Sandra Claus

Just a fun lil story for y'all. Oh, and in other news, I fell out out a wheelchair onto my face into the street, unknowingly broke my knee, and a week later, spent an overnight in the hospital getting zapped and assigned a brace. WHEEE! Anyway, on with the story.

Sandra Claus
By Joseph Picard

The rumble-ready heels of Sandra's black, studded boots resounded with determined thuds as she marched down the marble-floored hallway to her father's office.

The diminutive elf guarding the door was getting on in years, with leathery skin, and very little shine left in his buttons, or his eyes. He watched Sandra get closer and closer for some time. It was a long hallway, and Sandra was not an unpleasant sight at all. Her black leather motif didn't match anyone else within a few hundred miles, so she always stood out.

When Sandra reached the elf, he only came up to her hip. She glanced down with no particular affection nor disdain, and stopped chewing her gum for a moment to ask, “Hey, beef jerky, is my dad in?”

The elf looked up with tired eyes. “Beejeeki, Ma'am. You've known me since I was born, please call me by my name, properly.”

Sandra sighed. Her stresses were not Beejeeki's fault. “Sorry, Beejeeki. I should be nicer to those who age.”

Beejeeki gave a forgiving smile. “I have done that, haven't I? I suppose with all the outsourcing, I should consider moving on to the Grey Havens in the next couple of years. But yes, your father is inside, waiting.”

“Thanks, Beefy. You know he'd be lost without you, right?”

Beejeeki smiled wider with a soft chuckle. “He might manage without me, I bought him a blackberry.”

Sandra smiled back, shaking her head slowly. “And who's going to teach him how to use it?”

Leaving the elf deep in thought, Sandra went inside. There, behind his desk, sat the old man, going over the yearly lists. Dozens upon dozens in his hands, spilling off of the corners of his oak desk, and along the floor. “Hey pops! I heard you got a new blackberry! How's that working out for you?”

Santa looked up, only now noticing his daughter coming in. His glasses slid down his nose a little, as they seemed trained to do. “Oh! Yes. Well, yes. Beejeeki said that he heard it would help me to organize things somehow, but in all honesty, it just tasted like a regular blackberry. If there was any magic to it, it hasn't kicked in yet.”

Sandra smirked, and sat down across from Santa. Her smirk was wiped away when she noticed the little present on the desk, labelled 'To: Jimmy'. “Oh. This. You were serious.”

Santa gave a hearty “Ho, ho!” and nudged the present further towards Sandra. “You're a big girl now! It's high time you learned the family trade. It's time to give giving a spin!”

She stood and picked up the bread-box sized, green-wrapped box in one hand. Instantly, by the power inherited from her dad, and a little magic some elf imbued into the wrapping, she knew were Jimmy was. “So what, do I carry this around until Christmas eve?”

Santa sighed. “It's the twenty-seventh, honey.”

“I have some time, then. Remind me in a couple hundred days.” Sandra took the box under her arm, and turned to the door.

“No, dear,” Santa said, “It's a late delivery. Jimmy was in a coma until this morning.”

Sandra sighed. “Wow, laying it on thick, huh?” She closed her eyes, and focused on Jimmy's whereabouts.

Santa nodded. “You can do it? I know it's not heavy, but do you need a reindeer to get there?”

“I know how to teleport,” Sandra huffed, “I'm two hundred, stop treating me like a kid.” She punctuated with a little pop form her chewing gum. She laid a finger aside her nose, and was gone in a blink.


When the world reformed around her, Sandra was mere steps behind a bus stop shelter. There was snow on the ground, in scraggly patches. The air was cold, and she regretted not grabbing a jacket before she came.

On the bench sat young Jimmy. Jimmy had the sense to have a jacket on. He looked about twelve years old. Maybe a little old for this, but Sandra didn't care enough to judge. She stepped out where she could be seen, and held out the present unceremoniously. “Merry belated Christmas, kid.”

Jimmy furrowed his brow and looked Sandra up and down. “What?” he said, showcasing the eloquence of a typical tweener.

Sandra rolled her eyes and sighed, still holding the gift out towards him. “Yeah, yeah, it's late, but I don't think I'm to blame for that. I guess you're looking pretty good, all things considered.”

His expression showed growing confusion. “I don't really take presents from strangers, you know. Who the heck are you? That could be a bomb, or you're planting evidence on me, or who knows what.”

Sandra let her gift-bearing arm droop down. “Now I know why dad just drops these off while you little snots are sleeping. Look, I'm the real deal, alright? Watch.” she put her finger by her nose again, and rolled her eyes as she disappeared.

She was soon before her dad's desk again, gift in hand.

Santa looked troubled. “What h-”

“I'm negotiating.” Sandra said before disappearing once again.

“Negotiating?” Santa asked the empty room, “Negotiating to give a gift?”

Sandra appeared in front of Jimmy again. “Ta da. Now take your present.”

Jimmy was impressed, but seemingly not eager to take the present. “I don't know if I should take it. I probably don't want it anyway.”

Sandra gasped with exasperation. “Then why did you ask him for it?”

“I didn't ask for anything.” Jimmy replied. Of course. He'd been in a coma.

“Well, literally for pity's sake kid, what do you want? We're pretty well loaded back home.”

Jimmy stared at Sandra, and thought, and stared, and thought. “Lift up your shirt, so I can see em!”

Sandra's eyes went wide with a scowl, and she crossed her arms across her front. There was only one thing to do, if she was going to do things right. With a slight quivering of rage, she extended a hand, then a forefinger, pointing squarely at Jimmy. She yelled out loud enough to be heard a block away. “Naughty!!!”

“Lady,” Jimmy said, trying to hold back laughter, “If you are who and what you say you are, you've got to check your info. I don't think you can label me naughty. I think I'm out of your jurisdiction. I'm Jewish.”

They stared at each other in silence for a few long seconds. “Great.” Sandra finally said with a patient, even, yet punchy tone, “Happy Chanukah.” Sandra 'nosed' her way back to her dad's place.

“Pops. Did you happen to notice that Jimmy's Jewish?”

“What?” Santa said, looking up over his glasses again. He put down the current list he was checking, and called toward the door. “Beejeeki. Are you still out there? Could you bring me the file on Jimmy Anderson?”

Beejeeki's voice rolled in through the doorway. “Sir, anticipating possible troubles given Sandra's inexperience, I placed the file in your top left drawer.”

Santa smiled. “Ah! I doubt even a whole basket of blackberries could do that!” Santa cheerfully replied, “Thank you, Beejeeki!”

“Yes,” Sandra added dryly, “thank you for the heartwarming vote of confidence.”

“Not at all.” Beejeeki said with a smile in his tone.

Santa pulled out the promised file, and rolled it open. “Hmm. Hmm. Jimmothy Van Anderson. Born to... and.. hmm. Yes, yes, right here, I think his Catholic baptism sort of speaks to not being Jewish. Sandra dear, I think little Jimmy's been having... a little fun with you.”

Sandra crossed her arms over her front again and grumbled quietly, “The little snot would sure like to.”

Oblivious, Santa cheerfully encouraged Sandra. “Now, now, go back and tell him you know better. Don't be so hard on the lad, he's very young, and can be forgiven some foolishness.”

“Young compared to us, Yes,” Sandra said, “but alright. I'll give it one more go.” Sandra checked that she still had the present, and popped back over to Jimmy. “Wow, kid, you're still here? Bus service sucks here, huh?”

Jimmy smirked. “Oyvey.”

“Can it, Rabbi Anderson. I looked up your file. You're Catholic. Now take the damned present.”

“Rabbi Anderson?” Jimmy questioned.

“Fine, fine, you're not a Rabbi, but the point is, you're not Jewish, Jimmy Anderson. And you're darn lucky I didn't mention your little request to dad, or you'd be choking on coal right about now.”

Jimmy looked stunned, blinking for a few moments while looking for words. “Who's Jimmy Anderson? I'm Jimmy Bernstein.”

Sandra grimaced at the present clutched in her hands. Some one had messed up the recipient enchantment on the wrapping. With a smile that looked more like a grimace, she gently put it down next to Jimmy. Jimmy Bernstein. “As I said before. Happy frigging Chanukah. If you'll excuse me, I have an elf to eviscerate.”


Inspired by Alvin the Chipmunk meeting Mrs Claus, Dr. Who's daughter, and Regan popping by to visit me.

Cold Nos summons Regan Grier

I found out today that cold Nos conjures Regan. When I'm getting to know my characters, I ... not-so-intentionally create a bit of an imaginary friend to talk with, about things in their world.

Apparently, while Regan was 'with me' for Lifehack, I was in the middle of my Nos binge. Since then, I've had a Nos here and there, but generally, they'd spend a couple hours in my backpack before I got home with it, maybe left it on the desk for a day or more, and by then, it was very not-cold.

Today, my beloved bride brought me home a can of the stuff, and I broke it open fairly quick to help fuel a tedious session of cutting little bits of santa-themed bits of paper of my daughter's pre-school.

The smell of it reminded me of why Nos was no longer my favourite kind of energy drink. Nos may also be short for 'noxious'. The scent that still manages to heighten anticipation a little, so I took a sip.


Ding! Regan popped into my head, clear as a bell.

"Well, hello there, Regan."
"Hey dork. You gonna make that flash cartoon with me in it soon?"
"Yeah yeah, Regan. I don't have a ton of time these days."
"Aw COME ON, I'm a star, I need to get out!"
"You've been 'out' for a long time, miss."
"Ha, oh bloody Ha. Seriously, I'm stuck in your head, and there isn't even cable in here."
"Oh shush, I gave you cameos in two books now. It's not like you never get out."
"In one of them, I came off sounding like a total whiny bitch, and the other cameo was a little depressing, like that whole friggin book. Where's my X rated Alisia-wrestling book??"
"In your head Regan, just in your head."
"But if I'm in YOUR head, that means the X-rated Alisa wrestling in also in YOUR head."
"...... you just blow my mind. Or folded space. Or something."
"So.... porn for me?"
"Shut up, Regan."

That said, it was nice of her to visit. I've been busy enough with life in general, that my writing has gotten into a slump. My lack of homework for the writing guild, and my lacklutre chapter for a potential new book.. well... meh. Anyway, Regan's visit gave me a tiny morale boost, and maybe some new direction.

I'd also been meaning to blog about my recent adventures in public transit, big downtown hills, appointments to plan my next wheelchair, and TWO universities that have been using me as a guinea pig. But it's just not as interesting if you're not the one getting jabbed for blood. I accidentally signed up for 2 studies, thinking "yay for science"-

- but didn't plan on 3 hours of commuting in either direction, much less both studies wanting me in the same weeks. And GF strong. And of course work. Thank goodness for my mum, who's been doing a lot of babysitting. I haven't seen a ton of my own lil gal lately. I'm 'almost' done with the science. Yay. At least they like throwing some money at me.

The Newest of the Old Ones

I'm now writing two books at once. I'm a hypocrite. I've spoken against (typed against) writing two novels at once, but in my defence, the case I was hardest on was a friend who was writing like three books at once, which took place one after the other, giving rise to potential linearity confusion.

My two projects MIGHT take place in the same world, (I'm not decided on that... they're so far apart in any timeline that there's no reason to link them, and no reason to expressly separate them,) but they can't confuse each other. I think. I hope.

I'm not writing to any target, I have no aims whatsoever of finishing a new book for VCON this year, so I'm kind of taking it lazy.

Project one is the one I've previously mentioned, I think... a modern urban mystery/comedy about a man (The Serial Bleeder) who leaves artistic graffiti using his own blood, the gypsy who supports his mostly harmless aims, and the office cog who gets wrapped up with them.

The other is a scifi/fantasy with a very blurry line between the two. It takes place in the far flung post-apocalyptic future, which has been ravaged by (among other things) a virus that managed to kill off all of humanity, except for the redheads.

Now, do I mean, THIS kind of redhead?

Or THAT kind? Given my track record, I suppose you suspect more Jessica-like results. In fact, I think my worldwide redhead survivors will run the gamut. Maybe in opposing camps.

The protagonist is a non-redhead character I've written about before, although the perspective of time has changed them, as experience will do. The tentative title is "The newest of the Old Ones", but I'm not 100% married to that.

Excerpts from both projects may make it to the blog in the near future.

Drivers suck. The car kind, not the computer kind.

Three lanes of traffic stopped at the crosswalk for me. Kindly, lawfully, and all that good citizen stuff. I'd waited for the traffic to stop before heading forward.

When I got to the fourth lane which was empty until that moment, someone, (seemingly sitting clueless in the third lane about why 3 lanes of traffic would all stop at once) whipped around and shot right towards me. I braced for impact and held up an arm in defense. (Because that's worked out SO well for me in the past! Pfft.) The lady stopped just in time to touch my forearm with her grill.


Ironically, she had a disabled parking pass dangling from her rear view mirror. I bet she has a really noticeable limp on rainy days.

I glared at her and looked away when she looked like she was going to try to roll down a window to start conversation. There was no point, she knew how she was being an idiot.


It was very tempting to pull out my arm-rest and smash out a headlight, but I resisted. I got on the sidewalk and started onward.


A lady yelled at me from 3 lanes over. "Are you alright?" A sweet old lady pedestrian caught up soon after, and asked the same question, adding in a "That stupid f****** b*****." She's didn't seem the type to have a foul mouth, but then again, neither did Betty White.


I've had issues with drivers hitting or nearly hitting me four times off the top of my head. The one that put me in the wheelchair was a 50/50 fault The other three were pure driver idiocy of extraordinary proportions. I never got a licence before my accident because I didn't trust myself with a few tons of glass and metal. How about everyone else?

I got a job. Or it got me, I'm not sure which.

2 notes first, I've done an interview with 'The Genre Traveler" over the phone, and it went really well. Y'all will have to wait until around valentines day before it 'airs' as a podcast. And y'know those VCON posts I just wrapped up? They're going to be in the next issue of BCSFAzine, a lil local magazine dealing with.. well, SF. And A. In BC. I don't know if they'll be using the entirety of my posts, or just cherry pick this and that, but the next issue in the middle of being edited.

So.. My job. I had considered my main job to be 'daddy' with a side of 'author', but my wife's work lost their 'office manager'. A call went out. And I ignored it. And the posting sat, unanswered. It's only eight hours a week, so people looking to pay rent with a job might not be too interested.

On the last day of the official listing, there were no applicants. So, when a desperate cry for a nerd is heard, there's (literally) only one man for the job!... And yet, due to the need to have the right paperwork, I still had to apply properly.

I need a what..? a res-oo-may? Man, I haven't seen one of those in nearly a decade! As I was facing the blank page, I recalled many a TV show where a stay at home mom re-enters the workplace. Oh, it wasn't that bad, I have a decent skillset, especially in contras to what they needed to be done. The employment history section was a little spotty looking, between self-employed contracts, and 3 bosses from separate wage jobs MIA... Two of whom could very well be in jail, for all I know.

"2001-present: wheelchair operator"
"2007-2008: Diaper changer"
"2007-present: Going insane on a steadily increasing rate."

Yeah, my resume was kind of an unorganized mess, as was my references sheet, but like I said, it was mostly to appease the paperwork gods. The interview, as per regulation, was conducted by multiple interviewees. Know what? Now giving a crap if you get the job makes the interview a lot easier. No stress. well, luckily, I had good answers, too. And I already knew a lot out the outfit, since I've been married to one of their staff for quite a while.

So bam, I'm working 2 days a week, 4 hours at a time. I do a tiny sliver of highly important data entry, I lick the occasional envelope, and attack the odd IT issue. Ooh, and graphical stuff. So far, it's pretty easy, other than having to ask where things are, and getting trapped inside the lobby after leaving a little later than she with the keys. Do I need keys? I hope not.

So I have the exalted title of OFFICE MANAGER now. And the other staff consist of 3 women. I will soon be installing an intercom into my office door, then I will only talk to them though this intercom, and they must call me Charlie.

OOH also.... Have I mentioned the new book? I may have mumbled a bit.. I'm setting up the scenario, naming characters, deciding on a working title.. and.. before I have that all nailed down... Y'all gonna have to wait! For those I have mentioned my ideas to, yes, the Bleeder appears to have won the contest of what idea I'll write next.

VCON 35, 2010- Sunday, Endgame

This was the shortest day in the vendor room. It was busier than friday, but after saturday, it felt darn near serene. As I predicted, several 'orbiters' finally made a purchase, and I had to part with the promised poster of Alisia.

I actually parted with most of my posters during the weekend, but hey.. it gives me an excuse to restock. I later even sold my 2 fancy display banners. Go figure.

And along came Gabe. He had come for his prize, his destiny.... he slapped down $7.26. The UN had not stepped forward, so I let the world's first combat spatula go to Gabe...!

All hail the hero!
I gave him $1.26 back, because I was trying to go the whole weekend withing dealing with coins. I would have just let him have it free, but I didn't want to set a precedent of giving away my kitchen ware.

As the day was coming to a close, I started wrapping up my table, since it had been ransacked anyway. BUT! I had two books in an odd place.. someone had paid for two books, and set them down to chat. She had a lot to carry around, and probably assumed she had the books in a bag when she left. THANKFULLY, I had signed them with her name in them.. only her first name. So I was set on a quest with a first name and a general description. Long story short, about a week later, she came to my house with her hubby to pick them up, and they brought me a fancy cutting board. Ok, that sounds kinda lame, but it's really awesome, made of a bunch of different wood, and I think I'd rather frame it than cut meat on it.

Anyway, while I was hunting clues, I was on the other side of the vendor room, when I see a familiar sight.. my wife! And I heard a familiar sound- my little girl! The top of a little head bobbing along the other side of a row of tables, armed with instructions from my wife on how to get to me. She made it around the corner, grinned madly, and pointed. "I FOUND DADDY!"

I held out my arms, expecting a hug, but no! She had to go back around the tables to report to mommy. "Mommy! I found daddy!"

Vendors around me had a laugh, and said things like "So we finally meet your little one!" I didn't think I was talking about her throughout the weekend, but apparently I had been. By the time I got back to my table, my wife had gotten pretty far in the wrap up of my table. She was in a little bit of a rush, and on the way out, I was snagged by one ms. Heather Dale. She wanted to swap one of her CDs for one of my books. I said yes to be polite, and was generally in a rush. Celtic style songs aren't generally my kind of thing, but when I finally got to listen to it, it was really neat stuff to counterbalance the harder stuff I often listen to. In fact, it's still in my CD drive.

Well, that was VCON35.It was a blast, and worth every minute, even the lowpoints were worth it. even freezing my @$$ off at the mercy of an insane air conditioner.

Next year? Yeah, I'll be there.. but I'm really serious, serious, even more serious than last time... Don't expect me to have another new book ready by then! But stay tuned to hear about what's coming down the pipe...

PS: google up Sandra Wickham. She didn't need to share wine, she was smuggling a 6-pack! She was definitely serious about the modeling thing...!

VCON 35, 2010- Saturday, part 3- SFCanada party and VCON dance party

After getting some directions, I found my way to the SFCanada party that I was now nearly a year and half an hour late for. It was held in someones private room, and it was pretty packed. I got in far enough to get an alright look around; to see what was going on, and that was about it. The ages were varied, but at 34, I was the kid in the room. No biggie, I know how to talk to growed-ups.

Topics wandered all over, but I had a really deep talk with.. oh frig, I forget her name now. Her son had taken his life in the last year, and I told the tale of Cheryl N, to whom Watching Yute was dedicated. At one point she told me that I reminded her of her son's friend, by my way of talking and my facial expressions. That entire talk was the most memorable part of the party for me.

2nd place went to a singing performance by an actor/writer who had been in a stage production of... Beauty and the Beast? erk.. probably not. It was a humorously sexist wedding proposal song. The whole room was impressed and amused. He had used a version of the song to propose many a year ago, and this night's performance was (if I heard right) and anniversary demand from his wife.

A lady I'd not met before (Sandra Wickham) was modeling her new bustier nearby, talking about how she could manage to work it into an everyday outfit. It was plenty sharp. I jumped in, (not into her bustier, you pervs) and gave my two cents.

I knew she was going for an every day usage, but told her that a character I was working on might wear such a thing as a phony gypsy fortune teller. I went on to describe the tall neckline collar as I gestured to her neck, then down to her legs as I went on about a long, flowing, layered, latticed skirt. She said she could model for some illustrations some time. Haha. Ha?

Conversation wandered into the pets department, someone had a little dog with them, and while I'm happy to gibber on about pets... well, I was getting worn down in general. I excused myself, saying I was going to peek in on the nearby dance before heading to bed.

I got into the hallway, and could hear the faint pounding of the music. Heh. Yeah, I gotta go have a peek. At the doorway, I saw a mixture of 50/50 wallflower types, and dancers.


Dang. Now I felt old. I mean, even before I was in the wheelchair, I wasn't into clubbing and such, citing that I liked to be able to hold a conversation, but the energy was infectious. Fine. I rolled in, and wandered around a bit. Who was on the far end of the dance floor, but Professor Whovianart. And he was RIPPING IT UP.

He wasn't one of the kiddies dancing, he had no partner, probably as he would put any partner to shame, or into the hospital. He slowed down for a moment, and I thought he was tired. No, he was just following the music. There wasn't any playing at that moment, and after he wiped sweat out of his eyes and the music started to catch up to him, he was speeding up again. He later told me that he was only dancing at a '5', due to bits of his costume/outfit he was still wearing. Otherwise, he would be going at '8'. '10' was for days gone by when he was a 'mascot' for sorts for a band that called him the blur. He was a machine, interesting enough to watch that I didn't do any girlwatching, for which there was ample opportunity on the dance floor.

But not interesting enough to hold me so long that the call of bed didn't drag me away. I got out the door, still kind of hooked by the music. To be honest, it wasn't that amazing, but an OK bass line is an OK bass line.

I lingered by a fellow who I think was a casual sort of security presence, and his gorgeous husky, Jade. How gorgeous was Jade? Gorgeous enough that within 5 minutes, 2 other people passing by stopped to say that she was Gorgeous. No one complained when a well endowed lady with a low cut top bend over to give Jade some attention. When SHE left, I think I heard someone recovering from a slight aneurysm.

Cleavage and huskies aside, I was headed to bed.

Wait, no, here's Sandra Wickham coming my way with her husband in tow, and a bottle of wine in hand. She asked me if I was going in.
"No, actually, I was headed to b..." ugh.. know what? I went to the effort of getting a room for this VCON SPECIFICALLY so I could spend extra time at non-vendor events. This time last year, I was suffering on a bus. Suck it up, go hand out by the amp.

I refused a glass of wine, but a song came on that got to me. I think it was Firestarter.No, no, no. Not that one. The prodigy one.Thank you. And yes, it's an old, overplayed song, but it hasn't been played recently, and not with that much bass. Head a bobbin', I nudged Sandra, and nodded at the wine bottle. She raised an eyebrow, and I silently mouthed (as words would be lost to the music) "I think I'm ready. Half though."

With the lack of food and sleep since yesterday morning, and me operating on taurine, she may as well have unscrewed my skull and poured the wine directly on my brain. I was a certain degree of drunk very, very quickly.No, no, no, no. Not as bad as that guy. but I wasn't feeling any pain anymore. For all the painkillers available out there, a wee touch of alcohol has always proven to be the most effective. I'm a lightweight to begin with, I don't drink often. When I do, (My official drinking day is my friends' Halloween party,) I do it RIGHT. That said... I don't plan to have much at this year's party. Meh.

Mrs. Sandra Wickham mentioned modeling again... hm. I didn't think much of it.

Eventually, the music stopped, and people were disassembling the dance floor, stacking the pieces on a couple racks. Frig, what time was it? I think it was a hint to piss off! On the way out, the good Professor joined the conversation.

Lemmie tell ya bout him. His persona is inspired by Dr. Who and a number of other sources, and in a way, is rather manufactured.. but at the same time, so natural. It's hard to tell where the character ends, and ****** ****** begins. Yes, I know his real name, but I dare not utter it, lest he evaporate into smoke!

I made the journey back to my hotel, (stopping to chat with the DJ and some of his ilk outside) with my shoulder spikes on still. The night before, I'd left them in the vendor room. I got another bag of chips and a chocolate bar, having last ate in the morning. I wasn't hungry, but I feared by body going into revolt. Thankfully, my room was neither hot, not cold. I gave my worry-wart mother a single ring on her phone, did what else needed to be done,and passed out.

In the bed. Not like the picture above. For the record, that was just a pic I got from google. No one at VCON was that wasted. As far as I knew.

Next post: Dealer room finale, and the fulfilling of the prophecy of Gabe!