Wednesday, December 16, 2015

DEAD EYE is almost here!!

Countdown!! 2 weeks from today, DEAD EYE is here. In honor of my terrible singing, a snippet from Tess, who also can't sing, and Jack discovering it:

I went back to singing at the top of my lungs about my pocketful of sunshine and how people needed to shut up and dance with me. I was spectacularly bad at singing, but it helped me think. And clean. And probably scare off hot guys, small children, and grizzly bears. My secret weapon—the deadly “can’t carry a tune with a bucket” trick. I should have tried it on my attacker the night before.
“I’ll be happy to shut up and dance with you, if you’ll quit making that sound,” Jack said from right behind me, making me shriek and jump about a foot in the air.
I turned off the vacuum and glared at him. “What the heck? You can’t sneak up on a person. Especially a person who was just attacked from behind.”
“Oh damn. Tess, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. I knocked, and when it sounded like you were in pain, I just came in.” He looked really remorseful, so I forgave him on the spot. Except for the part about my singing which, though true, was a little bit hurtful.
“Who are you to judge? Can tigers even sing? Or is it all growl, snarl, I’m going to eat your face off?”

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

those fish are still dead

So, I have been in a very bleak period of depression for more than a year now, brought on by some publishing fucktardery, and I've been fighting the losing battle of trying to tell people that my fish are dead (see: the wonderful Allie Brosch, esp. the Allie Brosch fish post and you'll get that one.)
But today I am here to peek my tired eyes up over the blanket hiding my fetal position and admit that I might be getting a shipment of brand new fish.  Now, they'll probably be like me, fragile and a little bit broken, but they will surely have some hint of optimism and the slightest feathering of remembered joy.

I hope.  I never lost it, even in the darkest times, this hope -even when it was reduced to only a withered thing stretching her trembling hands out into the dark.

I've found her again, and made her soup, some of my quite good chicken vegetable (Homemade) and some of my even better hot and sour (also homemade) and tomorrow I might ply her with homemade turkey chili.  I want to feed her up so she doesn't waste away into one of the more nebulous emotions, or turn into vapidity or despair.

I'm crying while I write this, which is harder than you might think because I'm a tough old trial lawyer and there's no crying in litigation, as more than one partner told me back in the day.  But today I am crying, because I worry that I've let you down.  I cannot write 17 books in 6 months like so many indie authors these days. I wouldn't even try to.  Sometimes, it might take nearly TWO YEARS or even a little longer to get a book from me because my editor has to pry them from my cold, (almost)-dead hands because of the harsh perfectionism that is at the root of much of my depression.  It's the noose I use to tie up the bundles of my dead fish.

But today, I tried to be healthy and happy.  Both on the same day.  I did not "INVITE THE TRAGEDY TRAIN TO THE STATION" as my darling Navy Guy sometimes accuses, and I did not threaten my son with coming home to live in our non-existent basement once he flunks out of college (well, okay, not more than once), and I did not get caught up in a teen drama and I figured out my severe vertigo was because I had forgotten to take my anti-depressants for 4 or 5 days in a row.  DON'T DO THIS!!!

And just when I was starting to fall down on the floor with my dead fish and cry, I remembered that I have all of you, who have shown me crazy kindness and boundless love and understanding.
So.  Hey.  Send some of that stuff this way.   I will snuggle with ALL of you.
So. Thank you. You rock.
hugs,
Alyssa



Wednesday, February 25, 2015

On telemarketers

So, here's a true story. During the 6 or so years that I was a vegetarian, I once had a telemarketer call to offer me mail-order steaks.

Me: I'm a vegetarian.
Him: Okay, have a nice day. *hangs up*

This worked so well, I started using it on other telemarketers.

Caller: Would you like to buy our vinyl siding/satellite dish/lawn service/frozen eyeballs?
Me: I'm a vegetarian.
Him:
Me: Bye, now. *hangs up*

Feel free to use this yourself.  You're welcome.

Friday, February 20, 2015

My crazy might be in my DNA

I might secretly be a bear, because cold weather makes me want to hibernate.  Or at least nap, wrapped up in blankets.

My mom: It's 3 below zero here in Ohio.
Me: That's just wrong.
Her: Also, they ruined my tuna fish by putting soybean oil in it.

I think we might all see where I get my crazy from . . .

Saturday, February 7, 2015

On worrying

So, I am a champion worrier.  If worrying were a sport in the Olympics, I would have 59 gold medals by now.  I can worry about things that are not REMOTELY possible, like what if Navy Guy is on deployment and I'm driving home from the grocery store and a METEORITE hits my car and I die, but I'm smushed beyond recognition so nobody knows who I am to tell the kids, who are all alone in the world, and WITH NO FOOD IN THE HOUSE.

This was my biggest concern driving home this morning.  I am so not making this up.  It is scary inside my head.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

birthday drunkenness...

Today I made Princess eggs, French toast, and hash browns for breakfast in bed for her birthday. 15!!! I can't stand it. 

Science Ninja: Um, Mom, why is the spiced rum out for breakfast?
Me: Being your mother is challenging. I needed to take the edge off. 
Him: *worried face*
Me: It's the secret ingredient in my French toast batter, kid. Lighten up.

Saturday, December 27, 2014

New driver on the road!

My son Science Ninja is the proud possessor of a drivers' license! He got a perfect score on his test. And the DMV lady who did the paperwork was absolutely delightful and so kind and funny. 

Her, to SN: Do you want to keep your learners' permit for a souvenir? If not, give it to your mama. Mamas like to keep these things.

Me: Yes, I totally want it! 

Her, to SN: Congratulations! You got a perfect score!

Me *nervous*: What score do you need to get to pass?

Her: You can miss 10 points.

Me: TEN POINTS? TEN???? THESE are the people you have to
worry about, my son. The 10 pointers.

Science Ninja, to DMV Lady: She gets like this.

Her: All mamas do.