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!)

Hunter's Moon

Today's mini-review is for Lori Handeland's Hunter's Moon.
Hunter's Moon is number two in a series which so far consists of four novels, and one novella, with a fifth novel due out next month (which gives you just enough time to read all of her previous Nightcreatures books before the new release).

Lori writes wonderful werewolf novels in first person. Anyone who's into paranormal should check her out. She puts a new and fascinating twist on the werewolf story by basing it upon Ojibwa Indian lore.

Lori has taken the Ojibwa legends and built on them to create a fascinating world of undercover werewolf hunters trying to stop bands of evil werewolves from ruling the world. It may sound a bit out there, but trust me, give Blue Moon, the first in the series, a chance.

Hunter's Moon stood out to me because of the sometimes questionable sanity of the heroine, and the sad-yet-sexy hero. There are many twists through which you get to watch the characters evolve. You also get to hear more from the characters intorduced in the first book of the series - not just a "hello, yes, we're still alive." Jessie and Will play an integral part in Leigh's transformation throughout the book, and in helping to uncover why werewolves are dying in the woods without being shot.


Hunter's Moon is the story of Leigh Tyler, a once peppy kindergarten teacher turned introvert werewolf killer after a werewolf kills her family and is stopped just short of reaching his goal - her.
Leigh is now haunted by the memories of that night when a werewolf with eyes she recognized killed all she had loved and she was thrust into a life of vengeance, teetering on the edge of insanity.
Now Leigh has been called to a small Wisconsin town that's becoming overrun with the evil shapeshifters to help combat them. She's also been given the task of training Jessie McQuade (the heroine from Blue Moon) as a new Jager-Sucher, the secret elite Hunter-Searcher team in charge of saving the world from the fanged and furry. Oh, and Jessie's boyfriend is in tow. Leigh tries to ignore the constant smooching, but it makes her long for what was taken from her years back.
As if adjusting to Jessie's contentious nature isn't hard enough, Leigh finds herself inexplicably drawn to dark, sexy Irishman Damien Fitzgerald. Leigh has managed to keep herself safely from any attachments for years, but now she finds herself with friends, and a man she may just want to share the white-picket-life with.
Things may just be looking up for her, until the man who murdered her family and forever changed her life starts appearing from between the trees. Has Leigh lost her mind - again - or has the demon from her past returned to claim her?
Now Leigh and Damien must find a way to keep their love for each other while helping Jessie and Will (hero from Blue Moon) figure out what the werewolves are up to, and most importantly, how to put a stop to it.

Taking the Weekend Off

Seems like a lot of my blog buddies are taking the weekend off, so I'm following suit. I'll be playing the blog games all weekend, but I've had a migrain, so there's nothing interesting to talk of other than laying in bed trying not to move my head. ~joy~

I won't leave my loyal fans without entertainment, though:

Feel free to play my Story Game, or my Acroname Game.

Flood is playing a Five Word Story Game, and a Thirty Word Caption Game on her blog.

Michele has a Hilarious Story on her blog.

CJ Barry is having bad luck with Literal Speaking and a Bag of Sugar from the back of her pantry (she's looking for recipe help).

Marjorie M. Liu is speaking about her next release, The Red Heart of Jade, in her Web Petals Blog.

Joy Nash saw The DaVinci Code (if you need a link for that, Google, but I can't imagine anyone on my blog doesn't know what it is) and shares Her Thoughts.

Creativity Vacuum is working on her Story Skills.

Lori Handeland is collecting books to donate to New Orleans Public Libraries, you can suggest NOLA Set Books for the list. (You can also donate money or other items to NOPL, or help out by Ordering a Tee Shirt!)
Lori also talks about "What If?" (where ideas come from) in her blog.



That's all I have for now, so it'd better be good enough for you blood thirsty scavengers!

I ought to post tomorrow with Hunter Moon by Lori Handeland, the latest book I've ho'd.

Acroname

Special thanks to all of you who are playing my game. I've been popping in to add here and there, but I haven't read every post. I do know a few of you have been super awesome and posted a few additions to the story. I special thanks to my friend CJ Barry for coming to play when I begged her to! *g*

So far our other players are: the LOVELY Jaye, the SPUNKY Mignon, and the creative Vacuum *g*! I'll be trying to drag more players in during the week, hope everyone is enjoying playing.

In the meantime, I've thought of another game/creative activity -
Take your name, or nickname, or whatever name you choose to represent yourself online - do all three if you're feeling super-industrious.

Create an acronym of words that describe you. You can make a phrase, or just collect some words. I want to know what everyone thinks of themselves, but of course, I can't make it easy! I'll start, and if I think up more, I'll post in comments.

M.ulish
I.nspired
T.alented
C.heeky
H.yper

also

M.alevolent
I.mplication
T.owards
C.ultish
H.edonism

If anyone's really crazy about this game, feel free to make up acronames for me, or anyone else who posts a comment (so if you comment, be warned, you're fair game!)

Would You Like to Play a Game?

SO, because I'm bored, and because I've been having so much fun with Flood lately, I thought we'd play a game. It's a variation of a game being played on Flood's blog right now, and I encourage everyone to stop by her blog and join the fun there as well.

Here's how we play (read all rules before joining game)-

I'm going to post the beginning of a story. Anyone can post the next section, but the length of the section must exactly 15 lines of the comment box As soon as you reach the 15th line, you stop. I don't care if you're mid sentance, just finish spelling the word you were on, then post your comment.

When you leave a comment, you may NOT read all the previous comments. You may only read the comment immediately previous to yours. When the comment page opens, scroll down to the comment box and read the comment immediately above.

You may post as many times as you like, but not in succession. Someone else has to leave a comment before you may post again.

Play as long as you like, invite your friends to play. After a week, I'll post the story in its entirety for everyone to read. I used to do this in my creative writing class and it can be loads of fun. Hope everyone enjoys!