This is Why You Don’t Wait Impatiently

So, I’m kind of impatient. And not in a cute way (is there a cute way?) but in a crazy, annoy-my-own-self and everyone around me kind of way. It’s not good. Those who know me are probably nodding their heads. Yes, she is that insane kind of impatient! God forbid the server takes too long or the car in front of me goes a *mile* under the speed limit. I WILL MAKE IT KNOWN. It’s one of the things I really hate about myself.  But I can’t help it. I’m an impatient person, and despite all my calming techniques and counting to ten and positive mental perspective…at my core…I just want shit to hurry up.

In addition to being highly impatient (probably the correct term) I’m also a planner. I like things done wwwwwaaaayyyy in advance because then I know it’s been taken care of. I don’t have to worry about it because the task has been completed. And there have been a lot of tasks lately, one of which is a lovely little vacation for me and the hubs once we get hitched. Destination: Oahu.

Airplane tickets are booked (high-five past Caitlin) and next it’s onto the resort. Only, we’ll be staying in November 2020 and my credit card expires in September 2020.

**sideways glance**

Anyone ever been caught here? I’ve never come across this in all my adult credit-card carrying life. DENIED my purchase due to my card expiration date. It needs to be active/current at the time of check-in. Okay. Fine. Makes sense.

So, heart already racing (I need this fixed now! Not tomorrow—now!) I call Capital One screaming REPRESENTATIVE enough times to scare the automated message into transferring me to a live human being. When I finally speak with her, I explain my situation. My card expires in September. I need a new card with a further/future expiration date so that I can book a hotel room for this November. Very simple. I used small words and spoke in my gentle voice and everything. She says no problem, my new card will arrive in 4-6 days. I need it in my hands now, but okay, I’ll wait.

And, I do. Impatiently. I checked the mail the next day. And the next day. And the next. And the next, and every day until I got it which was amazing because YES—I was finally going to book the resort! The box will be checked! I can focus on other things and put this on the shelf!

Except she sent me the same fucking card.

Expiration date September 2020

**blinks**

You’re telling me, I waited impatiently every day under a LIE because I got the wrong person in the call center? What was so confusing about my explanation? Nothing! Nothing was confusing! Which is what I told the second person in the call center after explaining my situation again. I NEED A CARD WITH A FUTURE EXPIRATION DATE—SOME POINT PAST NOVEMBER 2020. ANY MONTH AND YEAR WILL DO BUT IT HAS TO BE PAST NOVEMBER 2020. I didn’t scream any of this. I said it very quickly, and very passionately while apologizing because I was hungry and (as you know) an extremely impatient person. After confirming he understood what I meant (God, I hope he did) he said my new card with a future expiration date will be in the mail in 4-6 days. Nope. Not good enough. Can’t go through another week of nail-bitings, so I paid an expedited fee to get it here by the end of this week.

Look, we’re all crazy about some things, right? I’ll be patient for a while, but when it’s gone, it’s gone. *shrugs* #noapologies

What about you? Are you this impatient? Have you ever been denied a purchase due to the expiration date? How far in advance do you plan things?

Epic First Draft # IWSG

Before we even start this thing, I have to give a shout-out to one of my bestest buddies, Robert:

Happy 21st (+13) birthday!!! 😊 😊 😊 May this special day bring you a year of blessings ahead. And may it also bring you back to the states so that I can look at your face and not a photo. (You’re sexier in person and we both know it.)

All seven days of 2020 have been great so far. I’m still engaged. I’m still writing, and I just started watching Jack Ryan! I honestly have no idea what’s taken me so long. As a lover/stalker of Jim Halpert, and especially since John Krasinski is on my top five celebrity-to-do list, I should’ve been watching Jack Ryan since the beginning. But I’m glad we’re watching it now because it’s pretty friggin awesome.

Wedding planning is going great. I think the panic and anxiety will settle in around summertime, which gives me a few months of rational, level-headed thinking left before I start second-guessing everything. Can’t wait.

Writing-wise? I’m still plugging away at RTD (Return to Dellapalania). You’ve probably forgotten since I started writing the dang thing at the tail end of 2018. I know. I know. What the hell am I doing, right? It’s long. Like, long. And I know I’ll cut out a lot of this stuff —remember, we’re still first draft here—so it’ll be shorter, but it already feels epic.

I’m a few pages into the third and final section, so at least I’m on the final leg of the trip. But it’s the last portion, which makes it the largest one, and there are *several* things that need to happen. All the stuff that leads up to the main climax (not to mention the subplot with a minor antagonist and that climax) and all the stuff after. And since it’s a series finale and not a book finale, I’ll have to really end it, and I’m not even sure what that means. It’s my first last-book I’ve written. I’m sure this will come with a lovely bunch of its own, unique obstacles, and I’m still only on the first draft. Meh.

Since I don’t have a whole lot going on, I’m going to jump into this month’s—and the first official of the year—Insecure Writers Support Group question:

What started you on your writing journey?

Whoa, buddy. Talk about a conversation starter. The long answer is long, and filled with details and emotions and ugly sobbing. Nobody wants that. The short answer is this: a teacher waaaaaay back in the day asked me to write the best story I could, and it was like a door was opened.

What about you? Long story? Short story? Cliff notes? And how’s your 2020 been so far?

Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) is a monthly blog hop for writers at all levels to share their fears and insecurities in a safe and encouraging place. Please drop by and say hi to Alex Cavanaugh who started this nifty concept in bringing us all together.

P.S. Happy birthday again, Robert! I love and miss you!! Bring your friggin face back to Florida already. It’s been too long.

Welcome, 2020!

Hello, and welcome to my first post of 2020!

I hope this year/decade/century/lifetime is filled with amazingness for all of you, and all the things that help you grow and give you love 😊

You know how time passes and you realize it’s going, but you don’t really register the time? That was all of December. Christmas snuck up like a ninja, and now it’s the first day of the new year. I haven’t blogged since LAST DECADE, and that is not the lazy kind of behavior I have planned for 2020. I almost missed this post, but decided writing it was more important than napping, and so, here we are. First day of 2020. The new year and new decade. It’s also leap year. What else is happening…

Oh, yeah—

I’M GETTING MARRIED THIS YEAR!!

**dances aggressively**

A thousand smiley faces and high-fives and cartwheels I could never do when I was young (or now) but still—cartwheels for everyone! Batman and I met and started dating in Spring 2007 and this November 2020, we are *finally* making it official in the government’s eyes. It’s been official with us for a while, but it’ll be nice to wear the white dress and to see him all dressed up like James Bond, which is how he wants to look. Fine by me. It’s an improvement from the blue and orange Dumb and Dumber suits he was talking about a few years ago. Or coming dressed as Han Solo (which would’ve been hot…but you know…) so the fact that he settled on James Bond is A-OKAY with me 😊

Here’s a picture of us in case you forgot what we look like:

He’s in his Adam Banks 99 Mighty Ducks Jersey that his super awesome fiancé got him, and I’m in my Hufflepuff House Sweater that the luckiest guy in the universe got me. We make a cute couple every once in a while. But never in the morning. We’re gross in the morning.

I also got a stuffed ovary to go with my vagina (we previously had the eyeball and testicle). Batman got the skin, and I must say, the family is growing nicely:

Sorry to backtrack, but awesome gifts are worth mentioning. And here’s one more. If you’ve followed my blog or a few months, or at least from the end of October, you may remember reading this post about writing the books and finding the readers, or you may have skipped it or started it and stopped—whatever your involvement, I basically stated all I had to do was write the books and find the readers (sounds simple enough, right?), and casually mention making it into a banner or plaque that I could conveniently place in the empty space above my window. Look what my mom got me:

Thanks, Ma! (And thanks to everyone who made Christmas 2019 a special one 😊)

I’m excited for 2020. Batman and I are still on our kick of losing weight for the big day, we’ve decided to finally renovate and do some actual landscaping on the house we moved into in 2015 (we rent, but have permission from the owners to upgrade), and we’re planning an awesome honeymoon to HI! I’m sure new challenges are coming our way—and I’m sure 99% of them will have to do with my car—but I’m ready for this year. I’m ready to say ‘I do’ to the weirdo who argued with me about Sin City over twelve years ago when I was trying to check out our waiter.

Ten months and we’re official, babe.

What about you? What’s happening for you in 2020? Or, I should ask, what are you planning for? Whatever it is, let’s rock 2020 😊

P.S. Shout out to my dad and Sharon for getting me these *super* comfy and fashionably awesome jammy pants. I love them!:

It Did Not Go Well

Batman and I haven’t been taking Appa with us on our daily walks. That probably makes us terrible pet parents, but whatever. I make up for it in overindulging my baby with expensive cookies that look like Oreos. The dog is far from spoiled. But he’s *extremely* hyper and energetic and sixty pounds of all muscle, so when he pulls on his harness, you go flying. Well, I go flying because I’m weak and have fragile hands and always think he’s easier to walk than he is. (Don’t get me wrong. Appa is a wonderful—if not the best—dog, but he’s definitely a handful. I know. I heard the vet talking about us outside of the exam room.)

So, I’ve been pushing to take him back on walks with us because 1) he absolutely loves it 2) you’re *supposed* to take your dog on walks 3) Batman usually ends up with the leash. It’s terrible because again, it’s usually my suggestion to take the dog with us, but after Appa tugs too hard the first few times, Batman automatically reaches for the leash, like it’s his personal goal to conquer the beast—and show me how. I don’t object. I get my hands back—all red and sore—and get to walk in peace while Batman and Appa play Alpha vs Beta, with Appa continually losing. You think he would learn. But he’s outside, exploring the neighborhood he so rarely gets to see. It’s a sort of freedom, and I don’t think playing tug of war with his dad bothers him the way it bothers me and Batman. So, I fight for him. I fight for him to go on our walks and the other day, Batman agreed.

It did not go well.

It started out fine. The day was beautiful. A crisp 60 something degrees in Florida—the kind of day we normal Floridians long for. We’d made it down the first street in our neighborhood when Appa—surprise, surprise—started pulling on his leash. I made him sit to reinforce my command, when suddenly, out of fucking nowhere, three dogs came racing over, barking their heads off. No leashes. No invisible fence to keep them from mauling their neighbors. They circled Batman and Appa, growling and snapping. Even as he yelled at them to leave, I had to clap my hands and try and scare them off. I was pretty ineffective, especially since it took me a minute to realize what was happening. We were walking our dog in our neighborhood. How the hell are we under attack? When I snapped out of it, I tried making as much noise as possible to at least draw their attention away, because Batman was seconds away from killing them.

That’s when the neighbor came running out, apologizing. Oh, and laughing. He was also laughing. I guess to him, watching his three dogs nearly attack my dog and my fiancé is funny. I don’t know. But I’m also not a sick bastard so…

*shrugs*

With the pulling and the possible dog attacks, bringing Appa with us has been shelved again. Probably for a while. But we’ve also blacklisted McDonalds and Burger-King for poor service, and we’ve gone back plenty of times, which says a lot about our diet, but shut up. We’re trying. The topic of bringing Appa with us will come back up, and probably when Batman is in a super good mood. Of if Appa did something good. There will be a right moment, and I will conquer it. But for this time around, we struck out. ☹ Damn neighborhood dogs.

I’m That Weirdo

Well, I’m sick. And not just in the head this time. But the nose and throat and my eyeballs feel like heavy marbles sitting in their sockets. Does that sound weird? Because that’s what it feels like when you’ve contracted the plague and are DYING. It’s really not the plague. It’s a healthy combination of self-neglect and self-induced stress with a side of erratic weather. I over-worked myself while neglecting to feed myself, and it’s Florida, so I never know what’s going on outside, and I ended up making myself ill. Or “maybe I caught it” for all you non-believers. Either way, my eyeballs seriously feel like marbles and as weird as it sounds, it’s accurate.

*Everything hurts*

I actually called out of work last Thursday. I only brag because I don’t ever call out (even when I am sick) because I’m that weirdo that worries about work when I’m not there. All the emails I’m getting. All the requests and little red flags waiting for me when I sign in again. It drives me nuts, especially when I have vacationed planned. But I’ve worked myself up to those days. I’ve prepped, and put on my out of office so everyone understands the emergency of me not responding to their email ASAP.

But if I call out? (And no, I don’t have one of those jobs where I’m important enough to log into my work email from home.  Separate worlds, my friends.) How will people know? Will it all be okay? Will the world keep from imploding???

Turns out, it will. Friday (only slightly better) I returned to work and found it did not actually crumble. And, had I been playing hooky or doing something that required any amount of intense brain power, I would’ve spent the day wondering about all work coming in, and the guilt over not doing it. But, as it was, Thursday provided very little brain power and I spent it watching Drive and Tangled. And sleeping. A lot of sleeping. This plague has stretched to today with my marble eyeballs and hoarse throat, but hopefully it’s on its way out. Then again, it’s the holidays and we pass that shit around like hot potato, so… who knows?

How do you feel when you miss a day of work? Have you caught any bugs going around, or gave yourself one?

Dream Big, Right? IWSG

Well, my car is squeaking now. Or squealing. Or screaming. Noise. It’s making a loud screechy noise that even Freddy Mercury can’t tune out.  I discovered it the other day, after hearing the annoying sound and feeling sorry for whoever was driving the crappy car. Turns out it was me. I’m the crappy car girl (which has been obvious for a while) but I don’t need a shame bell announcing it everywhere I go. No one needs to see that Georgie has missed a few washes or that her paint is about fourteen years faded. It’s fine, except now she’s got a target on her back, which means I should stop breaking the law and slow down. Brakes also sound a little off. I should really think about getting a new car.

*sigh*

So, someone at work called me a “cog” the other day. He was introducing a new employee and referred to me as a “cog in the machine” which immediately made me think of Into the Badlands (ever watch it? You should!) and how the Widow started out a cog before working her way up to a Barron, which I started explaining, but they walked off and I was left mumbling to myself. I only mention it because I can’t get the phrase out of my head. “Cog in the machine.” I’m not sure if I’m offended or angered or what. He didn’t say it with any malintent or to be rude or bitter. There was absolutely nothing negative in his description, which was what it was: a basic description of my role in the company: a cog. A fucking cog. That’s what I am in every cubicle.

It may have hit home because I thought I would’ve graduated from cog by now, but, apparently not. It’s okay. Because once I make it big, I’m going to write an autobiography and call it, “Who’s the Fucking Cog Now” and send him a copy. Just so he knows I’m okay.

This segways perfectly into IWSG’s December (optional) question:

How would you describe your future writer self, your life and what it looks and feels like if you were living the dream? Or if you are already there, what does it look and feel like? Tell the rest of us. What would you change or improve?

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this. But who doesn’t fantasize about the future? This is what I’ve got so far:

Batman would come on my book tours with me since we’re travel bugs, and so he can coach and support me on public speaking, since it’s right up there with my love of spiders and small spaces. That would be the tough part. The talking to a group of people and not fainting, but I would get through it. (Xanax may be required)

Other than that, I would have an amazingly loyal fan-base to support the books I want to write. And there might even be a movie deal in the works. Why not? Dream big, right? Honestly, the dream is to be able to write fulltime. Wake up, coffee, write. Walk the neighborhood, write, lunch. Write, laundry, dinner, write. The rest are just details.

What about you? What does it look like when you make it big? Ever been called a cog before? And is your car on its way to hospice like mine?

Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) is a monthly blog hop for writers at all levels to share their fears and insecurities in a safe and encouraging place. Please drop by and say hi to Alex Cavanaugh who started this nifty concept in bringing us all together.

This is What Happens When You Adult

There’s this hole in the ceiling we’ve been ignoring because 1) it’s easier to ignore things (see recent car-door handle) but mostly 2) energy would be involved. As it turns out, I have an abundance of it, but it’s pretty much all allocated between my job, planning a wedding, striving to *one* day be a best seller, and not go HAM on people when they cut me off in traffic. I have very little mental energy for much more, so, when Batman said we were finally getting that ugly eyesore in the back room taken care of, I was optimistic. Yay for no-more leaking when it rains! Yay for being an adult and not ignoring super important things!

I was not prepared for the destruction:

Luckily, I was not there for most of it. Batman stayed home and sent me picture after gruesome picture of our poor roof slowly being murdered. That was Thursday, and I thought most of it was over (what do I know?) but was delighted to discover the work continued ALL day Saturday, ALL day SUNDAY, ALL day Monday, ALL day Tuesday and…yep. Pretty sure he’s still there. On my roof. Right now. Go google earth it and let me know.

But he’s a one-man crew and it’s a solid gut-job for that small portion of the roof, which means removing the shingles and the insulation and there was plywood involved…I don’t know. Batman explained it to me, but I was half-listening, half-worrying about the creatures that would most likely sneak in and eat me in my sleep. To be fair: there was no actual gaping hole, but for evening night there was only plywood up, and I was able to peek at a few starts whilst standing inside. Magical & creepy 😊

*shrugs*

My favorite part? Realizing Appa is as fucking weird as the rest of us. Or is it stupid?

Whenever Appa wants to play, he stares at his bright orange ball-launcher thingy (used for fetch) which we keep on his towels in “his” basket on the wall. Every time he wants to play, he’ll sit and stare at it. Now that the whole ceiling section is being replaced, we had to move everything on that side of the room, which means his basket is currently on the couch.

YET HE STILL SITS ON THE FLOOR AND STARES AT THE EMPTY WALL.

I’ve walked in on him a few times. I don’t know if he’s confused or too much in a routine to realize the basket isn’t hanging there, but he sit and waits. Staring at nothing. At a blank wall. And I think—*truly* think—I love my dog even more now.

But, yes. This is what happens when you adult. Parts of your roof get demolished and you pray creatures don’t invade in the night and you discover how weird your super smart pets actually are. Anyways, it’s been an interesting week. And a chilly week. It’s November in Florida and I get to wear hoodies. It’s not all bad 😊

How about you? Ever had a roof leak? Or find your animal doing something weird?