Careful, You'll End up in my Novel....

It's another rainy morning here. It's been raining on and off for the past couple of days. I don't mind except sometimes it rains at the strangest time. Take, for example, last night. I went to my friend's to watch Lost. She lives in the same apartment complex so it's a five minute walk at most. When I left my place, it was sunny and warm and a beautiful evening. Two hours later and it was raining. I was wearing a t-shirt. I got wet. Wasn't that an exciting story?

Lately, the stories in my head haven't been quite as exciting as the world has been around me. House hunting is quite exciting though of the slightly-terrifying variety of exciting. I still haven't found out if my offer was accepted. There was a competing offer submitted so now I have to wait to see which of us gets the house. It's almost like being on a game show except, you know, my prize is paying a lot of money to buy a house. If I don't get that house, I want to put an offer in on the other one I saw that I mentioned yesterday. I keep thinking about that house and how I'd like to live there. Then I think about the house I did put an offer on and I realize I want to live there too. Thus, whatever happens, I think it'll work out the way it should.

Another thing that happened this week was earlier. I forgot to mention that in my blog but now I feel like I have to. Remember how I mentioned that the CEO was temporarily living above me? Well, she has a boyfriend who flies in from California fairly regularly. To be as tactful as possible, let's just say I don't necessarily know the boyfriend is in town until I hear him. When you're lying in bed and you suddenly hear the strange sounds of what seems to be a porno movie and then you realize that it's probably inches above your head when you stop to think about it and that steady thudding sound, you suddenly realize that now is a good time for the good old iPod. It's not that I have anything against couples having a good time but, well, it's my CEO. And it's a porno film above my head.

This, of course, would be nothing except for the fact that the other night, Sunday, I think it was, I had returned from my parents and as is typical, I was carrying a lot of stuff. Thus, in a very rare moment of forgetting to be obsessive-compulsive, I didn't check to see if my door is locked. Normally, I check it at least six times an evening. This time, I didn't. I live in a safe building. In spite of the frat boys being a little loud at times, it's fairly quiet and peaceful. Especially now the boy-who-shouts-at-his-girlfriend-on-the-phone has seemingly moved out. Thus, on the rare occasion that I do forget to lock my door, it's not likely to cause major crime.

Anyway, a little later that evening I sat on the couch in my pajamas watching the DVD of Iron Chef that I'd rented from Netflix because I'm currently obsessed with that show. I still hadn't realized that I'd forgotten to lock my door. Again, let me emphasize, my lack of door-locking is really unusual. Suddenly, while I'm watching one of the chefs do something fancy with that ravioli cutter, my door opens and a little dog runs in followed by my CEO's boyfriend. I had already christened him "The Grunter" in my head.

Immediately, I can tell he is mortified because he's realized his mistake. He's one floor too low. Me...I'm amused. Now, if he'd have come in while I was changing into my pajamas, I would have been embarrassed. But, as it was, I just think it's funny. He doesn't. He tries to go but the dog won't leave. To be fair, it really wasn't The Grunter's fault. I know the dog does, for some reason, like to come to my door on a regular basis for some reason and he'd obviously just followed the dog. Yet though I try to chat to him, to make him a little less embarrassed, he just continues to mumble and beg the dog to go with him.

Finally, the dog leaves. So does he. If he had rubber on his feet, there would have been a burning smell. I immediately locked my door. Then checked it about nine times. I did hear My Own Personal Porno Soundtrack again later that night but, again, the wonder of earbuds is that they drown out noise.

I wasn't going to say anything in the office. After all, I felt sorry for The Grunter. However, he had other plans. He had to drop something off for our CEO the morning afterwards and when one of my coworkers let him into the office, he immediately asked if I was there. Thinking he wanted to talked to me, my coworker told him I was and to go on down. Apparently, he backed away slowly, went red and said, "NO! I'm avoiding her." Which, of course, led to the scampering of several pairs of feet to my office after he left to hear why he he might be avoiding me. Not a good way for him to be discreet.

I haven't seen my CEO since. She's been out of town. I think, like me, she's probably very amused. She's a fun lady and I know that she doesn't embarrass easily which is probably why she keeps her windows open when she and The Grunter do their thing. Aside from the fact that my overactive imagination wonders what happens if that loud thudding of the bed leads to a ceiling collapse and I'm crushed by the weight of two over-enthusiastic fifty-somethings, I don't care that I can hear them having sex; it's just more that, well, she's my CEO and that's a little weird.

So, it's been an interesting week. Aside from being stalked by large spiders who have invaded my home and forced me to attempt to scoop them up while trying not to squeal like a girl and drop them off my balcony back into the wilderness of the grass below, the house hunting and Grunter Invasion have been the most interesting parts. Work is going well, I'm going out with my old friend this weekend and I just came up with another idea for a short story. It doesn't involve a Grunter or someone who buys a house. Yet, now I'm thinking about it...I'm sure those things will work themselves into a fictional effort at some point. That's the beauty of being a writer; nothing is safe. I have this sweatshirt a good friend (and fellow novelist) gave me that says "Careful, you'll end up in my novel."

Grunter, you have been warned.

Happy Tuesday.

Reality: (Potentially) Buying a House is Scary....

I'm a very tired Monkeypants today. That's what I get for staying up too late. Truth be told, I don't think I could have gone to bed any earlier. I had a very busy evening and I was a little bit wired. Besides I had decided to bake bread in my bread machine at about 11:15 p.m. and I wanted to ensure that it rose so I couldn't go to bed any earlier until the bread was actually baking.

I went house hunting last night, as I mentioned yesterday. I put an offer down on a place. It's a terrifying, overwhelming thought. It's also an exhausting process. I looked at six places last night. Of the six, three were very great houses. The first one I looked at was cute, had an awesome little yard and was on a nice street. It also had a converted garage that I loved for the fact that it was a room that could be anything I wanted it to be. The kitchen was small though and the laundry room was the kitchen. I have a feeling, in summer, that kitchen must get awfully warm when the dryer is on. I put that on hold in my mind. There were things I loved about that house. It also helped that the current owner is clearly a younger man into graphic novels and comic book type stuff, rather like me. My realtor is quite nosy which is fun. Plus he'd left some of his art on the kitchen table; he had some tattoo sketches and some panels from graphic novels. He was really good. I actually wanted to meet him because just looking around his place, he seemed very interesting. And clean. The house was...very clean.

We looked at a couple of other places that were ok but nothing spectacular. Then we got to see a house I'd wanted to see the last time I was out. Since it's still occupied, it makes it harder to get in for a look. On the porch, last night, sat this little old lady, waiting for us. The front yard was immaculate, the house clearly well-taken care of. We talked to her for a while and then we went in.

This house felt like home immediately. It was clear from the pictures on the walls that this house belonged to people who had loved it. There were photos of the lady with her husband. He wasn't there which led both my realtor and I to think she'd been recently widowed. The house itself was lovely. It just needs a little updating. Without trying to sound like an age-ist, it was pretty obvious that the house belonged to old people. Just a replacing of the curtains would make the house seem a lot more modern. But, overall, it felt like a home to me. It had the big kitchen I wanted, a laundry area, a garage. It has a big yard, nice sized bedrooms. All the appliances come with the house. The price was low. The taxes are low. Long story short...I felt like this was my house.

My realtor agreed that it seemed like a great buy. Afterwards, we talked to the lady for a while. Sure enough, she was widowed three years ago. I was relieved to find out she'd only been living in the place for twelve years. I would have felt horribly guilty wanting her house if she'd been there, say, thirty years or something. Twelve years is long enough to feel like a place is home and I felt for her because she was clearly sad. Yet because the driveway had a little slant, she said she had trouble with it and her son wanted her to move to Alabama to live with him.

By the time I was done talking to her, I knew that the neighbourhood was great, the location was great and I'd be getting more than a good buy: I'd be getting a place that was well loved, treasured, even. Also, you'll be happy to know she's not the "Derron Lady" although I will confess for a few seconds when she first spoke, she sounded a little like that lady. On a side note, she's still calling. I've discovered that Derron is her grandson. She always calls when I'm not home now and leaves Derron messages on my machine. I almost feel like I should offer to help locate Derron next time she calls. She just sounds so irritated that my answering machine is answering the phone and I still have not yet transformed into Derron.

I digress, as usual. Anyway, so, after looking at a few other places that didn't compare, I knew I had to move forward. My realtor took me to dinner and talked me through the process. I will tell you that just making an offer on a house is exhausting. There are hours worth of paperwork to be completed. I can't even imagine the amount of paperwork if I actually get to buy the house.

So, it's been just over a month since I decided I wanted to look into buying. Now I might have a place. I'm trying not to hope too much because if my offer isn't accepted, I'll be disappointed. However, like everything else in life, if it doesn't work out, I'll adjust. However, if it does work out, I will cross their scary bridge of thinking about being a homeowner and becoming one.

So, you see, last night was an adventure. I got in late. I knew I couldn't sleep. So I decided to try again with the bread, attributing the previous night's failure to bad yeast. This time, I knew I couldn't fail: I found Mario Batali's recipe for basic bread. With Mario behind me, what can go wrong? However, I did read the comments below and discovered the recipe has a typo: use 1 and a half cups of water rather than just the half-cup that is printed.

By the time I'd made the bread, I still wasn't tired and so I'd chatted on the phone to my friend in California. By the time I was done, the bread was rising and almost ready to start baking. This time, it looked like bread, at least.

I woke up this morning to a loaf of lovely crusty bread. I just had some for breakfast and have to say, once again, Mario Batali is my hero. It is delicious. I have my ham sandwich for lunch. I will find out this afternoon if my offer is accepted. I'm terrified. But I'm also excited. I'll keep you posted. Thanks, as always for reading...

Happy Wednesday!

Not One of Those Days After All....

I'm hoping today's not going to be one of those days. It has a few of the signs of being one of those days. For example, I attempted to bake a loaf of bread in my breadmaker last night and I got up this morning to find an odd jagged looking scone-like loaf that was rock hard and inedible. I'm not sure what happened. I used the same recipe I always do. I put the ingredients in like I always do and yet...no bread. Most odd.

I had baked the bread with the intention of making fancy ham sandwiches for lunch. I love homemade bread on a good sandwich. So I had to go to plan B which was to make a salad. Fortunately, I had made a whopper bowl of salad for dinner last night so all I had to do was put some in my tupperware but it's not going to compare to the sandwich I had in my mind. I know you're thinking, "Wait, didn't Captain Monkeypants just complain about how sick she was of ham sandwiches and ham sandwich weather?" Well yes but not the kind of ham sandwich I had in my mind to make. That was to built around ham I had simmered all day yesterday in my crockpot with rosemary infusion. It would have had hydroponic butter lettuce and german mustard on my crusty homemade bread. That's definitely not the same as Oscar Meyer Deli Sliced ham slapped on two pieces of cheap wheat bread.

So, I must settle for my salad. The bread was a disappointment, however. I really wanted that sandwich.

The second sign that it's going to be one of those days is that literally the minute I had stepped outside of my apartment building, rain began to fall. When I say the minute I stepped out, I mean the exact moment I left the shelter. I made it to my car but, naturally, I had picked this morning to take out my rubbish. This means I had to run out in the pouring rain from the shelter of my car and get momentarily soaked just so my flat did not smell like rotting vegetables and stale bread. I have a very small trash can. It fills up fast and when you add a loaf of failed bread machine bread to it, it gets a bit full. So...I got wet.

I would have used my umbrella except one of them was at home and the other at the office. I made a note to myself to keep one in my car. The problem with non-ham-sandwich weather is that it's a tad unpredictable. I like that but I don't necessarily like getting soaked before I get to work and thus entering the office looking a little like a drowned rodent.

Those are really the only signs that it's going to be one of those days aside from the simple fact I had to go to work. I like my job. I just don't like politics and, after over six months of working for a company, I'm beginning to get fed of being the "new person". I know I'll be the new person until someone else new starts in my area but it means I have to constantly be pushed to the sidelines because I'm still not trusted completely, no matter how hard I work. I've had a lot of new jobs in my life because I variety. I've been the new person before. It takes time. I just have to be patient and, eventually, I'll feel secure in my job and not like I'm going to get fired because I'm useless. I'm going to try not to have one of those days at work.

Of course, in the course of my blogging, I've managed to publish my blog accidentally which means, currently, the world can read an unfinished mish-mash of words.

Sometimes I wonder if those days that I speak of, the ones we all have are of our own making or they're days in which the world just wants to take out its bad mood. I mean, we all have days like that. When I'm snippy and crotchety, my poor mother is my punching bag. She puts up with my attitude and listens to me complain. I also have some good friends who know that sometimes all I need to do is vent and get my frustation out of my system. Yet I know on days like that, nothing is going to make me content; I'm on edge and because I am, there's an invisible jagged barrier between me and the world; those are days on which I can't ever relax because nothing feels right.

Maybe the world around me is having a day like that. Or, maybe, more realistically, I'm having a day like that. It's still raining outside. I'm hoping the sun comes out, just for a little while. I'm going house hunting again tonight and my realtor is planning a marathon. I think I have 10 houses to see. I'm not complaining. I'm loving the hunt and the possibility that each place could become my home.

Yet, maybe if I don't concede and admit it's one of those days, it won't become one. Maybe my refusal to acknowledge it will make it not happen. Maybe all I need to do is put on my iPod, listen to the new Green Day song and focus on the positive. I mean, I have a job and I like it. Just because I'm not feeling like I completely fit yet doesn't mean I won't eventually. Maybe it's better that my ham sandwich plans were foiled; salad is healthier anyway. Maybe the fact that it started raining is a present because I love rain. In fact, when I look at the fact that I couldn't have a ham sandwich AND it's raining, maybe that's the universe's way of saying, "hey, you wanted this! I'm just trying to help you out!"

Which means it's definitely not one of those days. It's the opposite. That's a great thing.

Happy Tuesday.

Adventures in House Hunting

The sun is shining today. It's chilly out there and the threat of rain looms but it's still a day, struggling to start brightly.

I know how it feels. Once again, I got to bed far too late last night and had to get up far too soon. I'm currently devouring my rather large cup of coffee which I actually made at home with my nifty little French press. That thing makes tasty coffee and it's way easier even than a regular coffee maker. It's a bit messy to clean but it's well worth it. It means I can bypass the office coffee for a day which, while no longer vile, is still just office coffee.

I did go look at houses last night. Naturally, I did the one thing I'm not supposed to do. I loved the first one I saw. Granted, we looked at four and the other three were definitely not to my tastes but that first one...well, I could live there. Don't worry, I'm going to keep looking but it's definitely on my radar.

Looking at houses is fascinating. The first one had just been redone and you could tell that the owners had put time and into effort into making their house sellable. They had put in new appliances, painted and cleaned. It looked liked they wanted someone to buy their house. I wanted to buy their house. Then we looked at two others, priced similarly to the first. What a contrast. The second one felt wrong when I went in. It had old carpet, no longer lying flat but easily trip-able. The basement was dark and gloomy and though there was an interesting '70's style padded bar and seats, the newly installed wall paneling had already buckled and I knew it was hiding something bad. It just felt like an antique store that sold nothing but junk, no treasures thrown in to keep it interesting.

The third house was a bachelor pad. The owner was asking the same price as for the first house I had seen. This was also a contrast. The carpets were thick, shaglike. They were dirty. As mean as it sounds, it smelled like a bachelor pad. The bathrooms were sparse and the corners were dirty. The kitchen had potatoes that were actually growing leaves because they had been left for so long. It was just...dirty.

It was an eye-opening experience. People think very highly of their houses and ask a lot of money. It amazes me that the first house was clean, airy, the fridge, oven and dishwasher still with their factory manuals taped to them, they were so new. For the same price, the third house had an oven that looked like it belonged in a bomb shelter from the 1970's, the yellowed plastic and manual clock frozen in their attempts to blend in to the 21st century. Both the good house and the other two were within three blocks of each other so there's not even much room to rationalize that the vastly different quality but the similar prices were about location.

I'm lucky. My realtor is fantastic. She's thourough. She's blunt. She's not afraid to point out flaws and tell me what to look for. She also refuses to allow me to fall madly in love with one place but wants me to keep looking and if that first place is still appealing after a lot more looking, then it can be a possibility.

I did look at another place but though the door was supposed to be unlocked, it wasn't and the best we could do is look in the windows. That was enough for me. The driveway was almost vertical up a hill. As a wary winter driver, I'm not about to think about trying to get my little Corolla up a hill that would be tough, even in summer. So, that was an automatic no.

House hunting is fun. Each place offers the chance for me to picture myself living there, to picture where I'd write, the ways I can decorate to make it my own. I am in the best situation possible to buy a home: I rent so I don't have to sell a home before I can buy a new one, the market is a buyer's market, the interest rates low enough that even I on my meager salary can consider buying instead of renting and I'm willing to compromise. The possibilities are endless and I'm no longer terrified of the possibility but excited.

I finally rolled into my apartment around 10 p.m. last night. Being Monday, I had my weekly calls from the Derron-lady on my answering machine. Since that first night, I've realized her urgent need to talk to Derron is limited to Mondays. I feel for her because she clearly can't comprehend that when my answering machine says, "Hello, you've reached [Captain Monkeypants]", it's not really code for "Derron is really here but he's hiding from you." Personally, I'd rather like to take Derron aside and give him a good talking-to. Clearly, he's either not calling this lady back or he keeps giving her the wrong number which happens to be MY number. She doesn't believe me when I tell her it's not Derron's number. She doesn't believe my answering machine. Short of changing my number or unplugging the phone, there's little I can do. It's just another incentive to move, I suppose.

Happy Tuesday!

A Wordsworth Kind of Friday...

"Daffodils" (1804)

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850).

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It's going to be a beautiful Friday. The sun is shining again and the temperatures are supposed to reach the 70's. That's what I call a good start to the weekend. It's been a long week, full of ups and downs but mostly ups...which makes for a good week.

My weekend looms before me, the weather forecast is very typical for the Midwest in the spring; it's supposed to be sunny with a chance of rain and the temperatures will range from teh 30's to the 70's. I have no real set plans aside from looking at houses this weekend. I'm quite excited about that. I've never looked for my own house before but I'm certain that there's a place out there, somewhere, that I'll eventually be able to call my own.

Aside from that, it's one of those delicious weekends in which nothing is written in stone and during which I can do anything or nothing, whatever strikes my fancy.

I like that I've been dreading this past week for a month, the knowledge that my novel, Sleep, would hit its peak in ABNA and I'd be back to starting over with query letters for it. The reason I like that I've been dreading it is because now that it's happened, it's over and rather than bring me down, it's boosted me up.

I had a good evening last night too. I made breakfast for dinner: Scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, hash brown patties and grilled tomatoes and green peppers. I watched "Iron Chef America" on my laptop and discovered that while I adore Mario Batali, I do not care for Bobby Flay. I find him stressful to watch because he seems so focused and intent that he doesn't seem to be enjoying his work very much. When I watch Mario Batali, I get the sense that he enjoys cooking, that he is inspired by the ingredient he's given. Bobby Flay seemed rather miserable about it. Maybe it was just the episode; the secret ingredient was beer and Flay was challenged by an Austrian cook who clearly knew how to use the ingredient. Poor Bobby seemed a little irritated by his ingredient and when his fondue turned about badly, I almost expected him to throw it at his sous chef.

Aside from that, I did download the new Green Day song. As expected, it is good. Then I wrote, while listening to Green Day. There's nothing better.

So, I seem to be continuing my campaign of positivity which, for me, is a pretty good accomplishment. I can be optimistic but I can also be dark and twisty, full of darkness and self-doubt. I'm glad I didn't go to that place but, instead, I let Spring have its effect on me. It's hard not to when the sun is shining so brightly and you pass hosts of golden daffodils constantly on your way to work. Even though I have the work day to get through before my weekend begins, I can live with that. It makes the anticipation of two days of freedom even better.

Happy Friday.