Dude where's my muse and other ramblings.

I've been trying to write more lately, but it seems that I'm pretty tapped out right now. Someone turned off the light and now I seem to be fumbling in the dark for something.

I love to write and actually it was my second love next to pottery when I was in high school. It firmly comes in first now, but right now I feel very much like the jilted lover. I think my muse has decided to take a hike for a while and she won't come back no matter how many roses or how much candy I offer her. I think she's upset that Mr. Wii is now in my life though I'm trying to convince her that he's just a friend.

And now for something completely different.

For those of you who don't know, I love writing fiction and for the most part, it has usually been IR fiction. Actually, I was writing IR fiction before the masses had access to the webternets. I was a solitary writer trying to do what I loved best. (Also I was tired of the hackdom that was the YA market at the time and as we know, a teenager can always do much better than anyone else.) I wrote IR fiction because then because I was writing the person I wanted to be and also I wrote the kind of people I'm attracted to.

I haven't shown my family my writing because they're crazy. I love them, but they're nutjobtastic. The other reason I haven't shown them much of what I write is because I'm a little self-conscious about it. They already make enough noise about who I date claiming that I hate black men. I hate black men about as much as I hate ice cream, which is to say not at all. I have come to the conclusion, having grown up in suburbia, that you are attracted to those who are attracted to you. I can count on one hand the number of black men remotely close to my age who have asked me out (in a fashion to which I would respond) and that number is two, dos, deux, due, zwei, ni. No I'm not kidding.

So as a result of my lack of dates with black men I get asked, "Why do you hate black men?" My first response is to look at them like they have a giant parallel universe inducing insect on their back. (I watch entirely too much Doctor Who) My second response is to ask, "Why do black men ignore me?" The responses I get are varied and they usually involve phrases like, "You're too nerdy," or, "You need to dumb it down a little," or, which is just as good, "You need to lower your standards." I do it for love, being who I am and I'm not going to bottle it up for anyone.

I guess what I'm getting at is that life is too short to wait for that one person who fits in that tiny little box of everything that I wanted. I'm an amazing person and yes, I'm still looking for an amazing person who may be any color of the rainbow even *gasp* black. My box is a little bigger than it was when I was a teenager with relatively few things that I'm asking for. I want someone who will respect me, someone who likes books and someone who understands my twisted sense of humor, someone who has no girls named Hallie Tosis in his life. Pretty much everything else is on the preferred but not required list so he doesn't have to look like Cillian, Will or Takeshi anymore *sighs dolefully* doesn't have to be at least a six footer (but he still has to be taller than me as long as I'm not wearing heels. Hey, I'm five nine but there's something to be said about feeling small).