I've been putting books I no longer want up on Amazon for sale. Some of the books are first editions (which means they've been sitting on my bookcases for too long), and some are books recommended to me that I, after reading, didn't like. One of these books sold, so off I went to mail it today.

Amazon gives a mailing credit, usually $3.95. That's less than Priority Mail fees of 4.95, but I usually don't care about the extra dollar and figured the quicker arrival would be appreciated. Unfortunately, the book didn't fit into the newly sized 4.95 priority box, and the cost was $10.70. No longer worth the priority shipping from me. I chose the media mail, and hoped the 4-6 day delivery wouldn't be too painful for the recipient.

I don't know if the woman behind the counter was in a giving mood, or on auto-pilot, but to my surprise, the Priority Mail sticker went onto my box just before it was placed in the outgoing cart. I looked at the box, looked at her, looked at the box, and figured, hey, hot damn, Merry Christmas to me.

Today marks the sixth anniversary of my blog. I started out at hodsden.org/s/ as a drupal install where I was just throwing up (sometimes literally) notes about what was going on with my life, then moved to kitthodsden.org where it is now. It'll be moving again in the next few weeks, but, well, that's a story for next month, next year, next decade (unless you're Keith, at which point the years don't mark the end of the year, but rather the beginning of the next year, and the decade doesn't end for another 389 days, and the site will move only in the next month and year).

In that time, I've had, to yes, everyone's surprise, only two jobs. Two jobs, two dogs, two houses, two passports, two wedding parties (though only one wedding), two cars, two sets of friends move away, and too many other exciting things to cram into lists of two.

This year, however, I kinda stalled. Not because there weren't exciting things happening in my life (well, okay, no there weren't any exciting things happening in my life, but really that's an aside), but for another every distinctive reason. I feel I've finally come to terms with that reason, and figure it's time to start spewing again.

But wait. Wait wait wait wait. Yes, I DO want to tell you about that reason.

Wanna hear?

Okay, but it's going to take some backstory.

When I was dating Guy Fenner, I commented to him at one point that all of his friends were amazing people. They all shared the same essence that he had, that of a good person. Or, as I write it, a Good Person™. I don't know exactly how to describe the characteristic otherwise, but it's something like the fundamental desire to be a good person, to do the right thing, to leave the world in a better state than when they came in, to see the good in situations, to want to improve as a person, friend, lover, spouse.

Guy commented back that he knew what I meant, and that he chose his friends with that in mind. He chose not to dwell on the negatives in life, but to concentrate on the positives. He chose to spend time with people that made his life better, made him a better person, instead of those who dragged him down. Which is not to say none of his friends had bad times or rough patches, they probably did. But the fundamental personality trait, to want all of this to be better, that helped them through the rough times.

Kris very much has that personality characteristic. It's part of his charm.

A long while I ago, I chose to follow Guy's way of choosing friends, and have some amazing friends in that list. Yeah, I thought about listing them all here, but my fingers started bleeding from all the typing before I was even close to being done, so, yeah, you're on this list. I have amazing friends. That I have so many incredible friends makes me want to cry with joy at how lucky I am. Okay, there you go. I'm crying now.

Unfortunately, to the flip side of this was a poor decision on my part to become friends with someone who didn't fit in the Good Person™ category. If you go back through the various posts on here, you can probably figure out who it is (and if you do that, I assure you, you need a life. A real life. Go outside and play). Said person was the second true instance I've encountered and recognized (belatedly, in this case) as an emotional vampire.

I think I am more angry with myself for letting this person into my life. I was so desperate for a female best friend to replace the various ones who have moved away either physically or emotionally in the last few years, Lisa, Kate, and Megan, that I didn't really see the forest for the trees with the problems of her personality. And yes, the draining, tiring, depleting emotional vampire was a woman. Let's call her Eva.

When I spent time with her, the world became bleak.

When I spent time with her, she thought it was okay to lecture me on what I was doing wrong, even though I was doing things the way she wanted them done.

When I spent time with her, no changes seemed possible. Every problem was the end, no solutions were viable. "I can't do that." "That won't work."

When I spent time with her, the most common words out of her mouth were "I hate my life."

When I spent time with her, all she would do is complain.

It was so draining. It started getting to the point where I became the woman no one wanted to spend time with because all I would do is complain about HER life. It sucked. I hated her life, too. I'd cry to Kris on how this was not what I wanted, but I didn't want to give up on her, she was my friend.

At which point, Kris finally asked me, "Why? Why are you still friend with someone who has done this to you?"

Why indeed?

Around June, I broke off contact with Eva.

I blocked her on Facebook.

I blocked her on my IM clients.

I added a filter to send any emails from her to /dev/null.

I removed her information from my cell phone.

And, I stopped writing on my blog. She used to read my blog non-stop. And IM me when I hadn't updated on a day. I didn't want to share my life with Eva anymore. Unfortunately, I felt that posting here would give Eva fuel, for her to come back to me and say, "you said this, but it conflicts with this you said," which was a habit of hers: to point out every discrepancy that someone said. Becaus, you know, nitpicking is a sport in her world.

Sadly, by not updating to avoid Eva, I feel I lost touch with everyone else who read my blog. My grandparents don't know what's going on in my life, because I'm not writing. Heather's moved to the City (did you even know she was back with us from August through September? probably not BECAUSE I DIDN'T WRITE ABOUT IT), so she doesn't know what's up with Krikitt Downs any longer. I've probably completely fallen out of Mike and Kate's and Ben and Lisa's reading lists, because I've posted so infrequently. Doyle never read this (who has time?), but Steffi did. I feel like I've lost touch with most of the people who are so dear to me, because I stopped writing. Because, well, as much as this site is for me, it's been an amazing way to keep in touch with everyone else. And I miss those everyone elses. A lot.

So, hello everyone. I'm back. Year 6 was crap. I plan on having year 7 be amazing. Just you wait to see what I have in store for you.

Went to work with Kris yesterday. He was called into work to interview a candidate for a position they really, really, really want to fill. I suggested they contract out some of the work, since finding the perfect person was turning out to be difficult. They are looking for a designer who can program, and we all know those people are worth their weight not only in gold, but also platinum. What I thought was entertaining about visiting Kris' office was realizing his desk contains all the important items in his life: the coffee cup for his coffee addiction, the water bottle for ultimate, hand sanitizer, a large monitor and, the most important, dental floss. The man cannot live without his dental floss.

Turns out, I'm very close to the candidate they're looking for. My skill sets are missing the design skills, but that's the part I was arguing they should contract out. It's a once-every-two-years expense, less expensive to do that and have another developer on staff, than to have a designer sitting idle for 11 months of the year, or, worse, bored out of her mind.

My opinion, doesn't count for much in that argument.

I was asked, however, to interview the candidate, to assess his skill sets. I found the request wonderfully entertaining, and declined, not completely understanding at the time the position they were filling. Would have been entertaining, to be sure.

On the way out of the office, we walked through the parking garage, when I stopped, and started laughing. Kris, in confusion, waited until I was done laughing before asking what was so funny. I answered by pointing down.

Kris and I went out to purchase new glasses today. We have our whiskey glasses, which are perfectly wonderful, but Kris was craving some other designs that we had found when his parents were in town last month. The glasses are juice glasses, which Lil said were the perfect size, because sometimes you want just a little juice. Honestly, though, you never really want just a little juice.

Since Kris very rarely wants to purchase anything, so I was all for it. So, now, we have new whiskey shot, er, juice glasses. They're a great weight, good balance and nice size.

When I was in elementary school, I would borrow romance novels from the shelves and shelves of them at Jessica's house, and read them. Not knowing much of how the real world worked, and being a complete and utter retard in social situations, I would see those novels as a gateway to the love, passion, relationships and acceptance missing from my life.

As a 12 year old, what did I know about any of these things?

If you read enough of these books (where, if you're an adult, that number is 2, if you're 12, that number is more like 12), you begin to see patterns: poor helpless woman with some particular flaw, strong silent man with some hot body, bizarre situation that throws the two of them together, electricity between the two. Usually at this point, the stories diverge into "whoo hoo! let's get it on!" or "no no, I can't" for some random reason, internal or external, to introduce some conflict into the story, because really, the first 80 pages were all setup. The good part is in the last 20 (because, yeah, they really are that short).

Reality really, really, really doesn't work this way in the real world.

Men cannot just read women's minds (and if they could, they'd probably become very confused very quickly, because, no, those jeans do not make your ass look fat, why would you even thing such a stupid thing?). Those "electric sparks" at the beginning of a relationship are hormones raging, and when the effect wears off, you're left with the person who may or may not be good, may or may not be good enough, tall enough, smart enough, rich enough, whatever enough for the relationship to sustain itself.

There are hundreds of books and tonnes of research on the phases of love. Given that first phase is so addictive, it's unsurprising that want to hit the infinite repeat on that part, and want to fall in love over and over and over again, that this, whatever "this" is, isn't enough.

At some point, and I have to admit my realization of these facts was during the time of my parents' divorcing and my mother's remarrying, I gave up on the whole notion of romance. The way it's portrayed in fiction books and movies is just so full of bunk that I called bullshit on the whole thing and became nominally anti-romance.

When assigned to taking care of the romance section at the bookstores I worked in during high school, I balked. Why would I _want_ to get to know the authors of this crap? Give me the science fiction section, please.

When pulled out of the suspension of disbelief required to enjoy the movie or book by any type of romantically odd behaviour, I immediately launch into my ridicule mode, which, to my relief, seems to humour both Kris and Andy. I can think of several of those moments offhand, with one of the most memorable being the end of Castaway when the love of Helen Hunt's character's live returns and she chooses not to go to him. WHAT FUCKING BULLSHIT IS THIS? The LOVE of her LIFE. I'm sorry, but that's bunk. The love of your life, you give him more than a kiss and a goodbye in the rain.

Anyway. I can't stand romance novels.

So, I've been really enjoying the Dresden Files by Jim Butcher (thanks, Heather!). No, no, that's an understatement. I've been reading, rereading, listening and relistening to the Dresden Files as close to my only (fiction) books for the last five months. Now, while I recognize there are many other great books out, I haven't had any desire to read them, choosing to start over with Storm Front, having already reread books 8-11. I've bought several copies for other friends, and hooked Dad on the series, too. It's probably a bit obsessive, okay, more than a bit obsessive, but I like the tone of the writing, I like the humour, I like the (nominal) consistency of the world that's been built up. I like the progression of the character, as he struggles, learns, and grows.

Given how much I enjoy the Dresden Files, and the number of copies of each of the Dresden Files I've bought (book, kindle and audio), Amazon recommended a book by Jim Butcher's wife.

Eh....

Okay.

I bought the least expensive version of the book (yay Homer!), Burning Alive, realizing that it was a science fiction based romance. Rolling my eyes and figuring, eh, what the hell, I started reading it, hoping that, oh please, oh please, oh please, be just half as good as the Dresden Files, and I can overlook any mushy romance crap. Please?

Yeah.

Well.

Right.

At this point, if you want to read the book, stop reading now.

Or continue reading, right?

Weren't going to read the book anyway, eh?

Right... So, about that romance.

The book isn't sci-fi romance. It's sci-fi porn.

Here's the basic plot: Helen had a vision. We don't know exactly when she had it, but some time as a young kid, before her mom, who didn't believe it was anything but a nightmare, died in a fire. Helen's previous two places burned in mysterious fires. She's terrified of fires, because in her vision, she's burning alive, while a guy watches her burn, some smirk on his face.

Sitting in a diner, she sees the man. Rather than, oh, I don't know, fleeing, RUNNING AWAY, she tried to avoid seeing the guy, which catches his attention, he comes over to see what's up with this woman he can't stop staring at, and finds himself unbelievably attracted to her. Now, this guy is living in a lot of pain, but, hey, when he touches Helen, it all goes away. WOW! SHE'S A KEEPER!

Turns out, the guy is a human-looking non-human, sworn to protect humans and the gateway to another world, which happens to be his homeworld. He, and all men of this human-looking non-human race, can absorb the incidental energy around him, the random energy around him from the heat of the earth or static charges that build up, though why he doesn't explode from absorbing sunlight when he goes outside, we don't know. Absorbing this much energy without releasing it is, apparently, fucking painful, but that's okay, because they've had centuries to deal with handling the pain.

Joy. THAT sounds like fun.

The women of this race can use the power from compatible men (of course, only the ones compatible, right?), drawing it from them, and, oh boy, relieving them from the nearly unbearable pain of absorbing beyond capacity. The catch in all of this? Nearly all of the human-looking non-human women were slaughtered two centuries before, we don't know why or how or who was involved. There are two women left, though, one a couple millennium old, the other who looks like an eight year old girl.

But wait. Helen is a new one. Hot damn! Freedom!

Except she's a pansy. Afraid of this. Afraid of that. Broken since birth. Okay, fine, whatever. No, wait, she's afraid of just fire, which she needs to be able to conjure in order to help the guy from her visions. There's your conflict. Internal. Man overcomes self.

Or, more succinctly, the summary on Amazon:

Butcher's absorbing series opener successfully fuses an urban fantasy premise with characters designed to appeal to romance readers. Helen Day encounters a man in a diner and is dismayed to realize she recognizes him from nightmares where he watches her burn to death. Drake, an ancient member of a dying race devoted to protecting humanity, feels a powerful attraction to Helen, which she returns despite her fear that the nightmare will come true. After demons attack them, Drake's determination to keep Helen safe is at odds with her haunting vision, leaving her wondering which to believe.

I figured the book was a romance when I read the link, but, come on, not porn. Why did I not realize it was going to be porn BEFORE I started reading the book?

While most of the romance books I read as a kid had very sweeping generalizations about sex, fingers down backs and lips touching, with this one there are no generalizations here. Sure, there's no 'penis' in there, but there are erections, slick heat, nipples and erections cutting glass, slippery (a favorite word in this book) and hot under his tongue, two fingers inside her where she's slick (another favorite, overused word) and perfect, and various blunt tips going inside.

I struggled with a lot of the overuse of some words and some of the plot. I mean, three big strapping guys kidnap two women and take them back to the house of one of them, then two of them take one of the women into the back room, AND SHE DOESN'T FIGHT? Come ON! That means rape in pretty much every scenario I know about in this world. Suspension of disbelief? Gone.

The continual use of the word "bottom" instead of ass or butt also kinda annoyed me, as in "he continued to clutch her bottom." Geez, if you're going to talk erections, at least you can say ass or butt. Bottom? If you can write "The friction of the denim against her clitoris made her body tighten and her nerves sizzle" in a book, you can write "The clutched her ass." Sheesh, why be embarrassed about your ass?

And that Helen switches from "I must stay away from this guy" to "Can you make me come?" and back is rather annoying. "I just met this guy yesterday when he kidnapped me" struggles with moans and clutching and "can't think" crap. Most people I know would shut down if confronted with supposedly horrific scenes she had just seen, but that's okay, "she wanted him all right. More than she'd ever wanted any man in her life," let's go.

Oh, and Drake's best friend dies and the next day he's just fine. He's crushed, and then the next thought later, he's JUST FINE. Pro died a month ago, AND I STILL CRY EVERY DAY. Good fucking lord, he was "just" a friend. If my best friend died, I'D BE CRYING FOR A YEAR. Probably more, I don't care how much pain you're used to dealing with in a lifetime, that one is going to hurt.

In book time, the plot spans three days. In those three days, we go from a sniveling incompetent weenie to a power wielding hotass, with a lot of fight, f--k, fight, f--k, fight in between. Honestly, why didn't anyone have to crap during this book? Or even pee? Maybe sleep? How about a little sleep? Just a little? Please?

I don't know maybe I'm still cynical with the whole romance thing. I mean, okay, fine, having mind-numbing, skin-tingling, breath-catching, multi-orgasmic sex every day would be great, but, really, would you have to become inconsistent and stupid to get it?

I guess maybe if I had known I was going to be reading porn, er, erotica, I wouldn't have been so put off. Maybe I wouldn't have been as annoyed by the spacing and pacing of the book if I had known. I mean, it sure as hell had more plot than Twilight did, even if you count the screwing scenes. Right now, though, I'll stick with real life sex and romance with Kris, and Jim's books for plot.