cope with the overwhelming astronomical amount of freaking stupidity involved with this. So they ask me if I understand. I nod. Then they ask me if I have any questions. I shake my head no. Then they ask me if I’m okay. I ask to leave. Later, my boss has the audacity to come in trying to joke with me. When they just told me that people with senses of humour are not allowed in our workplace.

I don’t know. I guess I’m just getting to the point where I no longer care enough about separating all these little personas that I have to carry out. I can put on my work brain and go to work every day, but there is a tiny piece of that work brain that wants to just stay home and write all day every day. I’m starting to make some headway with this and I really want to do this. I think I’m good and if The Wicked Library and the publisher and most people that have read my stuff are any indication at all, then maybe just maybe I have a chance. I want to write. I want to have purple hair. I want to not worry about anyone else’s cryptic communication. This wasn’t my first dance at the HR Rodeo because I’m weird. It won’t be my last. It makes me increasingly unhappy to have people point out that I’m weird in a bad way, because I’m not. I’m weird in exactly the right way for me. So I resent anyone who does not appreciate my uniqueness. I struggle with this.

So, go listen to the podcast of “Push Button, Get Bacon”. It’s on iTunes and Stitcher Radio. The Wicked Library. Just goes to show that my life is truly yin and yang. I get this great podcast out and I have trouble at work. Sigh……

Errmegahd…Stories from the Land of Drama

bth_authentic-drama-queen  So all of us have these acquaintances that are drama magnets. You know the ones. That person who is always fishing for a compliment. The one who is always begging for positive feedback. The one who is always accusing others of hating on him/her. The one that posts their whole life on Facebook and then gets angry when people comment in anyway that is less than flattering or sympathetic.  I guess what I’m really trying to say here is that it’s okay to be a drama queen occasionally. We all do it. There is always a moment in life that stresses us to the extreme or catches us unawares and in a complete mess.

What I am talking about, though, is those people in our life that are always in crisis. The ones that can’t cope without something being wrong. The people that are never satisfied with a life that just goes along. They have to have some drama in order to feel normal. It’s a sad state, I agree, but it happens.

Drama queens tend to flock apart, too many of them in one place would cause some sort of mass implosion is my theory. There’s one in every bunch. They do tend to have some recognizable traits. They have horrid backgrounds that can’t really be verified or traced. It helps if they’ve killed their entire families in some ways or had massive government interference. Conspiracies abound. Everyone is out to get them in some way. It doesn’t even matter if they’ve somehow brought the drama on themselves.  This brings us to trait number two. Everyone is against them in some way. If you aren’t blindly agreeing with them and stroking their egos, then you must be against them.  This causes a whole new tirade of hatefulness on Facebook. Usually this hatefulness is directed at people who are directing hatefulness at them. I suspect that most of the supposed haters are imaginary. The drama queens I know seem to always be fending off phone calls from people who are accusing them of lying, cheating or otherwise degrading them in some way.  The other half of the time, they are ignoring emails from these same people. I wonder where these people get their phone numbers and email addresses.

I wish I had as many critics in life. That many critics would mean that someone out there was reading my stuff and thought enough about it that they had to criticize it. That’s some great feedback. It takes time to track someone down to bitch about their stuff. It’s really hard to not get sucked into the drama. My main problem is that I start wanting to fact check. The drama queens that I know are forever changing their stories, altering the timelines, and killing off people more than once. I always want to ask how many times one’s relative can die or how many times one puts up with “anonymous” phone calls and emails before they change their phone numbers or email addresses. Or…now here’s a crazy thought in this day of technology, block them.

I have enough stupidity and drama in my life. I don’t need to read about yours. Especially since yours is self manufactured and imaginary. I’m drawn to it like a train wreck occasionally. I won’t lie. I even laugh about it. Occasionally. It’s too fantastic.  I know, it’s a crazy rant tonight. But I just had enough and had to tell someone. So, you my lovely loyal readers are the ones.

Let’s say no to drama. I’m calling you out. You know who you are I suppose. Although you would never admit it. Or maybe you don’t know. Could it be that you don’t know? Or do you think this blog is about you?

All of you who know a drama queen. say no. Call them out. Tell them to go to hell. Tell them to get over themselves. Who’s with me?