Gypsy Games


twitterdudesThe internet is a strange strange thing. Social media makes it even stranger. You can plan and plot how to expose something new and get no buzz. You can ask a question you really want to know the answer to and get nothing. And then you can say something completely random and your feed explodes. Makes. No. Sense.

So welcome to No Sense Thursday.

Today’s question: what makes your feed trend? What bizarre thing can you discuss, question, or otherwise mention that gets the most feedback, responses and attention? Because it isn’t what you want it to be. I’ve been watching everyone’s feed and have learned, it rarely is. Examples you say? Why certainly… (and yes, please, feel free to follow anyone I may mention in this particular blog)

My personal favorite for the week — saw this the other day, and it sums this up perfectly.  @steveniles (Steve Niles) summed it up well with “I say ‘good morning’ and lose three followers. I’ll try ‘fuck you’ tomorrow and see what happens.”

@marysangiovanni (Mary SanGiovanni) twittered a cthulu emoticon /\(;,,;)/\ and it was the number one most re-tweeted thing she’s ever posted. Also popular are her tweets regarding cannibalism and NJ traffic… she writes books she’d like you care about too =)

@natesouthard (Nate Southard) has random squawks of pointless rage get the most response. He’s declared this is either a terrible commentary on the population or the golden secret of working in the horror small press—take your pick.

@Nukegumby (Michael Huyck) has a wide range of popular tweets, from funny to sarcastic to accidentally motivational. Yes, accidentally motivational. No rhyme. No reason.

@bobford (Robert Ford) can say something truly horrific about midgets and gains followers—if I said the same thing I would not only lose followers, I would get hate mail (justifiably so). He proclaims hatred of all things Michigan while driving through there and gains followers. I say it’s cold and lose 10.

@DaveThomas76 (Dave Thomas) past a lot of things, but if it’s about booze (aka: “Is it too early to drink scotch?” or “Martinis: so much more than a breakfast drink”), people always seem to chime right in. He wonders if his followers are functioning alkies too =)

me @kelli_owen ? Yeah… I post comments about the dayjob, my books, crazy news tidbits… mostly to my following of loyal crickets. But the moment I say anything remotely lesbian or sexual in general, especially to one of my female friends, I’ve got everyone’s attention.

It’s strange. What will grab someone’s attention is so bizarre. Anger, humor, cruelty — very popular. So, the question is… What strange non-important topic do YOU twitter about that makes your feed explode? As an experiment, feel free to answer here, but also and more importantly, answer in twitter by posting a link to this (or just retweet the tweet that got you here) and hashtag your answer in the tweet if possible. It will be like a meme and a hashtag had an illegitimate lovechild…  (feel free to copy and paste this and fill in the blank)

RT: @kelli_owen Fun Blog: #trending  answer: #_______



Let’s Get Dad a Tank For Christmas

iwanttobelieveel4This post has nothing to do with my dad, Christmas, or a tank. And only a little to do with the X-files’ poster and UFOs.  Of course, it’s not about LOLcats either — which is good — so please, no throwing tomatoes at the screen.

It’s about conspiracies. Or rather, the theories that abound — even more so now that we have the internet to help propagate paranoia, supposition, and false information.

See, there’s been a lot of television programming in my house lately that leans toward the strange, the bizarre, the unspoken, hidden, or otherwise secretive. Ancient Aliens, America Unearthed, Mysteries at the Museum, etc.—from ancient alien theorists (drink!) to secret cults and strange NSA data centers. It was that last bit that inspired the title for the blog. After watching a piece on the information stored by the government, there was a discussion about how they decide what’s dangerous and what’s just a conversation. I’ve joked about getting my dad a tank for the front yard for years. I’ve told him a couple times that I’ve found one online but he wasn’t getting it because the shipping would cost a college fund. But does the NSA know that I’m actually talking about a real tank, for my actual dad, for the holiday known as Christmas? Or do they think it’s some bizarre code, like “dad” is really the president, and “tank” is really some weapon or plan or something. Who knows. I once checked out the wrong combination of books from the library and called the FBI in the same week and ended up with a dark sedan with tinted windows outside the house for a month or so. Anything is possible. But this particular show spurred a fun conversation and google search, which then led to Bob Ford being a trouble maker and suggesting I google certain things just to see how fast the NSA shows up at the door—I chose not to follow his suggestion.

Now, I watch all those shows. I’m intrigued by what they’re investigating more than I am what they’re proposing. I make fun of them on occasion for jumping the shark and have turned a couple of them into drinking games, but I enjoy them at the same time. I don’t necessarily believe the conclusions they come to, but I like that they open the topics up for debate, discussions, and insane theories of my own. I’m not what you would call a conspiracy theorist, I’m more a curious pain in the ass (just ask the priests back at catholic school… they “loved” my million and two questions they couldn’t answer).

Some of the top conspiracy theories on google are:

  1. New World Order – group of international elites controls and manipulates governments, industry & media worldwide
  2. Lee Harvey Oswald either didn’t act alone or didn’t do it at all
  3. Marilyn Monroe was killed by the Kennedys
  4. Cancer has been cured but costs less than treatment so they won’t release it
  5. 9/11 was either done by our own government or covered up by it
  6. Elvis (and Tupac for that matter) is not dead
  7. The moon landing was a hoax and all those pictures were taken right here on earth in a studio
  8. Area 51 – ’nuff said

So, since I still haven’t found an actual tank for dad at a reasonable price with shipping included, and it’s Monday rather than Thursday and therefore my strange behavior could be a conspiracy of its own, let’s toss out the question you knew I was going to ask way up at the first mention of the NSA… What’s your “favorite” conspiracy theory. Now, of course I use the word “favorite” with caution, much like “who’s your favorite serial killer?” No one really likes serial killers—when you say that you actually mean “which one intrigues you the most, or you study the most, or you find the most bizarre, etc.”.

Explanations and examples aside… my answer? I’m a huge, will-watch-anything-at-all-to-do-with the Freemasons, Illuminati, and any other secret cult, group, or society even if only linked to the Masons on a the dust of the fringe of a robe they no longer wear. My grandfather was a Shriner/Mason and his ring had my attention from a very young age. The fact that I’m just a girl and am not allowed to join on any level may have something to do with it as well… I never have reacted well when told I can’t do something =)

What’s your poison? Your passion? Your go-to conspiracy of choice? Go ahead, you can answer… no one is watching, recording, or storing this conversation anywhere… no, really…



First Date Fail

bunnyIt’s been a while since I tossed a Thursday question out to the cosmos… But it was fun and I need to come out of my cave a little, so let’s try one of these and see what happens. I’m rusty, out of practice, and yes, I know it’s Friday. But Friday is traditionally date night, so let’s take that idea and run with it with First Date Fail.

Yes, fail.

Not because the relationship failed, not because you never called them again, but because, in hindsight, that particular date maybe didn’t go as well as you had planned, hoped, or expected the universe to write for you like a hollywood moment. Yeah, that date.

While not every relationship succeeds, they all have a unique beginning. From a 50-year marriage to a blind date you can’t wait to forget, they all have some shred of a story to tell. Here’s your chance. Let me oil these squeaky hinges and give you a giggle before I bat my eyelashes and ask you to entertain me back.

A boy once asked me out while I was working—while I was at work. I said no. He asked again an hour later. I said no. He told me we could just go to a graduation party for a mutual friend and nothing else, just spend time together. I hemmed and hawed and said “Fine. But I have to be back here by 2am.” After all, my car was parked there at work and I would need it. Eventually. Right?

So we went to the party, talked to other people more than each other, and got back in the truck. We did not go back to my car. Instead, we decided we hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk to each other, so we drove around. Now mind you, I was new to this town and within five minutes was completely lost on the backroads he seemed to wander down like he had personally named them. I didn’t know if he was a serial killer taking me to my final resting place or not, and caught myself sizing him up to see if there was a chance I could take him. I didn’t think so. I was doomed. And the conversation continued as he distracted my pessimistic thoughts with interesting topics and comments that made me laugh. It was actually going fairly well…

Until the rabbit.

Those backroads were dark. The wildlife doesn’t understand roads are for vehicles, not them. And before I could gasp and he could brake, there was a *thump thump* as the front and back driver’s tires turned bunny foo-foo into road pizza. Now, things happen. Animals get hit. It’s not unusual. But when he stopped to make sure it was dead, to which I found him chivalrous as he didn’t want the animal to suffer, I learned this was not only unusual but the chivalry was questionable.

He got out and reached into the bed of the truck, pulling free a mini baseball bat.

“What is that?” I’m pretty sure my eyes were about the size of the moon.

“My little thumper.”

“Your what? What’s that for?” (Did you know if you furrow your eyebrows hard enough it actually hurts?)

“In case it’s not dead.”

“You’re going to kill it again?”

I’m pretty sure he answered, but in the years since, it has become part of the blur that followed. I buried my face in my hands and began rethinking the serial killer questions. I tried to block the world out, but from outside the truck I heard *KER-RACK!* followed by a slew of profanity and the most horrible noise I’ve ever heard.

A dying bunny does NOT make a happy noise. Nor can it just die quietly like an over-acting B-movie star hoping to get noticed. Oh no. It makes this hideous cry and sounds like rubber bands snapping against rocks inside the throat of a child being throttled while their toddler sibling stands nearby screaming at the top of their tiny lungs. To reiterate, it is NOT a pleasant noise. There was another *thump* sound and the horrific noises stopped.

A double bang in the bed of the truck and the door slamming pulled me from the happy place I had forced myself to go.

“Oh my god.” I looked at this boy. He was tall, he was dark, he was nice, and he had just destroyed an animal on our first date.

“I know, right? Pisses me off.”

“What?” I was so confused at that point I likely looked like a teenage boy in the girl’s locker room—both confused and intrigued.

So it turned out, the *ker-rack* I had heard was him missing the bunny, hitting the road with his “thumper” instead of hitting Thumper, and breaking it in two. He was mad because he broke his little critter club. He hit it cleanly with the second attempt and only half the bat, thus putting it out of it’s misery.

I nervously laughed about the whole thing and we drove on, getting me back to my car eventually—though 6 a.m. and 2 a.m. are not the same thing. I nervously laughed about it for a couple years actually. Eventually, I started wondering if that hadn’t been my warning, my red flags, my runanddonotlookback moment for this relationship. But then I wouldn’t have my two beautiful children. Yeah… that was their dad for those of you who know him. For those of you who only know “of” him, you’re not shocked, so don’t pretend.

I don’t remember much of that first date, other than the sound of a dying bunny and the truly deep-seated desire that developed to never ever ever hear that noise again. Red flags I ignored? Blood, murder, mayhem, and the possibility of being victim to a serial killer? Yeah, I’m going to call that ‘first date fail.’ But it makes for a fun story, sorta.

Now then, entertain me… red flags missed on a first date? Horrible first date you ran from and never looked back? You know you’ve had at least one horrible evening you may have actually paid for the privilege to have. Share with the class…

Kicking Karma’s Ass

from panhala.netHow people treat you is their karma;
how you react is yours.
~ Wayne Dyer

Karma is balance. People often forget, like anything that has balance to it, karma is a two-headed monster—one will bite you, the other will kiss you. Most people bring up karma when something bad happens and they want the universe to deliver some cosmic retribution for another’s sins, or a wrongdoing. But karma is also about the good, and what you put out there will come back at you… It’s up to you to decide if you’d like to be bitten or kissed.

The gypsies believed in karma. They also believed in helping it along when necessary. I don’t think it was out of impatience while waiting for the universe to get its shit together, but more of a need to direct and/or witness the events unfold—to know balance had been restored. It’s one of the few things about being gypsy I do not subscribe to. Would I like to witness some negative karma smacking someone around? Sure. I know a couple people on karma’s list, but I doubt I’ll get to see it go down. And I’m not going to help it along. Because karma isn’t out there for the person wronged, it’s there for the person who did the damage. It’s not satisfaction, it’s a lesson. A balancing of energy and intention.

Many sayings I’ve heard from grandparents and parents and total strangers over the years are actually just karma—whether it’s at the other person or protecting your own—twisted into a different speech pattern or wrapped in the packaging of a different ideal. For example, “Kill ’em with kindness” just means be nice no matter what. “Be better than them” is just projecting good onto your karma scorecard. Even religious beliefs about actions coming back three-fold is just another way of remembering to protect your karma.

Karma is it’s own thing, and it will do it’s own thing, on it’s own schedule. Me? I absolutely believe in karma. And while some days I wonder if I wasn’t some horrible person last time around and I’m paying for it now, I’m just going to keep giving good vibes—whether it be my actions or reactions—and hopefully, someday, maybe, the good will come back to me.

How about you? Are you keeping your karma in check? Do you even believe in karma of any sort—good, bad or ugly? Think about it and get back to me… and make sure you wipe your feet off at the door.


Look @meteornotes — a shark!

And now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s pretend there isn’t a naked girl swimming above said shark and instead look at all that blue stuff around them. Yes, water. I’m writing a blog about water.

Seems strange, I know, but hang with me here…

For those that don’t know, I’m a water snob. It came from years of horrible city water at home and being the sober one at cons. Bottled water, when it was too freaking cold to go to the spring and just bottle my own, became vital to me. And as there are four million eight hundred thousand and seventy-two brands, I tried them all. And became a snob.

For years all I would touch was Dasani. The minerals they add made it taste very similar to the lovely natural spring water available at spout stations all over the town I lived in. Lately, I’ve been exercising again, and sucking down the water again. And for whatever reason, I’ve decided to branch out and try some new things.

Some of you may have read about my experience with Sparkling Death. That was fun (quick go read that if you missed it).

Last week I found some evil crap with a cool bottle—damn you, Bob Ford, I’m buying for packaging now! Oddly, there were no flavors on the flavored bottle, only what it would do for you. This one will help you sleep, this one will help you think, this was makes you bigger, this one makes you smaller… I went with the cool lime green one for energy, believing it would be lemon-lime. NOT. It tasted exactly like Coppertone. Exactly. Ask Bob, he tried it while I made a very convincing “it’s ok” face and then giggled because he wanted to beat me for the horrible taste. Fail. The next day I tried the white one for stress relief, because I wanted to give them another shot and if green was coconut then maybe white would be strawberry. NOT. This one tasted exactly like Alka-Seltzer. Not exaggerating. Not joking. Not even a little bit. Alka-freaking-seltzer. Even the kids and cats wouldn’t drink it. And that’s saying something.

The other day, playing along with my experimentation of new waters and being the art guy he is, Bob found one with a cool package… that was good! Called Blk. It is water with minerals, specifically Fulvic trace minerals. I don’t know if he got it for the packaging or because he could giggle and say “fulvic” for the next hour. But it IS black and you expect it to taste like… something. I don’t know, maybe volcanic ash? I mean, after the Coppertone and Alka-Seltzer we were prepared for it to suck. It didn’t. It tasted just like… wait for it… water. Good water. Cold, clean, crisp. No flavors, no tang, no fizz, no bullshit. YEAH. Although, the black really kinda messes with your head—like when you’re thinking orange juice and drink milk. But seriously, two points to the marketing guys: “The dark side of water.”

Soooo… since the body is 60% water and it’s good for us and we’re supposed to drink approximately a small pond worth a day, you should all be drinking water. And it’s Thursday. Oh come on, you saw that coming… Do you drink water? Enough? Tap or bottled? Spring, energy, flavored, what? Tell me what kind of fun bottled waters you all drink out there… partly because I’m interested to know who else is a snob. But mostly because it’ll give me more to try after tonight’s jog through the neighborhood.

Vuja Duh

“Everything’s working out perfectly. The guys are at the swimming hole, and I’m home with a tooth ache. Nothing could possibly go wrong.”
~ Alfalfa “Little Rascals”

I’m a tooth grinder when I sleep. Always have been. Not that I always do, every night, but that I have, on occasion, since I was a child. I blame my mother, who also grinds her teeth. When I’m stressed or sick, I grind a little. When I’m really stressed, I grind like I’m digging for gold. And considering what those within hearing distance have said, I’m stunned I don’t wake myself up doing it.

The past several months have been a “touch” stressful, and therefore I’ve been a bit on the grinding side (not pun intended). But lately, oh joy, my body has found the nocturnal desire to up the stress-induced self-abuse. Yay #taxseason!

Since Saturday, I’ve been in excruciating pain. Not the normal “oh hey, my jaw is sore this morning I must have been grinding” crap that usually goes away by noon. No, this was a special kind of pain. The kind you wish on others. The kind that makes you compare it to childbirth, and childbirth is preferable. And I also noticed, I’m not just grinding, but clamping down so tightly that I’m waking myself up. Hmmm… cue the dentist.

So apparently—one appointment, one x-ray and one befuddled “hmmm” from the dentist later—I’ve done the equivalent of a herniated disc… to my jaw hinge! Not TMJ but just damage to the TM joint itself, with internal swelling on the nerves that run along my jaw and up to my ear. Awesome. Spectacular. Excuse me? Seriously? How do we fix that? Oh well, we don’t. Again, yay. Pain management and a sexy mouth guard while I’m sleeping and giving it time to heal. And before my “friends” start with the “you talk too much and broke your jaw” comments, no, talking actually helps it. It’s the clamping down and biting my tongue and not talking that has caused this. ohhhh I can blame mom, taxes AND my new-found edit button!

But I digress. It’s Thursday. We should turn this around to be all about YOU now, right? Yes! Soooo… in the realm of completely stupid self-injuries, what have you done? This isn’t even my normal 12-year-old habit of hurting myself in idiotic ways (i.e. tripping on grass, paper cuts with non-paper items, finding a way to hurt myself in a padded room). No, this is special. Now, that aside, you may not be a 12-year-old hiding in an adult body and hurt yourself on a regular basis like I do. Or you might. Regardless, you may choose one of those instances if it fits. What’s the lamest self-induced pain you’ve ever given yourself?

Come on… make me feel better about this while I wait for the pain meds to actually work. Tell me a story. Tell me a funny story that makes me giggle. Or a painful story that makes me wince. But tell me something. Join the stupid injury club—we have cookies!


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