28 November, 2007
I'll leave this at the top until the end of November, so you can watch me triumph and then crash and burn and then triumph again before crawling across the finish line.
11/25/2007 edit: It's unofficial, but, as you may have noticed, I hit the 50,000-word goal this evening. I'll take the next couple of days to make some edits here and there (adding, NOT DELETING words!) and will upload it for the official word count Tuesday night or Wednesday.
27 November, 2007
You Are: 50% Dog, 50% Cat
You are a nice blend of cat and dog.
You're playful but not too needy. And you're friendly but careful.
And while you have your moody moments, you're too happy to stay upset for long.
Labels: personality quiz
25 November, 2007
I would have finished my novel so much faster if I had just plunked in 50 photographs!
I'm down to the last 2,000 words to make the 50,000 NaNoWriMo finish line, so a photo of Simon, taken this morning when he was in an especially reflective mood, will have to suffice for this week.
20 November, 2007
It was kind of funny watching and listening to Mom yelp and run around changing her clothes, but I realize now that it's probably NOT a good idea to head-butt Momma's arm when she's holding a cup of tea. And it's an especially BAD IDEA when she's got that cup of tea up to her mouth, taking a drink of it.
I gave Momma one of my twistie-tie toys and she forgave me.
18 November, 2007
Simon only remembers the parts of Chris Baty's NaNoWriMo Bible "No Plot? No Problem!" that refer to snacking. Therefore, he's rather disappointed that not only is snacking NOT happening as often as he thinks it should be, but, in my push to hit 35,000 words this afternoon, his "tea" was a couple of minutes late. He's retaliating by leaping on to the back of my desk chair and draping himself over my shoulder, digging his back claws into my neck while I'm trying to type.
And, to top it all off, he thinks I'm writing the cat parts ALL WRONG. I'll be tappity-tapping away writing an amusing scene with one of the characters' cats (two characters have cats...so far), only to have him leap onto my desk and add such colourful scene description and back story like:
Which wouldn't be so bad except that the first bit only counts as one word and the second one doesn't count at all!
17 November, 2007
|What American accent do you have? (Best version so far)|
You're not Northern, Southern, or Western, you're just plain -American-. Your national identity is more important than your local identity, because you don't really have a local identity. You might be from the region in that map, which is defined by this kind of accent, but you could easily not be. Or maybe you just moved around a lot growing up.
|Click Here to Take This Quiz|
Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.
Labels: personality quiz
13 November, 2007
Melissa at Shakesville posted a story that...I don't know that heartbreaking even begins to describe it. Soul sucking comes closer to the mark.
So unfathomably soul sucking is this story that I keep writing paragraphs about it and then deleting them because I just cannot make any sense at all out of what happened to Megan Mier and her family. And I find I'm really having difficulty dealing with my ANGER over the vile parents that concocted this unbelievably vicious "joke". And, yeah, a lot of this is residual anger at having been teased throughout my childhood and still more of it is for the stupid, mean sniping I dished out as well. But the thing is, I was a CHILD when I did that and I was teased by CHILDREN. The people who set up the fake MySpace page for "Josh Evans" were the parents of a girl who used to be friends with Megan. These weren't a gaggle of middle-school Heathers!
And, just to pour acid in the wound, these vicious, vile sociopaths, who certainly knew how their actions contributed to Megan's death, invited her family to celebrate their own daughter's birthday and the father's birthday and asked them to store a foosball table for them for Christmas. And then, once their role in the fake Josh Evans page was revealed, they had the unmitigated gall to phone the police when the Miers--quite understandably--turned that foosball table into firewood! Because, bullies? That's how they roll.
To repeat my comment in the comment thread at Shakesville, these sociopaths should 1) never have access to the internet, ever again and 2) should not be allowed (unsupervised) contact with anyone under the age of 18. Those would be at least two small steps toward justice for Megan Mier.
Now, I need to go find a pillow and scream into it.
11 November, 2007
Since you won't get a cell phone that gets decent reception in your own apartment and, therefore, insist on conducting all of your personal calls either outside my front door or outside my window, talking loud enough that I had to PAUSE my iTunes (I'm catching up on my This American Life podcasts) because your voice was too distracting, then I'm just going to take down your entire conversation, WORD-FOR-WORD, and put it in my NaNoWriMo novel!
Just so you know.
Today was S-H-O-T-S day at the V-E-T for Simon. Actually, he got his postcard from them last month but with my back being out there was no way I was in any shape to schlep him to the vet and back. I had painstakingly completed the pre-flight: Rearranged the closet and "forgot" to put the carrier back in, opened the top door of the carrier while both cats were otherwise occupied and closed the bedroom door before attempting to put Simon in the carrier. However, when I kneeled down in front of the carrier, Simon yelped and clawed his way up my chest and over my shoulder and ran toward the bedroom (which is why the door stays *closed* on V-E-T day). We repeated the procedure two more times before I finally stuffed him into the carrier and closed the top door on him, securely sliding the locks in place. We were now running a little behind, so I decided there wasn't enough time to clean up and hoped that I didn't turn up at the vet's office with too many blood stains peeking through my shirt. As expected, he howled at the top of his lungs all the way to the car, eliciting the stares of all the outdoor kitties. Minon chattered sympathetically to Simon as we left the front porch, but the stray grey and white kitty who has made a home with my neighbor looked at me like I was some kind of monster, while the big black cat glared at both of us for ruining his nap. A couple of neighbors looked out their windows and I imagined what it would be like being the first clinical case of someone dying of embarrassment.
After a looooong eight-minute drive to the V-E-T, the receptionist mentioned that he was due for another test that required a, ummmmmm, sample. I elected to just collect one from his litter box at home rather than put him through a somewhat invasive procedure. The shots are bad enough, after all. We left a few minutes later, with a sample-collecting kit and Simon's rabies certificate in hand.
Once we got home I gave him some treats and praised him for being such a good kitty (the ripping my flesh apart and yowling notwithstanding) but soon it was time to vacuum the apartment. First he hid under the bed, only to fly out from the bottom of the bed like a bat out of hell when I ran the vacuum in the bedroom. Then he very cleverly hid on top of the couch because, you know, the BIG LOUD KITTY-EATING MACHINE almost never eats anything on the couch! Then he decided that the BLK-EM was lingering too long near the couch and it might see him and try to eat him, so he fled to the kitchen, where he took refuge behind my tiny wine rack.
So now Simon thinks that I owe him a steady stream of treats and attention for all of the traumas I've put him through today. My scrambled egg brunch narrowly escaped his groping paw. And I can barely type a paragraph without him jumping up on my desk or up over my chair and sticking his fluffy ass in my face.
I have a feeling it's gonna be a long, sleepless night.
07 November, 2007
It was very foggy this morning; I could barely see across the estuary. A huge construction barge went by but I could barely make out the shape of it and it was only a few yards away! I think we were still in the estuary when this accident happened but we were only a few minutes behind. Of course, even if I wasn't thoroughly focused on working on my NaNo novel, it would have been too foggy to really see anything (I didn't hear any "buzz" about it on the ferry).
They're trying to clean up the fuel that spilled and I hope they're able to do it quickly because I'm worried about the birds and seals and other marine life.
04 November, 2007
No, Simon did NOT dress up as Billie for Halloween. I just liked this photo of her and decided I'd post it today.
We only had one group of trick-or-treaters Wednesday, which was just fine by Simon, as he has no enduring affection for the Small, LOUD Humans. As I expected, once the first (and only) group knocked on our door, he immediately got into his costume, which we call Lump Under The Bed Covers:
He sulked for about half an hour. When it looked as if no one else was coming, he came out of the bedroom, hoping to pahr-tay on all that sugary goodness. Of course, the lack of Small, LOUD Humans means I had a ton of candy left over and that I had to quickly figure out a Simon-proof way to store it. Most of the Jolly Rancher stuff is in a screw-top container. The chocolate is on the highest shelf in the pantry, which he has yet to figure out how to open, much less access the top shelf. But I'll need to unload the goods soon, because Simon has
two three things going for him:
1) He has a highly developed sense of smell to the point where he can smell a sugary treat (sometimes even double-baggied!) stored deep inside my back pack. Which means that, if he hasn't figured out where the chocolate is yet, he will soon. (One would think that, with such a highly developed sense of smell, he'd have a great career as a bomb-sniffing cat. Except that BOMBS DON'T SMELL LIKE CHOCOLATE, so he'd just steal people's lunches and take off.)
2) He is persistent. If he's determined to eat the candy, he will figure out a way to get the pantry door open and to access the deepest recesses of the top shelf. It's only a matter of time.
3) He has a Working Mom, which means he has free run of the apartment ALL DAY LONG.
So, if you've been paying the slightest bit of attention to world news over the last several months, are you the least bit surprised that, just before Pakistan's Supreme Court can oust him, General Pervez Musharraf has declared martial law and started detaining opposition leaders?
And will you be surprised when Team Bush tries the same thing on the eve of our 2008 elections?
Yeah, me neither.
Labels: in the news
01 November, 2007
Considering that, as of 7:20 p.m., PDT, when I started this thing, all I had was a main character (two if we count her cat) and a few scribbles here and there, 2,000 words is pretty dang good. I was really scratching for a beginning to my novel, to the point where I asked one of the deck hands on the ferry if I could read the first paragraph of the novel she was reading, just to kick my imagination into gear. It helped (though my first paragraph is nothing at all like the one I read).
So I can go to bed, relieved to not be behind in the word count right from the get-go.
Anyway, the shorter of it is this: Posting here may be light-ish this month while I pound out Yet Another Crappy Novel. I will try to keep up with the Simon Sundays, though, because it's important to keep his fans happy. ;-)
October was just a lousy, goddamned month. There were some bright, wonderful spots (i.e. any moment spent with my friends), but there has been so much stress piled on me from so many directions (including a random line of questioning from Kaiser over blood/urine tests that I took nearly a month ago where they won't tell me what the problem might be but keep calling to ask me about this and that and I'm really freaking out right about now!) that now it takes every ounce of discipline I have to get out of bed.
And then, just to flip its evil middle finger one last time, a teenage girl was murdered IN MY FRONT YARD, more or less. A 15-year-old child, shot to death during a brazen robbery IN A FUCKING PLAYGROUND. I am absolutely sick about this. It's Alameda's first homicide this year, but my neighbourhood is particularly prone to rather violent, armed robberies.
Anyway, to October, I say "fuck right off!" I'm
hoping intending to start fresh now that it's November.