Day in the Life of an Idiot

Sorry for the long absence, I was in Indiana visiting the in-laws. Man, that is a long, awful drive. But we're only doing it once this year, so it's done. We had a good time. Probably the highlight was the fireworks show in ValParasio. It was actually surprisingly spectacular, and by chance, Shawn found us the perfect spot. Not too crowded or too buggy, and a lot of really interesting unique fireworks. I say this, too, I should add, as someone who is NOT a big fan of loud noises and whatnot.

I'm sad I missed CONvergence. I hope y'all had a good time.

Of course, the roof saga continues. We're probably going to start work on the roof next week. Shawn is hoping that their start time will coincide with her business road trip to Madison, WI. She gets VERY TENSE about this sort of thing, and, well, if she came home to a new roof, life would be a lot easier for her.

Me, I'm comfortable with all the noise and chaos. What *I* don't like dealing with is the money and the insurance company and all that hassle. But I think the only thing I have to do is follow-up with the mortgage company which has to endorse our insurance claim check. Blurgh. Just thinking about that makes my stomach flip.

In other news, I finished Tate's second YA book. I got comments back from one of my beta readers (thanks naomikritzer and expect the last set tonight at Wyrdsmiths. Then, it's head down for a revision/polish so that Shawn can read it for stupid spelling/puncuation mistakes. I should be sending it on perfectly on time, if all works out from here on out.

Mason has the week off school, and we're hoping to do a little geocaching and beach lounging/combing.

I need to close up, as he wants to update his own blog. I hope to have some prequel news soon...

Sorry for the silence. I was off the grid.

My gerbils have decided to fight. What's funny about this is that when we bought these two, the cashier (and the sales person) both warned us that gerbils can get territorial and "fight to the death." I've owned gerbils on and off for decades. We NEVER had gerbils fight. Ever.

But these two are also our first girls (and first set of siblings). Maybe it's a gender thing. Or a family group thing.

Anyway as part of all this excitment, I discovered that XoXo had actual owies on her rump, and in a panicked run -- ran off at seven thirty in the evening to get a new cage for her. Of course, in such a distressed state, I grabbed the wrong kind. In my defense, the aquarium had a picture of a gerbil on it, so someone thought it would be appropriate for a small rodent. But this person, apparently, did not have four curious, slightly overweight cats who like to sit on the top of said aquarium.

Just about two minutes after we had XoXo resettled, Inky decided he needed to take up his usual perch on the new aquarium. Whump! Like in some LOL/Stupid cat video on YouTube, suddenly he was sitting IN the cage. XoXo was unharmed; and Inky was only mildy confused. But that was the end of that particular house. Luckily, PetCo will take returns of damaged/flawed items.

And we were able to temporarily fix the cage and reinforce it with chicken wire (which involved an equally comic trip to the garage -- the funny part there was that I forgot we no longer had electricity in our garage and ended up having to trapse back to the house to get a flashlight) until I could return in the next morning, (yesterday.)

XoXo is now happily ensconsed in an exact duplicate of her sister's set-up. Weirdly, they both seem calmer. B used to throw herself onto the wire mesh top and hang, Spider-Man-style for a few seconds upside down. (I have some video of it, that I should upload at some point.) Anyway, no more of that now that she's on her own. I say its weird only because all the literature says gerbils can't flourish singlely. But you should have seen B last night. She was totally rearranging the "furnature" quite busily, like she was so happy that b*tch had finally moved out (even though it's clear B was the agressor. She had NO bites on her butt.)

So I spent the morning dealing with returning the old cage and getting the new one (and new water bottle, nesting box, etc.) and then I cleaned the house (which I'd neglected for a few days) and waited for my friend Nick Dykstra to come over and hang out for a chat. Nick and I have been friends since college, where we bonded over the first Highlander movie. So we squandered the afternoon catching up on each others' fandom, as it were. In other words, we mostly talked movies, books, and TV with a bit of personal life thrown in for good measure. The sun came out and we sat on the porch and absorbed some of that extemely popular sunshine vitamin.

And I found out on Wednesday that Josh Whedon is set to direct the new Avengers movie. Thoughts?

The plumber arrived yesterday only an hour later than promised and did the work in about two; everything was fixed by three o'clock when I had to go fetch Mason from school. The bill was not astronomical, either. Love my handyman service. I kiss them. Although now I have to get on their schedule so that someone will come and patch the two holes I have in my walls (on in the ceiling, the other behind the couch in the TV room.) Ah well. Holes I can live with.

In other news, I (as Tate only) am now Twittering. I tweet. I hear all you kids are into it. Please feel free to follow me or friend me or whatever.

Today is also promising to be very busy. After I pick Mason up in a couple of hours, I'll be headed off to Barnes & Noble to pick up a book of weird hauntings that I put on reserve on Tuesday. It was one of those books that I dithered over. It's kind of cheesy, but when I found myself telling stories I'd skimmed to my partner in the car an hour later, I thought, "I should have bought that." Luckily, when I called B&N they were able to grab it and put in on-hold behind the counter.

Mason also wants to check out the Star Wars section, since we didn't get to it during our last visit. (He got stuck in the humor section, reading GARFIELD.) Then, it's off to pick up our CSA box from Driftless Organics (beets! whoot!), and then a little cat herding as we try to get Ms. Deliah (the cat that Barney from Tate's books is largely based on) into her carrier and off to the vet for shots and "animal wellness" check-up.

I think Mason gets another fast-food dinner, which is only ironic given all the farm-fresh, organic produce we'll have in the car. He got one yesterday (McD's, alas,) because the kitchen was still completely in disarray. I'd had time to mop the floor, but not return all the tables and whatnot back in place. I let him eat some crap while I dusted and replaced everything -- from pictures on the wall to our various cups and such we leave out. When seanmmurphy came over he noiced that everything was much more sparkily than usual. (It's true. I almost took a picture. The kitchen, outside of the big hole, has never looked better. I'm only sad that Shawn was in Seattle and missed seeing the results. It'll be dust-ridden by Saturday, mark my words.)

This morning started out strange because I got handed a very cryptic note from one of Mason's classmates. A phone call later it turned into one of those conversations with the uninitiated that I hate. Mason's friend has a mom who decided that, after having met me, that writing must be "the life." She started a book and now called me up to basically ask when she could expect the money to start rolling in.

There's stuff she needs to pay for, see.

Oh. Well. Hmmm. How do I... Hmmm.

And, you know, I hate to burst that bubble of enthusiasm. I don't want to have to tell people that I could not afford to stay home an write if my partner didn't pay the bills. Money isn't the reason a person should consider a career in writing, because even when it's going gangbusters, like it is for me, it comes in drips and drabs and you can't count on it to pay the bills. You just can't.

That conversation sucks. Nobody wants to hear it. Everyone wants to hear how easy it is to break in, and how we're all going to end up like Stephanie Meyer or J.K. Rowling or Stephen King. It's really, really hard to tell someone who is looking for some hope and inspiration that those people are lucky and they only represent 1% of writers. Most of us don't even make above poverty level wages. Sorry.

*sigh*

I didn't actually get around to all that on the phone. That's a conversation, I decided, for face-to-face. Instead, I told her to enjoy the process. Keep at it. Writing can be a very fulfilling and creative and wonderful way to spend your time. And if you can find the writing itself an enjoyable task, then rest... well, the rest won't seem so bad.

Honest.

We're going to get together later this week to talk writing. I'll try to break it to her gently. Wish me luck.

Not only am I writing a lot, but the last couple of days have been... weird.

Monday was especially strange. My usual routine got interrupted by Shawn's physical. We only have one car, so, if I want to have the car during the day, it's my job to cart people around. I'm cool with that, and I brought my "homework" (aka the prequel) to the hospital, so actually that wasn't really a big distraction. But, while I was sitting there, one of Mason's classmate's father called with a favor to ask. He was going to be on TV, and the film crew was going to be arriving right about the time he was supposed to pick his daughter up. Would I do it? Of course! First of all, his daughter and Mason have had play dates before, and, not long ago, when my car wouldn't start, I asked him to do the exact same thing for me. So it was like "instant karma." Plus, entertaining this particular young lady is not difficult. This was only complicated by the fact that we were expecting someone to show up at our house at 5:30 that evening to test our drinking water (and try to sell us a filter system, but that's the next story.) Anyway, Mason and his friend played board games like "High Ho, Cherry-Oh" and the like, and I baked a few cookies (we always have some pre-made in the freezer for just such moments.) I felt like a pretty good baby-sitter, even though I probably spoiled dinner a bit.

We dropped the young lady off at her house and zipped home just in time for the saleswoman to arrive.

Okay, this needs a bit of "backstory," as we call it in the biz. Or perhaps foreshadowing. I'm doing dishes several days ago, during the big snow storm and I get bothered by two robo-calls. The first one is from Saint Paul schools telling me that school is closing early, which would matter much, much more to me, if Mason wasn't in a year-round school and, at that time, on intersession. The next call informs me that if I would like a free water test, I should leave my name and address after the tone. If I'd not just gotten an official call from Saint Paul, I wouldn't have made this mistake... but my brain just filled in "Oh, this must be a city thing, especially since it's free." I left my name and address.

Of course, it was a big, ol' sales pitch. The weirdest part is that for some hours after the saleswoman left, Shawn and I almost thought we'd nearly been scammed.

First of all, given how crazy our day had been, we almost missed the appointment. Even so, she was fifteen minutes late. She was dressed... casually, in an Indian print dressy-thing that might actually have just been a long shirt and jeans. In the middle of doing her water tests, she dropped a hand-sized water softener into our sink and broke it, and then said, "This is what I get for not being in my body." She then goes on at great length about her recent trip to India and her attempt to get more in touch with her feminine side. Looking at us, she says, "And then here you two are."

Like, what? We're lesbians from Vishnu? Or... is it the pentacles we have in the house that makes her feel like she should open up about her Goddess needs?

Not sure, but either way, it's awkward. It's like walking into a board room to give a presentation, and singling someone out to say, "So I notice you're a lesbian." I don't know. It was weird. Though, at first, it made us more inclinded to listen to her schpeil (sp?).

Except, after the frightening water tests (wow, THAT much chorline? Really?) she goes into full hard sell mode. And never stops talking. I'd been told on the phone that the whole thing was only supposed to last a half hour... she was there for two, and I would have kicked her out a whole lot sooner, except I couldn't get a word in edgewise. And even when she finally laid the whole, "So can I count on you [to buy my product]" line on me and I clearly said, "No," she still persisted. I finally had to do that thing where I stood up, in that mostly universal sign of "now you stand up, because it's time for you to go." She still didn't get it, and kept pushing her product. So, I kept repeating "no," until she was finally forced to leave. Worse, even though the estimate she gave us was supposed to be good for eighteen months, she neither left a copy of the estimate or even a business card.

If Shawn hadn't found this woman's company on-line the next day, that last part would have completely convinced me she was a fraud trying to scam us. Because Shawn and I kept saying to each other, "What kind of sales person doesn't AT LEAST leave some literature around." In all honesty, the product was something we might have considered if we had any real income, but, the way my money comes in from writing, it's difficult for us to budget, and if we were going to commit to anything we REALLY can't just sign a paper on the spot. We need to plan and think and mull.

She was all about, "I need an answer now." I was all, "You're not going to get one."

The best and most unprofesional part of the whole thing, IMHO, was when she pouted after I flatly told her she was out of luck and wasn't making a sale tonight. She huffily tossed everything into her bag and stompped out.

I hate to tell you this, lady, but throwing a tantrum isn't going to make me change my mind. I've GOT a five year old already. I'm hard to the whole "maybe if I cry, they'll give in" thing, sister.

WEIRD.

That was Monday. Tuesday, I spent much of the day recovering from crazy saleslady. I spent much of the day worrying that we'd almost been scammed. Because we decided she must either have been the most incompetent sales person ever, or a pretty good scam artist.... and I'd started leaning toward that last one the more I thought about everything that went down. Particually, she didn't seem very comfortable with the fact that, thanks to my fish, I actually had performed most of the water tests she was doing already. And when I asked her which hardness she was testing for KH or GH, she didn't know what I was talking about -- (I could tell it was KH when she started though, as it was almost the exact same kit I used.)

Also, on Tuesday, I got a ridiculous amount of writing... reformated -- is probably the most accurate word. As I've writing a million versions of the Mouse prequel before, I mostly re-keyed and changed the verb tense of several pages I'd already written. But since I worked out in the morning, I didn't really have a lot of time to hang out with you kids here on the Interwebs.

So what happened while I was away? Anything?

I woke up this morning and discovered I was meant to write a post over at SF Novelists. So, in keeping with my "great debates of writing" series (ah, I'll bet you didn't even notice I had a theme going on, eh?) -- I decided to take on "Show, Don't Tell: The Great Debate." Turns out this is does double-duty as me doing some pre-thinking regarding my lecture at class tonight. Bonus!

Otherwise I've been running around like proverbial headless chicken getting ready to leave for Indiana. I got the garbages out, laundry mostly put away, and now am about to rouse small one from where he's entraced in front of the TV by the BBC: Ocean Life mini-series, and head off for lunch and random errands. Wheee.

One of the tasks I need to do is print out Tate's newest DEAD IF I DO for my partner. She's way behind on reading it (yes, she reads everything? Are you kidding? I count on her for plot advice when I'm stuck!), and thought that the manuscript might provide some distraction in Indiana. I've got over 30,000 words/150 pages so far, so that will take a while to print. Still, I also have to do some copying of things for hand-outs tonight, so it's not like I won't have to be sitting in front of the computer for a while anyway.

Alas, no time for dilly-dallying. Must be off!

My folks came up to visit Mason (and to deliver two dressers -- my folks are perpetually "downsizing" their possessions.  It's some weird Me Generation thing, I think.)  Shawn took the day off too, and we headed out this morning to Shady Acres Herb Garden and bought a couple hundred dollars of herbs... Dude!  No, not those kind... anyway, we spent much of the afternoon getting some gardens ready and even planting some things.  We have a spiral-shaped herb garden, and I always try to outline as much of the stone path as I can in johnny-jump ups and parlsey.  It makes for a nice boder.  I got about half-way before we all got too hot and had to come in for lemonade and several games of shoots-and-ladders.  

The memorial garden for Ella is starting to come together.  I've only got one line of the poem Sean M. Murphy wrote on the anniversary of her conception, "Samhain Girl" because I have to mix one or two bricks at a time.  Still, I planted some kid-friendly flowers -- strawberries, day-lilies and a russian sage -- in the hopes that it will be the kind of place that Mason will like to play in, too.  He's been very funny about his sister.  He knows about her because we talk about her, and of course, he's been very active in helping plant this garden, which we all call "Ella's Garden."  The other day he said (much to the mortification of his mother, who is a bit more senstitive about all this -- I process by talking; Shawn doesn't.), "When I die, I hope someone writes a poem for me."  

My response was, "I hope so too."  Shawn reminded him that he wouldn't have to worry about that for a long, long time.  But, I don't think he was freaking out about death at that moment (he has on other ocassions, as any kid will).  I think what he was really wishing for was for someone to remember him.  I think, in a lot of ways that's the measure of a life, being remembered.  That's all I really want, too.  Someone to sing a dirge or write a poem or, hell, think of me on a sunny day, you know?

Mason has really started to want friends, generally.  He doesn't actually have very many because we can't afford pre-school (hence the pre-K public school option that starts next fall) and I suck at making friends with adults with kids.  I tend to askew fake friendships -- I don't have a lot of lesbian/gay friends because I tend to prefer to have more in common than sexual practices.  My friends are genre fans and genre writers.  Not nearly enough of them have kids Mason's age.  As I was telling a friend we met up with for a picnic dinner on Thursday, I think that the other stay-at-home moms can tell I'm a lesbian and don't tend to try to make friends.  Plus, Mason and I go to places where there's casual attendence -- we've never done ECFE or that sort of thing -- though we do hang out at specific parks and such like.  I know that this friend problem will be solved once he starts school in the fall, but I wish there was something I could do about it now.

Oh, yeah, and SHE made a few bestseller lists.

And I dyed my hair blonde.  Interesting social experiment note:  only men have commented on my hair color change.  The men at Wyrdsmiths mentioned last Thursday (though none of the women did.)  My male barista, Paul, commented on it when he saw me.  My FATHER said something... a stranger that I see at Cafe Amore on a regular basis (male) also said something.  Very strange.  The only woman to say anything has been my mother.