Random Life Things, Please Feel Free to Ignore.

I don’t know if this is the intent but this is pretty much everyday with ADHD for me.

I don’t know if this is the intent but this is pretty much everyday for me.

I remembered to grab a towel before I got in the shower today. Not only did I remember to grab a towel, I that noticed that my bathroom was towel free before I even turned on the water. This is something that has become utterly normal for me the last two months and it never fails to make me smile. This may not seem like a big deal to most, but to me it is a miracle. The fact that the same thing happened yesterday and with any luck it will happen again tomorrow and again the day after that makes me so happy I want to cry. Hello, my name is Nerd Girl Rising and I am an adult with ADHD.

Huh, you may be saying to yourself, that’s nice but what does one this have to do with another? Everything, an entire life worth of things as it happens. My life.

Historically I almost never noticed if I had clean towels, or any towels at all for that matter. And if I did notice and resolve to grab some before making myself clean? Yeah, that was not going to happen. Between one moment and the next, between deciding to get towels and actually getting them, that decision will vanish. Even the memory of it will be gone, lost amongst the whirl until I get out of the shower and look for a towel. Then I remember. Oh, yeah. I meant to do that.

My entire life has been an endless round of; Oh yeah, I meant to do that. Things, both little and large, slip through my fingers; thoughts falling through the cracks of my mind to live under the floors along with the stray hair ties and cat toys. For decades I have been told I am ditzy, dumb, clueless, or an airhead who could any moment be blown away, floating off on a stray breeze. Always with the added dig of it being so odd, especially for someone so smart in other ways. “She’s such a bright girl, if only she would pay attention.” “She could do so well if only she would focus.” The words “apply yourself” are etched in pages of my past, if there is such a thing as a truly permanent record they are probably all over it. Those are the words that dogged my childhood and followed me into adulthood, hanging around the corners of my life waiting for the best moment to pounce and remind me that I suck. It was always implied, never said allowed because that would be cruel, that I was either lazy or possibly not as smart I seem to be. After all I was a girl, how smart could I actually be? The best message I ever took away from these unspoken lessons was that my brain was a gift I was clearly squandering and that I was unworthy of it.

Because I had a choice in the matter.

As I became an adult I violently rejected the label airhead and instead called myself absentminded, it made me feel better to link myself to Fred MacMurray’s erstwhile professor than any of the dumb blond stereotypes the media loves so much. I mean Disney made a movie about him, how bad could that be? I mean sure I was not saving China, or breaking any curses, but still as far as associations go it could be worse. That said the decision to ascribe my organizational and memory issues to absentmindedness, instead of outright stupidity, did not actually change the facts of the matter at hand. As far as being a functional adult goes, in many ways I was a total failure or at least I felt like one. Everything always seem so damn hard.

The entire world and all of it’s things were in my face all the time and there was just too much going on and I noticed all the things and then I’d freeze. I couldn’t do anything because my ability to do so just got swallowed up by an avalanche of everything.

This sense of failure, the feeling that I was fundamentally unable to handle life, has held me back both professionally and personally. Everything, even the most simplest of tasks, has felt like a herculean battle and I was armed with a pea shooter. Everyone else I knew seemed to manage life just fine and here I was flailing about wildly try to accomplish even the most basic of adult activities. This effected my confidence and I found myself unwilling to move and grow. Instead I found a niche and stuck to it. I more than stuck with it, I owned it. I was very good at what I did but I never tried to do more. I did not want promotions or more responsibility, in fact when offered it I outright rejected even the idea of forward momentum. Not because I was necessarily happy where I was, but because I was safe there. I knew what I was tasked with was more than within my capabilities, the same could not be said of anything else I was offered. I knew my limits, even if I did not know why those limits were there in the first place.

I was stalled.

Then everything changed in my life so I was forced to change everything. I moved, I left my old life behind and began a new one and in the process of doing so I made a huge discovery. It was accidental, I read something online and it sounded so familiar that the words on the screen could have been written by me. Absentminded, forgetful, loses track of time, my inability to deal with sudden changes, being easily overwhelmed but also capable of remarkable focus at times. My perceived systemic baseline lifetime of  incompetence had a name, ADHD.

Now I take a pill once a day and I have a functional brain. I may not be at 100% but I now spend most days hovering around 80% as opposed to the 40% to 60% that was my norm before. Some days are better than others, but I had towels waiting for me when I got out of the shower this morning that I remembered to put where I could find them and that is more than I have ever had before so I can live with that.

Apparently When You Live in L.A. Award Shows Are a Thing That Happens.

Chicken pictured not actually the same as chicken eaten.

Chicken pictured not actually the same as chicken eaten.

Los Angeles. City of Angels. City of Dreams. City filled with people who can not drive worth sh*t. I live here.

Living in L.A. is not like you think it will be when you are dreaming of sunshine and palm trees in the midst of an endless Chicago winter. I really hate to say it, but television lied to me. This city is not not glamorous, there are not movie stars everywhere you turn, you do not eat every meal at In & Out, all the Trader Joe’s are great but the parking there sucks, the streets are really poorly maintained, and chunks of Beverly Hills are decidedly low rent. All in all it turns out that it is just a big American city, like all of the other big American cities out there, only with better weather and more earthquakes. I have lived here about 7 months now and have acclimated pretty well I think. I do my things and stuff. I am within walking distance of three awesome independent coffee shops (I maintain you can not trust a barista who does not have at least a half sleeve tattoo and some sort of facial piercing) and I found a place where I can fence. Also, the Valley is way more awesome than it gets credit for being, though could I think that simply because I don’t live there. All in all, it is a normal life most of the time only with more high speed helicopter chases.

And then there are the days you go to the Saturn Awards.

What in the what? I am still not quite sure how that happened. I am not a person who has what anyone would consider connections in “the industry”, and honestly I kinda gagged a little even typing out the words “the industry”. I am a contrary person by nature and the more I settle into L.A. the more I find myself turning into a crotchety old lady who resents having to share her space with “the cool kids”. That is my CVS and I deeply resent having to share it with REDACTED, even if REDACTED was here first. That said I do know a few people who work in entertainment, but that is their gig not mine, so it was the height of surrealism when a friend contacted me about going to an actual Awards Show as her camera crew. Go to an Awards Show, like that was a thing people actually did and not something E! made up to give the Kardashian’s something to do in between bikini waxes. Her normal camera wrangler couldn’t make it and I think I was the back up of the back up, which makes sense since I have not handled that type of recording device, pretty much ever. ( I know, this so could have ended in tears and me replacing a ungodly expensive piece of equipment and not eating for six months while I recouped the financial loss. Believe me, I cradled that thing Like my first born child when I held it in my arms.). Whatever the mysterious and foolish reasoning behind her kind act of asking me, I was game to go. What’s the worst that could happen? (Besides me dropping the camera?) These words will most likely end up on my tombstone.

So, that bit of introductory information said and done, what was the experience like? Unlike anything else I have ever experienced, but also kinda meh at the same time?


Fun Trivia Fact! The Saturn Award is apparently easily weaponized.

  • First off I had to dress up, like an actual human being going somewhere nice dress up. I have not dressed up, nor put on actual adult makeup in over three years. I usually fake it with BB cream and powder, throwing on some eyeliner if I am feeling particularly dowdy. Not this time, nope. There was eye shadow contrast involved, and non smoky smoky eye (I can’t actually do real smoky eye, when I attempt it look like like I just stepped out of an episode Law & Order: SVU as a middle aged Eastern European sex worker and I have since was 18), and lipstick that I am pretty sure had not seen the light of day since the last presidential election. So much primer went on my face I am still scrapping it off three days later. I HAD TO PUT ON MASCARA! I am lucky I did not lose an eye! And heels, my grown up ones, that were actual heels and not the wedges I usually fake it with when I want to feel tall. The most difficult part? I had to find a dress that fit and was not covered in cat hair. I was only partially successful on this front, which is why my friend was rubbing my ass with scotch tape as we waited in line to get her press credentials. Because classy. So, yes, dressing up to hold a camera because Award Shows require it.
  • The Red Carpet…. So weird. The only comparison my brain would provide for me was an assembly line. The press gathers on one side of this little walk way cordoned off with a velvet rope, each with their own assigned spot on the line and the famous product walks down the other side stopping at each station to do their bit of song and dance before moving a foot and a half down the line to do it all over again. The corridor they walk sports an actual red carpet which some how makes it less tedious for them to answer the same question over and over again I guess? Sometimes someone will wait desperately for someone to ask them something, anything, and eventually wander off to get something from the open bar when no one does. Publicists will work the line prior to their client, to pimp them out to the press, and there were one or two random hot chicks in great dresses who I found out later were there simply as set dressing. Because women are furniture in this industry. Once the “red carpet” was walked then the actors, writers, film dudes and the like just sort of milled around behind the press line up and hit the open bar as well. Some folks dodged the line completely, others slinked along back being seen but not heard as they avoided the press, and a few liked it so much they did it twice.
  • The food was…eh. Banquet food? Chicken with brown sauce and some veg on the side. It was exactly like what you would find at a Shriner’s dinner, only with less booze, or at a local rotatory clubs Woman of the Year banquet. And the water was sticky. Actually the entire evening had the feeling of a local club’s annual banquet meets a high school senior class dinner, the cool kids being forced to mix with the AV club in order to graduate.
  • My butt fell asleep.
  • Big Ass Spider won a Saturn Award and so did Hannibal, Revolution and Iron Man 3. I really can’t remember the rest of the winners, but I am sure you can find them online.

But enough about that, I know what you really want to hear about. The movie/television stars…. I apologize for my lack attention to this bit, I think I may have lost some fundamental part of my soul where I can get excited about this sort of thing. I should be. Excited I mean. I am that girl, the overly excitable fangirl filled with squee and the flailing? That is totally me. Or at least it used to be, I had a rough year and I think the part of me that could experience joy was a casualty of that. I hope I get it back. At least I still love Captain America, so there is that.

  • Mostly though my thoughts on the famous folks were of the “wow, that person is way taller/shorter than I thought they would be” nature. Seriously the dude who play Colossus in X-men? Pretty sure he actually a small skyscraper that wandered on to set one day thinking it was downtown Columbus Ohio and he had a skyline to settle into.
  • Ernie Hudson looks exactly like you think he should in real life, minus the proton pack, as does Brad Dourif and Malcolm McDowell, who killed it with his hilarious acceptance speech. That man knows how to work a crowd and curses like a longshoreman.
  • Kristin Chenoweth is super tiny and appears to be literally made of spun glass, I spent the evening thinking she needs to be kept in some sort of curio cabinet for her own protection.
  • Robert Rodriguez is stupidly tall, and when he passed by my chair my face was less than a foot away from his crotch. Words I never thought I would type in a million years.
  • The cast of Continuum seems really close and they spent the after party hanging out together instead of working the crowd which made me like them even more than their train-wreck award presentation did (It was such a hot mess, but profoundly adorable).
  • Jamie Summers (Lindsey Wagner) and Col. Wilma Deering (Erin Gray) got a standing ovation from at least 70% the dudes in the audience because I think they were responsible for for their sexual awakenings.
  • And also Jamie Summers hair is still as bouncy as it ever was while running in slow motion on The Bionic Woman. Full stop.
  • Robert Picardo is incredibly well spoken, as you would expect.
  • Shane Black is younger than I thought he was and Brian Fuller is taller, both gave great speeches.
  • James Gunn looks like he is 12.
  • I spent parts of the evening in a vaguely confused, mildly disgruntled fog of where the f*ck to I know you from? I ended up being a little resentful over the fact that this person and that other person over there in the cute dress and terrible shoes were faces my brain had committed to memory but I had no idea who they were.
  • Sorry if you are fans of what’s their faces, they seemed really cool and I am sure they are lovely, but I don’t know who they are enough to comment on them, I only know just enough to know they are in a thing.
  • And finally Robert Downy Jr made a C.H.U.D.’s joke in his video acceptance speech that I loved and also made me want to throw my shoe at him because I had a C.H.U.D.’s poster on the wall of my room when I was a kid and they were my thing not his. (Even I know that is me being unreasonable, but in my defense it was late and I was tired and irritable from sucking in my gut all night while trying to keep up good posture in a strapless dress. Stupid grown up cloths.)

Also of note:

  • The after party was cute and filled with adorable cos players who really were the hit of the night. Well done guys.
  • And then I went home and face planted.

There you have it, the Saturn Awards as seen through the eyes of someone who had no idea what the heck was going on. I hope it was enlightening or at least mildly amusing. If I do any other things of this nature I will be sure to give you all of the details, which will probably not be the ones you are interested in but hey you get what you get when you are relying on nerdgirlrising for your dish.

ares god of luvvvvvv

MAB, this gif is for you!

I would like to give special thanks to my friend for tagging me in on this adventure, I am glad I did not f*ck things up. Especially the camera.

I Read A Book & I Liked It!…. The Taste of It’s Cherry Chapstick Is Not Applicable.


So I have embarked upon a quest this summer. It’s nothing too epic or  traumatic, which is good, because as my previous post may have mentioned my run in with Captain America was traumatic enough to last me the rest of the year in that department. No, this is going to be much easier. This summer I am going to read for fun and I honestly do not even remember the last time I did that. Which is odd because I read, a lot. As a hardcore book lover it is totally my thing, it is exactly my bag baby, but I noticed a while back that I had stopped taking any real enjoyment in reading. It was weird. I still read as much as ever, but the visceral pleasure I used to get from the act in my childhood was gone. I read to fill time, to keep occupied, to distract myself, to arouse myself, to kill time, to get it done and check said book off my bucket list, to find out what happens next because I swear to God George if you kill another of my favorites….

But fun? It was just not happening. As much as I enjoyed the stores being told, became (overly) attached to the characters and invested in the plot, the act of reading in and of itself no longer brought me any joy. So I picked up the first book on my to be read shelf, headed out to a local cafe with notoriously bad wifi and really great coffee, and read. I did not rush myself, I savored every word. It helps that I was ready W. Somerset Maugham’s “Of Human Bondage” which, don’t let the name fool you, is basically “Anne of Green Gables” with a dude and is all kinds of adorable. There is something relaxing about being able to sink into the arms of a good, old fashioned third person omniscient narrator. You care about the characters but with that wry, all knowing, and observant voice guiding you though the story you can savor the language and the way the story is being told without being caught up too closely in the suffering of the protagonist. I found myself smiling at the antics of the characters and even the drama of the protagonists early youth has been amusing as I look back at my own agonies suffered when I was Phillip Carey’s age and know that so much of it was self created. I was constantly smiling as I read, which dudes, I do not know the last time I did that.

After way too many years I am reclaiming the act of reading for fun, and so far so good. I am not going to stick only to the classics but instead I plan on reading whatever I pick up that look interesting. Margaret Atwood’s “Year of the Flood” is next on my list and after that who knows? Maybe some YA, or even more gauche in the eyes for the Slate Book Review, a Star Trek: TOS novelization. Ruth Graham would probably vomit in horror at the choice, but I have a bunch I picked up at used bookstore ages ago and they clearly need to be read and savored. Because reading should be fun, it should be enjoyed and not merely an exemplar of social status or intellectual elitism or because it is something we are told we should do, reading should be something we do because we want to do it. The act itself has an intrinsic value in and of itself and I can’t believe I ever forgot that.

So, yes. Summer 2014 is about reading for fun. I will keep the blog apprised at my progress along with what I am reading and my thoughts the text. I say text because I may end up slipping some fanfic in there as well because I am that sort of fangirl. You have been warned!

Well That Was Awkward.

cap 1

So I met Captain America today. Not Chris Evans, Captain America. I went to Disneyland, as you do when you live in so cal, and of course wanted to see all of the Avengers exhibits they have there, because Avengers. So me and my friend wait in line for the “meet Captain America” thing and the entire time I am thinking it is going to be a small scale of the Smithsonian exhibit from CA:TWS. Nope, I round the corner and there he is. I may of lost my shit. When he told me be to be Black Widow in the picture we took? I may have asked “So should I climb you like a tree?” and the words “So I can’t lick you?” may have fallen out of my mouth while I was not looking. We got our picture and parted ways (I shook his hand three times, he has really blue eyes) and then once safely away I hyperventilated, freaked the fuck out, cried a little and had to have a sit down in the house of tomorrow.

So yeah. This is a thing I know about myself now. Any dude wearing that uniform in a professional capacity is going to make me freak out like it’s the 1960’s and the Beatles just hit the stage. FML.

Privilege, thy Name is Tony Stark



Note: I am very mad at 616 Tony Stark right now.

I just realized at least one of the things that has seriously bothered me about whole The Illuminati concept in Marvel comics. Representation. For a group that is making decisions on behalf of the entire world they have only ONE person of color and NO WOMEN. Way to make “the big calls” guys, while ignoring the voices and opinions of HALF OF THE POPULATION OF THE PLANET. This is the patriarchy. This is the 1%. This is white, male privilege in it’s most elevated form. This is why the Illuminati is a horrible idea.

NO Tony. You and the rest of the ruling class do not get to make decisions from your ivory towers on behalf of the planet “for our own good” without ever once thinking of listen to our opinions on the subject. “Daddy” is no longer in charge of the real world, you need to accept that and evolve a more inclusive perspective. Did it never once ever occur to you to have someone who was not a man with power in your boys club? Seriously, you could not think of a single woman to add to you little cabal? Or more then one person of color, who is actually pretty damn privileged himself as HE RULES A COUNTRY. I mean the closest you ever got to including a more “normal, everyday human experience” voice was the very white, very male Steve Rogers (Who also happens to be freaking Captain America, way to set the bar at a attainable height for the plebes Tony), and we all know how that ended. And that you can not see what is gross about this, the very fact that you and your secret society think that it is your right to do so, is a full on manifestation of the fact that the level of your privilege has seriously reached critical mass. You are not “good guys”, making “the hard calls”, and “doing what needs to be done”. You are the patriarchy, You are part of the problem.You are the bad guys here. And it needs to stop.

Now the only question remains. Does Marvel see this? Did they create this group of super powerful, mostly white, men to reflect how a ruling Oligarchy can be formed by those with power and privilege and no perspective? Did they look at this line up and say, yes this is going to end horrible because these are a bunch of rich dudes with no grasp of what life is like for anyone other than their own rarefied kind? Let us make a point about representation, politics and the toxic nature of the inherently biased system using theses characters to do so! Or did it honestly never occur to them that women would need a place at the table, because they pretty much created a sausage fest. And with the exception of T’challa?A remarkably white one at that. (And please, Beast does not count as a person of color. If you shave him dude is his original flavor caucasian pink.)

As mentioned above I am not happy with 616 Tony Stark right now, this like figuring out that my favorite Uncle is actually a sexist jerk. Which given the source code of his character really should not surprise me but I thought he had grown past that. I am not a happy camper.

Cervix of Steel, Dick of Kleenex: Wonder Woman & Superman’s Sex Life.

wondy v supes

So, first off let me apologize for going to this place so far across the line of good taste that I am in freaking Narnia at this point. This entire essay was born of a half drunken (one of us was still sober) txt conversation with a friend about Superman’s sex life, because we are geeks and these things happen. So again, I am so sorry about this.

Many people over the last 80 or so years have had a lot to say about Superman’s sex life. One of the biggest debates has been how could this super strong alien have ever safely sex with a mere mortal human like Lois Lane? His sperm is super strong and exits his penis at such a high velocity, because super strong alien, that if they ever had the sex he would kill her when he cums. This concern was first raised by Larry Niven’s in his essay “Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex” 42 years ago (Yep, 42 years old and we are still having this same argument). While the essay has never, ever, even remotely been DC comics cannon it is still often brought up to justify the shitting on of Clark Kent’s relationship with Lois Lane and how said relationship could never happen because of the literally killer sex. The argument often goes further on to state that the ideal mate for Superman is Wonder Woman, with whom he share the traits of super strength and genitalia of steel. Plus their outfits match. I am not here to argue about the first part. Nope. I am here to address an issue in regard to the fictional sex life of this particular superhero that no one has seemed to address yet. Which is shocking because so much ink has been spilled in regard to who Superman could and should fuck. I mean, if you are going to make the argument that super sex is dangerous to those who are not super and we adhere to the fictional rules set forth in the DC universe, than how in the world could Superman safely have sex with Wonder Woman? I mean, seriously. Sex with her would rip his dick right off.

“What?” You may ask. “But they are both super strong and therefore MADE for each other and they have matching outfits! It’s fate!” Ah, see my friend, that is where the common mistake is made. For while their strength levels are comparable, the origins of that strength come from two very different places and sadly the combination of the two would end up being like when the guy from dark matter universe met the guy from the light matter universe in that one episode of Star Trek: TOS. Only in this case instead of them being trapped in an eternal poorly choreographed fight scene by Kirk to save the universe from blowing up, Superman gets his dick ripped right off.

Let me make my case. Superman is an alien from the planet Krypton, as we all know, and the source of his strength is from the unique interaction of the solar radiation from our yellow sun and his Kryptonian physiology. Which is why when he is in the light of a red sun he is pretty much a normal dude, I mean a six four wall of muscle, but he only has the proportional strength of a human of that same size and build. So his super strength is based on science, goofy made up comic book science, but science none the less.

Wonder Woman’s strength comes from magic. In any of her incarnations she is born of magic, be it made from clay and created by her mother’s love as in the origin written by George Perez, or the result of Hippolyta getting busy with the god of thunder Zeus, which makes her a mystical demi-goddess in the current canon, she is a creature of magic. Full Stop. Her strength is an innate part of her magical nature. All of her being is infused with magic. All of it. You see where I am going here, right?

See the thing is, Superman has weaknesses. We all know that he does. As I mentioned above exposure to red solar radiation means he loses his strength, and the seemingly endless variety of kryptonite laying around the DC verse all effects him detrimentally in plethora of ways, from green killing him all the way to pink kryptonite, which I shit you not, makes him a little gay (Way to be progressive there DC!). There is also a third weakness. It does not come up much but when it does it almost inevitably involves him getting his ass handed to him and this is relevant because Superman is vulnerable to magic. Yep, that’s right folks, the thing that is the source of Wonder Woman’s power, basically the source code of her very existence- the thing she is literally made of, is one of the things that can hurt Superman. It has been shown often in the past that magic effects Kal the same way it does everyone else. So, it is conceivable that in the throes of passionate love making or at least a really good fuck, that engaged with a full on magical cervix of steel clenching with the strength of a titan his dick would be as vulnerable to her magically gifted super strength as any other dudes because she, and by extension her cervix, is magical and magic can hurt him. You see where I am going here, right? Unless she is laying there like a sack of flour, his dick is going to get ripped right off when she cums.

Some may argue that he’s not extra vulnerable to her punches, so therefore the magic residing in her mythic vagina would not count as the type of magic he is vulnerable to, for reasons. (Because let’s face it, if he is vulnerable to magic, he is vulnerable to magic no matter where it may reside. Be it in a Excalibur or in Wonder Woman’s vag, magic is magic.) To these arguments I have two replies. One, if you do not think Diana of Themyscira, daughter of Zeus, chosen of Athena and Aphrodite, born from the myths of creation, champion of good, having sex would not be a magical act then you my friend have not been reading her comic for the last 30 years (the Perez run, read it, it’s amazing). Second, if you want to argue that Diana and Kal not being able to have sex for reasons of “Fake Magical Rules” is stupid and makes no sense than stop arguing that Clark Kent and Lois Lane cannot have sex because “Fake Science Rules”. The dude can fly, rip mountains in half, shoot fire out of his eyes and breathe arctic storms from his mouth, all this from “yellow” solar radiation. That is about as fake science as you can get, it is fake science to the point of being magic. And anyway who knows, maybe the magic of the Greek gods and Amazons of the DC comics universe is just very advanced science, after all “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

Whatever this magic is, historically in the comics it has still effected Superman the same way it effects everyone else so I would ask you to address those complaints to the back issues of the entire run of DC. I guess my point is that these are all fake rules in a fake universe about fake people, and arguing about them as if they were real and had actual real life corollaries is stupid. In a fictional universe anyone can have sex with anyone else so long as the writers writing it want them to and if you cannot agree with that because the fictional alien, with made up impossible superpowers, absolutely cannot have sex with a human woman because of the rules then you have to accept the fact that Wonder Woman and Superman are doomed to a sexless relationship. Because if canon is canon than if they ever do it? She is going to rip his dick right off.