Monday, August 31, 2009
Being that we live on opposite ends of the second largest country in the world, she stays caught up on all the goings on in my life by reading this here edifying and edumicational blog. Being that I am one of those sneaky, crafty types, I have a tracker on this thing and am proud to say she visits just about every day, and has lamented of late that I don't post enough.
Well guess what? My life, it is boring. So boring I can't even come up with a half-way amusing analogy for how very boring it is.
To prove my point, here's a list of some of the highlights of my day:
1) Went to pee and noticed, to my dismay and chagrin, that an hour in a haz-mat suit with a bucket of bleach was not quite equal to the pervasive smell of "small boy, bad aim" around the toilet. Made a mental note to spend another hour de-peeifying the upstairs bathroom.
2) Answered the door in my jim-jams with sleep-goongas still clinging to my eyelashes to tell the dad of the little girl who is in love with Blammo that she wasn't in my house and I had no idea where she was. A half hour later, still in a state of dishabille, answered door again and repeated said conversation.
3) Cattle-prodded Daughter into washing the first sinkful of dishes. Forgot to cattle-prod Firstborn into doing the rest. Jeez that boy knows how to avoid work...
4) Took Blammo out to buy school supplies and also got shystered into buying a Push-Pop, two Kit-Kat bars to share with the other kids, and a box of Fudgecicles. Managed not to cave in when he wanted a Dragon Webkinz pet. Considered changing his online moniker from "Blammo" to "Iwanna", but deemed it too girlie.
5) Went out to help the little girl who is in love with Blammo get down out of the maple tree in the churchyard across the street.
6) Made trouble online by wagging my opinions in people's faces. Take that!
7) Cooked steak for dinner. Then decided after a couple of bites that I didn't really feel like steak, so filled up on garlic toast and corn on the cob instead.
8) Told the ringing phone to eff off, then answered it anyway. Agreed to send the kids back to their dad's for another overnight visit tomorrow, yay!
9) Told the ringing phone to eff off, then answered it anyway. Told the survey-taker that I'm just the babysitter and therefore not old enough to do his stupid survey. Gave him a better time to call--when I know I won't be home, bwahahaha!
10) Opened the file for Vessel, read it from the beginning, was suitably impressed by my awesomeness but then crapped out on continuing. I'm not quite there yet. Tomorrow afternoon, I think, is soon enough to pick it back up again. Decided to go read some back issues of Dan Savage's sex advice column at Straight.com instead. *Holy crapping damn that dude is funny.
So there you go. An average day off for Kirsten Saell. I tell ya, it's a thrill a minute. For those of you still awake, I solemnly vow not to do another of these posts again. Sis, I think from now on I'll confine myself to posting about barfing kids, gushing scalp wounds, assorted vermin and other crises that make for more riveting reading. But never fear, the season of gigantic, hand-size spiders and Norwalk is almost upon us, so I'll soon have plenty to blog about. :)
*Mom, I don't think you'd appreciate Mr. Savage's sense of humor, or his sense of...anything, really, so don't look. Just don't.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
...has been kind enough to invite me to guest blog over in her neck of the woods. Topic du jour: Writing f/f and f/f/m for the female gaze--a subject very dear to me and one that doesn't get addressed enough. The post goes live tomorrow (Friday, August 28), and I hope you all will come by to check it out and share your thoughts on how you think authors get it right, and how you think they get it so very, very wrong.
In other news, I spent the day moving kitchen stuff and shopping with my friend, trying to get her properly set up in her new digs. And miracle of miracles, the ex phoned to say he'd like the kids this weekend. He's been working 12 hour shifts, 7 days a week for about a month, so they've seen him for all of one afternoon since my friend and her kid moved in here the last week of July.
So guess what? I have the whole house to myself for two whole days. I ought to be able to get everything clean that fell to chaos over the last five weeks, watch some porn, and have the time and privacy to drill that hole in my skull to let the pressure out. Now where did I put the masonary bits...?
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
This means that very soon my muse will rise from the ashes of stress and dirty dishes like some bloated, overweight Pheonix, glutted with scenes I've practically memorized but haven't had the time or a space of calm to put to paper.
This has happened before when things get stressful and busy here, and the ensuing episode of muse-barfing may not be pretty, but often proves to be hugely productive. Expect large jumps in my wordmeters.
In other news, the creepy crawlies of last week are gone. Unfortunately, an infestation of fruit flies has emerged to replace them. I've got a small bowl of rice wine vinegar on my kitchen counter, nearly black with their dead bodies. Also, a few larger ones impaled on bamboo skewers and displayed in prominent places as a warning to others. Too bad the little suckers are too dumb to choose another house to set up camp in, and opt instead to perish by the hundreds in my acrid, culinary pool of death. Die, arthropod scum, DIE!!
Ahh, the joys of summer.
In still more news, my royalty statement from July--which reflects a mere ten days of MBaM sales for The Chancellor's Bride--is almost three times the size of the largest of my previous statements, proving that two guys and a chick really do it for readers. I'll have to think more on this, and see if there are any more m/m/f stories lurking in the dark, evil recesses of my smutwriter's brain.
This does not mean, however, that I plan to abandon the hot girl-on-girl action anytime soon. Setting aside the dubious nature of metaphors that employ seafood and lady parts, I'd rather be a big fish in the small f/f pond than a small one in the vast guy-on-guy ocean. Money's nice, but it ain't everything.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Not IN the house, mind you, because she's not allowed. But she was standing outside the downstairs window with a Gamecube controller, playing Smash Bros with my three kids. My buddy (who's living with me until the end of the month) wasn't aware my daughter and her "friend" were playing fast and loose with the letter of the law, but had been wondering why the dog was growling and barking the whole time I was gone (George used to belong to my bud when she lived three houses down from rotten little girl, who made a habit of taunting and harassing the poor thing--the dog absolutley detests her).
This girl is absolutely the worst kind of influence. At only 11 years old, she's already manipulative and sneaky, and her parents just do not keep track of her. She'll knock on your door at 7 AM on a Saturday, and not go home until after 11 at night--and they don't even worry. They don't wonder where she is or what she's doing, or even whether she's eaten. They once phoned at around midnight wondering if I might know where she was. They didn't seem distraught. The mother told me "Oh, I know she's probably just sleeping over at a friend's house." WTF?
And she has lice. Ugh. I have a friend who works at the elementary school. She told me she spent the whole school year having the girl and her sister shower at school (they don't at home), and trying in vain to get rid of the damn things. But without the cooperation of the parents, it's a losing battle. And it's now been six weeks of summer vacation. Six weeks since the last treatment. I can only imagine the level of infestation at this point.
And guess who now has the little bastards crawling around in their hair? My damn kids. There were no nits to speak of (that I could see), but Blammo, especially, is crawling with the little buggers.
So guess how I get to spend my days off? Scrubbing my kids' heads with extra-strength Denorex (apparently salicylic acid works well), and washing all the bedding in hot water. I am overjoyed, as you can probably tell.
I rinsed them all with vinegar tonight, combed through their hair and picked out all the adults I could find. By the time I was done, it was almost midnight.
All I can say is, "Some people's kids..."
Saturday, August 15, 2009
"A scorching hot love triangle!"
And this bit:
"I highly recommend this book, but please remember to keep a fan handy. You're going to need it."
Heck, if that isn't enough to tempt a couple of people to enter my poor, neglected, past-its-prime pick-up line contest, I don't know what will. :D
Monday, August 10, 2009
And miracle of miracles, this excerpt is actually clean enough for my mom to read (if she were so inclined), but hopefully intriguing enough to, uh...intrigue you all. Yeah, so I used "intrigue" twice in the same sentence. It's late. Go ahead and sue me, I dare ya.
Hope you guys enjoy it. If you do, and you want a copy for nothing but a cheesy pick-up line, allow me to direct you to my currently stagnating cheesy pick-up line contest. Because the stagnant cheese is getting a little ripe--as stagnant cheese will--and all I need is a few more entries and I can wrap that baby up. :)
In other news, I am not in the nuthouse just yet. Ask me again in a week.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
So if no one sees me around for a bit, don't worry too much. I'm just here in my dark house with four horrible children and nothing to entertain them but bickering. Maybe I'll have them fight to the death. Not only will they be entertained, but there will be less of them...
To celebrate, I decree a contest! I'm giving away a copy or two, signed by moi and shipped (knowing my tendencies to procrastinate and forget stuff) within a month of announcing winners.
For this contest, I want you all to compose a haiku, limerick or free form poem based on the following blurb:
A night of brutality destroyed her innocence…can the love of two people heal her wounded spirit?
“I’ve been thinking about Kaela…”
There they are—the words that lead Gil to suspect his wife Lianon is falling in love with Kaela, the beautiful, traumatized young woman they rescued from certain death six months ago. Gil has no idea how to compete with a woman for his wife’s affections, and part of him ceases to care as Kaela begins to work her way under his skin.
Kaela’s sweet innocence fills a chasm in Lianon’s soul she hadn’t even realized was there. As she gently helps Kaela rebuild her shattered confidence, Lianon begins to believe healing the young woman’s wounded spirit could be the key to wholeness for all three of them. If Gil agrees to follow her lead and help Kaela discover her own feminine power.
But even as they all succumb to their growing desire, Gil and Lianon are drawn against their will back into the intrigues and vendettas of Belthalas’ elite. With Lianon’s life at stake, Gil must weave a dangerous path between one adversary’s ambition and another’s lust for vengeance.
Success will save Lianon…but could cost them Kaela.
This title includes explicit sex, including f/f, m/m, m/f/f, anal sex; bad language; questionable politics; violence; stringy, overcooked lamb; a dog with a major drool problem; and one seriously well-deserved comeuppance.
Help! What do I do?
Wife's hot for the housekeeper.
What the heck--I'm in.
A couple named Gil and Lianon
Adored one another, until anon
Kaela watched their lovemaking
And after partaking
Required a bigger bed to slumber on.
All right, pretty lame, but I'm sure you all can do better. Do your best, do your worst, gimme lolcatspeak if you like. It's all good. Winner gets a signed copy.
I'm not going to post a deadline just yet, but I expect to announce a winner within a week or two, depending on how many entries I get.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
"What did you do?" I ask as I usher him into the kitchen and grab a tea towel to soak with cold water and press it onto his...whatever is bleeding.
"I slipped at the park," he wails, "and hit my head on a rock!"
My buddy is hopping from one foot to the other, looking panicky, then decides she'll deal with the trail of blood on the floor and stairs.
"You're okay, dude," I tell Blammo, pressing the towel hard onto his head.
"Is it bleeding?" he asks.
The kid is literally covered in blood and he asks if it's bleeding. Um, okaaaay. "Yeah, dude, it's bleeding quite a bit, but it's probably just a little owie. Scalp wounds tend to bleed a lot, even if they're small."
After ten minutes of swabbing and trying to see through his trademark Saell thick hair, I still can't see the wound clearly, so I get him into the bathroom and get a tub running. "Hey, dude, you need to hold the towel so I can get your shirt off." I look at the blood all over his shirt, the size of the neck-hole and the size of his head, and decide, "I'm going to cut it off."
"CUT WHAT OFF??!!" he howls.
"Your shirt, dude," I laugh.
After about five minutes of pouring water over his head, I see an abraded patch about an inch in diameter, and two tiny perforations maybe a millimeter long. Through which, he bled a half a gallon of blood. And it's still seeping a bit. Stupid scalp wounds. But he won't need stitches. He's now playing World of Warcraft with a teatowel pinned turban-style around his crown, with a baggie of frozen corn tucked inside.
And the little bugger has been milking it for all it's worth--"Mom, I want some juice. Mom, I want some Dibbs. Mom, I can't reach my grapes. Mom, can you help me sit up? Mom, I wanted my salami rolled up, not flat." Oy.
Oh well. He's fine, if a bit whiny. But that was my morning. Wheeee!