Taurean Thoughts of Fire

Grammy Orbs

2007-12-19T20:42:00.000-05:00

Ah, the holidays!

Last night I made a Christmas CD that I've been using as background music for the past 24 hours of my life. Good times, good times. I'm quite proud of my compilation, although the four different versions of Carol of the Bells (Hark, Silver Bells) may be a bit much for some. What can I say, it's my favorite Christmas tune. Also on the mix is the Hallelujah Chorus, some Tchaikovsky, a bit of Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and a lot of Manheim Steamroller. Like I said, good times are being had.

In other holiday news, I brought the Grammy Orbs out of the basement today. We are shamefully behind on our decorating this year, but I made a big push today and now all that's left is to put ornaments on the tree (rigging up the lights - the second thing at Christmas that's such a pain to me - wore us out). There's a bow at the top of the tree with a God's eye I made when I was in grade school, and one or two other ornaments made it before we crashed.
No Grammy Orbs on the tree yet, but they'll get there tomorrow.
What? You say you've never heard of Grammy Orbs? Gasp!
My great-grandmother used to buy those cheap foam Christmas balls that are covered in colored thread. Then she'd decorate them with beads and ribbons using more pins than a voodoo priestess. Being an elderly retired woman living along with not so much as a house cat, she had a LOT of time to make orbs. Each year her four children would receive boxes full of Grammy Orbs (which would proceed to be passed on to their children). A few years into the hobby and we had orbs coming out our asses.

Since Grammy Evans visited our house every year for Christmas, we had to start getting creative with the orbs. There simply wasn't enough room on our 8ft Christmas tree for them all! (We should've just built a tree out of the orbs.) We hung pine rope from the doorways, decorated and strung it with lights on the outside windows and doors, dangled Grammy orbs from the inside doorways. Grammy Orbs hung from chandeliers, rolled across table tops, piled in baskets. If ever there was an orb not displayed, she'd know. She seemed to remember every one she ever made, and on a few occasions asked to see a certain orb (always a different one, always one not out) "Oh my gosh!" My grandmother would exclaim, "How could we miss this entire box of orbs? We'll have to put them out at once!"

For the record, I always loved the Grammy Orbs (except for one particularly gaudy pink one). The rest of the family, eh, not so much. Maybe it was the stress of having to be so creative decorating with them. It was more of a joke around the family, "Did you get your gift from Grandmother yet? *snicker*)
Still, there was a deep love, if not for the orbs, than for Grammy. She passed on some years ago, but her orbs still decorate the house at Christmas time. Not as many, but Gram has kept her favorites and dumps them out of a box into some baskets by the door each year exclaiming, "There mother, there are your orbs!" I love the orbs because they are a memory, they may not all be beautiful, but the thought is.
It is the thought that matters.

Holiday Traditions

2007-12-17T20:42:00.000-05:00

As promised, the much anticipated Christmas Stories post I've been promising for a whole two posts...

The house I grew up in was huge, and not just to a grade-schooler, although that certainly added to it. There were six bedrooms, 2 full baths, 2 half baths, a huge kitchen, dining room, study, sun room, living room, day room (I think some of these names were engineered simply for distinction), hallways, stairwells, even a secret passageway here and there. So, living in this mammoth castle, it was only natural that everyone would convene at our house for Christmas. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Grand-parents, Great-grand-parents, People I didn't even know the names of, or my relation to them. Holiday pictures showed four generations. Pull out beds, cots, and sleeping bags appeared from hiding places and cubby holes I never knew about. There were always people on couches and often people on the floors.
Christmas eve I was sent up to bed as early as the adults could manage (because Santa won't come if you're still awake), while downstairs the annual Egg Nog Party ramped up. Sometime around midnight stockings would be stuffed before heading off to bed.
I kept the radio on all night to listen for "Santa Sightings." One year, my uncles and cousins went running round the house in three feet of snow ringing sleigh bells for me. I never woke-up. Poor Matthew came down with pneumonia before New Year's thanks to the escapade.
Christmas morning started at about 3 a.m., after maybe four hours of sleep. I'd run into my great-grandmother's room and ask if it was time yet. She'd say, "No! Go back to bed!" A few minutes later I'd return. "Is it time now?" "Let people sleep!" "But what if Santa's come!" "I haven't heard him yet - go back to bed." A few more minutes later. "Have you heard Santa come yet?"
After a few years of this, my Mom finally wised up and started heading me off before I could get to Grammy's room. Around 6 or 6:30 it was finally time, I had bugged everyone enough that they'd given up hope of me (and consequently them) falling asleep again. Grammy and I each grabbed a strap of sleigh bells and went through the house ringing them in people's ears and shouting "Merry Christmas!" until they got up.
There were a few years, when I was old enough to understand and young enough to believe, the family cut out big Santa-prints and little elf-prints out of paper and laid them out like a Family Circus cartoon. They came from the chimney, of course, then Santa would go to the cookies and milk (and carrots for the reindeer), then the tree, then a hop on the logs and back up the chimney. The elves were a little less focused in their efforts. They chased each other around the dining room table, hopping on the chairs, and finally walking across the table itself. They often scaled the presents like little mountain climbers trying to reach the top of the tree. One year, they stopped at the fridge and left a partially eaten slice of cheese on the floor. My Gram was so angry about the food on the floor (it would attract mice!) that she didn't notice the dishwasher the elves had left her.
After chasing elf prints (you had to follow every trail to make sure one wasn't still in the house somewhere), gift unwrapping began with stockings. Everyone had their own seat they sat in every year for Christmas. Mine was the best, Mom and I sat on the cushions in front of the picture windows. There was a heater under the seat and I was right next to the tree. It's a wonder my wrapping paper massacre never caught fire being piled up right in front of the heater.

I'm a little old for the elf-prints (just a little), but we still ring bells every year. Two years ago, I was staying with my mom for the holiday and she and my little brother burst into my bedrooms bells ringing and camera recording while I was getting dressed. Apparently, mom hadn't told me to wait a minute over the sleigh bells.
I never did make sure she destroyed that tape - she distracted me with presents. Damn.

Happy Holidays to all! May you relive your childhood this magical season.

From a Videographer's Diary

2007-12-16T23:08:00.000-05:00

Another day, another dollar; fifteen hours on showshoes and I wish I had pie.

- From a Maine Trapper's Diary

That was yesterday. Eleven hours spent standing at a camera filming the Cancer Research Classic basketball invitational for a live webcast.

I came to realize that standing still for hours on end hurts much more than walking for as many hours. Or maybe it's just that walking provides a distraction from the pain. My apologies to the players, but after half a season filming college games, high school level was not incredibly interesting to me. Less so because I had neither affiliations or interests in any of the schools participating. I will say that the last game, between two preparatory schools was interesting. Of course, that was partially do to the consternation of the color commentary over name pronunciations. (Our heartfelt apologies to Mathang, but we tried to go with phonetic pronunciations.)

The long day was made bearable by lots of caffeine and two six-foot party subs. The snow fell outside, but we were warm and protected, albeit weary. I didn't win the 50/50 raffle, but wasn't too upset since the money went towards cancer research. The letdown came at the end of the day. The volunteers had been told they would be walking home with a fresh new Benjamin for their willingness to stick it out a day after final exams ended. After the broadcast ended, we were informed they'd cut us a check sometime next week.
The pay that would make all the pain and endurance well worth it was being postponed. Although I was disgruntled, this is not a huge deal to me. I probably would have done it for free (but don't spread that along to my boss). I feel a little worse for my companions, one of whom was planning on Christmas shopping with that money, another who caught a flight back home to Philly today.

I made it home late, and disheartened. The cat needed fed, the dog needed out, and I needed chocolate. I went for the turtle sundae pie in the fridge, only to discover it was ice cream and should've been kept in the freezer. I would've gone at it anyway, but I was too exhausted to bother with a bowl and spoon. Instead I got a glass of cold milk and the cookie jar and made my way to the study to check e-mails while the puppy ran off his energy in the yard.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a package on the coffee table. I wasn't expecting anything, but Dorchester had send me an ARC (advanced reading copy) from one of my favorite authors! (I won't name names for fear of my life, but this book isn't for sale until February.)
It made up for my aching back and the legs that had lost feeling below the thighs. I sat at the desk with the opened cookie jar in my lap, happily munching on chocolate chip cookies dunked in the glass sitting between me and the keyboard, and e-mailed a quick thanks to the author.

It had still been a long day, and I still needed a soak in a hot tub, but all in all, the book was better than pie.

(P.S. Entertaining Christmas has been postponed due to residual exhaustion, check back later)

Where have I been? What have I been up to?

2007-12-14T21:10:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately, the answers are right here, and not much. Still plugging away at school. I'm trying to devise an independent major so I'll have more room for electives because being a double major barely leaves me room for core. I've become very interested in philosophy this semester and may minor in it if I can be certified for the independent major.
I'm looking into careers to keep my fed and sheltered while I pursue my writing. If anyone either knows, or knows someone who knows what is entailed in editing or literary agency, drop me a line. I'd like to stay near the writing profession, since it's where my interest lies. Or better yet, how does one become a professional book reviewer? Anything that pays me to read is a good job.

In older news, I got a puppy. Thisbee, bless her soul, had to be put down last summer when she went into kidney failure at the amazing age of 21.

Boston, my remaining kitty, was raised by a dog and growls, chases her tail, guards against intruders, fetches, and all around acts way more like a canine than a feline, so I thought a dog would make a better companion for her than another cat.

Also, Gram was very picky about what kind of cat I was allowed to get. No white, not even if it also had black. She says white cats are crazy. No cats from my Mom. (Mom lives on a farm and has a new litter running around every month, it seems, but my mom has very bad luck with cats. All of hers get some disease, like FeLV, and need to be put down.) Gram decided she would accept a striped cat, but it had to be orange, or brown like Thisbee. Black and white stripes were a no.

Ironically, even though Gram didn't want me to get a dog, she had less rules about what I couldn't get for a dog. She didn't want a big dog. That was her only rule. I didn't want a hound dog (because of their baying howl).

After a month of touring the local pounds, I came home with this:

Yes, he's so cute and tiny. It didn't last (not the tiny part at any rate). His previous owner dropped him off in run sometime in the night with a female pup we assumed was his sister. No note, just a bad case of fleas and tics. Frontline cleaned up the pests and after a week of no one claiming him, I brought him home and named him Tarent. (At the pound, they called him Jack, which just made me think Captain Jack Sparrow because this was just after Pirates 3 hit theaters. Plus, I'm not a big fan of giving animals common people names.)

The pound guessed he was 4 months old and a Cocker Spaniel mix (even though his sister looked like a coon hound). The vet pegged him at 3 months (he's now 9 months old), and he's nearing the 50lb mark, not your typical cocker size. The vet thinks he's more setter. I think he looks more like an English Setter, but with shorter fur and snout. I no longer have to bend over to pet his head, and he's now strong enough to pull me off a curb when we go for walks. The cat, by the way, NOT happy about the dog. They're learning to get along, though. Tarent likes to play "poke the kitty" where he jumps back and forth jabbing paws at her. Boston, in return, likes to chew on Tarent's legs. I guess it works out evenly.

I'll try to be a more vigilant blogger. For the holiday season, my next blog will have an entertaining story about Christmas tradition in my family, but for now, I bid you adieu.

Later Days!

Since my last post I have...

2006-10-08T14:05:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-31T20:45:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-27T20:56:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-26T19:53:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-25T20:40:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-23T19:16:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-15T17:31:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-07T19:41:00.000-05:00

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

2006-07-31T19:27:00.000-05:00

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

2006-07-15T12:07:00.000-05:00

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!

2006-07-03T16:15:00.000-05:00

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...

2006-07-02T17:31:00.000-05:00

~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

2006-07-01T19:19:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-25T20:14:00.000-05:00

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!

2006-06-24T14:17:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-22T20:39:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-18T20:39:00.000-05:00

"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

2006-06-17T05:54:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-14T22:02:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-13T20:48:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-09T23:26:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-07T22:16:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-07T19:33:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-06T22:21:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-05T22:05:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-04T21:00:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-03T20:37:00.000-05:00

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

2006-06-02T20:46:00.000-05:00

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?

2006-06-01T15:22:00.000-05:00

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!

Pain in the Glass

2006-05-31T20:43:00.000-05:00

While the first floor remains blessedly cool throughout the day, my second floor suite becomes akin to the towering inferno - only not towering, and without giant water tanks to explode in a means to douse the flames.

Walking across the hard wood floor is like walking across the cement around the public pool, it's almost too hot to do without sandals on.

So, given the fact the second floor averages twenty-degrees warmer than the first, you can imagine my frustration over the fact only one of my two bedroom windows opened.

I've been trying since last Friday to open this damn window! Once, I'd taken off my shoes and my socks slid across the floor before the window budged more than half an inch up. I almost opened the window with my head. *grumbles* *stoopid hard wood floors*

I asked my uncle Ross, the hero of "If you can't fix it - break it." Even he couldn't manage to get it open.

Today, I was prying away at the frame with two flat head screwdrivers, trying to loosen the frame from the track, or wedge the window up by the small crack I'd opened at the bottom.

After about an hour trying to force the window up without breaking it, unscrewing the lock with the thought it was hanging up the window, and sweating profusely all over the silk curtains - I realized the lower window was getting hung up on the upper window!

I still didn't know WHAT was catching in the upper window, so I decided the only solution was to squeeze my big butt out the tiny window (the one that actually opened is right beside the jammed one) onto the roof to see if I can pry the upper window free from the outside.

Imagine my surprise when I'm prying at the lower window with the screwdriver, and the glass pops out. It's then I notice the glass has a lip on it to push up and down, and the lip in on the upper outside instead of the lower inside. A storm window had been jammed against the lower window so that the glass fit so exactly I hadn't had any idea there was a second pane of glass. The storm window was jammed against the regular window inside out and backwards, the lip of the storm window had been catching the upper window, so I couldn't raise the lower or lower the upper.

I was absolutely dumbfounded. Half the windows in this house don't have screens, but mine has an extra storm window. I think I'm having buyer's remorse - and it's not even my house, I'm just living in for a while.

Compoms

2006-05-30T23:21:00.000-05:00

Ah, the much awaited Verona post! Well, maybe not all that highly anticipated, but I think it's still worth a chuckle or two.

Sunday, if you read my hyper coffee post, you know that I went to work with a carafe worth of Starbucks Verona Bold Blend sloshing around in my tummy. The last time I went to work on that high of a caffeine buzz, I was chained to the register, so the only ones to suffer were the customers.

Sunday, I was given three boxes of belts and a box of wallets to put out. The belts were wrapped in plastic, so the leather didn't rub, or stick together, and I had to pull the long, thin, sort of grayish-white plastic sheath off each belt. For some reason, pulling the plastic off of 28-42" of leather and being left with a dirty, wrinkled sheath, reminded me of taking of a condom. Bear with me, I was on a buzz.

I told Sean the crinkled up plastic sheaths reminded me of dry, used condoms. That earned me a look. He didn't agree. In fact, only one of my five co-workers that morning agreed that it was somewhat reminiscent of a condom.

I told Jess (who carries a jumbo condom in her purse wallet) that she should open it, take out the condom, and slip in one of the belt sheaths - just to freak out her boyfriend.

The most priceless moment of the day came when I'd finished the belts and had a box full of empty condoms. I grabbed two handfuls and went bouncing into the back declaring, "Look! I have Condom Pom Poms! Compoms, or Pomdoms." They even made that plastic crinkling sound pompoms do when you shake them.

Sadly, after that, I was chained to the register so they wouldn't have to deal with me, so I don't have more fun stories, but the look on everyone's face when I was bouncing around with the condom pompoms was priceless!

I'll blog about something better as soon as inspiration strikes me.

Satan's Sale

2006-05-28T09:29:00.000-05:00

The kids have run off with my Aunt and Uncle to visit my Grandfather for brunch.
Gram's off at church bathing in absolution.
I'm all alone in a very quiet house finishing off my pot of Starbuck's Verona blend I received compliments of B&N with my 15 book order. Strong, and caffienny, but good. Very good. I brewed it a half hour ago when I realized the pot was empty and I was alone, and faced with the daunting prospect of another day of Satan's Sale. The store was given extra man hours yesterday to hang new signs, which we didn't ever receive enough of, so I agreed to stay on for a double because money is good and family isn't always so pleasurable. Yes, I know, evasive, but I put in my reqired hours when I got home, as I scarfed down hineese and tried to prop my eyelids open long enough to be considered sociable.

Now, I'm ignoring Jaye's well intended advice and chugging away at Verona in preparation for today's open to close shift.
Already the caffiene is speeding up my drive, slowing down the world. Everything needs to be faster, louder, more vibrant - but the house remains stubbornly silent, miles away from even a silent movie.

I saw a silent movie a few weeks ago. It was called the Circus. It was much better than I had expected, and I did expect to enjoy it, if not for more than a cultural experience. It actually had better humor than modern flicks, until the end. The end was desperately sad and made me want to weep. All that much more so because of the silence, against the musical backdrop, I would never hear the character sob, solidifying his aloneness.

Anywho, I'll bet you're wondering about Satan's Sale! We received an e-mail (the store) yesterday morning about a sale for "The Holiday weekend, and beyond." (To Infinity - AND BEYOND!) We have no idea when this sale ends, but all of us loathe the fact it ever started. Everything in our store is $7.98 or less. With Satan's Sale, you can get 5 skirts or womens shorts for $19.99, 5 kids short or long sleeve tees, or three short or long sleeve mens or short sleeve women's shirts, all $19.99. When we ring up 3 shirts, the sale adjusts the price of each to $6.66.
Whose bright fucking idea was this?
To make matters even more interesting, when testing the sale before store hours, the computer went whacko. It froze up and the mouse started moving around on it's own. We were on the phone with IT for the better half of an hour, Lisa, the manager, cussing the entire time and ranting his ignorance each moment she was on hold (and some moments she wasn't).
Lisa said, "I'm allowed to cuss, we're not open yet. I'd never heard her cus before, and apparently she avoids it because once she starts, she can't stop. After the store was open, we had to keep reminding her so when Satan's Sale continued to screw up our comps.

Faced with another day of this anguish, all I can do is thank B&N for the pot of Verona I've managed to down in an hour & hope I'm not the only one on register today when I need to pee.

To my blogees - hope your weekend is fun & Satan Free, unless the association is through yoursefl, in which case, live it up!
I'll be back on Monday with more tales of horror from the Sale of Satan (sounds like Son of Sam, maybe I'll get to star in a made for TV movie - look for me on prime time).........(I wish I had time to make more Verona)

Supa Short Story #5

2006-05-24T23:55:00.000-05:00

The moon gazed down in anticipation with its Cheshire cat grin as her bare feet padded across the cement. Crickets chirred against the deeper reverberations of the tree frogs in a din that covered the soft swoosh of the beach towel sliding from her shoulders.

Toes curled over the edge of the pool, getting a feel for the chill of the water by the breeze lapping off its surface. The summer day, in all its languid complacency, had nearly suffocated her. She was rarely up for dawn, but still sensed the length of the day in the perfunctory motions of the wildlife, luxuriating in siestas come midday. Also in the anxiety of the night creatures, waiting for their short shift to start.

Her body slid beneath the surface of the water like a sword sliding home to the hilt in its scabbard with only a whisper of power. Ripples danced in the moonlight, a private disco for fireflies to commune over.

Halfway across the pool, she surfaced, gleaming and pure from the chlorine baptism. Her hair spread around her in the almost complete circle shape of a lillypad, the smooth brown appearing black against her pale skin.

The moon paints her as she swims, adding sparkle to her eyes, emphasizing to smooth curves and dark hollows. Her nipples are hard beads in the cool water. A turn reveals the curve of a bottom, a stroke the size of a breast.

This is her world, swimming laps past midnight. Alone with her thoughts, serenaded by frogs and crickets, even bats sing to her, although she can't hear them as they spin their aerobics above her. The day and her life wash away in the pale blue chemicals. All that matters is her stroke, keeping the rhythm, floating on her back while the stars peek in, her far away voyeurs.

The world can wait, with the big fluffy towel for both comfort and protection. The little night songs others call silence are soothing her, and the moon is grinning like a knowing friend. Hair flowing around her, spreadeagle on her back, naked to the world as though she's nothing to hide - she smiled back.

TTT!

2006-05-24T21:41:00.000-05:00

Someone STOLE my SPERM!!!!!!
At first, I was deeply upset, so sad I didn't even feel like eating the cereal I'd just covered in milk, and I always feel like eating cereal. Now I'm pissed. Still sad, but pissed is taking over, since sad accomplishes nothing, but pissed goes a long way towards vengeance.

Yesterday afternoon, I spent some time chillin by the spermbox after I cleaned out the pool. I was still kinda down over losing two spermzillas earlier this week, but I was glad to have my 5 sperm & 3 Spermzillas left and doing well.

This morning, I looked out onto the deck to find the spermbox missing. At first I panicked, then saw it had just been down two steps. I figured Gram had moved it & was stepping out to check on my sperm when I saw the spermbox was empty!
No Sperm, no water, not even any algae residue. This wasn't the work of some starving raccoon, someone took the lid off my spermbox, dumped it, and put the lid back on. That's the only way I can figure there's not any algae left. If a raccoon had tipped the spermbox over, there would be green goo left in the box, and on the steps.
The steps were dry, the box was empty, and most upsetting of all, one of my poor Spermzillas was laying on the step, shriveled dry under the sun.

I MISS MY SPERM!
and I WANT VENGEANCE!!!!!

I have no idea who the Sperm haters are, but it's become entirely too obvious there is a local faction of the TTT, Tadpole Terminating Troupe. I haven't seen them show themselves yet, but I'll know them when they're standing on my lawn in wetsuits throwing buckets of water at idolic symbols.

I really miss my sperm. All the sperm that were left in the pool have died from the chemicals that were dumped in it last weekend. I considered going down to the creek and fishing out some tadpoles, but I probably shouldn't since I don't know who's killing them.

I'm so upset over this. As much as I joke about the Spermzillas, I was really looking forward to watching them grow legs. My neighbor had a tadpole in his fish tank one year when I was little, but it disappeared before it reached amphibianhood, we think his cat ate it.

Next week, I'm putting the sperm box out without anything in it and seeing who comes around to cause trouble. Bastard sperm killers! Not that killing sperm is a crime, but I'll nail em for trespassing at least!

Petey the Giraffe

2006-05-23T20:57:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine mentioned Animal Spirit Guides in her blog today. So, I've decided to post the story of Petey, my Giraffe Spirit Guide.

Two years ago, I dreamt I had a pet giraffe. I kept him in the giant aviary cage at the local park (which had been torn down a few years before when the park was renovated). All of my friends loved Petey and everyone had an oval shaped blanket they could lay on top of Petey's back when they rode him around the park. Everyone's blanket was a different color, so when a lot of people rode on Petey's back at once, it looked like one big rainbow colored blanket on his back.
My blanket was purple.
I visited Petey every day and there was almost always a troupe of people with me. We'd let him out of the cage and hop on his back and I'd ask him a question. I went to Petey to ask him advice because he was very smart. He couldn't talk, but he could sing, so he made up little songs he'd use to give advice.
So we'd ride around the park on the giant rainbow pile of blankets on top of Petey's back as he sang us songs about leaving ass hole men, and following your dreams, and getting highlights put in your hair.

Funny thing is, I was not drunk or high or anything - I hadn't even eaten anything funny before I'd gone to bed that night. I'm just that strange.
So, a giraffe is my power animal. What's yours, and why?

Stolen Sperm

2006-05-20T22:43:00.000-05:00

After work today, I stopped at the Dollar Tree to buy something to keep the sperm in. I decided on this plastic shoe box, because I could cut the lid & make sort of a ramp for the sperm to get out once they get legs - that way I don't have to guess when they're ready to leave, they can decide for themselves.
I get home to transfer the black sperm & the Spermzillas into the shoe box thingy, and my tartar sauce glass is tipped over! It's empty, save for some lingering algae. There are no spermzillas, I looked around on the deck, even under the deck. Gram said she doesn't know what happened to them, but the men were here working on the pool today.
I've reached the conclusion that
THOSE BASTARDS STOLE MY SPERM!!!!!
Being men, they must've been jealous of my superior sperm. My Spermzillas obviously made them feel inferior. Spermzilla Kong is probably bigger than their dick, let alone their swimmers, so they apparently sought vengeance.
I have no idea where my poor Spermzillas are. I hope the guys threw them back into the pool so they didn't get eaten by a bird or something. I miss them. I still have 3 left, but one of them already has front and hind legs and will be leaving soon.
Poor Spermzillas. Maybe I could put out flyers;

LOST:
SPERMZILLAS
Answer to Contraceptive, and The Pill (or just Pill)
Yellowish-amber with brown freckles.
Small hind legs.
Dearly Missed!

All the Queen's Men

2006-05-18T21:17:00.000-05:00

I've yet to come across a Linda Howard book I haven't thoroughly enjoyed.
All the Queen's Men is the follow up to Kill and Tell. This book starts in Washington DC, but travels to France for some action while telling the story of John Medina, a character who was introduced in Kill and Tell, when I fell in love with him. All the Queen's Men has action, love, and enough turns to keep you guessing. Linda did a wonderful job with this book. I even grew to love the bad guy, Louis Ronsard.

Niema Burdock hasn't seen John Medina in five years, since they were on a mission together where Medina gave the order to end Dallas Burdock's life. Niema went into seclusion afterwards, giving up the adrenaline filled Black Ops work that had taken the life of her husband. When John Medina appears out of thin air to offer her a job, she flatly refuses...but John knows just what buttons to push in order to turn Niema on.

John has wanted Niema since the first time he saw her. He's not going to let a French arms dealer, a bullet filled chase, or even their own fake identities stop him from claiming her. He knows Niema wants him too, all he has to do is convince her. Sounds simple, but it may be his toughest mission yet.

Okay, I know I'm starting to sound all Hollywood-cheesy-movie-preview-drama with these, but I really love the books I ho, and I want yall to read them & support the awesome authors who bust ass to put these stories out. So go, read...now!

SPERMZILLAS!!!!! (part 2)

2006-05-18T21:15:00.000-05:00

Today I: fixed a loose doorknob, rearranged the kitchen cabinets, fixed the pump for the fish pond, met a man about fixing the pool, cleaned out the pool, went shopping with the cat, cooked dinner, and started a new book.

The highlight of the day was, by far, cleaning out the pool. It was stinky, and messy, and hard, and a little chilly out, and I almost slipped and fell in - but it was totally worth it! I only managed to clean off the cover, which comes off tomorrow so I can clean out the bottom, but I've already managed a haul I'm quite proud of.
As of May 18th:
Black Sperm - 5
Chirping Tree Frogs - 2
Croaking Bull Frog - 1
Spermzillas - 5
Look on Gram's Face - PRICELESS

The first frog caught me by surprise, I was flipping the net inside out to dump the leaves & he leapt out and landed on my foot. I actually shrieked in shock - then went chasing after the little bugger with the net. He was the Croaker. I dumped him in the fish pond so he wouldn't scare the crap outta me again & had a good laugh watching the fish flee in terror.
I caught a dark chirper and a light chirper. They're lots of fun because they're small enough to fit in one hand, and when they realize they can't wriggle free, they start chirping & make your hand vibrate.
Both chirpers were flopped into the fish pond, which is the same shape as the pool, but probably 1/75th the scale. I've been told when the male tree frogs realize there's another male within so many yards, they'll start a battle of the band thing & try to out chirp the other. I got a kick outta the tree frogs at either end of the 4ft kidney-shaped fish pond, chirping so log the neighbors might lose sleep tonight. I'm used to it, since the pool is in the back yard, but the pond is in the side yard, closer to the Clarks.
I caught five Spermzillas! None of them are quite as big as the one I saw the first sighting, but I have high hopes for next week when I get around to skimming out the bottom of the pool. Four of my Spermzillas have hind legs and one has both hind and front, but still a long tail. None of my black sperm have legs and I'm wondering what's taking them so long...I'm also realizing I forgot to put the spermzillas in a bigger jar when I was done cleaning the pool and they're still sitting in an old jar on the back porch that still has the tartar sauce label stuck to it. I'll have to do something about that tomorrow before I leave for work. Maybe I can pick up a cheap little terrarium at the Dollar Store tomorrow - at least a cheap fish bowl.

Best part of the day, Gram came out to talk to me as I was finishing cleaning off the cover. One of the chirpers started up and she said, "Oh, look at that! There's a frog in the fish pond." She had an air of wonder and awe in her voice. She was delighted to see a frog in her fish pond. I replied, "Yeah, there are three, actually."

"What?" Gone was the air of wonder and delight - in seeped the foul air of annoyance.

"I didn't want them to die when we start putting chemicals in the pool, so I put them in the fish pond."
"Next time I have money to spare, I'm buying you an aquarium so you can keep all these pets of yours in the bedroom."
I would actually love that, compared to having to keep them out on the back porch. If they were in my room, I'd see them every morning & know who had legs and who had arms and who lost their tail. I'm sure the sperm would like it too. They're probably developing a complex in the tartar sauce jar, thinking they're about to be eaten.

Why Hallmark Would Never Hire Me

2006-05-17T21:34:00.000-05:00

I've been with you from the start,
It's odd to think of us apart.
We've been around time and again,
You've introduced me to plenty of men.

But now my time is growing short,
You'll learn to get by without my sort.
I bore the fruit you did conceive,
Duty done - I'll take my leave.

It's been fun - all these years.
Don't you shed any tears.
But now and then - I hope you think of me,
After your hysterectomy.
- Love, Your Uterus.

My mom's having a hysterectomy Thursday. I looked all over Hallmark, but wasn't able to find a suitable card. Not that I expected them to have Shoebox cards reading "Hope you enjoy your last Mother's Day with a uterus!" but I was hoping for something with a fitting picture on the front that was blank inside.
No luck.

Fitting Mistake

2006-05-13T21:48:00.000-05:00

Short story from work. A woman came up to me and asked, "Do you have any shirts that say, 'I'm retarded, do it yourself!' because I couldn't find them."
"No, mam, we've never had a shirt that says that."
"Yes you did," says the husband, "I bought one here once, but my dog tore it up."
"I've never seen that shirt, so it must've been before I worked here, which would be a while ago."
"Well, you have them in the sweater shirts, I thought you'd have them in tee-shirts."
I think to myself, We don't have a hoodie that says that either.
This is when it dawns on me, the hoodie they're thinking of, which we had in shirts for a while, says, "I'm RETIRED, Do it yourself!" Fitting that they both, even though he had at one point owned the shirt, thought it read RETARDED.
Turns out they're not the only ones, a co-worker also swore they said retarded. She feels retarded after going back to check. For the most part, though, everyone's getting a good laugh out of it.
My new excuse whenever I screw something up, "Sorry...I'm retarded, do it yourself!"

Supa Short Story #4

2006-05-10T23:26:00.000-05:00

A weed whacker droned in the bustle outside her cozy world of darkness. She was in no hurry to shake off the drowsiness.
He had loved her. In the dream.
And she him.
But in the world of the insistent weed whacker, they remain friends. She longed for the simplicity of them making love with no hurry or purpose because their world would cease to exist at any moment, and they would never have been. So none of it mattered. Which made it both pure, and sad.
Love was a far off ideal for her. So perfect and seamless there was no possibility of it existing in her world without killing everything else it touched. Killing him. The only one she could see herself making such a mistake with.
Pushing one arm under her, she rolled off of her stomach and onto the cat nestled at her side. The lawnmower of love, telling her to stay. Be cozy. Be happy. Be nonexistent, but love me. She is my love, but not by any design. A twist of fate, like happening upon a flower garden, and deciding to care for it. It is a simple thing to give the plants what they need for life, and you find you gleam your own contentment from it. So you and your flower garden are content with each other. Blissfully unaware of the other's purposes, coexisting in ignorance.
Except my flower garden of love wants me to stay in bed. And I need to go make something of my life. Because the dream won't.

Blue Moon

2006-05-08T21:44:00.000-05:00

Blue Moon by Lori Handeland is one of the best books I've read lately. It's the first romance novel written in first person that I've ever read. I thought I might miss out on other people's perspectives. I've read other books written in first person, but when love isn't a key element, there's not much of a need for alternate points of view - they're nice, but not needed.

Blue Moon is the story of Jessie McQuade , local cop in a small Wisconsin town nestled in the woods. The area is abundant in wild life, and Indian legends. One of which comes to life and starts killing innocent people on Jessie's watch.
Jessie meets Professor William Cadotte when she asks him for help discerning the significance of a wolf totem she found at the scene an accident involving a huge black wolf. Jessie had run into Will previously, at his cabin in the woods when she was pursuing a wolf. He was naked at the time, and Jessie's not quite able to forget the image.
Heat flares between Jessie and Will in the midst of unraveling a secret that has people disappearing and doubts multiplying.
Is will the love Jessie's always hoped for? Or the werewolf trying to take over the town?

There are a lot of conspiracy theories and double-guessing going on in this book. Every chapter I was changing my opinion of the characters and my suspicion of whodunit. There's action and romance and LOADS of suspense! As soon as you think you've figured something out, something comes along that makes you question yourself.
The ending was a wonderful surprise! I didn't figure out what was going on until it was happening and then I was smacking myself on the forehead and muttering, "Of course!"
The pieces fall into place very nicely at the end, with just enough left out of place to guarantee the next book will be just as interesting. This is book number one in a series that so far is up to five, and I can't wait to read the next one!

Position Open

2006-05-06T22:04:00.000-05:00

It occurred to me today that there's no female counterpart equal to Hugh Heffner.

WHY THE HELL NOT?!?!?

Hell! I'll take that job! Just send me the paper clipping that says:

WANTED:
Full Time
Woman needed to run Male pornographic magazine. Responsibilities include picking Man of the Month, Sleeping with Candidates, Living in a Mansion with hot men, and wearing silk PJs.

I mean, it's pretty nice to have job security so great that even when you're old and wrinkly you're still guaranteed to get some whenever you want it.
I can't be the first woman to realize this. Why isn't there already someone in this position? What's better than legally being a ho beyond reproach? That's basically what Hugh is - a Professional Pimp - except he only sells photos of his girls, not sexual favors from them - although honestly, we all know what happens between men and that magazine.

Pet Sperm

2006-05-05T20:37:00.000-05:00

I did all sorts of things today! This being-awake-during-daylight-hours thing isn't as bad as I thought it would be. I even went for a walk this afternoon to enjoy the nice weather.

But before all that....
We have a kidney-shaped swimming pool in the back yard. The woman who owned this house before last August only visited for the occasional weekend - and she never took care of the pool. All the chlorine has gone out of it and there's algae growing - the cover has a tear and is covered with water and leaves and pond-gunk. I don't even call it a pool, I call it the pond.
Local wildlife has reached the same conclusion. There are often mallards swimming in the pool. The couple I've named Artur and Sophelia. There's also a solitary male I've yet to name. I keep hoping he'll meet a nice female to settle down with, and likewise earn a name by contributing to the Great Circle of the Black Market. What? Like I'd say life? I'm hoping Artur and Sophelia will decide to nest in the woods surrounding the backyard. Then I can steal the eggs and incubate them in my electric blanket in my closet (so the cat's don't eat them). Then, when they hatch, I'll be the one they imprint on & I can walk around the house with a trail of ducklings following behind like those old wooden toys before batteries were invented. I can dress in an extravagant black outfit with a wonderfully big black hat and nuzzle them against my cheeks like I'm in Tuscany.
Since they'll be imprinted on me, I can train them & subsequently sell them to Hollywood for enough money to clean the baby duck crap off the hardwood floors after they're gone. And if any of them are too stupid to learn tricks, Gram's been wanting to make duck a'lorange.
Gram doesn't like the ducks. When I tell her the male is wagging his tail, she says it means he's pooping in her pool. I always thought it meant they were happy. I told her I didn't see it poo, but I don't know if duck poo floats or sinks.

Today, I laid in the sun next to the pool and watched the water skippers flee in the other direction. That's when I saw millions upon billions upon some other obscenely great number of tadpoles. The pool is infested with them. I laid on my belly and watched them race around like little black sperm with no purpose since there wasn't an egg in sight. A frog came to sit at the edge of the pool liner and watch me with frightened interest.
I asked Gram if I could keep some of the tadpoles in a mason jar on the back porch and watch them grow legs. She didn't seem enthralled with the idea, but didn't refuse, so I got the net (we have a small fish pond & a fish net) & went to catch me some sperm.
I managed to catch the frog! He was brilliant shades of forest green above his front legs, but below was a muddy brown. I yelled for Gram to come see, but the phone rang and when she said it was for me I turned to look and he jumped out of my grasp.
It was the call from work I'd been waiting for. Not that I wanted them to call, I just knew they would. Bonnie said, "Tell me you weren't taking an afternoon nap."
"No. I was catchin frogs."
I explained the situation to Bonnie & she said she hoped it spit on me. Gram was listening in & having a fit thinking the frog was in her house. I told them both it was back in the pool and thanks to them I probably wouldn't be able to catch it again today.
Bonnie asked me if I could work a longer shift tomorrow. I said, "I let the frog get away for this?"
I managed to catch 5 tadpoles. They look like black sperm with little beady eyes that shine white if the light hits them right. I got a big one, a little one, a fast one, an adventurous one, and one that just follows the others around looking for something worth anything.
Their names are: Spermicide, Condom, Diaphragm, Hysterectomy, and Squishy. Little Nicky calls tadpoles "Nemos," so the entire time I was laying on the edge of the pool picking my sperm, I kept thinking, "I shall call him Squishy. And he shall be mine. And he shall be my Squishy."

At one point, I saw a HUGE tadpole swim up from the muck. I shrieked to Gram, but it swam right back down into the shadows. It was the side of a two-year-old's fist! I don't know if it forgot to grow legs or what, but I didn't hink tadpoles were ever that big.
Looked like this one - I'm looking for info in it. If you look closely, there's a brown tadpole near the middle of this picture.

Double-Wide Death-Bed RANT

2006-05-04T21:16:00.000-05:00

Anyone reading this post, please read to the end so you don't think I'm some skinny bitch who just hates fat people - as is not the case.

I came across an article today about the lengths America goes to in the interest of accommodating its overweight population. It seems the economy and the health industry are at odds. With as much emphasis as is put on eating right, exercising, and in general leading a healthy life - a lot is being done to keep corpulent people happy as they are - fat.
There are special resorts chubby vacationers can visit, where instead of nude beaches, there are bloated beaches. No skinny people allowed. We wouldn't want the tubbies to feel ashamed & decide to do something about their unhealthy state of living.
The final straw that led me to post is a picture of a coffin. A normal casket is 27 inches wide, but for today's trailer trash sloths, Goliath Casket is accommodating with a double-wide. This company regularly keeps 52 inch wide caskets in stock. What's even more unbelievable is they've produced caskets up to 7 feet square!

I seem to remember a little tid-bit of knowledge from grade school that your height is supposed to equal within an inch or two the width from fingertip to fingertip with your arms spread wide. Given that fact - where are the arms on a 7ft square individual? I've used my phenomenal art and sketching skills to render this approximation:

Okay, so I draw crappy noses, but I think the rest should be fairly accurate. Notice the extremities turning blue from lack of oxygen - or use. Also, the mouth open wide to suck in more food like a vacuum with the bag compartment open to the air so it never fills.

I'm obese myself, but I think I'd rather kill myself before making my family spend a mil on a 7ft casket for me. I've actually become quite complacent with my image. That entire, "it's what's inside that counts" philosophy. Well, if you don't take care of the outside, it won't survive long enough for the inside to do a damn thing.

I started an exercise regimen *ugh* which I'm going to try my damnedest to stick to. I'll work on diet after I adjust to exercising. One foot and a time at all. I just can't stand the thought that society is trying to make people comfortable being fat instead of making them comfortable while getting thin.

I do realize some people actually have health issues like glandular things that make them obese. I feel for these people. There are so many other fat people running around, society assumes the people with medical conditions are lazy black holes like the others.

Just my thoughts. Any other comments from the skinny/fat/midline community will be accepted. If you're interested, here's a link to a copy of the article I read.

Good Morning Starshine!

2006-05-04T09:53:00.000-05:00

I am NOT a morning person! I should be. Not that I want to be, just that my doctor keeps telling me my sleep schedule is backwards and I should try to be awake when the rest of society is functioning. I told him I have friends in western time zones. He didn't seem to care.
Mornings just aren't my thing. They require too much coffee. With or without coffee, I always end up zany. This morning, I couldn't fight off the urge to burst out singing "Good Morning Starshine" at the top of my lungs. It was one line at a time because I kept cracking up at myself and the sound of it echoing through the empty house. Honestly, I was loud enough the neighbors might have heard. Well, if there hadn't been jackhammers going off since 8am they might have. I was already awake at 8, but I didn't want to be & the pounding destroyed any hope of falling back asleep.
So, I'm running on my 3rd cup of coffee and starting to think coherently. Much better than my 2nd cup when I was trying to eat an orange and considering that trying to get into the good part thick-rind Sunkist Orange is like trying to break into a bank. There are some with thinner skins, local banks, then there are the thicker skinned national banks. A banana would be like a convenient store, or the local gas station food mart - any moron with have a fingernail can take a try at it. Coconuts are like the Fort Knox of nature - no use even thinking about it without the right tools.
Other breakfast musings included: which cream should I use? Creams are really best suited for moods. Vanilla Caramel is for a relaxed morning. French Vanilla is when you just want to follow the schedule and gets things done with no hassle. I've not quite decided what Irish Creme is for yet. What is Irish Creme anyway? Do the Irish have different creme than Americans? In a taste test - would people be able to tell Irish Creme from British Creme? Why don't you see British Creme? Don't they put creme in their tea? Does it not live up to Irish Creme?
This morning I saw a baby Mourning Dove on the roof outside my bathroom window. It is quite possibly the cutest thing I have seen all year.

Haiku for the morning:

Spill milk I'm blase,
But I wimper like a pup,
If you slosh coffee.

Yes, I cried this morning when I spilled a few drops of my coffee. Don't act like you never have.

Fun link for the morning: Possible Side Effects by Augusten Burroughs.
I'm considering picking this book up today. The excerpt piqued my interest. The only thing stopping me is the guilty knowledge that I spent over $125 on an order of books at Barnes & Noble online last night. Yeah, the 15 books are worth it. I just have a guilt complex - but I'm not about to get into the psychology of my formative years at the moment. I just feel like a fat person eating a slice of chocolate cake that they love, then feeling guilty because it was so good, but they aren't about to exercise to work off the calories.

Anywho, I'm off to work. I had the wonderful idea yesterday to sling down the pants on the mannequins so they're mooning the customers. Someone did it yesterday (a teen-aged customer) & it struck me as a good idea for something to do.

Master of Wolves

2006-05-01T21:51:00.000-05:00

Today's ho'd book is Angela Knight's Master of Wolves. In Angela's blog, she mentions she had a hell of a time writing this book, but I guess it was worth the trouble, because it's one of my favorite books of hers that I've read.

Dire Wolf Jim London goes under cover as a drug dog named Rambo to investigate the murder of his childhood friend. It seems the entire Clarkston PD has gone bad. Everyone except for Faith West, the sexy K-9 handler.
Jim can smell the magic rot everywhere and is determined to keep it from Faith by any means necessary. Not an easy task when there's an evil vampire witch enchanting the police men and using death magic on innocent people like Jim's friend to increase her power.
Add to that a rogue werewolf running around town ripping out people's hearts, and Jim has his work cut out for him.
Faith finds out about the Mageverse in the worst possible way, she's bitten by the rogue werewolf. Now she's coping with having to fight a department full of cops gone bad in order to save the town, getting over her insecurities from a cheating ex to find a way to live with Jim, oh - and turning into a seven-plus foot Dire Wolf on occasion. Just another day for Clarkston's finest!

I haven't read all of Angela's books, but I've read most and try to keep up. She's created a very structured world with strict rules. I enjoy all of the different types of magical creatures, but it's easy to get lost if you're not paying attention. This isn't necessarily a book to be read at 3am when the mind is rounding at the edges. Angela tells the complete story of her hero and heroine in marvelous detail, yet still manages to include the viewpoints of secondary characters without losing focus. I've come to be a big fan of books with a few excerpts from the villain's point of view.
Master of Wolves gets big points for action (I particularly love a reference to Fight Club.) and romance. My favorite scene occurs after Faith is bitten by the rogue werewolf and is facing her first transformation. It's wonderfully detailed to explain specifics of the magic they use. It also provides a poignant view into the emotions of the hero, Jim - pointing out to the reader, Faith, and even Jim himself his feelings for Faith which he hasn't entirely confronted yet. Read the book for this chapter, but stick around for the Fight Club at the end! It's a wonderful read, as are all of Angela's. MoW is part of a series, an although it can be read by itself, it's more meaningful if you read the books in order. Particularly, I'd recommend reading Master of the Moon prior to this to hear the story of Jim's sister, Diana, who hooks up with Lyr, the Fairy King.

Shameless Self Prop

2006-04-28T23:02:00.000-05:00

Today's my birthday.

WOOT!

Sesame Street on LSD

2006-04-27T23:02:00.000-05:00

For your viewing pleasure, here is the fun link for the day! This is one of the videos on a DVD of about 20 songs that loops all day at work.

Makes me think of Sesame Street on LSD.
This video brought about an interesting conversation the other day. I was saying how the green thing reminded me of Oscar the Grouch mated with one of those horned aliens. I have a vague memory of two purple aliens, one had an upward horn on the left side of his head and a downward horn on the right side of his head. The other was opposite, down on the left, up on the right. I don't remember what they did exactly, just that they were beamed down onto the screen, then they honked a lot.
I was trying to explain this to Jennifer, who knows of Sesame Street, but only its major characters because her daughter never watched it when she was young. Jennifer says to me, "So these two horny aliens get together and honk?"
Can someone with a kid who watches Sesame Street remind me what these things do? The were one of my favorite segments, but it's just been too long to remember.

Medical Dollar Menu

2006-04-27T22:25:00.000-05:00

I'm driving home from work today and I notice a sign. I don't think I've ever noticed it before, but maybe I have and just never thought about it. It was a sign like for a McDonald's, or a Holiday Inn - one you can see from the highway so if you're from outta town and want food, or a place to rest (or not rest), you can find it easily enough by following the 40ft tall sign.

The sign I noticed today is a grayish green with white letters and reads:

Urology Center
---------------
vasectomy.com

I tried to picture a trucker passing through, or maybe a family headed on vacation, or someone going to a meeting but running an hour or so ahead of schedule. Can you imagine any of those people seeing that sign and thinking, "Hey, I've never had a vasectomy before - I should try it."
The same people who just left TacoBell with a Crunch Wrap Supreme pull up to the Urology Center and ask for the Dollar Menu Special - a catheter placement. No need for a refill, but you get a free empty if you bring the bag back.
Kindey Stone Sundays they break up your stones with the screeching soundwaves of the drive-thru speaker.
Fasting Friday you get a discount on urinalysis.
Celebrate your next birthday party with us! Colostomy Party Bags!
ATM Inside.

Mmmmm....donuts!

2006-04-27T22:00:00.000-05:00

Not exactly. More like, "FUCKING DONUTS!!!!!!!" This weeks' waste of manhours - which is utterly pointless because the effort won't be sustained more than one month - is organizing all of the size donuts. You know, those little white circles on the hanger hooks that say XS, S, M, L, XL, 2X, 3X, S/M, M/L, 2/4, 6/8, 10/12, 14/16, 18/20, 2, 2s, 2l, 4 4s, 4l, 6, 6s...you get the idea. We also have donuts for men's jeans, with width and length. All of these millions of donuts are chucked together and need sorting out so we can find what we need when we need it & know what we need to order more of. They're a mess because no one puts them away where they're supposed to go, they just get chucked by the handful where ever's close by. Plus, a lot of them have been on the floor, and even the ones that haven't have been sitting and the floor is hardwood, so the stores' always mega-dusty and the donuts are filthy. Not obviously filthy, but filthy on your hands after 6 hours of sorting them.
So, I'm sorting out buckets of mismatched donuts into more buckets of matched donuts. All fucking day. I might not have minded so much, but I had to work morning shift. I'm shocked I was scheduled at all today, because they usually don't trust me to be around when corporate stops in. I guess they figured I couldn't cause as much trouble if I was assigned to register because I couldn't leave that area of the store.
Anyway, the problem with morning shift is I'm NOT in any way a morning person. I don't even fall asleep until 3am most nights. Last night I drifted off around 1, woke up at 7. Thank god there was fresh coffee waiting. I drank over a pint before leaving the house. I took another pint in a mug to work, but I was told I wasn't allowed to take it out onto the floor. Being assigned to register, I knew I'd be stuck there for at least 3 hours - and I'd forget about my coffee by then anyhow, so I decided to just chug it before I was chained to my post.
I'm a spaz to begin with. Don't ask me to stay in one spot all morning when I've consumed around a gallon of hot coffee - I don't fuck with the decaf shit. I was so damn bouncy, and all I had to to was sort the fucking donuts. My hands were shaking & I was dropping donuts and every time I bent down to pick them up, my knee started twitching...did I mention I've been drinking Sierra Mist lately, so my body has been nearly caffeine-free for about the past month?
Yeah. Bouncy. Yup. Coffee. Fucking donuts. Donuts go good with coffee. But not these donuts. I hate these donuts.
Lunch came at half-past-noon, just as the coffee buzz was wearing down to leave me in that zombie state of diluted awareness. Luckily, there's a coffee shop just down the hall from the store. They have cheesecake flavoring! Frickin' Sweet! I had a grande-mega-yummy Double Shot Cheesecake Latte for lunch. Yum. Caffeine. Yum. Did I already say yum? Because this is yummy. Cheesecake is so good. And as a latte. Caffeine please. Mmmmm.....
That wore off just as I was headed home. I got stuck in traffic and almost fell asleep waiting for it to move, but made it home safely to pass out on the couch for an hour. All in all, not a bad day - although my brain is still woozy from all the caffeine, and now none again. Maybe I'll make some more coffee. Just no donuts. I don't even want to see cake donuts for at least a month. Maybe two.

Mommequins

2006-04-26T00:38:00.000-05:00

With Mother's Day coming up, the store has a table set up with "Mom Shirts" and the upper halves of 3 womannequins. I said we should stuff the shirts to make the womannequins look pregnant. Jessica said there's some rule about enhancing mannequins.
Technically, I can't consider a baby belly any kind of enhancement, I think that rule was made solely for boobs & balls. Also, on a less interested level, I wonder that there was so much enhancing going on that a rule had to be made against it.
I wasn't allowed to "enhance" the womannequins, and Jessica pointed out to me that not all mom's are pregnant. This is true, although most mom's were pregnant for a period of time. So, the obvious solution of how to designate motherhood without making anything larger?
I'm trying to track down a dry erase marker to draw stretch marks on the bellies - this will be fun because the shirts are tied up to show off just a bit of the waistline. Any guesses on how long it will take someone to notice?
Also on the topic of mannequins, it has come to my attention that male mannequins have some funked up equipment. Technically, they don't have any equipment, just a bulge to serve as the stick & sack. However, they do have a slight Vee of the abdomen for a 6-pack. What stymies me are two extensions on either side slightly below the Vee, coming up from the stick & sack. They seem to be either very small representations of a double equipped male, or two very large veins leading into the gentiles.
Jessica admitted that although she's slept with a lot of men, she's not expert enough to know what the hell the protrusions are. I said we should ask a guy, and since there was only one working that night, Logan fell prey. Jessica & Ginny asked him what the bumps were, Logan, in a movement forever burned into my brain, reached down to feel his crotch, then replied, "I don't know...I sure as hell don't have them."

Fun link for the night: My Theme Songs!

Supa-Short Story #3

2006-04-23T23:15:00.000-05:00

Spring announced it's arrival to her at dawn with rumbling persistence punctuated by sharp flashes. The sidewalk was undoubtedly still rain-slick from the day before, but nothing has time to dry off between rounds when Mother Nature gets horny.
She supposed if her cycle was a year long, she'd be eager to make things grow as well. Mother Nature wasn't the only one with her hands on twigs and berries.
A contented smile spread across her face and would've lit her sluggish eyes if she'd managed to pry them open. For now darkness was cozy. The blanket had slid down to her hips, but the male body she was snuggled up against kept her plenty warm. His warmth surrounded her, and as she inhaled his clean, earthy scent, the heat spread elsewhere.
His breaths were deep and steady with sleep, and she pulled her eyelids open just enough to watch the rise and fall of his chest beneath her arm. His nipples were perked just slightly on his flat torso, and she circled one lazily with a finger before twirling gently through his sparse chest hair.
His chest rose on a slight groan, and he shifted, but didn't open his eyes. He turned his head to her, but she was already sliding the covers off fully to straddle him.
He opened his eyes a crack to smile sleepily at her and rub one of his big hands on the top of her head, tousling the hair even more as she bent over him to lay a soft kiss over his heart.
She slid lower, her nipples rubbing his belly, and his rumble of pleasure vibrated through her.
Nature wasn't the only one skilled at waking people up.

Supa-Short Story #2

2006-04-22T22:30:00.000-05:00

"Hey, do you have a dollar?"
"No." It's funny how quickly a lie can roll off your tongue when you know where a conversation is headed.
"Not even, like, four quarters?"
"No." Technically, she didn't have a dollar on her. She had three quarters (and she later found out a nickel) in her back pocket that started to burn in that "I want recognition", Tell Tale Heart kind of way.
"But I'm so thirsty!"
She had money in her purse. She wasn't sure how much, only that it was enough to get some fast food on the way home. She was sure she had a dollar. "Water Fountain."
"I can't drink from the water fountain on the way home."
She didn't know where he lived. Not likely far enough that a drink from the fountain wouldn't hold him over. This is why she wouldn't lend him a dollar.
"You don't have any money on you?"
"I don't usually carry cash on me. Don't you have a card?"
"Yeah."
"Then go to McDonald's."
"I just want a pop out of the machine."
Ironic how he had the work ethic of a mule, but was so relentless trying to borrow a dollar. She didn't trust him to pay her back, and didn't like him enough to just give him a dollar. He must've thought his good looks deserved a dollar, because he sure hadn't done anything else to earn it. Couldn't even muster the energy to ask politely for it.
No, I'm not giving you a damn dollar, leave me the fuck alone!
"I'll go ask Margaret if she has a dollar I can borrow."
He walked away, leaving her to finish the work alone while I lazed against a table at the other end of the floor, regaling Margaret with the travesty of his thirst.
That's why I didn't give you the damn dollar you wanted.

Perverted Funness

2006-04-21T20:52:00.000-05:00

Fun things for the day, brought on by Jaye's last post.

Margaret Cho - click on G Spot...Men's Periods is also hilarious!
Rodney Carrington - As much as I enjoy this animation, I'm disappointed there isn't one with the full length version of the song. I got to see a show of his a few years back during my "Redneck Days." Funny guy.
Do you think patients who get this implant are given a can of Fix a Flat to take home in case of an emergency?
All of the above reminded me of neuticles, remember hearing about them a few years back?
Neuticles reminded me of Bumper Nuts. Why would any guy want to so obviously advertise that his truck is indeed compensation?

That's all for now, though everyone can feel free to leave their own sordid comments. I'll leave you with a haiku, for everyone who had to squeeze their balls to get their dick hard:

As great as it sounds,
There's no glory in the fact,
I blew my penis.

Supa-Short Story

2006-04-21T11:15:00.000-05:00

This popped into my head out of nearly nowhere last night. I'm considering fiddling with it. Any comments will be appreciated.

She hadn't shaved in a while. It was still a little chilly for shorts, and she wasn't planning on getting laid. Maybe she'd shave more often during the winter if she had a steady relationship.
Too bad the idea of "steady" implied commitment. All that was involved with her current string of infrequent and varied lovers - if she could call them that - was sex. Occasionally regret, but everything had its side effects. Life was a dangerous drug if not used properly. Even the impassive big-wigs of the FDA would take a shot at pulling it from the shelves if possible.
At the very least a Surgeon Gerneral's warning should be tattooed on every man's penis. "Warning, the act you are about to engage in may create life, which will certainly cause death."
The water sloshed over the rim of the tub as she shifted positions to go for her other leg. For a few moments, life in the bathroom was a tsunami of uncertainty. Then back to the irritatingly calm silence with nothing but the rhythmic certainty of the razor whispering up her calf.
Her last fuck had been good in practice, but shameful in the name of morals. It took a moment to recall his first name, she'd never known his last.
Outside a low hum echoed, a close bumblebee, or distant lawn mower if it had been noontime. At two-in-the-morning it was more likely a semi on the highway a mile or two away. Funny how so many things sounded alike if there was no context. Life without context is a blank page free to be consumed by any poem imaginable.
The truck passed and the static-roar of silence filled her ears a moment before she rinsed her leg.
The bathtub drain gurgled like a drowning lion as her winter insulation was sucked down the drain, leaving her silky and exposed for the job interview she had that afternoon.

Karma-Induced Electrocution

2006-04-21T11:06:00.000-05:00

My. Name. Is. Earl.
I forgot to mention that I electrocuted myself yesterday. I've been told it was Karma-induced because of my heightened evilness. It's a possibility. Mostly I think it was because I thought I could fix the vanity light without turning off the fuse for it.
Needless to say, I was mistaken.
I actually didn't feel the electrocution the way you feel a static shock. I probably wouldn't have even noticed if it hadn't been for the sudden impression of being able to feel the insides of all of my teeth at once, accompanied by the sudden coppery penny-like taste on my tongue. Oh, that and the mini-bolt of lightning I saw shoot from the wall into my hand.
It was the first time in just short of a year that I've seriously electrocuted myself, not just the little shocks you get from accidentally touching a prong as you plug in a clock.
I think I'm okay, though. I just stood there waiting for my brain to re-boot and my eyes to refocus while a distant part of me thought my eyes just *might* already be focused. That, and it took a while for the copper penny taste to wear off.

Good times.

Smart Bitches!

2006-04-20T21:35:00.000-05:00

Thanks to everyone who voted for a Bwaha in response to this. The votes have been tallied & the winners are posted here. Three of the authors I wanted to win have, so I'm pleased.

One short of Grease Monkey

2006-04-20T19:53:00.000-05:00

Today was busy! Had an appointment to witness on a will signing at 11, but the people didn't show. I was gonna head back to bed, but was asked by Gram to look into plants for the pond at Lowe's. I'd mentioned Lowe's earlier because I was thinking of getting a shower head attachment for the upstairs bathtub.
At Lowe's, the pond plants hadn't arrived yet, and "Dan the Man" -head of the plumbing department - had no idea what I was talking about with my bath faucet, so I told him I'd be back in 2 hours with the faucet.
This was the fun part. Back at home I changed into grease monkey clothes & tied a bandana around my hair. I spent about half an hour following pipes until I found the valves for the upstairs bathroom. I turned them off, ran back upstairs, hot was still dripping. Ran back downstairs, tightened spigot. Ran back upstairs, hot still dripping. Back to basement. Tighten knob. Upstairs. Leaking. About the 4th time up & down 2 flights of stairs, I decided I'd leave the hot on so I'd be able to hear in the basement when the water stopped flowing. That was when I realized the red knob was on the cold line, & blue was hot. I'd been tightening the wrong one. Back upstairs, water was finally off in the bathroom, but I came to realize the wrench I had was a millamicrohair too small. I made it work, but wrench was added to my list.
Four faucet adaptors and one shiny new blue pipe wrench later, I have a new showerhead and a fell about one evolutionary step below a Grease Monkey. I also picked up 7 screens & got to fight with the storm windows that had been painted shut by the previous occupant. As hot as it was, and as tempting as bed sounded, it felt good to put in a hard day's work. Now I can take a nice shower upstairs before bed. There's a shower in the first floor, but it's adjacent to the master bedroom & I'm usually headed to bed about 5 hours later than Gram.
Last month I fixed the front storm door because the pressure thingy that keeps it open - well, the screws keeping it in place pulled out of the doorframe & the threads were stripped, so I had to plaster & put in new screws. Next month, who knows.
Best part of today, other than a job well done - the guy in Lowe's said I should (some word I don't remember) the pipes. I gave him a confused stare & he said, "Do you have a (derivative of word I don't remember)?" I told him I didn't even know what one was. He said, "Did you say you're doing this yourself?" "Yeah." "It's a pair of pliers." "I know what pliers are! Why didn't you say pliers in the first place?" "No one's helping you with this?" "Hey, getting the faucet off was the hard part, I'm sure I can get it back on...then I just have to remember which pipes in the basement turn the water back on." Okay, so the last part was an exaggeration, I knew which pipes, but the look on his face was priceless!

Wolf at the Door

2006-04-20T19:26:00.000-05:00

Last night's final page before bed was the end of Christine Warren's Wolf at the Door. This was my first read by Christing Warren and it definitely won't be my last.
independent Foxwoman Cassidy Poe is an anthropologist studiously avoiding her Nana's attempts to drag her into the family tradition of politics on the Council of Others. When Cassidy is summoned by the council for her "expertise" on cultures and small cults, she not only has to try to slip out of her Nana's plans for her, but also away from the hot gaze of Sullivan Quinn.
Quinn is visiting America on business as the guth of his Ireland clan, but he can't focus on the work at hand with the sweet scent of Cassidy Poe calling to all of his instincts.
Together, Quinn and Cassidy must find and stop the dangerous cult threatening the safety of the Others. The kidnapping of several prominent members of the Other society only adds to the urgency, but there is much more going on than anyone has expected or knows how to handle.

Christine Warren has a wonderful new voice. Her offbeat humor is something that will be well appreciated by everyone who's just a little twisted - or a lot. Her romance is hot - sex scenes are several pages long and describe everything from foreplay to cuddling with careful detail.
This book revolves around a Lupine and a Foxwoman, but the Other community has a very wide range of preternatural beings. Every type of shapeshifter, including Silkies, witches, Fae, demons, vampires, Brownie...and a few things I'll admit I had to look up. It reminds me of the worlds Angela Knight creates where you'll be reading about a werewolf, but get a glimpse through a window at the rest of their environment.
I'm looking forward to seeing how this series progresses. The book has a wonderful ending, but there is definitely more to come. Hopefully the next book will have another Irish hero, loved the accent!

Value of a Paperclip

2006-04-17T20:40:00.000-05:00

Has everyone seen this? It's my little bit of bloggity goodness for the day. I read about this guy in the newspaper, told my Gram who'd heard about it on her the morning talk radio, and decided I had to check the blog.
Makes me wonder...I have some origional Cocacola, Sprite, and Pepsi bottles in the basement that are worth a hell of a lot more than one red paperclip! (Which he probably found on the street anyway!)
Anyone willing to trade? I'll give ya 2 dozen origional glass bottles for a brand new Mustang - red.

Quotabable

2006-04-17T19:48:00.000-05:00

The last time I was in a B&N I found little post-its shaped like arrows - now I have post-its sticking out of all my books to mark ideas or turns of phrase I like. When I'll ever sit down and look through/make notes of all these bookmarked thoughts, hell knows. Probably never. Or maybe the next time I move I'll look through all these books in an attempt to procrastinate from packing them up.
More money spent with good intentions and poor realization. Oh well. Maybe one day I'll motivate my ass & make something of it.
Another reason I got the sticky arrows was to mark quotes. I LOVE quotes! I have a notebook (somewhere) that I write down all the quotes I like in...I just have to remember where that book went after I unpacked it a few months ago...I think it's under the stack of books on my night stand.
On the topic, here's a quote for the day:

Not ten yoke of oxen have the power to draw us like a woman's hair. - H.W. Longfellow

Anyone have any favorite quote(s)?

Blackout

2006-04-16T22:00:00.000-05:00

I was up until 4am this morning finishing Blackout by Annie Solomon. I've been exhausted all day, but damn if it wasn't worth it!

Blackout is the story of Margo Scott, a book seller who lives in Washington D.C. in a house left to her by her Aunt Francis.
Or so she thinks.
Until she realizes she's lost a month of her life. Then everything falls under question. She can't find a sister she swears she has - let alone any pictures of her family, her life. Everything before the night she woke up with a headache is a blur - including whether or not she killed Frank Vinay.
Jake Wise is an undercover agent unofficially assigned to keep an eye on Margo. Now Frank is dead and it seems everyone is after Margo, good guys and bad. Jake wants to believe Margo is innocent, but a bad memory makes a lousy alabi, and all the leads point to her being a murderer.
They team up together to try to find the truth of who killed Frank, but there's a lot to work out in their partnership since Jake doesn't entirely trust Margo. And Margo doesn't trust herself at all.

The first chapter of this book will pull you in like a tow line. The second chapter is a little confusing, but then a lot of things are confusing when your main character has no concrete memory and thinks she's going insane.
The plot is multifaceted and kept me guessing until the end. There are multiple assassains after Margo, and it takes a while to find out who and why. There are fast paced fights mingled with off-beat humor - everything I like in a book. My favorite part of this book was the end. I thought the book was basically over, just waiting for the happily-ever-after, but there's one more surprise I didn't see coming until it hit. A lot of times, I manage to figure out what's going on to a degree before the book ends, in this case, there was no possible way to do that because you're getting new information every page and the main character's prospectives are changing all the time to allow you to change your own perception as well.
One thing that shocked me in this book is the way the hero pushes the heroine. They're both though, and usually armed. Margo gets the best of Jake and ties him up, but Jake later gets the best of Margo and knocks her unconscious. It shocked me and took me a minute to adjust, but Annie pulls it off wonderfully.
Anyone in the mood for an action/suspense romance that will keep them questioning, I highly recommend this book!

Kill and Tell

2006-04-13T22:07:00.000-05:00

Last night I finished Kill and Tell by Linda Howard.

Karen Witlaw's Mother has just passed away. In an effort to ease the grief, she moves, packing up all of her mother's belongings - including a mysterious package from Karen's transient father that had arrived after her mother's death.
She's jsut begining to settle back into a rythm when detective Marc Chastain from New Orleans calls. Karen's father has been killed and she needs to come to NOLA and identify the body.
Marc doesn't like Karen. Her father had been living on the streets, and she seemed like just the sort of uncaring woman who would leave her Vietnam Vet father out on the streets instead of having to deal with his problems. But he's wrong. In an instant, Marc realizes how affected Karen is by all that has happened, and how much he wants to be the one to comfort her.
Marc begins courting Karen, who's not warm and trusting towards most men, but Karen turns to him as her only option when the man who had her father killed goes after her to finish the job.
Now it's a race to find the package her father had sent before his death and figure out who's trying to have Karen killed before they succeed.

Very good book, as are all of Mrs. Howard's. The suspense was good and although I had an inkling what was going on, the end was still wonderful. There are some good action scenes and the heroine is very well developed. I related well with the heroine and her background and some of her views, which made me enjoy this book all the more.
The hero, Marc, is totally drool worthy! Between his looks, his souther hospitality, and his Noawlans drawl, he's someone you want to read about.
My only problem with this book, there are a LOT of subcharacters. I'm all for supporting characters for enhancing the plot, and I love when we get some scenes from their point of view, but if I set this book down for too long I had to look back to remember who was who while I was reading.
Overall, I definately recomend this book, although I definately also recommend reading it when you're fully alert. My groggy mind needed a little caffiene to keep up with all the characters.
I actually became very interested in one of the subchatacters, John Medina. He appears again in Howard's All the Queen's Men as the hero. I've yet to read this book, but will definately be adding it to my TBB (to be bought) list! All of Linda's books are keepers!

Reasons why I'm going to Hell

2006-04-13T21:23:00.000-05:00

#1. I went to church today. I'm not a big religous person, I believe more in spirits and the power of positive thoughts to influence, although I suppose that's a religion as well, but back when I was aminstream, I was Presbyterian. Gram (who is still Presbyterian & somehow manages to be accepting of her hethan granddaughter) asked me if I'd like to come to the Maundy Thursday service with her. The offered comunion, a big loaf of bread you ripped a piece off of, then a chalice of grape juice you dip your nugget of bread into. They tell you, "This is the body of Christ, broken for you." & "This is the blood of Christ, sacrificed for you." Walking back to my seat, chewing on my grapey-bread hunk, I think - "Mmmm...Christ is yummy."

Not that I'll go to hell solely for this infraction, but it's just another accomplishment to add to my long list of credentials.

I'm going to start listing them as I add to the list.

What are YOU going to hell for?

Feeding the 3rd World

2006-04-09T20:05:00.000-05:00

I was called in to work today to fold about 1,000 Tshirts which have already been unfolded and refolded four different times, four different ways. Everyone at work just wants to grab a case of peeps from the dollar store next door, go outside, and have a mallow roast over a bonfire of Tees.
Me, I was under my sleep requirement and pissed off at the shirts and trying to keep myself occupied when a thought pops into my head (and flows directly out my lips).

"Ya know, there's really only one way we could get away with selling everything for so cheap in this store, and if the customers stopped to think about it, they'd realize they're buying sweat shop clothes."

I was chastized by my manager for making this comment on a busy Sunday morning in a department store where I was surrounded by shoppers.

"Well, the woman bought the shirt anyway, so obviously she has no problem supporting Pedro and his family's dinner tonight."
"Still, it's just not a comment you should be making in front of customers."
"And yet I do not hear you denying my allegations."
"Our clothes are made....overseas."
"That's all the confirmation I need!"

This also spawned a conversation over how we could box all these damn shirts up, send them back to Pedro to fold, and the cost of shipping and his two-cents-an-hour wages would still be less than the cost of calling in 4 employees just to fold shirts.

Fight Club

2006-04-08T00:04:00.000-05:00

Just Finished reading Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. Very easy read, less than a day.
I've been a long time fan of the movie and have been meaning to pick up the book. I usually don't read books after a see a movie I love, because the movie seldom measures up to the book, also - it's distracting to hear the actors voices when you read certain lines.
All in all, however, I highly recommend this book to any fans of the movie. The book compliments the movie very well, bringing more clairity to several scenes and pointing out subtleties for what they really are.
The movie does a good job of converying the theme of the book, but loses some of the meaning in the ending. A lot of scenes in the movie are actual scenes in the book, some are twisted scenes, some are out of order. There are a few crucial points in the book that are not emphasized in the movie, but then, you can only cram so much into 2 hours without losing focus. Ironic, since the book has little focus and I wonder if I'd have been able to follow it so easily if I hadn't seen the movie.

The copy I have is the post-movie eddition with a special introduction from the author. Makes me wonder what kind of a guy Chuch is. It's interesting to hear his thoughts on a book that started out as a joke essay and has turned into a cultural event.

Fave quote, found on the second-to-last page:

We are not special.
We are not crap or trash, either.
We just are.
We just are, and what happens just happens.
And God says, "No, that's not right."
Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can't teach God anything.

Fave haiku, page 80:

Watching white moon face
The stars never feel anger
Blah, blah, blah, the end.

Now, everyone's homework is to go read this book. Also, feel free to leave a haiku in the echo thoughts.

My haiku:

Turn just one more page
The plot encases my soul
I'll sleep tomorrow

Vote for a Smart Bitch!

2006-04-07T17:43:00.000-05:00

There's a new award this year, the BWAHAs! (Bitchery Writing Award for Hellagood Authors, sponserod by Smart Bitches)
Go vote! NOW!

I'm rooting for CJ Barry, JR Ward, and Angela Knight.
Here's a list of the nominees:

Best Contemporary
Match Me If You Can by Susan Elizabeth Phillips
Hot Tamara by Mary Castillo
Breaking Point by Suzanne Brockmann
Black Ice by Anne Stuart
Wedding Survivor by Julia London
Ex and the Single Girl by Lani Diane Rich
Mouth to Mouth by Erin McCarthy

Best Historical
Smuggler’s Bride by Darlene Marshall
Mr. Impossible by Loretta Chase
Siren by Cheryl Sawyer
It Happened One Autumn by Lisa Kleypas
The Secret History of the Pink Carnation Lauren Willig
The Veil of the Night by Lydia Joyce

Best Series/Contemporary
Ultra Violet by Ellen Henderson
Her Body of Work by Marie Donovan
The Orchid Hunter by Sandra K. Moore

Best Series/Historical
Lady Silence by Blair Bancroft
Dedication by Janet Mullany

Best Romantica/Erotic Romance
“Skin Deep” by Jasmine Haynes, from Twin Peaks
Take Me by Bella Andre
Dragon’s Fire by Tielle St. Clare
Promises Prevail by Sarah McCarty
Off the Record by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Bound to Trust by Jaci Burton

Best Erotica
Mercenaries by Angela Knight
24/7 by Susan DiPlacido
Crossing the Line by Stephanie Vaughan

Best Paranormal: Vampires, Werewolves and the Supernatural
Haunted by Kelley Armstrong
Dark Lover by JR Ward
Undead and Unappreciated by MaryJanice Davidson
Erotique by Alessia Brio
Waxing by Megan Powell

Best Paranormal: Fantasy/SF/Other Worlds Romance
The Compass Rose Gail Dayton
Heart Choice by Robin D. Owens
Poison Study Maria V. Snyder
Brighid’s Quest by PC Cast
Unmasked by CJ Barry

Happy my ASS!

2006-04-06T22:20:00.000-05:00

I was watching TV with Gram tonight and saw a commercial for Always 'feminine napkins' (something about that term just sounds odd to me). Apparently, their new slogan is, "Have happy period." I turn to my Gram and say, "Happy period? Yeah, like that'll ever happen. Gram, you just turned 70, have you ever had a happy period? (no) You know a man made that up!"
To which Gram replied, "Yeah, no doubt some single Ad Executive living in Manhattan. You find out who he is, and I'll run him over in a taxi!"
"And then you can lean your head out the window and tell him to have a happy stay in the hospital?"
"No, then I can tell him what a fucking moron he is and that he should go to hell!"

My Gram rarely cusses. I've NEVER heard her say fuck. Just yesterday, she admonished me for saying hell. Apparently no curse is out of line when being wished a happy period. I'm going to e-mail Always and tell them what morons they are.

B&N Pilgrimage

2006-04-04T20:52:00.000-05:00

I haven't been to B&N since last year, and I've never made the hour & a half trip alone.
A friend of mine has been home on medical leave for about two months now and is going insane all couped up with nothing to do. I decided to make her a care basket filled with books and chocolate. I went up to B&N to find the books I wanted to give her that I couldn't find at my local Waldenbooks.
Luckilly, I managed to make it up with no major incident other then road construction. The bridge from Notch Holmstead to the Waterfront is under construction - frankly, it looks like they're re-building the entire thing! So the 4 lanes were down to 2 & the on ramp was gone, so the off ramp was serving as both.
I got to B&N around 12:45. I glanced at the movies and music, but decided I needed to use the bathroom more than I needed to see the new anime releases. Then it was straight to romance. I picked 8 or so books and headed to the counter to ask where the other 4 I was looking for were. The woman gave me a basket, told me 3 of the books were sold out. Luckilly, they had The Book of Bunny Suicides by Andy Riley, AND The Return of the Bunny Suicides. I also found Andy Riley's new book, Great Lies to Tell Small Kids. The latter includes such brilliant insights as, "milk feels pain" and "it's bad luck to not name every ant you see - your entire life." I'm seriously considering screwing up my little brother.
I passed on the Great Lies, but got the Bunny Suicides for Momma-B's basket. With each books I gave her, I slipped in a little note to tell her why I loved that book. Aside from the bunny suicides ( I REALLY don't like rabbits) and 4 bags of chocolate candies, here's what was in the basket & what the note said (roughly).
Linda Howard - Kiss Me While I Sleep - This book made me cry! It's so wonderful. Linda is such a talented writer. This book has a lot of information about the avian flu, and since I read it last Summer, it's interesting to me that bird flu is such a threat this year.
Linda Howard - Heart of Fire - When I was little, I wanted to be an archaeologist, and I've always loved the Amazon, for those reasons, I LOVED this book! My favorite scene is the "slap-slap" comment.
Christine Feehan - Fever - Christine is a total sweetheart and a very creative and skilled author. Of her 4 series, this is my favorite! I love leopards and, again, this takes place in the amazon. This book has a wonderful ending and I can't wait for more leopard books next year!
J.R. Ward - Dark Lover - JR is a darling and I love this series! It's very creative and involved, and the story only gets better with the new book, Lover Eternal. Zsadist is my favorite and I can't wait for his book later this year.

I actually wasn't sure if Momma-B would like Dark Lover. I had a good sized pile of books (half for her, half for me) and had to put a few back to stay within my budget. I thought I'd put back Dark Lover, but when I got to the counter and realized it was still in my basket, I figured it was a sign I had to get it for her.

For myself, I decided on Angel Creek and Kill and Tell by Linda Howard, The Burning - Susan Squires, Blackout - Annie Soloman (I've yet to read her, but I've heard a lot of good things about this book), Tell Me No Lies - Elizabeth Lowell. I also purchased the Fallout Boy CD & Fleetwood Mac's Greatest Hits. Oh, and The Werewolf Book - The Encyclopedia of Shape-shifting Beings, which is research for my were book. Basically, it's the history of werewolves & werewolf lore.
In the stationary department I picked up a little purple fabric bound notebook to make notes of books and authors I like, since the list is getting long. Also, little arrow post-it notes to put in books, they're the best idea! They're different pastel colors & can be used to leave notes on things you want to return to without marking up your book!

After I'd been in the store for over an hour-and-a-half, and kept running into the same two women in books and music, they asked me if there was anything they could help me find, I said, "The exit! Get me out of this store!" After I passed the two hour mark, they started asking me if I was ready to check out whenever I came within ten feet of a register. I left after two-and-a-half hours! (which was 4pm - just starting rush hour traffic)

The way home was interesting. I was driving down the highway (which I was proud of myself for finding the way back to) along the river & saw a sign for a bridge. I passed that exit, but the next exit sign I passed didn't look familiar, so I thought I'd passed the exit I needed and took the next exit. I then backtracked to the bridge, Liberty Bridge. In a twist of irony, as I was driving across the bridge, I looked to my right (the direction I had been traveling before I thought I'd missed my exit) and thought, "No....THAT's the bridge I'm supposed to be on!." I then realized the Liberty Bridge doesn't lead to the Fort Pitt Tunnel, it leads to the Liberty Tunnel!!! In a stroke of genius, the people naming things decided the Fort Pitt Bridge should lead to the Fort Pitt Tunnel, and the Liberty Bridge should lead to the Liberty Tunnel.
Now, I thought I could go through the Liberty Tunnel and still get onto the right highway on the otherside of the mountain, but I wasn't sure & decided it would be safer to turn around. Turning around involved turning right & traveling up Washington Hill. Something I noticed about this neighborhood as I was looking for a suitable parking lot to turn around in - for every 50 cars, there'd be a short bus. Seriously, I don't know if it's where the baby busses run around until they grow into full-sized school busses, or what, but the damn things were everywhere!
The biggest irony was, I didn't take that wrong exit until I thought I'd taken the wrong exit. My awesome sense of direction isn't worth crap in the city! (This is Pittsburgh, by the way)

Long story short, I got back across Liberty Bridge, crossed Fort Pitt like I was supposed to, and got hom in one piece - A Great Feat, considering the considered domonic possession of my car. YAY. Books, new CDs, I got an iced chai from Starbucks for the ride home. Best thing was the look on Momma-B's face when she say the book basket. Loved it. Such a great day!

- Mitch

Ablog Me

2006-04-02T20:46:00.000-05:00

Your Aura is Purple

Your Personality: You're a dreamer and visionary. You believe you were put on this earth to do something great.
You in Love: You're very passionate but often too busy for love. You need a man who sees your vision and adopts it as his own.
Your Career: You need a job that helps you make a difference. You have a bright future as a guru, politician, teacher, or musician.

What Color Is Your Aura?

You Are a Flashy Red Bra!

Outgoing, friendly, and fascinating.You're a charmer, with your pick of the men.But you want a man who's as magnetic as you are.You need someone who can keep up with your all night gab fests!

What Kind of Bra Are You?

You Are A Lily

You are a nurturer and all around natural therapist.People see you as their rock. And they are able to depend on you.You are a soothing influence. You can make people feel better with a few words.Your caring has more of an impact than even you realize.

What Flower Are You?

Your Element is Wood

Your power colors: green and brown
Your energy: generative
Your season: spring
Like a tree, you are always growing and changing.And while your life is dynamic, you are firmly grounded.You have high morals and great confidence in yourself and others.You have a wide set of interests, and you make for intersting company.

What Element Are You?

You Are 94% Evil

You're the most evil person you know.
The devil is even a little scared of you!

How Evil Are You?

In a Past Life...

You Were: An Evil Priest.

Where You Lived: Itally.

How You Died: The Plague causes.

Who Were You In a Past Life?

You Should Be a Science Fiction Writer

Your ideas are very strange, and people often wonder what planet you're from.
And while you may have some problems being "normal," you'll have no problems writing sci-fi.
Whether it's epic films, important novels, or vivid comics...
Your own little universe could leave an important mark on the world!

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

You Are 60% Weird

You're so weird, you think you're *totally* normal. Right?
But you wig out even the biggest of circus freaks!

How Weird Are You?

60%? Is that all? wtf?

Your Inner Child Is Surprised

You see many things through the eyes of a child.
Meaning, you're rarely cynical or jaded.
You cherish all of the details in life.
Easily fascinated, you enjoy experiencing new things.

How Is Your Inner Child?

You Are 52% Abnormal

You are at high risk for being a psychopath. It is very likely that you have no soul.
You are at high risk for having a borderline personality. It is very likely that you are a chaotic mess.
You are at medium risk for having a narcissistic personality. It is somewhat likely that you are in love with your own reflection.
You are at low risk for having a social phobia. It is unlikely that you feel most comfortable in your mom's basement.
You are at low risk for obsessive compulsive disorder. It is unlikely that you are addicted to hand sanitizer.

How Abnormal Are You?

Again, only 52%? wtf - although the soulless part does coincide with previous quizzes.

You Are Dasher

You're an independent minded reindeer who never plays by the rules.

Why You're Naughty: That little coup you tried to stage against Santa last year

Why You're Nice: You secretly give naughty children presents.

Which of Santa's Reindeer Are You?

Under the Tuscan Sun

2006-03-31T22:10:00.000-05:00

Today, I introduced Gram to the wonder of DVD's. "Oh, this is just like my CDs!" I showed her the main menu and special features. "What's this 'scene selection'?"
We watched Under the Tuscan Sun, which I got her for her b-day. (I moved my DVD/VHS palyer downstairs for her. It was only the second time I've seen the movie the entire way though. It was great to share it with my Gram who, being a disgruntled divorcee who has recently bought a house and each day learns of something else in disrepair, absolutely loved this movie. She said it gave her a new prospective.
When she'd asked what the movie was about, I'd told her it was a love story, without love. She'd been skeptical, but in the end appreciated how Francis finds happiness in herself.

It was a good day. Gram is now referring to her house as a villa.

Clash of the Tits

2006-03-30T22:21:00.000-05:00

Story of the day - I'm at the mall picking up a few things, headed to the bookstore to see Matt, the hottie-tottie-book-boy, when I run into another Matt - Matt the gay guys I was kinda friends with for a while. We stop to talk & he tells me he and his "husband" are going through hard times. Apparently gay men suffer the same trials of straight women - Matt's hub kinda cheated on him. We're walking & talking & up walks Joe, Matt's hub. Now, Matt's still kinda upset & I'm trying to make him feel better because, well, I still like to think we're friends.
Joe's always had this thing with not liking Matt to touch boobs. I don't know why. I also don't know why Matt, being gay, is so attracted to boobs...somewhere I have some fairly indecent pictures of him worshiping at mine. My costume last Halloween was a 12 on the 1-10 clevage scale, just because the party was at Matt's & I wanted to freak him out.
Anywho, I offer Matt a free grope if it'll make him feel better. I offered this in front of Joe, knowing he hates it. So, that's how at roughly 3:30pm EST I came to be standing in the center hallway hub of the local mall having my tit squeezed by a gay man.
>never let it be said I'm not giving towards my friends!<

Also keeping abreast of news, I was working on the nightly crossword in the paper. The clue was, "They sometimes clash." Right away I thought, "Titans," but I only had 4 spaces, so I found myself wondering if it had been abreviated into "tits." I cast that idea away as soon as I realized what exactly I was thinking. ...turns out it's "egos," by the by. (I thought tits was funnier.)

Also today, I had the delightful pleasure of being awoken by the local flower company ringing the buzzer to deliver 25 GOREGOUS long stemed, thornless roses! I put them on the kitchen counter, run back to the bedroom to get laundry, start a load, and am just getting ready to hop into the shower when the buzzer rings again. Another vaze of flowers. Also....some baby trees from the Arbor Day Foundation were crammed into my door.
So, what could possible be better than getting 2 bouquets in one morning? Well, it would've been nice if when I'd accepted them & smelled them & thanked the delivery guy I hadn't known they weren't for me. Today is Gram's b-day & I was accepting gifts all morning.
My gift to her was cooking dinner & dessert. Dessert was apple crisp. Gram isn't a big cake eater. And I swear she hid all the birthday candles in preparation for her b-day, so after the apple crisp cooled, I put a tealight in the center. Dinner was Mystery Chicken. The mystery is if it's poisonous. So far so good.
I also got her a copy of Under the Tuscan Sun, which as an embittered divorcee, she HAS to see! We'll be watching it tomorrow afternoon when we won't be interrupted by the entire family calling every 2 minutes to wish her a Happy Birthday.

And finally - Boston ate a 5" strand of ribon. Gram let her play with the string tying the cards to the flowers. Two minutes later, she looks down & all that's left is a slobbery envelope with bite marks where she chewed the ribon off. I told Boston I might as well have gotten a puppy for all the trouble she is - at least I'd have a chance at training a puppy. That cat is impossible!

The Great Rescue Operation

2006-03-29T21:31:00.000-05:00

I FOUND IT!

I found the mouse book I've been talking about! It's The Great Rescue Operation by Jean Van Leeuwen. It was published back in the early 1980's & is out of print, so you can't just go out to any bookstore and pick it right up, but it really is a great book! If you have kids between 5 & 10, I'd totally recommend this book. My mom read it to me when I was a kiddo & it was one of my faves. It's like Stuart Little, only with more balls.

Also, since I have no karmic insight today, I thought I'd regal you with a quote from A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin. This is the first in a five book series for young adults. I picked it up because the third book is being made into a full length anime movie and I want to read the series so I can anxiously await the English dubbing in 2 or 3 years. (As previously noted, I'm an anime FREAK!)

Only in silence the word,
only in dark the light,
only in dying life:
bright the hawk's flight
on the empty sky.
- The Creation of Ea

Dear Blog,

2006-03-28T23:53:00.000-05:00

Boondocks is awesome.

Are You Afraid?

2006-03-28T22:12:00.000-05:00

Last night I finished Are You Afraid by Carla Cassidy. I really got into this book, I couldn't put it down until I was too tired to make out words and I finished it in just 2 nights.
Are You Arfaid is the story of Dr. Jessie Langford, a psychologist specializing in helping people cope with fears. She has a private practice and also a radio show titled "Are You Afriad of the Dark?"
Ironically, Dr. Jessie is afraid of the dark, a lingering phobia resulting from an experience when she was 16 and a serial killer abducted her, raped her, sliced her repeatedly with a knife, then tried to burry her alive in a grave.
Jessie, obviously, escaped, but hears later still carries both physical and emotional scars. Nearing the 18 year anniversary of her ordeal, a new serial killer has begun raping and killing women in her town and leaving them to be found by unsuspecting passersby.
The hero, Jake Merridan, is a detective working on the case of the serial killer. He becomes involved with Jessie when she begins to recieve unusual phone calls that she feels threatened by.
Jake and Jessie must work through their pasts to overcome their emotional baggage, overcome their fears, and find a life where they can live safely together, which means Jake must find a killer who is terrorizingyoung women, and discover who may be terrosizing Jessie with terrors from her past.

I really loved this book! You might want to check it out. It's romance/suspense and just came out this month. On a pesronal note, Carla is a hun & I'd appreciate anyone supporting her by picking up her book and giving it a chance.

Days of My Life

2006-03-28T20:29:00.000-05:00

My least favorite chore, which I reserve for Tuesday mornings, is cleaning the litter box. Trash goes out Tuesday night to be collected Wednesday morning, so litter needs to go out Tuesday if the house isn't gonna stink for another week.

The ritual of changing said litter box is accompanied by Boston's ritual of being the first to use the clean litter. Every time I change the box, she's sitting beside me, waiting for me to finish, so she can move in before Thisbee comes sniffing around.

Today, as I'm opening a new 40lb bag & pouring litter in, with Boston beside me, ready to dirty what I've just made clean, out of nowhere comes the thought - "Like litter into the catpan, these are the days of my life."
I go through the effort to make it clean and not smelly, and Boston can't wait to sully my efforts, even if she's gone immediately prior to me approaching the box. And the job's never done. I can scoop out the shit every single day, it's still gonna come to the point where it's beyond salvagable & I have to change everything.
I think this is a much better analogy than "sand through the hourglass." I mean, you can just flip the hourglass back over. Same sand, same amounbt of time, same outcome. Catlitter suits much better. And so I ask - what is YOUR life analogy?

In other news, I hit the bookstore today. I got Christine Feehan's Dark Demon, Anime Insider (I'm an anime freak), Farm and Zoo, a cute as hell childrens book with pictures like a bathtub with a muddy towel hung over one side and the question: Who bathes in mud?" You lift a flap covering half the page & the pink tub becomes a pig and the muddy towel is its muddy head. Can't wait to give it to my little bro! While looking at kiddie books - I was trying to find a perticular one, but I couldn't remember the title or author. I kinda get a kick outta buggin the boys there to help me find stuff, lol.
This book was probably the first book without pictures on every page that I truely loved. It's about 3 mice friends and one of them goes missing. The other 2 look all over for the third, finding clues that finally lead them to a park where there long lost friend sits in a stroller wearing barbie doll clothes. They're elated to find him & tell him now he can come home with them. He explains a girl found him and has been keeping him as a pet, he's happy in his new life and doesn't want to go back with his friends. His friends are all like, "Dude, we risked out friggin lives for you! I think that bonnett's a bit to tight, get outta the girly clothes and come home with us!" But he doesn't. Immensely sad, but endearing. I wanted to read it again, to my little bro, like my mom read it to me. I'm gonna have to Amazon for it, because the guys at the book store couldn't find it, although Steve remembered reading the same book when he was a kid. Matt thought at first I was talking about the Rats of Nymh, which led to a great discussion where the three of us bonded over our favorite books as a kiddo. Another I loved, which was also made into a great movie - Island of the Blue Dolphins.
The other book I got today, Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love. I read an article about it in TIME. Basically, a newly divorced woman goes on an Under the Tuscan Sun-esque vacation to Italy to enjoy the food, India to find Nirvana, and ends in Indonesia, where she falls in love. Can't wait to read it, though I don't honestly do too much non-fiction. I'll post how it turns out.

peer pressure

2006-03-27T22:05:00.000-05:00

So, I've been blog-hoing for the last few days, reading blogs of friends and remembering my long lost blog from back in the day. I finally caved to the urge and here I am, blogging again.
I'll be more creative later, but for now there's not much to tell.

Right now I'm reading Carla Cassidy's Are You Arfaid. Good book. Good enough to keep me up four hours past I'd planned to be. I'm half way done & will finish tonight. The only reason I didn't finish last night was because the words sorta blurred together into black lines on white paper. It wasn't condusive to my curiosity about the killer catching up to the heroine. Had to give in to the sleep so I could get up this morning and sacrafice myself to Da Man for another day's pay. Ah, life.

To get things rolling, I'll start a meme sorta thing I remember from my old blog on LJ back in the day (which was really only about 3 years ago). Anyone who wants to, ask me 3 questions. Any three questions, and I have to answer. Like truth or dare, without dares - although I'd be willing to accept those as well.