I hate heat waves.

Granted, I’m not on the East Coast, and I’m sure as hell not in Arizona, but we’re having our own little heat wave up here. Yesterday it was 94, today’s hovering around 96, tomorrow should be 94 again, with a slow decline through the weekend back to our typical – and far more comfortable – highs of 74.

But today, it’s gonna hit 96 easy.  Feels like 115.

I’m not complaining, as such.

Well no, I am.

I am complaining. But it’s because we don’t have AC at work, and I don’t have AC at home either. Sure, there’s AC in my car, but getting a solid 6-7 hours of sleep while driving is harder than it sounds, and believe me, I’ve tried.

The office is tolerable, until I have to go outside in the sun and heat – after being out there for a bit, coming back inside is miserable, and then I’m hot and crabby for the rest of my day.

But the worst of it – the bit that only women (and men sporting a solid set of Moobs) understand – is the sweat and constant discomfort only a bra can create. You guys have it so easy. If you get truly miserable, you can peel off that shirt in a shady spot somewhere and cool down, maybe strip to your waist and stand in fountain, get all nice and misty.

Bastards.

We’ve gotta sit at our desks, or stand at our jobs, fully covered and strapped in, with a tight band of elastic running around our bodies (or a wire!) and cotton or spandex clinging tightly to our chests. We can’t just whip’em out and cool off during break, or frollick in a fountain on our lunch hour. (without being arrested, that is).

Nooo, we gotta wear this friggin’ things all day long, sweating and itching and feeling miserable until we finally get off work and can get home and get these damn things off! (the bras, not the boobs – although some of you do have removable boobs and I’m so jealous right now!)

Taking these things off (again, the bras, not the boobs) drops the body temp — or at least the perception of body temp — by a good ten degrees. That, plus the slight breeze caused by the swing of these now free-to-romp tatas is heaven-sent. Yes, you can put the bra and panties in the freezer overnight, but that coolness doesn’t last very long after you get them back on again.

And YOU think we’re pissy from hormones!

It’s the HEAT! I’d like to strap one of these things on some of you guys and make you wear it under your shirt all day long, in the heat – see how “hormonal” you get.

And it’s all your fault. We’d be happy if we could cool off in public now and then. Maybe take off our shirts at work, or stand in a fountain during lunch, while our tops stay dry on the park bench. But Noooo.

Sheesh

SOMEBODY BRING ME SOME ICE!

I just saw a Youtube video of several mothers letting their children play on the beach covered in tar balls. But it was “okay” because they brought some Goo Gone, to clean up afterwards. Can someone say Darwin Award?

I’ve recently discovered I cannot chew gum and hand write fiction at the same time. Sounds odd, yes, but I tried three times and couldn’t quite manage it ! Pete informs me that he can do it without any trouble at all, but he failed the “chew gum and change poopie diaper” test, so I feel we’re even.

I was going to mark the day when I’d sold 1,000 books (eBook and print) only it would seem I’ve missed commemorating it by 47 books ! So, happy 1,047 books sold day ! The best part about that is, there’s no bookstore manager taking me off the shelf after a few weeks, no returns going back to the distributor, no one telling me since I didn’t sell enough in the first month, they don’t want to see more. My books can stay on the “shelves” for an eternity and continue to sell.

I’ve decided my next title, due out in July, will be a free eBook. It’s shorter than the others, and my readers deserve a free eBook. Sadly the print will still be at cost, because I can’t put something out in print from Lulu and have it free, but you can still read it online free, and download the eBook free.

Anyone who thinks handing out something for free never gets you anything is an idiot. I put up Ether as a free eBook during the “Read An Ebook Week” back in, March I think it was, and that alone generated more sales of my other titles than anything.

We had two whole days of summer this week ! Sunshine, warm temps, it got all the way up to 75* for one day. Of course that’s all over now, but it was sure nice while it lasted.

One of my mother’s dogs died on Wednesday 😦 We’re all going shooting Saturday to work off some emotion by murdering some lovely clay targets.

It’s nearly July ! I’m looking forward to the week of the 12th, when we get our new kitchen and bedroom floors installed. I have that whole week off from work for that, and plan to sit at the table and write while it’s happening. Unless the installer is hot, then I’ll just sit and watch him and SAY I wrote all week.

The characters in my current novel all have a deep Southern accent that I’m finding has crept into my own speaking voice on more than one occasion. It’s made for some interesting looks.

I’m in the mood for a Firefly marathon this weekend, but I have some Doctor Who episodes from Netflix that I need to watch . . . wonder if there’s time for both? I also wonder if I have enough fuel in my car to make it home tonight….

I could really go for a nap right now !

It’s hard to believe someone who was born and raised here in the Pacific Northwet can be affected by Seasonal Affective Disorder, but when you’re nearly through the coldest, wettest June on record and already feeling some frustrations about other, non-weather related things, even the sturdiest of us can get a tad bummed.

Normally in June, we’d have some cloudy days, some sunny days, far fewer rainy days – we’d have flowering plants growing in window boxes and color popping up in our gardens. Traditionally, Father’s Day is a sunny one, and you can take Dad out to any number of air shows or outdoor activities.

This June – our window boxes are empty because it’s been too wet to plant anything, the garden color is starting to mold with all the cold and dampness, and Father’s Day was a raining, chilly mess spent entirely indoors.

I’m not whining.

Actually yes, I’m whining. I feel bad about whining because I’ve lived here all of my life, and I’m used to this. But being used to the occasional shit summer doesn’t make it any more fun to endure.

I’ve been even more frustrated lately because a lot of little annoying things have been happening, building up and adding to the irritation of the weather and serious lack of vitamin D. Nagging little things that happen to us all, but sometimes pile up into one giant piss-storm that you’re left chiseling at with a butter knife.

For the cherry on top, I’m one of those people who will stew about something well past the point of being healthy. If something happens on a Friday, and you can’t do a thing about it until Monday, I’ll stew and fret the entire weekend – while other people would put it out of their minds until Monday morning.

I can’t help it, really. It’s just who I am.

So, feeling frustrated and irritated, irked and chilly, I went out on Saturday and bought myself a new targeting rifle – a PINK one, just because I can – then my Sister and I went to our Mom’s house, where she and our Stepfather joined us in an afternoon of Fathers’ Day shooting.

I shitz you not, my peeps, pink.

Myself, my Sister my Mother and my Stepfather spent a lovely couple of hours blowin’ the ever lovin’ life out of targets, cans and bull’s-eyes. I need to adjust the sights on the new one a tad, although my Sister had no troubles hitting the targets every time, I was a tad off with the new one. Using my Stepfather’s gun, I had better aim, and his has no sight. So a few adjustments are in order.

But damn, Skippy, that felt good.

No, it didn’t bring out the sun. In fact, it’s raining today, with a high predicted to be 61F. And it didn’t magically cause color to appear in the garden, or plants to show up in my flower boxes. It didn’t fix any of the niggling little things that have been bugging me these past few weeks.

But it felt good.

It felt really, really good.

The man helping me with my purchase turned out to be a fellow rock hounder, so my Sister and I spent a long while just talkin’ rocks with him, which was fun only fellow rock people would understand. He had a bag full of local crystals he’d found, and we talked about Carnelian, flint knapping and cuts.

The thing I like about weapons is the same thing I like about other power tools – if you treat them with respect, they do the same. You can count on them to perform, so long as you take care of them, clean them when necessary, use them properly, observe all the safety precautions and wear the proper protection. You know what to expect, and if something breaks down, you know how to fix it.

Much more reliable than people.

So, if it’s too cold to do any rock cutting this weekend, you’ll find me out back, blowing the living daylights outta some clay pigeons!

I’ve always considered the kitchen to be my sister’s room, not because she does most of the cooking, although she does, but mostly because I’ve never really cared what the kitchen looks like, and she has.

For years, and years, our kitchen was a nice soft pale yellow with blue accents, very Scandinavian. Cobalt blue glass, a lovely deep rich cobalt blue sink, pale blue countertops. We’d taken the doors off the cupboards a long while ago and stripped then stained them a nice sort of cherry wood color, and painted the cabinets themselves a clean white.

But now that we’re getting a new floor in there, she decides we need to change the entire look. And I was on board. After all, I do love painting, and physical labor is da bomb! Especially in the home improvement arena. So two weeks ago we painted the walls (and ceiling – yes, I’m one of those) a nice shade of blue that leans toward the grays. Almost a denim blue, I suppose, but light denim. And we picked a shade darker of the same for the cabinets and doors – finally we were going to have some cohesion in the room and blend everything nicely together.

So the plan was, this past weekend we’d have the doors off, all sanded and primed thanks to my having taken a vacation week last week. The drawers too, all set and ready for painting on Saturday.

The two of us. Outside because thankfully we were having nice weather for a change.

Then my sister goes and gets herself an appointment to have her IV port removed – this thing that was implanted in her chest to facilitate her chemo treatments. Now that she’s cancer-free, and officially a survivor, her oncologist said she could have that removed, so she goes and schedules it for Friday afternoon !

It was a simple day-surgery, although with set up and wake up, I was sitting there for a total of five hours, but that’s beside the point.

The point is, she was “too sore” to paint ! But the kitchen was already demolished, thanks to my stellar prep work, so guess who spent the entire weekend painting 17 cupboard doors, 14 drawers and all of the cabinetry, while her sister sat in the shade and “rested.” ?

I’m back to work this week to rest! Thankfully my job allows me to sit down for most of my day, because I’m sore and stiff and tired. But I have to admit, we have a really nice looking kitchen now. My next week off in July will be spent moving furniture in and out of rooms while the installers lay wood in the bedrooms and Earthscape in the kitchen.

I need a nap.

So the other weekend, after the one interrupted by the flu, my sister and I headed over to our favorite flooring store to see if they had the same wood we put down in the living room and dining room, with the intent to put the same in the bedrooms and kitchen.

Luckily, we were told they do have it, most likely, but the salesman sent us home with two other samples just in case – – which turned out to be nearly identical to what we have anyway. Once we decided we could substitute one of those if the original can’t be ordered, I offered up to my sister the idea that we could use a different wood for the kitchen, if she wanted a change . . .

That’s when I was informed that we were now painting the kitchen.

It’s going to go from the soft yellow with blue accents, to solid blue in more of a grayer tone.

Okay, I figured, that’ll be nice. I’m onboard with that. Only, won’t that make the cabinets look a tad “off”?

Oh, she says, didn’t I mention? We’re painting them, too. Solid blue, in a shade darker than the walls, with new brushed silver hardware.

Well, alrighty then! I guess I’m painting this weekend. The trick to that is, I love to paint. I really do, naked or not (see posts from years prior). I’m really looking forward to this. We bought the paint last night, at Lowes, and tonight after work we’re going to do all the prep work, the taping and covering and all that. Then Saturday, after a hearty breakfast of soy lattes and cereal, it’s paintin’ time!

We’ll have to break before the late afternoon, in order to return to the flooring store and pick out what we’re going to have put down in the kitchen, since I was also informed we’ll not be putting wood in there. She wants tile, or something called Earthscape, we don’t know which yet.

What do I care – I’m paying a dude to put it down! I love to paint, but I don’t do floors, especially a 210 square foot kitchen floor. (for you metric fans, that =’s Farkin’ Big)

So that’s my weekend, sanding, priming and painting. I’m off all next week, so I can relax and write and relax.

Pass me a roller, I’m ready to go!

Because I just don’t get it. I’m sitting in my livingroom, inside my house, reading a book while my sister is watching television, or maybe we’re both on the computers with a baseball game in the background, minding our own business inside of our own home, when it happens.

You can hear them a couple of blocks away. The low, thudding base. At first it’s this irritating noise in the periphery of your hearing, you’re not even aware of it but it’s starting to annoy you. Then it slowly draws your attention as it gains volume, getting closer and louder. Your windows begin to vibrate and rattle, your cats wake up and looked irritated, and you end up sitting there, pausing whatever it was you were doing because now you’re pissed off, waiting for the a-hole driving the stereo down the street to go by and go away!

And they always drive slowly, so you can reap the full benefits of their astoundingly nasty taste in music.

Why?

What are they trying to gain? Are they simply trying very hard to piss off the entire world, one ear drum at a time as they drive slowly around town with their volume at the far end of the dial? Are they THAT angry at the world, that they’re so willing to destroy their own hearing just to make people look up for a moment and cuss?

I was in the car one day and had one of these twats behind me, and when I glanced in the rearview I could see a voodoo doll hanging from his rearview actually bouncing in the air from the sound waves. Do you KNOW what that does to those little hairs inside your ear?

Yanno, when those things break off, that’s it, they don’t grow back. Even if they just bend all the way down, they stay there. You’re deaf. Maybe it’s too late, and they’re already deaf, which is why they have to turn the volume up so high, just to hear the music. That doesn’t make it right, though.

I just don’t understand the point, and I’ve tried. I contemplate human behavior all the time as a writer, and I haven’t been able to figure this one out. The only explanation I can come up with takes me back to the playground – – they’re just brats. They’re just doing it because they can, and because for that brief moment they can piss off everyone around them, the get to take center stage. As they drive by, they can imagine the whole world turning to look at them, and it doesn’t matter than we’re flipping them the bird, swearing back, or – in my case – hoping aloud that their dicks turn green and fall off.

During my younger years, living in apartments in the city, that was the one thing that could set me off and turn me into a raging lunatic, hearing the music from another apartment. It’s such a violation. You’re trying to spend some time at home, relaxing, watching television, whatever, and you’re invaded by thud thud thud coming through the walls, or the floor, or the ceiling. You can’t turn it down, you can’t turn it off, you bang on the walls and that just pisses them off so they turn the volume UP. You call the manager and get a recording, or when you DO get someone you find it’s just the service and they’ll relay a message but fat lotta good that does.

And you can’t just ignore it. It gets under your skin, to the point of grabbing your full attention because it’s always there, always thudding there in the walls while you’re watching television or heaven forbid, trying to read a book. It’s an invasion.

I’d go to their doors sometimes and complain, and almost always get some snotty retort about how they can do whatever they want inside their own home. I’d scream back that their rights stop as soon as what they’re doing inside their home begins to disrupt MY home – then the cussing would start, and threats. Usually by that point I’d go back inside and call the cops, which I hate doing because they have better things to do, honestly.

After a few confrontations, I stopped knocking on doors. It got too dangerous. You never knew who’d come to the door, or if they’d be armed and pissy. I started to consider getting a gun, but around that point we moved out of the city and bought a house.

Now they just drive by, and I wish for their dicks to fall off. I’d quite like everyone out there, who drives around in a car with the volume cranked way up, who takes no regard or consideration for the other people on this planet at the same time, to suffer severe fungus of the cock.