seldomifever

My daughter is due home any minute. I cannot wait! Although, I'm really, really sleepy. Had a wonderful visit with my friend and her kids today, and spent all day yesterday swept up in an impromptu party with sczsister, and now I am wrecked and daughter just called to say she wants us to take her to Chili's once she and my husband get home. Argh! Think I need to ply myself with some java in order to make it through the next few hours. I iz tired.

Title: An American Slayer in Paris
Author: Seldomifever
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: FRM
Word count: 500ish
Disclaimers: I don't own Buffy, wish I did
Notes: My very, very long story condensed into an itty bitty one. Sorry if it isn't English. I'm delirious.


( If Buffy had known this would happen, she would have agreed to meet Giles halfway ages ago. )

Got the strangest call from my daughter's camp tonight. Apparently, one of her cabin mates bit her. She's fine, no cause for alarm, but she's understandably upset, according to the counselor who called. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do with this information. It takes a lot to get our girl upset, which means the bite either really hurt or the biter was not a close friend. After I got off the phone, I realized I hadn't even asked where she'd been bitten. I assumed on a leg or arm, but if it was on her face or someplace equally bizarre, that would probably be enough to freak her out. I hate not being able to talk to her for two seconds just to hear what's up. Urg.

My sister and I took our kids to Sagamore Hill today. Thought my little animal-loving vegetarian would be grossed out by all of Teddy Roosevelt's animal pelts and taxidermied heads, but he left the tour excited at the prospect of becoming a big game hunter himself one day. O_o I told him he wasn't allowed, but he could grow up and track dangerous animals and take photographs of them and that seemed to quench his blood thirst a bit, thank heaven.

At this point in the post, you're probably expecting me to bitch about how much of the day I've spent torturing myself over my stupid fucking story, but I am not going to. I'm going to spare you the agony of listening to me rant over how I cannot stand a single word I write, and how I wish to god I could just internalize my shrink's words, "Sometimes best is the enemy of better" or whatever the heck he keeps saying that is supposed to help alleviate my misery (yet doesn't), because you really don't need to hear me carrying on like that any more. Besides, I am past that point. Way, way past it. I have reached a kind of spiritual plane, A Big Rock Candy Mountain, as it were, where terror masks itself as pleasure and cosmos drown any last bit of self-conscious irony I have left. :P Wait, no, that was the last of it.

Had a brilliant insight into writing this morning that has completely changed the way I approach the work. Son très excitant, non? Yeaah. I oughta write a book about it.

Yesterday's 4th of July shindig went fairly well, although I did end up failing Drinks 101. Not enough Malibu and no Amstel to speak of. It was tragic. But overall, things ran smoothly, so I'm taking it as a win. My only real complaint about hosting is that I don't get to spend enough quality time with la compagnie. I'd rather be outside chatting than inside baking beans, but whaddayagonnado? Maybe the trick is to throw more parties, so we get better at it. Or, you know, not.

Today is gorgeous here on the island, so while I'm busy slogging away, husband will be taking the kids over to the park for a bike ride. I know I should join them, but I haven't had a moment to myself in weeks. It'll be sweet.

Say hey, skippies. Hope you all have exciting plans for the holiday weekend. I've been busy preparing for tomorrow's bbq. Went to Costco this AM and bought enough food to feed a small army, even though we're only expecting about 15 people. I always over buy, because I'm a firm believer that more is better. Hate to have someone ask for seconds and have to turn 'em down. Only a crummy hostess would let that happen. My in-laws are always guilty of that. Ask you at breakfast how many hot dogs you're gonna want for lunch and then still cook fewer than there are people to feed. Badly done, Emma.

Ugh. It's getting late and I still need to pop over to Stop & Shop and pick up a few extras, like corn, but I really, really dunna wanna. My afternoon nap, she beckons me. Although, now that I look, sixish is a bit late for a nap. If I can hold out for a few more hours, I can slip into my nightie and be in bed by nine. Mmm mm. Sounds dreamy.

In the meantime, think I'll hang on my back porch, kick back and enjoy summer's cauldron, and, while I'm at it, a little grass.

I bought myself a new iphone today. Unfortunately, hi-tech gadgetry is lost on the likes of me, but I have coveted my girlfriend's for quite some time, so I finally took the plunge. Abandoning Verizon was not an easy decision. My uberlord has been good to me, and I will miss my excellent reception, fer sure.

The boys and I caught part of this show today called Clean House, which I'd only stopped at because I'd mistaken it for Clean Sweep. I couldn't wrap my head around why they'd traded Peter Walsh and the rest of the gang in for two southern women who looked like men in drag and two men who looked like, well, two men, I guess. I'd watched it for nearly twenty minutes before I'd realized it was a different show altogether. Can't put anything past me for me for long. Or, for more than a half hour, at any rate. Anyways, the ep I saw was all about the nation's messiest house, and, although I'm nowhere near as bad as these folks, it inspired me to tear into my crap with a zest I haven't possessed in ages. But now I'm sleepy and all of my carefully organized papers need a home somewhere off my bed and no such place exists and I really don't want to have to stack them on the floor and have to face them all again domani. Urg.

We're having a 'que on the 4th, so my house needs to look nice in two days. I cannot really afford to get all bogged down in major home projects right now. And my latest incarnation of An Amer Slay in Par (sans murd myst) needs a firm but loving hand to nurture it through these dark and troubled times, but I do not possess enough strength to give it the care it deserves. I am wherewithal-less. And sleepy. Did I mention that part?

Loom. Loom.

It is nearly July and I am just about ready to yuke. How on earth am I ever going to be able to post a story in little over a week? Hmm? One saving grace is that I've been mistaken about my SoG due date. Apparently I'm not signed up for the 8th as I'd originally thought, but the 9th, although I doubt one day will make much of a difference at this rate.

On a brighter note, I had a wonderful time with my family this weekend. We saw our daughter off to camp yesterday. Well, we saw her off onto a bus that was leaving from the West Village to take her to camp. The drive to the Catskills is torturously slow, so we opted out this year. The city was hot and filthy and all the affection I have been feeling towards it of late wafted away at the first scent of summertime garbage rot. But the Museum of Natural History was fun, as always. We took the boys there after our seeing Car safely aboard the bus. We visited the new frog exhibit and took in Africa and North America before hitting the human origins and rocks and minerals rooms. Woot woot. FFF, bubby babies.

Heh. Maybe if I continue posting these dull little tidbits my SoG entry will shine in comparison. Can't hurt.

What have I done today instead of work on my stories? Hm...let's see...Took the kids out for lunch - daughter's choice, cause she's going to camp tomorrow and she won't get to have a say for the next two weeks. The boys and I got our allergy shots. I slaughtered zombies, folded clothes, washed dishes, helped daughter pack, and now I'm enjoying a glass of coconutty Malibu goodness over crushed ice. Yum! Ooh, and I also caught these Tony Head/Sarah Fisher clips over on YouTube: part one, part two. I like her. She's funny.

Our daughter and older son graduated this week. Pret-ty darn exciting. Actually, it was. As they announced the winners of the presidential award of academic excellence at the middle school today, husband and I waited for our daughter's name to be called. They told the audience that nine kids met the standards and as they read name after name from lowest gpa to highest and she still wasn't mentioned, we grew panicky. We were literally shaking by the time they announced she had the highest gpa in the class. It felt like she'd just been awarded the Pulitzer, the Nobel, and the Oscar all rolled into one. Holy cow! And then everyone came up afterward and congratulated us, and her teachers told us they were on pins and needles waiting for her to be called, too, and how thrilled they all were that she won. It was pretty neat. Just keep thinking how well she'd do if we could actually get her to study.

Okay, cats, it's official - Head's twittering.

I've noticed a recent overabundance of exclamation points in my comments and posts. This distresses me. I barely survived my semicolon phase, am still recovering from an intense infatuation with commas, and now this: the end. Exclamation points were the last line of defense. Surrender is imminent.

Found out yesterday that my oldest has type A flu, which, for those of you out of the NY school loop, is the new euphemism for le swine. He's one sick little boy. No one has recommended Tamiflu or antibiotics for him yet, which concerns me because it is a well known fact that the real danger of the flu - the thing that kills people - is the secondary bacterial infection. We've had to cancel the kids' graduation bbq we had planned for tomorrow and there's a good chance older son will miss his graduation ceremony altogether. He doesn't seem to mind, but I feel bad for him. He hasn't even had a chance to get his teachers and friends to sign his yearbook yet. :(

My son's doctor recommended that I take a preventative dose of Tamiflu because I have asthma. It is now the 8th med I'm supposed to take every day. Five of these drugs are to control my allergies and asthma alone, which seems completely insane, because mine aren't even that severe. But, the allergist assures me it is for the best and since I always defer to the experts and have grown accustomed to breathing, I do as I'm told.

Um, what else? BG in Paris story is way too long and complex to have ready by July 8. I'm now concentrating all of my efforts on reworking my other WIPs. Everything I write is complete crap, but I'm trying to get my inner critic to shut the hell up already. It's attempting to drain every last bit of creativity right outta me. Must. Fight. Back. Must not. Give. In.

Er, yeah.

I've learned a new word today: bioconservative. Oh, Crazies, you delight me so! Where would humanity be without your brave stance against transsexuals and genetically modified corn? Why, here, of course!

Happy birthday, khaoschilde! Hope you have a fantastic day!

The new Star Trek movie has turned my kids into serious Trek aficionados. Older son spent a week home sick with the not!flu and watched episode after episode of the original series. I thought he'd be bored out of his mind, but he loves it. Daughter sat in on a few eps and asked if we could check out some ST:TNG as well. Now she's hooked and wants to watch it every chance she gets. She says, "I can't believe I'm such a geek!" But she comes from a long line of Star Trek fans. She could hardly have escaped. It's in her blood.

All righty, then. What's on the agenda for today? Errands, laundry, exercise, fic rec, write. Same old, same old. One day blurs into the next when you're having fun.

Ennui's et my brains!

Ooh, I know how to break up the monotony: Dance!

I just got back from walking my dog, and, I must say, scraping piles of poo off the street wouldn't be half as bad if Guthrie didn't use it as an opportunity to sniff my rear end. S'like he's implying I just made that giant mess in the middle of the road. Neighbors and fellow parents are waving a lovely good morning hello, and I'm bent over in this degrading position. Ugh.

And my story is not going well, dear flist. Have begun praying. Well, more like pleading and groveling than praying, but, unlike people, I think gods appreciate this sort of behavior. I imagine they've come to expect this over the years and would, in fact, accept nothing less than the finest whine in return for inspiration, salvation, derivation, humiliation.

Hmm. Maybe I should take up archery instead.

I promised myself I would keep up with all of the Summer of Giles reading and comments this year, but after a week, I'm only halfway through the third story posted. Reading other people's fics messes with my ability to work on my own. Although, now that I think about it, so does having the phone ring off the hook, being forced to play a few rounds of Rock Band with my daughter, killing Zombies, changing my LJ layout three times in as many days, getting my haircut, eating out with the fam, scouring the net for houses we cannot afford in places we wouldn't want to live. I could go on. And on. And-

Shrink thinks I avoid writing because I'm afraid of letting myself suck. Hrm. Is there a better reason?

Huh. Don't know if any of you are following him, but Anthony Head's official site claims he is not on Twitter, guys. Just thought I'd pass that along.

My older son's been very sick all week. Fever, cough. His doctor joked it was the swine flu, but since I like to keep my neuroses relatively secret, I played it cool: "Oh, are you seeing a lot of that?" Like the thought hadn't occurred to me. "No!" the doc scoffed. But when I called the school and told them son had 102 and bronchitis, they grew panicky and asked loads of questions and sent younger son home that same day when he mentioned he had a stomachache. Nurse insisted I pick him up at once, which I did, but he returned today, because he's not even remotely sick.

Tomorrow is Field Day, or something equally healthy-sounding, up at the boys' school. Used to be called Carnival and the kids used to buy tickets and play games, but some higher up decided it too closely resembled gambling and put the kibosh on it. Now, the kids will wear uniforms and play good old fashioned and wholesome soldiery games like tug-of-war, instead. My younger son's teacher invited me to participate, which came as a great surprise, because I'm pretty sure she knows how unpopular I am with the current administration. Might be her way of giving them a gentle eff you in return for a year of harassment, but I don't mind. I'm all for sticking it to the man, even when he happens to be a woman.

Oh God, and my sister found someone to rent her house. In August, she'll be moving 300 miles away. I am heartbroken. I only moved to this godforsaken place to be near her, but, if this is what it takes to make her happy, how can I wish for anything else? Eh, that's complete bullshit. I want her to go away and realize she's made terrible mistake and come rushing back to pledge her eternal devotion, but that ain't gonna happen. Think I'll just wallow in my sadness for a few days more, and then suck it up, like I always do. What choice do I have?