Snakenaps

Hoping to be for WorldCon 2021, but who knows with this world! I figure, hey man, why not hit a convention and go see my East Coast relations at the same time? It's been years since I've been to Washington DC.

If you ever get up that way, hit me up. I have some relations in Oregon and Washington, and I'd be willing to drive to have a coffee/tea and say hello to you in person.

I think what I love most about my country is its sheer variety. Want to visit giant cities? We gotchu. Deserts? Canyons? Giant redwoods? Mountains? Prairies? Swamps? Valleys? Glaciers? We gotchu. It's really a pity I have seen so little of my own country. It's something I plan to change. I absolutely want to hit up Northern Ireland one day. I hear it is absolutely different from where I have visited, but completely stunning in its own way. Besides, the Giant's Causeway is on my sister's bucket list.

This reminds me of the Donjon Fantasy Calendar Generator (http://donjon.bin.sh/fantasy/calendar/). I kept screwing myself up timeline wise, and this ended up being every helpful. It's highly customizable, so I enjoy it.

I admit, I don't use the research tab, because I already have everything on my website, which I created before I got Scrivener. That, and I have my meticulously sorted Bookmarks on Google. I used to have everything on Google Docs. I wrote nine chapters on Google Docs before realizing, "Hey, this isn't working." I jammed that poor suck up so bad. I still back everything up on there, though. I adore Scrivener, and my favorite thing about it is that it's a one-time purchase. It isn't like Photoshop, I don't have to purchase a monthly subscription. It doesn't require internet, and let's me split everything up as much as I want. I love that stupid corkboard.

These are the people who disgust me, that I have little respect for. They're the ones who spoil the reputations of the good hunters out there. But I suppose that is a good reflection on humanity. There are always the rotten eggs. I love how this group is international! I'm from Northern California, on the edge of the Central Valley and the Sierra Nevada. I know we have members from Scotland, North Carolina, Massachusetts, Oregon, and somebody was from Poland, but I can't remember who. I've only been to Southern Ireland. Stunningly gorgeous country, except I'll never go back to the Cliffs of Moher. I'm scared to death of unsafe heights, and I spent that entire visit clutching my mother like I was five.

@Mandamon The end! The end! It has come! I'm going to skip this week. There is a high chance I'm not going to be able to get everyone's critiques done this week, or next week. If I can't critique, I'm not submitting.

I'm very much against trophy hunting. If you are taking a life, take it for a good reason, not for vanity. My family hunted for two reasons: 1) Population control. We mostly hunted wild boar. A single sow can have, on average, 20 piglets a year (two litters of ten). The average herd size was roughly 6-8 does plus a couple of boars. That's roughly 120-160 piglets a year from one herd, and we had multiple herds. They had no natural predators outside of us and a couple of mountain lions. Without population control, the wild boar can quickly run themselves out of food. They are also highly destructive and deadly. They are mean. When we moved to the Pond, my parents met our neighbor because he came over to specifically give them gore bandages, in case you got mauled by a pig. The wild boar issue is actually massive, especially in Texas, Florida, and Hawaii, but affects something like 35 states. My favorite television hunter when I was a child was this fellow who called himself Pig Man. He was a deadly shot - one hit, instant kill (the way I like it, no suffering) - but all of the pigs (once processed) were donated to local food banks. 2) Food. We ate and used everything we could. Nothing went to waste. If we had too much meat, we gave it to friends rather than saw it tossed in the trash. There is something to be said when you know that your food lived a good life, eating acorns and bugs and running around, before one single shot ended its life. This is literally the reason why my job was butchering. I knew that I am a terrible shot. My Dad never would have let me hunt, but I never would have taken him up on the offer if I was asked. The idea that if I made a mistake (which was likely) and caused an animal suffering because I couldn't manage to drop it on the first shot is horrifying. I adore animals, even those mean boar, and to cause one a slow, painful death was something I could never risk. When I was a young child, my Dad had a friend who was an ex-Navy sniper. Dad took him on his word that he was an excellent shot due to his background. Well, the friend didn't drop the pig first shot, or second, or third. The pig screamed, which is probably the most horrific sound I've ever heard. It was so loud our neighbor for a half mile away called and was like, "You huntin' boar?" After that, Dad made sure people could actually accurately shoot a target before they were allowed to hunt on our property. If you could repeatedly hit a 2 inch by 2 inch square hidden in grass from across a three acre pond, you could hunt. Me? That single pig convinced me that I never, ever want to do that to a living being, ever. I have no problem with hunting, as long as it is for a good reason, and that you could do it in one hit. My redneck neighbor used to shoot acorn woodpeckers for fun which is 1) illegal and 2) absolutely disgusting. There was no reason to do it, even if he had stupidly good aim. Worse than trophy hunting, because he didn't even do anything with the bodies. Makes me mad just thinking about it. Thanks for coming to my Friday rant.

My roommate moved out yesterday and my arms already feel like sore, numb noodles from scrubbing the apartment. I asked my handyman friend about recaulking part of the bathtub and kitchen count, and he flat out did it for me in return for lunch. So I have learned about caulking today, even if I didn't have to do it myself! I still can't figure out how to get the food stains off the wall. I've tried soap and water, 409, Clorox bathroom spray, Soft Scrub, Mr. Magic Clean erasers, and water/vinegar solution. I'm no where near done, and I'm already exhausted, but I'm feeling good. Turns out just changing out the ancient light switch plates to new bright white ones did wonders.

Welcome back, my friend!

If you ever need an ear, message me. I'm good for serious rants, or, if you ever need a distraction or are excited, you are more than welcome to send me long essays about Legos, cheese, cars, gardening, or whatever else strikes your fancy. Either way, my (virtual) door is open. This applies to anyone and everyone, and I mean it seriously. This is so true. I think what is most striking about this group is that everyone is so different than me, and yet, so alike. Foundation-wise, we are all sort of the same: passionate about writing, caring, open-minded. At the same time, we're completely different: we have pickle lovers and pickle haters, people who are vegetarian, people who play musical instruments, people who live in snow, people who live in burning hot valleys (me), people who have experience writing or using non-traditional pronouns (not me), and more. It's fantastic, because it makes me look at not only my own stories, but the world around me, with a new and more appreciative light. I've told my mother this so many times I'm sure she just wants to smack me over the head, but joining this group was one of my best ideas ever.

I think we're all allowed our indulgences. I collect model horses, my dad races RC boats, my sister makes Worbla cosplay stuff, my mom has her costumes. My co-teacher from my student teaching? Her weakness is Newfoundland dogs and sports. Her husband, who is also an elementary teacher? Loves to refurbish Corvettes. There's a difference between owning a fancy car because you love one, and going into debt for a fancy car to "keep up with the Joneses". I've only known you for a whooping three and a half months, but I can say this is probably my favorite thing about you. I know, without a doubt, whatever you say, you mean. There's no pandering, there's no false praise, there's no lies. If you tell me something is right, then I believe you, because when you say something is wrong, you honestly mean it. Do you know how refreshing it is no to have to doubt if someone actually means something when they read my work? I trust you to tell me what you really think. I don't think I ever told you this, but @Robinski you're actually the main reason I finally joined this particular group. I had spied on Reading Excuses off-and-on without getting an account for a couple of months, judging the group based off of the comments alone. I decided to choose this group over any other forum because I looked at the nit-pickiness of your lengthy comments and went "This guy gets it. He'll rip me to shreds. I need that." Then I ended up getting to know all of you guys and now you're stuck with me, for better or for worse. As for passionate rants 1) I think you and I are a matched set and 2) you should meet my family. Family reunions are terrifying. Plus, my best friend is ADHD and really knows how to go 0 to 1000 on a topic in the blink of an eye. I can keep up.

If I could slap a new coat of paint on the walls and replace the carpet, the apartment would look so much better. Your foundation story reminds me of my father. He wanted to replace our old swim dock, but didn't want to pay for a new, pre-built one (the former one he had built himself, along with the main dock). His buddy had these fiberglass house boat pontoons which were illegal, because they had to be aluminum. So Dad got these massive pontoons for free, which he cut in half, resealed, and then turned into a dock. A dock with a brick top (easy to clean of goose poo, unlike wood) that somehow it floated. The ramp to the swim dock came from the side of the highway, while our canoe came from the side of the road by the airport. My parents hand laid over 10,000 bricks on a very steep hill, often multiple times, because the wild pigs would pull them up. We lived in a double wide mobile home because they wanted to spend their money on land, rather than square footage. Dad drove his Ford Focus into the dirt (he finally sold it when it quit on him on the freeway. Bad wiring) just so that he could buy a tractor. My parents scrimped and saved and bought used stuff, so that when they wanted to spend money on something, they could. In my mother's case, that's costumes. My dad prefers 75 mph RC boats. His fastest goes over 85 mph on straightaways. And, of course, traveling with lots of eating (we have food-cations). I would kill to be able to shove bookshelves wherever I wanted. For now, books are sprinkled everywhere, including on top of the microwave.

For me, it is very interesting to be an adult. I won't lie, I come from an upper-middle-class white family. I've been to more countries than I have states. I come from privilege, even though my parents raised me with an incredibly strong work ethic and pride in what my hands (and mind) can do. They are both very entrepreneurial and gave that to both my sister and I. My sister is getting her business license to start her own online store, and I decided to stop talking about the book I was actually going to write, and just do it. But I'm on my own now, and subbing didn't make a ton of money when schools were open. I was lucky to be raised by a financial advisor and an extreme budgeter. I've met few people who are more frugal and penny pinching than me. I won't lie, though. It is exhausting. I can only imagine the stress others are under who don't have the advantages I have - whether Covid is happening or not. Somehow, I managed to hit a home run in pretty much every field in life. I'm extremely fortunate and I try to be aware of this. One day I'll get out of this less-than-stellar apartment in this not-so-great neighborhood, and I'll have a job that allows me to purchase straight from my local farmers. I'm looking forward to being able to boost my local economy and encourage sustainability in more parts of my life. My parents are planning to purchase half of a cow (splitting it with their neighbor) from a friend they know. Cow has been grazing on fields its entire life. I'm hoping to snitch a couple of steaks from them. I find life interesting, though. My dad's co-worker makes high end six figures, and he's going to have to file for bankruptcy this year. He's in massive amounts of debt from living a lifestyle he can't afford. I just can't wrap my head around that. I don't need a mansion or a fancy car. I just want to be able to eat well, live in a good, solid home, travel once or twice a year, and be surrounded by books and family. Maybe I'll get lucky and marry that rich cowboy my dad has always dreamed for me. Thanks for letting me ramble. I like to talk.

If I even became vegetarian, I think my dad would disown me. Not seriously, but I come from a real big meat-eating family. I grew up in the country, so we hunted (humanely and legally, I will add) quite often. Not me, I don't like killing things, because with my bad aim, there was never any guarantee that I'd be able to pull off a one hit shot. Dad still buys his wild turkeys, dove, and quail the best grain possible, even if his new property doesn't allow for hunting. Sometimes I think they eat better than he does. I think the best part of growing up in a country family is that I grew up with a high respect for where my food comes from. I don't usually buy meat anymore unless I know where it comes from, which I usually can't afford right now anyway. If it comes between buying the cheaper but questionable beef at grocery stores, and going without, I go without. I wish I had more choices with my produce, but at least when I eat an apple, I don't have to worry quite so much about the quality of its life before it was picked.

I paint a pretty card, but my friend has completely upstaged me with this cake: He paid extra money just to get oversized letters. My roommate is going to laugh her socks off when she sees this tonight. Update: My roommate loved it!

My roommate is moving out, and I painted her a goodbye card of her cat Batman. I don't break my watercolors out nearly often as I should. I do not want to admit how long it took me to get Batman to stop trying to eat the card and look at me.

I've always wanted to go to Athens. Greece is definitely on my bucket list.

This is probably the best thing I've read all day. Thank you, my friend.

If and when I ever meet you in person, you can eat any pickles I may have. My mom loves the pickled carrots from the local Mexican food joint. I think I just don't like pickling vinegar. I like balsamic vinegar, especially with a good olive oil and some excellent bread.

Pickles are so weirdly...not sour, but like tangy gone really wrong. Pickles taste like something gone wrong. I would kill to be able to eat more from my local farmers market. We've got a good-sized one, and normally, during the summer, we have them three days a week. Not this year, though. We're still down to a half-sized Saturday one. There are some great bonuses to living on the edge of the California valley. There is this man who sells the best oranges. They are killer. And I always pick up samosas from the Indian lady. At the moment, though, funds are a little tight, so WinCo has my loyalty more than the preferred farmers market. If anyone has any good rice (or other budget-friendly) recipes, hit me up. My friend has a garden and just gave me a bunch of dried oregano and I am so happy.

I like it more as an adult than as a child, but I had no taste buds until I lived on dorm food for a year. I used to be the pickiest eater. Now I like pretty much everything except for pickles. I still can't believe I didn't used to like lasagna. That stuff is delicious.

My favorite cheese changes depending on what I'm eating, but the most universally used cheese for me is probably medium cheddar. You can use it for pretty much anything. Pizza, eggs, grilled cheese, quesadillas, Georgian cheese bread, cheddar bay biscuits, everything. If I want to get fancy and spoil myself? Prosciutto and havarti grilled cheese. A rare treat. If I want something strong? A glass of cabernet sauvignon and a slices of a good pepper jack cheese. Am I listening to jazz or hanging out with my mother? Feta, brie, havarti, or Swiss cheese with various crackers, honey crisp apple slices, whatever else fruit I can get my hands on, and a bottle of white white, preferably pinot gringo. Toss in some salami, prosciutto, or coppa if the budget allows (which is rarely, a reason why it tastes so good). A hoard of dark chocolate is a good side dish. Mostly, I eat cheddar and mozzarella with sriracha grilled cheeses, and egg-rice patties with cheddar, sriracha, and rosemary. My sister got me an oven mitt that says, "[Sounds like fork], I love cheese." I cherish it strongly.

D: More cheese for me then. Cheese is life. I was a senior in high school before I started liking toppings on my pizza. I was a cheese-only gal for most of my life.

You are stronger than me. If I had made those, there would be so much cheese on top you wouldn't be able to see any sauce. I've discovered a 10 minute pizza dough recipe that is no-knead, no-rise-time, no-food-processor. Is it pretty? Absolutely not. Is it tasty? Yes. I love it, because now I can make pizza in less than a half an hour.