Don’t Mess With The Rock Dominatrix…

I’ve written at length about Her Worship THE Evil Redhead. I will probably continue to write at length about her from time to time. Not because she makes me. Truth is, every time I write about her I get beaten, locked in the closet, and banned from the Internet for an indeterminate period of time. However, I continue to put myself in harm’s way so that you may all be entertained. On that note, feel free to send your monetary appreciations to my paypal account.

So anyway… Tomorrow will be our 30th wedding anniversary. 31.5 years together, 30 of them not sinning. Well… NOT sinning may be going a little too far, but suffice it to say, 30 years with The Evil Redhead having an official transfer of ownership document from the state. Since this celebration of my servitude occurs on a Tuesday, we scheduled an Anniversary Getaway this past weekend. Friday morning we loaded up the Evil Mobile and headed for Southern Illinois for a two day stay at the Davie School Inn – an old elementary school that has been converted to a bed and breakfast. If you ever find yourself in Southern Illinois and want a great place to stay, check them out. Old classrooms converted to spacious yet cozy quarters and absolutely AMAZING breakfasts brought to your room – pretty much on your schedule – between 7:30 – 10:00 each morning. There are also some tremendous restaurants within minutes, such as The Brick House and The Yellow Moon Cafe. Of course, being in Southern Illinois there is also the Wine Trail, the Beer Trail, and a ton of orchards – cider donuts, anyone? But, if you are also into scenery and hiking, there are awesome sights (and sites) to see all over the area, not the least of which are the likes of the Pomona Natural Bridge and Giant City State Park.

And the latter, you see, is what this is really all about, hence the title.

Besides lounging in the cozy BnB, dining at amazing restaurants, old people NSFW activities, and generally celebrating 30+ years of not killing one another, we did a lot of hiking. Her Supreme Evilness is all about hiking. I like hiking. She LOVES hiking. So, we do a lot of it. Now, don’t get me wrong – just because I only like it and she loves it, that doesn’t mean I have a bad time. I have a great time. I just think she has a greater time than I do. That’s all.

So anyway, we hiked. A LOT. We even hiked during a freak late October sleet storm. No, I am not kidding. Ice pellets and cold ass rain shooting out of the sky and there we were, traipsing along a bluff trail in some out of the way park. In some senses it was an almost spiritual experience. Sorta like dropping a hit of acid and talking to the wallpaper, or so I hear. I dunno about that for sure, but I can say that being the only two people out in the middle of an amazing plot of nature with tiny little ice pellets singing songs through the multi-colored leaves was pretty intense.

But, that’s still not exactly what this is about. It’s about the Rock Dominatrix. Who is the Rock Dominatrix? Well, Her Supreme Evilness, of course.

Now, you can call me slow – and maybe you would be correct – but I do like to gather data for a few years before I draw conclusions. Well, most of the time, but we won’t go there. At any rate, for 30+ years now Evil Kat and I have been going hiking in state and national parks, nature preserves, wildlife areas, you name it. She tends to blaze trails so I follow along behind her and there is something I have noticed over the years. And, this thing that I noticed is something I finally voiced on this most recent excursion.

You see, we stumble. All of us. Me more than most because I am a freaking klutz, but even the most graceful of us will occasionally stumble when hiking a trail – especially in the Midwest during Autumn when leaves are falling. There are hidden rocks, tree roots, etc. All manner of toe grabbers out there. So, it just happens. No biggie.

So, me, when I stumble, I usually blurt out “oops,” or “damn tree root,” or “whoops, found a rock.” Of course, if I faceplant it is something a bit more colorful, but you get the point. This, however, is NOT the case with Her Worship. Whenever she stumbles (and odd as it may seem, it DOES happen) while hiking, she stops and silently glares at whatever it is she stumbled over. No. I am not kidding. She glares at it with an intensely obvious expression of “How The F*ck Dare You!” plastered on her face.

After 30+ years of observation I pointed this out to her.

She just giggled a bit.

Twenty minutes later when she tripped the light fantastic over a tree root she just kept walking. Me, being me, I asked her why she didn’t engage in her silent stare-down chastising death glare at this particular root. Honestly, I was figuring the tree had maybe apologized to her or something and I just didn’t hear it, but no, that wasn’t it.

Her response – “You called me out on it so I can’t do it anymore.”

Something tells me the moratorium won’t last. I’ll probably also get in trouble for calling out the Rock Dominatrix, but hey, I’ve been in trouble for over 30 years. I’m used to it…

More to come…


But… But… You’re Supposed To Think Like ME!

There’s an old saying – If you like sausage, you do NOT want to see how it is made.

The same goes for people. Not necessarily how they are made, because that would just be porn. I mean who people are, but more specifically, who certain people are. Allow me to explain.

I’m not exactly a celebrity, but I’m not exactly unknown, either. That’s all due to this bizarre mistake I made wherein I started writing novels and allowing them to be published with my name on the front. That, of course, created a small amount of notoriety, which begat book tours, which begat more notoriety, and… well… you get the picture. Still, I’m not really a celebrity. I guess it’s sort of like Miracle Max said in The Princess Bride – I’m only mostly a celebrity.

And so, on to the point. Remember that bit about sausage? Yeah, that was sort of the point, but it translates as such – If you happen to like my books and like M. R. Sellars (Yes, I know, M. R. Sellars is me, but not really me. I’ll get to that in a second) you don’t necessarily want to hang out with Murv. Now that’s not to say that some of you might, but a lot of you… well… I suspect you might want to rethink that.

You see, I am actually a flaming gorram introvert. On top of that, I’m an opinionated curmudgeon. On top of THAT, I get realllllly fucking pissy when people runway walk their cranio-rectal inversions in front of me. Sure, we all have lapses of judgement, but chronic, willful stupidity annoys me. A lot. But not quite as much as when you combine chronic, willful stupidity with hypocrisy. That shit right there… whooboy! Man… That just forces me into a meltdown.

But I digress…

Basically, what I am saying here is that the M. R. Sellars you see at a book signing or a festival is only partly Murv. He’s the jovial, extroverted person I have to pretend to be in public. Yeah. That’s right. Pretend. He’s a public persona. I also have a private persona, and he is the one who is on my Facebook profile. He has opinions, he doesn’t put up with stupid, and he will call you out if you prance around with your head up your ass.

M. R. Sellars doesn’t do that.

Murv Sellars does.

M. R. Sellars is the sausage.

Murv Sellars is how sausage is made.

For some reason I get a ton of people wanting to be Murv’s friend on Facebook, all while there is a perfectly good M. R. Sellars fan page there for them to interact with. Every now and then I have one of my own lapses of judgement and I let in people who don’t actually know Murv. They just know M. R. Sellars. I say lapse of judgement because it doesn’t take long for the vast majority of folks to end up being offended, pissed, or just downright appalled that I am not my public persona, and that *GaSp* I have opinions and ideas that don’t fall in line with theirs.

So, the long and short – Have the sausage. Enjoy the sausage. Ignore the man behind the curtain who is making the sausage. You don’t wanna know…

More to come…