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.