Since my last post I have...

• Gotten a laptop (WOOT!!!)
• Taken four exams
• Failed two quizzes
• Passed four quizzes
• Attended two tutoring sessions
• Started working out (as in weight lifting between classes - although why I thought I had the spare time is beyond me!)
• Written at least 10 papers
• Turned in at least 15 projects
• Started playing intramural soccer (again, no idea why I thought I had the time to spare)
• Written three articles for the school newspaper
• Skipped 4 classes
• Ached in more muscles than I knew I had
• Attended 3 dances and a toga party
• Consumed 2 alcoholic beverages (is that all?)
• Been evacuated from a building because of a fire alarm 3 times
• Missed 1 off-Broadway performance I'd really been looking forward to (SPAMALOT)
• Bought a ticket for Oedipus the King (this Thursday)
• Had a dream all the boys in school had a crush on me
• Almost got fired over a damn Pony Party
• Have read at least 8 books (probably more)
• Won a book on the Midnight Hour blog (Dark Protector)
• Watched "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!" (which I bought in a 3 pack of Charlie Brown holiday DVD's around Christmas last year & just now got around to watching)
• Started craving the Thriller video, it's my Halloween addiction
• Have read countless other blogs, but rarely had time to comment
• Found time (and this amazes me most!) to work on my own book, which I decided needed an entirely new beginning *sigh*
• Found out all the horses grew their winter coats in just 5 days of my absence
• Attended 3 soccer games, one which ended in a fight very hockey-esque, only with fans running down out of the stands and jumping the fence to join in
• Took a "Mock Field Sobriety Test" with special goggles that make you feel drunk

This is all that's coming to mind at the moment, but I'm sure there were at least a handful of other items of note.

Life is busy with school, and work on the weekends. This is a rare weekend off. I spent yesterday at the gym, and am spending today acutely aware of my thigh muscles.

Currently reading: Midnight Moon by Lori Handeland - it's been in my TBR since it came out about 2 months ago & I'm finally getting around to it. I've actually only gotten as far as the prologue, but it's awesome. I think I may have a reader's crush on Lori's voice.

Other books I've read lately: A Dream of Stone and Shadow by Marjorie M. Liu in the anthology Dark Dreamers. I was admittedly skeptical of Marjorie's ability to pull off a novella. Not because she isn't an incredibly awesome writer, just because she packs so much action, and drama, and foreshadowing into her novels, I didn't see how she'd be able to condense it into a smaller work. She did an incredible job, however. Anyone who used to swoon over Gargoyles (I think they still show re-runs on Toon Disney) should check this book out. If you're not reading Marjorie yet...what the hell is wrong with you?

Primal Heat, by Susan Sizemore. I love her prime stories, but this one seemed lacking somewhere. I finished it off in just over a day. She's usually a quick read for me, but I felt like I needed more content this time. Still, a good book, and nice & sexy.

Cover of Night, by Linda Howard. I'm a HUGE Linda Howard fan, but this one just didn't do it for me. Seemed like it took a little too long for the story to start, and then it was over too quickly. Also seemed like not everything was tied up at the end. I was a little frustrated by this one, but still looking forward to her next release.

Touch a Dark Wolf, by Jennifer St. Giles. Sexy werewolf-esque story. Interesting premise. I'm looking forward to the continuation of this series, but the first book seemed like it could use more depth, although I did enjoy the read.

Full Moon Rising, by Keri Arthur. This is one of the books I received in Atlanta. She's an Aussie author and the book revolves around weres & vamps & the rules they're governed by in this somewhat futuristic society. Interesting idea. I really enjoyed the book, but the end left me a tad pissed off. I'm waiting for the sequel to see if the issue is resolved.

Well, that's all I have time for now. Sorry I've been so lax in posting, but thanks for still stopping by. Hopefully the intervals won't be quite so long in the future. I just got through midterms, so with any luck things will be a bit more relaxed until finals.

Long-Weekend Plans

As if writing isn't already enough of a self-imposed hell, I caught wind from Marjorie M. Liu's blog about the Three Day Novel Contest.

Obsessive? Yes.
Compulsive? Probably.
Crazy? Without a doubt.

Still, it sounds fun in that insane-sorta-way most authors seem to view the world. I'll be working at the stables all day, but the idea of super-gluing my ass to the computer desk for 72 hours holds a hint of merit to me.

When all other motivational tactics fail, delve into insane-self-torture tactics, I suppose. To any taking the task on, good luck. May your muse be a chatter box and may your coffee be black.

Unprofessional

For some unknown reason, this has been popping through my mind a lot lately, and Jaye only seemed to reinforce the thought with her post on slogans today, so I figured I'd give in to the urge to blog it.

Do we all know how the names Cook, Carpenter, and Smith originated? Surnames based on profession. So what about unprofessional surnames? Let's pretend all surnames originate from either a person's job or personality. What would you surname say about you?

My surname is Basham
1. professional boxer
2. person with rather violent outward tendencies

Any interesting surnames you've heard that make you wonder?

(Anyone who doesn't feel comfortable posting their surname may either just post the profession/trait, or use surnames they've heard)

Puritanical Indentured Servitude

Props to Mignon for supplying the idea for the title.

Surprisingly, my so-called indentured servitude was not as bad as I'd imagined it would be. It was a few degrees under sweltering with humidity about 10% under sauna level, but at least we weren't hit by the severe thunderstorms forecasted.

The "paintball" group turned out to be a spin-off from D&D. We were greeted by a "witch" in some none-too-appealing garb, who politely informed us they'd be running around the property wailing on eachother with foam swords, but to just ignore them because we didn't exist in their world...unless we were monsters trying to attack them (which I rather fancied the idea of).

Ms. Witchy was actually an alum of my University, which seemed a slight embarrassment to Ms. Ditz. She threw a few satchels of birdseed at us ("spells") and was ready to depart when a Knight in Shining Armor strode up. We heard the clanking from a ways away and one of the girls commented, "Wow, he looks hot." She'll never live that down, even though the man was likely more than twice her 18-years-of-age and she meant "sweaty in all that armor" not "wow his sword is long."

Sir Knight allowed us to wail on him for a bit with his foam sword, saying it was good practice for his upcoming "duel to the death" against two ogres. Nothing personal, but my money would be on Shrek & Fiona. Especially if Donkey was there.

The majority of my group (apart from the 2 instructors) are 18-year-old freshmen who were a little harsh with comments about how they "wouldn't be caught dead running around with a foam sword fighting Ogres in their forties." I was a little pissed that the instructors didn't back me up in my comments of, "everyone has little quirks and odd hobbies - it's not like they wear that garb to work. They've been very nice to us and not been disrespectful to us in any way (with an unvoiced 'we should return the favor')" Matter of fact, Ms. Ditz was among the girls making comments about "crazies" and "weirdos."

Everyone has their own thing they do for fun. I wasn't about to make snide comments about a group of people who had been perfectly nice to us, even let us wail on them with swords. Although I will say this, I had an unresistable urge to quote Monty Python. In particular, "We are the Knights who say NI!"



So psyched about my trip up to Pittsburgh to see Spamalot, but that's a story for another night.

New Student Disorientation

Or maybe it was orientation? Only thing I'm sure of is I took the long way back to my car and didn't even realize until turning back to the short cut would've been longer than the scenic route.

Today I learned the Alma Mater. It was lead by the head of the English department, who will probably end up being my advisor. She's a jovial woman with a wonderful singing voice and a bright red mullet. In fact, two of the professors who spoke today sported a Mississippi Mud-Flap. Doesn't do much in the way of my attempts to convince dormers that we local commuters are not inbred hicks running through the woods with guns in lieu of any better pastime because inebriation has left us impotent.

Speaking of hicks with guns. (what a segue) Tomorrow we're volunteering to clean up a local girl scout camp. That is, we're being forced to volunteer, so I think it counts more as slave labor, but it gives us one of the 16 health credits we need to achieve before graduating.

My FYS instructor is a tad ditzy. I'm not sure what her exact role at the University is, but I have gleamed they don't find her competent enough to teach a real class. She may be an alum.

Anywho, Madame Ditzy was speaking quite exuberantly about our forced-volunteer work tomorrow. (as a side note, I have nothing against volunteering, I do it quite often, but I prefer to choose when and where - I was supposed to be at work today and yesterday, but Thursday I stumbled upon the knowledge that all First Year Students must be present Fri & Sat....or suffer the horrid consequences...I guess) (sorry, went off track again - back to the point-) Apparently, she imparted, "there is a group of locals who have rented out the site and will be running through the woods trying to shoot eachother." Anyone seen Deliverance? I could nearly hear the banjo pickings in my classmates' imaginations. Not to worry, however, because they'll be in a different area than us. One suddenly pasty freshman asked if we would be provided protection against stray bullets. "Oh, no!" Madame Ditz assured her, "They're not using real guns....oh, wait....no....the guns are real....but the bullets aren't? Something. It's a game - that's why they're shooting eachother."

As much as I was enjoying the looks of terror, I didn't want to be the only one from my class to show up for Egyptian Slave Labor tomorrow, so I supplied "paintball." *sigh* "What fools these mortals be."

Hard Riding for Hardly a Rider

Horse Lover's Camp is over. Can I get a *woot!*? It's almost odd not having the little ratkins scampering all over this week. No teary-eyed pre-teens coming up to me and stuttering, "Um....Cody caught a baby rabbit."
File under "Reason's I'm going to hell" - I did get slight enjoyment over telling the girl it was probably too late to do anything for the rabbit. Don't get me wrong, I felt bad for the baby bunny, but the girl was an irritating brat.

The volunteers have been persistently asking me if I'll be returning to my dream job of hit-woman now that I'm going down to part-time at the stables. I can only assume they have work for me by the frequency of their curiosity.

Last Sunday, to celebrate the end of camp, we had a party for the three staff members and ump-teen-something volunteers. We were supposed to chill out, eat some food, play horsey games (like stable style Jeopardy). Instead, I nibbled some snacks, then was dragged around by an exuberant 11year-old as we played a trivia scavenger hunt game. We're given a note card with a question on it, which will lead us to another note card with a question on it, which we need to look-up the answer to (if we don't know it) so we can receive another note card with a question on it. I wasn't thrilled with the cycle of running back and forth across the acreage when this was supposed to be a day off.

After the savager hunt, we went riding. I love riding, but I'd been told we wouldn't be riding that afternoon, so I wore a cotton tank with a bra built in, ala-WalMart. Not the best support option for a double-D girl riding a horse who likes to trot.

As much as I do enjoy riding, I don't get to do it very often, and I rode hard for someone not accustomed to it. My boobs hurt. Every woman there came up to me afterwards and said I was a braver woman than they. Bravery, stupidity - funny how often those two can be confused. I also feel like I've been doing splits. No more cantering for me for a while. I did go down trail today, although I think I lost my kneecaps somewhere out in the woods.

Got me thinking how people think they're in shape, even people who exercise every day & stick to a rigid diet. If you're not accustomed to certain things, your muscles will let you know the next morning. Muscles you didn't know you had, and had certainly never thought of working out before. It's been a while since my thighs have had a good pounding, but I guess now I'll just be in better shape for the next time I get into some rigorous sex. Or cantering. Whichever.

Any muscles you were recently reminded of that you rarely use?

Beautiful and Terrifying

Today is the one year anniversary of my Gram moving into the house we now occupy. I remember how beautiful I thought the house was...and how terrified Gram was about the decision she had made.

Today, by no design but chance, I found myself in quite a similar situation.

I'm going back to school. After a few years of sitting on my tush ho-humming over my options, some magical little motivation bug flew by and stung me in the ass.

I've been sloughing through Financial Aid forms for the past few months. I wanted to be certain I could afford college before I registered for classes. Now that I'm home from vacation, my summer job is winding down, and I awoke to the shock of crunch time. Classes start in less than two weeks.

Yesterday I called Financial Aid, who did not return my call. Today, I got through and was told it's not too late to finalize for the fall semester (that shivering, wide-eyed child in me was hoping I'd passed the deadline by *accident*) (because I feel less lazy if I qualify lack of motivation as an accident of timing).

After work, I drove down to the University campus for a few hours. I paid my deposit - the last step I'd been putting off - because putting forth my own money finalizes things in a way signing forms doesn't. A chipper young girl in capri's walked me to the dean's office to meet with her in lieu of an academic advisor.

Bouncy little sunshine tried to make conversation. I tried to breathe. The summer campus overcomes you with a warm-brick heat from the surrounding buildings. Trees bloom lush and vibrant while grass wilts under co-ed picnics. I couldn't help but think how beautiful the campus is, and what a monument this journey I'm embarking on is, and cripe if my heart wasn't about to burst through my chest. I don't recall the last time I was so nervous. Probably on a roller-coaster, except in that case I had the assurance of a safety bar and the knowledge if I hated it, the ride would be over in under five minutes. Not to mention the cost of that particular adventure ride is a drop in the bucket.

The dean was very nice, and oddly complimentary. Not that she was sucking up, just that I felt edgy and uncomfortable as she commented, almost to herself, how good my SAT scores were. I smiled meekly and bit my tongue to hold back from saying that was years ago. She wanted to put me in calculus, my god! I do enjoy math, and I'd like to take calculus...eventually. But the last time I took a math course was half a decade ago, and it was only pre-calculus. I could use a refresher.

Calculus is waiting a semester, while I get used to learning again. I'm enrolled in some honors English course with a focus on professional writing. I told her she can dump me in as many English classes as she can find if I can skip the History class. I also made a bid for 21st century history, but was stuck with just 20th century.

All in all, a very productive (while still terrifying) afternoon. I have a shiny new photo ID which will never see the light of day because the picture makes me look like I have black eyes. I have a $216 voucher for books I'll try to pick up tomorrow. Also tomorrow, I need to make an appointment to get my college shots. Not looking forward to that.

Class starts the 28th. I'm an English Major until I decide otherwise. I'll keep you updated as soon as the nervous breakdown subsides. Gram and I are celebrating tonight with a bottle of Champagne: to new beginnings when most people think they're too old to take the chance.

Pandemonium

Okay, yes, I'm sorry. I know I've been sorely remiss in posting lately. Part of the reason is I'm busy, I haven't had a day off since my vacation - not that I'm complaining, although getting stomped on my Cappy wasn't anything worth celebrating. The other reason is, having my foot trampled and being shit on by a baby chick are about the two biggest news headlines in my life at the moment.

SO, to make up for the lack of drama, I'm posting a story of mayhem from my trip to the RWA conference in Atlanta about a week back.


On the last day of the conference, a luncheon was held with Christina Dodd as the keynote speaker. She was nice enough to set a bundle of 2 of her books and a cute little notebook on each seat. My bag was already stuffed to seam-stretching capacity from book signings, so I had to carry these three latest conquests.

Immediately after the luncheon, I had a workshop, and the luncheon ran a little late. I had to pee more than a woman in her final trimester & flew to the women's bathroom before my workshop, but there was a line out both doors.

I fidgeted, squirmed, and maybe whimpered a little, because I caught the attention of the man standing in the intersecting line for a book signing. He suggested I run across to the men's restroom which did not have a line. I said I'd love to if he'd pop in & make sure it was empty. Which he graciously agreed to as long as his space in line was saved.

So, I scamper over to the men's room with two other ladies from the line. Our hero in the pink shirt informed us there was a man in the bathroom, but I told him to just let us know when he was done. A lamenting look crossed his face as he said, "He has a newspaper in there with him - I think he's in for the long haul."

I cracked the door just enough to call in, "Excuse me, sir? Could you please hurry up a little, or pinch it off or something? We really have to pee!"

The hero in pink doubled over & turned red, my two co-conspirators from the line to the ladies room almost bailed from shock and embarrassment, but my straining bladder didn't afford me tight lips.

After a moment, we sent the man in pick back into the restroom to ask the man with the Times if he'd mind us coming in to use the stalls. Despite my somewhat snide comment, he kindly said he wouldn't mind (or call hotel security on us).

There were two stalls still available, which meant one woman was standing at the sink talking to the other two when a man waltzed in to use a urinal. (there were two doors into the bathroom & the hero in pink was standing guard at the wrong one, apparently) I was in the stall, but story is a look of terror blanched his features & he turned tail in a hurry. I just hope he realized we were women & hadn't thought we were drag queens or something. You'd figure a man would be curious about women in the men's room, not terrified to a point of paleness.

Business done, we thanked the man with the Times & I ran to my workshop (barefoot, because my feet were quite unhappy over my choice in footwear of the previous day).

Bundling up my belongings as the workshop finished up, I realized I was missing the Christina Dodd books I'd received at the Luncheon.

In a hotel brimming with 2200 women, it's damn hard to find a man who isn't busy. I finally grabbed hold of a bell hop & asked, "Excuse me, could you please do me a favor?"
"Sure, what do ya need?"
"I need you to go get some books out of the bathroom for me."
*look of skepticism*
"No, no - the MEN'S bathroom!"
*look of skepticism deepens, blends with confusion, and just a hint of fear*

Good news is, I got my books back - bad news is, the bell hop had to tell his friends, plus - some of my roomies saw me thanking him for bringing me books out of the men's bathroom and had to ask.

Also, this same bell hop just happened to be standing around the luggage rack the next morning as I was checking out & felt it necessary if I'd managed to "stay out of trouble - and men's bathrooms" which of course was overheard by his buddies.

I seem to have acquired a certain reputation at the Atlanta Marriott, among other places. Good thing con won't be back there for a while yet.

Return from Hotlanta

For those of you who have been waiting on the edge of your seats, I'm alive.
Yesterday I returned from the Romance Writers of America yearly conference. Atlanta is fun, but so damn hot most of the buildings have enclosed walkways between them. I'm convinced all the humidity is produced in the MARTA (Metropolitan Area Regional Transit Authority...or something like that) & then pumped up to the city via secret tunnels, because cities that large always have secret tunnels.

ANYwho, the con was a blast. I met a lot of famous authors, and a lot of soon to be famous authors, and a hot guy in the elevator who hit on me when I was dressed up for the awards ceremony.

To give you an idea of the size of this con, I made up a list (ala-Mastercard commercial style):

Baggage on departure: 1 checked bag, 1 light carry-on
Baggage on return: 1 22lb checked bag, 1 87lb checked bag, and 1 carry-on weighing in at "ugh"
Blisters: 3
Bruises: 2
Cumulative of hours slept in Atlanta (Monday thru Sunday): 37ish
Souvenirs bought for me: 4 (not counting books)
Souvenirs bought for others: 2
Books acquired to replace unsigned favorites: 9
Hardcovers acquired: 8
ARC's acquired: 3
Books with a heroine sharing my name (albeit spelled differently): 1
Books I realized I'd received two of when unpacking yesterday: 3
Anthologies: 9
Paperbacks: 93
New Authors to read: 91
Total number of books brought home, not counting the 3 I took down with me: 101
Knowing I'll never reach the end of my TBR (to be read) Pile: PRICY!

Great news is, in addition to an ass load of books, I also came home with an ass load of new ideas, and more importantly, the know-how to properly develop them. *woot!*

More later, when I have time & energy. I have some great pictures, but Blogger is having a snit & won't let me upload any pictures off my new Digital Camera. Anyone with tips, ideas, suggestions, etc. is welcome to comment - I'm really bummed about not being able to do anything with the 200+ photos I uploaded onto my comp.

Crawling Back Out Into the World

Life has condensed itself for me lately. I wake up, eat breakfast, head to work, come home, shower, watch Jeopardy! and go to sleep.

I don't get online for a few hours every night like I used to. I'm lucky if I get on at all. I don't get to read much, either. A book I could finish in two days now takes me two weeks. It's good to have a job that's hard work and wears me out. I actually love the stables, I arrive early and stay late. I don't say "I'm working today," it's "I'll be at the stables today." Still, I miss the other lazy activities which had been so much a part of my life. I feel as though I'm falling out of touch with my internet friends. Although it's NOT Mignon's fault (as far as I know), my blog has slipped into disrepair, which bothers me because although I do it for fun, I do see it as a responsibility.

What this all comes down to, is time management and motivation. I'm actually excellent and managing my time. My downfall is I need to be motivated enough towards a goal to fit it in. This applies to many areas of my life. Anything without immediate results (such as a guaranteed paycheck, or not gagging on the smell of the litter box) falls low on my list of achievements. Not that I don't want to accomplish the task, just that I prefer to schedule based on return.

So how do you push back things you know will give you immediate rewards or satisfaction for the long-haul project you know will give you the most joy? I always say if they bottled and sold motivation, I'd buy it, but until then I just have to keep forcing myself to make time. Read later, write now!


As a closing note, I give you a picture of the Budweiser Clydesdales which will be staying at our stables this coming week. Tomorrow I'll be moving all our horses to the back stables and cleaning out the front stable for the Clydes. A useless effort, in my opinion, since no matter how clean our stable is, it'll still seem like a ghetthotel compared to their usual accommodations. Think Hilton, for horses.

4th Post a Day Early...and a Game!

Token Fireworks Image.

Happy Forth of July to my American blogees, and for the Canadians, Happy Blow-Things-Up-to-Make-Noise-which-Represents-Your-Masculinity-Via-Decibels-but-Try-Not-to-End-Up-in-the-Hospital-with-Third-Degree-Burns-and-Missing-Part-of-an-Ear-Ala-Mike-Tyson Day...they do that in Canada too, don't they? I've always kinda hoped the stupidity wasn't limited to the US.

In other news, I've decided not to leave everyone completely unoccupied until Saturday. You've been loyal and visited me daily, I should repay you for your kindness. SO - I'm going to put up a game to entertain until my next post this weekend.

Today's game is sort of a "get-to-know-everyone" deal. I'll start by asking a question, a personal question. Whomever feels up to answering can chime in, and as a reward for answering gets to post the next question. The questions should be designed to find things out about bloggers you may not get to learn on their blog. You can be funny or serious, but your questions must pertain to the anonymous blogger who comes in next, no random, "Why do fish smell?" questions.

Ready? Go!

Starter Question -

What three things are you most afraid of?

Today at the Stables I...

~Watched horsies play in the water through.
~Skidded down a hill & got my ass covered in dirt to put the hose back in the trough after Red took it out to squirt Clyde with it.
~Learned how to groom.
~Learned how to pick a hoof.
~Learned how to squeeze a horse's tendon so he'll pick up his leg...in theory.
~Learned how to tack up (put the saddle, bridle, etc. on).
~Led WAY too many pony rides on a stubborn pony who wanted to do nothing but eat. The kids didn't notice, but Rain was walking forward, but had her head facing off to the right with a longing gaze that was unmistakably, "I want grass! *pout*"
~Got sunburn on my shoulders from WAY too many pony rides.
~Got a hideous tan line from wearing a bandanna (but at least my scalp didn't burn).
~Burned my boobs (damn low-cut tank tops!).
~Almost got peed on by a fussy pony because I wasn't letting her eat (see above)...(I swear that horse was laughing at me!).
~Stepped in mud.
~Stepped in poop.
~Stepped in pee (see above.).
~Fed horsies grain.
~Watered thirsty horses.
~Watered myself, because I was hot & muddy.
~Realized watering myself had been relieving, but ultimately a bad idea because the ass of my jeans took hours to dry.
~Came home for lunch.
~Realized I was too tired to eat & showered instead.
~Realized how red I was & decided I could go without a shirt inside the house.
~Tried to nap but was prevented from doing so from noisy kitties.
~Did laundry.

This was my day off. This doesn't look like a "day off" list. The highlights of my day were a little girl on a pony ride telling me she has a little brother. "He poops. He poops big." (Little brother is 2 months old.) Also, a woman who told me her first job was leading pony rides. She paused, and I saw a dawning realization on her face. "I'll bet that's why I have trouble with my foot now!"

Down Sides ~ I got stepped on by grumpy grass-less pony, but luckily she only grazed my foot with hers. Also - cleaning hooves is the second worst chore at the stables. I'm pretty sure all the horses know I'm inexperienced & enjoyed taking advantage of me. Bastard equines.

Still, I love it there & can't wait to start riding when we aren't as busy this fall.

Horse Sense-less

To my loyal blogees - sorry I've not updated lately. The new job has me busy and when I get home, I pretty much have enough energy left to shower and eat before passing out in bed. I may end up doing Saturday and Sunday posts instead of weekday posts. Basically, whenever I'm awake and not at work, I'll post.

SO, I owe everyone a catch-up for the week past at the Stable.

Monday - A new week of Horse Lover's Camp, which equals new kids and rampant craziness.

Tuesday - I was put in charge of feeding lunch to the horses, which entails climbing up the thin worn ladder steps (I'm not a ladder-person) into the hayloft. On Wednesday, I learned the left side is used to being fed first. One of the volunteers told me when I was half finished with the right side, but I'd already sort of figured it out by the left side horses neighing, stomping, and generally having a conniption while I fed the right side. By Thursday I'd remembered to bring scissors with me to cut open new bales of hay so I didn't have to run back down to the office.

After everyone has a flake of hay, I get to lug out the hose & water. Not bad until I'm done and have to roll the hose back up and get covered in mud (I try not to dwell too much on the fact that it isn't just mud).

Wednesday - I'm in the lounge and Rikki brings in half the day camp kids to wash their hands before going up to the outdoor arena. I see Burke, one of our horses, walking by outside. I think, "Someone has to be leading him - they're probably just standing on the other side where I can't see them."

One of the day camp kids, looking out the windows, plaintively exclaims, "Um, the horses are running away."

Behind Burke follows the two other horses who had been in the field with him. Rikki turns to me, jaw hanging open, and asks with a note of panic, "How'd they get out?"

"If I knew that, they wouldn't be out!"

Rikki & I head onto the porch, kids in tow until Rikki shoos them back into the lounge with a warning, "Okay, this is an EMERGENCY! Stay in here no matter what, and behave while we round up the horses."

The stables are just off of Rt 88, which is a main road and stays somewhat busy. There's a sign warning of horse & rider crossing, but most people don't notice, or don't heed it. So, Rikki & I are faced with 3 unbridled horses trotting through the parking lot towards 88, and only the two of us to stop them. If they make it across the road, they pretty much have free reign of the park. We'd need golf carts and lassos to hunt them. Okay, probably just other horses and some carrots, but I like the image of lassoing a horse from a golf cart.

Luckily, something spooked the horses & they went galloping away from the road, past us, and into the stable. Rikki ran after them through the breezeway to shut the doors behind them. I ran through the lobby (and massing children watching with glee) to cut them off before they ran through the wash room door and up the hill into the woods. (There are down sides to keeping horses in a 1700acre park)

On another stroke of luck, 2 horses ran into Troubles stall (hoping there was good food in there) and the third headed for the next stall down (Doc's). As Rikki came in through the breezeway, one of the horses ran from Trouble's stall into Doc's & I slid the door shut on both of them. Rikki headed off the third horse & tracked down bridles so we could lead them back to the meadow.

I got to be the one to stand calf deep in horse shit with a horse at each hand while Rikki went to get the final escapee. Damn brats kept running back up to the gate.

So, the question is, how did three horses get out at once? Certainly all three of them didn't jump the fence at once. And no one would have been forgetful enough to leave the gate open. That leaves us with one option, the bastards opened the latch themselves!

As you can likely imagine, this left us jumpy all day. At one point while sweeping the lobby, I looked up & saw Guiness's ass headed out through the washroom. I dropped the broom with terror-filled thoughts circling around, "Oh, no. Not again!" Turns out Guiness's own was taking him up to the pasture on the hill, wish she'd have told me! Every time I heard foot steps, I looked for the horse in the parking lot, which always turned out to just be a customer on the store porch.

Rikki and I knew we were just edgy, and as soon as the day ended, we'd be fine. Sadly, however, our fears did not go unconfirmed. Less than an hour after the three horses escaped the meadow, Jen called from the top of the hill on her cell phone saying one of the campers had let a horse get loose.

Rikki went running up the hill to help round up Flash. Elizabeth headed down the hill to lock him in if he ran into the stables. Flash headed for the tree line.

Flash is our cute new pony we got last weekend. Cute, but a pain in the ass. He ended up getting spooked by something in the woods (probably a squirrel) and veered down the path to the stables, right for poor little Elizabeth (a 13year old volunteer at the stables). Liz dove for cover and avoided getting trampled, even managed to recover in time to lock Flash in his stall when he came running through the stable.

By lunch, everyone was ready to call off day camp.

Thursday - Blessedly uneventful!!!!

Friday - The Budweiser Clydesdales are coming to visit in 2 weeks. (6 clydesdales, and the donkey) In order to accommodate them, we need to move some of our horses to the back stables. Jeanette told me to take the hose out to the back stables and fill the water buckets after I finished watering all the horses in the stables.

She said something about "unattach that and connect it to the green hose." I took that to mean unattach the hose. I rolled our 100ft hose over my shoulder to lug it out to the back stables, thoroughly soaking my right side. I find the green hose, and realize it's not attached to anything. I walk around the back stables & can't find any spigot. This is when I realize Jeanette meant to detach the nozzle attachment and connect the white hose to the green hose.

Much lugging and rolling later, every bucket in the vicinity was full, I was wet with both sweat and hose water, and I swear the damn horses were laughing at me!

Saturday - My day off! I didn't get out of bed until nearly noon. I've been behind on my reading and was looking forward to catching up today. The only item of interest today is the dream I had last night.

We've been having trouble getting the pool in a condition that is swimmable. Mostly because we know nothing about pools, and all the companies that could come help us are booked until about now. A man is coming Monday to hopefully open our pool, but that's not soon enough to keep my subconscious from acting up.

The frogs are back in the pool. I'm hoping for more spermzillas before the man comes to fill the pool with chemicals. In my dream, I was netting out the pool and going through the muck and leaves I was sifting out looking for tadpoles. I managed to catch two or three tadpoles. Then an octopus. Some squid. In no time there were seven-foot-long black catfish swimming around in our pond, fighting the 8ft squid ala-2000 Leagues Under the Sea.

When I'd finished netting out the pool and headed in for dinner, Gram was serving calamari. I asked her when she got calamari & she said, "Well I didn't want to waste all the squid and octopus you've been fishing out of the pool." I didn't want to hurt her feelings, because I love calamari at Red Lobster, but Red Lobster doesn't stock their kitchen from our back yard.

Soon various eels and jellyfish had joined the fracus. My two year old brother came to visit and was almost eaten by an 8ft squid I'd fished out of the pool & laid on the deck.

I told Gram, "I have no idea how we managed to get all these creatures in our pool! I mean, tadpoles are one thing, but I don't know of any local octopus population."

Gram replied, "Well that's just what we get for filling the pool with city water."


Tomorrow, I will be mucking stalls, and *possibly* riding a little. Look for another post from me next Saturday if I don't manage to sooner. Have a happy 4th! Look out for the jellyfish if you go swimming.

Miscellany

Blogger has FINALLY allowed me to upload the pic of the stop sign in the cul de sac!

Also, my travel buddy from last weekend, Tammerz...(who is currently single).




In other news, it's hot and humid...and I hate my hair.

Work today consisted of me sitting by the phone while everyone else was on top of the hill doing races and games for the Fun Show.

The bad part was, I didn't have any communication with the top of the hill, so when the toilet broke and wouldn't stop flushing & was spewing water all over the wall and floor like a geyser, I had to run up the hill and shout "Janette!"
"What?"
"Come 'ere!"
"I'm busy now, I can't."
"Well you're gonna have to because the bathroom's flooding!"

Half an hour later, maintenance arrived with a plunger. They needed a wrench. Did I mention I had just cleaned both bathrooms and the entire lobby less than an hour before?

In other fun news, Guinness bit me. On the BOOB!!!! He's not even a year old yet, so I forgive him, but damn if it doesn't hurt! I have equine teeth mark bruises forming. *humph*

Dirt, Sweat, and Craziness!

Work at the stables is a blast, but it's also the most work I've done for any job since I ran with the ambulance company a few years back.

Being the receptionist/stable hand means I get to spend all day alternating between shitty customers and shitty stalls. Believe it or not, I prefer the stalls sometimes. I also get to try to keep the lobby clean, which is a never ending work in progress. We run a day camp for kids 7-14 (mostly girls attend) and kids are always running in to use the bathroom right after I cleaned it, or right after I swept the floor. For a while, it appeared dirt was appearing out of thin air behind me while I swept, then I realized my own boots were leaving a muddy trail behind as I went.

The highlight of the day was teaching the kids to play "telephone" while the other adults set up the scavenger hunt. I'm rather bemused anyone is trusting me with children.

Two girls came in to use the bathroom before lunch, but ended up sitting on the couch petting the cat instead. One girl asked, "How many lives does Cody have?"
"Nine." I replied
"So you could throw him off a cliff and if he landed in water he'd still have..." the other little girl asked.
"Well, they only lose a life if they die. If he landed in water, he might live, but if he landed on rocks, he'd probably die. Then he'd have eight lives left."
"So Cody would still be alive?"
"Yep. And if the next day he went out in the stable and got trampled by a horse, he'd still have seven lives left."
"And then we could throw him off a cliff again?"
"Or run him over with a car."
"Or get him eaten by Coal (the dog)."
"Exactly! Only I don't know how many lives Cody's already gone through, so don't go throwing him off a cliff just to see if he lives, because he might be on his last life, and if he is, he'd die."
At this I got mixed looks of awe and terror, which is why when Jen came in to get the girls, she didn't overhear what we'd been talking about.

So far, the only downfalls of working at the stables are after work I don't want to do anything until I shower for half an hour, and when I get home and blow my nose, it comes out black from sweeping up all the dirt and dust in the lobby all day. Neither of which are a huge inconvenience.

All in all I love it, and have a lot of fun with the people I work with, and the kids who come in for horse camp.

Love Met & Lost

The dark chocolate brown of his eyes peered curiously into my pale blue stare. He was gloriously tall and my head rolled back on my neck to look up at him.

He had the deep, searching sort of orb a girl could lose herself in if she met his gaze. I turned away before my soul was lost among the secrets behind those eyes.

Helpless to resist, I ran my hands along the veins in his neck, lightly brushed my fingers across his chest. He mumbled as I returned to his neck, and I stroked idly up and down the sides, occasionally skimming through his long, tousled mane.

He rested his chin on my head, his defined jaw forcing my head to turn as he watched a passerby. I stroked his cheek and he laid his head on my shoulder. I continued to pet him, in awe of the strength beneath my hands. He leaned into me and I almost buckled under the weight, but couldn't bring myself to step away from the soft silk of his auburn hair beneath my fingers.


Ah, Rusty, what a charmer. At this point, Jenn walked in and exclaimed, "Uh-oh. Looks like you're in trouble. I hope you don't have a boyfriend or a husband."

I've been hired on at Black Diamond Stables as a secretary/stable hand. Rusty is the beautiful auburn stallion who schmoozed up to me today. Sadly, he's recently been sold and will be moving in with his new owner in about two weeks.

Ah-well, I hear the best affairs are the short and passionate.

Fear and Loathing in Ohio

"God is all powerful, and Duct Tape is the magical force that holds everything together." - a friend of Tammy's on the connection between God and Duct Tape

Still fuzzy, but how have a pictured of God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost standing back to back to back, bound with yards of duct tape around their waists, but unable to break through it's mighty force. (which handily explains how they can be three different entities, and yet all the same thing - a concept I always had trouble with)

We (Tammy and I) actually never made it to the Duct Tape Festival. After only 3 cups of coffee for me, we set out on our journey to Cleveland with a pad of directions from some website. Saturday was sunny and hot (luckily, I had the foresight to apply sunblock), and Tammy has a cute little 2-door with a sun roof, so we got to enjoy 70mph air conditioning for 3 hours straight. Some time around 1am my face finally got over that tingly feeling caused by driving too fast with your head out the window.

Because we were bored, I decided we should see how many trucks we could get to honk for us on the way up. As passenger, it was my responsibility to hang out the window and signal the truckers. When the trucks started to thin out, I tried for some SUVs, a few cars, and one mini-van, but none complied. Tammy suggested the ASL for "honk your horn" may be different for non-commercial vehicles.

Once in Cleveland, Tammy realized she had directions from her house, not my house, and in the direction we were traveling there was no hook-up to the road we needed, so we cut through some side streets. By this point I was ravenous and was quickly consuming what was left of a bag of Combos Tammy had gum-banded closed in the back seat.

Hunger abated, I was back to boredom, so I started picking out victims to short the rubber band at. Nearly everyone had their windows down, but one boy gave me a slightly nasty look, so he became the target. I missed and it flew over his windshield instead of into his ear, but it was still a riot. *note to self - buy bag of rubber bands to keep in car

Once on the right road, we got to Avon, but couldn't find the damn park we were supposed to be at. Avon isn't very big, and we stopped twice to ask directions, but when we finally found Veterans Memorial Park, there were no stands, no music, and no cars Tammy recognized.

Plan 2 - lunch at McDonalds while we called everyone we could think of who might have an inkling of where we were supposed to be.

Sadly McDonald's sucked *note to self - don't forget to complain to McDonald's. Tammy checked the directions again. We tried calling the church that was sponsoring the event but no one was there. Tammy searched online for Duct Tape Festival. She texted everyone she knew. I was returning my food and we were about to walk across the street to the fire department (as a former EMS chick, I know fire/police/ems usually know when an event is going on and where) when Rob called.

According to Rob, there are two Veterans Memorial Parks. TWO. In the same town. Which is not a big town. Sheesh! And Rob (who was playing in a band at the festival) had looked at Tammy's directions and said, "Yeah, that's how you get there."

So, plan 3 - we met Rob, his brother Brad, and 3 other guys whose names I don't remember at Panera Bread. Rob gave us directions, which we screwed up. We were only 3 streets away from Panera, but we missed a right turn and ended up in a cul de sac. To our right, weeds. To our left, a hill with trees beyond and a dirt path that led 8 feet into noting before fizzling out. In front of us, woods, weeds, a rusted chainlink fence...and a stop sign.

Why we needed to stop, I have no idea. Where the oncoming traffic was, beats me. When we knew it was clear to go, how should I know? Because we had to stop, and because we were way too tired and doubled over laughing, we took a picture while waiting for the through traffic to pass. I've been trying for 2 days to post the picture, but Blogger is a stubborn mistress.

Panera Bread was fun. I ordered a fruit salad with blueberries. Not fresh blueberries, like you buy in the plastic carton at the grocer. Gooey blueberries, like you would put on ice cream. It would figure they were covered in that purple gook that stains anything permanently. I was taking a big bite of salad when a blueberry rolled off the fork and landed between my breasts.

I looked down in shock, then looked up to see that Brian had been watching me and knew I had a berry rolling around between my melons. I must've turned red. I gave a small wail and covered my face. Tammy said, "What? What happened? - Never mind, I don't even want to know. The bathroom's that way, go to the bathroom."

In the bathroom I parted my cleavage like the red sea, but saw no berry. I had to dig around to find it beneath a breast. Thank goodness no one came in the restroom, because I figured it'd be a snatch & go sort of job and hadn't bothered to get in a stall. Never underestimate the connivery of small blue fruits.

Anyway, the trip was fun, even though the most eventful occurrence was a berry in my bosom. If blogger gets over its snit, I'll post the pic of the stop sign, as well as a travel pic of Tammy. There's also the story of super gluing my car back together, which I'll be saving for a rainy day on blogger, but it's something to look forward to.

Stuck Like Duct

Anyone notice the time? Huh? Huh? Huh? It's EARLY! Ya wanna know how early? It's so fucking early I don't wanna look at the clock because the effort it takes me to bring the damn digital numbers into focus gives me a headache, and when I finally see discern the time, I just want to bash my head against the wall until I crack into unconsciousness.

Am I grumpy? A little. I haven't had any coffee yet. And I didn't wake up early, I just haven't been to sleep yet. I tossed and turned all night, but the closest I achieved was a sort of consciousness hibernation. Not the same. It makes me wonder if I slept, because pieces of time are missing, but I know I didn't, because I don't remember waking up. I always remember waking up, because I'm usually pissed off by it.

So, today my buddy-pal-pal-friend Tammy is taking me to some "Duct Tape Festival" up in the Cleveland area. About a 3 hour drive, considering traffic. I haven't been able to really sleep in a car since I was about 10, so by the time I get home, I'll probably be staggering, drooling, muttering something about brains, and buying a bus ticket to Texas.

We were up until 1am or something watching Connie and Carla. If you've never seen this movie, do yourself a favor and check it out. I say do yourself a favor, because I fully intend on tormenting you more with this until you've seen it. It's a funny movie about identity crises, and non-identity crises perceived as identity crises. Fun fun fun. Fun like da sun.

I rhyme when I'm sleepy. Or bored. Or sometimes just for the hell of it. What was I saying?

Oh, coffee. Since I don't see sleep anywhere in the day's forecast, I fully intend on loading up on a pot (or more) of coffee before we leave. I have a bag of the Starbucks Verona Blend left. When that's gone, I'll go back to Folgers, or Maxwell House, or whatever the hell it is Gram buys. Honestly, coffee is coffee to me unless it's flavored. I couldn't tell the difference if you asked me to, especially considering I'm 98% dead most times I'm consuming it.

So, coffee coffee coffee, lots of coffee this morning & hopefully I won't have to go potty every 5 miles of the 3 hour trip.

I'm still fuzzy on what exactly this Duct Tape Festival we're going to is. Tammy said it's like a church concert/carnival thing that has a parade. I'll admit I don't go to church too often (for good reason), but I don't see the connection between God & Duct Tape. Anyone?

As long as I don't suffer some sort of coffee induced aneurysm, I'll be back to share the connection, assuming there actually is one.

Supa-Short Story #6

He wasn't a god, but he was handsome. His shoulders were wide and thick with muscle. His arms were strong, without being ropey or veiny in the way men can be.

Lord but I envied that tan! It painted every inch of him in a warm earth tone which somehow made his skin appear smoother. His color couldn't have been more perfect if he'd just popped out of the toaster, and of course he wasn't wearing a shirt. I found myself watching his tattered jeans, watching the blue line of his boxers as he bent over. Partly for the view of his ass, but also curious if his tan was all over...and what exactly there was to be all over.

The bronze skin complimented his dark hair that showed beneath a well worn Harley Davidson cap. I could tell his hair was thick, and curly. What I didn't guess was his length. As I drooled from a distance, he pulled the cap from his head and ran his hand through gloriously long hair. Too short to pull back, but long enough to make my fingers itch for wanting to run my own hands through it.

He came to stand at the bottom of the porch. I wasn't exactly hiding out at the top of the steps, but I was trying to not make it blatantly obvious I was watching him. Apparently I made it just apparent enough to catch his interest, because he looked up at me with a smile and started in on small talk.

A sheen of sweat glistened on his leather-colored chest. Black hair curled around his features, which were strong and angular without being harsh or cruel. This man could intimidate with a glare, but charmed with a grin. His eyebrows were twin black lines on his tanned face, but his eyes - they were the pale blue of a sky when there are few clouds, but not enough sun to be brilliant.

The caramel tone of his body and sable hair made his eyes appear almost dusty. I was about to pass them off as plain, when he smiled. Maybe the light caught them. Maybe his own glow lit them. Suddenly they sparkled like ice blue diamonds in the cinnamon of his skin.

No, he still wasn't a God, but add an Irish accent, and I'd have done him.



Today's Supa-Short Story is inspired by Jimmy, the new pool boy - who is not Irish, but Croatian. Still, I'm not about to split hairs over Nationalities. And honestly, who here would not want to come watch him leaf net under the hot sun for a few hours?

I know it kept me entertained today.

Hairpins from Heaven

For some reason, I've been thinking of my Great-grandmother Evans lately. She's my maternal great-gram whom I used to visit at least once a month with my Gram when I was younger. She had a kick-ass doll house I'd play with. I've always been more the dirt&sticks type instead of dolls&dress-up, but this dollhouse was truly the shiznet! It had everything. A chandelier, oriental rugs, a little TV - and it was wired! The little switches actually turned on lights. The TV glowed with the picture of a clown. This dollhouse was like a mini-mansion to me.
Grammy Evan's house always had dishes of dried apricots, and Andies candies. When we visited, she'd send us home with all the Meals on Wheels food she didn't eat (which was most of it). My Grammy Evans is the only person in my family I have no ill memories of. I'm sure there were times she scolded me, once I ate her wax fruit because I thought the grapes were real, but I don't recall her being anything but sweet.

My Grandfather Evans died before I was born. Grammy Evans visited him every Sunday. They had a dual plot, with a shrub on each side of the headstone. Before she left, Grammy Evans would pull a hairpin from her head, bend down, and place it in the soil beneath Grandfather's shrub.

She said it was "So he'll know I'm here to see him, and that I miss him, but I'm not quite ready to join him yet." Then she would pull out her hankerchif and wave to him before she left.

The hankerchif is a trademark of hers the family has carried on. Grammy Evans used to go to a church retreat at Lake Chautauqua. At the end of the week, when everyone left, the people who ran the camp would take out their hankerchiefs and wave everyone off. Grammy Evans said it meant, "We're sorry that you're going and we'll miss you. We hope to see you again soon, but you'll be in our thoughts until then."

Grammy Evans started waving the Chautauqua Good-Bye when visitors would leave. Now, my family stands on the porch in jammies, with their toes buried in inches of snow for nearly an hour Christmas as visitors depart. Everyone keeps a box of tissues by the door, or in their car, so they're always ready to give the Chautauqua Good-Bye.

When my Great-grandmother Evans passed away, Gram took all the hairpins from Grammy's apartment and handed them out to everyone at the funeral. We each put a hiarpin under the bush beside Grandfather's plot. Gram said it would "Trumpet to him that she's coming, so he'll be there waiting for her when she arrives." Then, we all took out tissues and waved the Chautauqua Good-Bye to Grammy.

The reverend said it was the oddest and most touching funeral she'd seen. I always think fondly of it. Odd to think fondly of a funeral, but I can't think of a more suiting way to have said good-bye to her. I think we all felt better knowing Grandfather was waiting for her. Like I said, I have nothing but good memories of her, and her funeral is no exception.

Gram has since moved into a new house. She tells me that every so often, she finds a hairpin on the floor. The house was cleaned thoroughly before she moved in, and Gram doesn't have any hairpins of her own. It's as though they pop up through the beams in the hard wood floors. Gram says they're from Grammy Evans, so we know she's watching over us.


This post was partially inspired by a post about Pennies from Heaven at The Midnight Hour, a blog group of some wonderful paranormal authors - go check them out.

Crescent Moon

I'm hoping my loyal blogees have picked up these books by now. I really can't say enough about Lori Handeland. She does awesome work. Crescent Moon is the last book in the Nightcreatures Series until Midnight Moon comes out this August.

Crescent Moon is the story of Diana Malone, a cryptozoologist who's hired by a mysterious benefactor to hunt wolves in the swamps of New Orleans. People have been disappearing, bodies have been found mauled by an animal. Only there no longer are any wolves in New Orleans, unless you count the legendary loup-garou.
When her guide's throat is ripped out in the swamp, Diana is offered help by the sexy Cajun, Adam Ruelle. But is he leading her around the truth instead of to it? Adam's a recluse, most of the town thinks he's dead or crazy. Diana thinks he's furry, at least, part of the time.
The Crescent City turns Diana's vision of reality inside out with zombies, werewolves, vampires, ghosts, strange dreams, and unseen visitors in the night. Can Diana uncover the mystery before the truth tracks her down in the dark swamps of Louisiana?
She'll need to change her beliefs, overcome her skepticism, and maybe even enlist the aid of a Vodoun Priestess to break the spell of love she's falling into, and discover if the legendary loup-garou is roaming the swamps around her, or maybe even wrinkling the sheets with her.


Really, I can't say enough great things about Lori! If you haven't picked up her books yet, go. Now! ....I'm waiting!

Crescent Moon is filled with the wonderful, mystical atmosphere of New Orleans. The book explores not only local myths, but also history in a way that's informative without making you mind that you're learning.
My favorite supporting character of this book was Priestess Cassandra, who performs a Vodoun Ceremony with Diana in what is without a doubt my favorite scene in the book.
Priestess Cassandra comes back in Midnight Moon as the heroine, this Autumn (*hint*hint*).
This book also is filled with the humor I love so much. I can't really paraphrase without either losing meaning, or spoiling a plot scene, but take my word for it. This book had me laughing out loud at one point. Not a bad thing, except it was somewhere between 2 & 3am & the rest of the house was trying to sleep. I still chuckle when I think of it now, and this is from 2 days ago.
Humor, mystique, and a HUGE surprise near the end that turns everything upside down. I absolutely loved this book. Have I mentioned how much a fan of Lori Handeland I am? No? Maybe I should prop her some more.
Go check her website and blog (which she shares with some other awesome authors), then read her books!

You people NEED to be reading these books!
For anyone who's not been paying attention, check the sidebar under "Books I've Ho'd" for my mini-reviews of her other books, as well as other books I've read recently and loved!

Reason #2

Installment number two of "Reasons Why I'm Going to Hell."

I've come to accept the fact that my brain thinks like a person damned. The following is the bulk of a conversation I had online with a friend:

ME: nuns are considered married to God, right?
HER: YEs
what about Priests? or Monks? are they all gay married to god?
No I don't think so
then how come nuns get to marry god but Priests don't, aren't Priests higher up on the ladder than nuns?
It's like doctors and nurses kind of
Doctors are above nurses....so priests should be gay married to god and bearing his child?
Ok I get gay married to GOd except you'lll never find that in a catholic church. They bearing his child is anatomically impossible even for God
but they have to be something more than gay married to him in order to be above nuns
They're men that's enough for the church
but being as they're men, shouldn't they still be getting an added bonus
you're assuming God is male
so.....god is bearing the child of every Priest?
Look how about this Nuns are married to Jesus and Priests are married to Mary
but Mary wasn't on the level of God that would be like a nun saying, "I get god, you can have Gabriel" .......if all life came from god....wouldn't he sorta have to be a hermaphrodite? what makes the relationship between a priest and God greater than that between a nun and God?
The hierarchy of priests versus nuns was decided int he church by men. Pope, cardinal, bishop, priest ,nun
so maybe nuns are only *saying* they're married to god so they can feel like they're not at the bottom of the hierarchy decided by men?
No they actually have a ceremon that names them brides of christ But it is not marriage as we think of it. It's more commiting themselve to Jesus
so are monks gay-comitted to god?
I don't know
who made this ceremony? it could've been one of the nuns
But you have to understand there are dozens of orders of both priests, monks, and nuns so it may be different for each
so...there's like god's prime heram, then his second string?
I think the last church you'll find someone saying anyone i gay married to God is in the Catholic church
(a few others joined the conversation here)
Why do the relationships have to be comparable?
because monks should be equal to nuns they should be allowed to split the alimony if god divorced them
if you're looking for equality you need to look elsewhere at least traditionaly
so, what exactly do monks get out of the deal? they can't have sex, and they never get to marry
The whole theing about priets not being able to marry didn't come about until the 12th century Pope Gregory was concerned because the church's wealth was being drained because the children of priests and bishops had and claim being their heirs And so he decreed that priets must 'live like Jesus' i.e. no marriage under the rubric of religion but really to cover the church's ass...ets
what about monks?
Same if they're part of the church then it's the same
if they're living like Jesus....they're god's sons....and nuns are married to god....so nuns are like the mommies of the church? only without having sex
Yep, they're job is to be like the Virgin Mary They have to live her holy life But they conveniently forgot that Mary did eventually have sex
they conveniently forget a lot when it suits them


Thanks a lot to all my friends for joining me in the discussion and for clearing a few things up for me!

Science Fiction/Double Feature

I usually have vivid dreams, but the last few have been stranger than most. This leads me to wonder if crazy people have insane dreams, or if sane people are driven mad by unusual dreams. Are odd dreams a symptom, or a cause? Having resided on the bad side of sanity for some time now, I don't know that I'm a proper one to judge, but lately I've been wondering if the dreams of a crazy person are normal, or if they're like nightmares to normal people, only the crazies have adapted to sleep through them undisturbed.

With that to chew on, I offer up my dream of two nights past. Jaye, have a blast trying to analyze this!

I was visiting a big city, I think Chicago, with a group of friends. We ended up in a basement casino where a man in drag taught us to play an odd table game that combined cards and roulette.

The man was actually the dealer, and the most popular dealer in the joint. He was vivacious and ostentatious. At first he looked like Tim Curry in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but as dusk slid into dawn he came to resemble Prince, or - the Drag Queen Formerly Known as Prince. Either way, his name was Panty-Ho.

Panty-Ho was loved by both straights and gays, but hated by his fellow employees, because his table received the most traffic. Likewise, his garter was stuffed with the most green. Panty-Ho was so popular, he had sort of a catch-phrase-rhyme all the regulars knew. Have you ever seen Coyote Ugly? Where the bar patrons yell "Hell no H2O!"

The other table hosts weren't cross dressers. They weren't even gay. How Panty-Ho had managed to infiltrate this society of appearance was widely unknown, but he'd gained as much familiarity as bourbon in New Orleans. Not that they were about to name a room in the club Panty-Ho, this was, after all, still just a sleazy basement joint, but Panty-Ho was respected the way drug lords are. Because of fear as much as power. The two so often feed each other.

Despite all this notoriety, occasionally an out-of-towner would press through the crowd and come face to face with the tall, dark, and lipstick clad man in black lingerie. It was a race to see if they could turn on their heel before their jaw hit the cigarette-butt-littered floor. Panty-Ho, he didn't care. He knew he was better than them. Sure, he was a workin' stiff in an outfit where any sort of stiff was plainly obvious, but he had dreams, and he was moving towards them one sashaying step at a time.

Panty-Ho would sneer at their backs, these middle-America paper-pushers, acting as though they were in tight with the boss just because they handed the CEO his papers for the Monday Morning Meeting. They were going nowhere beyond suburbia. Few here were, but fewer tried to pretend otherwise, which is why these button-up proppers with their clip-on ties were scorned.

Panty-Ho's teeth were amazingly white under the hanging lights that only served to light the smoke in foggy halos, enough that people felt they could see everyone else without being seen themselves. Maybe it was just the contrast against the Virgin Cherry Red lipstick. No one thought a transvestite would take the time to use white strips, never mind the time it takes to shave head-to-toe every day. No one assumed he was anything more than a passing commodity, but they were sure on for the ride while it lasted.

His eyebrow would quirk, in the way of people who know something others don't, and he'd say in a lazy drawl, just loud enough to be heard, but just slow enough to almost go unnoticed, "It don't matter where ya go..."
At this, the crowd beamed, given the chance they'd been waiting all week for. The chance to belong. To take part in the moment. To belong to a group by means of scorning an outsider. Imitating the almost southern cadence of Panty-Ho's voice, the on lookers say, "You'll never find better than Panty-Ho."

These straight men, floozy women hanging off an arm or two, joining the chorus of a gay man because the herd did. Thinking they were on top while mindlessly echoing the praise of another. Panty-Ho has assembled his masses in the way of Marc Antony and Hitler, bundling the peons together for his plan under the guise of their own free will. Thought is too easily influenced to be sacred.

But for all his fans, for the rhyme, and the sneer, and the corset - Panty-Ho was confined like all others by the rules that govern him.

On the night of my visit, the Basino, as it was called, was offering a special prize. No one bothered to ask which truck had wrecked on the highway, but the night's top winner would receive a stereo set, complete with a DJ's assortment of CDs.

The man who announced this, Steven, didn't miss the flash of surprise behind Panty-Ho's mascara. Steven worked the table next to Panty-ho, the one often over run by the crowd swelling around the Drag Queen like bacteria clamoring at a fresh wound. His table was lost in the swell so often it was no matter if he disappeared in the sweep of the tide.

He watched Panty-Ho. He could never get close enough to listen, but he heard the Transvestite's body language echo throughout the basement.

Panty-Ho would sing as he delt. Shake his ass while he spun the wheel. By the looks on his fans' faces, he didn't hit a single sour note on the Basino's play loop. Panty-Ho wanted to sing.

Steve wanted Panty-Ho's income. And since he wasn't about to slide on stockings to get it, the only other alternative was to undo the drag. The CDs had been Steve's acquisition. The stereo set had all the hook-ups for karaoke, all the special lights and whistles to put on a real show. Just what someone would need to catch the eye, or ear, of a record dealer. Panty-Ho would never be able to pass up the opportunity.

The club didn't offer prizes often. Sometimes a free deck, or a drink from the bar. A place this shady didn't even have caps or shirts to give out. Since the prizes were never anything worth winning, the dealers never tried to win. This is why the topic was shaded. The dealers were allowed to win. What's more, it was easy to win. It was merely a matter of picking which two hands of the night you wanted to win, and you were guaranteed. This was part of the allure of the game, it depended on timing more than luck. The dealers would pull a win when they thought a player was getting too cocky, or when there was nothing at stake for whomever lost. It wasn't a well known fact that dealers weren't allowed to win anything they wouldn't give back to the table. In a night of gambling, any cash the dealer accrued could easily be slid back into the pot. Only Panty-Ho didn't intend to slide the CDs anywhere but into the sound system.



Okay, this is getting a bit long and involved. If anyone likes it, let me know, and maybe I'll finish it tomorrow, but for now, I'm breaking it off for a bit.

666

Dull day, considering the date. I thought I'd have a good day, Satan would repay me for all my services to him over the years. Sadly, there's not much to talk about. I made dinner, cleaned the cat box, took out the trash. Boring, boring, boring.

I did read Red Moon Rising last night/this morning. Good for a novella, but my feelings about novellas in general is they're too short! I like novellas as a way to find new authors, but if I'm reading an author I'm already infatuated with, it's a little disappointing to know the affair will end all too soon.
Still, good story. I'll read the rest of the anthology after I'm all caught up in the Nightcreatures series, then I'll come back with an overall ho-view (...really need to think up another name for that).

Dark Moon

Proof of how awesome Lori Handeland's books are - I've read 2 in 3 days.

So much for sleep.

Today's Book-Ho Installment is on Dark Moon. Previous books in the Nightcreatures series by Lori Handeland are Blue Moon and Hunter's Moon.

Since I just did a Ho-view (...okay, that sounds bad - really BAD - I'll need to think up another name for my Book Ho Reviews) on Lori's Hunter's Moon yesterday, I thought I'd do something a bit different today.
Lori writes in first person, not incredibly common, but she does it wonderfully. Since her characters are stubborn and spunky (much like yours truly), reading them in first person only helps me feel all that much closer to them.

So, in honor of lories first-person-awesomeness (I'm tired, I'll work on better adjectives tomorrow), I'll be doing a blurb in 1st person so summarize Dark Moon. Hope you enjoy (also, if my version sucks, please realize Lori's is much MUCH better)!

A few days ago my lab blew up. Sure, my research is backed up elsewhere (not that I have any idea where), but it was also my home. As if that wasn't enough stress on a girl, my first and only love, the man I've always wanted but can never have, walked back into my life the same day.
You'd think a guy would hold a grudge after a girl walked out on him in the middle of the night and never showed back up after seven years. You'd think. But Nic still loves me, which only makes it that much more painful that I still can't have him.
Oh, and did I mention someone wants me dead? Yeah - that might have something to do with the lab explosion. But wait, it gets better! People are disappearing all over the small, remote town of Fairhaven, Wisconsin. Sure, we've found a corpse or two, but they disappear almost before they turn cold.
Add to that ghost wolves that only I can see, voices on the wind, a Gypsy witch, and Nic won't get out of town like he's told and give my suffering libido a break! Okay, some suffering is worth it, even worth a bullet to the head, but it's still a rough week for a girl who's spent most of the past seven years locked up in a lab studying werewolves instead of out in the field pointing guns at them.

It's a good thing I have a PhD, or I might not be able to handle all this right now.


Dr. Elise Hanover makes a wonderful transition from a secretive woman with her nose and a book and her tail between her legs, into a strong-willed, sharp tongued, kick-ass superhero. Gotta love a woman who realizes her power and chooses to use it.
The hero isn't too bad either, hunky and stubborn, yet ultimately protective of his woman through and through. There's a scene where he's pulling a bullet out of her butt that I particularly got a kick out of.

The one disappointment was I didn't get to hear much from Leigh and Damien, the pair from the last book. Jessie and Will are still present in all their glory (which means bickering one second, embracing the next) and help to bring an end to the mystery, but Leigh and Damien head off to another mission shortly into the book. Hopefully they'll be back in future books (especially Damien!)