Category: fail

When you point a finger…

How does that old saying go? When you point a finger at someone, there are three pointing back at you?

Something like that.

Was pulling the virtual slot machine lever on a blog idea generator, and the topic came up, “Write a letter to someone you need to forgive.”

Well geez. Make it easy, why don’tcha?

So I thought to myself, “Who do I have to forgive?” and an image came immediately to mind.

You see, there seems to be something I can’t get over. It’s childish and stupid, but for some reason I’m hanging on to this.

In considering how I’d write a letter to forgive, I realized…it’s not the other person I need to forgive. It’s me. I have to forgive myself for being such an assh*le sometimes.

Here’s the background:

It’s Saturday night, at the Gipsy Kings concert, sitting in the second row with my husband, excited for the show to start.

As showtime is close, in walks a gorgeous woman with dark hair, red lips, long toned legs clad in tiny white shorts, her top half in a tiny halter-top. She’s also wearing a radiant smile.

She’s beautiful. And she sits right in front of us.

Fine. Oh just…fine.

I look at her and I want to hate her. No. I look at her and I want to be her. On the outside, anyway.

The show starts and she and the guy she is with are drinking, they are laughing, they are having fun. She gets up to dance and catches the eye of the entire audience, the band, the roadies, the ushers, everyone.

She’s beautiful and she has rhythm and she lacks self-consciousness and she dances well. We can’t help but watch her.

I want to stop envying her, but I can’t. And all those ugly things that women think about each other I’m thinking in my mind.

As the show goes on, I stop looking at the woman and I get into the show. As I described yesterday, it was an amazing musical experience.

Toward the end of the show, I start to notice the lady in front of me again.

Everything she’s been drinking all night has started to catch up to her. She’s got her eyes laser set on one member of the band and she’s doing all she can to get and keep his attention.

She’s trying to dance just for him, but she’s so drunk, she’s wobbling on her high heels.

She shakes her medically enhanced boobs for the singer, and one pops out of her halter-top. Her boyfriend stuffs it back in and speaks sharply into her ear. He’s not happy.

She’s so drunk, she doesn’t care.

She keeps trying to dance in a sexy way for the guy in the band, but now it’s become sad. She’s stumbling around and sloppy drunk.

And I feel a little haughty. A little Dana Carvey as Church Lady high and mighty.

When the show ends and the band members are taking bows, she rushes up to the stage and summons the man she’s been vigorously trying to get the attention of all night, much to the dismay of her boyfriend.

He comes over to shake her hand and she tugs at him hard, almost pulling him off the stage. When he’s in range, she plants a sloppy kiss on his lips. The band man isn’t happy. The boyfriend isn’t happy. The lady throws her hands up in the air like a referee signaling a touchdown.

Now I’m embarrassed for her. In that haughty way I have.

The lady’s boyfriend says some words to her, trying to keep his cool. She’s so drunk, nothing is sinking in, so he grabs her hand and drags her away. He has to help her up the stairs out of the venue.

As we leave, we see them sitting on a low wall talking. Well, he’s talking. She’s trying not to pass out.

The Good Man and I go out to our car and we sit there waiting for the parking lot to empty out a bit. When we find a gap in the flow of cars, The Good Man turns on the car and hits the headlights. In the spotlight, we see the couple again. She’s now slipped-over-the-line drunk, unable to walk. Her high heels are off and she can hardly stand.

The suffering boyfriend now picks her up like a sack of flour, under his arm, and carries her drunk dead weight to their car.

I feel sorry for the man. And the lady.

And I feel smug.

As we drive home, for some reason all I can talk about is the lady and her boyfriend, and I don’t know why.

Why does this bother me? Why can’t I stop obsessing??

And so here’s the forgiveness part:

Dear Karen,

On the night of July 10, you, as they say in the vernacular, showed your ass.

Just because someone is physically attractive does not mean they are a better person than you…and just because they show they are human does not mean you are better than them.

It just means we’re all human.

How about you forgive yourself for all the things you think you should be and aren’t, and all the things you think you are but shouldn’t be?

How about just being ok being you?

Betcha it might make your days go a whole lot easier.

I forgive you. Now you forgive you too.

Go get ’em, tiger.

Love,

You

Insomnia, Plaything of the Creative Mind

Yeah, so I’m pretty much not sleeping these days.

Can’t say I have a lot of worries on my mind keeping me up. All the standard stuff, nothing especially taxing.

Yesterday, I was firmly awake by 5:30am, so I thought, what the heck, I’ll get up and get on the day.

I rose with a vigor unusual for one who hasn’t had much sleep. Ok, I did take on a bit of caffeine, and that probably helped, but man oh manischewitz, I was full of energy and had a wonderfully creative day.

I was in the flow. It’s rather addictive, actually, being in the creative flow.

I got a lot of the To Do’s done and even many of the I’d Like To Do’s made progress.

Good stuff. I felt pleasantly tired by the end of the day. Like I’d put in a good, valuable day’s work.

So I dropped off to sleep.

Then, at 4:01 this morning (I know cuz I checked the clock) I was awake again.

I had an idea!

And at 4:01 in the morning, it seemed like a super duper blog idea!

Oh yeah, I was fairly salivating to get the blog post written about this idea. It would be funny! Witty! And maybe even a bit touching!

So I *had* to jot it down, quickly opening notes on the iPhone and tapping out the idea.

Yes! I couldn’t go back to sleep I was so excited about the idea! I’d get up right away with the alarm and do some Google work to support the idea!

It was going to rock!

Hooray me!

Yeah. This is how lack of sleep and middle of the night ideas can fool you.

My fabulous 4:01 am idea was: “The Least Favorite Color of Crayon”

Yeah. Woo!

It was going to be an indictment of people who gaze on less vibrant colors and don’t give them a chance in the sixty-four count universe.

I was sure the least favorite crayon color would be black. This focus on the color black is likely due to the canvas I’m currently crafting. It has a deep black background and I’m totally into it. So maybe my brain is processing the color…or something.

Except, it turns out that the least favorite crayon color is *not* black, it’s white. Which makes sense because kids most often use crayons on a sheet of white paper, and so then what is the use?

And while this makes for an interesting bit of trivia, it does not, however, make for a scintillating blog post.

By the way, the favorite crayon colors are red and blue. So now you know. Drop that one at a cocktail party.

Also found as part of my Google research:

Behold, Crayola’s Thirteen Retired Colors. I grieve for them all. Alas poor raw umber, I hardly knew you…….

Image from Wikipedia and used under a Creative Commons License

Flash Fiction – Day Four & Final

Whoooo, yes! Fist pumps and happy jigs. I managed to pull off this massive stretch goal of writing a new Flash Fiction story four days in a row.

I’m not going to lie to ya, this has been challenging. Getting today’s story done was tough, and I think it reads like it. This challenge really took some work.

Today, the overworked Muse got a little silly. I hope you’re willing to come along for this final ride.

Tomorrow, as promised, I’ll be posting an oral reading of a New Mexico folktale as my wrap up of this crazy off beat week of Flash Fiction and Fables.

It’s a good one, I think you’re going to like it, especially the readers/listeners from my home state.

But for today, my randomly generated word is: portability

Without further ado:

The Device

by Karen Fayeth

Darryl and Sean worked quietly, side-by-side in the corrugated metal work shed they referred to as “The Lair.”

Work was wrapping up on their invention, a device without a name so far. If you asked them, it was totally a fusion reacting, power providing, super über top of the line invention.

The whole deal was this, it was a small reactor that creates enough power to run a small city. Clean burning, no electricity or fuel required, and it only fills up a small footprint.

The genesis of the invention came when Darryl had entered a project in his college science fair to show how he could make small fusion reactions.

Sean had also worked on an entry for the fair, but wasn’t able to complete it in time. His was a device for efficient distribution of power in a small space and without heat or exhaust.

The two ideas put together was an invention in which Pajaro Ventures had invested $3 million in R&D money. It would totally pay off, assuming they could get the device to be stable.

Initial trials were not as successful as they’d hoped.

The Lair had been replaced three times due to what the boys referred to as “misfires.”

But if they got it to work right, they could rule the world. Literally, they hoped, because that would be cool.

When they weren’t working on, or fighting over what to call the device, they were arguing over what to call themselves. Darryl favored Captain Hazard as his superhero slash evildoer name. His costume included a bright yellow vest, the kind road crews wear to be seen by passing cars.

Sean was leaning toward Dr. Reaction. His costume was a bit more ill defined, consisting mostly of a white lab coat with nuclear symbols attached to both shoulders like epaulettes.

The U.S. Army was interested in the unnamed device, as they needed strong, reliable power at many of their installations in the Middle East. A clean burning self-contained unit that kept them off either generators requiring gasoline or power lines requiring infrastructure was looking real enticing.

However, the U.S. Army was a bit skeptical that two recent college grads had the gonads to actually pull this thing off. No matter, the risk was on Pajaro Ventures. If it worked, Parajo got a huge contract. If it didn’t, Pajaro ate the R&D fees and the U.S. Army would keep on looking.

Early on, Darryl and Sean had flown out to Washington to meet with senior ranking officials, including one five star general. The field commanders gave the boys their list of must haves and nice to haves around this thing.

The team agreed on device specs. Darryl and Sean would come back in six months to demo their progress.

That demo was due to take place the next morning. After a good night’s sleep, the boys rose early and got ready. A black Suburban rolled up and men in dark sunglasses loaded up The Device and the boys and delivered them to the airport, where they boarded the Parjaro private plane headed for the Pentagon.

The flight went without a hitch and soon Darryl and Sean found themselves in a large auditorium surrounded by a lot of people, most wearing dark green uniforms.

“Yeah, so, ok, let’s get right into this,” Darryl said, doing the talking. He was the more eloquent of the two.

The Device sat on the floor in front. When signaled, Sean hit the go button.

Fans whirred, parts rumbled and the machine’s lights flashed.

“As you can see,” Darryl said, “It takes only a few moments to come online. Once you see an orange light here, at the side, it’s fully charged and ready to go.”

The light came on, and Darryl took the plugs from a refrigerator, a clothes dryer and a microwave and plugged them into the outlets built into The Device.

“These high power drawing items are but a fraction of what The Device can power. When up to full capacity, this device could power a small city, say the size of Austin.”

The assembled crowed murmured their approval.

It worked. The Device was generating smooth power. It shook a little, but no fires so far.

“Gentlemen, I believe this meets your requirements for high voltage yet safe and steady power. We have achieved your list of must haves. Oh, wait, there’s one more item we haven’t demoed,” Darryl said, flipping a red switch on the back panel.

Immediately a bright blue undulating hole, about a foot wide, ripped into the fabric of time and space above the machine.

“And there you have it, General, sir. Your requirement is complete.”

General Johanssen looked at the eerie opening in the air that was starting to exert a gravitational pull.

“What the sam hell have you boys done?” he shouted.

“You said that your key requirement was portal ability. We’ve succeeded. The Device not only facilitates powering your base camps, but also provides the beginning stages of time travel. This really is a cutting edge machine.”

General Johanssen’s face turned tomato red with anger. “I said it was mandatory that this device have PORTability, meaning moving the stupid thing as our troops relocate around the world. I did NOT ask for goddamn portal ability! What the hell is that, anyway?”

Darryl and Sean looked at each other, eyes wide. Darryl began frantically fiddling with the red switch.

“Boys, close that goddamn worm hole before someone gets hurt!” a major called out from their left side.

“Um, I’m trying, sir,” Darryl said, sounding panicked.

Suddenly, a nearby office chair was sucked into the depths of the wormhole and sent two thousand light years ahead into space. It landed with a “whump” on the fifth moon of the planet Kranon, killing the opposition leader of the attempted violent overthrow of the King of the Kranonians.

Two thousand light years back on Earth, Darryl could only reply, “Whoops.”

Creative Commons License
“The Device” by Karen Fayeth is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 United States License.

Flash Fiction – Day Three

I wanted to take a minute to thank my usual readers for sticking with me through this week of a bit different sort of blog post.

I’m not going to lie to ya, this challenge has been a lot harder than I expected. I compete in contests where we have 48 hours to write a thousand word story, and even then, the time feels tight. I’ve been producing the stories this week in around five to six hours.

I’m pretty pleased so far. They all could do with more time and distance to allow for extra editing, but I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve written so far.

I hope at least a few of you are enjoying reading them as much as I am writing them.

My goal for this week has worked. I needed to shake things up to get back into my blogging head and it’s working. I’m looking forward to getting back into my groove next week.

For now, here’s Day Three’s story.

Today’s randomly generated is: representation

Top O’ The World, Ma!

by Karen Fayeth

Alex was on top of the world. Six months ago, he’d been promoted to Senior Director of Sales and he was rolling. He was the fair-haired boy employed at one of the fastest growing companies just shy of Fortune’s top 100.

Yesterday the Executive VP of Sales had called Alex personally to congratulate him on landing the biggest client in the history of Jackflash Software. The ink was barely dry on the deal.

Alex and his boys had properly celebrated the victory.

After just two hours of sleep, Alex now looked at himself up and down in the mirror because he knew he looked good. Not just “hey, that’s a nice suit” but “damn! You look GOOD in that Prada suit” sort of good.

Even his hair looked good and his eyes weren’t the slightest bit puffy. A little chin stubble told the tale, but hell, that would just make him look a little rugged today.

If asked, he could say he was up all night on an overseas call. They’d buy that.

This morning he had a date with the CEO of Jackflash, Bob Jackson. The invitation had come quite a few days before the new contract had settled and had been somewhat vague as to the agenda.

Jackflash was still a pretty small company, so meeting with the CEO wasn’t entirely unusual. Maybe there was another big deal in the works? Or maybe there was even a big bonus coming his way. He smiled at the thought. Oh so many toys like boats and cars he would buy…

Alex looked at himself in the mirror. “God, it’s a great day to be me,” he said to his reflection.

Turning from the mirror and picking up his car keys, he felt the burn from lack of sleep around his eyes. Unacceptable, he told his wavering body.

Revving the engine of his brighter-than-the-sun yellow Porsche, his first stop on the way into work was a 7-Eleven. Two Rockstar energy drinks should do the trick.

Alex was guzzling the second Rockstar when he parked and walked into the office. Burping loudly from the fizzy drink and tossing the can in the trash, he put on his winningest smile when he saw people in the lobby turn to look at him with nods and waves.

News must be out, he thought. But not everyone was smiling. Jealous, probably, he thought to himself.

He smiled and made like a politician. If there was a baby in the room, he would have kissed it.

After all the schmoozing and stopping by to talk to friends along the way, it took him a half hour to get from the front door to his office. His heart was trip hammering in his chest from all the caffeine and he couldn’t sit still. He glanced briefly at email and ignored the flashing message light on his phone.

A note was taped to his monitor. Terry, his boss, wanted to see him as soon as he came in. He checked his watch, 9:45. Terry was probably already in the day’s meetings, but he figured he’d give it a try.

Alex walked so fast to the elevators, the back of his jacket trailed out behind him like a little woolen cape.

“Hey Susan! Is she in?” Alex said, putting on his charming voice for Terry’s admin. Susan wielded all the power in the organization, including whether or not Alex flew first class, so he treaded lightly.

Susan looked at Alex with a face drained of blood. “No, Alex. She’s gone.”

“Gone? You mean meetings?

“No. I mean gone. Fired.” Susan whispered the last word.

“Fired? What the hell?”

Susan shrugged.

Alex checked the Rolex on his right wrist and noted he had five minutes to get upstairs to meet Bob.

“Ok, I’m going up,” Alex said, pointing toward the ceiling, the company recognized gesture to indicate Bob’s office on the top floor.

Susan was VP of Sales. If she was gone, and with Alex coming off such a huge victory…well, the writing was on the wall. He was going to get promoted again.

Alone in the elevator, he did a little “yes!” fist pump dance/jig sort of a move.

When the elevator doors opened, he was met by Bob’s Admin, Charlene. “He’s here,” she said into her boss’ open office door, then with an out of character syrupy voice, “I believe Bob is ready for you. Go on in.”

Alex walked into the office with his head high, but faltered when he saw Ellen Banks, VP of Human Resources and Stan Ingersol, Jackflash General Counsel already seated at the conference table.

“Hello Stan,” he said, shaking the man’s hand, “Ellen,” he said, nodding. “Bob, how great to see you! You heard about the Techtron Telco deal, I assume?” Alex said, all smiles and sales training in his demeanor.

“Yes, I’ve heard. But that’s not what we’re here for. Alex, why don’t you have a seat?”

Alex was still grinning ear to ear when he sat down at the head of the table.

Alex drummed his fingers on the table impatiently and looked at Bob who turned instead to Stan. “How about you take the lead on this meeting?”

Stan cleared his throat and shuffled through the stack of paperwork in front of him. He found the page he needed and held it up.

“Alex, this is a copy of the resume you submitted when you applied to Jackflash.”

Alex leaned forward to squint at the document, then nodded.

“It was your representation at the time you were hired that you both attended and graduated from Yale School of Management. Your hiring manager failed to do a background check before extending the very generous offer. During a routine audit, Ellen’s team found the lapse in procedure and conducted the appropriate check.”

Alex swallowed. He knew what was coming next.

“Son, you never even graduated high school.”

Alex closed his eyes.

Visions of Masaratis stopped dancing in his head.

Creative Commons License
“Top O’ The World, Ma!” by Karen Fayeth is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 United States License.

A boy scout, I am not…

“Be prepared.”

Yup, that is the motto to which all those two-finger-holder-upper kids with the yellow kerchief around their necks swear to every chance they get.

Ah yes, be prepared. Think ahead. Plan your next move. Expect the worst and all that.

Sometimes, as the grown up I’ve become, I’m quite prepared. Oh I’m thinking about “what’s the worst that could happen and how will I take my bacon back outta the fire when it does.”

And then there are the days where the gas tank light is on and the needle quivers over the E and I forgot the tickets for the event I’m attending and I can’t put my shoes on the correct feet.

So which was it on Sunday? You see, by the good grace of the baseball gods, I had some of the best seats in the major league stadium where I like to watch my favorite baseball team play. On this day of interleague play, my Giants are facing their across the Bay rivals.

Ooh baby! I’m ready! I’m prepared!

Tickets? Got ’em right here.

Gas? Plenty!

Sunglasses? Yes.

Spending cash for ballpark schwag. Certainly!

Portable radio already set to KNBR? Heck yeah!

Cool clothing for the warm day? Check.

Jacket in case it cools off? Sure.

Parking pass? Without a doubt.

Hooray! I’ve got it wired tight!

Off we go! We get to the park and plop into our seats that are THISCLOSE to the field and oooh, there’s the players almost close enough to touch and what a beautiful day and rock ooooon!

So the game is starting, and what do I do?

Well, I’m a burgeoning photographer! I pull out my carefully packed camera and my 75-300 lens that will get me RIGHT in the middle of the action!

Yes! I even remembered to charge my battery! And the spare battery too!

This is gonna be so great! I’m going to wow the world with these shots! I will win awards! There will be accolades! I will get my invite to be an AP photographer with open access to the camera well on the field.

I am a rock star!!!

And so I begin to snap some photos, looking to take light levels and see about making adjustments for this bright sunlight.

Click goes the shutter.

And click once more.

Then I hit that little play button to review the shots.

And the camera says on its pretty little LCD screen:

No CF card,

NO CF CARD?!?!?!? What the seventeen kinds of sam hell does this damn camera mean no cf card?

And then I remember…

I left the memory card on my desk at home.

I was feeling sooooo Captain Prepared that I was going to do a full clean off of the memory card, reformat and be ready for the game.

Except I forgot to do that with all my attention on all the other careful pre-game preparations.

Uh. Whoops.

So you see, here’s that amazing shot of Aubrey Huff at the plate right before he hit that first homerun:

Oh wait…

And that amazing shot of Pablo Sandoval taking a walk:

Yeah, no.

And that fabulous look of concentration while Andres Torres runs like a cheetah around the bases!

Heh. Nope.

Be prepared.

Be fracking prepared!

BE PREPARED DAMN IT!

Prepared, my ass…….