Dear Roger,Technology, Friend? Enemy? Thing that Can Make You Swear And Throw Things.

I am damn sure not as young as I used to be.Since arriving back from my adventure in the valley of the sun, I have had to spend the past two days recovering from a an almost non-stop attack of suicide migraines, and pretty much all I have wanted to do is sleep, so I think we have ascertained that Vodka and Long Island Iced Teas are most certainly NOT in my future, though as we both know, Vodka at least figure very prominently in my past.I dont know if I would call it an all lose/lose scenario, I had a good time and I let loose a little bit and apparantly I tried to buy a waiter and told another that since I had the glass of Chianti, and we were in an Italian restaurant, I was sure I could find some fava beans, so he should just come on over and see if we could find something to do with all that.My friends were just a little horrified that I was chasing the youngsters,after all, I have had it with the guys my age and I guess that I just finally decided to quit looking quietly and act on it. I got a message the other day through my Facebook where some random guy asked me,"Whats your type of man?" and I almost sarcastically responded,"Alive,concious,functioning,employed,and capable of at least some speech", but I didnt, in fact I havent responded yet because I am really not quite sure what my type is anymore, its almost easier to describe what I wouldnt like.I dont like lazy men or men who dont care about how they look,(though the overly preened metro-sexual is also a turn off),I dont really like the businessman/stockbroker type, they just kinda bore me, though the buttoned down British guy in a suit just gives me all kinda chills because I want to take them out, muss them up and set them loose when im done.Guys like Woody Allen creep me the hell out and inspire me to violence.I kinda have a thing for Brits and Native Americans.I could care less about their financial situation, but they have to have motivation and drive and I like a man to be intelligent,articulate, or to at least aspire to achive more. I mean, hell! I have dated the Mensa member, Rocket Scientist and we had a good run and it was fun because he could not only carry on a conversation in 12 different languages, he could dance,sing, play violin concertos by ear and the man KNEW ROMANCE, but after a while, it just reached a point in the relationship where we just got tired of constantly one-upping each other. I was married to the handsome yet mercurial,international minor league soccer player who was built like a brick out house and could charm the socks off a squrriel, but we were like nitro and a bumpy road and bones were broken, so that was best left in the past, but that curly hair and green eyes and those dimples... but jocks and my temperment do not blend well, because we end up comparing scars and then adding to each others collections.My other ex was almost as bad, the broody/tortured artist that longs to be a biker yet struggles to achieve...anything was 10 years of 'artistic differences", he found it more compelling to constantly criticize me than to try and achieve anything else, and we ended up in the newspaper more than once. Artistic temperment is a difficult thing to deal with, im a perfectionist by nature, judgemental and arrogant, but I am also seemingly going in reverse when it comes to maturity. My sense of humor is more like that of a 12 year old and I love mosh pits and indie bands and I do not dress, act or(so I am told) behave my age. I am actually kinda chasing a young man that I was close to a while back, but when he lost his job, I thought he had left town and he thought I had left town,so we had lost contact with each other,it turns out,he is still here and he was just as happy to run into me as I was to run into him, and if not for an irritating deputy sheriff who felt the need to keep traffic flowing, we would have exchanged numbers and probably more,but as it was, I had to settle for yelling to him that I was still at my home and that he was in fact welcome to come by! I have liked this guy for a couple of years, and we used to flirt back and forth really hard, to the point that my eldest son told us to,'Get a room" one day, so the feelings were pretty interesting to say the least, and the only reason I did not ever really try and follow up on them is because he is only 23.Yes, thats right, 23! Almost half my age, and that used to really bother me, but lately, I have to say that it doesnt anymore. Im in good shape, I own my own house and I dont need a man to take care of me, and I would prefer a COMPANION instead of someone trying to take care of me, so hell, it might be fun, and we all know I love to create a scandal for the family, dating a guy almost half my age would be epic. Im sure my son would be just a little horrified, after all he is completely grossed out and disturbed by the fact that I have pictures of the Twilight hotties as a screensaver, but damn! I have always appreciated good looking men, even if they are just pups. So I guess I would have to say that my type is an ever evolving creature, though probably a little younger than I would have thought in the past.
Ive been enjoying playing with technology this week,through Youtube and Twitter I was introduced to some really cool new indie bands and some really funky cool music that I have loved sharing with friends. I have been Tweeting up a storm about all kinds of random things and I have found resources for my book.
My novel comes in fits and starts, I wrote over 10 pages on my trip and I reached the point in the story where the boy is about to die, and now I have vaporlocked with pain. I know it is because I am reliving his death in a way that is making it so difficult, and though I am able to let him live on in the story as the character evolves into the ,'Half", its still so God-damned painful to remember his death that I have been falling apart the further down the road his truck goes. I want to stop it and turn it around and send him off on some boyish foolishness,but he died before cell phones were around and no one can call him and tell him to come back or warn him of the drunk bastard careening towards him. Being that I am also writing it from his first-person perspective is also brutal, and that I think is the masochist in me. I have developed the relationship between him and the girl in the story a little more, and "Half" will age in the afterlife as she lives her normal span, but spilling out all the pain and brutality of his death is a gut wrenching experience. A friend from back home sent me a picture of the boy that "Half" is based on, and it struck me how clearly and accurately I had remembered his face, and that my son is now at that age. I have done little writing on it over the past couple of days, and the blog I wrote earlier in the week was lost when for some strange reason my computer decided to randomly restart, but apart from that, I hope to find a quiet place to recommit a nearly 30 year old murder and then move on with the story.