Random Blog Number 257

We're off to do house repair/stuff/maintenance on our old house, which has become the rental house.  Why do we have a rental house?  The smart answer would be because we make money with it.  The bad answer is because the house mortgage is upside-down and we can't afford to sell it.  This is very, very sad.

Anyway, tenants are moving out.  We are fixing little stuff.  (Hopefully.)  And voila, the place has a gazillion applicants already.  Weird, but good.  Let me tell you how much I loathe picking between qualified applicants.  One had five cats and one dog.  One had a credit score of 300.  (I didn't think that was possible.)  A couple others I'm not allowed to talk about.

I hope this isn't what we find but I wouldn't
be surprised.

And it's bad enough that I have to take care of that house, but also the house we're in.  The deck is still tilting.  I'm waiting for contractors to get their acts together.  Apparently it's too much to expect them to rush right over this instant with a couple of tons of dirt, blocks, and cement to save my ass.  I can honestly say I've never had this particular problem with contractors.  I feel like I'm waving money in their faces and they're saying, "Yeah, well, that's nice but we're busy with other stuff."  Really?  Seriously?  The landscaping/retaining wall business is so busy that you can not only not return phone calls but turn down thousands of dollars in revenue?  REALLY?

Color me Captain Confused.

When contractors go bad.

Just when I think we're getting ahead (I need to stop and knock on wood while simultaneously rubbing a rabbit's foot (which wasn't very lucky for the rabbit, now was it?) and maybe throwing some salt over my shoulder.) something else happens.

Upon effing around with the deck, we discovered that little black pooplets were falling down from the attic area on one side.  Previously there had been a hole in the fascia board and squirrels inhabiting the area.  We got that all taken care of.  Then we think, "Uh-oh, the squirrels are back."  We do everything we can about that.  More pooplets.  Then I notice that the cat sits on the ledge of the deck staring up at the ceiling as if the ceiling will give him the answer to the meaning of life.  Cat alert!  Ah-oo-ga.  The cat is staring at the ceiling.  Hmm.

Having had rats in the attic (of another house, thank God) before, we think, rats?  We do the thing that we need to do.

More pooplets.  Even more suspiciously, more cat staring at the attic.  Then other cats came to stare.  (Not really.)  (That would be all twisted to see a big group of cats sitting on my deck, staring at the ceiling.)

One day, HIM, the man to whom I'm married, shines a light up into the crack between the ceiling of the covered deck and the house's wall, and sees something moving.  HIM comes to tell me because he loves to share ickiness with me.  (It's a married thing.)  HIM says, "It's not squirrels.  It's not rats.  It's...(cue dramatic music here)...bats."  I squeal and threaten to move to a bat free country.  (Then twenty people told me on Facebook that bats are good and our buddies and I'm being a total twathead.)  (Maybe three people.  They didn't really say I was being a total twathead.  But they were thinking it.)

Okay, this wasn't really in our deck's attic,
but it is funny.

And yes, we have bats in our attic space above our deck.  We're going to build several bat houses and put them nearby.  Then in the fall, (after all the little baby bats can fly) we'll put lights in the little attic space to encourage them to move out.

By the way, Bing and Google have pictures of bat poop so that you can identify the thing that's living in your attic space.

Just so you know what it looks like.
God, I love sharing.

I can't help but wonder what's next?  Snakes?  Gorillas?  A horde of rampaging chipmunks?

I'll let you know.

Random Stuff Again

Well, here it is.  Blog day.  I'm still sick with THE head cold, which is threatening to turn into something else, which means HIM will threaten me with a doctor's visit.  I hate the doctor so I threaten the little cold germs inside my head.  ("DAMN YOU TO HELL!  MAY A CAMEL POOP SEVEN TIMES IN YOUR BORDEAUX!"  Since cold germs probably don't drink Bordeaux, that's kind of silly, but it's my cold so I get to threaten it my way.)  That doesn't work very well.  I'm still stuffed up.  My face is starting to go numb.  (That's without all the hot toddies that everyone has been recommending on Facebook, too.)  I'm thinking, "This cannot be good."  On the positive side NyQuil gives me the most interesting dreams ever.  Really.

I was inspired by Jimmy Durante.

In other news, I finished the first edit of Mountains of Dreams and now it has passed into the hands of my editor.  I probably ruined her weekend.  I should have waited until Monday to send it to her.  She strikes me as kind of like me and slightly OCD about getting things done, so I probably owe her an apology.  Also I already found three mistakes that I didn't catch the first time.  I wrote EMT instead of EMP, for Electromagnetic Merry Go Round Pulse.  (You know I can't remember what EMP stands for at the moment.  Let me check with HIM.)  (Okay, HIM is going for a motorcycle ride with our daughter and I'm not allowed to ask questions that will delay his motorcycleness.  You all can figure it out for yourselves.  Try Google or Bing.)

Bing has cool backgrounds that change every day.

But Google changes their writing to suit the occasion.

Which leads me to mention that I've been seeing a lot of commercials from Bing about how much wonderful it is than Google.  I CANNOT tell the difference, other than a different random pretty picture on Bing's background every day.  Is there something wrong with me?  (Probably but everyone already knows that.)

Where was I?  Wandering aimlessly, of course.  I did say it was going to be random, didn't I?

All righty then.

- We've been watching the first season of Sons of Anarchy.  We didn't watch it the first time because our daughter was like three and well, everyone with children knows what that meant.  Instead we watched Wall-E fifty-six times.  Also we watched Finding Nemo thirty-three times.  Tarzan II enjoyed a brief stint of about six to ten times.  Anyhoo, and I thought The Sopranos was all Machiavellian.  Who would have ever thought Peg Bundy could pull off motorcycle club mama/queen so well?  Not me.  All I can hear her saying is, "Al!"

Motorcycle megalomaniac?
I dunno.
I couldn't see it until
we finished Season 1.

- I'm writing the outline for The Ransom of Brownie (Or until I can think of a better name.  Or maybe it should be if I think of a better name.)  I will say that watching the Science Channel has been very inspirational.  You wouldn't think that would be so for a Bubbaverse novel, but it is so.  It's like a hint.  Any of you O. Henry fans out there are already onto me.

I should have redone this with a stun gun, but wth?

- The airbag sensor light in my Exploder, I mean, Explorer came on yesterday.  It turns out that my passenger side airbag may not be working.  I Googled/Binged it.  (Really I don't care which one I use.)  It says that most of these sensor lights come on about at 80,000 miles.  Hmm.  That would suggest that the sensor light is oh, programmed to come on at a certain time, wouldn't it?  Like maybe the company made it that way, so that I would have to drive over to the Ford dealer, wait on my ass for an hour, and pay them at least $100 to reset it, and/or tell me I need a wiring harness or something equally godawful.  The last time something broken on the Ford, it cost $1000.

Could be an airbag.  Could be a big ball.
Could be testicular elephantitus.

- Our deck is still doing a damn impression of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.  I'm having issues with getting contractors to come out.  Now I've got a few estimates and the estimates seem to be going up exponentially.  "$6500, no, I meant $10,000.  No, $12,000 and we'll put pine straw down AND we'll bring ice cream."  Plus now we have to go deal with contractors with our old house that is being rented.  So now I deal with contractors in two different states at the same time.  Double the fun.  Double the amount of blogging I can do in genuine Fat Woman ranting.  I hate doctors.  I hate dieting.  And I hate contractors.  One day I will run into a doctor who is dieting and a contractor and I will be wretchedly screwed.  Or I will blow up and have to write Bubba books from jail.  Either one.

I think we have the same contractor.

Finally, I Googled myself.  I got 66,700 results.  Then I Binged myself.  (This sounds vaguely obscene.)  I got to look at a picture of a school of fish twirling around like an underwater tornado and 83,400 results.  Go figure.  (Oh, I know you've Googled yourself.)  (Go ahead.   Go do it now and see.)

Off for another hot toddy.

The Tribulations of a Head Cold OR Fat Woman is Sick; Let Us All Lament and Cry Piteously!

Warning: ranting contained within.  Don't say you haven't been warned.  In fact, don't say that you weren't warned about being warned.  In fact, in fact, if you haven't at least cracked a little smile by now, you should just stop reading.

Ah yes.  Head cold, possibly sinusitis, with adjuncts into bronchitis and/or pneumonia.

I HATE HEAD COLDS!  A head cold is what really wiped out the dinosaurs.  Just ask H.G. Wells.  (Dinosaurs could have been aliens.)

I'm sneezing and sniffling and my nose hurts and the cat wants me to play with him.  I can't win.

I love this movie line.

Colds are like frigging secret spies, determined to RUIN everything.  Feeling good?  Things going your way?  Never fear the COLD VIRUS is here!  It doesn't matter that it's summer time or that you haven't seen anyone with a cold for months because it's out to get YOU!  Yes, YOU!

Has anyone ever had a cold they liked?  Oh, wait I just thought of some of my friends who have allergies and who have told me that it's like having a cold for three months or more.  Okay them I have compassion for.

If you're going to have a cold,
at least have the decency
to have the deluxe
007 version.

So I was looking at home remedies because not only do I have a cold, but HIM, the man to I'm married, ALSO has a cold.  Whoever said togetherness was cute didn't see Fat Woman and HIM together when they both have the cold.  (I should just go stay in a closet for three days.)

Really.  Usually one of us has the good sense to have the cold first while the other one is mildly compassionate and then the other one takes a cold turn.  Never ever ever get colds at the same time.  I told our daughter, Cressy, to make us hot toddies, but she said she was going to play Angry Birds Star Wars instead.  Hah.  Wait until she gets her turn.

Back to the point of home remedies before I get sidetracked again.

I saw the usual standbys with chicken soup, a humidifier, and vitamin C.  Then there was: gargling with sage tea.  Hmm.  Drink lemon juice.  (Not lemonade, which I could do)  Lemon juice, undiluted and without three cups of sugar in it.  I'm pretty sure after the pucker happened, nothing would be going in.  Here's a good one.  Add chopped garlic to honey and consume it every night.  Or cinnamon powder to honey.  Oh carp.  Brief subject change for humorous purposes.  Has everyone not seen what happens when you do the cinnamon challenge?  (Of course it didn't involve honey, but I feel obliged to link it here.)  (By the way, don't do this.  It's bad for you and it's dangerous.  Seriously don't do it.  Just watch the video and don't do it.)

I watched this and I was going, "Don't do it, dumbass!"  I should feel sorry for the woman but I kinda felt like she had it coming.  Honestly she has a lot of guts posting it AND she showed all the nasty details.  (Not that kind of nasty, potty mind.)

Back to funky remedies.  One article mentioned mixing cinnamon, garlic, and cayenne together with lemon juice.  Just to cut through those delays, mix them all together and chug-a-lug.  I'm not doing it.

I hate colds.  I'm making myself a hot toddy and going back to bed where I can snore like Godzilla after a bender in Tokyo.

Hope ya'll don't have my stupid cold.  (Go wash your hands.  Don't forget to sing the happy birthday song while washing to make sure you washed long enough.  Ha.  Try to get that out of your head the next time you wash.)

The Perils of Finishing a Book

Recently I explained where I got my ideas from.  (Something about magical fairy aliens sprinkling them on my idea like pixie dust.  Don't sue me, Disney.)  I was thinking about the book I'm wrapping up now.  It's the second book in a series.  I don't think there will be a third one, but I won't say it for sure.

The first one, Sea of Dreams, is now free on Amazon.  On B&N.  And on Smashwords.  (Sorry to my UK fans.  I'll post it as soon as they catch up to the free price.)  Hopefully people will read the first one, become hopelessly hooked, and move on to the second one, Mountains of Dreams.

This is the one I'm trying to finish.

But I have so much help.

I put earphones on.  Someone comes up to me and stands there, looking at me.  LOOKING at me.  Silently willing me to look back, until I am compelled to do so.  Resistance, as the Borg are inclined to say, is futile.

This is part of the perils of writing on the weekend.  But it wasn't done yet.
 

 

So not done yet.

 

 

I wanted to write, yet....

 

 

But it wasn't just them.

 

 

You'd think I could get a few sentences in there somewhere.  But no-oooh.

 

 

Still not done.

 

 

And thus I gave up for the day.