Brave New World

I’m not sure how brave this new world is, but it’s definitely new.  Everything is different, as it should be.  I live in a large expatriate community that caters to Western sensibilities.  Stores import Western foods, and as a result, they are expensive.  I don’t care; some things I just have to have.  Doritos made over here do not taste like Doritos back home.  There is a Coca-Cola plant not far from where I live, and the Cokes, while delicious, don’t taste exactly the same as Coke from the States.  I can’t say whether the taste is good or bad; it’s just different.

The people I work with and live with are friendly and accommodating.  Since they’ve become my extended family by default, this is a good thing.  My new home is a small apartment high above the city, and it’s perfect.  I have not set about decorating just yet, as I’m waiting on my first payday.  I’m the sort who decorates room by room, and since we’re not allowed to paint, that sends me in a different direction.  I like bold, vibrant colors, and I am fortunate to have a solarium just off my bedroom.  It will become my reading room and haven.  It looks out over the city and I can’t wait to furnish it.

Touchdown!

So I've been in Asia for a week and all I can say is that I'm exhausted.  It's so hot where I am, but I'll adjust.  My new home is adorable and big enough for one person.  All of the appliances are a good 1/3 the size of the appliances Americans are used to.  That'll be an adjustment, as over here, they grocery shop a couple of times per week, and the portions are small (or rather, standard size; us Americans like everything big).  A grocery store is about two blocks from my complex, and I've already hit it about five times.  There is a fruit vendor on the corner and his fruit is sooooo good.  He's got a nice variety: citrus, apples, watermelons, fat grapes, pears, and kiwi fruit.  And it's cheap.  Meat?  Not so much.  But I found the bacon, so I'm good.

Anyway, I'm adjusting very well; even to this ridiculous Satan's living-room-like heat.  Obviously, there will be very little time for fanfic updates and the like.  I expect to hit a rhythm sometime in September, but I'll keep you guys posted.

Tee Minus

At the time of this writing, I have less than 12 hours before I embark on my life-altering journey.  I have no clear sense of what I’m feeling.  There is excitement with a side of exhilaration, sprinkled with just a bit of fear, and a basket of warm pleasant anxiety served alongside a supersized glass of thank you Jesus.  I’m ready for this.  I promise you that I’m ready for this.  There is something amazing awaiting me overseas that I could never have found here (and it ain’t a man, in case you’re wondering).  It’s a genuine opportunity to have a different life; to actually live in a city where I don’t have to drive everywhere.  I hate driving.   Atlanta traffic is some straight-up bullshit and I’m not here for it.  It’s one of many, many reasons why I’ve been a veritable recluse for the past 15 years. The last thing I want to do when I get home from work is to put a bra back on to go drive somewhere interesting.  Chile, I’d rather stay at home and swing low.

Winding Down

So I’ve got less than twenty days before I blow this popsicle stand, and understandably, I’m very excited.  For the past few weeks, time slowed to a veritable crawl, where I was literally passing the time with absolutely nothing to do except watch The X-Files.  For someone who’s always had something to do, not having anything to do nearly drove me batshit.

But that’s no longer the case now.  I’m currently working on inventorying the boxes that I plan to have shipped later.  Customs requires a detailed list of all contents in addition to the airbill, and since I’m shipping a random variety of things, it took some time to get the inventory complete.  Also, I’ve been able to visit with some friends and acquaintances who I might not have the chance to see again before I leave, and that’s been fun.

Fic Update Alert!

Chapter 2 of "Forever, in the Night" is ready for consumption on pinkelegance.

"Riddick nodded and took off.  He could still hear Jack calling for him and his leg hurt like a mad bastard.  He didn’t need for the girl to catch up with him, and so he moved as fast as he could, trying to avoid limping.  The Crimson Tide was a large Piston-class cargo ship, and it was a dirty reddish-orange color.  A woman was staring at an electronic pad, checking items off with a stylus.  She was a well-built five-nine, skin the color of warm caramel and she rocked a short crop.  She wore blue fatigues and there was a weapon on her hip.  She saw Riddick before he spoke."

Read more here...

New Fic Alert: Forever, in the Night

Disclaimer: This fic isn't really new, as Pitch Black came out in 2000, and this fic was written not too long afterward.  It's being posted via request.  Enjoy. 

“Tell ‘em Riddick’s dead.  He died somewhere back on that planet.”

It sounded good, great even. Fry’s sacrifice was worth saying those words.  She convinced him to go back for Imam and Jack, and she said that she was willing to risk a nasty, violent death to save them.  What she wasn’t willing to do was risk her life to save him, but ended up doing so anyway.  It happened so fast and so suddenly that Riddick didn’t know how to react, and he was honestly still processing the fact that Fry was gone.  He was obligated to take as many of those insane creatures as recompense for her death, and so frying dozens of those bastards in the afterburners felt great.

Riddick navigated the skiff above the comet remnants, deep in thought.  Fry died saving him.  He remembered the few scant minutes with her in the skiff as she ran diagnostics.  The tension was there, present behind the thinly veiled fear in her eyes.  She was a woman he could have conceivably been with; someone he’d actually connected with…a moment of humanity, and like that…poof!...it—she was gone. There hadn’t even been time to contemplate what it would have been like to be unrestrained with her.

Read more here...

The Streamlining Process

As my time in the States winds down, I’ve found myself thinking about a whole lot of things.  I’ve been packing for weeks now, narrowing down my necessary items to fit into four suitcases and six boxes.  Now for some people, that’s more than enough.  But for me, it has been a very enlightening experience, and that’s a double entendre for your ass.

I’ve lived in two places: the house I grew up in and the house I purchased.  Being a caregiver meant that I spent a great deal of time at home, and so I built my world around me.  It consisted mostly of books, books, and more books, as well as movies on top of movies.  I’m also a collector of snow globes and dolphins, and ended up with several hundred over the years.  I took up painting four years ago and LEGO building five years ago and added more to my little universe.  Each one of these hobbies is expensive and tangible, and each one is near and dear to my very nature.  I have dealt with my pain, grief, passion and emotional whirlwinds through these media, and so found it extremely difficult to part with them even for a short time. 

To My Friend

I haven’t often come across 100% genuine people in my time; it’s a very rare occurrence, imho.  But this year I had the pleasure of meeting someone who is 100% genuine.  This man went to two different conventions and stood in line to get autographs from Tom Savini and Gillian Anderson all because I am a fan of their work.  I did not ask for them; he did it just because.

Then, when he sent the pictures to me, he sent them with another gift: a strawberry wine candle and a box of divine assorted chocolates from Purdy’s, and all because he wanted to do it.

He does things for his friends just because they’re his friends, and he doesn’t expect anything in return.  99% of the people I’ve encountered are not like this; there is normally a reciprocity component to most relationships.  But he’s not normal by any stretch of the imagination, and I mean normal in the good way.

This week, a group of us are celebrating the wonderful and estimable Triple J’s birthday.  I want to take this time to say Happy Birthday to you, dear friend, and may this year be singularly unlike any other you’ve had in terms of all the fabulous things you’re going to experience.  I’m so glad to have you in my life and I wish nothing but good things for you.

Swing by The Bar and have a drink on me.

Kisses,

Amaya

Answering the Call

I’m a fan of The Read, a podcast featuring Kid Fury and his friend Crissle.  In this week’s episode, “Say No to Fuckboys,” Crissle stepped into the pulpit and preached a sermon dedicated to those sorry-ass men who are quick to criticize sistahs and talk about what we have to do and to be to be wifed.  I’ve touched on this in a previous post, but Crissle put everything out there on Front Street and called out each and every one of those men fuckboys.  If you have not heard it, take a few moments and get your life.  Skip to about 15 minutes from the end; they usually do their reads at the end of the podcast.  Crissle gave me so much life.

 

Like Crissle and millions of other women, I’m so damn tired of sorry men, especially walking fuckups, quick to tell us women what we have to do to meet their standards.  The key words here are “sorry men.”  Men who can’t keep a job for any number of reasons, men who have seven babies by eight different women, men who don’t have a place or car of their own, men who literally have nothing…these are the fools who feel like they can tell a woman who and what to be in order to be wifed…by them.  Whoo, lawd!

*fans self, rubs temples* Shit, I need a motherfuckin’ moment…

His Name is Prince

I just had to sit down and express the tiniest bit of unnecessary frustration at something that happened last week.  Apparently, at the Billboard Awards (something I don’t watch; in fact, I don’t watch ANY awards shows), some dumbass named Miguel (????) jumped across the stage and DDT’ed one female fan while simultaneously kicking another in the face.  There’s footage on YouTube, which was created just for this purpose.

Seen here:  Epic dumbassery in tight-ass white pants.

I heard about this foolishness on The Read, Kid Fury’s podcast.  Kid and Crissle read that idiot for blood, but then remarked on how Miguel thinks he’s Prince, or is trying to be the next Prince.

*sigh*

*facepalm*