Hey! You Guyz!

It’s been pretty busy around Chez Chaos. Summer break has started and Tam and I have decided to make the most of it. Get this; we slept in until 6:30 one morning! Of course, the next morning we were both up at 3:30 because she says MY muse woke HER up with an idea for MY book! Rude. That meant Tam had to wake ME up to share the idea. Rude again. But it was a good idea however it really messed with our internal clocks because neither of us could get back to sleep, so we started our day in the dark hours.

Then there was the day Spawn came over. She was carrying something small and furry. It was a guinea pig. She found it wandering in the road a few streets over, so she picked it up and tried finding the owner. No one in the area knew anything about it, so she brought it to me.

Because I am a moosh for critters, that’s why, although she says she simply didn’t want to leave it in the car while she came in to visit. We ended up keeping it because Tam and Li’l Red took a fancy to the beast. I’ve not seen anyone take quite this fancy before. His name is George and he has a lovely new cage with lots of things to chew, he gets fresh fruit every day, and fresh greens as well as regular guinea pig food. He’s gotten round and silly and very spoiled. Silly pig. Oh, and the bird thinks she’s in love with him.

Then there was a bunch of other stuff that happened, but the big news is: Tam and I attended our very first Gay Pride parade, and WOW! We were invited to go by Tam’s daughter, the Hair. She lives there, and has been to pride parades before, so she was kind enough to escort us around. We were also accompanied by Thing. He’s straight, but he supports his moms. He is awesome: Straight but not narrow.

Anyway, you guyz we were only slightly prepared for what we were about to see. There were the usual suspects: drag queens and kings, transgendered folk, gay, lesbian, bi, straight, you know… the typical people who attend these functions, the ones we expected to see. We were not disappointed.

Then there were the furries, the leathers, the S&M, the NAKED PEOPLE RIDING BICYCLES, the guy with a sock on his, uh, penis that he was waving around (typical male, once they find it, they never stop playing with it), and the politicians.

Oh my gawd, the politicians… At least they were fully clothed.

There was lots of swag flying around and I managed to snap a marriage equality ring AND a rainbow string of beads RIGHT OUT OF MID AIR! You guyz! That was SO AWESOME, they actually cheered for me!

Did I mention the guy behind me was wearing genie shoes? I wanted to ask him for three wishes, but got distracted by NAKED PEOPLE AGAIN! Naked! People!

I am not exactly a prude, but having someone playing wig-wag-the-weenie in front of me and a crowd of strangers is a little bit out of my comfort level. I realize others don’t give it a second thought, nor do they do this kind of thing at work or on any given Sunday in Seattle, after all, this was a special occasion. But…wow. I just… wow.

We stood and watched for two-and-a-half hours before we’d reached our physical limits. My feet, legs, hips, back…all dead. Same with Tam and Thing. The Hair was willing to stick around a little longer, but she acquiesced when I mentioned food.

My favorite thing about today was when I realized I was totally comfortable being me in public. I didn’t shy away from holding Tam’s hand or kissing her right there in front of everyone, mainly because no one cared. Our children weren’t uncomfortable, or even fearful for us, as they might have been if we were in Our Fair City (which is smaller and not exactly gay friendly… occasionally gay dangerous is more like it). Today, we did not stand out in the crowd.

I felt no fear until I picked up a campaign sign to put up at home. I carried it around and to be honest, I was kind of afraid to do it. Not because it had LGBT in big, bold letters, but because it supported a political candidate.

I’m not well-read when it comes to news. News depresses the hell out of me, so I tend to be woefully uninformed of current events and political platforms. I was more concerned that someone was going to come up and start debating me about my choice of candidate than I was about having to support my sexual orientation! Seriously… But I did come up with a retort: I may not agree with everything he’s done in the past, but I can say the same thing about my partner and I still like both of them.

Today was great. We had a wonderful time at the parade and a fabulous lunch of Thai food. There were new experiences for all of us, after all, I don’t know if Thing has ever had Thai food before, but he seemed to like it well enough to eat his share.

Seriously though, I’m still debating whether or not to tell his dad that he went with us to the parade. It will probably set his hair on fire, so I won’t do it today, after all, he’s still on his honeymoon and I’m not that... mean…wait… Yes I am, but I promised my son I wouldn’t say anything that he’d have to defend.

Anyway, it’s been busy and it looks like there isn’t much of a letup in sight. I’m starting the second book (again, because there have been some serious, but excellent, changes) and I’d like to get it done by the end of summer so I can release it by the first of next year (or sooner…). We have a trip planned to visit my parents, then spend a few days at the beach to recover from said visit. There is yard work, housework, and a business to discuss. Oh, yeah, we may have an investor for the hat shop…

Life. Busy shit, you guyz, busy shit.

What’s Up?

Hi. It’s me. I’m still around, although with the close of school looming on the horizon (eight days, including the weekend!) it’s pretty much all I can do to hang on and crawl through the week.

Plus there was the editing, and the acceptance of the manuscript, and taking the cat to the vet because a half Siamese in heat is about as much fun as…what? The manuscript? It was accepted? Well, yes. Yes it was.

After a lot of thought and noodling over the independent vs. traditional publishing houses, I decided on going the independent publisher route. My ego kept begging me to try the traditional houses first, just to see if any of them would bite, then I remembered: when they buy your manuscript, they own it. All of it, all of those words you so painstakingly put together and edited and polished and loved and titled…and since they own it, they can change whatever the fuck they want.

I? Do not want that.

So, I shopped around. I researched lots of options, settled on a free ebook site, then looked again, because my mother couldn’t read it without a computer and she wouldn’t be happy about that. I looked at P.O.D. publishers and, well, wow. But there was one out there that just called to me. Unfortunately, they are picky about who they accept. Unlike some of the other P.O.D. presses out there, they won’t put their name on anything that they don’t think will sell. The other guys know they’ll sell some of your books, because the author has to buy about a thousand dollars worth of books.

Um, I’m pretty much fresh out of wealth at the moment, and I’m not sure when my shipment of barrels full of money will arrive. Last time, they got the order wrong and I ended up with barrels full of monkeys. You cannot buy groceries with monkeys; it makes the store clerks mad.

Anyway, I decided to try that one publisher. I sent it in and waited. After a couple days, I received the acceptance email and the REAL fun began.

The contract (I read it) and now the reformatting. Unfortunately, I chose a slightly smaller size book and now I’m looking at something HUGE because the page numbers are climbing (thanks to bizarre margins). I’m a little concerned what the price will be for said tome once I’m done fiddling around with it. Will anyone be able to afford a copy?

I may have to do some adjustments on paper quality etc, providing that’s still an option. If not, anyone need a slightly entertaining door stop?

Dear Pastor Worley…

In response to the following: http://youtu.be/d2n7vSPwhSU

First, let me say you have every right to your opinion as I have to mine. Except on this blog. This blog is mine, and your opinion doesn’t count.

So, let’s begin with your first idea, the one about the electrified fence. First off, don’t bother electrifying it. If you can round all of us up, chances are good, we’d be ok with living in a gated community filled with like-minded people. Imagine how you’d feel surrounded by a bunch of narrow-minded Christians! You’d be thrilled. Ya’ll could talk prophesy and salvation until your little ol’ eyeballs dropped out.

A community of lesbians?!? Bring it, mister! While I’m not on the prowl for another sweetheart, being able to be myself, express myself, and live my life openly and freely… holy shit, buster, that would be freaking AWESOME! Chances are good, we wouldn’t want to leave. As for the food drop, please make sure some of it is gluten free. I’m sure the “queers and homosexuals” will feel the same.

On another note, you’re all excited at the thought that after a few years, we’ll “all die out because [we] can’t reproduce.” Babe, let me tell you, we DON’T HAVE TO REPRODUCE, WE’RE BORN EVERY DAMN MINUTE TO HETEROSEXUAL COUPLES, JUST LIKE YOU!

No, seriously, out of every 100 babies born to a heterosexual couple, one of them will be gay. Really! Statistics show it. That means, as soon as that little darling shows signs of being gay, you’ll drop them in with us and we can continue in perpetuity.

In perpetuity means for a very long time, sir, just in case you didn’t know.

As for kissing a guy, well, I’ve tried it and just let me say, ya’ll just can’t kiss worth shit, so don’t bother. Kissing girls is MUCH nicer. We’re softer and our mustaches aren’t quite as bristly.

Love,

Karen and Tam. (Two women, lesbians, in fact, living together in love, raising our families. Oh, and some of those kids we have are straight. Also, we’re just as free to go where we please as you are. See you at the altar). 

Not That I’m Counting the Days…

There are fewer days left in the school calendar than I have fingers and toes. It’s a damn good thing, too, because this is the time of year when everyone has reached burn out and if we don’t get some summer break happening pretty damn quick, every single one of us will take retirement starting next week.

Run-on sentences much?

Anyway, work has been fun, with fun being on a par with forcibly having your toenails removed via your rectum. Yeah, THAT kind of fun. The kids are beyond insane, most of them are in rut and you would NOT believe some of the stuff we’re seeing when they think we’re not looking.

The weather has been giving us the treatment. It’s a lot like being chased through a Laundromat by a psycho washer woman wielding a pea shooter and plenty of frozen peas. Sun, rain, heat, rain and heat together for a miserable day in the tropics, rain, cold, SUN! rain, rain, overcast… I know, I know, we’re in Seattle! We should be used to that shit by now, but come ON! We’re only human, and to tease us with beautiful, glorious sunshine for a whole week, then to blast us with bone-chilling cold is just rude. But, like someone said, “at least we don’t have tornados.” Actually, we have had tornados, just not like the ones ya’ll grow in the Midwest. Ours are smaller and instead of mobile home parks, they like to attack the tile roofs of yuppie domiciles and cause a run on Starbucks.

Of course, around here all it takes is a duck sneezing to cause a run on Starbucks. It’s what we do, people, it’s what we do.

So, for those of us with arthritis and other creaky body things, the abrupt changes in the weather have been uncomfortable to say the least. If it doesn’t pop, creak, grind, or make an ugly squishy sound, then it’s not one of my body parts. That makes for a very cranky Karen. Tam’s in the same boat (and the woman keeps rocking the damn thing), so we’re just one rocking chair away from a nursing home.

Mother’s Day was fun. We had ALL the kids over for a yard work party. “What do you want for Mother’s Day?” they asked. “A clean yard.” They were thrilled at our answer. It’s a work in progress, but they’re not spending any money on us, so it’s all good. Plus we feed them when they come over, and since we’re both damn good cooks, they eat well.

I’ve been working on the manuscript (second book of the series) and the first is closer to publication. Right now, I’m waiting on the cover art to be finished by Tam’s daughter and I can’t wait. I saw the rough draft and let me tell you, it was amazing. I can’t wait to put it all together.

The journey to publication has been an interesting one, and I’m finally glad I decided to go the independent publishing route instead of the traditional publishing house route. I made these stories come to life, and quite frankly the thought of giving up all my rights to them didn’t sit well with me. They’re mine, and I don’t want any publisher saying some things just can’t happen because someone may not like it.

I thumb my nose at them.

So, if all goes as planned (which it rarely does, but there’s always a chance I’ll be surprised) I’ll be able to announce the debut of my very first ebook. I’m going with a pseudonym because I want to write in other genres and sometimes its hard when people are expecting fantasy/sci-fi (which boasts the moniker “alternate reality”) and end up with literary fiction. Besides, if I stay with my current name, then my former brother-in-law would have to share shelf space with me and I doubt he’d be pleased.

Plus it will confuse the hell out of my mother and give her another thing to bitch about, which she absolutely loves, and who am I to deprive her of such joy, hmm?

If you want, you can check out the blog of KT Moreis (ktmoreis(dot)blogspot(dot)com) and check out the one and only post. I’ll make my announcements from there (and here because the excitement will be an awful lot to try and contain on a single blog).

Just be glad I don’t have your phone number.

Happy Mothers Day

That’s not a typo in the title. I'd like to wish all those lovely people out there who have taken on the role of mother, either through birth, adoption, fostering, or just stepping up to the plate when they're needed...most of us have more than one woman in our life who has taken on the role of mother at one point or another.

Happy Mothers Day.

You are:
loved,
needed,
appreciated,
and occasionally sticky.

You've attended important meetings
...with spit-up on your good blazer.
You've carried hand-made tissue paper flowers to a fancy restaurant
...without a second thought.
You've kissed boo-boos
...not caring that the boo-boo might be the germiest thing on the planet.

You've held hands,
checked tears,
yelled,
cried,
worried,
grumbled,
threatened to disown,
hugged,
forgiven,
and been forgiven.

You've marveled at babies,
longed for them to talk,
encouraged them to walk,
then wished they would sit down
and be quiet for five minutes.

You've looked at your grown children,
remembering the tiny bundle you once held.
And maybe you cry a little.
Just a little,
because that person standing in front of you
is
totally
AWESOME

And it's all because of you,
Mom.
Auntie.
Grandma.
Foster mom.
Dad.
Family friend.
Guardian.

You helped mold and shape another human being
into someone who is:
Terrific.
Chaotic.
Adventurous.
Calm.
Daring.
Torch bearing.
Banner waving.
Upstanding.
Future role model
for the next generation.

Thanks. I love you.

Ah Technology

I am a fan of technology, particularly the kind of technology that allows me to write pages of manuscript, then go back and edit one word without retyping the whole damn page. Who wouldn’t love that?

However, I’m not a fan of fragile technology. You know, that kind of software that insists you do things a certain way, although they don’t always tell you what that certain way is and when you don’t do it, you get the silent treatment.

Or the “Non Responsive” treatment.

I’ve been fighting a problem with my netbook. Perhaps it stems from overuse, because to be honest, I’ve not been doing a lot of writing on “The Big Beast” mainly because Tam bought a laptop and we’ve been sitting in the living room enjoying being together while doing stuff on our computers.

The family that geeks out together, stays together, right?

Anyway, my netbook, my precious, my Baby Beast, began exhibiting some strange behavior. Glitches here and there, things not quite running as smoothly as they should, not the usual MS headache-inducing nonsense I’ve had to endure. This stuff was different. Word, my go-to word processing program, began showing a message right after I clicked “save.” It would pretend to think about it then I’d get a spinney thing. About that time, I’d look up at the top of the document only to see the words “non-responsive” in parentheses.

While this would make me crazy on regular days, it was doing it to my manuscript right during the part where I was finally having some kind of breakthrough on the editing wall I’d been butting my head against for the past three weeks. (In case you were wondering why I’ve been a bit on the absent side of the internet lately).

Seeing that message right after an hour of pushing and shoving words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs that flow and have action and move the story along in a logical and pleasing manner. An hour of this bullshit and my computer decides to become “non-responsive.”

Oh no it di’in’t. Oh, yes. Yes it did.

In what I feel is a brilliant saving move on my part, I immediately emailed the document to myself, opened it, and found that it HAD saved it and all was well. I’ve since opened it on the Big Beast and there it will reside and be edited and caressed and cuddled, and beaten into publishable submission by the bloody tips of my fingers.

WHAT?!?

Oh, sorry. It was not a good start to my day.

Now Baby Beast is visiting Dr. TechnoHero where there will be diagnosing, cleaning, backing up, and other non-shenanigans going on while I sit and worry that they’ll find out I’m using an archaic version of Word and I’ve lost the original disks and can no longer install it. I just discovered that little fly in my ointment this very afternoon. The place where the disks used to reside no longer exists. It went away when the man moved out. He assures me he does not have the disks, but they’re not here, so I fear they may have been thrown away or given to Goodwill in a box of left-overs.

Really, just kill me now. Here’s hoping Dr. TechnoHero will overlook my idiocy and show much mercy. I don’t know how, but I’ll keep hoping.

When Life Hands You Shit, Plant a Fucking Garden

 I’ve been away for a little while…gardening.

 Let me rephrase that, I’ve been “gardening.”

Life’s been busy doling out the shit piles and I’ve been busy making sure it doesn’t go higher than my knees hips waist armpits eyeballs.

 Sigh.

 I’ll try to keep the woes to a minimum, because to be honest with you, there haven’t been all that many lately, it’s just that they’ve all been doozies. Doo-zies. The rest of the crap is just that: crap. Daily obnoxiousness of job and family keeping me standing at the ready with the shovel. I’m starting to think I should invest in a large fan and just start dishing the shit right back.

 I know a lot of the problems are not helped by me being a bit of an overprotective mother enabler. I’ve been busy helping Spawn get moved. They lived in that tiny apartment for eight years, and in that time, things kind of get embedded in places. There’s a lot of clean up to do and it all has to be done by this weekend.

That apartment has those cupboards that you only open twice: once when you move in and fill it with crap, and again when you move out and rediscover your treasures. Tiny apartment crammed with two people and all their pre-apartment stuff and then all the stuff that accumulates via gifts, and a hoarder complex, and three cats…

Soon-To-Be-Ex-Spawn-In-Law is of the opinion that picking up after himself was something he preferred to not do. Spawn is also not the greatest in that department, so things were a little…uhhh… it was crowded in that tiny abode. Then came the split and S.T.B.E.S.I.L. took what he wanted and left the rest. All the rest of EVERYTHING for Spawn to manage. Including the clean up. It’s been overwhelming because we can’t go over there as often as we’d like because we’re too damn tired after work. (The “we” I’m referring to is Tam and I, Spawn goes over there every day after work).

This coming weekend is the last one we have to make the place shine and I’m thinking fuck the shine, we’ll be lucky if we can make it not sticky and covered in cat fur. Spawn’s been good about cutting her losses and moving on, but I look at the things being thrown away and my first thought is of waste. But I can no longer step in and try to salvage her life. I must allow her to turn the pages of that chapter. It’s really, REALLY hard folks. Really. I love my son-in-law very much, and my heart aches at what he and Spawn are going through. I’m also very sad for his parents because I have an idea of what they’re going through. This is hard. It’s all hard, but I'm learning to handle it.

 My sons have been amazing throughout this upheaval, helping at the apartment when they can, pitching in and just supporting. I’ll be glad when this weekend is over and I can start focusing on my own home once again. Things are starting to pile up around here.

 I talked to my mother recently, filling her in on most of the gory details of the big move. When I alluded to the fact that I believe Spawn would benefit from therapy for her housekeeping issues, my mother asked if I thought the same about her. I said yes.

 Because I’m an idiot, that’s why, so if you were wondering what all that screaming and wailing and gnashing of teeth was this past week, now you know. It was my mother being faced with my un-sugarcoated opinion.

 We have what feels like a shit ton of cats (there are 4), and thankfully they are all adjusting to the new living arrangements. Tam was sure it would be a nightmare, but they settled in a lot faster than we expected. The old lady cat is feeling much better now that she has room to run, and she’s become quite the matriarch. The young thing is still pretty skittish, but she’s decided I’m ok and will frequently grace me with her presence. I’m still going to take her to the vet and get her fixed though.

I have a manuscript I'm trying to edit. I’m only on the second run through with it, but I’ve already hit a large section of wall that would not allow me to pass. I’ve managed to push my way into that particular section, and I have a good idea where to go with the rest of it, but it’s such a large chunk, and it’s going to change a great deal of how the story reads, that it feels overwhelming and I’m constantly tempted to just pitch the entire mess into the fireplace and become a reclusive…recluse, and I’d totally do that, except for the job that I need in order to pay the bills...BREATHE!

The job is still there, and we’ve all reached that time of year when we’re just more than a little bit burned out and must decide if we want to come back to it for the next year. I’m thinking about it. Actually, I said I would, but I also did a little research into other job possibilities within the district and I’m keeping my options open. Whenever I begin to doubt that decision, I look at the scars on my arm and know those doubts are good for me to have. Spring has sprung with all the zaniness of bizarre weather, weird behavior, and a plethora of allergies that have made us all want to crawl under the house and hum with the feral cats living down there. (They’re not really humming, they’re growling at each other, but it sounds like humming to us.)

Now Google went and changed Blogger so I have no fucking clue how I’m going to post this thing. (P.S. I HATE the "new" blogger layout for posting. It really pisses me off.)

I think it’s time to plug in that fan.