25 Things About Me

I spotted this game on one of my interweb haunts tonight, and considered doing it. But since no one on forums really reads anything but their own posts if they're longer than a paragraph, I decided if I was going to do it, I should make a blog post.

So, here it is: 25 Random Things About Me...

1. I have been described as "very Canadian," but I have no idea what that means.
2. Recently, I've been inordinately fascinated by Victorian postmortem photography.
3. My least favourite thing about teaching, aside from the marking, is anything relating to disciplinary stuff. This was the main reason I went for university teaching instead of high school. Yes, you would think that there would be less of that at the uni level, wouldn't you?
4. I prefer the version of Spiderman who shoots webs out of his wrists, somewhat spider-like. I find the whole canisters of web stuff, though more "canonical," slightly lame.
5. I don't always eat BBQ chips, but when I do, I prefer Lays form, because they taste sweet.
6. I'm finding writing 25 random things much more difficult than I anticipated.
7. I used to hate pink as a child, but now I find it cheerful and pretty, and I like to punch my usually sedate and/or black wardrobe with touches of hot pink.
8. I once had a stranger toss a toonie into my cup of coffee thinking I was a panhandler while I was merely waiting for a bus. I used that toonie to replace the ruined cup of coffee.
9. I am a vegetarian, and a bit of a green freak.
10. I am a proud non-driver, and I walk or use public transit devotedly.
11. I insert my favourite foods into all my books, so if you were to read them all you'd be able to track my culinary tastes to a fair extent.
12. I have a great fondness for pink peppermints.
13. I wouldn't say I'm a coffee addict. More like a coffee devotee.
14. I admit I am very reluctant to travel, and I do as little of it as humanly possible. A number of people have expressed dismay over this: "How can someone not like to travel?" they ask in horror. I'm not sure about other non-travelers, but I can assure you at least one exists, and she's me.
15. I write all of my story outlines and a lot of my first drafts (or portions of them) long hand in coil or hardback notebooks, which enables me to write on buses, outside, and in waiting rooms.
16. I do most of my writing at night or very early in the morning, which means I have learned how to type very quietly.
17. I have a strong hatred of noise. Loud sounds physically hurt me, and droning sounds make me kind of crazy. I contend that no sound should be made unless it's nicer than the silence it breaks, and very few sounds qualify.
18. Perhaps due to #17, I find television irritating beyond belief, use the radio sparingly, and am becoming less and less inclined to use the telephone. Yet, I still love music - weird, huh?
19. When I'm stressed, I colour in colouring books or I do puzzles. (Good thing I have a four year old to make these things seem legit!) I eat ice when I'm tense, unwell, or frustrated.
20. I have a strong interest in politics, but a great dislike of discussing it. Same goes for religion, unless it's a historical, philosophical or anthropological discussion.
21. I am a movie fiend. I own thousands, and recall a lot of detail from every one I've seen. I can never identify my favourite film, since it changes constantly, but if you're ever so inclined you can see my Top 100 List. (I like lists.)
22. I love water - being near water, in water, around water. Being landlocked makes me claustrophobic. (Oh yeah, and I'm also a claustrophobic.)
23. One of my favourite books of all time is Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, and it sits on or near my desk most of the time. I find the "will to meaning" to be more significant to me than the "will to power" or "will to pleasure" theories of motivation. I think most of the world's problems could be solved it more people had (1) a sense of purpose, and (2) resources and some hope that they can achieve this purpose.
24. I have a general policy about stating my opinion only once. Beyond that, and you run the risk of argument, and argument is not really worth it. No one's mind is usually changed, but bad blood can arise.
25. I love plants - flowers, veggies, trees, and so on. If I could, I would spend my life growing things. I worked the family food plot as a kid, and I now have potted plants for my son to help tend. While I love the convenience of apartment living, and am adapting to urban life, I regret not having a real garden, and would like to rectify that some day.

There! 25 very random things, in the order in which they popped into my head. What are some random things about you? Stop on by the comments and tell us - got five, ten, twenty-five things?

If you'd rather do it on your own blog instead of in the comments, go ahead and then post a link (or link to me) so I can read them!

Sokath, his eyes uncovered!

Living with small children is like a Federation diplomatic mission. They look odd, dress in bizarre ways, and their favourite foods are completely incomprehensible. Their modes of communication are even less transparent.

For example:

Tot: Diego. And the Baby Shower.
Me: Baby shower?
Tot: Diego's baby shower. His noise, "Rowl Rowl."
Me: Oh, Diego and the Baby Jaguar?
Tot: Yes.
Me: Then...?
Tot: Diego. And the Baby Jaguar. With the Macaw.
Me: (silence)
Tot: Alicia and the kinkajou.
Me: Okay, I'll play. Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra!
Tot: (silence)
Me: Temba, his arms wide?
*mutual stares of confusion*

And to think it's only going to get worse in the teen years. Shaka. Shaka, when the walls fell, indeed.

Yet, for the good of the future, one must keep trying.

*

PS: Voting at TRR, where Strings Attached is nominated for Best Contemporary Romance 2011, closes tomorrow - please vote, if you haven't yet!

True Story

Little story from my day today...

I was in the kitchen, when my Tot comes to me and says, "Mommy, I wee-weed in my chair." I groaned a bit, but, hey, accidents happen. I follow him into the living room, to his rocking chair. I look. I see nothing. I ask him again, "You wee-weed in your chair?" He says, "Yes, I wee-weed in my chair." I look again. Again, no evidence of urine. I ask him to show me.

He sits in his chair, rocks back and forth vigourously, saying, "Weeee! Weeee!"

I was torn between relief and groaning again.

Welcome, Bewitching Halloween Guys and Ghouls!

Welcome Blog Hoppers!

I love Halloween. It’s about as uncomplicated a holiday as they come. Nothing but fun – no visiting relatives or annoying major-production meals to offset the pleasure of candy. October has lovely weather and costumes are always a good time. And scary is always enjoyable… Within reason.

In my Halloween story, Like Magic, I have a fellow who spends the freakiest Halloween night of his life when he falls under the spell of a lovelorn witch – or does he?

I have never been perfectly certain how I feel about the paranormal. My logical side says it’s unlikely, but I’ve been around the block enough times to know nothing is certain, and one should never say never.

I was 19 when I worked at a dining hall in the old east coast university where I took my bachelors degree. The dining hall was old, stone and impressive, covered in ivy and looking stately. It even had a tragic past – in the 1920s, a fire gutted it, killing four students and the housekeeper, who were all said to haunt their various lifetime quarters still. The housekeeper had lived in a bedsit in the basement, beside the maintenance area and right next to the boiler. When the boiler exploded that fateful night, she had not the slightest chance of escape. Yet, it being the 1920s, when they rebuilt and fixed a bronze plaque to the refurbished building commemorating the loss, her name was not included in the memorial.

As a result, many reported that the restless spirit of the woman was not a happy one, and she’d had been known to harass students and employees.

When my supervisor, Nicole, went down to the basement, she was always nervous. She said it felt cold, and she heard noises. Once, a lightbulb exploded when she was halfway down the dark, steep stairs. The forgotten lady, it seems, did not care for Nicole. Eventually, Nicole took to sending Dishwasher Kevin down there at the end of shift to lock up and shut down the lights. I guess no one really much minded if an angry ghost got Dishwasher Kevin.

Anyway, one night I was filling in as headwaiter to a conference banquet while Nicole was off. It never occurred to me to make Dishwasher Kevin go down to turn off the lights and lock up before he left, which I regretted later.

After I had signed everybody out, and was alone doing my lock up, all of the bravado I had once had as an empowered, educated young woman who didn’t believe in ghosts flew out the window as I contemplated going down those steps. A part of me wanted to pretend I had forgotten to lock up down there, but I knew it would be my skin if something happened because I had turned chicken, and I needed the job. Besides, headwaiting paid better than serving, and if I ever wanted the chance to fill in for Nicole again, I had better get my butt down there.

So, I went.

Down the steps, singing a little song to keep from shaking, and to the back door. I locked up, and turned off the lights as I went. Then to the employee locker room, without incident. By that point, I was starting to feel pretty silly about having been afraid, and was thinking Nicole was an idiot. I didn’t feel any chill, and nothing was happening. Pfft! I knew it all along! There’s no such thing as ghosts!

I was so confident, I decided to stop and pee before finishing my rounds and making the trek home. I got in the stall, did my business, and then… dropped the frigging toilet paper! I watched helplessly as it bounced and then rolled out under the door. One of those moments where you stop and sigh, sagging a second or two before you decide what to do about your situation.

Then… In bounced the toilet paper, back in under the door!

Now, this was not a slanted floor. In fact, the drain under the sinks should have made the paper roll completely away from my stall. And there was nothing for that thing to bump into that would make it bounce back to me. Except…

I recall how hard my heart was pounding. I wanted to scream or hide or cry, and the hairs on my arms stood on end. Either the room got cold as ice, or I imagined it did, I don’t know which.

To be on the safe side, I called out, “Thank you!” in the most cheerful voice I could. I received no reply, expected no reply, really wanted no reply. But, if some spirit out there had done me a good turn, it seemed only polite. And prudent, considering the exploded light bulb.

Nothing else happened as I rushed away from the bathroom and ran up those steps to the safety of the dining hall kitchen. Nothing ever happened to me again down in the basement of that dining hall in my subsequent shifts, but I never again felt sure there wasn’t something down there.

There is a type of certainty we enjoy when we are young, when we can “know” what is what. As you age, you lose that luxury as things happen to make you question everything. After that night, I never was certain about the paranormal again. Now, I know enough to know there’s a lot of stuff out there I don’t know, I guess you could say.

So, that’s my ghost story. It isn’t thrilling, or very flattering to me since I was sitting on the can at the time, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget that night.

Happy Halloween, everybody! And, remember – always be polite to the non-living. Except for zombies. Those suckers, you better just shoot in the head.

~*~

Please comment on this post, say hello, and tell me your spookiest encounter with something that goes bump in the night!

For every ten people who comment, I will pick one winner at random to receive their choice of any one of my current releases gifted via Amazon Kindle (either through an actual ereader or the PC app). I will give away at least one prize, even if I get less than ten comments.

Contest opens at midnight October 28, and runs all the way to midnight the night of October 31/November 1, 2011 (EST), as per the Bewitching Trick-or-Treat Blog Hop design. Winners will be announced here on this blog at noon on November 1, and they will be asked to email me to arrange the collection of their prizes. (Only people 18 and older will be eligible for a prize. All of my books contain explicit language and graphic sexuality.)

After commenting, please carry on the blog hop tour, and check out these great authors – all of whom are giving away treats for Halloween!

Please visit me at my website, or find me on GoodReads, Facebook and Twitter. You can also sign up for my newsletter, if you'd like to stay in touch via remote. I will include a note to winners who haven't claimed their prizes in my next issue, on the first Friday in November.

ETA: NEW excerpt from Like Magic up at my Seasonal Tales website for Sample Sunday!

A Little Tub Song (to the tune of Frere Jacques)

Wash your arm pits
Wash your arm pits
Then your toes
Then your toes
Clean your hands and face
Clean your hands and face
Brush those teeth!
Brush those teeth!

Parenting brings out strange creativity at times.

Isn't it Ironic? (Bat Story Continues...)

Some of you might have caught my recent bat incident. If not, the short version is that I woke up very early Friday morning to a bat flying around my apartment.

We all survived it, but I'm a bit worse for wear. Friday all day, I was a total zombie. Friday night, I'll admit I had trouble sleeping - I had to leave way too many lights on, and every time the cat moved I almost jumped out of my skin. Today, I am sore as hell with muscle stiffness from all the deep knee bends I did while trying to avoid being dive-bombed by the little bugger. I hope I can sleep better tonight, but am still slightly anxious as night falls.

In any event, the irony is, this bat encounter has put me way behind schedule on my Halloween short, which I had hoped to finish writing on Friday and send off today to betareaders. Instead, it's not finished, and likely won't be ready for reading until Monday now.

One would think that a bat event would help move a Halloween story along - in fact, it really hasn't.

sigh.

Back to work...

Bat Story

At around 4am, Friday morning, I was woken from a sound sleep - very sound, brought on by exhaustion and the first truly nice, cool nighttime temperatures we've enjoyed in some time. What woke me was our cat, Ralph, barreling up the entire length of me, from his habitual sleep-spot at the end of the bed all the way along me from my feet to my face, where he then used my head as a launchpad to propel himself into midair.

My first instinct was to cuss and try to go back to sleep. A second later, though, my brain registered what it was that had Ralph freak out on me - a BAT in my apartment!

I covered my three year old son, who (thank heavens) sleeps with me, with a sheet and a pillow - he slept on for most of the ensuing drama, and I wanted to make sure the thing didn't land directly on him. The second thing I did was lock a wildly protesting Ralph into the bathroom - I don't really need a rabid cat on my hands.

Then it was game on.

My first weapons of choice were a broom and a pillow held over my head. And, thankfully, I remembered to put my shoes on. Soon, however, I realized an empty pizza box from the recycling bin made better cover - it could also swat and flap. (Thus ends my newfound expertise and advice in the area of bat wrangling.)

I punched out the screen on the big front window, and yanked down the curtains. I closed off all means of escape into other rooms, keeping the window as the best possible solution for him. To me it seemed simple from the bat's point of view: "Large, angry woman, chasing me with broom... Big Assed Open Window? Oh, yes, please!"

Sadly, what I had here on my hands was a not-so-bright bat.

One who failed to find the window. Every. Single. Damned. Time.

I swiftly made two calls: One, to my super - who, wisely, didn't answer. It was, afterall, 4am. The second, to my dad - trusty Salt Of The Earth type who must have dealt with his fair share of bats in his life. That call went something like this (meanwhile, flustered bat is flapping madly about the place):

Me: I have a bat! In my house! A Bat!
Dad: Well, how'd that happen?
Me: Not my major concern at the moment. How do I get it out?
Dad: Well, grab it with a pillow case. Or a thick coat.
Me: Don't they have rabies?
Dad: Well, yeah. They can...
Me: Great.
Dad: Knock it out of the air if you have to.
Me: Sure - that's bloody likely.
Dad: *laughs his ass off for about two minutes*
Me: *screams and hangs up as the thing dive bombs me*

Well, I have to say, I had figured out the "grab it with something and take it outside" part on my own. I just kind of hoped my dad had a better plan. Perhaps one by remote.

Apparently not.

So, bat is finally starting to slow down. At one point, he tried hanging behind a bookcase, which I then rattled the heck out of until he relinquished his harbour. He then hung in the kitchen, on the cabinet above the stove. Grabbing the broom and a thick, insulated shopping bag, I considered knocking him off his perch into the bag... and then realized my face would be someplace along the way between broom and bag.

Honestly, if he flew into my face, I knew I'd never be the same again.

Soon the tot woke up, but was, thankfully, extremely obedient and laid flat on the bed - though he was observing this all with great delight as his mother ran around cursing/screaming/praying all at once, while some sort of weird bird danced with her.

At one point, I lost sight of the bat. Frantic, I asked my son if he'd seen the bat fly out the window.

Tot: Yes!
Me: Really?
Tot: Yes!
Me: Are you just saying that?
Tot: Yes!
Me: So, you didn't see him fly out the window?
Tot: Yes!
Me: You're not a reliable witness right now, are you?
Tot: Yes!

Well, I would never believe the thing was actually gone until I saw it leave, anyway, so it made not much difference.

Spotting the thing again, I chased it a bit more, noticing it getting slower and slower all the time. Eventually, out of puff, the bat took refuge in a toybox. I knew he was there - I saw him in that area, and could hear him. Grabbing up my courage, I emptied the toybox on to the floor, and...

Nothing!

For the life of me, it seemed the bat wasn't in there!

Now, I started to panic a bit. The thought of leaving for work, knowing it was in here some place, knowing I had to come back after work, and... what? Wait for nightfall for it to reappear? *shudder* No, frigging, way.

I started to kick the toys around a bit, expecting that he'd fly out. Tot started to panic a little, because he thought I was about to vacuum (yes - wild animals are fine, but major home appliances? Nope!). So, here I was, singing and trying to talk to tot in a cheerful voice, all the while needing to pee urgently (since the cat was still locked in the loo), and going out of my mind frantic.

Good times!

Eventually, I resolved that the bat simply had to be in that toybox. He never left it as far as I could see. Nudging the toys with my foot, slowly, so I could see what was under them - with the brightest lamp in the house pointed at me so I could inspect - I finally found the thing!

Small, brown, wings folded under - it really could have easily passed for a swatch of fabric lying on the carpet. It certainly didn't look like Dracula's concubine, the way it did while it was swooping at my head moments earlier. His little sides were heaving, he was breathing so fast and furious.

You and me, both, little guy, I thought.

For a split second, I must admit I did consider just stomping the shit out of him. (In my defence, I was rather hyped up on adrenalin.) Luckily, my right mind returned to me, and I looked at the pathetic little thing. It was time to end our little comedy/drama.

Taking a thick folded lap blanket, I plopped it on top of him. He made no attempt to struggle as I carried him out of the apartment, out of the building, and tossed him on the lawn. He sat for a moment, there, on the cold grass, and then flittered away.

I, on the other hand, burned rubber back in the house so I could close up the now-screenless-window, because if that sucker had actually gone out of his way to get back in here... I think I would have lost my mind. Literally.

So, here in the aftermath: None of us were touched by it, thankfully, so I don't think we'll need rabies shots. I will be taking Lysol to everything. And taking some time off.

My son is fine. He had a lot of fun afterwards running around covering his head and screaming, so I could get a full sense of how fabulous I looked while doing it. Thanks kid! He thinks it's great - he has re-envisioned it as some Diego Animal Rescuer adventure.

Ralph was soon let out, and hasn't stopped patrolling and looking for his bat ever since. He did, however, get a nice plate of canned chicken dinner for his troubles, since he was the one who alerted me to the intruder. Good Kitty!

Now, I have to keep my window shut until I can get it repaired, lest the cat get out. I will call the super again in a few hours to have this screen, and the one in the back room (I can only assume that's how he got in, since it has a little tear in it), replaced, so I can have my windows open this weekend in the mini-heatwave we are expecting. I will also ask them to look around to make sure there are no bat families, bat condos, bat holes, or anything else batty in my own private belfry.

And we won't be reading Stellaluna again any time soon.

By order of a very tired, stressed out Mama.

~*~

Update: I fixed my own screen, so we are able to breathe in the heat, and I did find the entry point. The little hole in the backroom window screen is no longer quite so little, so the thing must have fought his way in there. It's been patched, so I hope he won't decide to try again. Besides, he's likely still running - scared out of his wits because someone once told him humans carry rabies.