Sick and Twisted

Hello all! I hope your weeks have been more fantastic than the thought of a tornado made of marshmallow fluff.

So this past week, thanks to basically working in a giant petri dish, I ended up with a lovely combination of illnesses.

I will spare you all the grisly details, let's just say that I have a much more accurate count of how many tiles are on my bathroom floor than I did a few days ago.

Me For Four Days

 It was, while suffering with an over 100 degree fever, that I tried the first time to brainstorm a list of topics for a blog post.

What resulted was the most ADHD and delusional group of non-sequitur ideas I think I have ever produced.

Here are some of the blog post ideas I actually wrote down:

"Write about feminism and stuff."

"How does cheese exist? - Answer: Because it's amazing!"

"Write about why the 'Fantastic Four' isn't that fantastic."

"Do gerbils dream?"

"If I can't do the Can-Can, does it become the Can't-Can't?"

"Why bedsheets that get all twisty are evil."

"Cheese" (Nothing else, I just wrote the word "cheese" off on the side of my notebook.)

"Why Pringles are superior chips for single people."

Needless to say, I think it's a good thing I didn't write "Life is a Circus Run by a Platypus" and "Life is a Pirate Ship Run by a Velociraptor" while suffering from a fever of 100 plus degrees.

So, here's your writing tip of the week: If you are really, really, delusion and sick, writing is a bad idea (unless you write surrealist literature, then go right on ahead!).

What have been some of your best/worst ideas thought up while sick moments?

As always I can be found on Facebook, Twitter (@AllisonHawn) and Goodreads.

Daaaarling!

Well good afternoon ladies and gentlemen (unless you live on the other side of the planet, then I'm terribly sorry for waking you up)!!!

First off, the contest to win a signed copy of Life is a Circus Run by a Platypus and get your own writing a spot in my next book is still going on!

All you have to do to enter is complete the sentence, "Going through airport security is like..." in either the comments below or on my Facebook page! I've gotten some awesome entries so far, but would love to see what ya'll can come up with.

Well this has been another lovely week of crazy following me wherever I go. 

It all started out on Monday when I had to call the government tech support for a program I have to use for my state reporting at work. 

What I was expecting was some bored sounding tech support person who was going to ask me a dozen times if the reason the program wasn't working was because I had forgotten to turn my computer on. 

Instead what I got was a very gruff female voice that said, "Ya, what'd'ya want!"

If I had to guess, the woman on the other end of the line was raised in New Jersey, had been smoking since birth and probably belonged to a bowling league called something like "The Skull Crushers." Pretty much, if I had to guess at what she looked like in person, this is what I would imagine: 

I explained the issue the program was giving me and I heard some keys tapping on the other end of the phone line followed suddenly by, "Alright toots, so the program is completely FUBAR-ed (if you don't know what that means, go ask a Marine) on our end. Give us the afternoon and I'm sure Jerry can fix it. Hey Jerry, put down that ping-pong paddle, we got a program on the fritz! Alright sweetheart, give us a few hours and we'll get it back up and running." 

And with that she hung up the phone. Apparently her threats to Jerry worked as a few hours later I was able to file my state reports.  I have never before been called "toots" by tech support, that was definitely a new one.

This wasn't the strangest event of my week, though. I was out and about in downtown Spokane when I was approached by one of the scariest transvestites I have ever seen.

Now when I say "scary" I don't mean wielding a pickaxe and chasing after a man on a motorcycle type of scary transvestite like Dr. Frank N Furter. 

No, I mean her wig was on practically sideways, she was wearing olive green shiny tights that were testing the very laws of physics as they tried to contain everything and it looked like she had applied make-up by trowel, trial and error in the dark that morning.

I could smell waves upon waves of rum as she approached me. She teetered on her heels as she glanced down at me and said, "Daaaarling."

From experience, let me tell you, when a drag queen starts out with, "Daaaaaarling," it's never good.

She nearly fell over with her first word, but righted herself and managed to slur out, "Girl, your hair just does not look right. That is the worst dye job I have ever seen! Get that fixed!"

Then she teetered off down the street.

I wasn't really sure how to break this to her, but my hair isn't dyed. In fact, I haven't dyed my hair since college.  Apparently though, I need to go get that fixed.

Add in the lady who told me that in a past life she was a dark elf fighting hobbits and the small child who attempted to color on the walls in my office, and it was an interesting week to be sure.

Did anyone else have bizarre happenings this week? As always I would love to hear about them!

Remember you can follow my exploits on Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads!

Tweakers and Thank Ya'll!

Hello everyone (including, but not limited to, humans, animals, aliens, ghosts and/or extremely cognitive spaghetti)! I hope you are all having a lovely week!

"Life is a Circus Run by a Platypus" has been out on Amazon for five days now! Nab your copy today! Also, for more frequent updates, feel free to check out my Facebook Page (Facebook Me!), my Twitter (Tweet Me!), my Goodreads (Erm... Goodreads me?) and my Amazon author page (Look Shiny! )!

Before I get into today's topic of tweakers, which is near and dear to my heart, I have a few words of thanks that I feel are forthcoming.

First, thank you to editor Craig Hart and Sweatshoppe Publications for letting my book see the light of day. To Paul Brand and Anthony Carpenter as well for putting this fantastic piece of design and artwork together for the cover, thank you.

A big thank you to Robin Harmon, who sat down with me for a few hours and said, "No, honey, don't do that. This is how you publicize something," before hijacking my pages for a bit and showing me how to make things work as I sat there staring like a monkey stares at a math problem. And thanks also to Mary W. for editing the first manuscript for me, as I simultaneously edited her work by drawing little dinosaurs eating misplaced words.

I'd like to say thank you to all the friends and family who have supported me throughout the years. My book wouldn't exist without you (and some of your actions)!

Finally, a hearty, haggis-consuming, kilt-sporting Scottish thank you to all of my readers, reviewers, constructive criticizers and people who have popped in to say hello and who have shown interest in my book! You guys are the bee's knees (or maybe the elk's ankles if that's any better?)!

Now for something completely different.

So, before I dive into the topic of tweakers, I should probably explain why they are a big enough facet of my life to garner a mention in the title.

My day job, when I'm not battling crime or causing mischief involving kittens and espresso, is that I work as a mobile outreach worker with homeless and at-risk youth. Basically, I do everything a social worker would do in an office, but I do my job on the streets, in shelters, under bridges, in the mall... etc. Basically, I get to help kiddos and throw fruit snacks at gang bangers!

In my job you often have to choose between laughing and slamming your head in the microwave door. I choose to laugh. I have probably lost too many brain-cells already, so I had better reserve the microwave door option for more drastic times.

One area that I derive some enjoyment from is the conversations I have with tweakers. For those who don't know, tweakers are those on drugs that tend to "twitch" or "tweak" and often have some of the most fascinating theories/advice/philosophies on life. This week, has been full of fun little tweaker-isms, so I thought I would share a few here today.

However, before I start, I feel that this is totally apt and germane to the conversation.

This has been a special week for tweakers all over Spokane, Washington. I'm not sure what holiday they are all celebrating, but they have been coming out of the woodwork to provide me with everything from advice to theories of how my brain is going to be eaten by tiny gnomes. Also, one tried to present me with a balloon animal made from condoms. I declined, it wasn't a platypus.

For instance, I had one very high individual approach me two days ago and inform me that, "Tiny alligators are messing up my life."

I blinked a couple times and replied, "Well, I'm not sure if we can get an exterminator for that or not."

He looked really bummed out before saying, "Damn, oh well, at least they have some good jokes."

Then, as I was walking around trying to find some of my clients, I passed by a dumpster and looked over to see two eyes poking above the edge. "Hiya!" the dumpster said to me.

I did a little finger-wave hello, and moved on. When I came back ten minutes later the dumpster with eyes was musing to itself out loud, "Yes, well that other one looks much more comfortable."

I looked over, and right across the alley was another dumpster. I walked down to the end of the alleyway and waited.  Sure enough, a few minutes later the dumpster-dweller hopped out and scurried over to the other dumpster and began examining it like prime real-estate. He popped open the lid, looked inside before saying, "Nope!" and scuttling back to his original spot.

I'm not entirely sure what made that dumpster less desirable than the other one, but he rejected it like someone fed him burned kale on top of a can of expired sardines.

Probably my favorite tweaker moment of the week however, was this woman who I passed by on Monday. She was having a very animated conversation with herself. As I wandered her direction she made eye contact with me, so I said a simple, "Hello."

She turned, pointed, and in the voice of someone scolding a small child yelled, "Don't interrupt peoples' conversations! It's rude!"

I just smiled, "You're right, I should have read Miss Manners more growing up," and I made a hasty departure.

At least my life is never boring?

So what about all of you? Have you had any fun conversations with someone lately? I'd love to hear about them!

Well, that is all I have for now. Continue to check in because the clairvoyant part of my brain tells me there will be a contest coming up soon! Toodles!

Sneak Peek (And You Don't Even Need Binoculars)

Why hello ladies and gentlemen and any random hallucinations that might be accompanying you today! I hope everyone has had an absolutely smashing Wednesday (as opposed to one that makes you want to smash things)!

All of you have been so lovely providing me with comments of support and interest in "Life is a Circus Run by a Platypus," so my publisher and I agreed that we should indulge anyone who might be curious about its content.

What follows is a chapter plucked from the book itself, like the frosting flower on a child's birthday cake (though with less confectionery gore). 

As always, please let me know what you think and feel free to follow my exploits on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/platypusringmaster) and Twitter (https://twitter.com/AllisonHawn).

34. DANCE LIKE EVERYONE IS WATCHING

Uma Thurman has been credited with saying, “Boredom is the mother of invention.” 

We should not only listen to her because she is an incredible actress and can pull off a white, stretchy, dress phenomenally, but because she is right. However, I would like to add that not only
does boredom breed innovation, it can also be the harbinger of disaster.

I don’t sit still well. I’m kind of a ball of muscle bound energy, and even as I type this I am using my foot to tease a kitten. So putting me in one spot for long periods of time works about as
well as trying to contain a wolverine on Red Bull inside a cardboard box.

At one time, a job I had involved traveling around and giving short presentations on a service the group I worked for had to offer. These were presentations aimed at local businesses in the
hopes of getting them to jump on the bandwagon and support the community initiative my employers were putting forth.

This meant I got dressed up in a suit, did my little Vanna White shtick and then high-tailed it to the next place all the while praying that everyone was running on time.

The day in question had been a long day. I had given 6 or 7 of these presentations, and the last group I was supposed to speak to was a counseling firm with a staff of more than 30 people. The
head counselor there had requested I come in and speak during their staff meeting so that everyone could be present.

I showed up at my allotted time, and was told by the receptionist that things were running a little behind and that if I wanted to sit in the room right outside the conference room,
they’d call me in in a few minutes. I stood in the lobby, staring into nothing, because that was what this room was: A white little box of nothing.

An overhead speaker blared out some salsa music, and I started to tap my foot to the beat. The room literally had no decorations and one, very uncomfortable looking, chair. The minutes dragged by.

After 5 minutes, my foot tap turned into a hip wiggle.

After 10 minutes, the hip wiggle turned into some small dance steps.

After 20 minutes, I had given up at containing myself and was full-blown dancing in this tiny waiting area.

Now, I must explain, I don’t dance. I have a tendency to waltz like one of my legs is shorter than the other, turn a tango into a new sport that involves tackling and somehow make hip-hop look
like a full body dry heave.

I have had one salsa dancing lesson in which the instructor suggested, “I spend my time doing other things.” So, whatever I was doing in the waiting area, was probably not something graceful, rhythmic or even remotely artistic.

The door finally opened, and I immediately stopped, straightened my suit jacket and put on an air of sophistication and poise. I then stared confusedly at the man, who was red-faced with tears streaming down his cheeks as he half-said half-choked out, “We’re ready for you now.”

I entered the room to find the entire staff assembled, all looking quite a bit like the man who had come to retrieve me. The room had two TV’s mounted to the walls, and the content of the
screen looked very familiar.

Then it hit me, the tiny little waiting area had a security camera, and I had just done a one-man show for over 10 minutes set to crappy elevator salsa music. I looked at the screens for a beat, then looked back to the room full of strangers who had just gotten their own personal show, and bowed. The room erupted into applause.

So what slivers of knowledge can be tweezed from the finger of stupidity?

1. Never assume you’re alone. This may sound paranoid, but if paranoia saves you from utter embarrassment, then be as paranoid as you like. Wear a tin-foil hat if it helps.

2. If you’re going to fail, at least do so in a way that makes 30 other peoples’ meeting that much more entertaining.