Creatures from the Deep and Dark (or Bright and Porcelain)

So, I was calmly enjoying a warm-ish afternoon of writing (finally got the launching point for the new book) and, what to my wondrous ears should appear? Why, the frantic sounds of a small creature or bony-limbed, would-be burglar scrambling about in my chimney. The horrible scratching would go on for about ten seconds, then pause, then resume. And then…silence.

Now, I’ve never pretended to be brave, or good in the face of danger (or vermin), but the one thing I simply cannot handle is small creatures in my home. Bugs, fine. Anything warm-blooded is right out.

Following are my vague, panic-drenched memories of the last time the home in which I lived was infiltrated by a small, uninvited mammal:

I was alone and getting ready to take a shower. I know it’s spooky, but it gets spookier. I was living in a duplex. *gasp* Actually, the relevance of the duplex is that I had been living on one side of it with my sister and her boyfriend. The other side became available and, because it had a garage, we took it. It was teeming with mice. We sealed cracks in the wall. We cleaned everything surface we could find. We set regular traps, glue traps. Mice…everywhere.

So. I was alone and getting ready to take a shower. I pulled back the shower curtain and stared down into the blinking black eyes of a mouse. My heart stopped. I couldn’t touch it. For some reason, it terrified me. Then, I remembered that we had a dog in the house. Tall, skinny shepherd mix. I thought, huh, perhaps I will just allow the circle of life to occur in the bathtub. I called the dog. She stood beside me, staring down into the bathtub, and did nothing. Oh, sure, she pointed, she whirled and barked, she licked her lips. But she didn’t get the darn mouse out of the tub.

Perhaps the mouse is too far away, I thought. Maybe if I add some water to the tub, the mouse will float and the dog will be able to pluck it off the surface of the water. I turned on the faucet, adjusting the temperature so that the mouse would not be uncomfortable (yes, the irony that I was, in fact, bringing it closer to certain death with comfortable bath water is not lost on me). And then, the thing I did not anticipate. The mouse began to swim, paddling slowly in a circle. It was kind of cute, except that it kept being nearly drowned by the running water. In the end, the dog took care of the problem, but neither she nor I have ever recovered.

What’s the point, you say? The point is that I have some THING in the chimney, and no dog. Just two rather stupid, pitiful cats. I could start a fire. I could go to a hotel. There are all kinds of options for dealing with this, but since I have never gotten over a fluttery feeling of guilt for the way that poor mouse met his end, I think I will practice avoidance and pretend the thing is not in there. I will call a chimney sweep come spring and let him deal with it.

Things I Know (unrelated to fighting) About Mixed Martial Arts (installment 1)

I know, I know! I haven’t been writing nearly enough about MMA (mixed martial arts for those of you who don’t know…seriously, get on board), as so many of you have pointed out. And, to the kind gentleman who told me that I probably don’t know anything about MMA because I seem like a siscy (I believe he meant “sissy”), that’s not true. Many sissies (wait, maybe he was trying to shorthand “Sicilian”) know a lot about MMA. I don’t claim to be one of them, but I don’t think you should generalize like that.

Actually, while I may not know much about the mechanics of mixed martial arts, I would wager that I notice many things during MMA bouts that hardened ig-sissies (that’s the opposite of sissy, FYI) do not. For instance, I always notice when the tag of a fighter’s shorts is showing. For all you cornermen cornerpeople out there, do your fighter a favor and take care of that. Unless 1) It is a diversion technique to distract your fighter’s opponent or 2) It gives them that crucial additional ballast necessary to get their underhooks set.

Other things I know about MMA:

1) Of all MMA fighters I have seen in the last year, Cris Cyborg and Thiago Alves are the most frightening

2) Of all the UFC’s Octagon Girls, Arianny Celeste is by far the most attractive (this includes one-time Girls, and Girls next door masquerading as OGs (Octagon Girls, not original gangtas), plus she’s fun to follow on Twitter. Her tweet about going shopping with Royce Gracie was a delight.

3) Thing #2 (from this list) is not misogynistic. Those girls have to work hard in atrocious, blood-, spittle-, and sweat-soaked conditions. That’s usually considered man’s work.

4) You will have better luck talking your girlfriend/wife into watching Pay-Per-View UFC events if you:
a. Pay – no asking her to go halfsies on it

b. Make the GSP fight on March 27^th the introductory bout for her. GSP is the gateway drug for squeamish, lady newbies

On Hearing Impairment and Romance (mutually exclusive)

Various things today.

First, I found many, many typos in a relatively simple (in terms of word usage) short story I was working on, and determined that I had made them because I was wearing headphones and listening to music while writing. It seemed an easy problem to solve. I took a break, had lunch, cleaned up a bit, hung a lovely little train quilt my mother had made for my hatchling on his wall, surfed the web looking up Kimber handguns (story-related), and then sat back down. For some reason, I put the headphones back on, but did not turn on my MP3 Player (which is not a Zune, people). Result: many, many typos.

Apparently I cannot spell as well if I cannot hear as well. But, you say, perhaps it had more to do with how very rapidly you were typing, or perhaps the absolutely not ergonomically-correct position you had inexplicably chosen today. No, that’s not it. Totally the headphones. Thanks a lot, Bose.

As respects Valentine’s Day. My husband will attest that, when it comes to Valentine’s Day, I am something of an a-hole. In the past, I’ve scheduled (I swear, I didn’t realize the date) business trips, college reunions, and skydiving adventures in places one can only access by boat. This happened for, as he tells it, several years in a row. Anyway, I forgot again this year, but was not scheduled to be anywhere, and we had a lovely dinner with our lovely selves, falling more in love with one another by the minute, and ended the night with a charming bottle of champagne. And I swear that every year hence, except those wherein I forget again or something shiny catches my eye and hypnotizes me, I will partake in the best Valentine’s Day ever.

Which brings me to my point (I’m calling it that because I’m tired and considering going to bed, and I couldn’t possibly end without making a point), sometimes the most romantic movies aren’t billed as romances. When I think back on all the romantic movies I’ve ever seen, and many of them do blur together, I must conclude, once again, that The Abyss is the most romantic movie of all time, particularly the extended director’s cut, which becomes the most extendedly-romantic movie of all time.