The neighbor is carving a pumpkin. Semi-naked.

I mean I get it. They are filthy, sloppy, messy things. But dude! You are on your back patio, in your underwear at quarter to nine at night with the lights on.

We're you hot, I'd be perfectly good with this. I'd probably pull out the phone and take a few pics. I'm a perv like that.

Alas! You are not. So please, for me, go put on a shirt at least.

So what else has been happening?

Oh! This was great...

I deprived my kids of internet for a week. They hated me.  And it was awesome. The router overheated and wouldn't turn on. And so, there was no WiFi for them. Of course, half an hour later it was cooled down and completely fine again. But they didn't know this.

We kind of needed a new router anyway. The old one just didn't stand up to all the widgets and gidgits that want to connect in this house. Five computers, two tablets, a PlayStation, XBox and Wii. The TV. At least four of them all wanting to pull internet at all times.

So I left the router off, made them go outside and play, and endured their death stares as I enjoyed the full connectivity of one computer, hard wired to the cable.

It was glorious. Until I really begun to miss having the Xoom in bed. I could have just turned the old router back on. But then all the devices would have lit up like Christmas trees and the jig would have been up.

So I went to the store and bought myself a router from this decade and waved the shiny new box in their faces.

I made them clean and bring me coffee; I black-mailed hugs and kisses out of them and eventually I relented and opened the package. Much to their enjoyment and to promises of not ODing on tech.

So once again, naturally, my house looks like a scene out of The Walking Dead. Glassy-eyed children with Minecraft diamonds sparkling in their eyes. But perhaps, one can hope, with a greater appreciation for all that they have.

At least for a few days...

Random, but this song is great! Listen to it!

And that's all she wrote for tonight, my lovelies. Until next time!

I got nothin'.

No, really. But it's been a month since I updated this and I thought I should.

So, what's been happening in my life? Not much. Same ole, same ole. Work, kids, mindless procrastination on the internet.

I can't stop listening to this:

We are talking one song, on repeat, for hours. It's a sickness. 

I got a new car. I love her. No, seriously. L-O-V-E, love her! New model this year and the first on the island. Men stare and grab their crotches when I speed by. For realz! It's awesome. Plus, she looks like a Cylon on the inside. She needs a name. A bad-ass name. I'm open to suggestions. 

I ain't no tank-driving soccer mom anymore, yo! Big Pimpin'!

Before....

And after... She lights up like a Christmas tree when I come near her.  They say it's the magic fob, I'm still thinking Cylon.

The writing... it's... coming along. Slowly. I see the light at the end of the long tunnel for Hard Candy. Thank god. Still haven't gotten to the actual Hard Candy scene yet though. Oish! 

Let's not even talk about the novel. I just looked at the file; I last opened it on September 2nd. Bad Ky.

And lastly... It's 10/13. Happy Muldermas, X-Philes! Never give up on a miracle for XF3!

9/10/01 was the night I found out I was pregnant with our first child.

9/11/01 was the morning I confirmed it.

I remember peeing on the stick, jumping up and down in my bathroom like a loon.

Again.

I'd already done it once the night before. Called my mother and danced around my husband, waving the pee-soaked stick in his face. But this test was blazing, dark and screaming, "No really, you're totally knocked up!" So the flail was justified, I'd say.

Then I came upstairs and made a cup of coffee. Hush, it's totally fine in moderation!

And then... I sat on the couch and turned on the Today Show.

And the bottom fell out.

I think we all know how it felt that morning. Shock. Disbelief. Awe. Anger. Sadness.

I prepared for work in something of a daze. Took my usual walk through the park and into Waikiki, toward the office. Even five thousand plus miles from Ground Zero, you could feel it in the air. The shared looks of disbelief between total strangers as we waited for a traffic light to change. Halted starts of conversations. What did you even say? How did you put into words something so awful? How do you describe your utter horror that another human being is capable of such evil deeds? But we all knew. Words weren't necessary.

The world would never be the same.

I arrived at the office and sat at my desk, still feeling numb. I checked my email. Baby Center had sent me a message.

"Congratulations, if all went to plan you are now four weeks pregnant!"

I lost it. I bawled at my desk, heaving sobs of sadness. For all the lives lost and still to be lost. For the ones left behind. And for the child inside of me who was to be born into this crazy world.

What the hell was I thinking?

It took a few minutes but I composed myself. Took myself down to the local bar that served as a hang out for all the other people who worked in the building.

No, I didn't have a drink. I'm not that bad. Sheesh!

We all sat and talked. Expressed our disbelief and outrage, shook our heads and kept our eyes glued to the images playing on the screen.

And then my Mom showed up with an arrangement of flowers. "Congratulations!" she beamed. And everyone knew I was pregnant. The heavy ball of coiled up apprehension and dread lifted. In one fell swoop, my mother had managed to spoil the surprise for pretty much everyone in my entire social circle. I'd felt guilty about the moments of pure joy that randomly inserted themselves into the midst of this surreal day.

There were hugs and high-fives, cheers and for the first time that day... smiles.

The world would never be the same. But some things never change.

I will never forget. But we must never surrender. 

Life goes on.

I'm lazy. So I'm copy and pasting. Pretend it's already Tuesday.

"My Rib is awesome. She started this weekly series Tune in Tuesdays where you share a music video you love. I decided to join in. This is this week's pick."

They are local. They need to be shared. They need to be signed.

For lack of anything else to write about, and in need of getting the juices flowing (or at least dribbling), I present to you a partial bucket list.

5 Random things that I need to do before I die and why:

Join a campaign. 

Told you it was random. 

"Why?" You might ask. And it would be a good question considering I'm not a citizen of this country and cannot therefore vote. But I still care. I might not be a citizen of this country but I am a resident so I do care. A lot. America has been my home since I was 15. I may miss Australia, I may have some strange attachment to Oz that keeps me from giving up my citizenship and becoming a citizen of the US, but why shouldn't I? Care, that is.

People have ranted to me (using the anonymity of the internet, of course) about how I don't have a right to complain if I'm not a citizen and don't vote. That I should quit with all my political posts and liberal ravings. 

But you know what? Fuck that shit! I pay my taxes, I support our troops, I love my husband and kids who are all born and bred "Yanks". I have every right as a permanent resident that a citizen does, except voting rights. 

So, maybe that's something that I can do. 

Watch Gilmore Girls from start to finish.

"Huh?", you say.

Again. Random.

My "Rib", Nic got me started on this show and I never finished it. 

I love the characters. I love Rory, with all her perfectionist tendencies. I love Lorelei, for her love of coffee and her drive to be more. I love the mother. She's mine, only better dressed. I love the town, the stories, the 90s music and book references. I love it all. 

And yet... I find it hard to keep watching the show. I watch it in fits and spurts and I always enjoy it when I do. I still find myself not going back to continue after a ten hour marathon viewing. It can be months in between these attempts. It confuses me. 

I'm usually such a TV whore. One day I will finish it.

Fire a gun.

What's that I hear? The sound of all my friends and family collectively gasping and falling to the floor in shock?

Yes, I am strongly, morally opposed to guns in the hands of untrained citizens. Yes, I think semi or fully automatic weapons should be outlawed for anybody but a solider or cop on in the line of duty. No, I don't think it's a basic human right and I think they do more harm than good. You will never see one in my house.

That being said. I really wanna pull a trigger. Just once. Maybe a couple times. It looks like fun.

Visit Paris.

(Or travel Europe in general.) 

I've been to tropical places. Thailand, Singapore, Fiji.

And Chris has been to Europe.

We are at a stalemate. He wants tropical, I want historical. I want fresh Parisian baked goods and a fine red wine. A tour through the Louvre, and a walk down Champs Elysees. He wants sex on the beach. Of both varieties. I want to wander through the ruins of a Scottish castle, he'd rather sleep away a week in air conditioned bliss. I want to drink a German Pilsner in a cheesy, touristy, ale house. He'd probably be up for that, but he's done it before. 

So you see, we have a problem here. I think I need a girlfriend vacation. I think I need the money to actually make it happen. 

Skydive.

My godmother was a sky-diver. Professionally. When Czechoslovakia was still Czechoslovakia they had a team and her and her husband, before they escaped, were on it. I have heard stories of how incredible it was. Of the overwhelming fear and the exhilarating freedom. I also heard god-awful stories of how people so horrified by their life in the former communist state, plunged to their deaths by way of skydiving. Just not pulling the chute. And amazing stories of courage. People skydiving their way over the border and to freedom. We always said we would do it together. We never did. 

Someday. 

So, there you have it. Five things that came to mind when I asked myself what I would like to do before I die. 

I am not blocked... yet.

But I very well could be if I don't sit my ass down, open up Word, and just fucking write something already.

It's been three days of stop and start. A hundred words here, fifty there. A short burst where I wrote five hundred and felt great. Back to staring at the blinking cursor for an hour.

It's insidious and self-fulfilling. I see it and yet I can't stop it.

I have an outline. Know what I want to write and in what order. And yet...

I think I'll give the dog a bath. The house is dirty. I need more coffee. I really should paint my finger nails. And my toes. I need more coffee. I need to feed my kids. I need to talk to Chris. God, my legs are hairy. I should shave. I have to pay the ticket that I didn't even know I got while I was in Australia. I need more coffee.

So. 

The dog is clean. The house is clean. The kids are fed and my nails are pretty. I chatted to Chris, he pissed me off. My legs are gloriously hair-free and those ass-hat toll people in Sydney (who hit me up for a fee, for the two seconds I was on a toll-way and didn't know it), have been paid. 

I should go write.

But first, I really have to pee... 

It's the coffee. 

Eventful couple of days.

Friday started out like any other Friday. Plans for lunch with Mom. A trip to Walmart. Nothing special. Little did I know.

Halfway to Wally World my brother calls and he needs a ride from where he'd dropped off a truck the company had rented back to work. Not a problem. We can make the detour. Plenty of time.

Traffic was a nightmare. Not your usual, Honolulu now has the worst traffic in the country bad. Oh no. It was, "Every one has gone bat-shit crazy and when the hell did I enter Mad Max?" That kind of traffic. So we narrowly avoided a couple fender benders, cursed like the Australians we are (think pirate, but dirtier)  and picked up my brother.

That being done, we were starting to run out of time. Zachy and Nick need to be picked up at school at 2:15 and 2:45 respectively. It was decided that lunch and Walmart would turn into a twofer. Not the most delectable of Friday lunches, but hey at least Hawaii Walmart has L&L and not McDonald's.

We 'dine', shop and get to the register. We're in one of those queues where you start in one and diverge into the next open lane. There's a lady two people ahead, looks normal, quite pretty, I'm admiring the cherry blossom tattoo on her shoulder blade. I have one on my forearm and am thinking about 'growing' it.

So I'm admiring and she looks my way. I smile, maybe nod, and she turns away. No smile back, but whatever. Some people just aren't the social butterfly that I apparently am.

Insert obligatory shot of fresh inked tattoo.

So, we're in line. Waiting. Slowly moving along and a spot up the front opens up. Lady with sexy tattoo doesn't notice and it's her turn. The man next in line at the register turns and says completely politely, not a hint of snark, "the checkout is open," and points to said open register.

Lady goes absolutely. fucking. nuts!

"Don't you point your finger at me, Asshole!" (He didn't, was most certainly pointing away from her and to register.)

He gives the universal hand gesture of, "Whoa! Back up!" and this chick just keeps on ranting. By now my brother and I are raising eyebrows at each other and muttering about whether we could get out our cell phones fast enough to feature this little gem on People Of Walmart. (Sorry folks, we weren't. Sad panda. Plus, we were kinda a little scared. Did I mention the chick was BAT. SHIT. CR-AZY?) Mom is 'talking' to Sabrina but totally failing at looking nonchalant in her enjoyment of the situation.

So finally, the register ladies, both the one next to me and the one up front are yelling at this nutcase to come on up and check her shit the hell out. She refuses. The man who had tried to help her goes on ahead and leaves her at the checkout next to me. I'm next. After her. And it's awkward.

She's hovering closer to me than the actual payment/pick your shit up side. I'm studiously avoiding eye contact and fighting to keep the smirk off my face. She gets her crap paid for (a tent and a car jack), bagged, ready to go. But. she doesn't. She just stands there. Waiting...

I'm being checked out and she's standing there. Waiting..

I finish my transaction and she gets right up in my face. Nose to nose.

"See you sooooooon!" she breathes into my face.

And then she walks off. Like she hasn't a care in the world.

I want my Mommy! Lady is not only bat-shit crazy but spooky too!

So, pretty interesting day right? Oh, that's is where you would be wrong. What happened later was so high up on the "what the fuck just happened" scale that I completely forgot about the Walmart incident.

We drop my brother off, after a car-ride full of "See you sooooons" and "Watch your back, Kys" and continue on to do the school run.

I drop Mom off at home, all seems well. Pick up Zachy, it's all good.

We're almost to Nick's school and that's when I see police lights and hear sirens from behind. I pull over with everyone else, like you do. Seems odd, I think, that they are going so slow. And why isn't that asshole in the red car getting out of their way?

Eventually, a path clears and the red car speeds up, as do the cop cars. And then the red car is swerving and, "holy shit!" he's heading right for us. Myself and a few cars in front of me obviously 'get it' all at once and hit the gas, swerve back into the path that had been cleared for the lights and sirens.

Then shit gets even more interesting. Red car is still kind of in the middle of two lanes, behind me and the other car.

THEY BAIL!

Four or five people just dive right out of the moving car and it keeps rolling; the momentum and slope of the road turning it into the car that was slightly behind me. Missed us by that much.

Now, there's criminals and cops running in every direction. Police cars ditched all over the road and a highway full of students who have just gotten out of the high school, that these assholes are running into in their attempt to flee, all waiting for the bus and thinking what the hell is going on?

Absolute madness. A cop kind of gestures for me and the people around me to move on and clear the area and so I continue on to Nick's school. Heart hammering and curses flying. I think I might have taught my two youngest a few new ones that day.

I arrive at Nick's school not much worse for wear and only five minutes late, to the greeting of, "Mom, why are you sooo late? Where have you beeeen?"

"Get in the fucking car, kid."

Long story short, I think I lost a few years off my life.

Saturday, I flew to Maui to meet the husband who was over there working on a Coach boutique. Saturday was boring. He'd worked all night and needed sleep, I'd written all night and needed sleep. Truly, Saturday was a wash. But the peace and quiet of no kids was divine. Haven't felt so rested in months.

Sunday, was awesome. We took the rental out early and spent the day touring Maui. We've done it before but it never fails to amaze in it's beauty and never fails to give you the true 'Hawaii' feel.

Here, have some pics:

Gorgeous!

Also. Al Fresco. Those of you reading Hard Candy know what I am talking about. Ahem... moving on.

And that's what has been happening for the last few days. 'Til next time!

This made my night.

As I said last time. It's small things. Childish things. 

Internet things.

I'm writing again. Granted it's fanfic and a total smut nugget, but it's something and I'm happy with that. It's enough for now. The ding of my inbox, as it alerts me to new reviews, feels like Christmas morning. That's a happy bonus of fanfic. It's completely unlike the unforgiving slog of the middle of a novel in progress. 

Instant gratification. 

It's like hugging all the cats! At once. While they wear tiny, little bow-ties.

That's all for tonight, folks. I left my valiant heroes hanging on the verge of some gratification of their own. I'd better get back to them before they venture off into Angstville!

Security sucks.

Okay, it doesn't really suck. I like being safe. But it is inconvenient sometimes.

It's the small things that amuse me.

Hearing my favorite song while in a store and not getting caught singing and/or dancing to it. Women who can, with a straight face, be confident in their ability to vote Republican right now. It's either laugh or cry at that one. I choose pointing and laughing. My attention whore of a dog, who sidles up to within a millimeter from my hand and breathes heavily until I rub. Yes Ruby, I know you are there. Yes, I am also withholding pets just to see how long you will hold out until you give me a nudge. I'm sorry. I love you. Guys who wax all their body hair off. I'm a big proponent of 'manscaping', but at the end of the day I have to spend more time on grooming than you do. So yes boys, I will chuckle at you if your pecs gleam brightly in the midday sunshine and your arms and legs are smoother than mine. And finally, watching my daughter annoy the crap out of her bunny until he can't take it anymore and nips her.

Oh hush! She doesn't get hurt and she totally deserves it. Girl's gotta learn.

Would you trust that face?

Anywho... Back to my long and drawn out point.

Using my debit card amuses me too. 

As soon as I'm done hauling my 'selection of swag' (read: groceries and/or children's clothing because I'm "Mom", not 50 cent) onto the checkout line, I whip out my purse, slide out the debit card, swipe that sucker and quickly enter my pin; before putting it all away again as fast as I can muster. Faster than the person at the register will notice if all goes to plan. 

Why, you ask? Because I'm a child. 

But it's become a game to me. A sacred and treasured flight of fancy into ridiculousness. A small respite and a moment of barely concealed glee when the checkout person looks to me expectantly, after scanning my items, and I pronounce, "It's debit." It's usually accompanied by a raised eyebrow and a small smirk. Again, I'm a child. They give me a look that implies I might like to swipe my card, I give their register a look that implies they might want to check the screen and the little moment where it dawns on them that I have already done my part in this transaction makes me, perhaps a little excessively, happy.

As I said. Small things.

So you can imagine, my dear reader, the outrage... the chagrin... the downright indignity I suffered today at Walmart, when after completing my small pursuit of merriment, the lady looks right back at me and says:

"I'll have to see some ID Ma'am."

Excuse me? I must have misheard. Is my PIN no longer good enough for you? Is my face not the very model of trustworthiness and honesty. Do you know who you are dealing with here, lady?! (Can I italicize that sentence any more?)

In actuality I said, "Really?" and handed over my driver's license.

And she shrugged and said, "New policy."

I said, "That's ridiculous." And then I thanked her and moved on with my life.

Well maybe not quite. But I will. As soon as I hit 'publish' on this bad boy.

Moral of this post? 

Screw you, overly ambitious security measures and worry-worts who caused them, let me play my game in peace. The whole point of the debit card and PIN was to speed up the checkout process and make banking a little more secure. It's been working for decades, please don't mess with it now. 

You paranoid freaks.

So... I started a blog.

Why?

Well, why not?

It's something.

It's writing. Something I have been doing precious little of these days. I feel guilty about that.

For a while there I was really into the swing of it. I didn't have to force myself. I didn't have three thousand excuses as to why now wasn't a good time to sit down and write. I didn't spend countless hours doing nothing, but pretending it was something, so as to avoid the dreaded blank page and blinking cursor.

But I digress. Here I am. Starting a blog so at least I will write something. Even if it's just the mindless ramblings and venting of my day to day life.

You probably want to know something about me. So here's the very basic rundown:

My name is Kylie, but if you call me that you might get hurt. I go by Ky. Remember that. I know you value your limbs and I don't really wanna end up in jail for gross bodily harm.

Me. I'm on the right. 

First and foremost I am a mom. Of three children. At age thirty-two. How in god's name did that happen? One of them just turned ten. Ten. I have been a mom for a decade. It still boggles my mind considering I still see myself as the hip, twenty-one year old with all the time in the world. But I wouldn't change it for a second. Well..maybe a few seconds. I could have lived without the poop painting incident(s). And the Crisco waxed car bed. For months I was cleaning that shit up. The Crisco, not the shit. The shit was surprisingly easy to remove. *shudder*

Definitely could have lived without this. 

I'm a wife. To a lovable and infuriating man. I'm a stark raving mad liberal. He's a staunch republican - although I tend to think it's more in name, than in deed. He like hair bands, country and AC/DC. Give me Radiohead, Midnight City and a heavy dose of hip-hop. I like large cities, he likes small towns. If I say the sky is blue, he will undoubtedly tell me it's red. It's how we roll. And it works. Yin meets Yang in a surprisingly laid back and untroubled way. That's not to say you won't here me rambling about what an ass he is. It's really kind of my job. And he'd expect nothing less.

I'm a daughter. I'm a sister. I'm a friend. I'm a social secretary and an office manager.

But damn it! I am a writer too! And this is what this blog is for. A gentle nudge, perhaps a not so subtle shove, I hope, back into the direction of which I have always been called but never had the balls (for lack of a better word) to fully pursue.

Writing is hard. But so is the feeling of living in limbo. A pile of unfinished novels and story ideas sitting at my fingertips.

So, a writer I will be.

I expect you, faithful readers, to remind me of this when I come to you with excuses and attempts at procrastination.

I am the Commander of these words.

I am the King of this story.

I am the God of this place.

I am a writer, and I will finish the shit that I started. 

-Chuck Wendig

Amen, Chuck. Amen.