Argh

This has nothing to do with Jennifer Crusie's blog by the same name. However, she has one of the best blogs out there and if you like snark and want a taste of what an author's life is really like, please go check it out. I've got a link on the sideboard over there.

No, today "Argh" simply has to do with my chronic foot-in-mouth disease.

Last night was the first night in about six weeks that I had free. No shopping, no running to do, no working. Just me, DH, my sweats, the comfy couch and TV. I even took a nap. DH was on the phone when there was a knock at the door. I untangled myself from the blanket, wrangled the dog away from the front door and found two vaguely familiar faces on the porch. They gave us a present and wished us a belated Merry Christmas. I thought, how nice. One of the neighbors brought us something. I thanked them and asked which house they lived in. You know, so we could wave and say hi and such. There was a long awkward pause.

They were our landlords.

Yes, I pretty much wanted to find a nice, deep hole. DH still hasn't stopped laughing, so I will continue to blame him for my embarrassment. I mean, he could have said, "Hey, look. It's the landlords" or something. Wasn't he supposed to have x-ray vision to see through the door or some psychic ability that says, "Your stupid wife is about to make an ass of herself?" *Sigh*

You know, it's things like this that makes me want a superpower to make up for my shortcomings. The Power of Invisibility would have come in handy last night. That, or be Photographic Memory Woman.

I'm going to be kicking myself over this for a long time.

So today's question is this: If you could pick, what would your superpower be?

Shock and Awe

First, I very sincerely hope everyone had a Merry Christmas.

Ours went fairly well. My folks came up from Tennessee and went overboard, as usual. Sis #2 recuperated enough to join us Christmas Day after being hit with that nasty stomach bug going around. I really do think it was a pretty good Christmas.

One thing did stand out as odd. DH's ex did something nice.

I know. *gasp!* OMB! Who are you and what have you done with the ex! (Not that we necessarily want the old one back, but ...)

We got a call from DSS on Saturday asking if he could drop off something for us. After arriving within a reasonable length of time (again, *gasp!*), DSS gave us two gift bags of goodies, one for us and one for my parents. DSS had to run off again, so we were left staring at each other stupidly. DH's expression said it all: WTF?

He actually turned to me and asked, "So, do you think it's safe to eat?"

Sure enough, when we opened it, there were some pre-wrapped goodies, including the oreos dipped in vanilla almond bark that I so love. There were some homebaked cookies too. The gingerbread men were intact, not with their heads ripped off, or knives in their backs. No vile messages written in icing. No Ex-lax laced chocolate chip cookies.

It was actually a very nice thing.

And to top it all off, the bags said, "Peace on Earth and Goodwill to All."

Of course, you have to remember that DSS has half of DH's DNA and DH is nearly a saint as far as I am concerned. Just last week DSS went up to another kid at school to check to see if he was OK because he seemed upset. Of course, he got kicked in the nuts for his consideration, but still it was a nice thing to do. He thinks the world of my parents and I have no trouble believing that he was behind the entire production. It's the part where his mom actually drove across town to deliver them that I have a hard time believing.

(For those of you new to the saga, we are in the beginning stages of what will no doubt be a very ugly custody battle for DSS.)

So, like, wow. And Hmm. Sorry, but once bitten, twice shy. It's really too bad that our experiences in the past have given us reason to doubt her motives. But, for now anyway, I will chalk it up to the idea that DSS wanted to do something nice.

And as for a certain other person on my poop list, yes I took the high road and was civil. That does not mean I've forgiven and forgotten. Sorry, but when some idiot spreads rumors at work out of spite about one of the most sacred things in your life, you just don't roll over on it. At least I don't. On this, I won't. Some things are worth defending.

Mellencamp has a line in one of his songs that I think goes something like this:
You gotta stand for somethin'
Or you'll fall for anything.

A Few of My Favorite Things

I wasn't sure I'd have time to post again before Christmas, but it turns out I have a few minutes here to wish everyone a Merry Christmas again. And Happy Holidays.

I'm a little loopy due to lack of sleep. I can't remember the last day I had a complete day off -- and I've only been doing this two jobs thing for three weeks. Thank Bob I'm done after next week. Happy New Year to me!

Anyway, back to the loopiness: if I'm more scatterbrained than usual or run off on a bunch of tangents, that's why. No, I am not having an episode. Although if the episode would get me a few extra hours of sleep, I just might consider it.

Here is my Top Ten list of Favorite things about Christmas:

10. Christmas Carols. Or at least the first twenty times I hear them.
9. Candles. Yes, working at the Candle store has warped me. But I smell like Cinnamon and vanilla cookies when I come home.
8. Outdoor lights. My husband is gradually adding more to our collection. There are few things I enjoy more than driving around at night and seeing all the trees done up in white lights.
7. Christmas Cheer. No, no, not the booze. The good stuff. The good moods that really do pop up from time to time.
6. Pets. I have no idea why, but I am compelled to try and get a picture of the dog in front of the Christmas tree every year. He doesn't get it, doesn't like it, and doesn't want anything to do with it. It probably dates back to the year I stuck the poor dog in a Santa suit. Talk about one grumpy elf.
5. Christmas Cookies. Sugar cookies with frosting? Gingerbread men? Yum yum yum.
4. Friends and family. You know. The ones you actually want to spend time with.
3. Christmas specials on TV. I haven't seen Rudolph or Frosty or Charlie Brown yet this season. I need to get cracking!
2. Children's choir at church. I know, I know. I need to go to church more. But my favorite memory of my old church in La Porte was the mass with the children's choir. Especially when they've just learned to sing staccato. "And heav-en and na-ture's sing!"

And the number one Most Favorite Thing about Christmas...
1. Christmas Morning. It doesn't matter if you're five or eighty five. There is an extra something special about waking up and opening presents in your bathrobe with your loved ones. Providing Dad isn't taking pictures.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays

Yes, that's right. I said Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

First, Merry Christmas. Because that's who I am, who I was raised to be. And a significant part of that is the line, "good will to all people." You know, the part a lot of people are forgetting lately. If you celebrate Hanukah or Kwanzaa or Festivus or the Winter Solstice or any other religious or cultural holiday at this time of year, I wish you the best one ever. And a Happy New Year to all too.

Instead of emphasizing our differences, I like to be reminded of sameness. I like to think that basically people are good with good intentions. Despite what you may see at the mall.

There are a lot of people hurting out there. I personally know that sometimes the littlest kindness can mean the world to someone when they are low. Sometimes a little spark of hope is all you need.

Last night at the candle store, I saw two ladies pay it forward. It was a simple, small act of kindness, giving away a $10 off coupon that they didn't use, momentarily bewildering the man receiving it. Maybe I imagined it, but when he left the store, he had a bigger smile on his face and a little more bounce in his step. Sure, maybe he just happened to finish his Christmas shopping too, but I will continue to think that the gesture made an impact. To me, ten bucks is still ten bucks. I've never won that much from the lottery, so to me that would be a big deal.

Anyway folks, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. Pay it forward if you can and I hope you all find inner peace.

Space: The Final Frontier (white space on a page, that is)

My journey into writerdom began as an exercise to block out the day's craziness in order to fall asleep. I hated my job then and the stress was eating me alive. That's how my little world of Fairlane was born.

I kinda liked the people there, and they had some interesting things going on and I decided to write it down.

My first writing project was set in historical New England. Why New England? I've only been there twice, both when I was considerably younger. To be honest, I just cannot see a whole lot of interest for stories set in rural Indiana. For the time period I'm working with, Indiana was predominately agricultural unless you were on the main waterways. My hometown is LaPorte, which means "the door." As in, someplace you pass through on your way to someplace else. I now live in Lafayette and am gradually learning about the importance of the waterways to the area. Shipping and commerce are more in the lines of what I need from my hero. He needs to be wealthy, but not just living off the family fortune. My hero needs to be able to create an empire of power, money and information that will make him a force to be reckoned with -- until our heroine shows up and twists him up in knots.

I also needed a place near the cities of importance to my characters' world. He is in business. He needs to be near big cities, shipping centers, major hubs of industry. She is a physician, a rarity for the late 1800s. The first women's college for physicians was in Pennsylvania in the 1890s. Women physicians primarily treated women and children in the beginning and those hospitals were the first to hire them. Travel by train was common, so to have our heroine working in hospitals in New York, and Boston would fit. Their worlds would overlap in a realistic fashion for the time.

The characters have evolved considerably since my first attempts to put them on a page. My hero was too perfect, too best-friend-like. He had nowhere to grow. My heroine was worse. She was a crying, fainting, weak thing. I had set aside my first draft for a few years and when I reread it, I couldn't stand her. Sure, she had room to grow, but who cared? She wasn't worthy of Mr. Perfect and the two of them together were to most boring lovestory ever told.

So I went back to the "masters." I reread and studied who I liked to read: Amanda Quick, Johanna Lindsay, and Julia Quinn with little detours to Jennifer Crusie, Janet Evanovich, Laurell K. Hamilton and Katie MacAllister.

I am older now and so is my heroine. I didn't really know myself until I hit my thirties, so I made her mature for her age and a bit older than the usual marriagable age. I wanted her to be close in age to the hero so that they grew up together, forging a bond at an early age that carried over into adulthood. What could possibly be more unnerving for the town's most eligible bachelor than someone who knows his every secret?

I'm going to break this process into a couple of posts, but I'll leave you with my worst sin from my first draft: I assumed that since my grandmother talked about making chocolate chip cookies as a child, that the cookies were around forever. What difference could 30 years possibly make? A lot apparently. Chocolate chips were not available to the public until the 20th century, so do not put them in your historical novel taking place in 1890. Do the research. We have the internet now, so some of these things are easier to find than ever.

The Best Christmas Pagent Ever

One of my favorite Christmas specials ever. Just had to throw that out there. It's the one with Loretta Switt and the welfare kids who bring a ham for baby Jesus. I love the angel at the pagent.

I was on the Running With Quills blog a few weeks ago and the question was posed, "What are your holiday traditions?"

Since I seem to gravitate toward the humorous, I immediately joined in with the dumbest tradition I have ever started. Now that my step-son is fully aware that I am nuts, he just sits back and waits to see what I'll do next. Therefore, I have to keep doing the afore mentioned stupid thing until he is married and starts his own traditions he will live to regret.

Don't worry. My husband is fully aware of the nuttiness as well. I believe his motto is currently, "Way to go, Vern."

I got stockings for our pets.

I don't just mean for the dog. The dog is every bit as much family as the people are, although I know there are some of you out there who are shaking your heads already. Oh no, I got stockings for the guinea pig, the goldfish, and our the tropical fish. We had one for the hamster, but sadly he passed on to the big hamster ball in the sky.

At first, it was cute. Little snack sticks for the rodents and fish flakes for the fish. Ok, the guinea pig I can deal with. There are all kinds of snacks for Tiger like a salt wheel, snack sticks, flavored wood thingies, yogurt ma-bobs, etc. But the fish? Oh look. More fish flakes. Great.

Maybe I just need to buy more fish. Look! Santa brought you new friends!

I tried to "forget" the pet stockings last year. DSS busted me. How do you tell a kid his pets are undeserving of presents from Santa? Even if there is a good possibility he no longer believes in Santa, I think he gets a kick out of the fact that everyone in my family still gets presents from the big guy. Heck, we all get presents from the dogs. Oh, I wasn't supposed to buy you anything else? But I didn't. The dog got that for you. *wink wink*

Do you have any goofy traditions in your family for the holidays?

Danger! Danger, Will Robinson ...

Hmm. Christmas is essentially one week away. I haven't even opened my boxes of Christmas Cards yet, let alone addressed them. I just may have to take a guy at work's advice and just drop a bunch of addresses into my computer and print them out on labels. Horribly impersonal, I know, but it's crunch time, people.

What's worse is that DH and I moved back in February, so most of our family and friends have our old address. As an extra added bonus, I think the post office only forwards your mail for 6 months. We've gotten only five cards ourselves this year: our moms, my two sisters, and one aunt of mine who thought to call my mom for our address. And we had a family portrait done this year too. That I still haven't printed the copies off to stuff in the cards.

Maybe it will end up being a "Holiday" card instead.

And at job #2, for some reason, I volunteered to pick up a shift. That will put me at 22 hours, plus the 40 at my day job. Yes, that was a brilliant idea, considering how far behind I am with everything.

DH, Bob love him, is offering/having to do everything else I can't get to. He and DSS are actually braving the mall tonight to go Christmas shopping. Nice, because they will stop by and say hello. That will help get me through. I'm half afraid to ask him to finish up my shopping because he's been so great about me not being home at night and doing the house stuff. Thank Bob for gift cards.

Last night I threw out the idea of DH and DSS making cookies this weekend while I'm at work. I'm doing a little "yikes" because this is uncharted territory. DSS and I usually do the cookies together, but I think I've trained him well. That and he told me this week that he made what we call "eye balls" by himself for his brothers. "Eye balls" are small pretzels, white almond bark and M&Ms. With regular M&Ms, they look like eyeballs. With Christmas ones, they are just festive.

Now DH is a big boy and surely he's baked cookies himself at some point. Just not since I've known him. In the past seven years. He's more of the "I can work on your car, split wood and fix what's broken" kind of person. There is definitely something to be said for someone who is handy. Trust me, my sisters are quickly learning that, especially when they can save $300 on a brake job for the car. But cookies? I have the feeling he just might panic and get everything set up so it's ready when I come home.

And it is just cookies. Having someone prep them wouldn't be too bad at all.

Have I mentioned I adore the two guys in my life?

(The photo was forwarded to me, but I believe it originated from CNN's Offbeat page under Images. I think it's an AP photo from a mall in Japan. If I can locate the credits I will post them shortly. No, I have not been to Japan this Christmas season.)

On Golden Pond

Ok, ok, I'm not that old, but sheesh, I sure feel it today.

Week two of having job #2 (no, not that #2) is finally catching up with me. My legs and feet hurt, I'm way out of shape, and I'm pooped. I just about ripped DH's head off for robbing me of that last five minutes of sleep this morning. Oh, so do not go there. Not that. He simply thought that if he had to get up, I needed to share in his misery. At which point he soon found that the solitude of getting the bathroom first would be a good thing. I swear, I think I managed a full head rotation this morning.

I found out, much to my chagrin, that I am the oldest person working at the store. By seven years. 7. Freakin'. Years.

Dear Bob. I'm only 36 now. And a rookie.

Most of my other jobs I've been the youngest, or at least second to the youngest. *Sigh* I guess I certainly won't impress anyone with my college stories, even as goodie-two-shoes as they are.

Oh, and by the way, I need another week before Christmas. Could someone please pencil that in for me? It would be much appreciated.

I did find a small ray of sunshine yesterday. Our lawyer contacted the ex's lawyer on Monday to give him the info requested. The ex should get the "good news" sometime this week. Waa Haa Haa. Ain't payback a pip?

'Scuse me while I kiss this guy...

That was the name of this daily calendar I had a few years ago. It was 365 misquoted song lyrics. That one was a misquote for Jimi Hendrix's "Scuse me While I Kiss the Sky." Some were absolutely hysterical. Others, well, it made you wonder what the person was smokin' to think the words were even close to that.

I come from a family that makes it a tradition to make up the words as we go along. Here are some classics:

"Give me the Beach Boys to soothe my soul..." (Drift Away. I can't remember the original artist, but it was remade by Uncle Kracker a few years ago.)

"Islands in the Street, that is what we are ..." (Islands in the Stream, by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers)

"There's a bathroom on the right..." (Bad Moon Rising, by Creedence Clearwater Revival)

"Bobby used to work like a doc..." (Living on a Prayer, by Bon Jovi)

Obviously, I am not alone in my cluelessness. There is a commercial on TV right now for one of those cell phones with an MP3 player on it where two guys debate if the lyrics are "Lock the cashbox" or "Stop the catbox" for "Rock the Kazbah" (sp?).

Personally, I love misquotes. I know someone who constantly invents new movie titles, TV shows and song lyrics. Half the fun is trying to figure out what she's talking about. You know, that movie with Tom Cruise: A Few Good Marines.

I think I have a new supporting character for a contemporary novel: Misquote Woman. Bob only knows I have enough material for her.

Do you have any favorite misquotes?

Damn it, Jim ...

(from Star Trek)

I don't know why, but that line always cracks me up. "Damn it, Jim. I'm a doctor, not an interior decorator!" (And yes, I just made that up. It wasn't in Star Trek.)

It's one of those lines that keeps popping up in conversations with my sisters. These are the same sisters who, at any given moment, will launch into a "Star Wars: Episodes IV - VI Quotefest". (deep breathing), "We're doomed!", "Governor Tarkin, I thought I recognized your foul stench.", "But Uncle Owen ...," "Beep bo Bap Bloop!", "Aauuuuuug!" (wookie-speak), "Sorry for the mess," "A little short for a Stormtrooper, aren't you?", "I care," and so on.

Dad is a huge Star Trek fan. Not Trekkie convention huge, but he holds an honest appreciation for the series. And I watched enough of it growing up that not only do I know what at Tribble is, but think the movie "Galaxy Quest" is possibly the funniest spoof movie ever.

I actually considered getting a scottish terrier just so I could name him Mr Scot and go around saying, "Aye, Cap'n!"

(And yes, I am well-aware of the differences between Star Wars and Star Trek. They just both happened to be a large part of my growing up.)

Several years ago there was this TV show called, "Two Guys, a Girl and Pizza Place," or something like that. The first season had one of my favorite TV characters of all time, played by David Ogden Stiers (Winchester from MASH). His character would channel some other famous character from a movie throughout the show. One time it was a football player, the Gipper or something. Another time he was Obi Wan from Star Wars. Cracked me up. I was devestated when he didn't return to the series.

So, do you have any quotes from movies or TV that show up from time to time in your life? Or am I the only nutcase that is so lucky? What is your favorite movie quote or favorite memory attached to a movie/TV show?

Welcome to CandleWorld

I think I like it.

Friday night I began my second job -- retail, at the mall, at Christmastime. So far, so good. The people are nice, there are only about a dozen prices to remember, and it smells good. Saturday was harder only because it was eight hours on my feet and it's been at least ten years since I've stood that long on a regular basis. Yes, I crashed yesterday, but oh well. I'm pretty sure that's a sign I need to be more active. Ten years at various desk jobs hasn't done me any favors.

The only reservation I really have about the Candle World job is about getting paid in a timely basis. I know I just started, so there will be some delay in getting the first check. The first day I started, a person was annoyed because their check was late. And it was brought up that someone else's check was three weeks late. What's the point of working Christmas if you don't get paid until after Christmas? I suppose we shall see on Thursday, unless of course it's later than that. Sounds fun (insert sarcasm here). Normally I'd say that surely it couldn't be that bad, but then I know better. Yes, Virginia, it could.

The cold is progressing slowly. I'm praying I'm not getting an ear infection and the extra vitamin C and Zinc may actually be helping. See? This is what I get for not eating my veggies. I hate veggies, but I hate being sick even more.

So, here's a lesson for you all. Eat your fruits and veggies. Or at the very least, take your vitamins.

Nothing but good times ahead

The last post will probably have to be removed at some point, so let me just say this: the meeting with the new lawyer went well. He listened, answered our questions, and gave us some unexpectedly good news. I think we'll keep him. And if the ex hated the last one we had, she's going to absolutely loathe this guy. The money issue is still a concern, but after talking with him, it sounds like he's going to be worth every penny. In this case, he's going to what needs to be done to someone with no respect for the rules.

In other news, apparently the ex might be getting married - again. This would be future Ex #3. Thank Bob she got herself fixed. I would have thought we would have been more down about the news. Usually adding a spouse causes a never ending stream of headaches on our end, but at least it's only one guy and not a never-ending stream of new boyfriends. Our step-son will have the adjusting to do. For some reason DH and I are caught between saying, "poor dumb bastard" and "let him burn." The reason for the last sentiment is that rumor has it the boyfriend is behind the ex's sudden interest in getting more child support and thinks she should get at least as much as he pays out for his kid in another state. Um, duh, but every state is different. What the you expect from a guy with horrible taste in shoes? I mean, I'm no fashion icon by a long shot, but even I went, "Man, those are some ugly shoes." Anyway, the boyfriend is starting to sound like a meddler. Should be interesting.

I'm slowly feeling better every day. My appetite is still off, but at least I'm on solid food again. My sinuses feel like someone filled them with lead, but that's a whole lot better than I've been feeling for the past month. Unless I move my head too fast. Then it's like, "Oooh, look at all the pretty colors. *Klunk*." I'm glad I'm doing as well as I am because I start the new part-time job tonight. We'll have to see how that goes.

For the love of Pete ...

Obviously, I've become a virus magnet.

Yep, I'm sick again. This is a real doozie this time.

Without TMI (I hope), let's just say that DH and I thought we were hit with a nasty bit of food poisoning Sunday night/Monday morning. It came completely out of left field. Never before have I ever wished harder that we had more than one bathroom. Luckily, we were good little soldiers and went in shifts and that's all I'll say on that.

We both went to the doctor on Monday and it turns out it is the very nasty little virus going around, accompanied by its little friend Temp of 102. Big fun. Have I mentioned it's not a good idea for both me and DH to be sick at the same time? It's hard to whine when the person next to you is whining just as loudly. Yes, we are both lousy sick people. The good news is that we are both on the mend and didn't aggrivate each other. Meds that make you sleep are good for that.

I can honestly say I cannot wait for 2006 to be over. 2007 has to be much, much better health-wise.

And why is it that whenever you are sick, there is NOTHING good to watch on TV? DH loves to watch Matlock whenever he is home sick. Matlock is ok, but after four hours of it, I'm ready to stick a fork in my eye. Thank Bob for multiple TVs in the house.

So ... what did I miss?

Happy Computer Security Day

Swear to Bob, this was on the Homepage on the intranet at work:

- TODAY IS COMPUTER SECURITY DAY, A TIME TO REMEMBER TO PROTECT YOUR COMPUTERS,
PROGRAMS, AND DATE AT HOME AND AT WORK.

Um, date at home and at work? And how exactly is this going to protect my computer? I don't even know how you would begin to date at home, unless you took it to mean your hometown, which might not be bad. Unless you're from Romney, pop 37. But at work? Didn't I just attend a sexual harassment seminar recently?

(For those who cannot tell, INSERT SARCASM HERE. THIS IS AN ATTEMPT TO APPEAR FUNNY.)

I REALLY, REALLY want a job as the person to who puts stuff on the site. I have all sorts of useless information to share, not to mention the whole quality control thing. I'm every bit as good as whoever they have now :)

Woo-hoo! I got the second job I applied for. Now in addition to my day job of 40 hours a week, I now get to spend a few hours at the mall ... during Christmas ... should I be excited about this?

Actually, yes. Sad to say, but money is a necessary evil and we've been really short lately, so here's my input. I'll be at a small little store that I'll call Candle World. The biggest bonus will be that I will smell nice when I come home. No greasy french fries or sea food smell! That and the working wage has gone up considerably since I last worked retail. I don't start until next weekend, which kinda threw me. It sounds like I'll miss half the shopping season. We'll have to see how it goes.

Good luck, shoppers!

So far, so good

I had an interview last night for the second job/part-time thing. Not a real biggie, just retail at the mall during Christmas, maybe longer. The interview went well, and with any luck, I scored well on the "personality" quiz. You know, the ones where it asks you to answer true or false as to whether or not you think it is OK to steal from your employer. I tend to over analyze, but I'm sure they don't want a psychological analysis over these answers. "Everybody steals." Well, I sure hope not since I don't really relish calling security every two minutes. But have most people walked off with someone else's pen at some point of their lives? I think so. That is technically stealing, though hardly worth spending twenty to life over.

See what I mean?

I think the store just wants to know whether or not I can be trusted with the cash drawer and not steal all our customer's credit card numbers.

Actually, my only fear is that The Ex will stop in to try and make things awkward. Nope, scratch that. Try living hell. I could really see her doing this. Oh, security ...?

Ode to Trent

Trent is my miniature schnauzer. He is a fifteen pound terror, but look how cute he is! I know, my momness is showing. Trent was given to us by my dear friend Cindy as a wedding present. She raises schnauzers and I have known her since the second grade. Despite that, she has remained my dear friend.

In case you are wondering "Why Trent?", the answer is this: pure laziness. Cindy's daughter named him and when we brought him home, no one could agree on a new name. Naming a pet is biggie for me. I had charts and everything. I think it boiled down to the fact that whenever we said, "Trent," he looked mildly interested, so the name stuck.

People who don't know the dog's back story think I have a thing for my insurance agent, as Trent is his name too. No, I do not have the hots for my insurance agent. My father works for an insurance company and I worked for one for seven years too. I certainly don't need it in my personal life too. I adore my DH, but if he worked in insurance, I might have had to reconsider the whole thing.

By the way, the big red dog looks a lot like my mom's golden retriever Molly. Trent is the little brother she never wanted. Talk about sibling rivalry. Naturally, if one is getting petted, the other has to be petted too. Bob forbid the wrong mom pet the wrong dog. I swear, if dogs could talk these two would sound a lot like, "Mom! He/She's touching me! He/she got more than I did! Mom likes me better!"

Molly stayed with us over Thanksgiving while my folks were in town. My sister has a bigger bed, so she got my parents. We have a fenced in yard, hence the dog sitting. Schnauzers don't shed, so it takes a bit of adjustment when you have a one hundred pound redhead exploding fur everywhere in the house for several days. Still, it was a good visit for all, even if my socks are still getting extra fuzzy.

Hopefully Trent will be good for DH as it looks like I may be starting a second job soon. I have an interview tonight so wish me luck!

Oops

Um, a word of caution. Don't change the language setting on your blog without memorizing where the "Change Language" link is.

And no, the Blog Fairy will not magically transcribe your words into French, German or Chinese.

Just trust me on this.

Ok. It's safe to come out now.

Whew. Done venting. On to happier things.

Back on the He Wrote/She Wrote blog (see links), a few of the CherryBombs are posting descriptions of each other.

Considering the frightening quality of my crickets over in this neck of the woods, I believe I will be safe in posting my own description of myself, especially since I'm still fairly new over there. Nobody's met me in person (that I know of) and just a few brave souls have ventured over here.

I'm just anonymous enough to be dangerous. Tee-hee.

So here we go:

Name: btuda

Alias: bren tuda, foiler of the evil ex

Age: always a year younger than my husband

Height: increasingly shorter than my two younger sisters

Sign: National Sarcasm Society: Like we need your support (see www.whatonearthcatalog.com).

Likes: Chocolate

Dislikes: On going diarrheal stupidity

Favorite Authors: Jennifer Crusie, Bob Mayer, Jayne Ann Krentz, Murphy (of Murphy's Law)

Something no one knows about me: Since you are what you eat, I've grown three belly buttons, have a slight spongy quality and am filled with creme filling.

Favorite Curse Word: @#$%!, usually followed by &*$%@ #$%^(* @#%$&* @#&^*&%$!!!

The Ex Strikes Again - Dumb De Dumb Dumb

Gotta love it. DH's ex had her attorney send us a letter requesting financial info to re-evaluate child support. Under normal circumstances, the length of time since the last evaluation is long enough to consider this a reasonable request.

However, in the past 12 months, the child in question has been held back in school due to a lack of support at home, and has been diagnosed with what is basically pre-adolescent depression. Also, Child Protective Services have investigated her (not due to us) for neglect several times (nothing has stuck yet - neglect is extremely hard to prove) and a local agency has a case worker working with him in school and with the counselors. Added on top of this the number of times she's called and said, "He needs this," and we've taken care of it, it's frustrating, to say the least.

This fall, we single-handedly (well, DH and I) have taken care of soccer and football seasons with absolutely no help from her, financially, rides or otherwise. That's practices and games 6 days a week, plus equipment purchases and fees. And she only showed up to one game this last session. For her own child. Way to be there for him, mom.

And do you know why I think she's doing this now? She broke up with her latest sugar-daddy and Christmas is right around the corner. There is always a new boyfriend around Christmas who usually gets dumped shortly after. It never ceases to amaze me how easily she finds guy after guy after guy after guy willing to hand over money and his charge cards to her. I tell you, she is the best dressed welfare mom I've seen in a while. She's always going on trips too. We had our step-son over for Thanksgiving this year, which means the youngest brother was at his dad's too. Did she have a special family dinner for her and the older son (sadly, his dad is not in the picture)? Nope. She packed him off to a friend's house and went to Arkansas to make up with the last boyfriend.

So DH and I are busy trying to find a new attorney, to at least make sure we don't lose our shirts on this child support deal.

Sigh.

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I know things are rough, but we all have something to be thankful for.

Thanksgiving is at my house this year. My folks and their dog are coming up from Tennessee. My two sisters live close by. I even managed to convince my mother-in-law to join us (I adore my mother-in-law, so no snarky comments out there about in-laws. Anyone who could make my life miserable and chooses not to gets some gratitude from me. Besides, she did a great job with my DH.).

It’s supposed to be warm, so I suppose if we really run out of room we could break out the lawn chairs and sit outside and watch the dogs frolic. Molly is a hundred pound golden retriever with an attitude problem. Mom and Dad got her just after I started seeing my DH. My dog Trent is a fifteen pound miniature schnauzer who’s the little brother Molly never wanted. For the most part they tolerate each other and sometimes even play. Still, there are times I swear Molly has this expression that says, “What’s with the circus freak? All this running and jumping around? WTH?”

On to current events. Apparently I missed the whole Rosie O’Donnell/Kelly Ripa/Clay Aiken thing. Sometimes I really hate the media. Talk about mountains out of mole hills. Now we have three people all running around doing damage control. Well, except for Rosie. She’s just Rosie. Always will be. I love her, but sometimes I want to tell her to chill out a minute. Breathe. Ohm.

For those of you who don’t know, Clay was on Regis and Kelly. At one point of the show, Clay reached over and put his hand over Kelly’s mouth. Kelly made a face and the media was all over it. Now Rosie jumps in, and tells everyone on The View that she saw it as a homophobic reaction.

Geez, Louise, people.

First, admit it. We’ve all wanted to make Kelly shut up at one point or another. However, thinking it and doing it are two completely different things. I mean, think about it. Some guy you’ve never worked with before, reaches over and puts his hand over your mouth. As Kelly later said, it’s cold and flu season. She has kids. These are legit concerns. Personally I saw it as an invasion of personal space, but hey, that’s my thing. For Bob’s sake, if I don’t know you, don’t touch me, let alone put your hand over my face. I saw an interview with people on the streets about this (hello? Isn’t there a war going on somewhere?) and the girl said, granted she didn’t want to comment on Clay’s personal hygiene but there are times when guys have been know on certain occasions to – shall we say – not wash their hands after certain activities. Trust me, I’ve gone ballistic at my DH over this very issue. And get your head out of the gutter over there.

Now Rosie jumps in. Ok. First and foremost, everyone is entitled to their opinion. We all see the world a little differently due to our personal life experiences. I guarantee that Rosie has experienced some idiot treating her like she has leprosy simply because she publicly declared her sexual orientation. She is entitled to her reaction. When people who are non-white have faced racism, you have to expect they are looking for it, are sensitive it and will be defensive about it. However, to publicly accuse someone of being homophobic, especially in the manner she did, seems pretty irresponsible to me. Maybe if she worded it differently, like, “hey, those sensitive to gay issues saw it this way, so be careful.” Rosie being Rosie, I really doubt that would happen, but I like to hope people can rise above knee-jerk reactions.

Now Kelly is upset and called in and they spent Bob only knows how long “discussing” it on The View and pretty much made everyone feel uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, Clay, who seems like a half-way decent guy when all this broke, has been labeled as a gay who doesn’t wash his hands. Gee, that seems fair. The guy has made no public statement about his orientation. It really doesn’t matter a whole lot to me personally, but I bet it does to him. If he’s straight, how does it make him feel to have to defend his orientation over and over again? I’ve know a lot of guys that for whatever reason had people wonder if they were gay or not and if they are straight, it’s pretty tough too. If he is gay, well geez, he’s been outted without his consent. If someone hasn’t outted themselves they usually have concerns about how their family and friends will handle the news. And the whole cold/flu/has-he-washed-his-hands thing, good grief. Anybody would be embarrassed about that.

If it was me, I don’t know what I’d be mortified about first. That I made someone I just met uncomfortable? That the person made a face after I’d touched them? That I’m being looked at as disease-carrying vermin? That someone I don’t even know is discussing my sexual orientation?

So thanks Media Gods for making an already awkward situation much, much worse.

I think I’ll watch the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Special as an antidote.

Ho Ho ... (hack) *cough*

And so it begins.

I’ve been fighting this viral thing for a few weeks now and it can’t decide whether it wants to be bronchitis, a hacking chest cold or the sniffles. Last week it had the doctor thinking pneumonia, but thankfully it wasn’t that. All I know is that I’m tired all the time, so bear with me as I try to at least act like I’ve got it together over here.

DH and I went shopping last weekend to look for a new winter coat for me. My day job’s dress code is “business professional” so as much as I’d love to just wear my IU jacket all winter long, I probably shouldn’t. Plus I live in Purdue Boilermaker country, so that might make life just a little too interesting for me right now.

I used to love shopping. Now I’m in a stage where nothing fits and I get really frustrated with the whole experience. Let’s just say the coat shopping was a wash. 150 stores and only one coat fit. And it was too casual and probably not warm enough.

To the day’s credit, it was unseasonably warm and reached the 70s. This would normally be cause for great celebration, especially since it did not rain as forecasted. The bad thing was that all the stores had to fling the doors wide open because it was 100 degrees inside. Nothing like a little heat stroke while trying on winter coats.

And then there was the music. Christmas carols were played at full volume. I know they bring out the Christmas stuff earlier every year. I know it’s November and I really should not have been surprised. I mean, Thanksgiving is only a week and a half away. Still, nothing irks me more than Christmas music when I’m no where near being ready to even contemplate the holidays.

So we have Christmas music, unseasonably warm weather, sucky winter coat shopping, and furnaces going full blast in the stores. Grrrr. It was almost enough for me to start saying, “Bah. Humbug.”

What I probably should have done was gone to Cheeseburger in Paradise last. Cheeseburger in Paradise is a restaurant chain by none other than Jimmy Buffet himself. Kind of a family-friendly version of Margaritaville. For whatever reason, he decided Indianapolis needed one, and I won’t argue the point. Of course, there are a lot of Parrotheads in the area. Anyway, it’s fun and you actually feel like you’ve gotten away for a bit, or at least I do. And I hear the drinks are awesome (I’m still on my meds so no margaritas for me). Someday I will have a couple of those beach chairs they have in the lobby in my yard.

Livin’ on sponge cake …

Rosalie, I gotta littLe virus Part 2

Well, crap.

I HATE being sick. DH and I have been planning this little daytime trip on Friday for weeks now and I'm sick. Not just "gee, I feel a little tired and under the weather." Oh no. I even went to the doctor, who in turn said, "You've got a viral something-or-other."

Without TMI, I've basically felt like crud for the past four weeks. And it's not even the same thing the entire time. Yeah, nothing like variety when you're trying to tell the doc you're sick.

So I've mainly had this cough. I get chronic bronchitis, so I thought no big deal. I'll just get told to rest and get a good decongestant. Wrong.

Instead, I get chest x-rays (something new for me) and a two day wait to find out if I've got pneumonia or not. Meanwhile I hope and pray my boss at my real job believes I am really sick and doesn't sack my sorry behind. So far, so good on that front. And no, I swear I am not faking it. It's just a major fear of mine that people don't believe me when I am.

The doc prescribed this cough medicine that I swear comes in a Super Big Gulp cup. The first thing I asked the pharmacist was if it was a "take until gone" or "take as needed" because the bottle was just that big. Thankfully, it's a "take as needed" which will probably come in handy since I get the coughing thing at least twice a year.

I don't know exactly what is in this stuff, but me-oh-my I couldn't remember my home phone number the next day. And I was trying to tell it to my boss in case anything came up. I tried to read and I'd fall asleep every hundred words or so.

Well, here we are two days later, still coughing and no x-ray results yet. I've missed a week of work, a week of writing, and DH tells me this morning he isn't feeling so good. He's now coughing and has a sore throat.

Sigh. I think my shopping trip may have to be postponed.

Audience Participation and Jeff Dunham

First, a reminder to please check out the two versions of the opening scene I posted the other day. It's listed under Audience Participation. I really do appreciate feedback and thanks to those of you who already have!

I watched a comedy DVD the other day that I just had to pass along. Jeff Dunham's stand-up special has been on Comedy Central lately and I just found the DVD in my local video store. I've been a fan of his for years. It is by far one of the best comedy videos I've rented lately. Jeff's routine is broken up by the different puppets he uses: Walter, Sweet Daddy, Jose and Peanut. If you've not seen Jeff, don't be put off by the puppets. He comes off as this really nice, unassuming guy who has these truly wacked out puppets. Really, really funny stuff.

His site is: www.onastick.com

Favorite Quote (or maybe paraphrase - we're going from my memory here): Walter: (My wife) hopped on her menstrual cycle and ran my ass over.

Check him out.

It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown

Happy Halloween, everybody.

In my humble opinion, it sure ain't what it used to be.

One of my favorite comedians is Heywood Banks of Bob and Tom fame. He has a Halloween song that about sums it all up: it's hard to be scary at four in the afternoon. We've watered down a holiday in the fear that someone will be offended. Now granted, this is a celebration of the icky, the spooky and the dead, but it doesn't have to be.

I just read an article about how it is mathematically impossible for vampires to be real. Okaay. Kinda sad when we have to be told this, isn't it? You'd think that after all these years, someone would have found proof somewhere about vampires, werewolves, monsters, etc. It is FICTION. Granted, it is fun fiction. I am huge Buffy/Angel, Charmed, and Supernatural fan. Not a big horror movie fan though. More like spooky-lite. I know that is probably a cop out to the die-hard fans out there, but that's where my comfort level is.

Back to Halloween. Schools can't have Halloween parties anymore. Parents have the check out the candy before the kids eat it. Some places offer free x-rays for the candy. Some people look at you like you are a Satan worshipper if you even talk about Halloween. You can't adopt a black cat around Halloween. Those things are even scarier to me than the day itself. Sad, sad, sad.

Sometimes I think the best way to remove the negativity from something is to make it into something so ridiculous that it becomes trivial. Costumes aren't just about monsters, ghosts and witches. There isn't anything really scary about a ballerina or a cowboy or a pretty princess. We buy costumes for our pet's now, for pete's sake. Trust me, my dog is none to happy about that particular development but I can't seem to help myself.

I love dressing up. A pirate, an 80's flashback, a gypsy - all big favorites of mine. I had a friend in high school whose birthday was around Halloween and every year she threw a big costume party. Puns and wacky costumes were always the biggest hits. My father is threatening to dress up like a Chick Magnet - a black sweatsuit covered with little rubber chicks. Gee, great Dad. My father the Chick Magnet. Remind me to stand over here ...

Now I also do believe there is genuine evil in the world, but I hardly think that handing out candy to a bunch of kids dressed as M&Ms is going to be the end of the world as we know it. Take back the night and put the scary stuff back where it belongs - in the stuff of stories and urban legends. Line up the angels and superheroes next to the villians and see who outnumbers who.

Every once in a while I think we need the darkness to see the light.

Have a safe and Happy Halloween!

Audience Participation - Opening Scene

I'm looking for a little help here. I have two versions of an opening scene, but I've been knee deep in them for so long, I've lost my perspective. If you are so inclined, give these a read and tell me which one works better for you.

This is the opening scene for a historical romance set in approximately 1890 in New England.

Thanks for your help!

Version I
Sixteen year-old Bethany Spencer’s world just tilted on its axis.

She could not catch her breath. She felt dizzy, off balance. She floated several inches above the ground. Birds were singing. The sun was shining. In fact, Bethany would not have been surprised if a choir of heavenly hosts began to sing. Not a single rational thought existed in her muddled brain.

Her first kiss was everything she ever dreamed of and more. Of course, in the hands of Tyler St. James, there was no doubt in her mind it would be anything less than wonderful.

She finished her morning ride and stopped at the pond that bordered the lands between her home and Tyler’s. As she stood along the railing in the gazebo that overlooked the water, Tyler appeared. This in itself was not that uncommon as the gazebo was shared by both their families and she and Tyler frequently met here when they rode together, although not as much of late. With the young ladies of town falling under the spell of dark hair and mesmerizing green eyes, Tyler and his twin brother Derrick were well on their way to becoming an out and out scoundrels. Lately Tyler spent most of his time chasing one skirt or another while ignoring the skirt of the girl had known nearly his entire life. That is, until this very moment.

It was several moments after he set her back on her feet that her senses returned. She blinked her adoring eyes several times up at his, finally focusing on the rather smug look on his handsome face.

“Surprised you, didn’t I?” he said, extraordinarily full of himself.

She barely trusted herself to speak, so she kept her words simple. “Why?”

“Why did I kiss you? I don’t know, really. It just seemed like the thing to do.”

He just kissed her and he didn’t know why. Some of her elation began to dissipate. Not that she expected a declaration of undying love or anything, but something would have been nice.

“Like the thing to do?” she repeated.

“Yes. It is a wonderful day. A wonderful day and I’ve received wonderful news.” He was in constant motion around her, unable to constrain his enthusiasm.

“What good news?” she asked, suddenly wary.

“You may be the first to congratulate me, Beth. I am officially engaged to be married.”

She stilled. Her breath lodged itself within her throat and there seemed to be a rather real pain in her heart from the metaphorical knife stabbing her there.

“Married,” she managed to croak. This was not news she expected to hear. After all, she rather planned to marry him herself, eventually. Of course, he did not seem to know this.

“Yes! I am engaged to the most beautiful girl in all the world.”

Lovely. The knife in her heart began to twist. “Who … who is the lucky lady?”

“Miss Julia Dobbs.”

And the knife stabbed home for the killing blow.

“Julia Dobbs. Blond haired, blue-eyed Julia Dobbs?” Viper-tongued, evil eyed, don’t-trust-her-as-far-as-you-can-throw-her Julia Dobbs? She began to see him in shades of red. And scarlett. And crimson.

His grin went ear to ear. “That’s the one.”

To her utter amazement, her voice showed no reflection of the upheaval she felt erupting inside. “So, you asked her to marry you, she accepted, and you celebrate by giving me a kiss.”

Something in her tone pierced through his euphoric haze. He sat upon the railing, pushing his dark hair away from his eyes as he had let it grow unfashionably long. Again. “You are happy for me, aren’t you, Beth?”

“Words cannot describe it. I can think of only one thing that could possibly top my day.”

He smiled. “What is that?” he asked.

She marched right up to him and swung her fist, connecting solidly with his nose, exactly how he taught her. He fell backwards over the railing and into the flowerbed.

She then promptly yanked her skirts out of the way, turned on her heel, and marched back to her house. All in all, she thought she showed admirable restraint considering he just ruined her first kiss.

And their lifelong friendship pretty much went to hell in a handbasket after that.

******************************************************

Version II

Sixteen year-old Bethany Spencer’s world just tilted on its axis.

She could not catch her breath. She felt dizzy, off balance. Not a single rational thought existed in her muddled brain.

Her throbbing hand finally gathered her attention, as did the colorful bout of swearing coming from the other side of the gazebo railing, most likely from bushes. She shook her hand in the air, hoping the tingling would stop soon. Apparently today was going to be marked as a series of firsts for her. It was the first time she had been kissed. It was also the first time she ever hit someone in the nose.

Her first kiss was everything she ever dreamed of and more. Of course, in the hands of Tyler St. James, there was little doubt in her mind it would be nothing short of wonderful. She was still undecided on the hitting part.

Tyler was a scoundrel, as was his twin brother Derrick. That particular fact never bothered her until now.

“What the devil has gotten into you?” she heard Tyler demand from somewhere within the bushes.

Honestly, she could not say. All her life she strived to be the perfect daughter, the perfect image of respectability. However, when your hell-raising neighbors nickname you “Perfect” and torment you constantly, it gets to be somewhat tiresome. At some point, something would have to give.

She did not plan to fall in love with Tyler. It just happened. He was perfect (well, except for the scoundrel part) and completely the opposite of his annoying brother Derrick. She refused to do anything that let Tyler know her feelings, of course. She rather hoped that one day he would figure it out for himself, he would shed his scandalous ways, and they would marry, living in perfect harmony.

Then he went and ruined it all by announcing he was going to marry. And not just anyone either. He was going to marry Julia Dobbs, the bane of her existence.

“Bethany! Blast it, I think you broke my nose!”

Unbeknownst to either of their fathers, Bethany blackmailed Tyler into some less than proper lessons. He taught her how to shoot a pistol and how to throw a knife. She was an excellent horsewoman and rode nearly as well as he did. He even taught her how to defend herself in case she would ever be accosted. As if that would ever happen in their sleepy little town of Fairlane. It was all a part of her plan for him to fall in love with her.

What he didn’t realize was that she was studying him for more than lessons. She watched him flirt and cajole his way through the female population of Fairlane. She learned all the tells of a scoundrel in the making and committed them to memory. She knew if he preferred blondes or brunettes (blondes). She knew his favorite color (blue). She even knew the name of each and every girl he ever kissed (too many to mention – the cad!). Still it came as a complete surprise when he strode up to her this afternoon, pulling her into his arms, and kissed her.

And then told her he was getting married. To her.

She stepped right up to him and swung her fist, connecting solidly with his nose, exactly how he taught her. He fell backwards over the railing and into the flowerbed.

In fact, he was still sitting in the flower bed holding his nose. She felt a moment’s remorse for hitting him, but then she remembered why she had done so.

The scoundrel.

She yanked her skirts out of the way, turned on her heel, and marched back to her house. All in all, she thought she showed admirable restraint considering he just ruined her first kiss.

And their friendship pretty much went to hell in a handbasket after that.

Coming attractions and Audience Participation

You know, this blog is supposed to be kickstarting my manuscript, so I think it is time that I commit myself (no, not that way, sheesh) to putting something out here for people to actually read that isn't about my venting about the injustices in life.

On the He Wrote/She Wrote blog, there is a lot of discussion about prologues, flashbacks, their purpose and/or necessity. In my manuscript, I have a single event that has a profound effect on the heroine's life, but I don't want to get bogged down in backstory when I could hit the ground running. I've written three different versions of the opening already, so this is where I am going to ask for feedback.

So hopefully in the next few days, I will post the different openings and with any luck the crickets won't scare anybody away. Let me know which one works for you and makes you want to read more.

Whew. There's no turning back now.

*** Warning! Venting in Progress - Again

Adventures in Parent Teacher Conferences

Ugh. Today is DSS’s first parent teacher conference of the year. Conferences, historically speaking, have never been dull. DH and I dated for four years before we finally tied the knot (two years of it was in planning the big day – another long story).

The first conference I was “eligible” to attend as a brand spanking new step-mom pretty much set the tone for the following years. Prior to the wedding we were informed that I was not welcome at parent teacher conferences as DSS was not my kid and I meant nothing to him. All righty then. As became her habit, DH’s ex did not inform us of the date or time and we had to contact the school. It wound up being two days away. DH needed more notice than that at work, so I got to go solo. And sit next to the ex. Yay me.

I arrive and wait. And wait. And wait. No ex. The teacher and I began without her. Come to find out, DSS did not attend school that day. Hmm. Interesting. What was fun was telling the ex that the new wife went to the conference and oh, by the way, hope what you were doing was important because there are serious matters we parents need to discuss. It turns out she let the kids play hooky and went to a big arts and crafts fair near here. Now, to her credit, DH’s ex has not missed a conference since, but she hasn’t exactly made it her highest priority to let us know when it is either. And that is a big no-no in the guidelines.

Ok. I’m back from the dreaded conference.

First and most importantly, DSS is doing fantastic over what he did last year (Fourth grade this year is a repeat). He is making all As, Bs and Cs. No Ds or Fs. That makes me very happy for him.

DH’s ex REALLY needs for her karma to kick in right about now. I had to peel DH off the ceiling so he didn’t say anything rash at the conference. With a sister who is a teacher, I have great sympathy for teachers this time of year. It is not their fault people are idiots.

First, to her credit, the ex actually arrived on time. Brought the latest boyfriend too (please see afore mentioned comment about my being “eligible” to attend a conference). Ok, maybe they were going somewhere afterwards. This guy seems like a decent guy so far. DSS tells us that he didn’t turn in his football equipment last night after DH spoke to the ex and she said she would take it over. This is the last week of football. DSS has not gone for the past week and a half due to homework, missed alarm clocks and general indifference. Explaining responsibility and how the team counts on each member is currently falling on deaf ears. We’ve been getting calls from the coach saying that if DSS isn’t going to play, he needs to turn in the equipment. Fine. Thought we had that taken care of. When asked why it wasn’t turned in, DSS said that he wasn’t allowed to ride his bike (hell-oo, the school is across a major highway) and his mom didn’t feel like going out.

Aaaurrrgh!

Then the conference is about to start and we have to sit nicely and act like we’re not going to lunge across the table and strangle the ex. Ok. Deep breaths. We can handle this.

Bottom line is, DSS is doing very well this year, but he still needs a lot of help to catch up to the others. The ex does her little “concerned mom show” that she pulls out every year where she says all the right things then never follows up with them. Believe me, she has it down pat. That’s how she gets away with as much as she does.

Then the boyfriend starts interjecting his two cents. Oh boy. Apparently he’s going to work with DSS on the weekends (um, the teacher just said she tries to not give homework on the weekends, plus we’ve had him EVERY weekend lately) and monitor his habits more closely. Excuse me, BUT THAT’S WHAT HIS MOTHER IS SUPPOSED TO BE DOING.

This guy has been in the kid’s life for not even two months. Granted, he seems like a nice guy and treats DSS pretty well so far. The ex is not exactly queen of the long-term commitment. She has three kids by three different guys. She’s had more sleepover buddies in the past two years than the number of students in my senior class. Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath to see if this guy works out through the holidays, let alone the school year.

I just wish these guys would quit making promises to DSS that DH and I know will be broken. Every time she breaks up with a guy, DSS loses someone he’s tried to bond with. And it’s heartbreaking.

Anyway, after about seven minutes, the ex is in an all fired hurry to get to the youngest son’s conference. They leave and now DH and I have what we’ve come to call Part 2 of the conference, where we have a more heart-to-heart with the teacher and we discuss possible plans to work with what we’ve got – namely an absent primary caregiver and a kid who needs help. That part went well too. The teacher is really on the ball and pretty quick to discover the difference between what is said and what is meant.

One more thing. I also wish the ex would show half as much attention to DSS as she does the other two kids. She bends over backwards to attend their sporting events, school programs, etc., but when it comes to DSS, her attitude is “well, his dad will do it.” In the past soccer and football seasons combined, she made it to two games. Together.

And that’s why I almost had to peel DH off the ceiling this afternoon. Obviously there was a reason he missed the psycho sign on her forehead when he married the ex, because DSS is a great kid. I just wish we were at a place where we could do more about it.

Hey, Rosalie. I think I gotta little virus.

(from I Love You To Death)

Actually not a virus, but was miserable just the same.

Every once in a while my body decides to take a little siesta, complete with Montezuma’s Revenge for whatever reason. Apparently too much stress, too little sleep and an extremely sensitive stomach was reason enough this time. Plus throw in Mother Nature’s way of saying, “Hey, you’re not PG,” and I was down for the count. I know, TMI, but I swear it’s like getting the stomach flu every month with every worst symptom. Yay me.

While I was in a moping contest yesterday with the dog for “Who is More Pathetic,” I finished reading Janet Evanovich’s “How I Write.” Excellent book, and not just for Plum maniacs such as myself who want to know every since detail of what went into writing the series of Stephanie Plum mysteries. In the back is an excellent section of resources for writers, including organizations, books and websites. As soon as I am fit to go out in public, I’m going to comb my local library to see what they’ve got from Janet's lists.

Over the weekend, my husband and I rented some movies, none of which were particularly noteworthy with the possible exception of “The Sentinel” with Michael Douglas and Kiefer Sutherland. I liked it and was pleasantly surprised. Our other selections were kinda “out there” and included “Larry the Cable Guy in Health Inspector” (DH's pick. I cannot believe someone let my stepson watch it and it wasn’t at our house), “UltraViolet” (loved the cinematography and choreography but fell asleep due to the plot) and a documentary on the Boston comedy club scene from the eighties (love Stephen Wright, but it turns out I wanted straight up comedy, not a documentary about it).

Speaking of, my favorite Stephen Wright line is, “I spilled spot remover on my dog and he disappeared.”

Followed by my next favorite, “I’m in love with my dental hygienist. I eat a box of Oreos an hour before my appointment.”

(These are paraphrased because I don’t have my source handy and the man is just too funny not to share.)

Now if you will excuse me, I need to try and suck down some more 7-Up. Cheers.

Accountability & Responsibility

Mel Gibson was recently quoted as saying that apologizing for his drunken behavior and subsequent arrest was "getting old."

Here are my two cents. I am not an advocate for flogging a person their entire life for a mistake, but I am one for accountability and responsibility. That's part of being an adult.

For those of you who know me, here comes my favorite soapbox: There are consequences to one's actions. Some are more life altering than others. The adult part is where one acknowledges that fact. Sometimes a trust is shattered, or at least seriously dented. Sometimes it changes you as a person and how others perceive you. Permanently.

I know someone who may have committed adultery. By this I mean, there was a definite relationship but whether or not it was consummated is up for debate. There were letters indicating intent. Whatever. The fact remains that a relationship existed with full knowledge that it was wrong and damaging to a marriage and a family. And the person grouses that it keeps being thrown in his/her face.

Deal with it. No one held a gun to your head and made you make the choices that lead to your downfall. If the fact that everyone now sees you as adulterer, that is your consequence, your cross to bear.

And dear, dear Mel: I know you are an alcoholic. That does not change the fact that you did something that hurt people. Maybe your test in humility is to keep being humbled, to keep apologizing. For the people who didn't hear you the first time, keep apologizing until they get it.

Because just maybe, if you don't, you were not humbled enough. Heaven only knows, there are few enough saints in this world. But we are supposed to emulate them, be guided by them, and be inspired by what a mere mortal can do.

Just my two cents worth.

Janet and Alex Rules!

DH and I took a long weekend and visited my parents and (wink, wink) Janet Evanovich just happened to have a book signing in Nashville Monday night. Not only was I able to be among the first fifteen fans in line, but I got to meet Alex too.

Can you tell I'm trying to restrain myself here? Because what I really want to say is, "OHMYGOD I GOT TO MEET JANET AND THAT WAS SOOOO COOL AND ALEX WAS FREAKIN' AMAZING TO MEET TOO AND JANET SIGNED MY LIKE FAVORITE BOOK AND OHMYGOD IT WAS LIKE FAN-TASTIC!"

But, no, I'm restraining myself.

Seriously, this was a major deal for me. I am an absolute Plum Crazy fan and harass Alex on the Q&A all the time. I was afraid if I told Alex who I was she'd call security. That and there were tons of people in line and I didn't want to be a pig. Well, any more of a pig than I already was.

As for the DH and DSS portion of the weekend, we were lucky enough to be in town for the Orange County Choppers 2006 tour. For those of you who don't know, OCC is the motorcycle garage on American Choppers on the Discovery Channel with Paul Sr, Paulie, Mickey, Vinnie, Rick, Cody, Christian, Jason, and the rest of the gang. I'm not a true motorcycle person, but I can truly appreciate the beauty of these bikes. They brought twelve of their choppers with them for the fans to see and the level of detail was just insane. The television just doesn't do them justice. It was a great show, and family-oriented which was nice, especially considering I had no idea what to expect. I was accidentally in Sturgis at the beginning of the big rally up there one year. At first I wasn't intimidated, but then I saw part of the pay-per-view special from after I left ... and you can probably kinda guess the reasons for my hesitation from there. There are hard-core bikers and then there are great families who have bikes.

And Mikey ... that guy just cracks me up. I'd consider myself a serious groupie, but well, I'm married and that seriously cuts down on my lusting after the funny guy. Gotta love Mikey though.

So now we are back in Indiana and it just started to snow. Flurries, really, but still. Ugh. I wanna go back already.

Village Idiot

Hi there. Obviously, I'm the village idiot today, maybe even longer.

Apparently you have to set things up a certain way on Blogger to not only allow people to comment, but to be able to read the comments people make. I wasn't ignoring anyone, really. So thank you ZaZa and Robin S for commenting.

So now the pressure is on. Kinda like singing in your car. On the one hand, you have this thought that hey, this is awesome. Everyone should see this. But in reality, someone is probably watching me make an ass of myself. Which, really isn't a bad way to go. The making people laugh part, that is.

And now in my infinite wisdom, I decided to merge Blogger to Beta and I think I've given myself another identity. Yup, I've lost myself.
I knew I called it Blogger/Flogger/Frappr/Crappr for a reason.

Sheesh

Hi there. I'm an idiot. Or at least a blogger idiot. I don't even know how to run my own site. Sheesh.

I've been typing away, trying from time to time to say something that at least sounds witty. And yet, I was stumped why no one ever commented on the posts.

Not that I was saying anything earth-shattering. Or even necessarily comment-worthy. I was just expecting a "howdy" somewhere.

When I first put this blog up, I was instantly spammed. That or that guy REALLY wanted me to look at his furniture site. So I made a few adjustments.

Sigh. You know it's hard to invite people in if you forget to leave the doors or even windows open.

Sorry folks. Hopefully a few of you will drop a note to let me know I fixed it.

Six Feet Under

(Or probably less.)

Sad news. My stepson’s hamster Max (aka Vlad) passed away yesterday. He was three, so he pretty much lived life to the fullest. I never had a hamster before so it was fun until the end. The poor little guy’s hair started falling out and he wasn’t moving around so well.

Hamsters are usually nocturnal so I really didn’t notice anything wrong until about two weeks ago. Once I did, I started doing research on the web about hamster health. Word to the wise, researching medical conditions on the web never turns out well. You either think you’ve got the plague or feel like Mommy Dearest. I feel like the latter, although if I remember correctly the plague was carried by rodents, so I may still have a shot at that.

We switched bedding, and shortly after I noticed Max having problems. According to the net, some pine bedding carries toxins hazardous to hamsters. My thinking is why would you label it for small animals if it could potentially harm them? Next, I think the poor little guy had a stroke. That was a possibility that never occurred to me. I mean, he’s a mammal. Of course he could have a stroke. I just never dreamed he would. I have close relatives that have had strokes. They were in the ICU for days and weeks of recuperation are involved. Next was the hair loss thing. I don’t know if he had mites or it was due to the stroke or maybe he stopped eating. It was hard to tell. He was a dwarf hamster and he really didn’t eat much anyway. What he took out of his food bowl, he usually hid.

The worst thing was that every condition I looked up indicated I should rush the little guy to the vet right away. Yes, that was my gut reaction at first, but then kept thinking of these stand-up bits on TV about hamsters being disposable pets. I mean, this is an animal kids foist off on one another at camp because the population keeps increasing. I kept having visions of Max hooked up to tiny IV units in a tiny little ICU unit, followed by an astronomical bill from the vet that would cover my next three car payments.

Now don’t everybody get all up in arms about Max suffering. We did our best to keep him warm and I helped him drink from the water bottle a few times a day. It is my sincerest hope that he didn’t suffer. And it’s not like I was going to flush him down the toilet like the guppies. He will have a proper burial in the back yard and we will have comforting thoughts of Max in hamster heaven, running on his wheel, playing in the bedding, and hiding his treasures to his hearts content.

Even his roommate Tiger, aka Jabba the Guinea Pig, seems sad. While they were in separate cages, they shared the room with my stepson when he was at our house. Tiger isn’t normally the cuddly type, but this week he wants to be petted every day. The dog is acting the same way. Of course there are times when I’m not certain who is comforting who.

I don’t know what I’d do without pets in the house, even at sad times like this.

Happy Dance

I just realized that I will be heading for Tennessee for a visit with the folks and the Janet Evanovich book signing in little more than a week. I am doing the Snoopy Happy Dance.

I’ve been rereading my Plum novels the past few weeks. Ranger is fun, but I’m definitely a Cupcake. Funny thing is, when I tried my hand at Plum fiction about a year ago, I ended up with Ranger. Actually, his brother, but still. Go figure.

With any luck, I will be able to keep from making a complete cake of myself at the signing. Janet’s daughter Alex runs the web site and I’m just as much a fan of hers as I am Janet’s. The site is a lot of fun, (http://www.evanovich.com), with photos of reader pets, Ask Alex, games, trivia, etc.

Yay!

Happy! Happy! Joy! Joy!

(Ren and Stimpy)

Ok, time to get the funk out.

5 Tips for feeling better

1. Go for a walk outside. Unless it's raining cats and dogs like it is here.
2. Take some one-on-one time with your pet. Pets are known stress reducers. Unless it's a guinea pig. If you get peed on, it's your own fault. You've been warned. I usually toss mine a toilet paper roll (the cardboard center) and he chirps happily for hours. Best of all, I don't get peed on in the process.
3. Talk to someone you care about.
4. Watch a funny movie, read a funny book, or pick up today's comics in the paper. Laughter is a great stress buster. One of my favs is Close to Home (the comic strip).
5. Decide you want to feel better. I know, I know. It isn’t always that easy. But every once in a while I tell myself to knock it off. If I want to feel better, then go do something that makes me feel better. And it works.

Seriously though folks, if you’ve been down and blue for some time now, look up a therapist. I did several years ago and simply talking to someone who won’t judge you does a lot of good. I didn’t have the worst problems in the entire world. I don’t even have the worst problems in my own family. We even got to the point where my therapist and I would just sit there and I would say, “I think I’m OK now.” And she told me, “I think I’m wasting your money at this point. How about if you need me again, call me. I’ll be here.” Very cool.

I’ve been it that dark room before, checking to see if my life insurance would cover my current debts. The thing that woke me up to the fact that there was a problem was the day a question popped in my head: Are you afraid someone will stop you? Or that they won’t?

If I want to matter to someone, I also need to do something to deserve it. Make a difference in someone’s life, whether it be a child, a shut in, or someone’s grandparents whose kids live far away. The last time I checked, the Lone Ranger hasn’t ridden into town lately, so this is something you’ve got to do yourself. Make something happen. No matter how small.

And if you’ve thought about hurting yourself, wanted to sleep forever, or thought no one would miss you if you’re gone, CALL SOMEONE TODAY. Call a hot-line, a crisis center, someone in your church – it doesn’t matter who, but call someone who can hold your hand and show you the door you need to go through.

Some goes for if you know someone who is in trouble.


Here are a few numbers.

National Hopeline Network Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-SUICIDE (1-800-784-2433).

Boys Town Suicide and Crisis Line: 800-448-3000

Covenant House: 800-999-9999


And if you have other needs, check out this website for more hotline numbers:

http://www.allaboutcounseling.com/crisis_hotlines.htm

Soylent Green Is People

I seem to be bringing out the big guns today, people. I'm stressed. Majorly stressed. Just name the main biggies that cause stress and I'm there.

I pulled a muscle in my shoulder and for a moment I thought, "Is that a shooting pain down my arm?" I'm the first to admit I'm in lousy physical shape: seriously overweight, diabetic, high blood pressure, prone to an occasional anxiety fit, and my foot hurts. Little wonder I think I could be on track for a heart attack in my 30s.

DH is stressed too. The bad thing is, usually I don't find out how much he's churned up inside until he's sick from it. He doesn't want to worry me. The bad thing is I do the exact same thing. No wonder we are both going gray.

I hate stress.

One of the things I due to combat it is use humor. Sometimes I crave it like a drug. I'll watch "Whose Line is it Anyway?" for hours. I've been spending a whole lot of time on the He Wrote/She Wrote Blog, looking for that *snort* that I love. I'll pull out old comic books, a light romantic comedy, my Stephanie Plum novels any thing to help get me through.

I've been typing "Ohm" a lot. Sometimes I write it tongue in cheek, but usually it is more of a tip of the hat because I really think meditation works. I was raised catholic. Prayer and meditation, no matter how you do it, can help reduce stress and put you in a more relaxed state of mind. That and I like the sound of it.

Oooohmmmm. See? I feel a little better already.

Hell called. They want their spawn back.

Hey, everybody! Wanna see the scorecard for my DSS's mom for the week? I knew you would!

(and it’s Wednesday):

DSS’s Mom:

• Forgot to wake him up in time for Saturday’s football practice
• Did not attend or call about DSS’s soccer game Saturday afternoon
• Missed over half of DSS’s football game on Sunday
• Gushed over new boyfriend instead of talking to DSS about his game afterwards
• Was “busy” after DSS’s football game and wanted DSS to stay an extra night with us on her weekend
• Was not awake Monday morning when I dropped him off for school and DSS and I waited in the rain for 30 minutes until we managed to wake her up.
• Had a “sleep-over buddy” Monday morning as evidenced by his vehicle in her driveway, parked in front of her vehicle
• Neglected to relay message that doctor appointment we were taking DSS to had been cancelled on Tuesday
• Is a boil on the butt of humanity and to moms everywhere

DSS: dear/darling step-son

DH: dear/darling husband

SOS: spawn of satan

Oh, and by the way, yes I tend to get snarky and sarcastic when seriously annoyed.

Deep breath. Ohm. Much better now, thank you.

Of the Godfather and Red Dresses at Funerals

(Red dress at funeral: Moonstruck)

Well, I’ve just been hit with a hum-dinger. A person in my professional life (the money- making one) just quit. I work in the financial industry, so it seems whenever this happens, it’s as if that person has died. Or, more accurately, that person is dead to my department. Really, this is the second time I’ve observed this and it seems more and more like the Godfather movie.

I have really mixed feelings about this. First, the guy who left was my “problem child,” a real Last-Minute Charlie. Everything had to be done either right away or yesterday. Drove me nucking futz. On the other hand, he was six months younger than me, had his decent moments, and actually had a sense of humor. He was seriously delinquent on the donut runs though. I don’t know. I feel torn between doing a Snoopy happy dance and treating like the death in the family I know it is. Of course the red dress at the funeral is still up for grabs. You just never know how things will shake down in my head.

Hello, my name is Indigo Montoya ...

From the Princess Bride.

Love the movie. My sisters and I all have a copy on DVD and it is one of our "sick movies," as in we pull it out when we are sick and need a pick me up.

The LaPorte County Library was awesome while I was growing up. It had great movies and a great CD collection. (Of course, the books were great too.) That's where I first discovered The Princess Bride. I think we rented it a kazillion times before we broke down and bought it.

When our tape died (yes, it was pre-DVD), I went on a quest of sorts to find a replacement. No one had it in stock. Fewer people knew what it was. I wound up in South Bend at Media Play (about and hour away) and asked the video guy if he had it in stock. Nope. I asked if I could order it. He brought up the catalog to check. He looked at me and told me it sounded familiar and gave me a few plot points. Eureka! Someone else knew it! A co-worker came up and asked what movie we were looking for. Turns out he knew it too. Before I knew it, the two of them are acting out the poison scene with "it's one of the classic blunders" and "ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Ha ha-- (thunk)". The two of them were laughing uproariously (it was pretty funny) and having a grand ol' time with it. One said, "That was a great movie!" The other looked back at the catalog and said, "Oh man. It's out of print." I left the store feeling like I'd just ruined both their days.

No movie, but I did get a floor show.

I hate it when they re-release a movie on DVD several times. I love the behind the scenes stuff as much as the next movie maniac, but come on. Now there is an anniversary edition of the Princess Bride that I am going to have to buy - it has extras the original doesn't. And don't get me started on the Star Wars re-re-releases. There is another ALREADY SCHEDULED for all six episodes. How many times can you kick a dead horse? I've heard of a movie making one's career, but sheesh. George Lucas, I love ya, but even I am thinking it's time to put it to bed.

*spit take*

A spit take is something so funny or unexpected that it causes you to spit out whatever beverage you have in your mouth in a fine mist. It is similar to shooting shooting said beverage out your nose.

My DSS (dear step son) doesn't care for school. But when his tutor calls and leaves the message, "He has a school project due this week, and his homework seems to get done when he's at your house," what do you do?

Yes, I spent the weekend trying to figure out a 4th grade science project. It was on the human brain. I'm not sure, but I think I ended up donating mine at the end there.

Seriously, I have got to learn the fast and easy route. We used foam, some plaster wrap that looked like we should be setting broken limbs, paint, twist ties, water, heavy duty wire, pipe cleaners, and a doll stand. It took ALL WEEKEND.

On the positive side, he told me (as DH was snoozing for four hours while we trudged our way through this project) that this was the best school project ever. Maybe he wanted to do a mini-brain for fun. Or donate his to the classroom as an example. Or -- and this is my favorite -- construct a skull to go around the brain, complete with blood and guts. I don't even want to know what he wants to use for blood and guts.

Well, gee. As long as he learned something.

Thankfully I have a few years before he can take Biology and wants to dissect frogs.

Creatures of the Night

And Non-Wallbangers

I just finished Danse Macabre by Laurell Hamilton (see http://www.laurellkhamilton.org). This novel defies description. I can’t even put into words what I liked about it because I know it will come out all wrong. The novel sucked me in and would not let me go until I finished the last page. And what a finale. I wasn’t looking for it and suddenly there it was. It is one of those novels I will probably obsess about until I can put some time and distance between it an me.

It was magic. Pure magic. And a keeper. I’m eager to see what Anita and the gang will be up to next.

The difference between this novel and the wallbanger is that one is dark and violent, but the sex scenes are appropriate within the context of the character. There is still a layer of passion beneath. And when someone crosses the line, there is a price to pay. The heroine is strong, but not to the point you question her humanity. She is the Executioner, and yet there is a baby scare and all the too-human emotions that go along with that. I think one of the things I loved best about this novel was that Anita got back a lot of her humanity in learning she could lean on those she has surrounded herself with for strength. You just don’t get to be that strong without a pretty serious support network around you.

I wish I could tell what I love about the dark side. It's not something for me to embrace, although I believe it is out there. You cannot have good without evil. What is that quote from "The Usual Suspects?" The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was to convince people he didn't exist (or something to that effect). There is a story that I keep mulling around in my head. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't influenced in some way by Buffy, Charmed and Anita Blake. It's about a group of supernaturals: a witch, a shape shifter, a psychic, a vampire and an angel. Kinda like a dark Justice League. Together they navigate the pitfalls of the both good and evil, and the overall theme is Redemption.

I spend a lot of time listening to Evanescence's "Fallen." The track called "Tourniquet" gives me a mini-movie into the heroine's quest for redemption. She has fallen, but is compelled to right the wrongs around her. And maybe, just maybe she can even the scales for her soul.

Whoa. That was deep, especially for me. The story is there. I just need to make it happen.

Wallbangers

Wallbangers
As defined at http://www.jennycrusie.com/cherries.php: books that are so bad they cannot merely be discarded but must be thrown against a wall with great force.

I picked up a book from the library the other day (I’m poor. If I like it enough to read again, I’ll buy it.) In the book’s defense, I was (notice the past tense) actually enjoying the book until I got to the first love scene. Now, I am not really a prude, not even a closet prude. I love well-written love scenes. A well-written scene will advance the plot, advance the emotional level of the story and cause you to either grab some chocolate or your sweetie.

Unfortunately, I read this one over breakfast and all I could think was, “What were you thinking?” Did not start the day on a good note, let me tell you.

The scene not only struck me as wholly unromantic, but smacked of rape. These are alpha males we are talking about, but the hero is never alpha to the point that he becomes a villain. As of that scene, he is no longer the noble protector that would do anything for his lady love. Because now in my head, he just did the unthinkable.

The heroine said no, several times in fact. She fought and did everything she should have to make him stop and he didn’t. And at the end of the act she thought she might be in love with him.

Aack.

Violence and rape is a real hot button with me. I saw The Accused when I was in college, and it emotionally scarred me. It gave me nightmares for years. It was an excellent movie, but not one I will ever watch again. If there is a scene on TV or in a movie, I have to leave the room. If I don’t, the images are burned in my mind’s eye and I see it over and over again. I watch movies to escape or be entertained, not cause me to look up a therapist.

I bullied my way to the second love scene of the book, but my interest is gone now. The hero is no more a hero. He is well, creepy.

The really sad thing is this was an author I thought I actually liked. It has been a while since I’d read anything of hers and the premise sounded light and romantic.

Since the book has officially banged off my wall, it will be long time before I dare pick up another one of her books, if ever.

The Longest Yard

... is apparently the distance between DSS's practice field and the car.

Yeah, I get it. It's sports. They are good for you. It's football and the kids get to get dirty. Practices are for 90 minutes to 1 hour 3 nights a week, plus 2 hours on Saturday and games on every Sunday.

He's 10.

And soccer season barely started so we're doing that too. Naturally, DH's ex is busy. Right. Like she's any busier that two people working full time. She doesn't work. That said, many people would jump to her defense, saying being a stay-at-home mom is a full time job. True in many cases, just not hers.

You would not believe the hole I just bit in my tongue just now to stop where I did.

Comedian Emo Phillips has a joke I am immensely fond of. It's about his exwife having lessons with the devil on Tuesday nights. And he didn't know what else she could teach him.

Oh, did I just change the subject just then? Hmm ...

Rosebud

(from Citizen Kane)

*** Spoiler Alert. If you’ve never seen Citizen Kane and plan to, stop reading now. ***

Ok, I was at a serious disadvantage by the time I first saw Citizen Kane. My minor in college was Comparative Literature – Film Studies. There had been a song out called, “The Homecoming Queen’s Got a Gun.” Not really a funny title now, but back then it was hilarious. I can’t remember the lady’s name (Judy? Stacey?) who sang it, but my sisters and I knew nearly every word. In the song, she has this conversation at the end, typical high school post-Valley girl speak (when OHMYGOD was one word), and she says, “You know? Like when in Citizen Kane you find out that Rosebud is a ----?” For YEARS my sisters and I thought she said, “slut.” Harsh, but ok. Never thought anything different. So there I am in film class, watching the movie, thinking about the song, and in the last scene we find out that his beloved Rosebud is – get this – a SLED.

WTH?

I am pretty sure that is a direct quote from my brain as I sat there, stupefied. To have your life irrevocably changed by another person is a pretty common theme. But a sled? It took me weeks to get my head around that, which was unfortunate because I am pretty sure there was a quiz later that week.

Years later I found out both of my sisters eventually saw the movie. And we all thought the same thing: WTH?

What does this have to do with my WIP? One person having a profound affect on someone’s life. With our heroine, the hero kisses her once in celebration when they were young, setting in motion a series of events that culminates with a broken engagement and a broken nose. When they meet again years later, she thinks he has ruined her for all other men. No one’s kiss had ever affected her the way his did and by golly, she doesn’t appreciate that one bit.

Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into!

(Sons of the Desert, Laurel & Hardy)

I've had an epiphany. I have been shown a marvelous creation, one filled with unlimited possibilities, treasures to behold.

I have discovered ... EBay. Heaven, help me. Please.

And much to my d's amusement, I've also learned the heartbreak of losing an on-line auction. By a measly 50 cents. The bastard. I guess that's what happens if you go brush your teeth with 3 minutes to go. Sigh.

To be very honest, I was buying a new floppy drive for my new/ancient laptop. I think it's circa 1980. Very large, very heavy. But then I am very poor. I got the laptop for $15 in a garage sale. Come on, folks. For word processing, you can not beat that. And now it will have a new floppy drive. For $7. The auction I lost was for the all-important battery, which did not come with the laptop (come on, it was 15 dollars, people!). When I when to brush my teeth, the bidding for 2 batteries was $7, plus shipping bringing the total to a whopping 15 bucks. Can you blame me for getting a little excited? I was about to have a new laptop for under $50. Since the bargain got away, I am now faced with the prospect of paying $35 for 1 battery, plus shipping. Of course, the laptop is worthless without it ...

By the way, the hinge to the monitor broke on my old one. It's like trying to type on a bobblehead. But I have to say, I've done a lot more work on my MS with it when I stay at work for my lunchhour.

I did about 800 words on the MS yesterday. Not bad considering the DSS had soccer practice and I picked up the Crusie novel I had somehow missed, "Fast Women." LMAO at the smashing icicles scene. DH gave me these odd looks as I would cackle to myself.

BTW, the Millers on America's Got Talent last night? They are from my hometown of Lafayette IN. I have never had a harmonica give me chills before. That kid will go places.

Well, back to the grind ...

How do I write thee? Let me count the @#$! ways ...

Saw Psych for the first time last night. Cracked. Me. Up.

I was down with a migraine most of yesterday. Second time in 7 days. I kept thinking if I didn’t refer to it as a migraine, it wasn’t. As in just an everyday headache. Right. Nausea? Sensitivity to light? Persistent desire to hide in the dark? Girlfriend, that was a migraine. It just really stinks when the meds aren’t working. The one that did, they took off the market. Come on, I really wasn’t using my liver anyway.

Apparently, I get cluster migraines. Cluster is a good word for it, and I don’t mean headaches. Mine are triggered by hormone changes, allergies, moon phases, changes in atmospheric conditions, a different food every time, stress, and breathing. Then they start and stop with no apparent warning for about two weeks' time. I'll be minding my own business, do-be-do-be-do and then WHAM! Dear-God-who-let-the-little-man-with-the-pick-ax-into-my-head Migraine. Now who wants to be me for a day?

I am needing to get back to my manuscript. I’ve been rolling a few ideas around in my head and it’s past time to get them on paper.

Writing style: How do I write? I am a very visual person. I see mini-movies in my head. I see conversations and body language. I see entire scenes. It’s getting them down on paper that’s hard. I have one Work In Progress that is a real mess. It was written as a series of scenes, not in any particular order. A conversation would pop into my head and I would write it down. The task now is to link them all together now under the umbrella of my story. Some really great scenes have absolutely nothing to do with my plot, so off they go into my idea file. I actually have a stack of binders, accordion files and computer disks just full of miscellaneous scenes. Hopefully they will see the light of day – someday.

If I ever get this first one out, I may actually stand a chance of getting several more out pretty quickly. But it's always that first hill that's a doozie ...

Of all the gin joints in all the world ...

I wish. (Paraphrased from Casablanca)

I ended up at a tractor pull the other night.

You know, if anyone had told me that someday I would find myself up until 11:30 PM at a tractor pull, I would have said they were crazy.

Guess I’m the crazy one.

A friend of my DH belongs to the Illinois Tractor Pullers Association (ITPA) and last night we went to Georgetown IL to the county fair (much better than the Champaign IL fair I went to a few weeks ago – my first tractor pull) and watched him compete. He did well, coming in second and going a distance of just over 306 feet.

Now for those of you that don’t know (like me as of three weeks ago), a tractor pull is where a tractor pulls a trailer with a weighted slide on it. The slide begins at the back of the trailer and moves forward as the trailer is pulled. Once it reaches the end of the trailer, the front wheels actually fold up and the tractor is pulling a trailer that is digging itself into the ground. Whoever drives the longest distance wins. It’s all about inertia, velocity, friction and a bunch of other physics terms I never did quite get the hang of.

The tractors are divided up into different classes. The more beginner classes are like Grandpa’s old tractor and gets the kids started. The classes move up by weight, ending up with our friend’s category, the 5800 Modified class, where the tractors look like fire-breathing dragons – indy cars on steroids. The two back tires are enormous tractor tires, taller than me. The front tires look like itty-bitty wagon wheels in comparison, although they would probably fit my husband’s truck easily. And are these tractors LOUD.

I had to laugh though. I was watching one of the earlier classes, one where the tractors look like they were just driven off the farm until you see them pull. Then you wonder how much acreage can be plowed driving 80 miles an hour (I’m exaggerating, but they will MOVE). Obviously these guys don’t use the same tractor to both farm and compete. These are super-suped up tractors. Watching these guys tearing down the strip, throwing gears like there is no tomorrow puts a hilarious image in my head. Farmer Bob revs up his ride and decides to raise a little dust. He opens it up and goes tearing down the pasture, throwing levers to switch gears as he speeds along, with cows, pigs and sheep being tossed up in his wake.

And what did I take home with me from the experience? Remember that scene in Lethal Weapon 2 where Riggs brings down the stilt house with his GMC truck? That just might be a handy talent for a heroine to have. To drive some thing big and bad that creates a lot of destruction. Kinda like Evanovich’s Barney in Motor Mouth, or Stephanie in Ranger’s big 4x4.

My DH said the funniest thing after we tucked in the DSS (Dear Step-Son). He hugged me tight and told me I smelled good. As in fuel and oil and fresh dirt.

Golly, he says the sweetest things.