J.J. Goodman: Writings, Musings and More

I told you I was back...  It's been a while since I've written anything other than the Ramblings of a New Dad or my professional works for That Hashtag Show . Notwithstanding, oddity that is my imagination has always remained, and ideas and characters and stories still continue to swirl around my head like whirling dervishes.  I'm not sure from whence this idea was born, or if I'll continue with it and carry it through to conclusion. But... the words were there and, as always, I needed to get them out of my head. Let me know your thoughts, feelings, comments and/or criticisms in the comments.  I look forward to and cherish your feedback.  _____________________ Broken Aura "You're aura is broken." Her comment surprised him, but not so much that he let a single drop of whiskey escape from the glass he'd just put to his lips. "Beg your pardon?" he replied when he'd swallowed. "I said you're aura is broken...

So, um… hey. Hi. I'm JJ. I'm that writer guy that writes strange things and sometimes pretends you guys are talking back to me. Remember me?   (Who?)   *sigh*   Fair enough. It has been some time. Okay fine… it's been just shy of six months since I've written anything on these pages. I could tell you all the reasons for why it's taken me so long to come back to this blog, but does it really matter, and do you really want to hear them? I suppose maybe some of you do, and for that I'm appreciative. What it boils down to is this: I'm an overstressed, anxiety-filled mess these days, having to deal with extraordinary burdens both thrust upon me and of my own doing.   (So, it's Wednesday, is what you're saying.)   You do remember me! Yay! But no. This is different. My day job right now, about which I don't usually comment publically, is extremely stressful. Think Cameron from Ferris Bueller's Day Off -level stress. Only I'm...

Well, for those playing the home game, yes, I survived my first year of parenthood. My daughter is one year old. I and my beloved wife have managed to keep another, completely dependent human being alive for a whole year. Yup. That's… it's been… my daughter…   HOLY FUCK MY DAUGHTER IS ONE YEAR OLD ALREADY.   (You mean twelve months old?)   Shut it you. But yes, twelve months, fifty-two weeks, three hundred and sixty-five days, however you want to enumerate it, my daughter is a year old. And when they say that time goes fast, boy howdy did they mean it. Incidentally, who are "they" anyway? Are they the same "they" that say you should stop and smell the roses to keep time from passing too quickly? Because honestly I don't pass a lot of roses on a daily basis. Plus I don't think sniffing plants would really have that effect.   (*blink blink*)   *sigh*   Yeah, I know. I need help. Can we move past that and talk about how my ch...

In the span of four days my beloved offspring turned eleven months old and celebrated her very first Christmas. And this dad's head exploded. I think there are still bits of my brain in the Christmas tree.   (Okay, first, ew. And second, EW!)   Oh grow up. My head didn't really explode. Figuratively, however, there's bits-o-brain everywhere. My daughter is eleven months old. In less than a month's time, she'll be one year old. And for the record, can someone explain to me again why we measure baby life in months? She'll be a year old. Yes, technically, that's also twelve months. I don't know why but it annoys me when people say "oh my little one just turned twelve months old." Your kid is ONE, Brenda. One year old.   (You get annoyed at the most random things.)   I do. I can't help it sometimes. Don't ask me about what happens when I see people who have their windshield wipers going too fast.   ...

[Warning: Post contains profanity for comedic purposes. Deal with it.] Well here we are at ten months old and... wait. Did she… she didn't. Did she? She did. She DID. Those were steps. Honest-to-goodness steps. She walked. Dear sweet bejeebus holy crap on a cracker, my kid is walking.   Fuuuuuuuuuudge. Only I didn't say fuuuuu… fuck. Okay? I said fuck. Pretty loudly if I recall. My daughter is walking. WALKING. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.   (Take a deep breath there sport. Babies do that.)   She wasn't even ten months old yet.   (Oh. Well… fuck.)   Right??? Yes, dear readers, my daughter, at the ripe old age of 9 months and 22 days decided that crawling is so pass é . I mean, seriously. Crawling is for babies. That's like ordering a non-fat, low-foam, high temp soy latte from Starbucks when everybody is ordering a skim milk, mid-foam, high temp latte.   (I… don't think that's a thing.)   I hope not. Because if I got st...