Prove Me Wrong, 3
Topic: Prove Me Wrong
Here we go, with another science whammy:

SUlphuric acid will completely destroy a human body.
THough flesh is composed of fats, proteins, and minerals, its single major component is water. In concentrated form sulphuric acid is a highly corrosive liquid which acts by extracting water from body tissues. This process generates terrific heat.
Sulphuric acid (H2SO4), also dissolves the minerals and protein components of humans into water-soluble elements, thus destroying hair, muscle, bone, and skin. The parts of the body that are left exposed to air will be charred as if burned, but a body completely immersed will totally break down in a matter of days.
Fats, however, though altered, are not rendered soluble by the action of the acid. They remain behind as a greasy sludge.

There ya go kids. Prove Me Wrong.

The Happy Blurb!
Mood:  hungry
INTRODUCING THE HAPPY BLURB!
Okay, so here's my idea...

You go to your own blog. You write an entry simply titled Happy Blurb, and you write a splashtastic review blurb for your blog, kind of like the raves they put on the backs of books. Then, you go to the blogs you frequent the most and post a comment giving them a Happy Blurb. So it'd be kinda like this:

Blah de blah de blah October blah
The Happy Blurb!

"Rantsville Apartments provides a breath of fresh air in the new blogger's world. Now called Treading Lightly on Powdered Sugar, it follows the mundanity of a young housewife's life, and what happens when she copes with hilarious anecdotes and tales of a past life she no longer relishes but wishes would catapult some memorabilia her way."

See how it works? Then I go to someone else's blog and write:

Have a Happy Blurb!
blah de blah .tripod.com de blah

"Blurb about the coolness of their blog"

Then you'd put:
I got my blurb from blah de blah and either list everyone who did it, or the last person who blurbed you.

See? It's like a feel good thingie to do for others who feel unappreciated out there in the blogging world! Get it? Then people go to your blog, and you go to theirs, it's a big squishfest!

I myself will not be participating, because I am tired and cannot type without fushing something up, but I think it's cool. Besides, yall know I love you anyway.
Smusheez.

Prove Me Wrong, 2
Mood:  bright
Topic: Prove Me Wrong
Okay, here's Last Week's and in a day or so I'll post this week's:

Human Hair is divided into six types: head, eyebrow/ eyelash, beard/moustache, body, pubic, and axillary underarm. Head hairs are circular in section and if they have been neglected, split at the ends. A freshly cut hair is square at the tip. Pubic hairs are oval or triangular and tend to curl. They are less deeply rooted than those on the head. Female pubic hair is shorter and coarser than that of the male.

Okay kids, Prove Me Wrong.
See ya later.

Things just NEVER stay normal...
Not that crazy of a weekend, but two things stand out in my mind:
I SMACKED MY HUSBAND.
And not just a little goof-off tap, I mean I really lay it out and whapped him a good one. Worst thing is, I was asleep until he started whining.
See, I was having this complicated Freudian dream, and near the end I shot my arms out and flipped over a table. Apparently, I also did this in real life and pistoned my arms out and boxed the hub-unit in the side of the head. HARD. I was still dreaming when he rolled over and said "what the fuck was THAT for?", and then I heard him and realized that he was nowhere in my dream and I snapped out of it completely. Total flaming gayness on my part. Damn my ridiculous dreams.
The TERROR OF THE GHOST SPOOGE.
So later that day the hub-unit retires to the bathroom, politely closing the door because what he ate the night before was NOT going to be pretty. After twenty fucking minutes, I hear "oops".
OOPS?!?!?
Before I start giggling, I can only think of some cataclysmic accident that has occurred in my bathroom that I will have to clean up wearing a biohazard suit. Lucky for me, the only thing that has happened is that the hub-unit is a blind retard.
In order to save my delicate nostrils from the hideous backwash of stench that would exit the bathroom upon his leaving, he had reached for the air freshener and instead grabbed my shaving cream. Holding the bottle at an upward angle, he had sprayed the bathroom vigorously before actually LOOKING at what he had in his hand. The 'oops' was only that he had squirted the stuff all over the dirty laundry that needed to be cleaned anyway.
OR so I thought.
Yesterday he goes to work and I start stumbling about my day, when I walk into the bathroom and start going for the laundry.
GOOD LORD. IT'S EVERYWHERE.
All over the doors and walls. Shaving cream that has hit oxygen and turned into shaving foam and then dried into spooge. Ghost spooge. ON THE WALLS.
Apparently the hub-unit is a blind retard. I love him, but sweet jebus.
Oh, and Mount St. Helens is erupting all over the place. I could see the ash plume from Deception Pass, but they say that it won't get anywhere near here.
Fucking scientists.

I'm supposed to post the new Prove Me Wrong today. I will, eventually, but it's harder finding facts than I though it would be. Well, not FACTS, but INTERESTING facts. So I'd thought I'd randomize a little for now...
I'm a crappy relative. I never call anyone but my mother, I rarely talk to my own sister, and my dad and I have a long standing rule of "don't call unless someone's dead or it's a birthday". I used to talk to my sister-in-law (who is THE coolest) just about every day, but that panned out when I got sick of waking up at 5 AM with the hub-unit just to give him coffee he wouldn't drink. And my in-law parentals? Don't get me STARTED.
The hub-unit came home early last night, and by early I mean that they kicked him off of night check and out of his workcenter to go to another work center starting on day check THIS MORNING. I hate having him on day check, as nothing gets done during the week and then he doesn't have time to rest on the weekend.
Just bought and devoured the Da Vinci COde. oooh, the ending gave me goosebumps. Angels and Demons was pretty fantab by the same guy, but no bumpies like the DVC.
Tried to print out my own copy of the Book this morning, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I feel the need to finish the rest of it before just printing out one volume, for some reason. It's crap anyway, no matter what the Great Randini has to say about "the novelty never wearing off". What the fuck does that mean, anyway? My shit is novelty? Damn, and here I was under the impression that I was writing the Great American Novel. Feh.
Made the hub-unit sit down with me yesterday and watch Into the Woods, which is my omygodfucking favorite musical of all time. I could watch it back-to-back eight times in a row. Which I have. And probably will again. I love Netflix.
The new Lemony SNicket book came out! Woo! If yall haven't read them, you should at least steal a copy from some unsuspecting sixth grader and check it out. I think they're fucking HYSTERICAL, even though they're not supposed to be. Well, they're supposed to be, but in a very subversive way.
To this day, it kills me to know that A) I have lived in San Francisco most of my life, and yet I've never seen Margaret Cho on stage, nor have I seen Beach Blanket Babylon, and B) I have lived in Washington for five years now, two hours from Seattle, and I'm here about ten years too late for the damn Grunge movement of which I was a big part of. Dammit.
Anyway, I'm off to find something for Prove Me Wrong. And to take a nap.

A Writer's Quandary
So I've gotten some letters about my book, here on known as the Book, and I am here to trash myself on my own blog as to why the Book will never see publication.
What I have writeen, the trite crap that fell from my head, qualifies as fanficiton. With its stilted love scenes, lack of action description, and monologues made of dialogues, if it were smaller than its 4oo some-odd pages it would qualify as something the geeks would post on their "I Love" whatever sites. It all started when I was watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I noticed that after the third season she just got WHINIER and WHINIER. I wanted a female character that would make Buffy into the sniveling little martyr she is, and Candra popped out. Problem was, she was intended to be merely a monkey wrench in the gears, but instead she got away from me and evolved into a stand-alone character that left Sunnydale in the lurch for far darker places.
I am not ashamed of fucking with the oh-so-sacred Buffyverse, but there's this thing called a copyright, along with the fact that my crap is so trite it makes my head hurt. I write for ME, and for the Shippers, who are my friends that are obsessed with the idea that my crap isn't trite.
I wrote this Back of the Book description thing for what I call the "Paperback Edition for the Shippers", and I'm going to put it up here for those of you interested.
And by the way, Sonya LaPalm isn't my real name.

Candra
After four hundred years, Candra Riley wants nothing more than to age gracefully and finish her life, and the one place that can grant her that release is a Hellmouth. But seeing it all and doing most of it still hasn't prepared her for what she would encounter in the upside down city of Sunnydale...

Buffy
Jaded from years of fighting evil, the Slayer had thought she'd been through everything twice; loss, apocalypse, even death. Just when she thought she'd found a way to get her through the worst of times, something happens in the shape of Candra Riley...

Angel
At one time the most evil of creatures, Angel is a changed vampire after the reinstatement of his soul. Trying his hardest to forget his past and move on with his new life that includes Buffy, he never counted on his past moving with him...

Sonya LaPalm's Candra Chronicles are now collected for the first time! Relive the best fiction created that introduces Candra Riley, the girl who would destroy the Buffyverse and remake it into her own image, in one searing compilation. All your favorite characters, with a darker twist.

Now get over it. I may deserve the accolades for actually finishing something and getting it out of the computer, but as far as giving it to the masses, BAH.
I may rant more about this later, but right now I have to search for tomorrow's Prove Me Wrong.

Stopping the Music, Just For A While
Sorry it's been so long since I've written, but I have an announcement:
The Book is finished. It is Published.
And by published, I don't mean sent to a major house and mass distributed to the greey, must-have reading public, I mean that I rpinted more than one copy and gave them to people who I trust to be brutally honest about my writing. The reason I do this is because my fan base (yes, I HAVE a fanbase) is limited, and extremely biased. I think that I write trite crap that is crappy and trite and ridiculous. Those that have read my stuff (crazy lesbian ex-roommate and hub-unit), have swooned over my prose while I sit in the corner and smack myself for writing trite crap. Did I mention it was trite crap?
But anyway, so I finally went ahead and printed out 458 pages, hand bound in a report folder because I can't afford anything else, one whole volume containing three stories about my heroine Candra Riley. I hope my critics like it.
God, I have made a HUGE mistake.
No, I haven't.
Oh sweet jebus, yes I have.
AAAAAAAAAAIIIIIGHHHH!!!!!!!!
I need a cigarette.

Again With The True Washington Story
Well, this tale is drawing to a close, so I'll finish up the last few deets for you that are interested:
September 26, 2003: We arrive back here in WA, tired and in my case bent-over sore, and as I walk up the stairs to the apartment he rented just for us just before he left to pick me up, I notice the flowers.
You heard me. Flowers.
Rose petals scattered up the stairs and into the apartment, leading up to another dozen long-stemmed reds and a bottle of champagne courtesy of his cohort the ASSMA across the parking lot. (No longer is she the next-door neighbor thank god) Even better, there is waiting in the bathroom a tub full of bubbles and overflowing with candles and smelly stuff to relax with after a ong and arduous journey.
At this point, I have known the hub-unit for exactly a month and a half, most of which I was in Florida for. We took a bath together, drank some champagne, and snuggled closely together in his full-size bed (GAH) to get some sleep in preparation of the CRAP to come.
The next almost-two-weeks is filled with paperwork, insurance forms, adding of my name to EVERYTHING, yadda yadda spoink because, soon on October 13th, he will be leaving for three months in Japan. JAPAN.
So here I am, still in pain as I will be for at least another week, doped up on painkillers and squishing my water bottle and depressed as all hell that he's leaving so soon, and my inlaws call.
I won't get into my inlaws. They are strange, dominating people who believe that nothing is their fault and apparently I am the antichrist and... But I'm getting away with myself. The inlaws will be discussed at a later date, perhaps when I have nothing else to write, so let's just say that they called and it wasn't fun and there was yelling and we'll move on.
October 13, 2003: For the first time, I see a man cry. A lot. This is the hardest thing I have ever had to go through in my life, and to this day it still is. He left at midnight, and me without a driver's license I oculdn't even take him to the airport. I cried....TONS.
For the first few weeks we talked via email and video chats, and then he got a phone in his room. I won't go into that either, but that part was fun.
And while he was gone, and he was getting almost a grand a month in perdiem, and I had his credit card, I redecorated the apartment. I know, i know, you think that is a totally chick thing to do, but it really wasn't. It was a direct order from the hub-unit to use that money and whatever else I could scrounge up to make his dreary (SUPER) bachelor pad into a home complete with curtains kitchen gadgets and a new bed. I think I did pretty well. And in January of next year, if I'm still around, I'll tell the story of what happened when he came home.
Because that brings me full circle, kids. I started this blog in November of last year, and that's where you all met me.

PS ain't my life some kinda crazy teen soap? I mean, who else is as crazy as I am when I put my mind to it?

OH yeah.....
And I DON'T use spellcheck.

The True Washington Story, Concluded (AGAIN)
Mood:  amorous
Now Playing: Fucking Pokemon Colosseum Music in the background
Yesterday was my ONE YEAR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY, so today I am going to finish telling about what happened oh so long ago. I can't even remember when I started the story, but those fo you that have been reading me for a while know where I am going with this. Here Goes:
September 11, 2003: The future hub-unit begins his massive, all-alone trek across the country to come pick me up. I am now pregnant with some other guy's baby, despodent over my lack of money and job skills, and 3500 miles away from any family member. This guy is INSANE to come get me, but hey, who am I to argue with such wacky determination? I start re-packing my stuff and wait all jittery-like in anticipation. His parents are not happy with his decision to just up and marry some girl, his co-workers don't believe him, and none of my friends believe me. However, my parents are in shock because some strange man called and asked if he could marry their eldest daughter OUT OF THE BLUE. To continue:
He arrives in a record THREE DAYS, and immediately is forced to propose in front of everyone there because he asked me over the phone and that's just apparently not acceptable. Did I mention I had to buy the ring and the dress by myself? With my meager unemployment check? Fun fun. We stay two days, most of which is spent discussing under cover of darkness what to do with the fetus currently sprouting in my womb. At this point, we have decided that since he will be leaving in OCTOBER for JAPAN, me being alone and pregnant is a bad idea given my mental state. The BBF, who I am living with in her parent's house, is very pro-baby, so I cannot tell her this and that is severely depressing.
Over the next few days we have a few meals, go to the zoo, and repack my things. All the boxes my stuff is in will not fit into his truck, so we pack everything, AGAIN, in tupperware tubbs. SO FUN.
The day we leave the BBF's mom, bless he heart, sabotages the truck with tons of sticky clingy things shaped like hearts and four-leaf clovers. By the time we get to them, they are baked on in the Florida heat, making his manly truck just a little girly. I give everyone hugs, and we grab my cat and my wedding dress and start on our way.
It's a typical road trip, other than the MASSIVE pain I am suddenly in, and we try for at least 13 hours of driving a day. I'm trying to be quiet, but apparently my body doesn't take well to being knocked up and I am a hurting unit.
Friday, September 19: Oklahoma City, OK. Just a few moments before midnigh, I run to the bathroom bleeding profusely. The baby, which we had agreed to terminate when we got back to Washington, has decided to make me helpless in the situation and take away my choice in the matter by terminating itself. I will bleed for the next seven days, and the pain will be intense.
I swear, that's the worst it gets in this story.
September 21, 2003: We arrive in Las Vegas, Nevada, after discussing our marriage options and deciding that sweet jesus we don't want our parents there. Either of us.
Our first stop is the Crappiest Motel on Earth. The charge us DOUBLE for having the cat, and the doors are key locks. Inside, there is no showerhead, just a pipe, and someone has smashed the channel buttons on the TV. The future hub-unit is irate because he doesn't want me to spend any time there, blah blah I deserve more, blah. Suddenly, the cat SCREAMS. She has wandered behind the dresser in our room and is now flailing widly in the center of the room, stuck to something. It turns out to be one of those no-kill pest strips with the gluey stuff on it, and she has two feet stuck to it. Upon further investigation, it turns out that there are several of these things behind the dresser because there is a THREE FOOT HOLE IN THE WALL. IN THE WALL.
We check out and are running across the street to HoJo's in ten minutes. We have been at the Crappiest Motel in the World for exactly 45 minutes.
September 22, 2003: The preparations begin, and they take ALL FUCKING DAY. The wedding itself costs 170 dollars, with a hefty discount because he was in the military. Plus, they promised to broadcast our wedding on the internet for free. Lots of phonecalls later, truly.
We had it videotaped, sent over the internet, and my mom even sent us an email toast as she watched her oldest child walk down the isle, looking VERY nervous.
September 23: On the road again. We finally stop at a Petrified Forest Park and kick ourselves later for not buying peterfied dino poop for gifts. Because what's better than giving stone dino poop and saying "now don't ever say I never gave you shit". Tee-hee.
The story's not even CLOST to being over, but I have to start dinner. So I'll finish later, or tomorrow.
Keep smiling.