Because I really and truly can't seem to get anything accomplished without looming deadlines, I've set a few more for myself. I need to have the story finished by Yule. I will then allow myself to rest over the holdiays, and then editing and rewriting will begin on 01 January 2010. The first round of edits will be completed by 30 January so that I can send copies out to the friends and colleagues who have been asking to read it since I first announced the concept behind the story. Of course the manuscript will still be in rough form at that point, so I'm hoping said friends and colleagues will have some constructive feedback for me. I will continue to revise and rewrite throughout the spring and summer, and by the start of August, I will finally have something that can be shopped around. I hope to have my first rejection slip by September (strange desire, but the first rejection slip is a rite of passage for any writer), and I'll just keep going until I have a bite.
This is the first story I've ever been genuinely excited to share with others. I've always dreamed of being published, but until now, it had never been an actual goal of mine. But yesterday morning, the last day of NaNo and the first day back to work after a glorious four day writing binge, I woke to the thought, "You need to get published. You need to do this." And so a goal was born.
Publish or perish, baby. Publish or perish.
And so ends another NaNo. I already miss it. While I can certainly make every day NaNo-eqsue, a certain something would be missing. I'd be acutely aware of the absence of hundreds of thousands of fellow maniacs coming together all over the world to commiserate, despair, and celebrate, all at the same time, armies of us spiraling deeper and deeper into the insanity. There's a certain energy that I appreciate in November, one that is tragically absent in the other eleven months. Ah, well. Just gives me something to look forward to for next year. And I think next year, I'm raising the bar. 50k in 30 days isn't that much of a challenge for me anymore, so I'm thinking I'm going to set a personal goal of 75k in 30 days for 2010.
But first, I have to finish this story. Sam and Echo are waiting for me.
- Mood:
accomplishmentful
Anyway, I sat down to wage war earlier this afternoon, and I planned to write the autopsy scene this time around. I've read a lot in the last 2 months about what the Spanish flu virus did to a body, and there were some interesting details from the autopsies done on the flu victims that would make for interesting scenes in my own story. But it's been a long time since I've read any zombie stories, and an even longer time since I've even skimmed through The Zombie Survival Guide, which has some very detailed chapters explaining the pathology of the zombie virus and the physiology of the zombie itself. So as I'm staring at the clock, one minute before the start of the word war, I suddenly panicked, realizing I had no idea what I was going to write to distinguish the flu victim autopsy from the zombie flu victim autopsy. My scene was just going to end up as a normal 1918 H1N1 autopsy. Noooooo! I got a little freaked out because I wished I'd taken the time to re-research the zombie physiology before announcing participation in the word war.
And then I remembered that the characters performing the autopsy wouldn't really get far enough into the autopsy to be all, "hey, so this is how the corpses are able to get up and eat people!" Because you know what differentiates the flu victim autopsy from the zombie flu victim autopsy? The zombie flu victim will reanimate during the autopsy and scare the shit out of Sam and the doctor, and hilarity will ensue. The only thing I needed to know about zombie physiology is that the zombie is going to wake up and start biting. I can go all out describing what the flu did to the lungs and incorporate those interesting details I'd learned, and that's about as scientific as I need to get for that scene.
This is why over thinking is bad and why word wars are awesome.
- Mood: amused
Oh, and despite the way my body's been all traitorous this month, I'm pleased to report that I've not experienced any of the excruciating wrist and hand pain that I had for the last 2 NaNos. For two years, I had to write my novels on a small laptop balanced on my lap since I was living with my parents and didn't even have a desk (and I'm most productive when I'm alone, so the few sessions I had at the kitchen and dining room tables were frustrating what with all of the TV noise and conversation and walking around). So yeah, that led to misery for my hands and wrists. But this year, oh, this year has been glorious. Now that I've got my own house with my very own writing office, I've been blissed out at the sheer luxury of doing my writing at a desk on a real keyboard. Just one more reason why I love this house to death. My office is my favorite room, and I've learned just how valuable it is for me to have a space dedicated to my stories, a private, creative space where I can surround myself with the pictures and notes and time lines and props that inspire me. So yay for ending the month without wrist braces!
I'm still very much in love with my characters and my story, and I'm just as excited about writing it as I was on 01 November, so I'm just going to keep to my current schedule for as long as I need to actually finish the draft, and then I can maintain that schedule while I edit and rewrite and hammer out the plot holes and correct the historical and technical details that need correcting. Well, my schedule won't be quite as strict as November's-- I'm still going to shoot for a daily 2000 word goal, but I'll be a little more flexible about taking breaks to hang out with friends and stuff. After all, it's wonderful that my friends and my family let me off the hook for social engagements in November since I've got that deadline for NaNo, but I can't ignore them beyond that. So I'll have to figure out how to compromise my precious writing time with social obligations. Especially around the holidays. Wow, rereading those last two sentences really drives home the point that I'm a terrible person. Hmn. Well, I'll work on my own atrociousness later. Right now, I've got a story to write.
And despite the physical torture I've experienced this week what with the endometriosis, I'm still on target to have a nice steak dinner in Sam's honor upon reaching the 50K mark. I might not be able to do the ultra-indulgent lobster topping or get the larger filet, or dessert, but I should be able to have my Blooming Onion, filet mignon, and a glass of merlot, which, really, is all I really need in order to celebrate.
And John-- I still haven't gotten my hands on a copy of Session 9. I'm going to get it and watch it in December before I start filling in some of the descriptive setting details, so I'll let you know my reactions and thoughts once I accomplish that objective.
- Mood:
hungry
Okay, so I'm STILL sick, sonuvabitch. I got even sicker this week than I was over the weekend, and I've fallen WAY behind in my NaNo word count. Stupid flu type fatiguey stuff. Grr. I left work very early yesterday afternoon, and was running enough of a fever that I ended up leaving my keys in the lock in my back door, locking it from the inside, and setting my alarm. I zoned out for the entirety of the afternoon and evening, not really coherent enough to do anything except break my favorite coffee mug. When I went through my autopilot "check all doors and windows and appliances" routine before going to bed, I discovered my keys hanging out outside, and I panicked, opened the door, set off my alarm, and then stood in my mudroom in a frozen panic, not really being able to identify where the horrible beeping sound was coming from. Luckily there is like a 30 second grace period from the time the alarm is triggered and the calls are actually sent to the police and stuff, so I did manage to disarm the system before the cops came out, but still. Stupid delirium. I took my temperature just before crawling into bed, was confused to discover it was 96.3 degrees (apparently I'd been dead for close to two hours by that point but was too cracked out on NyQuil to notice), and proceeded to pass out. I slept for just over 17 hours straight without waking up once. I do feel marginally better right now, but I suspect I'll be slipping into another mini-coma tonight.
Anyway, I'm trying to play catch-up with my word count this weekend, and I'm beyond grateful that I'd scheduled Monday off in advance so I can continue to get healthy and get writing (though not necessarily in that order).
And as devoted as I am to my story and to my characters, I've decided on a nice little reward for myself that I can have ONLY if I cross the 50,000 word mark by 30 November. Yes, I want to finish my story because I do love it, and I really do love my characters, but because I'm so far behind now as far as word count goes due to my illness, I figure it won't hurt to have a little extra motivation to really push to complete the NaNo challenge part of the project. See, one of my characters seems to be overly fixated on steak dinners, and I've realized that almost every scene he's in includes a moment where he talks about the best way to cook a steak and/or having a steak dinner before shipping out to the trenches. Being as suggestible to food as I am, it's making me crave steak. I almost never have steak only because as awesome a cook as I am, I can never quite cook it the way I want it, and as much as I love love love Outback and Texas Roadhouse, they're just a tad too expensive for me most of the time (especially because I need to get Bloomin' Onions and merlot to go with my steak. . . .). So, long story short, I'm hungry for steak but can't really afford (or justify the expense) it the way I want it.
So my reward to myself IF I get 50,000 words done by midnight on 30 November will be permission to go out to dinner and get my damn steak and Bloomin' Onion. It will be my little tribute to Sam. So I think I'll set aside a little money each day from here on out to go towards my indulgent steak feast. I need to write about 33,000 words in the next 15 days. For every 1,000 words I finish from here on out, I will set aside $1. If I exceed my daily goal, I will set aside an extra dollar. If I don't make my daily goal, I will subtract $2 from the pot. So I have the potential to set aside more than enough cash to cover a 9 oz filet mingnon (with the horseradish crumb crust! Or, best case scenario and I save the maximum cash, I can get REALLY indulgent and get the lobster & mushroom topping), a Bloomin' Onion, a glass or two of merlot, and maybe a dessert, and the tip. Yes, I think that will make for a nice little bit of extra motivation to get caught up despite feeling like crap.
Okay, with that in mind, I'd better get writing.
- Mood: sick
So far I'm 12,000+ words into my story, and so far I'm still loving it. Nothing beats the surprise of learning about the little quirks your characters have, and some of the best surprises are learning just how funny and endearing certain characters can be. I've actually spent more time writing about Sam than Echo this week because he never fails to make me giggle. I feel bad for ignoring my main character in order to focus on her soon-to-be suitor, but he's just so inappropriate sometimes that he's managed to keep a tight hold on my attention. In fact, even though this rough draft is as wretched as any rough draft (meaning it is not at all meant to be seen by anyone other than myself), I'm fighting the compulsion to post excerpts of it to my fiction LJ just so people can meet Sam. There was actually a scene I wrote earlier this week that had me so horribly freaked out and grossed out that I had to take frequent breaks, but once Sam entered the picture, I couldn't stop giggling, even though the horror element was still very much present. He's just a neat guy, and I think I might be developing a little bit of a crush on him and his quirks.
Anyway, one little thing that annoys me and amuses me at the same time is my wordiness and the way in which I often delve into tangents. Anyone who's read any of my LJ entries knows how long it takes for me to make my point. I'll even start an entry with a little, "I'm busy so I'm going to make this short and sweet" disclaimer, but seven paragraphs and 6,000 words later, I'm not even close to saying what I'd intended to say. This is a blessing for something like NaNo, but it's annoying me at the same time. When I get an idea for a scene, I can't just jot down a note and tell myself I'll flesh it out later. No, even though I really want to just get the point down before I forget what it's supposed to be, I'll still spend about 2,000 words babbling about the other incidental things that lead up to that main point. Again, that's awesome for NaNo, but I've got so many little scenes I'm eager to write that I get a little frustrated when I get wrapped up trying to reach the main event for the one scene I've been working on for three days. I almost want to yell at my characters and tell them to stop talking and just get to it, but I don't want to offend them and piss them off. After all, this is *their* story, they should tell it the way they want to, even if I'm already thinking about the next scene that needs to be done. I know, it's a strange complaint to have, but there you go, therein lies the basis of my frustration.
Now, let's just hope it's the biggest frustration I have. May the rest of November find me as enamored with my characters and their story as I am right now. And may my body heal itself and remain more or less intact for the rest of the month. Better I be felled by illness at the start of the challenge when I still have plenty of time to play catch up than my getting sick when I have 2 days and 20,000 words to go (eep!), but still, I'd rather not have any more interruptions, if you please!
Grrr. Sam keeps talking about steak in today's scene. It's making me terribly hungry for steak, but I'm not yet well enough to venture out to the grocery store. Guess I'll just have to make do with cheddar broccoli soup and some of my garlic/sundried tomato/pecan angel hair pasta. Delicious, but not as delicious as a nice rare steak. Dammit, Sam! Look what you've done! Maybe I can convince the local Outback Steakhouse to deliver. . . .
- Mood: cheerful
Alas, those details were not to be noticed as the exhibit no longer exists.
I was crushed. I blame it on the Swine Flu and idiocy of the general public. After all, the nation's all up in arms over the damn swine flu, and since the 1918 influenza was also an H1N1 strain of the virus, I suspect the museum axed the exhibit because they don't want people to see "H1N1" and "deadliest epidemic in human history" in the same sentence this season. Feh. My ire was sparked anew moments later when we entered the gift shop. I made a beeline for a book on display (after embarrassing myself by squealing, clapping, and yelping the book's title over and over in the middle of the crowded shop), thinking I'd find a little nugget of awesomeness within its pages. But no, "The Little Book of Pandemics" devoted a single sentence to the 1918 influenza. They devoted 2 pages to the avian flu outbreak that made headlines a few years ago, but 1 measly little sentence on the Spanish flu. Come on, people, this flu killed more people in 24 weeks than the bubonic plague killed in 100 years. Give it some respect. Rrrrrrrrr.
Anyway, lack of flu exhibits aside, I still had a fabulous time at both the Mutter and Eastern State Penitentiary (second visit in two weeks! Not that I'm obsessed or anything. . .). Nothing like spending the day gawking at Victorian medical specimens and wandering urban ruins to put me in the proper mindset for my NaNo story. I spent an extra long time staring at the gangrene hand at the Mutter this time around, committing the image to memory for use in describing the zombies later. Alas, photography isn't permitted in the museum, but lucky for me, the sight of a 130+-year-old-gangrenous hand floating in a jar inches from your face isn't an easy one to forget. The jagged edges of the wrist bones jutting out from beneath the torn flesh was especially fascinating as all of the other specimens on display are clean and properly sliced and preserved. The hand wasn't so much a clean medical specimen as it was a trophy. Definitely looeds like someone just grabbed the man's hand and twisted until it came loose from his arm. Splendid. That will make for good imagery when the zombies come a calling. And for when I write about the flashbacks/dreams Echo suffers. Poor Echo. She just showed me the briefest glimpse of the trauma she'd experienced one night as a child, and I was afraid to go to sleep afterward. No wonder she ended up at Danvers, and no wonder she's so determined to tackle the zombie problem head on. Yeesh.
Now, if I can just track down a copy of Session 9 in the coming week so that I can get some awesome architectural detail for Danvers, I'll be set.
- Mood: cheerful
So the schizophrenic patient at Danvers? Not schizophrenic. Zombie. The first zombie, reanimated from a very mild strain of the virus. So he's highly functional, can even kind of talk. Because he's the first zombie, no one knows what he is. He's actually misdiagnosed as being schizophrenic. But because he travelled with soldiers from Fort Riley to Boston, he managed to infect a lot of them, and with each infection, the virus mutates at a faster rate, so when the outbreak occurs in Boston, the virus is creating full-fledged zombies.
This misdiagnosis of zombieism as schizophrenia is going to make for some really fun writing. Therein lies the dark humor. And it perfectly defines Echo's suitor's sense of off-beat humor as he's going to be the one responsible for getting Patient Zero from the naval yards to Danvers (which is when he'll meet Echo for the first time). Sam will certainly be with PZ when he dies, and he'll be there when PZ reanimates, and for all of the ensuing hilarity.
I've also realized that the zombie virus is going to very closely mimic the H1N1 virus of the 1918 flu so that the epidemic can mirror the actual Spanish Flu. But the symptoms are going to be confused for the bubonic plague bacterium (esp. since it migrated from the Far East, and remember that China had a bubonic plague epidemic at the end of the 19th century). So even though it's a zombie virus, there will still be call for the plague doctor of old. But instead of a poking stick, Echo will be carrying a trench spike around.
Sweet.
Aaaand time now to get ready for work.
- Mood: excited
That got me thinking about the nature of the war. Okay, so Rasputin's creepy mysticism stuff had something to do with the whole "dead rising from the grave" thing, and he died in 1916, and the flu was first reported in Kansas in early 1918. So that gives a plausible period of time for the bug to creep its way from Russia to the US via China (which was but a generation past recovering from its own deadly bout with the bubonic plague). That can be how the bubonic plague mutates. Rasputin's up to some shady mystical no-goodnicky stuff, he's assassinated, some remnants of his experimentation survives and makes its way east. It binds with the bubonic plague bacterium, then continues to make its way east. Shit, I just realized the picture of the guy (in my character/research notebook) who is going to be the asylum patient is of Asian descent. Okay, so that just makes this little brainstorm a little more plausible. But routing back to the original intent of this paragraph (before I just started to run with the tangents), the Great War is already in full swing by this point, for all of the actual historical reasons it did in real life. But in 1918, the pandemic will still strike-- it will just be the Black Phoenix plague instead of the Spanish Flu. And because it kills young and healthy people (like the flu did) but then revives the corpses to spread the plague worldwide, the nature of the War is going to have to shift. But that's all incidental. The story itself is the plague and the people trying to stop it, not the war against the zombies. The zombies are just incidenal, and the war is very much background noise.
I'm wondering now if Echo is also a patient at the asylum when the story starts. She must be either a patient or a nurse. She has to have that connection with the schizophrenic character (who is apparently an Asian immigrant who somehow managed to be a carrier for the plague without succumbing himself). AND it would provide enough background/training/medical familiarity for her to become a plausible "plague doctor."
All right, so I think I have a little more of the plot and the setting firmed up. I should probably stop babbling about it. I don't want to run out of energy before I start writing this story.
In related news, I found a fabulous crow half-mask at the PA Ren Faire yesterday. It's creepy and gorgeous and so very perfect for my steampunkish plague doctor costume. I tried it on with my dress, new underbust corset, boots, and cloak, and I damn near burst my own eardrums from squealing with delight. I just need to make/find an appropriate surgical-style mask (my beaked face mask only covers the top half of my face; no self-respecting plague doctor would dare step out without something covering their nostrils and mouth...). I'm very glad now that I decided to abandon the plague doctor idea last year-- that incarnation of the costume would have been an embarassment in comparison to my current Echo MacKenzie: Zombie Plague Doctor ensemble. Guess I just needed to know the character before I could assemble the costume. I like this character very much. This is the first time I'm genuinely psyched to write a story that isn't even remotely connected to the Fox/Max universe.
Yeah, most of the posts for the next month and a half will be NaNo-centric.
I need a title. I can never come up with titles. NONE of my large projects have anything that even remotely resemble titles. Feh.
And thus ends another public brainstorming session. Thankfully I only do these once a year. Gods bless NaNoWriMo.
- Mood:
curious
I've dropped off the radar for the last few weeks because I've spent most of my time online doing research for this year's novel. I've been fascinated by plague doctors for quite some time, and I've finally met a character who is a self-described post-apocalyptic plague doctor. Remember my longing to be such a creature for Halloween last year? Well, I'm going to be her this year. Nothing will get me uber psyched to start NaNo '09 than dressing up like my main character at Drac's Ball the night before.
I'm a character writer, so I don't have much by way of plot yet. I've got an understanding of the story, and the more I learn through my research, the more I know what's going to happen and who's going to be involved. It's going to be a plague story: it's 1916, the bubonic plague has evolved to a scary new strain wherein the victims' corpses are reanimated. It's going to be something of a steampunk zombie story, but the focus is going to be more on the outbreak of the plague itself than the zombies. The zombies are just incidental. I'm way more interested in pandemics and plagues and WW1 and such. So I've spent the last few weeks devouring info on the Black Death and the 3 different forms of the plague and collecting awesomely creepy pictures of plague doctors. Now I've moved on to studing the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918 so I can learn about medical technology/practice at the time as well as how governments and authorities responded to the spreading epidemic. Later I'll research the climate leading up to WW1 so I can help to reshape the Great War into the War That Really Did End All Wars as the mutated plague spreads worldwide and decimates human populations. But that's all going to be incidental. The story itself will really focus on my little steampunky plague doctor and her familial connections with the outbreak and her attempts to make things right. And just for fun, I think Rasputin's going to have something to do with it, even though he'll be dead by the time my story starts. But really, what better way to overlap the supernatural with the medical by twining the ridiculous assassination story of the Mad Monk into the origins of the new bubonic plage? (I may refer to this new strain as the Black Phoenix plague, as kind of an unoriginal play on "Black Death" and the whole unholy resurrection aspect. Meh).
Of course, it kind of sucks reading about the Spanish flu at the beginning of flu season. It's even less fun to read about when the current flu season is full of Swine Flu Panic. And to really make the experience special, I am now sick myself. THANKFULLY I'm not even remotely fluish. Just the standard sinus infection that I get every year at this time. But still, it has kind of taken the joy out of the research.
And on that note, I'm going to down some NyQuil and go back to sleep before my headache drives me past the brink of insanity.
- Mood: sick
I'll admit, yesterday was the the kind of day that makes you question your faith. It was the kind of agony that makes you doubt that there is anyone out there, that makes you wonder what the point is, convinces you that there is no point. And some of that carried over into today. But again, I survived, I did what I do best and I soldiered on, trusting that there would be some solace eventually.
Right now, I'm enjoying that solace. It's raining. It's a hard, heavy, steady rain, and it sounds extraordinary. I'm sitting in my little red study, finishing a half glass of zinfandel while anticipating the heavy sweet velvet of the bottle of Concord that waits. My balcony door is open so that I can listen to the rain, smell the wet earth and the cold water, feel the cool breeze. One of my neighbors is also on his balcony. I can't see him, not from my secluded nook, but I can hear him; he plays guitar, and he plays it well. I can hear him strumming Spanish songs through the rain. I can hear laughter as yet another neighbor sits outside with her friends.
This is a perfect night. I had a wretched week, but I've come through it, and now I can enjoy these moments. I can sip my wine, listen to the rain and to the music, and I can write. This is when my gods are strongest, this is when everything falls perfectly into place and when everything makes perfect sense. This is when I understand the purpose of the rest of it.
My faith was questioned, but it was not broken.
Hail to the Aesir. Hail to the rain and to the wine and to the stories.
- Mood: pure bliss
Apologies for some of the mess, I decided to test my phone's camera in the midst of cleaning, so some stuff is shuffled around and looking unkempt. I'm a sucker for keeping the place clean; I've actually become obsessed with hardwood floor cleaners since my living room/dining room/kitchen are all hardwood (I highly recommend Method's Hardwood Floor cleaner-- not only shines it up nicely without leaving any film or buildup, but it makes the house smell like almond oil. Divine!). I'm still learning how to maintain the plantlife outside-- I need to weed the little flowerbed thing out front, but I've become quite adept at keeping the courtyard tidy (and my tomato plant is massive! I really should get out there and snap some pics of my tomatoes. . .).
Exciting, yeah? Eh, later I'll tell you all about the adventures Maureen and I had last night when we went out with the Blondentourage last night at some dive in Pensyltucky to make up for this house blather. I learned some valuable lessons last night (apparently having an ultrasound installed in your lower back will make all phone calls sound like fax transmissions). The crazy drunk lady was even generous enough to demonstrate what said fax transmissions sounded like as her male companion leered at me and chanted, "I like the goth girls, I like when you dress all in black, yeah, I like that dark gothic look, yeah." My customer service skills really came in handy since they were seated right next to me and both directing their babbling right at me while I kept a perfectly straight face and even feigned a sympathetic interest in the human fax machine demonstration. Though I disintegrated into a giggling, screaming maniac later in the night when the guy tried to sit at our table again, and I practically dove behind Maureen to hide behind her, because I'm obviously really well-adjusted in social situations. And that was really just the beginning of the night's madness. I have the feeling we'll be giggling about this for years to come, which is exactly how it should be.
Anyway, as usual I've taken to rambling way off topic. Here's my house. 'Bye!
 |
| home |
- Mood: cheerful
( A government bureau saves the day. Believe it. . . OR NOT! )
Wow. A city bureau actually responded immediately and cheerfully. And on a Sunday night of all times. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
- Mood: surprised
So yay for hosting large (to me, anyway) parties where there's enough space for everyone to hang out comfortably, etc. I enjoy hosting things and smothering people with my hospitality, so I'm thrilled to have the opportunity to do so now whenever I damn well please.
This morning, I started the dishwasher (yes, I served food on paper plates, but ALL of my glassware was used at some point or another. I'm the kind of snob who refuses to serve my guests wine or cocktails in plastic cups, even it it means I have to actually wash up after the fact) and trotted on down to the basement to put my board games away. While down there, I heard the unmistakable drip-drip-drip of a leaky pipe. Feh. The place where the main water line feeds into the water meter has sprung a rather annoying leak. Thankfully, it seems to be new-- the puddle had spread to the drywall which separates the water boiler and furnace from the finished portion of the basement, but the drywall wasn't wet, and everything smelled clean-- not even the hint of mildew or murk could be detected. So I grabbed a few old towels and a bucket, and now I get to hie myself off to Home Depot to find a solution to tide things over until I get a plumber out here.
Awww, shit, and I just this moment looked up and saw a crack near the dining room ceiling that I've never noticed before. I'll have to look at my home inspection report later to see if it's something that had been there before or if it's fresh and new. Either way, I'll have to get that repaired, too. Haha, figures.
The party was fun, but now I've got to be all responsible and take care of these repairs. But I'm not complaining-- after the experience I had renting a few years ago, I'm just damn glad that I can just go ahead and get this shit fixed now, on my terms, without begging and waiting and threatening and waiting and praying and waiting and having nervous breakdowns and waiting and just giving up on the apartment complex's maintanance staff once and for all. I like this whole, "hey, there's a problem, let me get on that" thing way more than the "hey, there's a problem, I hope someone's around at the rental office and I hope there aren't too many other people on the fix-it list ahead of me" thing. So I guess this can't really be counted as a "low" of home ownership. But it's certainly not quite as fun as hosting game night.
- Mood: chipper
Being as fascinated by death culture and by funerary & mourning customs as I am, I've long harbored a certain skittery awe of memento mori pictures (I'm amazed by them, but there are more than a few which actually frighten me. Take, for instance, the little girl lying in state, open eyes staring directly into the camera in the link above. Guess what I'll be thinking of as I try to fall asleep tonight? Oh, dear. . .). And looking at those 3D ultrasounds (on cakes? Really?!) unnerved me until I realized why they seemed so familiar. Maybe it's the sepia hue, maybe it's the not-quite-right shape and gravity of the facial features, maybe it's the sense of intruding on a moment and a state which is not meant to be viewed in this way. . . but I'll be damned if I ever look at one without thinking of the other from now on.
Remind me to stick with the plain, undecorated Carvel cake for my birthday/housewarming/game night tomorrow.
- Mood:
contemplative
I think it's time I join them once again. While I've always been conscious of my gods and have maintained my daily rituals without fail for the last 7 years, I'm experiencing a reawakening of sorts for the want of community. I blame this on
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sixxyvonevil and maxmurder_pa to an extent-- they are the first non-familial heathens I've met in the flesh, and count myself to be extremely fortunate to have such close friends who percieve the world the way I do, who conduct themselves with the same values as my own, and who know and cherish the Northern gods. It's nice to have people in my life who wear the hammer and the valknut. Before them, the only other person I knew to wear those symbols was my father. So it's unbelievably comforting to have friends who know and understand, and it's sparked within me a desire to once again try and reach out to the larger heathen community.Perhaps I may even be able to attend future TMs now that I'm all growed up with an income and heathen friends with whom I can travel.
I'd also been interested in the clergy program when I was a member back in college. Perhaps I can look into that with serious intent now. I would like very much to be part of a kindred in the Lehigh Valley, and if none exists, I'd be more than happy to create one and take on the responsibilities which it would entail.
Mmmm, more on which to mull and ponder, along with my application to become a freelance writer for Suite101. Of course, the two could be linked as I am applying to write about religion and spirituality on that site.
Mull mull mull. I'll have to look into the Troth clergy program after rejoining, which I shall do as soon as I post this entry. I'm long overdue for this.
- Mood: refreshed
So I'm leaning more towards Suite101 now. Methinks I'd have more fun and better results if I get to write a variety of articles without having to tie them in to the Allentown community. . .
The last 24 hours have certainly been fascinating. Hooray for learning about some of the opportunities available to a lazy writer who wants to assert herself a bit more and get used to writing for publication on a regular basis, yeah? I'm not so concerned with making money off of my writing just yet. Right now, it's more about getting back into the habit of writing on a daily basis and learning to write with the intent of letting people read the end result (I must stop hoarding my work and sheilding it from prying eyes!).
Which reminds me, I need to locate my latest copy of "The Writer" magazine so I can make a list of the fiction writing contests that sound interesting. Now that I'm settled in and have my office, I can start prepping and submitting fiction to contests just for the hell of it.
- Mood: contemplative
Or I could be a Vampire Examiner and include history and folklore along with the standard reviews and geekery.
Or I could see how they feel about just a general Allentown Undead Examiner and cover both zombies AND vampires. That way I can indulge in my real-life zombie mania AND my fascination with shroud eaters and mythology.
But I'll open this up to a general survey: What kinds of non-fiction articles do you think I should write? In other words, is there a certain topic that you'd be eager to read about if you knew *I* was the one writing about it? I'm posing this question to everyone just so I can figure out what kind of audience I might have (no sense in writing about Odhinnism if no one's going to read it!).
Mmmm, the more I think about it, the more I want to be the official Undead Examiner. That will look fabulous on my resume!
- Mood:
determined
Now that that's out of the way, I think I've found a potentially interesting freelancing opportunity. Now that I'm settled into my house and have my office set up, I've started to look for part time writing and/or copyediting gigs to supplement my full time customer service job. I think I've found just the thing, too.
Has anyone heard of/browsed Examiner.com? Wouldn't you know it, Allentown is one of the cities featured and looking for writers. If I pick an area of expertise and submit at least 4 articles per week, I might be able to get some exposure, practice, and experience while making a little extra cash on the side. Based on the job listing, this is precisely what I'm looking for. It's a part time jaunt, designed for people who are full time students or holding down full time jobs. As such, it allows its contributors to set their own pace, topics, schedules, etc. Pay is based on visitors to your articles and the volume you generate.
I'm going to marinate on this for a bit and write a few sample articles. Let's see if I can pin down a category that will appeal to me in the long run. Naturally, the first topic that jumped to mind was Religion and Spirituality. There aren't any articles in the Allentown listings about heathenism/Asatru/Odhinnism. So that might be the natural place for me to take the plunge.
Of course, if I could get a zombie category started, that would be superb. But this should be taken one step at a time, I'm sure. But then again, maybe I could be the Zombie Examiner under "Hobbies" or "Home & Living" ("6 Budget-Conscious Ways to Zombie-Proof Your Home").
Food & Drink also appeals to me, but while I love to cook and harbor an overly enthusiastic passion for food, I'm not sure I'd be a great food writer.
Hmn. I should get involved in the Arts & Entertainment category as well so that I can become Allentown's NaNoWriMo Examiner come November. Hell, screw the November limit, I'm obsessed with NaNo year-round, so I should consider that as an area of expertise.
Mmmm, lots of areas to consider, lots of ideas brewing. Yes, this week will find me reading everything in the Examiner.com A&E and R&S categories to get a feel for the site's style and then dashing out some practice articles, indeed. Perhaps I'll post them to
ardeal_foxtale to gauge interest and feedback. In other news, my cat is passed out on the back of the couch with her tongue sticking out. D'awwwww.
- Mood: intrigued
I hear them again, right now, as I type. I can tell from where I sit that they're not coming from my property, but they are close enough that I can feel little vibrations with each strike. Those flesh-eaters are getting downright feisty. And in broad daylight, too!
Pardon me while I go investigate.
- Mood: predatory
Naturally, I love it. I hope it scars. I can't wait to tell people that I have a hit out on me (
dmann88 feeling a little threatened before the Guacamole Cage Match, perhaps?). My valknut pendant keeps getting stuck on the scabby bits. You're welcome for that mental image. In other news, I nearly had a berserker fit last night when I couldn't stop the incessant chirping of the smoke detector in the guest room. The backup battery was dead or dying, and because the whole damn thing is actually hardwired, I couldn't just take it down and turn it off until I could buy batteries. So I had to listen to it squak and bleat once a minute, every minute, ALL BLOODY NIGHT. The acoustics in this house are just bizarre, I've noticed. It's incredibly well insulated, so I can't hear my neighbors on either side, and I hardly hear any street noise. I can barely even hear the doorbell if I'm upstairs (much to the frustration of my friends). But I could hear the chirping of that godforsaken smoke detector all the way down in my living room.
The blasted thing is in the back bedroom on the third floor. I could hear it from the front room on the first floor.
Every. Goddamn. Chirp. Every. Goddamn. Minute.
All. Night. Long.
Even with the guest room door closed, the AC compressor running, the door to the 2nd floor hallway closed, my bedroom door closed most of the way, and my white noise air filter junk thing running at high speed, I COULD STILL HEAR THE CHIRPING. ::twitch::
It was a long night.
So I bought a bulk pack of 9Vs today. There're 8 or 9 smoke detectors in this house, and I will NOT be caught off guard again.
I lugged one of the large and heavy dining room chairs (gorgeous cherrywood pub chairs-- just barely tall enough for me to reach the detector on my 9 foot ceiling) up 2 flights of stairs (the second flight being charmingly steep and narrow), balanced on my tippy toes to change out the battery, and hauled the large and heavy pub chair back down the 2 flights of stairs (did I mention how charming those steep, narrow stairs are? They're especially enjoyable when an assassin cat is running around, waiting to fulfil her contract. . .). Mission accomplished.
When I went back up to the third floor to retrieve the dead battery, I froze in the hallway. For there, watching me from the depths of the library, was a ladder.
Yeah, I forgot about the 7 foot ladder hanging out in the library, waiting for me to finish the painting in there.
But the chirping stopped! I would have relished the unbroken silence, but there was no such silence. I was too busy laughing hysterically at the ladder.
Thus are the adventures I've been having this week.
- Mood: cheerful
Being stupid enough to twist something in my back that shouldn't be twisted while trying to crack my spine: yeah, I have no right to complain.
Going to work while taking muscle relaxers and pain meds: not the brightest move.
Living in a house where pizza delivery is an option for nights when I just don't have it in me to cook: A beautiful luxury. On so many levels. I like this urban living thing.
My cat leaping onto my shoulders and falling, saving herself by lodging her claws into the flesh of my back right at the very moment I start to leave a "happy birthday" voicemail for my mother: not fun for me, but sure to provide precious memories for my mom when she checks her messages.
- Mood: exhausted
Naturally, the logical conclusion to which I jumped was, "Oh shit, the zombies are trying to break out." And then I caught myself because I remembered I don't have zombies yet. So I thought maybe there were zombies trying to break *in* to the baker's alley. At which point I got angry (and a little scared, I'll admit), because I don't have the zombie warning signs yet, ergo I'm not legally sanctioned to have zombies in the containment room at the moment, and the last thing I want is to be fined and have my zombie hoarding privileges revoked.
As I was heading out to shoo the zombies away from the Bilco door, I realized the noise wasn't coming from my property. So I stopped caring, because if zombies are trying to break in elsewhere, it's not my problem.
True story.
- Mood: predatory
He started at reception. At goddamn miserable concrete reception, where I'd begun to second-guess my life decisions 2 hours after arriving, despite the fact I'm an Army brat who wanted to return home to the world where I felt the most comfortable. I knew better than most what I was getting myself into, and reception is designed to be so damn awful that even I was succumbing to the sheer hell of it in a fairly short period of time. And that's where Colbert started out, right in front of the very same building where I and my company had been herded and sorted and screamed at for hours on end. And then they had shots from the Fit to Win Endurance Course (which happens to be the course where I fell and re-fractured my spine) and Victory Tower. Fuck, I was there, I was on those courses, I was at that reception unit. It's just so weird to see it on TV as part of a skit. And they smoked him, they fucking smoked him, and I screamed when he did the scissor kicks, and so did the majority of the military audience at the auditorium in Iraq.
Yeah, I'm feeling a little nostalgic and sentimental right now. It's been a while since I've seen any pics or shots of Jackson. And yet there he was, on the very courses which I myself had run, not so long ago. Damn.
- Mood: amused
::trying not to panic at the thought of my ramblings of the last 6+ years of my life vanishing for no good reason::
- Mood:
nervous
- 2.5 lbs of chicken cutlets for $7.00
- 1 lb of garlic sausage for $3.00
- 1 lb of bratwurst for $3.00
- 1 lb of tomatoes for $1.50
- 1 dozen bagels for $4.00
- 1 pint of new red potatoes for $2.00
- 1 large bag of baby spinach for $1.75
- 4 bunches of scallions for $1.50
- 1 bunch of asparagus for $1.25
- 1 bunch of broccoli for $1.50
- 1 pint of plums for $2.00
- 1 pint of nectarines for $2.00
- 1 quart of strawberries for $3.00
- 1/2 lb of very fresh mozzarella for $2.50
- 3.5 oz yellow curry for $1.75
Ahh, so much better than Wegman's or Giant.
After seeing some of the burger patties for sale at the one butcher stand, I've decided that I need to buy a grill this summer. They've got burgers mixed with mozzarella, red peppers, sun-dried tomatoes, basil, etc. And if you hit that stand near the end of the day, you can get a few pounds of those burgers for only a few bucks. I'm so happy I could cry. This is such a dream come true for one as food-obsessed as myself.
- Mood:
geeky
Eeeeeeee, it doesn't help that the dress is less than $50 (which means I'd normally snap it up without agonizing) and it's a very limited item (only 12 available? TEASE!), so I have to make a decision very quickly.
Well, I've already made my decision.
I just need to figure out which is worse: being weak and buying this dress a few days after making my 1st mortgage payment ever when I should be conserving funds, or pining away over a supremely awesome and affordable dress that would be so fun for summer and fall, for weekends and Drac's Ball... oh my god, I love the dress so much I'm writing unintentional poetry about it. But while it's currently sitting in the shopping cart, I have not yet hit the checkout button. Rawr.
Maybe I should just swear off of LJ until I've decided to let myself buy stuff for myself instead of for my house. Stupid steampunk communities and their stupid posts showing stupid pictures of their awesome sale stuff.
- Mood: guilty
- I am now officially settled into my house for real now that Verizon finally came out and fixed my phone line. So now I get to use my own wireless connection and not
steal the internethop onto the local unsecured network. I'm greedy, so my network is locked tight.
- I went nuts at the Farmer's Market yesterday and bought a few pounds of produce. Maybe it was because I was overly excited to have fresh food, maybe it was because I was a panicky, frazzled mess, but I became a woman possessed and spent $20+ on fruit and veggies in about 3 minutes flat. That's a lot of produce. But it makes for a lot of home cooked meals, at long last!
- As such, I'm quite eager for dinner tonight. Spicy Thai chicken, forbidden rice, and steamed asparagus finished with garlic bernaise. Kind of an eclectic menu, but I've been hungry for each of those things separately, and am just drunk with glee at present.
- My grandfather is the master of growing tomatoes, and he's got the best dirt EVER for doing just that. He brought a few buckets of his dirt out today for my container garden, which is home now to my very own German Johnson tomato plant. I know nothing about gardening or keeping plants alive, so this ought to be interesting.
- Mina is literally drooling at the sight of the birds hanging out on my balcony right now. This is equal parts hilarious and horrifying. I'm fighting the urge to tie a towel around her neck to catch the drool. Yick.
- I should do something productive like laundry and unpacking, but I'm so blissed out in my office right now that I can't bring myself to leave this room.
- In the last two weeks, I've had more social engagements than I've had in the last two years combined. I definitely like living closer to civilization and to the friends who live in said civilization.
- This is an excruciatingly boring update, but I'm mellow and happy and still have the big, dopey grin plastered to my face, so I'll not apologize.
- All of the signs pictured will be obtained for my basement once I have money for frivolous spending. I'm being overly cautious at present (well, other than the Farmer's Market spree) until I see what my monthly expenses really look like. I don't like having to guess at what my electric and gas and water bills will look like. So until I see some actual numbers, I'm just going to have to be all miserly and dream of the day when I can buy these safety signs.
- Mood: peaceful
- I'm ridiculously tired and so I'm copping out and doing a bullet-point update again. Not like it will do anything to curb my rambliness, though. Hmn.
- So I've been living in my very own Victorian row home for over a week now, and the honeymoon is still going strong. I STILL wander around aimlessly, drifting from room to room with a big dopey grin on my face.
- Now that the humidity has settled in hard and heavy, I'm even more grateful for my central AC than ever. I'm playing it super conservative, though, until I get my first electric bill and get a better idea of what my budget will look like. But still, conservative AC is leagues better than no AC at all. And the central air is more energy efficient than the window units. So yay for that.
- I think tonight I'm going to activate the Level 3 Armed option for my security system. This is the one I've been afraid of what with the motion sensors and all. I need to remember to carry the key fob control upstairs with me so that I can disarm it tomorrow morning before going downstairs. I just pray that the pet filter doohickey works right so that Mina doesn't trip the alarm.
- Neck is all better. Yay! Other guy's insurance company finally called me. Yay! I'm going to have to make time next weekend to get an estimate for my car. Boo!
- Hooray for Mayfair weekend! I went last night, and will be attending again tomorrow. It's not so much the fair itself that I enjoy as it is the tent food served on sticks. There's nothing better than ambling along with a cup of wine in one hand and chicken-on-a-stick or chocolate-covered-strawberries-on-a-stic
k or s'mores-on-a-stick in the other. Oh, and funnel cake. And roasted corn on the cob with cajun seasoning. And ice cream. And sweet potato fries. And Karl Ehmer's bratwurst and potato pancakes. So much for the weight off contest at work. Ha! - The repair tech who was supposed to be out to fix my phone and DSL lines was a no-show not once, but twice. Motherfucker. I found an unsecured wireless network in my neighborhood and after 8 full days of not having internet access and being left hanging TWICE by Verizon techs, I beat my conscience into submission and am currently logged in on a neighbor's network. This is only temporary. I'm giving Verizon one last chance to come out and fix my wiring or jacks or whatever the hell is preventing the dial tone from the service box from reaching the inside of my house. If they decide to skip their repair appointment with me a third time, I'm cancelling and trying my luck elsewhere.
- Much to my surprise, Mina has adjusted to city life much faster than I'd anticipated. She's quite skittish, and she would panic every time the phone rang at my parents' house. Here, she's not so fond of the doorbell (but then again, that makes ME jump, too), but she couldn't care less about the sirens (there's a hospital at the end of our block) or the trucks or the motorcycles. What a relief; I was so worried that she'd be miserable here despite the dozens of windows with wide comfy sills offering stellar views of grapefruit-sized birds and rabbit-sized squirrels. She was upset with the new surroundings for all of 30 minutes on the first day. By the time I went to bed that night, she was pouncing around corners and sprawling out on top of the kitchen cabinets and strutting about all proud-like. And she's made it amply clear that the arm chair in the living room is hers and I'm not to sit there under any circumstances. We'll see about that.
- I'm training a new credit memo rep at work. That brings the PA CM department up to 4 people total. Which means I'm more than ready to secede from my current team and start my own, haha! For about 2 years now my supervisor has said she'd like me to become the CM team lead. It will likely never happen, but that won't stop me from drawing up my plans for a (non?)bloody coup. Heh.
- I'm crushing hard on someone whom I've only seen once. It's been a long, long time since I've had an actual crush on someone, and this is the first time ever that I've been so girly & stupid over someone whom I've never even met. It's kind of weird, I'll be honest with you. I'm the kind of person who develops crushes after getting to know someone-- I'm not a believer in love at first sight, not one bit. So for me to be all twitterpated over someone I saw in the parking lot at the box depot one day is very strange indeed. But Maureen works with him, and she vouches for his character and personality, and so I'm more than a little intrigued. It's been so long since I've felt like this that I've forgotten how fun crushes can be. I'm amused. And dare I admit that I'm hopeful?
- As I mentioned at the start of this post, I'm exhausted. Good night.
- Mood: sleepy
- I'm all moved in to my new house, and I'm exhausted and exhilherated and more in love with that house than ever before.
- Everything is set up except for my internet access since there seems to be a problem with the wiring or some such nonsense in the house. I'm getting a connectivity signal from the Verizon box outside, but all of the jacks inside are dead. A Verizon tech should be out tomorrow night to fix this. I absolutely must try and refrain from mentioning the Zombie Containment Room if he has to go in the basement for any reason. So far, every single utilities person who has come to the house has heard me blurt out something about it, and I really, really need to stop that. Yes, the door leading out to the Baker's Alley is unusual and awesome, and yes, everyone who sees it comments on it and asks where it leads to. I can tell my friends that it leads to the Zombie Containment Room. I cannot tell perfect strangers that it's safe because the zombies have not yet been delivered.
- My neck is considerably better, but it's still a bit stiff and sore. Stupid whiplash. I have yet to hear from the other guy's insurance company. I'm sending one of my agents on their tail today.
- Speaking of agents, I'm over my fear of my security system and now get a kick out of going to my secret hidden panel and punching in codes. It really appeals to my inner assassin. I still don't trust the Level 3 security though; I'm convinced that Mina is going to set off the motion detector. Yes, most motion detectors are set to be triggered by 40 lbs or more, but I'm not willing to take my chances just yet. This weekend, I'll give it a shot.
- Allentown wildlife is quite steroidal. I saw a squirrel in the neighbor's yard which I mistook for a rabbit at first, and there was a brown dove on my balcony that was roughly the size of a grapefruit. Mina is SO not allowed outside under any circumstances. Hell, I'M not sure *I* want to go outside with such massive rodents afoot! Screw gangs and crime rates-- is anyone keeping tabs on the beasties roaming the alleys?
- I have to go punch in for work and be a good little worker bee so I can earn a paycheck to pay my mortgage. Ha!
- Mood: happy
Only made it for 2 hours today. Even with the pain meds & muscle relaxers, I was up half the night from pain & discomfort. Once I got permission to leave work, I went to my car and cried for a good 20 minutes. I'm just so frustrated & so tired of always having to leave work because of my stupid defective body. Fractured vertebrae, endometriosis, melanoma, aftermath of being hit at a red light on top of pre-existing spinal injuries. I know that I really do have it so much better than most people, but still, can I please catch a fucking break medically? Can I just go to work every day & stay there like a normal person? Goddamn, I'm getting tired of this.
I need to focus on the good things. I finally have my Victorian row home, I'm moving into it on Thursday, I have an incredible family & incredible friends. I have a good job and I get to work with people whom I adore. I got to meet my idol and have my picture taken with him. I have the best car ever, and she sustained only minor cosmetic damage in the collision. Things are good. I can stop crying about my stupid defective body any time now.
Off to take a full muscle relaxer. The half pill doses I've been taking don't seem to have any effect. The pain meds are certainly taking their usual toll on my emotions. Fuckers. I really hate crying. Grrrrr.
Posted via LiveJournal.app.
____
"Various sources mention it could be named after the noise foxes make while mating. ('It's the sound you get when you rub two foxes together.')[citation needed]".
No, Wikifur, keep that goddamned citation to yourself.____
Again: "It's the sound you get when you rub two foxes together."
Priceless.
Horrifying. But priceless.
I wonder how one goes about rubbing foxes against one another. Not that I want to try it myself as I'm a bit unsettled by the concept (all facets of said concept, to be sure). But then again, I've often said that I just want to rub my cheek against the top of a fox's head because they look so soft. If me-Fox pets a fox-fox, will that sound be made? I think I just freaked myself out. Oh, I think I need to give in to the muscly-relaxy things and go to sleep.
- Mood: confused
I took some Motrin last night before bed to try and offset what I thought was the subtle onset of psychosomatic whiplash. Woke up this morning in a world of hellacious pain. My neck was incredibly stiff, and a sharp, persistent ache spread across the back of my neck, my shoulders, and down between my shoulder blades. Ick. So what did I do? I popped some more Motrin and went to work. 'Cuz I'm smart. S-M-R-T.
Two and a half hours later, I was on my way back home. Holy shit, that was a stupid idea to try to go about my normal daily routine. Ow ow ow ow ow. I'm notorious for not going to the doctor unless I ABSOLUTELY have to, and I'm even more stubborn about leaving work/taking a sick day unless I REALLY TRULY ABSOLUTELY have to. An hour and a half after arriving at work, I practically had my doctor's office on the phone as I emailed an early-leave request to my supervisor. Good god, my neck and shoulders were so tense and stiff and the pain was so intense that I was scared into making a doctor's appointment before I'd even finished my morning coffee. Plus, I really need to make sure I'll be in decent condition for the big move on Thursday. Double plus, as
mycorethoughts reminded me, with my history of back problems, I really should see the doc just to be safe. So yeah, I have whiplash. The doc gave me muscle relaxers, so I'm going to pop the 2nd half of my first dose now and go to bed. Fingers crossed that I'm recovered enough tomorrow to go back to work and STAY there. It burns me up that I had to count today's early leave as an "unexcused absence," even with a doctor's note to validate my absence. Grrr grrr grrr, I get rear ended (while stopped at a red light!! WTF?!) and even though I tried to be a good employee and went to work despite waking up with whiplash, I'm getting a big red mark on my record for leaving before 5 hours. Yup, sounds like Mercury is still in retrograde. Fucker.
I'm still amazed at how little damage was done to my GLI. Seriously, the car that smacked into me was pretty messed up, but my car absorbed the shock so well that I don't even have any bruising. Just the whiplash. And as annoyed and as uncomfortable as I am, when I think of the condition of the other car after the fact, I keep marvelling at how it really could have been so much worse. I love my Jetta. I love her even more now than I did before. She's a damn good car, and resiliant as all hell. I'm glad that she'll have her very own little ivy-covered garage in a few days.
And now I'm getting weirdly weepy-eyed & sentimental about my car (moreso than usual, that is), so I think the muscle relaxers are kicking in full force. G'night, all.
(but yay, in 72 hours, I'll be able to update from my new house!)
- Mood: sore
Yeah, I got rear ended at a red light. Motherfucker.
Now, you're all aware of the unhealthy attachment I have to my car. I bought my Jetta GLI with my Army pay, and for 4.5 years, she has my uber baby. I just got her paid off 3 weeks ago, and I just received the title last week. I was outraged a few years back when a long, deep scratch showed up in the back door on the driver's side, and frantic last year when I smashed the rear bumper in a pile of patio stones which had mysteriously been stacked right behind my car in the driveway by some dipshit masons. (I'm STILL angry about that-- they were about 1.5 feet behind my car, and behind the passenger side, and they hadn't been there the night before. They weren't visible when I approached the car from the driver's side, front, nor were they stacked high enough to be visible in any of the mirrors. When I threw my car into reverse and instantly met resistance at the bumper, I thought the neighbor's dog had run over behind me, and I was nearly sick with fear until I saw the pile of stones scattered behind my cracked bumper. Grrrrrr.) So when I got rear-ended today, I braced myself for the worst. Especially because the other car bounced off of my bumper and drifted into the lane beside me, so when I got out of my car and saw that their passenger-side front end was just a shade below being FUBARed, I couldn't decide if I wanted to murder someone or rip my own heart out.
Now, since the day I got my GLI, I've had a Mjollnir pendant hanging from the rear view mirror. Thorr was certainly looking out for me today; the damage to my baby is minimal (at least it's minimal to the naked eye. I've got to bring it in to make sure nothing important was messed up). There's a number of red scratches across the center of the bumper, and a thin crack along the top of the bumper, but really, it's nothing too bad. And I even joked (to myself) that it's a good thing the car which hit me was red, because the red paint matches the GLI badge on the back of my car. It could have been worse-- I could have been hit by a yellow or a teal car or something. At least the damage is color coordinated. Thank the gods for small miracles, yeah? Ugh.
We moved off the road & exchanged info and whatnot. I'm calling my insurance agent tomorrow for instructions & a heads up, and we'll wait for info from the other guy's insurance company. Then I'll go get a new bumper on their dime (yay, I'll no longer have to feel sick to my stomach every time I look at it and see the damage the patio stones had done!).
I'm fine, as far as I know. I'm still amazed that I handled it as well as I did. The other guy was freaked the fuck out (his wife/girlfriend had been driving, and he was flipping out on her, and worried that I was going to flip out on them), but I was pretty calm and took control of the situation. First thing I did before I even looked at my car was ask them if they were okay, and when I saw my bumper and saw the damage was next to nothing (as far as I could see, and especially compared to THEIR car), I took a deep breath and said, "It's okay, it's not that bad, let's move over there and exchange insurance info." If you have to rear-end someone, I'm probably the nicest person to hit, so long as the damage isn't too bad. I was really more concerned that there was no injury to any of us than to the cars, and I tried to reassure them that it was going to be okay, that this is what insurance is for (I think the guy was afraid I'd be a raving lunatic who wanted to sue, and even though I don't know how it's fucking possible todrive right the fuck into a car at a fucking red light, I also know that it could have been so much worse, and since he had insurance, I was thinking, "Yay, new bumper!"). So I lucked out in that there were no injuries and that my precious beloved GLI just has some complimentary red scratches in the back. They lucked out that I keep calm and clear-headed when my adrenaline is surging and that I'm not the kind to fly off the handle or get nasty. But still, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
As I told Maureen, I'm not hurt, but of course I'm so damn achy and sore from moving that I could very well be injured and not even know it, haha. Yeah, my neck is a little tight, but I think that could be psychosomatic. I'll probably feel it a bit more tomorrow, but really, it wasn't a huge impact. Meh.
Anyway, official move-in date is Thursday, 14 May. Just a few more days, and I'll be all settled into my new house, with its new doorbell button and its new kitchen sink stoppers. Fingers crossed that I get my GLI's rear bumper replaced quckly and without hassle.
Oy, what a month.
- Mood: sore
A random smear of blood showed up on the wall by the stairs at some point yesterday. I dedicate that house to Odhinn.
While unpacking some old notebooks yesterday, I found the little brown book that had served as my English journal in 4th grade. It was a standard issue military "blue book" style notebook, and it contains all of my creative writing assignments (and illustrations) from that school year. Yes, I still have in my possession the very first stories I EVER wrote. I flipped through it, giggling at the overwhelming number of drawings featuring tombstones, vampires, ghosts, witches, mummies, bats, and decrepit old houses. There's maybe 4-5 pictures of "normal" 8-year-old interests like toys and cats and shit, but the rest of the booklet is full of endearingly creepy crayon art. My mom took a look at it and snorted, commenting on the impact that the Brothers Grimm book (my 1st Christmas present from my parents) had had on me at such a tender age. Hey, she's the one who used to read Poe to me as a tot. I was reciting "Annabel Lee" with her when I was 4. Is it any wonder that when Mrs. Dixon asked us to write a story about a purple house, I wrote about an abandoned (and presumably haunted) house in the middle of a graveyard?
My new house smells like Lavender Vanilla and Pumpkin Spice. While typing that, I realized I have no idea to spell "lavender." It took about 4 attempts before the squiggly red line left me alone. I also realized there's something wedged under the "V" key. Feh.There's a neat old Victorian-style bar around the corner from my house. It was full of octogenerians, though, so it was a little awkward for us to barge in on them. I had no idea how to respond when one of the other patrons started to cough up a lot of phlegm and a long string of pale green mucous. Luckily the sweet, ancient barkeep was on hand to pat the man on the back much the way one would burp an infant. I don't know if I'll be frequenting that little bar, but I was awfully fond of the old stripey wallpaper. Mayhaps I will return some night, dressed in period clothing.
After leaving a busier bar with a younger crowd around 1 last night, we took a stroll through the cemetery a few blocks from my house. A bunny masquerading as a tiny llama in the moonlight led the way for us. We wondered if perhaps it was a zombie bunny leading us into a trap, but then we were distracted by the oddity of a seagull crying in the night. I did not know that there were seagulls in Allentown. And I did not know that they were nocturnal. But aside from the bizarre displays of nature, the boneyard was incredibly peaceful and lovely. It had a good feel, and we didn't really encounter any creepy spots. I think I'm really going to love living in this neighborhood.
( And to close, my memorabilia from Monday's pilgramage )
- Mood: happy
But in the meantime, in the here and now, there are more pressing matters at hand. In 2 weeks I will be moving into my awesome new house. I'm hoping someone gets me this as a housewarming gift. Because no house can possibly be live-in-able without it (which could explain my discontent with my old apartment and with my parents' house. . .). Hee!
Ba da DA da DA da. . . .badadadadada!
- Mood: amused
- Saturday: spent 7 hours cleaning my house and unpacking random items. Started to clean bathroom sink and was shocked to discover the brilliant gleam of the bright copper basin (I'd thought it was supposed to be a rustic "tarnished" dark copper, but it's actually a breathtakingly beautiful bright copper. I'll post a pic once it's finished). Went to Katherine's Casino Night party, stayed there much longer than planned. I was simply having too much fun to leave, exhaustion be damned!
- Today: spent 5 hours cleaning and moving some more. Holy shit, my sinuses are haywire from all of the dust and dirt and pollen which had built up in the house in the last year or so. And Maureen was an invaluable help today in the Contact Paper Experiment. Those pantry shelves didn't stand a chance against us! Oh, and I'm still really sorry about slamming the one shelf into your abdomen. That wasn't part of the plan. Or was it? Lunch on Wednesday is on me. ::sheepish grin::
- Tomorrow: Go to work. Leave work early to drive to Chestertown. Buy Thor's Hammer Vodka from Pip's, buy spirits of Ammonia from Stam's, try not to scream like a fangirl at the Neil Gaiman reading. Drive back to Allentown (hopefully after getting Sandman Vol. 4 signed, and maybe a picture with the man himself). I don't know why I didn't just plan to have the whole day off. It's going to suck getting up at 7 am for work and then getting back home around 3 am. It's even suckier given the sheer exhaustion and insanity from from the last few days. Not to mention the Sinuses of Doom.
- Tuesday: I'm smart to have scheduled this day off from work. I will sleep in and recover from the journey to and from the Eastern Shore. And then I will go to my house shortly after noon to let the carpet cleaners in, and to meet with the locksmith. Go back to my parents' house and start packing things like books and knickknacks and winter clothes.
- Wednesday: Back to work, take a day off from cleaning and packing and unpacking.
- Saturday & Sunday: Paint, clean, move books and clothes and small furniture.
- 14 May: Official moving day. Yay!
So while I'm still angsty over the fact that my house is the only one on the street without the gorgeous oak front door, stained glass, and hand carved banister, at least I know it's because all of those features were lost in a fire and not scrapped by a house flipper who has no appreciation for the Victorian aesthetic. Either way, I'm going to keep an eye out for an old oak exterior door at auctions, and I'll see if Restoration Hardware can possibly obtain one for me. And I'll get some stained glass panels to mount in the front windows. They won't be originals to the house, obviously, but at least I'll have the best of both worlds: old-fashioned beauty with modern comfort. And I have dual zone central air, which more than makes up for the crappy generic stock doors. Hee!
I've also spent the last 2 days geeking out over the perks of city living. For the first time since moving out of my apartment, I enjoyed the luxury of pizza delivery-- and from Papa John's, nonetheless! And when Steve ran out today to buy garbage bags for the courtyard cleanup, he walked to CVS and back in about 10 minutes. [I currently live in the middle of farmland with my parents. Going out to buy ANYTHING turns out to be a 20 minute drive round trip, not counting the time required to park, go in and shop, and check out. Steve managed to walk to CVS, shop, and walk back in 10 minutes. This is majorly exciting to me.] AND AND AND today, I reverted back to 5-years-old and shrieked with joy when I heard the unmistakable jingles of the Good Humor truck! I haven't seen an ice cream truck in YEARS, and the moment I saw the thing cruise past, I ran upstairs to where my mom was priming the dressing room and screamed, "There's ice cream trucks! Did you hear? DID YOU HEAR THE GOOD HUMOR MAN?!" I think THAT'S more exciting than anything else!
Yes, I love my house. I'm very eager to move in.
And even though I'm dead on my feet right now and throughly drained, I'm on pins and needles for tomorrow night. I really can't believe that I'm going to see my idol in the flesh, and that I'm going to see him at WAC. I just hope my friend Joe doesn't mind taking over driving duties on the way home. I just know I'm going to be dangerously tired by the end of the night. But OMGNEILGAIMANYAY!
- Mood: cheerful
Fox Realty.
When my earnest monies were handed to the closing agent by the listing agent, the name at the upper left corner of that check jumped right out at me. I couldn't help it, I had to elbow my mom and point it out. I'm so lame.
Hee!
- Mood: amused
I didn't think it was going to happen today, thanks to the dipshit at the title company working my file. See, the sellers informed us that if we use their title insurance company, they would cover the costs associate with the title transfer. Sweet, that saves me $1,000 off of closing costs, so it was a no-brainer to agree with that offer.
So, apparently the broad assigned to my file is the listing agent's girlfriend. The HUD-1 packet with the tax info had been sent over on the 1st of the month. She and the list agent were on vacation last week (which is why the list agent didn't respond to ANY of my realtor's calls). This past Monday, my realtor gets a call informing him that there's no way we can close on Wednesday because the tax info hadn't been received. He calls her manager and screams at them because the tax info was included with the HUD-1 packet. They call him back and tell him he was right, they had it, the dipshit girlfriend had just misplaced it, but they'd found it. Luckily, I knew nothing about this. I was anxious enough because I STILL hadn't gotten my final numbers for closing, nor had I gotten my monthly payment amount.
Yesterday, I was going nuts waiting to get those numbers because I wanted to get to the bank and get the cashier's check. My realtor tells me he still didn't have them, but he'd have them for me at the walk through at 10 am, and since closing wasn't until 2 pm, I'd have more than enough time to get the cashier's check.
So I'm at the walk through this morning, getting excited, and Tim fills me in on the above information and tells me he STILL didn't have the numbers. Oh, motherfucker, it's 10.30 the day of closing and we have no idea what I have to bring to the table. And if the dipshit was really as incompetent as she sounded, she was going to fuck this up if she was doing it under pressure and in a rush. Awesome.
By 1 pm, one hour before I'm supposed to be at the loan office, I STILL had not gotten my damn numbers. My mom and I were literally sitting in my bank parking lot, waiting for the call so I could just dash inside, get the check, and be on my merry way. I call Tim at 1.15 and ask if we're still on for 2. He tells me the dipshit had made some miscalculations (which confirmed my fears mentioned above), and she was still working on it. But we're still on for 2. He'll call me as soon as he has info. He's furious. I'm tense. Mom is trying to distract herself by reading, convinced that settlement will be rescheduled. I didn't get those bloody numbers until 1.45. Yup, I didn't get my goddamn closing info until 15 minutes before I was supposed to sit down at the table.
And then the bank teller messed up and printed the cashier's check upside down and had to start all over again. I was super patient and nice to him, but I was dying inside.
Somehow, I ended up beating the selling agent and the closing agent. Tim was the only one there when we arrived at the loan office at 2.15. Which is fine since I did NOT want to be the last one there, all flustered and discombobulated and demanding the title agent's head on a stick right in front of her boyfriend.
Closing itself took 30 minutes, no lie. I was shocked when they handed me the key. I'd been signing papers while Mom, Tim, and the listing agent were chatting, and then I gave her the check and she left the room to make some copies. I smiled at everyone and remarked how quickly things were moving, wondering aloud how much longer it would take. The listing agent looked at the table, saw the check wasn't there any more, and asked if I'd given it to the closing agent. "Yup!" I said, beaming. Tim promptly handed me the key. I was not prepared for that. At all. Seriously, I thought settlements lasted for hours. I've heard so many stories, everyone had told me to have a big lunch beforehand because closing is draining, it takes forever, la de da. I seriously refused to believe it had taken me just 30 minutes to finalize the sale. I'm still feeling a little bit cheated. But then again, all of the drama which preceded closing (starting with the sudden competitors bidding against me, and the inspection insanity with the gas company throwing a hissy fit over the holly bush out front, and the fact that I didn't have my goddamn closing numbers and cashier's check until 15 minutes before I was supposed to settle), I suppose it balances out.
Hail the gods, I have a home of my very own. For years, I've dreamed of owning one of Allentown's lovely Victorian row homes, and now I have one which boasts the perfect blend of Victorian style and contemporary comfort. And I have instant equity because I got the house at such an unbelievable price, and the appraisal came in way above the sale price, which was a pleasant surprise. So there was a LOT of frustration involved what with the dramas mentioned above, but in the end it was MORE than worth it. AND I did it on my own, and that means more to me than anything.
Hail the gods, we are home.
- Mood: excited
Of course, it certainly helps to know that so many others have experienced the agony of call center work and have had the same reactions as my own. A little validation always goes a long way.
Pity the phone monkeys, would you?
- Mood: amused
I don't worry about furnaces or leaky pipes or replacing windows. I worry about spiders. And zombies. But mostly spiders. I told John and Melissa that one of them should get me a tiny leaf blower as a house warming gift so that I can blow spiders off of the walls without hurting them. Because as clinically arachnophobic as I am, I don't want to hurt or kill the critters. I totally dig what they do, but the sight of them sends me into a total panic. I'm fine with spiders living in my house and sharing my space, but I absolutely cannot handle seeing them. I've tried to reason with them in the past. The other year, there was a particularly massive specimen hanging out on the wall above my bed one night, and I stood shivering in the hallway, talking to the damn thing. I tried to convince it to at least head towards the south wall, the wall farthest from my bed, but the smug little fucker actually decided to hop onto the headboard. I slept on the couch downstairs that night.
Anyway, I was up until nearly 3 AM last night, eying the spider as it eyed me eight times over. And I started to think about superpowers, for whatever reason. I've always held that if I could have a power, I'd want to be invisible. It's a fox thing, I suppose, the whole ability to observe without being observed. I love to people watch, but I've got this weird paranoia that someone's going to try to talk to me if they notice me hanging out alone in public. But last night, I changed my mind. I decided that if I could have a power, I'd want to be a shapeshifter. That way I could still shift into forms that will allow me to watch unnoticed, but I could also shift into animals and birds and enjoy the strengths and abilities of whatever form I took. Then, I realized, I could shift into a spider, and in doing so perhaps I'd be able to understand the very thing that terrifies me on such a deep and primal level.
Then I thought I felt something tickle my jaw, and I damn near clawed my face off before I realized it was my own hair falling against my neck.
So the day before closing wasn't nearly as drenched with anticipation and excitement as I'd expected. I was so brain-dead that I couldn't even form coherent sentences, much less complete sentences. I kept starting to talk, then just trailing away and sighing about how exhausted I was. Naturally, it was busy as hell at work, so it wasn't like I could take it easy in my zombieriffic condition. But better we be busy at work the day before I buy a house than slow and worrisome. Keep buying boxes, people. I thank you for your business. I have to laugh, I was less-than-thrilled to start that job right after college and the Army. I was supposed to be an officer, fast tracking it to the FBI and serial killer task forces. So the idea of working customer service for a shipping supply company didn't really fit my grandiose dreams. But after a bit of a rough patch, the company's treated me very well, and I'm grateful to be there these days. No, I'm not making a career of it, I still have other plans and other schemes, but right now, I'm incredibly happy to work with people I love (I genuinely enjoy going to work because I truly adore my coworkers and teammates) for a company that's doing pretty well right now, that's secure and solid and giving me the resources to buy my dream house on my own. This job may not be as inspirational as I'd dreamed of for myself when I was in school, but it's given me the means to be independent and self-sufficient in my mid-20s. And so I am happy.
Tomorrow I close. Walk through inspection is at 10, settlement begins at 2. Afterwards, I will go to the house-- my house-- and I will lie down on the hardwood floor and hug it, and then a friend or two from work will come over and we'll order pizza and run around through the house with paint chip color palettes and idiotic grins.
I just hope I don't run into any spiders along the way.
- Mood: happy
- In 36 hours, I will be a homeowner. I'm so overcome with excitement and fear that my brain is simply refusing to cooperate.
- In one week, I will see Neil Gaiman, in the flesh, at Washington College. I thought I was excited about the house. I was wrong. The sheer joy of this once in a lifetime opportunity to see my idol at my alma mater far outweighs the thrill of buying my first house. And I've got reserved tickets, so I will be in the first few rows at the reading. Fuck, I don't know if I'll be able to handle the awesomeness.
- sixxyvonevil has some awe-inspiring stalker-fu. I bow down to her, and I am grateful to her for calming my fears that my target is a bitch-boy for a local uber-Christian band. ::snerk::
- I can't wait to move into my house so that I'll have the room I need to learn and practice the "Thriller" dance.
- When dating men, the first thing most women want to know is what the guy does for a living or whether or not he wants kids. Me, the first thing I want to know would be the details of his zombie apocalypse contingency plan.
- My parents finally got new cell phones. Steve got the Motorola Krave, Mom got the Samsung Glyde. My parents' phones are way more awesome than mine (okay, well, my Mom's is very much like mine in design, but it's got a newer and shinier interface!). But I take comfort in the fact that my Voyager reigns supreme simply because LG didn't fuck with the spelling.
- I need some new LJ icons.
- I'm well on my way to becoming a crazy crow lady.
- The chain on my old pewter valknut pendant has finally broken. I wore it almost daily since I was 19, taking it off only when I wanted to wear my silver valknut pendant (which is maybe once a week or so). The pewter pendant remained 'round my neck while I slept, while I showered, and through the entirety of Army BCT. I'm really quite amazed that the chain has held through so much stress through all of those years. I'm now wearing my silver valknut daily and while I sleep, but I have to remove it while bathing. I either need a new chain for my hardy pewter valknut, or a new pewter valknut necklace. Perhaps I will retire the original pendant. It's served me well for almost 8 years. But then again, it's my first, my original, the one which remained near my heart as it tangled with my dog tags. I'm overly sentimental with stuff like this.
- It's long past time I finally get my valknut tattoo. Having his mark on my flesh will free my neck for a helm of awe or a raven charm or something.
- When I get my valknut tattoo, I need to have the color on my fox tattoo touched up. I've been meaning to get that done for a few years now, but I'm so in love with my little Norse fox that I'm scared that someone would mess it up. But my new house is right by a parlor that has a great reputation, so I'll have to check it out once I'm settled in and take a look at the artists' books.
- Mood: sleepy
I want very much to be a part of such an exhibition. That just looks like the best kind of fun there is. I especially love the way the dancers just grab their bags and scatter at the, back to business as usual, without even acknowledging what just happened. That's exactly how such things should end.
- Mood: happy
Susan Boyle is a 47-year-old unemployed social worker from England. She appeared on "Britain's Got Talent" last week. She isn't much to look at, and while she appeared comfortable on stage in that auditorium, the clip was rife with audience members rolling their eyes at her introduction and flat-out laughing at her when she confessed that she wished to be a professional singer, but she'd never been given the chance. Even the judges are looking 3 shades of skeptical as the music starts. She has decided to sing "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Mis. Right. Brace yourselves, yeah?
Bloody right you'd better brace yourselves.
She starts to sing. And the laughter stops.
There's a moment of shock, a heartbeat after her first note, and the entire audience leaps to their feet, and they cheer. They cheer long and loud and frenzied, applauding and crying throughout the song. The adoration swells and crashes straight through the finish. Even Simon Cowell is gazing at her like a lovesick pup. I swear, he even heaves a blissful little sigh near the end of the song.
I don't know if it's the triumph of seeing a dowdy old cat-lady proving everyone wrong moments after they all laughed at her and mocked her, or if it's the unbelievable divinity of her voice, or if it's because it's a goddamn sentimental Les Mis song, but I just couldn't stop myself from crying.
I hope she gets a recording contract. And I hope she includes "I Dreamed a Dream" on her album. I've never heard it sound so wonderful.
- Mood:
enthralled
HA! HAHAHAHAHA!
It's done, everything passed with flying colors, and there are only a few minor recommendations, but none of them are really all that important or even necessary. The heating, electrical, and plumbing systems are all pretty new, so no worries there. Yay!
I also got the glorious news that my interest rate is now officially locked in at 5%. ::faints::
Now all I have to do is finish getting my homeowner's insurance policy in place and close on the property!
I've been such a tightly coiled ball of rage, nerves, and stress all week that I hardly know what to do with myself now that the house is really almost mine! I think I'm going to dance around a bit in celebration, have a glass of wine, and then crash. I'm absolutely exhausted from the emotional strain this week has pressed upon me. But I'm deliriously happy that I'm one major step closer to settlement.
In other news, my copy of The Zombie Survival Guide has gone missing. I find this to be very disquieting. I usually keep it on my nightstand, and when I went to retrieve it last night at the request of a coworker, I was surprised to discover it wasn't where I'd left it. I can't find it anywhere. I suspect there's a conspiracy afoot. Well, the joke's on the z-men. I still have my Zombie Survival Guide Flash Cards for studying and reference on the go.
- Mood: ecstatic
Give me one reason why I shouldn't track these people down and force them to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with a horde of zombies.
Anyway, bottom line is the boiler's prepped, the gas is on, the inspector (having cancelled his plans for this week, that blessed, wonderful man) should be out there tomorrow to finish the property inspection, and I have a bag full of holly branches in the backseat of my car. And I'm damn lucky to have a supervisor who let me leave work for an hour in the middle of the morning . . . and a friend who was so willing and eager to become a criminal accomplice (and a ton of other friends who would have jumped at the chance to do a bit of law-bending vigilante justice with me if they'd been given the chance).
Today's update? The inspector couldn't make it out to test the furnace and heating system today.
I think the gods hate me for real.
He's going to be there tomorrow morning at 9.30. So I had to call the gas company AGAIN and beg them to leave the gas on until sometime after noon tomorrow. I've called the gas company 14 times in the last 5 days. I wish I was exaggerating. I think they hate me just as much as I hate them. (<--- The gas company, that is. Not the gods. They may seem to hate me at the moment, but I'm used to their warped sense of humor.)
If I can just make it through this property inspection, everything will be okay. I've just got to make it through this property inspection. . . then it's a mere 20 days until closing. And then I can snap and laugh maniacally for a good 4 days straight.
I keep telling myself that if I survive this, it will make for an excellent book. It will be the first project I work on in my new red office.
- Mood:
irritated
| You Are the Thumb |
 Mentally strong and agile, you do things your own way. And you do them well. You are a natural leader... but also truly a loner. You inspire many but connect with few. You get along well with: The Middle Finger Stay away from: The Pinky |
Sorry, Maureen (aka "Pinky" after the near amputation-by-Mina), guess I can't hang out with you anymore. This internet meme says so.
- Mood: calm
 |
| home |
I got to see the inside of the garage today too, and so help me, I'm even in love with the garage. It's all exposed brick inside, and there's lots of shelving and storage space in there. It will make for a very cozy home for my beloved GLI. As mentioned before, my parents are on vacation, so I've been using the garage, and I admit I absolutely love it for one odd little reason: when I shut the engine off in an enclosed area, I can hear the turbo spooling down, and it's the most awesome, hardcore shit ever. I really do have an unhealthy obsession with my car. I'm glad that she'll have a sweet garage of her very own soon. The exterior is painted to match the house itself, and it's got climbing ivy on it, and I'm about 83 kinds of geeked out right now. Oh, there was a little touch of graffiti inside the garage. Apparently "Big Rig" and "Jello" have been there. ::snerk::
The inspection was a success, aside from the fact the plumber fucked up and only did half of what I'd asked him to do. See, the house was winterized back in October, so I had a plumber go out on Wednesday to dewinterize it. I specifically told the plumbing company that I needed the boiler and furnace prepped, too, because I had the gas company coming out on Friday to restore service for the property inspection on Saturday. We get there today, and the water's on, no leaks anywhere, yay. But the boiler had NOT been filled, and none of the lines had been bled, so the inspector couldn't test the heating system or do anything at all with the furnace. Ooooh, I was pissed. I called the plumber, but of course they're not open on Saturdays. So I left a message that boils down to me going "WTF?!" since I was so shocked that they really didn't do ANYTHING I'd asked of them, and I'd been so explicitly clear about what needed to be done and WHY. I wasn't bitchy or anything, but I made it clear I was disappointed and frustrated, especially since I have to get the inspector to come out AGAIN on Monday or Tuesday to test the furnace after the plumber comes back out to do what he should have done on Wednesday. Argle bargle. Whatever, welcome to the world of homeownership.
Anyway, everything else was perfect. The only things the inspector pointed out to me were 3 very minor cosmetic issues (oh no, there are surface cracks on the garage floor, the deal is off!), and he recommends I get the roof resealed before winter (it's an aluminum roof, and they've got to be sealed every 2-3 years anyway, so it's due). Other than that, the property is in spectacular condition. The previous owners really took excellent care of the place, and they updated everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) within the last 5 years, so this place has got an incredible blend of Victorian style and contemporary comfort. I'm quite a lot more excited now than I was before.
I was so comfortable wandering around the house this morning. Not only does it have wonderful features and a wonderful location, it has a very distinct comforting "home" vibe to it. It already feels like home. I was so comfortable and relaxed and happy while I was there, and I know that I'll be very comfortable and secure alone at night. It just feels so very right. It feels like my home. And soon, it will be. Inspection is done, the appraisal will be handed in on Tuesday, things are rolling along at a nice clip, but I still can't get excited until 22 April. That's the day I'll sign paperwork until my hand stiffens into an unsightly claw, and it's the day the keys will be dropped into my poor aching paws. That's when I can get truly excited. Until then, I have to remain calm and mellow.
Oh, I should have taken pictures of the baker's alley. There's a picture in the gallery labeled "Batcave escape hatch." The door in that picture leads to a little secret alley that runs from front to back, closed off in the backyard by a Bilco door and in the front by a trapdoor under the porch. I'm going to have the Bilco doors and the trapdoor sealed up for security reasons, for keeping mice out, and for reducing heating costs. Once the ends are sealed, the baker's alley will make for an excellent zombie holding room. It's not really a part of the house, but it's completely enclosed by concrete, and I can keep a few zombies in there without bothering anyone. (Yes, I used to be terrified of the living dead, but I've recently come to the conclusion that having one or two z-men around could come in handy. I just need to stock up on some spiffy bite-proof suits first.) Neat!
Oh, and there used to be a dumbwaiter in the house! The inspector found the elevator shaft and the gear system in the basement! How AWESOME is that?! I might have to bring a contractor in sometime down the road and have him unseal it, just because it will be fun to have a dumbwaiter. How very Victorian, indeed!
Closing is 3 weeks away!
- Mood: ecstatic
Anyway, as aggressive as she is, she's throughly apathetic where food is concerned. She takes the "fickle kitty" stereotype to levels beyond human ken. And she absolutely abhors "people food." Even when we try to feed her scraps of flounder and chicken, she looks deeply affronted and insulted. Which is really quite nice, because it means she doesn't beg or climb all over us when we're eating.
Tonight, however, I've discovered it's not so much the people food itself that she dislikes. Apparently we simply haven't been preparing it to her liking.
I decided to make some curry chicken salad tonight, so I roasted some chicken breast with garlic olive oil, garlic salt, and freshly ground black pepper. As I was slicing it up, Mina came running, and she popped up onto her hind legs and began to tug furiously at my shirt. I'm a known sucker for her earnest Tom Kitten eyes, and so I gave her a little nibble of the chicken. I fully expected her to sniff it and walk away as usual, knowing that she usually just wants to see what I'm up to and doesn't actually want to eat my food. But amazingly enough, she gobbled it down, then started dancing on her hind legs again. Amused, I gave her another piece, a little bigger this time. Again, she devoured it and looked up for more. I was flattered, congratulating myself on roasting quite the tasty chicken, but refused to give her any more. I don't want to encourage this kind of begging, and I don't want her to get in the habit of eating people food. So I dumped it into a bowl and tossed it in the fridge to cool off.
Mina promptly started to attack the fridge. My parents have one o' them fancy French door fridges with the freezer on the bottom, and she was on her hind legs, forearms wrapped around the freezer handle, clawing at the side of the door. She was practically flinging herself at the fridge, trying to get to that glorious treasure within. This was a first, and I really had no idea how to react.
Ten minutes elapsed, and I opened the fridge to stir the chicken bits to make sure they all cooled down quickly, and the little beast actually knocked me aside as she took a flying leap into the fridge. I grabbed her since gods know the last place a cat belongs is inside a refrigerator with my food, and she just snapped. So now I've got some fresh wounds to compliment the bevy of scars on my arms, but that's fine. I've also got some incredibly delicious curry chicken salad. I really don't blame Mina for getting all cracked out on my chicken. I tend to get cracked out over my own cooking, too. I'm just that damn good.
Thankfully, she doesn't like curry, onions, apples, or pecans, so ultimately, my dinner is safe. She's giving me evil looks from her window sill as she watches me enjoy my meal.
Yum.
Edited to add: That was, hands down, the best chicken salad I've EVER had -- curried or otherwise. I'm even more blissed out tonight than I was last night after inhaling 2 servings of avocado glazed chicken. I love having the kitchen to myself. I can't wait to move into my house in May so that I can actually cook for myself on a regular basis. ::happy::
- Mood: hungry
- I think Saturday's Drac's Ball was the best yet, and I'm not just saying that because of the generous servings of vodka provided by the bartenders that night. Or because Maureen, JT, and I claimed the coveted couch in the alcove at the foot of the stairs. Or because I was able to talk to strangers without freaking out (though I was annoying and dippy in my quest to figure out if the newsie was there with a girl or if he was safe for me to ogle. I had kind of a steampunked newsie thing going on myself, so he and I would have looked like quite the pair. But I'm a spazz, and when his friend called him over to us, I clamed up real damn fast. Hee, I'm hopeless. But at least I didn't scream "STRANGER DANGER" like I practically did that time a guy tried to talk to me at the New Year's Eve Drac's Ball... XD ). Or maybe it was a combination of those things and more. I don't know, it was the best night at the Ball I've had since my very first one (yay Chris, Jon, and Heather!). Though the distinct downer of the night was the camera crew bugging us despite our best efforts to be really boring and utter wastes of airtime. That was the one downside to setting up camp in the alcove; when the documentary crew came by, they penned us in, and we had no means of escape. I mean, I know we looked fabulous and all, but really, we were there to get away from our adoring public. Damn paparazzi.
- So yesterday's post recounting the chat Mom and I had had about my thinking all weird noises are to be blamed on zombies? Yeah, I was home alone last night. I had very few lights on, and I was reading. And I heard a noise. And I refused to look up from my book because I'd immediately convinced myself that if I did, I'd see a living corpse pressing his face against the deck door, one hand clawing at the glass as his empty gaze bore into my very soul. Or something like that. When I laughed about it at work today, John tried to reassure me that I'll be safer in the city since he tends to associate zombies with rural areas. I let loose a rueful chuckle and told him that kind of reasoning was going to cost him in the zombie apocalypse. We all know cities are far more dangerous, what with the higher concentration of people and the lighting-quick speed with which the plague will spread. Poor John. He won't stand a chance.
- The property inspection and the FHA appraisal are both scheduled for this Saturday. Fingers crossed!
- I've decided I'm going to be a crazy crow lady. I want the tree in the little courtyard to become home to a murder of crows. The neighbors will hate me, I'm sure, but I think it would be nice to have a few crows follow me around once I've won their trust and affection with peanuts, bread, and cat food. Plus, I'm sure they'd swoop in and protect me if zombies do strike. It's always a good idea to befriend a flock of carrion-eaters. And after seeing the video of the crow who adopted that little kitten, I'm sure Mina will get along fabulously with my new friends. I don't know about Stevie Nicks or the gnome-ish guy who goes mushroom hunting in a tuxedo, but they'll just have to deal. Crows make me incredibly happy, and I just hope there are as many around my new house as there are here at my parents' house. If there aren't, I might just have to kidnap some of these here country crows. We'll see how that works out.
- One of these days, I'm going to get myself off to bed at a decent hour.
- After looking at my icon, I was struck yet again at the ways all of my obsessions tie in together so well.
- I may as well close this post with a glimpse of Drac's Ball goodness:
No wonder the camera crew wouldn't leave us alone.
And the best shot of the night, if only because Maureen looks so happy and sweet as she chokes the life out of her husband:
D'awwwwwww!
- Mood: sleepy
Me: Psh, of course. I've lived alone before, it'll be fine.
Mom: I don't know. What happens if you hear a weird noise at night?
Me: Mom, really, it'll be okay. Remember the roofer? I don't get scared at the thought of robbers and stuff, I get angry because I think it's a zombie making the noise.
Mom: Yeah, I know. That's exactly my point.
Me: Oh. Right. Nah, I'll be fine. I'll have ADT. It'll deter robbers and alert me to zombies, so all bases will be covered.
Mom: That makes me feel so much better.
