#ROW80 3RD QTR 2013, SUNDAY CHECK-IN – POST 6 – LAST REALLY JUST FOR FUN POST, BEFORE I ATTEMPT TO GET SERIOUS

I'm afraid that this title really sucks. But it underscores a lot of truth. My last several posts were downers and I took certain people to task, who although deserving, really gave me no lasting satisfaction in terms of having entertained my readers or lurkers or trolls. You get the point. I feel vindicated, but it's time to let all of that go. Ex #3 will most certainly pay karmic-wise and he's taken entirely too much space in my head and I have better things to do.

This is really going to be one of the last “Much Ado About Stupidities” posts, as much as I love writing them, (see E.T. Phone Home) as I am going to attempt to start polishing the material for my much hoped-for e-book, as I finally have most of the source material in place. Just waiting and hoping for it, doesn't get it done. I have a few episodes to add and I am going to tell of some of my other homeless shelter stories, and a few other things, but mostly, I want to run the contents of my homeless days by, and get helpful comments (hint, hint) for those willing and able to help. Nothing special and not time-consuming.

Dealing with the diagnosis of Essential Tremor, or E.T. which is so appropriate on so many levels is not the snap I thought it would be. As little as the dosages of Primodone, ¼ of a tablet at bedtime now, actually ½, starting tonight, all sorts of other nonsense is going on. Firstly, meltdowns. Luckily, brief and mild, but ick. Depression and blah blah blah (I'm watching “Rescue Me”) and that's Denis Leary's catch-phrase. The muzzy-headedness is driving me nuts. If I don't pounce on a thought immediately, it either rots, or wanders off and I sit there, zombie-like. I was warned about this. Still, it sucketh. But not nearly as bad as I fear the PD drugs would be. Always physically strong, now, I'm re-learning everything, non-tremor.

But, while I was waiting around for the State of Florida, or the U.S. Government, or Jack and The Beanstalk to get insurance, so I could finally get a diagnosis, I played around on the internet. This is not a good thing. I did hold off on learning how to hack systems; if I ever need an extra payday, I supposed I could do it. So, I started messing around with these little flash games, like Tankionline. What a hoot.

I know I've mentioned that my father was my primary care-giver, pretty much until I started kindergarten. I've also mentioned that I was a crappy girl-child. I mean craptacular. Tom boy all the way; we were co-conspirators with my Mad Scientist uncle and his 2 boys and I know there are many escapades my mother never heard about. We blew shit up, we played Panzerkampwagen tank-battles and chicken, with desert dune buggies in the deserts surrounding Las Vegas and mixed chemicals that shouldn't be mixed together, just to see what would happen. Anyway, back in the good old day, of Atari video games, or even before, my dad used to hang out at this bar that had pool tables, and darts. All the usual bar crap.

What made this particular bar special was that it had a very early prototype of a 2-person game, called imaginatively, “Tanks.” It looked like a pen-and-ink maze, with pen-and-ink tanks. I can't remember how you moved them, but I seem to remember that we had steering wheels; the firing mechanism was where the horn would be on a car steering wheel. He and I would play this idiot game for hours. I was 14 years old. This place was called the “Club Almaden,” and I don't think I was supposed to even be in the place, but there I was; he and I holed up by the shelves where the bottles were kept; he drinking vodka martinis, me drinking coca-cola and the 2 of us laughing like hyenas over this dumb game. We could not get enough of it.

This is the stage of the "Opry House." Actually, it's my mom, about 3 sheets to the wind. Behind me, is Robert Lee Haycock, wearing a bowler hat. This was one of our cobbled-together "skits" that we spent minutes perfecting. The "skits" were done between acts of the "mellerdrammers" as the "actors" (usually drunks from the audience) changed. When all of this mayhem was over, Ma would go next door, to hunt us up. I wasn't in the plays. So, I got to skip off and play. Poor Robert, as I recall had to sit through all of the scene-chewing until the bitter end, because I couldn't play the piano and he could play the piano to underscore the dramatic and romantic moments and the "Opry House" was all about realism. As if. 

Next door, was the vaudeville theater, where my mom did her actress schtick. After her shows, she would have to come and hunt us up. She would be tearing around still wearing her stage make-up and looking like she had been embalmed. My dad would say, “Just a second, Sheila, I got Mary on the ropes here!” He didn't have shit. He couldn't see up close and his little tank would be up in a corner spinning around. I'd let him win. Then, we'd go again. By the time we were through, my mother would have had 14 glasses of wine and I'd have to drive home. Good times, good times.

If Daddy were around now, he'd totally be into Tankionline. You get a tank, run through a tutorial of 5 minutes, and then go to the tank barn and join the chaos. It's crazy! Crazy and ridiculous. There are several reasons for this: 1) The sound effects are the bomb. You hear tank engine sounds and all of the sounds of the shells exploding. 2) In-game, you start out with 7 other rookies, who are just as horrible as you are at steering and blowing up your enemy. Supplies are dropped periodically, for health and also for ammunition, so there's a mad rush to get to the goodies before your enemies do, because we all suck so bad, we've done nothing but run off of the cliff, blown up trees, blown up houses and other buildings, or just revolve our turrets in circles. This is truly a game of stupidity for me.

Plus, it was written and released by Russia, so most of the instructions and tank names and doo-dads are in Cyrillic, my favorite alphabet. “тротскытоварицч-цццп” is the name of my current tank; TrotskyTovarich-CCCP (USSR) so, typical old-school Soviet-era stuff. Everyone else has tank names like that as well. The Kirov Ballet is there, along with the Moscow Apparitchik and the OGPU, which used to be the old internal intelligence agency in the USSR. Probably, my good friends from SAT@home are running around, but they're in level 500. I'm like level 3, in baby tank school. So, here's what all of this mayhem looks like:

It loses something as a "screenie" or screenshot. I tried to find some YouTube videos, but they're so serious. I'll just have to record some of my own epic fails and post. :)

Being “retired,” has it's benefits. It also has drawbacks. To clarify, I'm too young to be on retirement, but I am disabled. To the point it seems, I would be hard-pressed to work at much of anything, although I have mad skills in a few areas. I could volunteer, and may give that a whirl, as long as I don't have to work with people. Yeah, kinda sucks, don't it? But, there you are. I used to supervise and hire people. Today, I wouldn't hire me, because the company doing the actual hiring wouldn't be able to afford the lawsuits when I lose it and bite someone. There's a good chance of that actually occurring. I spent my life trying to make OTHER people happy, in the expectation, that I would be treated fairly, and even though I was doing something against my nature (i.e. being outgoing) so now, the hell with it. I tell people if you don't like it, go to Hell.

I don't understand why this concept is so hard for people to accept or understand. After I wrote about the honking guy, I tripped over some idiot's foot and fell getting off the bus. The bus driver said something. I guess I'm gonna have to get a big German Shepherd. 

Today as I was walking in the grocery store parking lot , I heard a motor of a car behind me, so I was moving to get out of this bozo's way, when he honked; it startled me and I almost fell, which is one of my worst fears. He could clearly see that I had a cane. As he parked, I yelled, “Honking isn't going to make me see better. I can HEAR your motor, asshole!” This guy and I have had run-ins before. He looks like a goddamned Frankenstein Monster; actually, more like Herman Munster, but not even close in the nice ballpark. Last time, he ran over me with his cart in the produce aisle and I told him that my cane was really good at beating the shit out of people like him. Go move to Papua, New Guinea, or something. So, yeah, I am not going to win Miss Congeniality anytime soon, but I've paid my dues. I love my friends, my family and will go out of my way to help people, but if you do rude or stupid shit, that might also hurt me? You're going to get a yammering evisceration from me. I learned well, because my mother wrote the book.

But, I digress. As you can see, I learned no manners in the homeless shelter. I can vaguely recall having them at one time and they're reserved for the rest of the folks who deserve them. But, here's  a diversion, that I had a tremendous amount of fun playing. It's called "Crazy Coaster."

Back in the day, in Tampa, when Phil Hendrie was on the radio, I almost laughed myself into a hernia when he described how he and his son were playing “Sim Roller Coaster.” Apparently, what they did, was they built half a ‘coaster and watched everyone crash and burn and scream and fry. I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever heard. This is the kind of silly-awful, I can completely relate to and my folks would too. Little wonder I’m the way I am, so with no more ado, here’s my version of Chrome’s “Crazy Coaster.”

Okay, looks like a normal game.

This would only be fun if they forgot to buckle their belts and fell out at the top of the loop; no joy here.

This is looking a bit better; the goal is to make a 'coaster that lets the riders live. I'm trying to avoid this at all costs.

I think the riders are suspecting that something is awry, but it's too late. It's always too late...

"May your death be a glorious one!" I forget what cheesy Star Trek movie that's from. Actually, I think it's that guy who takes 875 coins of your ill-gotten gain in Runescape, as payment to enter his stupid dungeon. Which reminds me, I have 53 Steel Dragons to kill. Better hop to it.

So, from multi-tasker, to multi-slacker. Anyway, I am going to start working on my e-book. I have never done anything of this magnitude before. I've written tons and tons of blog posts and polished some of them. I've never taken a creative writing course, or any kind of writing class beyond English 102, and I won awards for my rhetorical writing. So, I'm sure I'll have tons of questions, #ROWers. This is a wonderful group. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.