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Ugh! Slanty Shanty!

I’m sorry I’m late. I kept forgetting to take a picture of the door and now that I have, everyone will get to enjoy.

The door!

We intended to replace the door to the fire escape in our laundry room. It needed to be done. The house basically has zero right angles and because of this, the door had been forced into a parallelogram type shape and caused the slats in the door to separate. You could actually see light through the panels. YAY! I know what you’re thinking, “Suzanne, that’s not so safe and no way near energy efficient!” Well, you would be correct. Hence, the change. Here is what the door to be replaced looked like. See the huge gap at the top. SLANTY SHANTY!

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Let us begin this epic journey.

We ordered this door (because everything in this house is a special order) in August.  Brad, with whom I’m on a first name basis now, came to measure the door and put in the order. This took about three weeks to come in. When it did, Brad called and said the door was damaged. So, we reordered the door. This took another three weeks. When that door came in, it was the wrong door. Now, at this point, I normally wouldn’t have cared if it was at least semi close to the door we ordered. I just wanted the fucking door switched out. But we had ordered a door that was half windows and half solid. My slanty shanty is in an urban area and on the last street of a nice neighborhood. I like to say that we’re “hood adjacent”. The door that came in, however, was all windows from top to bottom. I’m sorry. I can’t have that where I live. That’s inviting someone to break in. So, back the door goes. Ross and I throw ourselves a little hissy fit at the store and after an hour of talking to minions and asking for a manager, one finally comes out to talk to Ross. They do refund the money for the door since the process for this door has been ridiculous and they were dicks about it. So, we reorder the correct door and wait.

This brings up to yesterday. Brad, who is actually the nicest guy ever and might need a round of applause at this point, removes the old door to install the new door. He removes the frame and says, “This needs re-mortared (which I’m not even sure is a word but there’s no red line underneath so whatever) before I can install this door.” He can’t up in the door. Now, we have to call the mason guy, which Ross has a mason guy. Have the door mortared and then call Brad back out to install the door.

I was at work when this all went down so Ross called me to tell me. I asked him if they were putting the old door back on and he said, “Oh, no. You’re going to love this.”

I said, “Fuck me, what now?”

Ross said, “Brad’s putting up plywood over the door until he came come back out to install the new door.”

This is what it looks like now.

door

So now, I have no door. There is plywood over a gigantic hole in my laundry room. And from the outside, it looks like I live in a crack house.

Daycare Woes

So this has been my week…

On Monday, I picked up Scarlett from daycare and the teacher handed me a sheet of paper and said, “I’m sure you’ve seen the posting on the door already but we’re required to give this to everyone.”
Well, no I hadn’t seen a posting on the door but that’s because I go in there to get my kid and get the hell out. I glanced down at the paper and guess what??? My daycare is closing! Not, temporarily but permanently and in two weeks. TWO. WEEKS. Are you fucking kidding me? Really?

Does anyone know how hard it is to get into a daycare? It’s not easy.

I had a mild moment of panic and stormed up to the Director’s office and yelled at a crying woman. I know that doesn’t make me the best person in the world, this poor woman had just lost her job but give me more than two weeks f’in notice.

So, I rushed home and called three daycares before 6pm. Guess what? No spots. I could be put on the waiting list for MARCH! That helps me not at all.

In an effort to help, the daycare is allowing all displaced children a spot in their other daycare center, which is great. Scarlett has somewhere to go. However, the commute from my house to the current daycare facility is 7 minutes through downtown traffic. Now, I have to cross to the North end of town which will take 30 minutes in good traffic and then come back down to campus which is another 20 minutes. So…my 10 minute drop off/pick up has now become an hour of circling the city in rush hour horror.

As Ross and I have discussed, here are our options:

  1. Put up with the commute until something opens up closer which could be tomorrow or it could be March
  2. Put her in a scarily religious daycare close to our house, pay a shit ton of money for it and hope she doesn’t become indoctrinated in the months she’s there
  3. Move. Now, some of you may say that’s a drastic measure but we would’ve had to move anyway in the next few years for school

Considering these three options…a realtor is coming on Sunday and we have an appointment at the bank on Tuesday. I figure, what the hell, we were going to move anyway, why postpone it and put Scarlett in 6 different daycares in the meantime.

Wish us luck!

Hallowpalooza

This week, I’m coppin’ out. Nothing exciting actually happened so I have nothing to divulge. I live a dull life now and honestly, it’s a little sad. So instead of embarrassing myself or others, I’m going to shamelessly promote the NightOwlReviews.com Hallowpalooza event.

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It’s fun. You can win free stuff and I’m pretty sure I gave them a free copy of Emerald Fire. Pretty sure! People, we’re lucky I remember my own name at this point.

Exposed

First, I have to start out with an addendum to last week’s post. Ross brought to my attention (because we have been talking about the disable/destroy button for so long,  I’d forgotten), he instituted the disable portion. Mostly, because I just wanted to destroy everything. I’m blood thirsty and pragmatic…what can I say?

On to this week’s topic!

Has anyone else had a full body scan at the dermatologist???

No? Let me enlighten you.

This can be a surprisingly invasive process. Last year, when I went to the dermatologist, I wasn’t prepared. I had originally gone in for an acne treatment and I thought this was the follow up visit. When I walked into the room, the nurse took all my information and then giving me a paper gown (of the highest quality, of course) asked me to get undressed. She left and I was…confused. But I ignored this and got undressed down to my panties and bra because why would they need me to get completely naked for acne?

The doctor came in, barely said a word to me, then put on a pair of magnifying glasses (you know the type with a whole headset attached) that made me think she was going to be working on small clock parts instead of looking at my face. Turns out, she was going to be looking at a whole lot more than my face.

When she got under the gown and saw I still had clothes on, she seemed perplexed, eyeing me with a curious expression that made me think she was trying to ascertain if I was stupid or hadn’t followed directions. Making a decision I can only guess at, she asked me to remove them. So I did, kind of seeing where she was going by this time. I got it, she was looking for moles and abnormal skin stuff (that’s a technical term, by the way). The moment she spread my butt cheeks apart, I said, “Excuse me?”, and rolled over. That’s where I draw the line. Not cool folks. Not. Cool. You need to prepare a person for that.

By the time this thing was over, I felt almost traumatized.

Ross was waiting in the car for me because we were heading out of town. When it was all over and got climbed into the front seat, he looked at me and asked what was wrong.

I told him, “I think I might have just been violated,” and relayed the whole thing.

He answered with, “That doesn’t seem right.”

And we were on our way.

Well, today, I was better prepared. However, the moment my cheeks get spread, it still seems wrong. It just does.

Disable or Destroy

As I drive to and from work on a daily basis, I often wish that there was a device that only I had the ability to use. This is important because some asshole would definitely use this thing on me if it existed. I get angry and road rage is definitely a issue in my case. I’m surprised that I haven’t been in more fights, honestly.

But I digress…

On this device, there would be two buttons which would target a car of my choosing. The first button would be to disable the car so it can no longer operate under the current driver. The second button…oh the second button. This would destroy the car in a big ball of fiery goodness, thereby eliminating the car from the roads forever. Now, some of you are probably saying to yourself – but Suzanne, the driver would die. No, no. I envision a targeting system that blinks and beeps. This would alert the driver that they had 30 seconds to get the hell out of the car. The rest is on them.

Examples:

  1. Dude cutting across three lanes of one way traffic to make a left turn. – First, go around the damned block. Second, you can’t turn from the third lane. You just can’t. = destroy
  2. 20 something chick texting while doing 40. – Nothing is that important. = disable 
  3. Woman reading the kindle while sailing through downtown. – I realize that you’re probably really into that book but put it down for the 30 minutes its going to take you to get to work. Please… = definitely destroy
  4. Old man doing 40 on the highway when the speed limit is 65. – It may seem fast but really 40 in a 65 is going to kill someone. Really, either speed up or stay off the highway. = disable
  5. The guy with his blinker on for 4 miles. – Where are you going? Don’t you hear the constant tic tic tic of the blinker? How does that not drive you insane? = disable
  6. Drunk woman going the wrong way on the highway. – There are no words. = DESTROY DESTROY DESTROY
  7. The idiot who is playing on his phone at a light and then basically sits through an entire cycle of green only to pull away when he looks up and realizes the light is yellow. – ASSHOLE = destroy

Now, you might think that I’m exaggerating. Unfortunately not. The drunk woman was on the news. The rest I’ve seen in real life. And yes, I did pull up to a woman at a light that had her kindle propped up against the steering wheel in her lap. So, if any of you techies out there want to build something like this for me, I would be forever grateful.

Graceful to a Fault

So, I was going to write about my idea for a “disable or destroy” button today but that will have to wait until next week.

I would like to share with the world my inability to:

a) walk a straight line,

b) stand up straight on a regular basis, and

c) trip both down and up stairs.

So, today was the second time in a few weeks that I’ve not only tripped or fallen down but that I’ve hit the ground. I trip quite a bit, either over my own feet or on something else…like a pebble. Two weeks ago, I was just standing there, minding my own business when my ankle gave out and I collapsed to the floor. I was literally standing up and talking to someone and then I wasn’t. It was as if, I’d fallen through a trap door. Then this morning, I make it all the way to  my office building and then face plant up the stairs. And on top of everything else, I am wearing the most conspicuous skirt on the face of the planet. It’s bright red. It’s in a huge bell shape. And I’m pretty sure that everyone on the street this morning got a good glimpse of my ass.

So, you’re welcome Columbus. Not only is it a great day but you got a show as well!

Feminism and Erotica

I’ve been reading a bunch of erotica lately. I’m on a kick. Sometimes I read tons and tons of paranormal romance/urban fantasy. Sometimes I read a shit ton historical romance, one after the other. And yes, “shit ton” is a technical term. And others, I read nothing but classics for stretches. Right now, I’m stuck in erotica playland. And before you even guess, it’s not Fifty Shades of Grey. I read the first paragraph and decided…NOPE. I couldn’t get beyond the writing. There is better erotica out there! I promise.

Anyway, I’ve read some Maya Banks’ Surrender Trilogy and the Breathless Trilogy, as well as Kresley Cole’s Game Maker series over the last two weeks (when I should instead be writing…but I digress). And I have to say that Kresley Cole’s didn’t infuriate me in the same way that the Maya Banks’ books did.

I understand that there is a whole movement for dominance and BDSM. I even understand the appeal. What someone likes in their own bedroom is their own business. I won’t judge you, I swear. You can be a very powerful woman and want nothing more than to come home and have your partner take control. It’s appealing. I wouldn’t call anyone’s feminism into question for that desire. Your kinks are your own. We all have them. My problem with some of these is the emotional corruption that feels almost slimy. There were too many woman in these books with “Daddy Issues” looking for an alpha male to dominate them. In one instance, the woman was homeless and for me, the entire book I questioned whether she really wanted what was happening to her or if she just wanted to eat on a regular basis.

Maybe I’m reading too much into these books and plot lines. However, it seems to me that by framing the situation in the way that some of these books were – it does a disservice to that life style. Because each of the heroines caught up participating in dominance relationships had some type of failure in the male role model category, it makes it appear that a person who did not have these same circumstances wouldn’t choose to play dominance games. That’s not true. Just once, I would like to see a woman who has 0 emotional scars, who is confident in herself and her self-worth, live this type of lifestyle in erotica. That’s why the Kresley Cole books were so much better. I felt like, yes – these women were in dire circumstances but they came from loving homes and the shit that had happened to them happened while in adulthood and they were more capable of dealing with the consequences. I understand that there has to be some conflict in novels or else there’s nothing to drive the plot. I’m a writer, I get that. I also understand that it’s not the author’s job to be an advocate for a particular lifestyle choice. All I’m saying is that we can make the heroines not so emotionally damaged so that it doesn’t feel as skeezy.

What do you think???

Emerald Fire Teaser

I know I missed last week. I’m sorry. I was on vacation that day, getting the nursery together and taking a nap. It was a very full day. To make up for it, I’m posting a teaser for the upcoming Blushing Death #7 release this summer – Emerald Fire.

Enjoy!

Sitting with a drink in his hand, legs crossed at the knee, and a bored expression lighting his gaze, the man from the club a few nights ago watched us. His shoulder length black hair was swept back and tucked behind one ear. His dark suit was pressed and unmarred by the events of the evening. He sat there, staring at us without a speck of dust on him. With a smirk as we approached, he evaluated us and something in the pit of my stomach tightened.

“Be careful,” Alex breathed a warning as we closed the distance across the dance floor. We sauntered side by side to the bar. “Isidro,” Alex said with forced cordiality. Her entire being stiffened as she bent at the waist, bowing to the other vampire.

“Alejandra,” he nodded to Alex and then turned to me. “You, my little flower, we haven’t been formally introduced.” His voice was deep, smooth, and inviting. He forced his power out through his voice in a way that suggested he thought he could mesmerize me. I guess the joke was on him. Meeting his gaze without a flinch of hesitation, I smirked at his surprised expression.

“Do we need to be?” I snorted.

“It’s only proper. I’m a good man to know.”

“Leave her be Isi,” Alex chided, finally frustrated with the banter.

“So protective, Alejandra. One would think the Blushing Death couldn’t take care of herself,” he taunted. Sliding a slick glance my way, he sipped the dark liquor in the glass. His eyes roamed over me in a way that made my stomach twist. He had a familiarity in his gaze that made me feel like he knew exactly how my blood would taste on his tongue.

“I’m not protecting her, Isi. I’m protecting you,” she sneered.

“She wouldn’t kill me. Not here in public with the police watching,” he said with a wave of his hand toward the door. I turned at the sure, thundering steps of hard-soled shoes on the dance floor.

Derek crossed the now empty club with long sure strides. His grey suit shone with the reflected light of the disco mirrored icicles dangling from the ceiling. The club was called Ice, what kind of décor would it be if there weren’t icicles dangling from the ceiling.

Glancing back to the vampire at the bar, I said, “Why not?” I gave him my best malicious grin, letting my monster peek through.