Every time I log in to write a new blog post (all both times a month?), I’m greeted by a sea of draft posts.

Some of them are ones that I am still working on, or that I’m waiting to be in the right headspace to finish.

Some of them I stopped because I realized it was coming out all wrong – judgy, or mean, or the tone of it was annoying me, and crossing the line from funny into obnoxious.

Most of them?

Most of them I started writing, and then life called me away and I have absolutely no idea where I was going with the story. You’d think that I would remember, since it happened to me in real life, but most of my blog posts I sit down and type out an hour after they happened, proof read it once, and then hit post. If I have to come back to it days later, I don’t really remember most of the details.

Since I have a Dothraki Horde of children (Thanks, Tony, for the suggestion), life tears me away from the computer more often than I would want, and thus I have a sea of barely-begun blog posts.

In a normal, sane world, I would erase them all and not be bothered by their existence every time I log in….

But…. But I birthed those words. 🙁 I plucked them from my brain and forced them through the sieve of “does this sound good” and then released them through my fingertips. I’m attached to those words. I can’t just destroy them – that would be bad, and wrong.

On the other hand, I don’t want to sit there and have those words stare at me accusingly, so I’ve decided to do a couple of blog-cleaning-draft-post-dumps.

After 10+ years of writing this blog, I figure you guys can put up with a little housecleaning. I’m not going to do any editing of these excerpts, because I’ll get all dragged down into details and never finish.

Also, it’s really important for me to say this: Some of these are over 10 years old, and I was writing when I was single, and in college. They… they’re definitely Baby Becky writings, and that’s part of why I can’t bear to get rid of them… but they remind me of the crappy poetry I used to write. I loved it when I wrote it, but they embarrass me nowadays.

Still, they’re part of my history, and I can’t bear to just have them all disappear, so here goes nothing:

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Eragon, Last Modified: 12/17/06

I have been waiting for the theatrical debut of Eragon for months. I’ve been a closet sci-fi fan for years. When I was younger, I read every book in the library that had a dragon on the cover. In fact, I’ll even let you in a little secret: I used to spend HOURS (and I do mean HOURS) every single day, playing an online RPG game that involved dragons. Ahhh, Anne McCaffrey, your world of Pern was so much more interesting to live in than my mundane world of chores and homework. I finally had to stop when I realized that I didn’t have ANY friends outside of this little online world that I’d created. It’s sad, but true. On the other hand… I was a junior weyrwoman, with a really cool gold dragon, and we laid lots of eggs (well, she did most of the hard work), and we were responsible for helping to select the candidates, and, and, and….

You see? That’s why I had to stop. Because nobody–I repeat, NOBODY–cares about what you accomplish in an online RPG. You can’t exactly go to school the next day and start bragging.

“So, Billy-Bob, guess what I did this weekend? I learned how to use a flamethrower!”

“Really, Becky? That’s so friggin’ awesome! Tell me about it!”

“Well, since my gold dragon can’t eat any firestone, or else she won’t be able to lay viable eggs…” Here’s where I would have leaned across the table on my elbow, and said in a know-it-all-tone– “Of course, everyone knows that firestone makes dragons infertile. Anyways, so, I strapped this flamethrower over my shoulder—you really should have seen the outfit I was wearing!!— and then my weyrling leader started..”

“Wait a second, Becky. Dragons? You’re talking about that stupid online game you play, aren’t you? You’re such a geek.”

At this point the imaginary Billy-Bob would have walked over and eaten lunch with a much cooler group of people, and left me to my geeky weirdness.

And that is the reason I stopped playing online RPG games.

And that is what brings us to the movie, Eragon. So, after being a closet dragon-lover for all these years, imagine my surprise when I realized that they were coming out with a bona-fide dragon movie. Suh-WEET! I stalked the movie website for months, scouring the websites for cool picture of what Saphira the dragon was going to look like. The day I found out that it was opening on December 15th was the day that I made my plans to go see it. I bought my movie ticket ahead of time, just to make certain that I wouldn’t miss opening night due to it being sold out. Man, I was *ready*. I even checked the two books out of the library and spent a couple of days re-reading them, so I would be all brushed-up on my Eragon vocabulary.

Friday night came, and off to the theater I dragged my semi-willing boyfriend and my unsuspecting stepdad. I got there early; almost thirty minutes early, which is a near-record for me, as I’m always late. By the time the movie started, I was in such a state of excitement, I could barely sit still in my seat. Finally! A dragon movie that was worth something!

Friends, let me let you guys in on a little secret. Eragon is one of the WORST movies I’ve EVER seen. It’s one of those movies that you just KNOW is going to suck, within the first five minutes.

Lunar Eclipse, Last Modified: 08/28/07

So, there was a full moon lunar eclipse last night. As disconnected from reality as I am, the event caught me by surprise. Since the burning of my car a couple of weeks ago (did I mention my car burned to death?) I’ve found myself in the not-so-unique position of reliving my high-school days. Namely, I spend the vast majority of my days following people around, whining “C’n I have a ride? Please?” in endless variations. I figure if I spice it up and never ask the same way twice, then people won’t get annoyed as quickly. I seem to have spent an inordinate amount of my twenties in this position. It’s really rather degrading, and I’m not really sure how I keep managing to find myself here.

So, there I was, accepting a ride from a much younger coworker who actually managed to maintain a functioning car (oh, the humiliation!) when both she and I suddenly noticed the lunar eclipse. On average, by the time I usually manage to settle my food tabs and get out of work, it’s usually about 3 in the morning. This time, through one bit of procrastination or another, it was almost four in the morning. The eclipse was in full-swing by that point, and almost complete. My coworker and I both decided that it would be an absolute shame to not share it with each other, so we headed over to one of her friend’s house to watch it.

After an appropriate amount of time oohing and aaahing over the spectacle, we went inside to chat for a bit. The friend, who I shall now dub “Star” was a handsome somewhat androgynous skater dude in his mid twenties. I’m sure he was extremely handsome when he was younger, but the fact that he was covered in strange tattoos really made it hard for me to take him seriously. I mean, if he’d been covered in big, scary tattoos not only would I have taken him seriously, I probably would have been a little afraid of him. His problem was that he had chosen some of the most strangely feminine, almost ubiquitously average tattoos I’ve ever seen… and then he’d chosen to paste them all over really strange parts of his body. No, no, I didn’t see anything inappropriate…. just what kind of a hussy do you think I am? It’s just….

Well, for instance, he had the “Mom” tattoo. You know the one I’m talking about! It’s the word “Mom” written on a flaming heart, and EVERYONE knows that it belongs on the shoulder of an overweight, mid-forties biker guy. It does NOT belong on the inside wrist of a skinny skater dude. I’m not against tattoos (even though I probably should be)… but c’mon! Get something with a little imagination… And if you’re not going to have any imagination, at least put the darn thing where it belongs!

He also had a variety of other strange tattoos. There was a buddhist gate thingie… and a tribal design (of course!) and two knives, and a spider web, and a couple of rather large orchids (which looked completely out-of-place). The best one, of course, was the large, pastel star that took up almost his entire chest. He was wearing a deeply-plunging v-necked shirt which showed most of the star, as well as a carefully knit beanie.

Anyhow, moving past Mr. Metrosexual and his pomegranate-citrus Bath and Body works hand soap…. Let me get to how much he got on my nerves.

I have a bit of a raw spot when it comes to wanna-be Buddhists. for reasons I won’t go into, they tend to get on my nerves. Following Buddhism with a

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Baby Theorems, Last Modified 11/12/08

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Night Feeding, Last Modified 12/04/08

It all starts with a quiet, frustrated grunting…

Usually I can tell that the DragonMonkey’s waking up even before he can. I keep my cell phone right beside me so that I can tell what time it is when he starts his angry little snorts. If it’s been anywhere close to two hours then I try to pick him up and feed him before he gains full consciousness. If it’s only been thirty or forty minutes then I lay really, really, really still so that my movements don’t wake him up.

No matter how still I am, it’s usually futile. Once he starts the angry, snorty breathing, the Ray Charles side-to-side head whipping is on its way; once he starts his Ray Charles impersonation, the crying is only minutes away.

So

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Dear Immune System: I Hate You, Last Modified 5/5/10

Seriously.

How stupid can you really get? Look, I know you do a pretty good job warding off colds, and creating T-cells and eating stuff with neutrophils and what not… but it’s become obvious to me that you’re not exactly the brightest crayon in the box.

Look, I’m sorry if my honesty hurts, but it’s the truth.

IT’S A KNEE. THOSE ARE KNEEEEEEEES. They’ve always been there. They probably always will be there, although that kind of depends on you.

Haven’t you noticed them before? They’re the weird little knobby hinges that make my legs bend.

I mean, it doesn’t really look like an accident that my knees are bending, right? I’ve been doing it for quite some time. I mean… I’ve been bending my knees since before I was born. This isn’t exactly a startling news flash.

And yet, to you it is. You’re like one of those annoying ratdogs that here’s a car door slam in the distance and then spends the rest of the night yapping about it.

“It’s a knee! It’s a knee! It bent! Get it! Get it! Getitgetitgetitgetit! Attack! It’s doing that bending thing again! Make it swell up in a grotesque fashion! That’ll teach it!”

You. Are. An. Idiot.

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This is obviously going to be a multi-part series. So, there you go. Part 1 of…. 4? 5?