Snarkling Clean

New Place, Come on Over

2008-01-11T14:01:00.000-08:00

I will now be sharing my inane ramblings at Picnic at Stonehenge. Don't worry- I still have Random Cute Guy days. Stop by!

New Location...

2007-09-04T09:17:00.001-07:00

Hey, gang. Thanks for all the kind comments you left regarding our shutting down this here blog. You are the best. (sniff, sniff, drip, wipe.)

All of you are cordially invited to come visit me over at my new blog, More of A Woman, centrally located and convenient to the interstate at http://moreofawoman.blogspot.com.

Stop by if you get a chance. I promise to always have cookies.

All Good Things...

2007-08-30T19:54:00.000-07:00

…and you know the rest. Two years ago Missie and I decided to start this little snarkfest, but neither of us really realized what we were getting into. We have so enjoyed our experience; getting to know you, each other, and ourselves. But kids and work and generally, life, have intruded to a large degree, and it is becoming tougher to keep up. It is quite possibly because of the narrow focus of this particular blog. Kind of like the friend who tells her new acquaintances how funny you are, and when you meet them she says, “Go on! Be funny!”

Don’t get me wrong. We’ll always love romance, we’ll always dish on good books and bad covers. We’ll always be snarky.

And we won’t leave the blogging world completely. We’ll still visit all your blogs and leave witty, pithy comments that will annoy you greatly because we’ve shown you up, and we may have other blogs in the future.

From Missie: Once again, words fail me. I cannot possibly tell you how much you have all meant to me, so I won't really try. Thank you for stopping by here, reading our sometimes funny, sometimes nonsensical posts, and for allowing me to flood the Net with pictures of my children. You are the sweetest, prettiest, funniest, bestest group of blogfriends that any blogstress has ever had. (That is our totally unbiased opinion, so you can take that to the bank.)

We love keeping up with your lives, so we will be stopping by your blogs as time permits. Robyn has such talent and wit that I am sure we are not hearing the last from her in the Blog world. I will be starting another blog soon (and by soon, I mean sometime before my children put me in the nursing home) that deals with life, motherhood, and weight loss, not neccessarily in that order. We will post the addresses for our new digs here whenever we finally find a place to land.

We love you and will miss you. And the next time you see a really bad cover, think of us...for we will be thinking of you. And mutant babies in leopard suits.

From me: I have been continually amazed at how vibrant, intelligent, interesting, touching, and funny the online world really is. I honestly feel I have friends all over the globe, and wonder if my non-U.S. buddies know what wonderful ambassadors you are. World peace would so much easier if we could all have a laugh over John DeSalvo’s radioactive pants, yo?

You have given me laughter, support, salved my ego and challenged my thinking. You gave me your rapt attention while I was randomly musing, and your love while I was grieving. Thank you. Thank you so much.

We’ll leave this up so you can come by and view the covers in the archives if you need a laugh. For now, though, especially if you’ve never commented, (and we know you’ve lurked, even I don’t visit enough to warrant so many hits) come on in, have a caramel macchiato and a brownie and say goodbye!

Later, dudes!

The Worst of the Worst

2007-08-28T06:33:00.001-07:00

Good Lord above, make sure you can dial 911 if necessary.

Emily's Daughter

Robyn: Now, wait...is she holding a picture of her daughter, or is she pregnant with her daughter? Is she so upset with the hideous dress she got stuck with she tried to rip the veil out of her hair?

Missie: Emily's daughter took one look at this dress and ran away from home. Along with Emily's fiancé, Emily's parents, and all Emily's friends.

Get Lucky

Robyn: Don’t we have enough movies about ordinary, plump guys getting hot women? We don’t need books, too!

Missie: A highlighted Jack Black does not say "romance" to me.

Moment of Truth

Robyn: His hand is down his pants. Her hand is in his pocket. Knowing what I know about guys, shouldn't he be happier right now?

Missie: What you can't see is the shiv she's sticking in his ribs while she's trying to get at his wallet. Back pocket, honey, it's in the baaaack pocket.

$he's on the Money

Robyn: Dude, if I saw a woman in the grocery store wearing that, I’d faint too.

Missie: More like She's On the Crack because no one not under the influence of illegal drugs would wear that outfit.

The Nanny Solution

Robyn: Nothing says luurve like a mutant baby in a catsuit. OMG, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Missie: I am sooooo calling Children and Family Services, because nobody should do that to a helpless baby.

Solitary Soldier

Robyn: BRAINNNSSSS...

Missie: There's a reason he's solitary. And it ain't by choice.

"Director- CUT!"

2007-08-26T14:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, that’s how I really feel. I have to laugh at people who think romance readers can’t distinguish between fantasy and reality; they would have no more concerns if they could hear my internal dialogue with heroines. It usually goes something like this:

“Umm, okay. He’s tall, gorgeous, has no commitment issues, has a job, and isn’t gay. Your problem with him is what, again?”

But there has to be a conflict, so I get the Somewhat Implausible Reason I Don't Jump Him. I’ve written more than a few myself. And almost every heroine will, at some point in the book, do something stupid. I’m not talking about the waif who is TSTL. She could have several doctorates and a tenured position at Harvard, but she’ll do something stupid. That’s okay, too. After all, it’s the equivalent of yelling at the blonde in the slasher flick, “Don’t go in the basement! At least not in your skimpy nightie!” Fun times.

What makes me want to get out the 2x4 and warm up my batting arm is the nonsensical reason she always comes up with in the last act to keep the hero at arm’s length. She’ll invariably be upset over something that really, after everything else that’s happened, doesn’t matter. This hero has just gone through at least 250 pages of hell for this woman. He’s saved her. She’s saved him. They both know that the other is the Only Man/Woman For Me, so what’s the problem? Something pissy that makes me want to choke the life out of her. It’s like the authors know they’ll need two more chapters, so they spin the Wheel of Random Angst.

You haven’t said you love me.

You’ll always love your first wife more.

You ~sob~ LIED to me!

You hate my father.

You hate my cat.

I don’t know how to be a Viscountess.

Puh-leeze! I feel like the Colonel in that old Monty Python skit who yells at the director to stop because it was quaint and amusing, but now it’s just got silly.

Get it together, girl! Didn’t the last 23 chapters (and a big chunk of my life) teach you anything? It isn’t a good sign when I begin regretting putting off the laundry to finish this frigging thing. If it was done 20 pages ago, stick a fork in it and serve it up already.

Authors and editors, I beg you- if you need a bigger word count, bring back the prologue and the info-dump, but put the wheel away.

I Love The Internet

2007-08-23T07:21:00.000-07:00

Where else could I read about a naked man walking down Melrose with a leopard around his neck?

Or a boy who has impaled his nose with a fork? (WARNING- this is an actual picture. And I was worried about my daughter getting sand in her ear. Yeesh.)

Or soldiers who are saved by feminine hygiene products?

Before Al Gore invented the internet, what would I have done with my hour and fifteen minutes this morning?

Umm, don't answer that.

Cowtown RULES!

2007-08-19T20:00:00.000-07:00

Y'all, I just spent the greatest week with my family. In Fort Worth, Texas.

Yes, you read that right. Fort Worth.

Now, I used to live near Dallas. And I had relatives who would genuflect before the Texas flag every morning and thank their Creator for the awesome privilege of living in Dallas. Because in Dallas, you could still be classy and sophisticated and urban AND be Cowboys football fans.

But Fort Worth? Cowtown. Not classy. Not sophisticated. Moooo.

I have to spread the news far and wide- I LOVED that city. Fort Worth has the cleanest downtown area I've ever seen. No trash. The two winos I saw stayed to the shadows. One beggar. Who didn't beg from me.

There were polite, smiling, flat-bellied policemen on bikes who courteously directed you toward the nearest pizza place. There were blue vested workers who swept the streets free of pamphlets and beer bottles, who actually scrubbed gum off the sidewalk. I expected to be awakened each morning by gentle yet insistent birds who then made my bed, and to have competent but badly dressed mice bring me my coffee and newspaper.

I could totally see myself walking down the shining streets, peering into the quaint Western wear shops, carrying my brown paper grocery bag containing a baguette and a limp green leafy thing, trading Gilmore Girls quips with a friend, and then running into a man who has always infuriated me even though he's disturbingly, mutantly cute, only to come to the horrifying realization that deep down, I really like him. Yeah, it's that kind of town.

What did you do on your vacation?

Sad But True

2007-08-18T09:22:00.000-07:00

The Ant and Grasshopper

TRADITIONAL VERSION:

MORAL OF THE STORY: Be responsible for yourself!

MODERN VERSION:

The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks the ant is a fool and laughs and dances and plays the summer away. Come winter, the shivering grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the ant should be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving. CBS, NBC, PBS, CNN, and ABC show up to provide pictures of the shivering grasshopper next to a video of the ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food. America is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be, that in a country of such wealth, this poor grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?

Kermit the Frog appears on Oprah with the grasshopper, and everybody cries when they sing, "It's Not Easy Being Green." Jesse Jackson stages a demonstration in front of the ant's house where the news stations film the group singing, "We shall overcome." Jesse then has the group kneel down to pray to God for the grasshopper's sake.

Nancy Pelosi, John Kerry & Harry Reid exclaim in an interview with Larry King that the ant has gotten rich off the back of the grasshopper, and both call for an immediate tax hike on the ant to make him pay his fair share. Finally, the EEOC drafts the Economic Equity and Anti-Grasshopper Act retroactive to the beginning of the summer! The ant is fined for failing to hire a proportionate number of green bugs and, having nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes, his home is confiscated by the government. Hillary gets her old law firm to represent the grasshopper in a defamation suit against the ant, and the case is tried before a panel of federal judges that Bill Clinton appointed from a list of single-parent welfare recipients. The ant loses the case.

The story ends as we see the grasshopper finishing up the last bits of the ant's food while the government house he is in, which just happens to be the ant's old house, crumbles around him because he doesn't maintain it. The ant has disappeared in the snow. The grasshopper is found dead in a drug related incident and the house, now abandoned, is taken over by a gang of spiders who terrorize the once peaceful neighborhood.

MORAL OF THE STORY: You fill it in...

Oh so White and Nerdy

2007-08-13T12:58:00.000-07:00

Hey, everyone! One of our internet buds needs some help, so I am sending out the Batsignal...

I received this email earlier today from Paige, a weight loss buddy of mine from Utah. She has a chance to meet Donny Osmond if she gets enough votes in this contest. Read on...

"Hello friends,
I am writing to ask you a favor. Would you take just a moment to vote
for me for Donny Osmond's biggest fan? I submitted a little blurb about
why I'm such a huge fan, and I'd really like to win tickets to his
upcoming contest and (sigh) actually meet him! But I need a little help
from people like you.
You just go to this site:
http://www.kosy.com/pages/donny_biggestfan/
then click on vote, and I am entry #4.
You can only vote once for each email account, so if you have two
accounts, you could vote twice (or ask your spouse or kids with email
accounts to vote for me). Thank you for helping me get to meet Donny!
Paige"

So, whaddya say, Snarklettes? Can we help a sistah out? Please click the link above and let the girl get some Osmond love.

Oh the Scandal!

2007-08-09T10:32:00.000-07:00

Hi, my name is Missie and I have never read a Harry Potter book.

I do not watch Survivor, American Idol, Big Brother, The Apprentice, or any Bachelor/-ette type shows.

I know enough of Amy Winehouse to know her tattoos and hair scare me, but know nothing of her music. I do not know the name of any of Beyonce's songs. I don't care who Justin Timberlake is dating.

I will never ever buy perfumes "designed" by Jennifer Lopez, Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, or any other pseudo-celebrity, no matter how wonderful they smelled, just based on principle. (although for a brief period in the late eighties/early nineties, I was in love with the perfume by Cher, because it smelled good and came in a really cool bottle.)

Lest you think I am hopelessly out of it, let me assure you that I can:

*Name all four Teletubbies and their respective colors

*Recite almost all lines from Napoleon Dynamite and the Spongebob Squarepants movie

*Sing with accuracy along with Weird Al Yankovic's "White and Nerdy"

*Intelligently discuss each presidential candidate's view on major issues.

Don't you wish your blogger was hot like me? My coolness knows no bounds.

I know. My mom bores me, too.

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

2007-08-07T18:20:00.000-07:00

HA! If you were watching MTV in the 80's, that song will go through your head the rest of the day. (GoGo's, if you wanna google it.)

Yes, I'm going on vacation *hallelujah* and actually getting in the car and driving away from my town *thank You Jesus* and BOTH kids are stoked and ready with no discernable teen angst *angel chorus singing.*

Be back Monday to tell you all about it, but I thought I'd leave you with another 80's gem:

From Tri-Star Pictures- the terrifying tale of a woman attacked when her ugly black velvet futon grows a man!

See ya Monday!

Alright, Kinda

2007-08-06T19:06:00.001-07:00

Losing a parent is a weird thing. It can't be described adequately by someone who has gone through it to someone who hasn't...there just aren't the words.

My dad had been sick for a very long time. He had emphysema, and then was diagnosed with Stage Four Lung Cancer that had metastisized (sp?) to his liver. To top it off, he came down with pneumonia. And all the while, he continued to smoke.

But even with all this going on, we still never expected the end to be as quick as it was. Go into the hospital on Friday, go into eternal reward on Wednesday morning.

My parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary on July 5th. We planned their party for July 28th, since it didn't fall around any holidays and more people were likely to be able to make it. My dad went into the hospital on July 27th. He was unable to make the party. My mom did go, since she didn't want to disappoint anyone who'd already made their way to Central Oregon for the shindig. She was such a trooper...all decked out in her new flirty, flouncy dress she bought to surprise my dad, hair and makeup all done..She laughed and joked and had a good time with everyone, all the while worried about her man who lay intubated and sedated in a hospital 30 miles away.

We were told on Monday morning by my dad's oncologist (who had no idea my dad had been admitted over the weekend) that my dad never should have been placed on a ventilator. He should have just been given what comfort there could be and passed on...that we were only prolonging the inevitable...that he wasn't making it out of this one...that he was never coming home again.

Now, I ask you. How do you comfort a woman who has been married for fifty years to this man, who has never known anything else, who grew up with him, bore his children, followed him from pillar to post around the world, when she gets this kind of news?

I realize this entry is very choppy and badly written, but I need to get this out, get it posted, and be done. I told Robyn yesterday on the phone that I am sick of this story. I am sick of the sound of my own voice. I am sick of all the details. I have had to call so many people, and deal with the visitors and family, and coordinate the food, and soothe the egos involved, and do so many things, that I am sick of this..this...this busy-ness of death.

I just want to sit for awhile. Sit in a quiet room and cry a little and rage a little and throw a few things.

I miss my dad. I love my dad. I am mad at my dad. Not mad that he died...but mad at how he chose to go.

I am a big freedom person. You can be free to do whatever you want to do. But be aware that you don't live in a vacuum. Your choices will either help or hurt someone. Every time my dad chose to smoke, he set this end up for himself and for us. Every time he lit up, he decided how his final days would be spent. Every time he bought a pack of cigarettes, he set this appointment up for his children and wife to be standing beside his bed in a sterile cold CCU ward after midnight listening to the fading sounds of his breathing.

So while I mourn, I quietly rage. I mourn that my dad will never get to see my daughter develop from the outrageously adorable toddler she is now into the wonderful young woman she will be. He won't get to see my son as he transitions from goofy pre-teen to tall handsome high schooler. And he won't be here to help my husband and I celebrate our 20th, or 25th, or 30th wedding anniversaries. He won't be here to commiserate on the hazards of raising teenagers or complain about the government. He won't be here for me to tell about the latest political thriller I read, and get his take on it after he read it.

I won't smell his smell anymore. Mennen aftershave mixed with the Johnson's Baby Oil he used on his hair to keep it soft and shiny. (no lie. it totally worked, too. I tried it once and looked like I combed my hair with a porkchop.) And I won't get to see him come into whatever room my mom's in, go up behind her, and give her a hug and a kiss on the neck. Or a pat on the butt. Or hear a "Hey, baby, you got any coffee?"

I miss my dad. I want him back. For me. For my kids. For my heartbroken brothers. For my mamma.

I wish I could ask him if all his choices were worth it.

Prayers, Please

2007-08-01T14:08:00.000-07:00

Some of you may remember that two years ago, my mom died of lung cancer. I'm very sorry to say that Missie's father has passed away, with the same disease. She may lurk when she needs a break, but I'll make sure she gets any condolences you'd like to send.

Losing loved ones to cancer truly is the club no one wants to join. And the difference in our situations just points to the fact that cancer makes no damn sense.

Let's just say that Missie's dad wasn't Jack LaLane and leave it there. Doing The Good Thing For Your Body wasn't number one on his list. My mom was health itself. Missie's dad smoked; my mom smoked but quit twenty years before she developed cancer. He didn't do everything 'right' and lived for two years after his diagnosis of Stage Four. My mom did everything you're supposed to, and died six months after her diagnosis of Stage Three.

I'm so angry about so many things. I was angry that we had to watch my mother slip away and know there wasn't a thing we could do about it. I was angry that she had to lay on a table, with her breasts exposed for the radiation, arms flung out for the chemo pumping into her veins, and she had to just lie there and take it. These white-coated people literally poured poison into her two different ways, and she couldn't obey her first, natural impulse to fight.

I'm angry that forever after, my children and grandchildren will have to put a check next to the cancer box on their medical histories. I'm angry that I get scared if I develop a cough. I'm angry that sometimes I still dream about her and the next day I'm no good to anyone. I'm angry that the things she would have loved seeing, my children's prom pictures and graduation and college freshman mania, she won't.

But mostly, I'm angry that now my best friend has to go through all this. For those of you who have your health, thank God and go hug your family. If you don't, go hug your family harder. You can also go here and here to see what you can do to make sure that as few people as possible ever join this club.

I Gave Up Johanna Lindsey Clinch Covers For This?

2007-07-29T20:19:00.000-07:00

My family and I went to our favorite place the other night. The place the kids always beg to go to, where we spend many happy hours:

Barnes and Noble. Books and Starbucks. What more do you need?

My kids run for the fantasy section, while hubby scours the bargain shelves. Me?

You don't really need to ask, do you?

My darling husband of almost 20 years (August 8) took great pleasure in showing me the cover of a romance he found on the bargain shelf. He howled over it. This one.

It's not that bad, but I had the feeling I'd seen this guy before.

I had.

Here, as a matter of fact.

And here. This guy gets a lot of work, and you can understand why. Look at his range!

Le Tigre AND Blue Steel. I wonder if he can do Magnum?

Now, I loved me some Fabio. He always took the work and the fans seriously, but not himself. And John DeSalvo, well...even if he had the exact same expression every time, at least he had some action shots.

But they were de-throned for THIS GUY?? It's like art departments everywhere decided to do the romance cover novel version of superhero costume generators.

You start with shirtless semi-hottie. Then, customize!

1. Add your choice of background- urban, jungle, or forest.

2. Add weapons to fit your hero.

3. Choose drippy font and random laser beams.

Presto! You've got your cover!

In a way, it makes me nostalgic for the headless Highlanders.

Up Against the Wall, Redneck Mother

2007-07-24T15:00:00.000-07:00

Places I have Actually Been

Things I Have Witnessed People Doing (and Would Have Done Had I Drunk Enough)

A Thing You Probably Think is a Joke

Something I'm Afraid Isn't a Joke

People Who Could Be My Relatives

I've never been there, seen it personally, but I know it's not a joke. And I do have a relative there.

To my cousin, Major Rick Williams, who grew up redneck like me: thank you for making sure I can make fun of our upbringing on the internet. Come home soon.

I'm Enjoying This Too Much

2007-07-22T19:44:00.000-07:00

What editors want is a thing like unto the Holy Grail for writers. We'd love to know what they want. What some of them need, however, is a primer on English literature.

A cheeky writer in England sent off barely disguised manuscripts of Jane Austen's best known works to major publishing houses, to see if Jane could get a contract these days. He even left intact perhaps her most famous line, which opens Pride and Prejudice: "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

He received universal rejections, but only one had the nerve to call him on his blatant plagiarism. Penguin's editor even wrote that his ideas seemed really original!

I had to stop and wonder why I'm enjoying this so. It seems like karma has run over their dogma, if you follow. After scolding writers on everything from adverb usage to 'you used the word that too much' to heroines' hair color, they can't even pick up on a plotline from Jane Freaking Austen?

It's funny. C'mon, you know it's funny! Of course, it isn't funny when I realise that somewhere along the line I started viewing editors as the enemy. Not a professional who knows exactly what her line needs and looks for the best candidate. Not a hard-working book lover who has to slog through a slush pile two feet deep. Not a partner to help me publish the best book possible. But the enemy, whose gates I have to storm because he is keeping me from getting my prize.

Which leads me back to my original question. What do editors really want, anyway?

Insomnia

2007-07-16T05:58:00.000-07:00

A couple of nights ago, I couldn't sleep. No particular reason; my brain just wouldn't shut off. When that happens I typically will read or write, even though what I wind up writing falls under the "What was I smoking?" category.

But neither of those was happening, so I turned to the age-old remedy: channel surfing. Late night television is a world all its own, one filled with bad old movies, reruns you've already seen twenty times, and infomercials. Good God Almighty, the infomercials. A little sponge on a drill that will make your face look ten years younger. A ladder that morphs from a step stool to a scaffold that will work wonderfully for the do-it-yourselfer. Who also happens to be a NASA engineer. I lusted after the Magic Bullet Personal Blender System after seeing Mick and Mimi's party. Who wouldn't want to make two kinds of breakfast muffins, gourmet chicken salad lunches, and two different pasta sauces all without dirtying a single pot or pan?

But I happened to view something else that night. A dating show. Good. Lord.

Now, I remember The Dating Game. Bachelors 1, 2, and 3 had to answer really stupid questions from a nervous bachelorette hidden behind a screen. She made her choice based on those equally stupid answers, and the moment we all wanted to see? Her face when she saw exactly what her date looked like. And how the two guys she didn't pick looked. You could practically see in her eyes, "Why didn't I choose him? Or him? These two guys are fine. I'm going to get stuck with a nerd, I just know it." But it had rewards; the men were usually very nice, and they went on an all-expense paid cruise to Puerto Villarta or something.

Ah, for those days. This particular show had a mini The Bachelor quality to it, with one guy being fought over by 5 girls. I find the whole concept of The Bachelor insulting- any guy who thinks he's worthy of having 25 beautiful women fight over him has too bloated a self image to be attractive. And IMO, any woman who participates in such drivel deserves to have her heart broken. "But, but, I LOVED him! ~sob~ I only knew him for two weeks, and in that time he was sucking on ten other girls, but I LOVED him!"

So why did I watch this dating show? Because Mick and Mimi's party was over, and I just couldn't take the guys from Air Supply hawking Time-Life's collection of 70's easy listening classics. (I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you...)

This guy, Adam, what someone younger than me would consider a hottie I suppose, finally pares it down to two girls. One, Jessie, is a feisty little thing, who practically full-on copulates with the guy on the dance floor. The other, Blair, is more shy, dancing on the fringes, hoping to actually talk to him. The 'interview' portion made my blood boil. Adam says, "Blair is the nice girl you want to take home to Mom. Jessie is the bad girl." At this, he smirks and almost giggles. "I don't know which way I'm going."

I've never wanted to smack anyone worse in my life. No, not him. Men apparently still have the madonna/whore complex fully in place, with all our vaunted equality. Guys still know a slut when they see one, I guess. Adam did; he chose Jessie. What got me was that Jessie knew exactly why he chose her. She knew he respected Blair, and wouldn't be ashamed to take Blair home. But he only wanted Jessie for one thing, and there was no way she was 'good enough' to meet his mother. AND SHE WAS HAPPY ABOUT THIS. SHE WAS HAPPY SHE'D WON. And not because she won anything more than the rest of the night with Adam- they didn't even get a rattan chair out of the deal. My hand actually itched. Could she not see the diss? Have we come to the point where our equality has turned to bite us in the butt? Even if she just wanted a night of anonymous sex, would she really want it with a guy who thinks she's not a sexy woman, but a whore?

The world has never needed romances more. There was a Romancing the Blog post last week about a single lady's family who worried that her reading romances was causing unrealistic expectations for her. I say more power to her. Dreaming about a man who wants her, who will be smacked down if he treats her wrongly, about holding out for everything she wants- including a gold ring, and getting it? I'd much rather dream about that than Adam in his shiny shirt, smirking over his one night stand.

On second thought, yeah. I want to smack him too.

I Had a Dream...

2007-07-12T07:54:00.000-07:00

In our fair city, there is a beautiful rose garden.

Every year, it blooms in a riot of colors so brilliant that it dazzles the eye and lifts the heart.

When I was pregnant with my girl, I imagined dressing her up and taking many wonderful pictures of her romping amongst the flowers in this special garden. These pictures would be heartwarming and touching and worthy of being blown up and framed. We as her doting parents would look back on these pictures years later with tears in our eyes remembering what wonder and awe she expressed visiting this lovely place with all the "fwowers".

And so I present to you now what I call Alison Amongst the Roses...

What are you doing? Why are you taking my picture?

I find you and your intrusive camera distasteful.

Lemme get this straight...you want me to smile by these flowers right here? Yeah, right.

My husband couldn't figure out why we have one child who is a complete ham-bone (most of the time)...

and another child who looks like she smells something putrid...

Gee, Honey...I have no idea.

Ever Notice...Cute Guy Monday?

2007-07-09T08:16:00.000-07:00

Ever notice when an older lady stumbles across a mystery and solves it, an inordinate number of murders start happening in her previously quiet, quaint small village?

Ever notice that news networks talk about how "real news" only covers hard-hitting stories, not celebrity pap, then pretend that talking to experts about the Paris Hilton jail phenomenon isn't really talking about Paris Hilton?

Ever notice how the heroines of historical romances are usually "a slip of a girl" that barely comes up to the hero's sternum, yet the hero gets hot and bothered over her long, long legs?

Ever notice that kids cannot hear you when you are speaking three inches from their ears, but if you barely whisper that you are thinking of going to the movies while they are downstairs with the computer and the tv on and you are upstairs in your bedroom with the door closed and the radio playing, they'll hear you?

Ever notice that competition shows (American Idol, etc.) only prove one thing: when America gets to vote, they're sure to screw everything up?

And since I haven't done this in a while, here's something worth noticing- from Desperate Housewives, James Denton.

Movin' On Up

2007-07-05T14:34:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is moving day for us.

Try not to be jealous.

I don't have the time or energy for a well-written post about the goings-on in our lives lo these past few months, so here are the main points to bring you up to speed:

1. Put house on market thinking it would take a few months to sell.
2. House sold in 3 weeks.
3. Used neighbor whom we love as realtor.
4. Could have sold house ourselves and saved paying neighbor whom we love eight thousand big ones.
5. Currently kicking ourselves over that one.
6. Thought husband's job situation would be resolved by now and we would be moving to some other locale.
7. Husband's job situation not resolved, so moving within a mile of current house.
8. Moving within a mile of current house in order to keep son in same school with same friends until we move to another locale.
9. Almost had to go on anti-psychotic meds due to trying to find house within one square mile to rent that had a) enough room, b) right price, and most importantly, c) no other people's pet pee stained carpets.
10. Found out that property management companies by and large suck pondwater.
11. Finally found rental house ACROSS THE STREET from son's school so he will be able to walk there.
12. Yay. Get to live in school zone.
13. Found almost THE EXACT SAME HOUSE AS THE ONE WE ARE SELLING.
14. Exact same house has 300 more square feet and a bonus room over garage, which will be my office. It's our house, only on steroids. And reverse floor plan. Much bumping into walls to commence.
15. Yay. Stairs. To my office. My legs should look great after this summer.
16. Little to no boxes packed due to husband's plan of, "We'll just load up the car, take to new house, unpack immediately since everything will go in the same place, and come back and pack more boxes."
17. Husband turns down help from all able-bodied male friends saying, "Missie and I can handle it."
18. Currently looking for new husband, see numbers 16 and 17.
19. Since MOVAPALOOZA 2007 wasn't enough to have going on, I also decided to celebrate the "Yay I'm Not Pregnant" Festival this week.
20. Much suckage of life to commence.
21. Also planning my parents' 50th wedding anniversary party to take place at the end of this month. Long Distance. As in not in my town. As in doing everything over the phone. As in I am the only one of their three children planning, executing, and paying for any of this. As in getting more gray hairs every day. As in "crap, what did I get myself into?" As in Happy Anniversary Today to my mom and dad since today is the actual date of their wedding but we couldn't do it this weekend since most people wouldn't be able to come. As in someone pull me away from my keyboard before I type anymore run on sentences that aren't making sense oh my goodness I have had too much caffeine and now need adult supervision and my daughter has a runny nose and my son has allergies and I want to go take a nap. After eating copious amounts of chocolate.
22. Wah.
23. The end.
24. The children say, "Send Help."

I Love It, I Hate It

2007-07-01T16:54:00.000-07:00

I love it when my kids laugh. It’s the most beautiful, healing music in the world. I hate it when one of them screams angrily because the other has directed the beautiful healing laughter in derision for an inconsequential mistake.

I love it when I can take the dog on a walk and stop to kibbutz with the neighbors. I love coming away from those short encounters knowing that I’ve been witty and smart. I hate it when I realize I conducted the whole conversation, complete with hand gestures, smartly and wittily holding a plastic baggie full of dog poo.

I love it when I can get lost in a book from another generation. Don’t get too excited, I mean the eighties. I love reading an Alpha hero who is all hot and bothered by the heroine and thinks (a quote from Loving Evangeline by Linda Howard) “By God, he would have her!” I thought, there is my new standard for romance heroes. Call it the By God I Will Have Her Factor. Even if the story’s PG and the love scenes fade to black, I want the BGIWHH Factor. I hate it when I decide to read more books from that era and wind up slogging through ‘masterful’ heroes who are little more than rapists that blame the heroine for being too appealing.

Most of all, I hate needing the escape because my husband went to the doctor with chest pains and the doctors aren’t quite sure what happened. Not a huge pain that radiates down the left arm kind of thing, so we weren’t totally worried. They think he had an ‘episode’ where his heart didn’t get enough oxygen. A mini-heart attack, kinda. I hate it that his blood tests came back showing that genetics and heredity are vengeful witches that will bite you in the privates. On top of everything, he’s got diabetes.

I love it that he is a hard-working man who provides for his family. He is like the Energizer Bunny that way; he never stops. He is a poster boy for Great Work Ethic. I hate it when he still carries that Must Work Now thing through times when he doesn’t feel well and still has twinges of pain. I hate not knowing when to bite my tongue and be supportive, and when to let my head a-splode and beg, cajole, and threaten him if he doesn’t take it easy. I just plain love him.

Summertime

2007-06-25T11:13:00.001-07:00

Just a quick post to show off the beauty of my chirrens and my state.

Have a good one, y'all. Go play in the water.

Summer Vacation

2007-06-21T09:32:00.000-07:00

Hey, everyone- Missie has been rather excruciatingly busy with work in like, Palm Springs and Denver and stuff...feel the sympathy flowing through your bones?

And I've had some rather personal crises of late, so we need to take a blog vacation. We'll see you July!

In All Solemnity, I Turn Over The Keys...Er, Reins

2007-06-16T19:09:00.000-07:00

It's Father's Day. And I am thankful that I hit the Dad jackpot; I have a very distinguished Dad from whom I inherited no sense of style at all. Honestly, he is Senior Ken Doll. His hair is never out of place, hair, I must add, that is not iron gray but a gorgeous silver-white. Of course. He worked for a gentlemen's clothier for years and it shows. He is way too sophisticated to have a kid like me, but still fun.

I also have a stepfather who is as much Dad to me as my bio-Dad. He was a football player back in the day, and despite his age and numerous back surgeries, he'll always be eight feet tall to me. He's a strong silent type with a high-pitched cackle of a laugh that I miss hearing. I'm exceedingly grateful that he went back to work, in real estate, right before my mom got sick. I know he was able to keep busy and be surrounded by friends after she died.

I also got a great father-in-law. He doesn't look a thing like hubs, but they think and act as one. Right down to the Demon of Uncontrollable Punning.

My husband is also a fabulous father. And he is proving it by this one act: He is teaching the kids how to drive.

I carried them, had surgeries and episiotomies having them, potty trained them, taught them to read and tie their shoes and dress themselves, and had (and continue to have) the sex talks with them. I taught them about personal grooming and deodorant and shampoo. I, in short, am done. I'll be on hand to pick them up at parties if they're in trouble, to hug after broken hearts, and to help choose colleges, but the Next Big Thing is totally on hubby's shoulders.

Which is good, because OHMIGODSHE'SFIFTEENANDAHALF! She's demanding the book from the DMV! She's ready to study and take the written test! My baby! My little angel! DRIVING!

Talk me down, friends, talk me down.

I know I will be like my mom was- she was convinced she had a brake on the passenger side floorboard. I'm surprised she didn't put her foot right through, and try to brake the car ala Flintstones. In the most terrifying moments, she was also a master of hissing like an angry rattler as she sucked in enough air through her teeth to make everyone in the car pass out.

Which is why I'm so totally happy to turn this responsibility over to him, and I won't have to drive with the kids until they've safely mastered the skill. Right? Right?

Sigh. I'd better stock up on oxygen bottles and reinforce the floorboards.

What Goes Through My Mailbox

2007-06-14T12:43:00.000-07:00

Like most of you, I have a spam filter on my e-mail. It doesn't work as well as it should; I still get notes from Patricia49 on this great new drug to inhance my manhood, and it is amazing how many deposed African royals want me to launder their money for a small fee.

But every so often I get a good one, like this one from my brother:

"TO ALL THE KIDS WHO SURVIVED the 1930's 40's, 50's, 60's and 70's !!

First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they were pregnant. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes. Then after that trauma, we were put to sleep on our tummies in baby cribs covered with bright colored lead-based paints.

We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking.

As infants & children, we would ride in cars with no car seats, booster seats, seat belts or air bags. Riding in the back of a pick up on a warm day was always a special treat. We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle. We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this. We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank koolade made with sugar, but we weren't overweight because WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.

No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O.K. We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride downthe hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem. We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 150 channels on cable, no video movies or DVD's, no surround-sound, CD's or Ipods, no cell! phones!, no personal computers , no Internet or chat rooms... WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them! We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no lawsuits from these accidents. We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.

We were given BB guns for our 10th birthdays,made up games with sticks and tennis balls and, although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes. We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just walked in and talked to them!

Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!! The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law!

These generations have produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever! The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas. We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL! If YOU are one of them... CONGRATULATIONS! You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before the lawyers and the government regulated so much of our lives for our own good. And while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave (and lucky) their parents were."

I was smiling all through this, laughing as I remembered my glory days. Then I thought, why don't my kids have lives like this? Why can't they bike across town to the candy store and stay out until dark, or even after dark as long as everyone was in the front yard?

Then I read this little entry from my mailbox:

"After tossing her books on the sofa, she decided to grab a snack and get on-line. She logged on under her screen name ByAngel213. She checked her Buddy List and saw GoTo123 was on. She sent him an instant message:

ByAngel213:Hi. I'm glad you are on! I thought someone was following me home today. It was really weird!

GoTo123:LOL You watch too much TV. Why would someone be following you? Don't you live in a safe neighborhood?

ByAngel213:Of course I do. LOL I guess it was my imagination cuz' I didn't see anybody when I looked out.

GoTo123:Unless you gave your name out on-line. You haven't done that have you?

ByAngel213:Of course not. I'm not stupid you know.

GoTo123:Did you have a softball game after school today?

ByAngel213:Yes and we won!!

GoTo123:That's great! Who did you play?

ByAngel213:We played the Hornets. LOL. Their uniforms are so gross! They look like bees. LOL

GoTo123:What is your team called?

ByAngel213:We are the Canton Cats. We have tiger paws on our uniforms. They are really cool.

GoTo1 23: Did you pitch?

ByAngel213:No I play second base. I got to go. My homework has to be done before my parents get home. I don't want them mad at me. Bye!

GoTo123:Catch you later. Bye

Meanwhile.......GoTo123 went to the member menu and began to search for her profile. When it came up, he highlighted it and printed it out. He took out a pen and began to write down what he knew about Angel so far.Her name: Shannon. Birthday: Jan. 3, 1994. Age: 13. State where she lived: North Carolina. Hobbies: softball, chorus, skating and going to the mall. Besides this information, he knew she lived in Canton because she had just told him. He knew she stayed by herself until 6:30 p.m. every afternoon until her parents came home from work. He knew she played softball on Thursday afternoons on the school team, and the team was named the Canton Cats. Her favorite number 7 was printed on her jersey. He knew she was in the eighth grade at the Canton Junior High School. She had told him all this in the conversations they had online. He had enough information to find her now.

Shannon was in her room later that evening when she heard voices in the living room.

"Shannon, come here," her father called. He sounded upset and she couldn't imagine why. She went into the room to see a man sitting on the sofa."Sit down," her father began. "This man has just told us a most interesting story about you."

Shannon sat back. How could he tell her parents anything? She had never seen him before.

"Do you know who I am, Shannon ?" the man asked. "I am a police officer and your online friend, GoTo123. I pretend to be a kid online, to protect kids like you. But some don't. I had a friend whose daughter was like you. Only she wasn't as lucky. The guy found her and murdered her while she was home alone. Kids are taught not to tell anyone when they are alone, yet they do it all the time online. The wrong people trick you into giving out information a little here and there. Before you know it, you have told them enough for them to find you without even realizing you have done it. I hope you've learned a lesson from this and won't do it again."

Good grief. No wonder our kids are locked in our houses, but even there they aren't completely safe. They can't have a life like I did because they don't live in the same world I did. Sometimes I honestly wonder if I should have had kids at all to send them out into this dump. Then again, if anyone can make this place better by being in it, it would be my babies. No conclusions, no words of wisdom, just...sigh.

Half-Breeds Gone Wild!

2007-06-08T16:17:00.000-07:00

If there's one thing we can thank the romance publishing industry for, it's that they give Native Americans the same sensitive, dignified treatment they give the rest of us.

Silken Savage

Robyn: That guy either doesn't see too well in the dark or he's really desperate. But what is up with that jaguar in the tree? We don't have those in North America, do we?

Missie: Nice "Endora from the original Bewitched" eye makeup she's got going on there. I looove it when covers accurately reflect the time period of the story.

Comanche Sunset

Robyn: Wow. I didn't know the sun was still huge and orange but the rest of the sky was black at sunset in the desert. I clutched my chest that way once. I had heartburn.

Missie: It doesn't look as much like the Texas Plains as it does the seventh circle of hell.

Savage Conquest

Robyn: Ummm...where's her right leg?

Missie: Let me get this straight...She's not ON the horse, but dangling off the side somehow while he holds on to her with one arm at the same time the horse is rearing? Somebody explain the physics of that one to me.

Sioux Slave

Missie: No. Just...no. Blech. No.

Robyn: Honey, come on. How many more times do we have to play 'Pocahontas saves John Smith?'

Up next: Lusty Mormon Appreciation Society!

The Big Moment

2007-06-04T20:15:00.000-07:00

Three little words? Nah. In Romancelandia, it is known as The Big Moment.

I Love You.

The ultimate point of any romance. And frequently, the one that makes me want to pluck my eyes from their sockets.

Heroes inevitably spout Byronesque poetry when telling their ladies they love them. If a hero has been, up until TBM, a dashing, charming, witty man, then okay. It's in character. I can deal with that just fine. Even if the guy is a strong, silent type, if we've seen that he feels these things deeply, I'm okay with that too. Particularly in historicals; if you've ever read diaries from even 100 years ago people were much more verbose than they are now. I can only imagine what a Victorian man would think of us with our LOL's and OMG's and stubborn refusal to capitalize our i's because that just takes too much time, yo?

My favorite? Some book that I forgot the name of a long time ago, but I still remember this part: (the hero, telling his lady that he'll never have much money) "...but I can promise you a heart that beats for you, and you alone, until it beats no more." Le Swoon!

But those heroes are few and far between. I'll admit it right now- most romances seem to favor Alpha cavemen. Not that I mind, humina-humina. But to have these guys who are usually too insensitive to say 'please' when asking for the salt suddenly waxing poetic about her sapphire eyes and his dazzled senses and how Life Means Nothing Without Her? Blech. Who is this guy, and what have you done with the real hero of this book?

Jayne Ann Krentz is probably my favorite author of TBM. In her historicals (Amanda Quick) she frequently has the heroines say it first, usually in an angry fit. In the middle of a fight with a pig-headed hero, the heroine will shout, "I do not want you to get yourself killed in this duel because I love you, you great hulking idiot!" or something like that. Hee. I love it when she storms out and he's left there with his jaw hanging open. When it's his turn, he'll usually botch some attempt to be traditionally romantic, which of course results in it being even more so.

In JAK's contemps, I like it even better. These guys just don't want to say it, period. In The Pirate, the heroine has decided to leave the resort island the hero owns, partly because he won't talk to her when she wants him to. On the runway, he screams up in his jeep, and starts putting her luggage in his vehicle. She demands that he stop, that This Time She's Really Leaving, etc., when this ultimate Alpha basically asks why she's being such a baby. She tells him that he's never said he loved her.

Now, I was cringing. I knew I'd read of the eyes softening, the going down on one knee, the taking of her hand, and the huge proclamation before all and sundry that no one else on earth could love you more than I and you made my life complete and I didn't know I had a heart until you took it, upon which they would kiss as the tearful onlookers awwwed and applauded. But the still angry hero barely looks at her, growls "I love you," and finishes putting her stuff in the jeep. She's left standing there sputtering until he puts her in the jeep, too. I cheered!

What about you? When The Big Moment occurs, do you like it realistic, actions-speak-louder-than-words, or do you dig the sappy stuff?

Good Thing You Told Me

2007-06-01T15:55:00.000-07:00

Dear CNN, NBC, ABC, CBS, and FoxNews,

Thank you so much. I really appreciate the way you guys are right on the news that matters to simple folk like me across America. Those of us who raise our families, go to church, work hard, and pay taxes. Those of us who wonder how we will have money for our childrens' college tuition while funding our own retirement and possibly taking care of our aging parents. Those of us who report for jobs that are not our dream careers, day after day, month after month, year after year, just to make ends meet for our families.

You know us. You know us so well.

Because if there is one subject that constantly comes up in my house, usually at night while snuggling in bed with my husband right before sleep claims our exhausted bodies and we rise again early the next morn to start the rat race all over, it is this...

What has Lindsay Lohan done today?

You would think with all the things going on in the world such as disease, war, pestilence, unrest, and a government that spends our money like drunken sailors on shore leave, that my husband and I might have our minds occupied with weightier matters.

But you would be wrong if you thought that. And you, Oh Wise Media Gurus, are never wrong.

With your glow in the dark teeth and your overstyled hair and your designer suits, you deliver the news I want and NEED. I feel like YOU.GET.ME. You understand. You know that I don't want something simple like what the weather forecast may be or if the Fed is going to raise interest rates. NO! You tell me what a coked-out sluttified starlet's latest shenanigans are within the first five minutes of your broadcast!

And for that, I thank you.

Way to investigate. Way to report. WAY.TO.READ.MY.MIND.

Sincerely,

Your loyal viewer*,**

*(who didn't make last year what LL has sniffed up her nose in the last thirty days)

**(and who only knew about the sniffery because she was forced to endure that story before getting her real news.)

Awright Already!

2007-05-29T12:58:00.000-07:00

Stephanie tagged me, and even though I've already done this one, I'm fresh out of ideas for the day, so here goes:

Eight Random Facts

1. I used to sing in bars. It started when we were sitting there having an Amaretto sour and munching potato skins and listening to this guy with about five keyboards around him. He looked like an astronaut in the lunar module. He played The Way We Were for this couple on their anniversary; and naturally my loud mouth got me into trouble. He heard me singing and yelled out, "Who IS that?!?!" Fortunately, he liked the sound and the couple was very nice, so I sang the song for them. It's amazing how many lounge entertainers will let you come up and sing.

2. When I was three, a goat in the San Diego zoo petting area ate the back of my dress. I spent the rest of the day with my mom's jacket tied around my backside and have hated goats ever since.

3. I am quite adept at injuring myself. I trip over air pockets. I have managed to fall down in front of nearly every teacher I ever had, a good number of dates, and even a couple of elected officials, who, of course, waited to see how many press members were watching before looking concerned and helping me up.

4. I read the back of the book before the start. Except in whodunits. But I especially cruise the last few pages if it looks like there will be a love triangle. I read one once and wound up rooting for the wrong guy and it made me mad for weeks.

5. I used to belong to a group of medieval re-enactors. I can swordfight, as long as the weapon is split PVC pipe with foam wrapped around it. Call them nerds all you want; those people see more action than the characters in Grey's Anatomy. And those women! SO FUN. It takes a very special kind of confidence for a 200 pound woman to wear a chain mail bikini.

6. My church is stupid enough to let me teach the children. "Yes! I read stories about pirates who never manage to actually steal anything and women who go to sleep on park benches and wake up in Medieval Scotland and sheikhs and cowboys and have overwrought passages full of Thundering Breastplates, Protuberances that stand at attention, and Enchanted Grottos that cry while becoming One With The Cosmos. Send your little dears right in!"

7. My love affair with Dr. Phil ended long ago, but I can't stop watching him. His show is rapidly becoming Maury Povich, and will be Jerry Springer before too much longer, but I'm still fascinated with the moment he'll utter something like "When the gopher's in the hole, it's too late to march in the parade!"

8. I could never in a million years go on the Atkins diet. I have never met the bread I didn't lust over intently. I love to look at bread. I love to touch bread. If I could smell, I would probably swoon at the scent of bread. I love white bread, that you can roll into soft spongy pellets; I love dark chewy nutty bread that weighs as much as a small hybrid car. I don't really like crunchy crust, but that's okay. I'll scrape out the good parts. Life without bread just isn't worth living.

If you would like to do the Eight Random Facts, please do so! I'm through with tagging. I can never run fast enough.

Must be all that bread.

Hold Me, and Cute Guy Thursday

2007-05-24T05:30:00.000-07:00

It's official, y'all. My daughter, my baby girl, my precious little daffodil, has a BOYFRIEND.

He's a really sweet kid, and I like him. So does her dad. And I was happy for her when she floated home SQUEEEing about him. She took the bull by the horns, so to speak, and wrote to him that she'd had a crush all year, and she was tired of waiting on him, and would he like to be her boyfriend. He accepted, and told her that he'd liked her, too, but was too nervous to ask her. I thought, how cute is this? How amazingly sweet?

Then I remembered what happened on the dates I went on when I was her age.

Hold me.

While I wander around in denial for a few days, join me in admiring His Cuteness, from Firefly and Waitress, Nathan Fillion.

Keep Your Bleach-infused Eyewash Handy

2007-05-20T18:50:00.000-07:00

Don't say we didn't warn you.

Taming Kate

Missie: What Kate needs to tame is falling out of her peasant blouse.

Robyn: Apparently, to tame Kate you have to rip off your shirt and wrestle her to the ground- but keep your sidearm in place in case you have to shoot her.

Dark Challenge

Missie: The only thing that isn’t wrong with this cover is the font.

Robyn: The name of your colorist? Pleeeeease, darling? Or at least the name of the salon?

A Silver Mirror

Missie: Why is he sucking her eyebrow?

Robyn: God, I'm fabulous. No wonder you love me.

Golden Fancy

Robyn: She "escaped the clutches of a lusty Mormon???" Explain that, Mitt Romney!

Missie: Joan Collins escapes the lusty Mormon reaching through the McDonald’s drive through.

Up next: Half-breeds gone wild!

Proud Mommy Moment with a Side of Cringe

2007-05-18T05:42:00.000-07:00

My daughter was just in her first school musical. Aladdin, Jr., produced by Disney, follows the same basic plot of the animated film and has the same songs. Aladdin gets caught stealing, Princess Jasmine meets him in the marketplace, he gets thrown into a cave where he finds the genie's lamp, etc. Very cute reworking of the movie into a musical specifically aimed at Junior High talent levels.

It was Junior High, y'all. Really bad sets and homemade costumes and That's My Baby Up There! and some girls having to play boy roles because only three guys auditioned and That's My Baby Up There! and a few kids who were, perhaps, less than gifted vocally and That's My Baby Up There! and a couple of kids who weren't necessarily the best actors but not My Baby Up There!

In spite of those things, it was a great production. The kids worked like slaves and they gave a wonderful performance. All the adults were pretty impressed; we were not expecting anything of that caliber. The kids were thrilled. (Blogger was acting up this morn, can't give you pictures. Darn.)

I have acted since I was five. Musical Theatre was my major in college, and I have always wondered if I could have made a career out of it if I had gone to New York instead of staying home and getting married and having kids. Not that I think I got the raw end of the deal, mind you. If you knew my kids you'd know I didn't give up anything.

Which brings me to my daughter. Beth has inherited the ham gene times two, and she really is very talented. I don't know many other 15 year olds who will sit with their moms and watch Gene Kelly and Howard Keel and Barbra Streisand and be just as enthralled as she is. She can sing Phantom and Les Miz with me, and she's a pretty good little actress. I used to be so happy that I could share this with her.

Now, I am a curious yet horrifying mix of pride and jealousy. She was so good, you guys. She's a natural. I was busting out of my seams and crying and smiling, but down deep inside there was a little flare of envy. Except for special occasions when there's a church thing, I don't get to do this anymore. And I want to. She is getting to do all the stuff I loved doing, the stuff I miss doing, apparently more than I had realized. And I'm jealous. These are what I call Mommy of the Year moments- when I look at myself and I'm really disappointed in what I see.

Ah, well. Maybe I can take comfort in the fact that I'm not a stage mother; I'm not living out my dreams through my kid. I don't want to act and sing vicariously. I want to do it myself.

Location, Location, Location

2007-05-15T05:46:00.000-07:00

Just re-read Anne Perry's The Cater Street Hangman, her kick-off book to the Thomas and Charlotte Pitt series. A series I totally adore.

Now, I will freely admit to being a total sucker for foggy, gas-lit Victorian London. It's one of my favorite settings, and will usually get the book/movie/show an automatic star just for that alone. And I admire how Perry can achieve the iconic feel of the place yet still make it seem immediate and real.

How do you decide your settings? I don't like to go on and on about a place I've never been, but writing only on the towns I've actually lived in is ZZZzzzzzzz...

And you just know if I wrote about a city with which I had only a passing familiarity I'd hear about it. T.V. shows have people clad in solid black leather in Las Vegas or Miami in the summer, or show a little town on the plains of Kansas with mountains in the background with nary a peep; but let me get one little detail wrong and I'd be subject to angry blog bees buzzing about how Seattle doesn't have a Chinese restaurant that close to that neighborhood, or how no proper Bostonian would ever wear that, or that it never rains in Southern California.

Which is, pretty much, why I write fictional towns whenever possible. Of course, that works for me because I don't tend to write the place as a character in the story. If the setting is New Orleans or New York, the town is as much a character as the hero and heroine.

What about you? Real city or land of make believe?

The Winnah!! And, Oh, Yeah, More About Me

2007-05-11T09:57:00.000-07:00

Thanks for your awesome snarks, everyone. Special honors go to Bernita with "Whaddya mean you're allergic?" and Kaitlin for "I am sooo beautifuuul...to meeeeee." You receive a free subscription to this blog and the thanks of a grateful nation.

The winnah of an Amazon gift certificate and the title of Snarkstress supreme is...

a tie! StarvingWriteNow for her "Come on baby, I need the bra more than you do." and Stephanie for "Velvet spandex blend pants! I feel so free!"

If you will both write me at robwriter6@yahoo.com with your email addys, your gifts will be winging their way to you with champagne wishes and Fabio dreams!

I used to be upset when I wasn't tagged for stuff. Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms. Be careful what you wish for. Now, it seems I'm getting tagged every time I turn around. So here are (courtesy of December Quinn) 8 random things about me. And if you wanna do it, go right ahead, but I don't think I know 8 people to tag! Or, at least 8 people I haven't already tagged for something and I'd like to keep the few friends I have. Here we go:

I can sing the entire score from Les Miserables. And sing it pretty well, actually.
I love the Beatles, but can't stand the Stones.
God and my children very nicely frosted my hair, but I've chosen to hide it under Nice n' Easy 119.
I can wiggle my nose like a rabbit.
A guy broke up with me in college because his mama threw a fit when she found out I wasn't Jewish. And nice Jewish girls are thick upon the ground in Denton, TX, let me tell you.
I bruised my husband's arm while gripping it in labor. It was a sacrifice he was not prepared to make. Like I cared.
I love channel surfing (when I have time, which is, like, never) and am very territorial about the remote. Don't you touch it. I'll cut you.
I don't care for vampire books (shag a zombie tick, anyone?) but I go into raptures over werewolves. Insert your own "Robyn Loves Wildlife" joke here.

My New Photo Album

2007-05-10T10:03:00.000-07:00

Every once in awhile I see a picture that makes me chuckle...

Or a picture that makes me laugh...

Or one that makes me spew whatever I'm drinking out of my nose.

Some pictures make me shout "How cool!"

And others take my breath away.

But sometimes, only sometimes, do I see a picture that restores my faith in humanity.

I don't care what anyone says. We are cool, y'all. So cool.

You Think It's So Easy...YOU Do It

2007-05-07T08:02:00.000-07:00

Snark, that is. Come up with the best one-liner snark you can for this classic Fabio cover:

Those pants! That vapid expression! That thundering breastplate! Get your snark on and post in the comments until Wednesday midnight (US Central time.) On Friday, Missie and I will announce the winner of an Amazon gift certificate and the coveted title of Snarkster/Snarkstress Supreme!

Just Because I Want To

2007-05-02T13:34:00.000-07:00

Blogger and youtube have a conspiracy against me. You'll have to click the link.

Enjoy!

Tell Me This...

2007-04-27T13:55:00.000-07:00

How in the heck am I supposed to resist this face?

Can I Have A Cowboy, Please?

2007-04-26T05:52:00.000-07:00

I just read Janette Kenny's One Real Cowboy. Janette being Jan of Writeminded, of course. She's the one in the foxy brown shoes with delicate, feminine ankles. I hate her.

Anyway, this is a Western, and you all know I am a history ho, a westward ho in particular. There's also a mystery, which I am all about, AND a marriage of convention, my favorite Romance Plot Device. You'll want to grab a snack and a cup of coffee and disappear for a few hours with this one.

Basically, a titled Englishman is sent to America as a semi-punishment for his drunken, wastrel ways, and he winds up running a ranch/farm that also breeds thoroughbreds. His daughter has poured her heart and soul into keeping the place, but the father's death has Grandpapa back in England ready to sell it and order her back to the old country, because she has not married.

She, of course, responds by hiring a cowboy to sign a contract that states he will be her husband for a month, long enough to convince her grandfather to sign over the title to her.

Oh, come on. You've read enough of these to know that's not how it works out.

The heroine, Beatrix (the hero calls her Trixie) is a mix- she's realistic about her situation, even distilling bootleg spirits from her apple orchard to make ends meet. But she's also a bit wide-eyed and turns over control to Cord a little too easily. She does get irritated, but I wanted to see her fight a little more. I liked her but I also wanted to slap her a few times.

The hero is Cord Tanner, a down-on-his-luck cowpoke who grew up hard as the son of a prostitute. He's everything you want in a cowboy in these books- he has that Code of the West running all the way through, and I adored him. He's very swoonworthy. He wants to handle all these problems for Trixie and then fade out of her life, even though he's falling for her and dreaming of more. Le Sigh.

Warning- there are several remarks made about Cord's "little rustler." Prepare your family to hear you groaning.

The only problem I had is one I've had with several stories- Beatrix is told that she can't convince her grandfather that the marriage is real unless she sleeps with Cord, because everyone will be able to see that she's innocent just by looking at her.

Is that really true? I've read so many stories where the unsexed women apparently have I AM A VIRGIN tattooed on their foreheads. After the first experience, especially since the first time is also a honking huge One With The Cosmos moment, everyone sees it immediately and smiles at them, wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more!

I've never seen anything that blatantly noticeable, but maybe I'm not very observant. Anyway- great book, Jan. Look forward to more!

The Magical Healing Hoo-Hoo

2007-04-23T18:15:00.000-07:00

I read Michelle Buonfiglio's Romancing the Blog post last week, and it's a hoot. She recalls, with affectionate snarkiness, the romanceisms we've all become accustomed to: the roving eyes, the wandering hands, and the poor heroines' lips that are bitten, worried, and chewed yet still stay full, moist, and petal-soft.

My personal favorite? "He seized her, pulling her against the long, hard length of him."

I love it when they're subtle.

The comments degenerated, as most discussions in romancelandia do, to what to call the all powerful hoo-hoo. Michelle proposed a workshop at RWA on penile and clitoral terms for the euphemistically challenged; I don't belong to RWA so let's have our own!

I have to start out by saying that I have a personal boycott on pebbled nubbins. Don't wanna read no more nubbins, pebbled or otherwise.

"Velvet sheath." Now, I'm pretty happy without graphic depictions of moisture, but you know there's gonna be some. Wet velvet sounds graphically unsanitary. It is usually accompanied by the word "impaled," which makes me think the story's going Stephen King on me and the hero's going to slice clean through the top of her head.

"Feminine passage." Most often paired with "feminine folds," I can only guess that the author really, really, really wants me to understand that this is, indeed, a girl.

"Flower of womanhood." See Tiger Lily above. Put your own de-flowering or thorny bush joke here.

"Damp heat." Okay, I can take that. Damp I can handle. Damp is good. It's when the hoo-hoo starts weeping, sighing, sobbing and drenching that I begin to worry the girl needs a doctor. No hoo-hoo should drip.

"The Enchanted Grotto." I've mentioned this one before, and it still squicks me out. A grotto is full of dirt and rocks and slimy moss, no? (One of Michelle's commenters read of a heroine's cavern. Unfortunately, at that point in the story the hero's face was at the critical juncture and she had visions of him yelling "Hellooooooooo" just to hear the echo.)

I like the simple approach. Overwrought descriptions make me laugh. Or cry. Some of the best scenes I've ever read just said, "her."

What about you? Words for the hoo-hoo?

Blogger Fired Amid Controversy

2007-04-20T13:08:00.000-07:00

Snarkling Clean blogger Robyn has been fired after she turned on NAPP, telling the chairman of the organization to exercise his right to click off. “It’s called SNARKling Clean for a reason,” she allegedly told the group’s ruling council. “I’ve been snarking for years. Get over it.”

The NAPP chairman then called for her dismissal from the blog, saying, “this kind of hateful rhetoric cannot be tolerated.”

When asked when he had read the column where Robyn insulted the “Happy Feet” penguins, the chairman said, “Well, I never actually read it. I don’t normally read that blog. I heard about it from CNN, like everybody else.”

Blogger's Partner Begs for Intervention

2007-04-19T05:34:00.000-07:00

Embattled blogger Robyn has now been asked by her partner, Missie, to enter rehab to deal with her penguin issues. "Robyn isn't a bad person," she told Glenn Beck last night. "This is really a cry for help."

Beck asked her, "But why rehab? She's not addicted to anything, is she?"

"Of course not. But she needs counseling for these penguin-phobic tendencies."

Beck came back with, "Does she really need reeducation? Maybe she doesn't need counseling. Maybe she's just a jerk."

"You just don't understand," Missie snapped. "It all stems from some bizarre and tragic petting zoo incidents in her childhood. She needs closure."

Beck's disbelief was visible. "Penguins? In a petting zoo?"

Missie refused to elaborate as she left the studio, saying she was late for her interview with Larry King.

Blogger Apologizes For Comments

2007-04-18T05:15:00.000-07:00

After Snarkling Clean blogger Robyn was soundly criticized for referring to crested penguins as “spastic” and “straw-haired,” she met with the chairman of NAPP. She had this to say: “I’m sorry if any penguins were insulted by my bad joke. I have since learned that dancing is pretty well impossible for penguins, which is why their movements seemed kind of strange in the movie. And the little hair things over their ears are actually feathers, not hair, and quite soft.”

The NAPP chairman said his council has not yet decided whether or not they will accept Robyn’s apology. “She has gained a certain understanding but she’s not there yet. We will have to discuss it further.” He went on to say that younger penguins were permanently scarred by the remarks, which will surely limit their self-esteem when performing in the new penguin movie, “Surf’s Up!” set to release soon.

Blogger Tirade Insults Penguins

2007-04-17T05:36:00.000-07:00

The blog Snarkling Clean may have to clean up their act, after one of the bloggers referred to the crested penguins portrayed in the movie “Happy Feet” as “spastic” and “straw-haired.” The chairman of the National Association for the Promotion of Penguins, or NAPP, has called the remarks “degrading, derogatory, and inflammatory. We have enough to deal with making people understand that we don’t live at the North Pole and have nothing to do with polar bears. We shouldn’t have to deal with species-ist comments from a somewhat regionally known blogger.” The blogger, Robyn, had no immediate comment, but was heard to mutter, “So? They look like that.”

I’m A Grumpy Old Blogger

2007-04-16T05:22:00.000-07:00

I’m grouchy. No big surprise there. And here are but a few of the reasons.

1. PeoPle WhO iNsiSt oN tYpiNg tHIs wAy. Seriously, is there any reason for it except to annoy the crap out of me? Good luck getting a job, there, slick. My only hope is the fact that your human resources person is going to have a heck of a good laugh when he throws your ReSuMe in the garbage.

2. People have implanted their frigging cell phones in their frigging ears. It wasn’t bad enough to try to talk to someone who wouldn’t end, or at least suspend, his conversation to give you an intelligible food order because he’s convinced he is just. that. important. But now, the tiny hands-free models have given me a parade of demented people who seem to be having discussions with themselves, the door, or the lamppost. I’m irritated because now I can’t tell if they are on their cells or actually crazy.

3. Hollywood has no new ideas. It gives me 875,679 sequels and rip-offs of a movie that really wasn’t all that wonderful to begin with, or I’m forced to watch a spastic straw-haired penguin dancing to old 70’s tunes and call it innovative. C’mon, Hollywood! You have the (supposedly) most talented people in the world AND a kajillion dollars. Come up with something!

4. The lady who came into our shop last Friday who could not understand that a little sandwich place inside a convenience store that bakes its own bread fresh couldn’t keep up with the demands of some mini-Nascar go-kart fanatics that descended en masse on us. Yes, we ran out of white bread before the next batch was baked, and you had to eat (horrors!) wheat bread. With an entire city two miles away that has real, live restaurants, you had to come to our tiny little shop and give us the stinkeye? Screw you. Have your international go-kart competition somewhere else. Preferably someplace where a testy chef can yell at you.

Happy Anniversary Bay-beh, Got You On My Miiiiiiind!

2007-04-13T11:29:00.000-07:00

Tuesday was the 15th anniversary of one of the best decisions I ever made.

I am not going to write a long, gushy, flowery post about how he is my everything, completes me in every way, is the most handsome and sexy man ever, a wonderful father, and my bestest friend, because we are just not gushy, flowery people. We are much more likely to laugh uproariously during what should be a Hallmark moment than gaze longlingly into each other's eyes while pondering the meaning of the universe.

So instead, I present you with pictures. Of the most cutest handsomest funniest goofiest dorkiest goodest guy ever to be borned. And he's all mine.

Us on Tuesday. Keep in mind the camera adds ten pounds. There were about fourteen cameras taking our picture. Do the math.

Here he is, attempting to nap but instead being attacked by the toddler and her "bowwull". He puts up with alot.

Putting Up With Alot, Part 2--Vanquished by a Ninja. Still not getting a nap.

Camping in the mountains on his 40th birthday last year.

Doing what he loves.

Lifetime Original Movie-

Frolick on Fourwheelers, a moving story of two ATV enthusiasts who find love in the wild hills of Idaho while wearing huge jackets.

I love you, Honey. Here's to fifteen more.

Bribing of the Toddler

2007-04-09T16:08:00.000-07:00

Grampa demonstrates one way to make the Baby love him more than Grammi.

(while I, apparently, am picking my nose, hoping it is caught on film for posterity)

Step One: Fill child's mouth with foamy sugar-laced product. Because the child didn't get near enough Easter candy. And what parent doesn't dream of a sugared-up toddler.

Step Two: Sit back and laugh while said child foams at the mouth.

Step Three: Put whipped cream directly on child's finger..you know, because straight into the screamhole wasn't enough.

Step Four: Laugh hilariously at funny hyped-up child when she sticks out finger for more. Laugh further thinking of how your daughter-in-law will be up all night while child is going through Easter Detox.

Not shown: Step Five: Cry thinking of how you will be put into a home in a few short years. Because of the whipped cream and other crimes against your daughter-in-law's sanity.

Hope You Had a Better Easter Than This Kid

2007-04-08T18:22:00.000-07:00

Be back with more snark as soon as we recover from the Cadbury Egg sugar coma!

You Say It's Your Birthday? Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah! Well, It's Robyn's Birthday, Too! Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!

2007-04-05T18:26:00.000-07:00

Let's all join together in wishing Robyn a happy FORTY-THIRD birthday on Friday!

May your day be filled with goofy hats...

Lots of cake and ice cream wearing....

And the knowledge that many people look up to you for strength, wisdom, and most of all, SNARK.

Happy, happy day, my friend.

The world was made a much brighter, sweeter, funnier place just by you coming into it. I am glad we found each other.

Now, you'll never get rid of me.... Bwah, ha, ha, ha, ha!

You're It!

2007-04-03T12:07:00.000-07:00

I'm such a dork.

I forgot to tag peoples when I did my Mom Truths. And here I was all proud of myself by just getting the stupid post done on time!

So...Michelle Willingham (who wrote a great book I just read, by the way. Go out and buy many copies of it now!), Becki F from Cooking With Whine at Clubmom.com, Bernita our beautiful and wise Canadian friend, and SuperPaige, put up your own version so that we may learn from your wisdoms and smartses.

Go forth and show us your brilliance.

And put up pictures of your kids or grandkids.

Because I'm the mom and I said so.

Real Mom Truths, Part Deux

2007-03-31T09:44:00.000-07:00

You may remember Robyn recently wrote a post about Real Mom Truths and then tagged me and several others for their versions. Well, believe it or not, I am actually getting mine done before a month has passed! Here's what little I have learned in the last eleven years of momming...

Real Moms Are Master Multi-Taskers

One of the first things most women learn as moms is how to do many many things at the same time. If this skill is not acquired early on in motherhood, then you spend the rest of your mothering trying to play catch up. I can not only bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan, I can also do the laundry, talk on the phone, supervise the preteen doing homework, and keep the toddler from climbing on top of the refrigerator while I am doing it. If they would have put some moms in charge of the Iraq war? The insurgents would be gone, Baghdad would be rebuilt, and non-burka wearing moms would be having iced coffees at Starbucks on the corner of Camel and Bedouin Streets in Kabul by now. This is in no way meant to be an insult to our army. I am just saying that maybe if some tired moms of toddlers had been in command....

Real Moms Aren't Afraid of a Little Bodily Fluid

In the last eleven years, I have been peed, pooped, vomited, coughed, sneezed, and snotted on, sometimes all of the above within a 24 hour period. I can talk about bowel movements and mucus colors while enjoying dinner. I can hear stories of your childrens' sicknesses and the various things coming out of their bodies without blinking an eye. I can help my husband gut a deer and never give it a second thought. You think you can shock me, Hollywood? You think you can gross me out, Stephen King? You think you can remotely frighten me, Koontz? I am a mom. You are going to have to do waaaay better than possessed pets attacking owners.

Princess Poopy Goes to Church

Real Moms Are All Up in Their Kids' Bidness

I decided early on in this mothering gig that while most of my friends were busy trying to be their children's "friend", I would concentrate on being my childrens' Mother. This means that I know all about what is going on with the spawn at any given moment. I know who their friends are and who the friends' parents are. I know where the friends live. I know what the friends are into. Because you know what? You can't really know your kid unless you know his friends. I have put the kabosh on friendships that I felt were dangerous or destructive and encouraged the friendships where the other children had like moral values and upbringing. I don't put up with disrespect or sass from my kid or anyone else's while in my home. I demand certain behaviors from my oldest kid (the youngest is not yet two), and I get it. His friends consider me a strict mom, but you know what? They love me. They love coming over here. Because not only am I all up in my kid's face about what he's doing, where he's going and with who, I will also be the one to take the kids places, do things with them, and be just as goofy as them. I will dance around the kitchen doing a very bad American Idol audition while my son and his friends howl in laughter. I will speak to them using the words Dude and Like in a sentence 47 times. I will fake-fight them using karate chops and Matrix moves and screaming "Hiyah!" and threatening, "Boy, I'll smack you so hard your gramma be sayin' ouch!" Who are these parents, after their kids are arrested for doing something horrible, that say, "I had no idea Johnny was building WMDs in the garage!"

My son and his posse, planning world domination under the noses of the Great Grandparents.

And last but not least...

Real Moms Know Kids Are Weird Freak-like Little Creatures

What else could explain how they looooove mac and cheese one day and then scream like they're being tortured the very next time you offer it to them? Why they love the bath one night and the next refuse to get in the water? What can possibly account for the love of Teletubbies or radioactive turtles who fight crime in New York City?

It's true. Kids are freaks. They are strange. They make no sense. At all. Whatsoever. They are "Mommy, mommy, mommy!" one day, then the AllDaddyAllTheTime Channel the next. They love the plastic crap toys from McDonalds but eschew the educational Discovery toys you spent $24.95 on. They think farting should be an Olympic sport. They think burping is hilarious. The bigger of a fool you make of yourself, the harder they will laugh. Sugar them up and they act like lemurs on crack. You will spend your life trying to understand these funky space aliens that have landed in your home, wracking your brain to keep one step ahead of them. And when you think you have them all figured out? They change it up, just to drive you that much closer to the padded room.

It's a good thing the little freakshows are so fun. And lovable. And cute. And adorable. And then there's the whole They Make Life Worth Living thing too. Otherwise, mine would totally be out by the curb in a box with a sign around their necks reading, "Free To A Good Home....That Thinks Farting is Funny."

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2007-03-27T14:09:00.000-07:00

Missie's son caught a glimpse of these and cried, "Dude! What kind of freaks on crack draw these covers? It's just not right!"

So wise, grasshopper. You have learned well.

Exposing the Executive's Secrets

Robyn: I have serious questions. Does anyone else hear bow-wow-chicka-chicka-bow music? And where did he get that hideous tie? Those lights- is he an executive stripper? You don't think the two dangling glasses and long necked wine bottle right in front of the package are subliminal, do you?

Missie: Memo from Harlequin Headquarters to its series authors: In light of recent comments made regarding our Trust Fund Affairs category romances, we felt it only fair to open up some different financial category romances so as not to offend anyone. Please submit your stories under one of the following headings, should you be interested: Soup Kitchen Flings, Government Cheese Dalliances, or Van Down By the River Romances. Next month, we will be accepting submissions to Barely Making It But On the Make, Paycheck to Paycheck Passion, and Hot Welfare Women.

The Right Brother

Robyn: As long as the right brother is someone else's brother, I'm good.

Missie: ...likes to poke his nose into his woman's eye. "That's what you get for dating my brother first!"

The Wolf's Promise

Robyn: "I promise I will poke out your eyeballs just because you annoy me."

Missie: ...is to what? Beat the crap out of me with his cane? Strangle me with his fluffy bluish cravat? He doesn't look sexy, he looks scary. Homicidal maniacs who fancy themselves animals are not keepers, people!

The Count's Charade

Robyn: Hope that bush isn't full of sticky pointy leaves. One, two, three, OW! One, two, three, OW!

Missie: So that's what happened to the guy from Highlander when the show was cancelled! Mystery solved!

Chain Reaction

Robyn: Oh, no, sir. Let me tell you that I SAW Hugh Jackman as Wolverine, and you, sir, are no Hugh Jackman!

Missie: So what, like he gets mad and strikes a pose and that causes lightning? Kinda like when the girl in Men In Black 2 was sad, it caused rain to fall? Is it like that? No? Oh....then I got nothin.

Devil in a Kilt

Robyn: "Okay, I know. I feel as stupid as you think I look, but I've got two kids to put through college. It's a living."

Missie's son: Look, It's Conan the Barbarian!

Missie: Somebody's having a wardrobe malfunction! Dude, look. Wear a shirt. Or a bra. Or a bra under a shirt. Whatever. But you're gonna poke somebody's eye out with that thing if you're not careful.

I've Been Touched...Er, Tagged

2007-03-22T15:21:00.000-07:00

I keep getting tagged. I try to run faster, but I was no good in track. So sue me.

Actually, this one sounded very cool. What are some truths about real moms? Thanks, Girl con Queso!

Real Mom Truths

1. Real Moms have forgotten what it’s like to have an uninterrupted conversation.

Whether it’s a baby demanding a bottle; a toddler that’s suddenly too quiet; an enraged pygmy storming in for toy arbitration; or a teenager requesting free chaperone service and can I spend the night at Ben’s house and I need ten dollars for that school thing and can we go to the mall and get new shoes and…

When I was young and unkidded, never did I dream that I would take nearly an hour to have a ten minute talk with a friend, studded with I don’t care who started it, I’ll finish it and Stop chewing on your shirt and Don’t just let it sit there, clean it up!

2. Real Moms look forward to empty nest syndrome.

I adore my little darlings. I worked hard for them. I worked hard having them. I was head over heels in love with them even while stuck with two in diapers, and wondering if they, and I, would ever move past that stage. In the craft-making, cookie-baking supermommy years, I could only shake my head in disbelief that I had actually birthed these two astonishing beings. Between Scouts and church and riding bikes and Mom, I’m not a baby anymore, and the general buzz and busyness of the elementary years, came the realization that my kids were my life, my purpose, and my heart. And I was tired.

Now as they enter the teenage years, I find I am eager for some things. My daughter is so smart, y’all. She is able to converse with me on a level I never dreamed we could. This, I see, is how my child will turn into my friend when she’s grown. Seeing my son’s childish love for animals morph into a genuine passion for wildlife conservation is so beautiful I’m crying as I type this. God, I love these kids. And I’m still tired.

Is it wrong to admit that I’m really, really, really looking forward to the day when I’m alone in my house and not looking at the clock, not centering my life around other people’s schedules, taking time for that extra cup of coffee that I don’t have to put in a To Go mug because oh-crap-they’re-out-of-school-in-five-minutes? Is it wrong to want to sit back and enjoy the rewards of those hard working years?

Actually, I don’t think so.

3. Real Moms are scared s**tless.

As awesome as the teen years are so far, I am worried. Now, my kids are great. Honestly, they are. And my main goal now is to keep a lid on myself, so when they come to me with something I won’t blow, lock them in their rooms and cut off all lines of communication. So I’ve been very, brutally honest about sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll.

They have responded well. They’ve shown me so far that I can trust them. And I expect that there will be Why, no, Mom. Nothing happened! moments, and that’s okay too. It’s part of growing up and gaining the necessary independence.

But see, here’s the thing. I was a teenager once. (Yes, I know, a loooong time ago.) Seeing my kids with scraped knees and not being picked for the team was hard enough. It’s the scraped heart I don’t know how to deal with. Can I control myself when the little hussy wearing a doily for a shirt comes batting her eyes at my son? When my beautiful girl comes home having had to deal with a guy who wanted his, right then, right there? I better not ever, ever, ever keep guns in the house. Whether it is dates, friends, teachers, or whoever, it seems as if teenhood is strewn with possibilities for a broken heart.

I know they’ll be okay. I just don’t know if I will.

Tag! I’d really like to see Real Mom Truths from: my partner Missie, December Quinn, and the MamaDrama ladies. You’re it.

Have Your Rotten Tomatoes Handy

2007-03-20T05:09:00.000-07:00

'Cause I'm ready to duck. I'm about to admit something that is currently a heresy to the romance reading world. I'm taking a deep breath, and here goes.

I miss Regencies.

*dodge*

Sorry, but I do. I've been re-reading some of my old Signet Regencies, and finally realized that when I am in the mood for a quick read, or I'm burned out on the larger tomes, I come back to these stories time after time. I have to wonder why.

It isn't as though the time period is one of my favorites to read about. I'm much more fascinated with the medieval- the Norman conquest up until about 1400; with the American West 1850-1890; and I definitely gravitate toward the latter Victorian era (around 1880? I'm there!) as opposed to the Regency.

Almost all of these little category books have things in common that make me groan. You will always find:

lavish descriptions of every stitch on every piece of fabric wrapped around the heroines
9,867,231 country girls with liberal educations who clean up really well and hold their own against the worst matrons and rakes society has to offer.
9,867,231 dukes with beautiful London houses and huge family estates with many lesser titles and holdings who, despite being handsome and manly and not needing any padding to fill out the shoulders of their Weston coats, have remained unmarried until age 35
universal derision and scorn of the ton and everything it stands for, even though the hero and heroine wind up being paragons of it

And on and on it goes. But I still love them. Those old Signets introduced me to Carla Kelly, Marion Chesney, Mary Balogh, and others who went on to single title success, and for that I'm grateful.

But there's something else that draws me toward these particular books; and I've become convinced there are two things: one, the genteel manners. Dinner was an event. Letter writing was an art. Deference was given to elders and gentlemen treated a lady like, well, a lady. Things today's society could benefit from, even if I wouldn't like to live there full time.

Two, the concept of honor. Many historicals of all periods have this theme running through them. A man's word was his bond. If the hero or heroine gave their word, they kept it to their pain. And if a lady's reputation, which was truly all she had, was called into question? Her champion called the blackguard out. Not that I'd really want any duels fought over me, but the idea that a man in extremely civilized society would literally put his life on the line to keep his lady's good name?

Sigh. Swoon. Thud.

So I'll keep reading, and hearing from Romancelandia how the simple, clean Regency is dead, and in the back of my mind I'll chuckle.

Suspense is nearly there, and vamps and witches? Your time is coming. I have a feeling we'll hear from the ton again.

Happy Friday

2007-03-16T11:12:00.000-07:00

No matter what this week has thrown at you,

No matter how confusing life may be at times,

No matter what may be clouding your vision,

Just remember.....You are loved.

Now go tackle somebody.

Never Work with Kids or Animals

2007-03-11T20:30:00.000-07:00

That's what they say in the world of show bidness. At here at Snarkling Clean, we think that bit o' wisdom should be heeded in the romance world, too.

Reluctant Witness

Y'know, for our money, nothing says romance like forcing a child to relive an event that's obviously traumatized him. Just makes us go all warm and fuzzy.

Daddy Next Door

He looks waaaay too happy to have a neighbor's kid attached to his leg. The little girl is beaming, too, but Mommy has that smile-politely-but-let's-get-the-heck-out-of-here look. Ah, we know the scheme. Neighbor boy paid the opportunistic little tyke so he could hit on Mommy, right? We certainly hope so. If that's not it, we're going to be seriously creeped out.

Expecting Thunder's Baby

These just aren't worth it when the snarks write themselves. You don't really need us for this, do you? We're gonna hit Starbuck's.

Critical Exposure

At this point we are wondering about the art department staff meetings at Harlequin. Do you think they got this cover art switched with some other book possibly titled...oh, I dunno...The American Millionaire's Secret Love Child Who Likes to Play With His Undone Collar? They wouldn't seriously want to give us this image with the words EXPOSURE and SECURITY BREACH, would they? Well, would they?

Don't answer that.

Darn Those Fairies!

2007-03-06T09:08:00.000-08:00

O I forbid you, maidens a',
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.

Child ballad #39A from The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, 1882-1898 by Francis James Child.

Tam Lin, or Tam Lane, has always scared the bejeebers out of me. What a great story. It goes something like this:

The woods of Carterhaugh are guarded by Tam Lin, a man who demands payment of all maidens who pass through, in the form of a belonging or their virginity. A maiden named Janet travels to Carterhaugh and picks a rose, causing Tam Lin to appear. He questions her presence, to which she replies that Carterhaugh is rightfully hers. She then travels to her fathers house where she exhibits the early signs of pregnancy, much to the concern of the household. She states that her lover is elven, and then returns to Carterhaugh, once again encountering Tam Lin. He reveals he is not elven, but a mortal captured by the queen of Faeries, and that he may be sacrificied to hell as part of the faerie tithe. He then details how she can save him to be her mate, if she will undergo a trial on Halloween night. She must pull him from his horse as the faeries ride through the woods, and hold onto him as he is transformed into various beasts, then plunge him into a well when he turns into a brand of fire. When he regains his own naked shape she must cover him with her green mantle and he will be free. She does all of this, much to the anger of the watching Queen of faeries.

Darn fairies. They're always doing stuff like that.

I just read a short story that retold Tam Lin, and why not? It's fabulous fodder for romance. But most fairy tales are repackaged over and over, aren't they? I've seen so many retreads of Beauty and the Beast I've lost count. The Beast can be anything from a literal beast to a man scarred in body to a man scarred in soul; the story's the same. Love conquers all.

But here's the thing. Some of the darkness, the scary, nervy, fright of it all, gets lost in modern translation. Maybe we're too sophisticated to find the fey much of a threat. Hey, even the thought of a seductive elf demanding payment of a girl's virginity is crushed under the weight of millions of "Mary Sue falls down a hole into Middle Earth and shags Legolas" fanfics. I've ranted before about how tv shows like Buffy and Charmed (even though they're entertaining) have removed the all-powerful threat of evil when they could make villains go poof! with a wave of their hands. It's supposed to be a struggle, not an afterthought. An opponent to be battled, not an irritant to be flicked at.

Do you mourn for the days when a fairy tale such as Tam Lin could make you think twice about going through the woods at night?

Ode to the Throne

2007-03-01T06:39:00.000-08:00

Food poisoning sucks, can I just tell you that? And since I've had an intimate acquaintance with my bathroom fixtures the past few days, I decided to investigate what kinds of thrones are available. Hey, I have to do something to cheer myself up since the health benefits of salmon will forever be lost to me. Or at least until I'm brave enough to try it in a restaurant again. Or anywhere.

Regular readers know of my fascination with toilet humor. But with these horrifying images I can only say: I'm SO glad I'm not a man.

I can't even figure out what this is. Is it an Indian god with a samarai top knot and 30's movie star mustache? I don't know what's in the gold box, but is he holding a camera in one of his hands? At least there's a little golden grill action in the Rolling Stones memorial he's clutching.

Okay. I know struggling musicians are always hard up for money, but this is just gross.

Women, we've just been given the power to rule the world. All it needs is a cup holder and pizza delivery. If this thing faces a big screen tv, we'll never see men again.

I've seen waaaay too many computers-take-over-the-spaceship movies to consider this preferable to a convenient bush.

Good idea, but after this week it just makes me think of Pepto Bismol.

Here's hoping your bathroom is used sparingly, and be careful of the fish!

EnnWhySee, Baby!

2007-02-26T19:37:00.000-08:00

You guys...I am so excited I can hardly stand it.

Guess where I will be one week from today?

Yeah, baby. The Biiiiiig Apple. That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, right there!

My boss and I are heading to a conference that will take place at none other than the Waldorf-Astoria and we are staying not far from there. I am so jazzed, people. I never thought I would ever get to visit NYC, because my husband? Would rather have dental work with no anesthetic than go there.

I arrive on Saturday, and if all goes well with flights and weather, then my boss will be taking me to dinner in Little Italy Saturday night. He has traveled there many times and has promised to take me around to see the sights, such as the World Trade Center, Rockefeller Center, and the Empire State Building.

Here's where I need your help...how many of you have been to NYC? Do you have any tips for me, a lowly hick from the West who ain't never been to the big city before? Is there something I should definitely see, or something I shouldn't waste my money on? I love walking around the cities I visit, and if my boss poops out on me, then I will be on my own on Sunday morning. I don't want to waste a minute of my time there, so is it safe for me to head out on my own in Manhattan on a Sunday morning to get some coffee and see what I can see or not?

Who cares about conquering the Big Apple? I just conquered my big brother!

Anybody with any info to share, please let me know. My husband just said, and I quote, "I hope you don't think you're walking around at night by yourself there!" Yeah, honey. That's exactly what I plan to do. You know me so well.

Anywaaaay, if you have any suggestions, tips, or ideas, please let me know.

Look, Daddy!
Mommy's on the news getting arrested in New York City! They said something about her walking around at night by herself?

(sidenote from Mommy: I was framed, Itell ya, framed!)

(another sidenote from Mommy: I hate hate hate this new Google Blogger marriage that has made posting to the blog even more time consuming and frustrating. Haaaaate with the heat of a thousand suns, hate.)

What's Wrong Here?

2007-02-22T07:43:00.001-08:00

I'm without my partner. Missie is ingesting hallucinagenic mushrooms in a hotel decorated by Liberace. But seriously folks, she's off to a business conference, and my poor baby has a slightly broken neck. Thankfully, before the flight she found a homeopathic herbal painkiller that's legal and everything. So she's at the Glitzandbling Inn wandering around behind the animals.

Me? I was at a bookstore a couple of days ago, looking at bargain books. You need to understand something about me and bargain books- I've had an obsessive love affair with them for years. There could be a book on Basket Weavers of the North Atlantic and if it was on the bargain table, I'd give it a shot.

So there I was, in a bookstore, looking at the inspirational romances on the bargain table- and get this- I had money. Actual money. I wasn't having to figure out a budget or feel guilty because I've promised the kids ice cream after school but I was spending so much on books that they had to settle for a cone instead of sundae. Me, romance, bargain bin. Marriage made in heaven, right?

I picked up book after book, and...just wasn't interested. They all sounded, well, what's the word I'm looking for? Um, sappy. Yep, that's the word. Sappy. To be fair, the stories were probably fine. The blurb writers absolutely SUCK. Almost every scenario ended with something like Can God heal Eliza's broken spirit so she can love Doug?

And there's nothing wrong with that. Most inspy books focus on the relationship between the hero/heroine and God, as much or more than each other. I have nothing whatsoever against those soul searches; at least the characters are going to grow in some way. But I still wasn't interested.

What, exactly, makes me think a book is worth picking up? I think of the Christian books I love the most: Bodie Thoene's Zion Chronicles, B.J. Hoff's An Emerald Ballad. God, and Christian themes like forgiveness and redemption, are woven through those books, but they aren't the focus. Maybe I just want to discover the God factor for myself. I mean c'mon. It's a Christian book. I'm pretty well assured faith is going to be a factor. The blurb doesn't have to smack me in the face.

What about you? Does the back blurb turn you off, sometimes?

Random President's Day Musings

2007-02-19T08:22:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the absence. I've got 2 kids who are now in a fund-raising flurry because they've decided to go on the youth group mission trip to Mexico this summer. $1,000 a piece, not including passports and extras. So they're shaking down friends and relatives, and signing up to work at the group garage sale; every shift they work will be credited to their account. I really, really want to see them go- it's an amazing experience to serve people, to pray with them, and to travel. And Gary and I will have a week to ourselves.

I HATE spelling errors in books. I can take clunky grammar, but bad spelling drives me nuts. So why do I like this paragraph?

fI yuo cna raed tihs, yuo hvae a sgtrane mnid too. Cna yuo raed tihs? Olny 55 plepoe out of 100 can. i cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in waht oerdr the ltteres in a wrod are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is taht the frsit and lsat ltteer be in the rghi t pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it whotuit a pboerlm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

Y'know, it must be difficult to have been trained for stardom since you were a zygote. To have your childhood, cute moments and gawky ones, paraded on the Mickey Mouse club and Star Search. To go from a cute girl in a slightly naughty Catholic School uniform to stripping and swabbing tonsils with aging icons on international television. Two marriages; and you should have stuck with the first one. In the second, you showed your complete lack of class on a reality show- or perhaps you were just going back to your banjo picking roots, who knows? After the inevitable divorce, you had to know the slimy photographers would be on your tail. You respond by showing them your front. ALL of your front. And on top of that, you nearly drop your baby when you weren't endangering him in the car. But at this point-

wouldn't you have thought getting tattooed and shaving your head would have been a Letterman/Leno punchline?

Valentine's Day, Old School

2007-02-13T19:51:00.001-08:00

I've had a lot of photo essays since beginning the blog. Most popular have been the "cute guy" posts, so I thought for Cupid's Day Out I'd put a new spin on it.

Have you ever thought about how much leading men have changed over the years?

From the smooth and suave yet manly men of the 30's and 40's...

to the powerful anti-heroes of the 50's...

the complex charmers of the 60's...

the ultra macho men of the 70's...

and the nice guy heroes of the 80's.

I love them all. And since I've never really grown up, I'll be the one to embarass myself and wish everyone a Happy VD!

Just a Question

2007-02-12T08:07:00.000-08:00

Hypothetical situation:

You have a 20 year old daughter who is living with her boyfriend and finds herself pregnant. Daughter marries boyfriend, and their combined total income is slightly above the poverty level. You have a neighbor who had a baby the previous year. Said neighbor gives your daughter at least $300 in baby clothes, toys, bath seats, etc, to date. At no point does your daughter write the neighbor a thank you card, or stop by the neighbor's house to say how much she appreciates the items. Do you:

1. Call your neighbor every time a new box of clothes appears on your doorstep, thanking her for her thoughtfulness?
2. Buy a card yourself for the neighbor?
3. Pull your daughter aside and say, "Listen, you ungrateful little snot! Put the baby in one of the outfits Neighbor gave you and trot your little butt on over there and thank her yourself!"
4. None of the above, ever.

Discuss....
Dude! I would totally make her a present in my diaper.

Goodbye, Anna Nicole

2007-02-08T14:43:00.000-08:00

As I am sure many of you have already heard, Anna Nicole Smith passed away today. She was 39 years old.

Even though she was far from my favorite celebrity, this news makes me sad. Not so much for her, or her lawyer/boyfriend/baby daddy, but for her five month old daughter, Danilynn. This baby girl will grow up without her mother to love her, which is heartbreaking, even if her mother was a train wreck. The only way she will ever know Anna is by the plethora of video, pictures, and gossip rags that made millions off of her.

I started thinking of when we all first heard of Anna Nicole, back in the late 80's, when she was a model for Guess. She was so pretty, and curvy, and conveyed just the right amount of innocence and Marilyn Monroe sex appeal. She looked like a real woman, instead of a wafer thin shell of humanity like so many models out there. She had so much potential and promise.

Please understand I am not trying to kick a dead person. But I can't help but feel her life was a waste. I am not going to judge whether or not she loved her 147 year old kajillionaire husband when she married him at age 26. Maybe she did. Or maybe she just wanted his money. But as a mom, I can't help thinking about the young son she had at that time. After her husband died, why didn't she just settle with his estate, take a few million, and call it good? Retire somewhere to raise her boy in peace and safety, away from the limelight, and try to give him a normal life? Instead, she chose to fight for a decade or more for half the estate that was listed in her husband's will.

Her life seemed to take a downward spiral, until it finally was there for all of us to see in her horrible reality show. If she had maintained any modicum of respectability or decency up to that point, then she certainly obliterated it on tv in front of millions. (I only saw about 5 minutes of it the entire time it was on.) Her antics, drug abuse, and general stupidity kept her name and face in the spotlight, while she cried for privacy and understanding.

She was a poor, misguided soul who thought that fame and money would bring her happiness. Now she's gone and has left behind a baby girl who will grow up in her shadow. And that, my friends, is so very very sad.

I can only hope that in her final minutes, she made peace with her Maker and has finally found whatever it was she was looking for here on Earth.

Goodbye, Anna. We will pray for your baby.

Grrr, the Sequel

2007-02-06T07:09:00.000-08:00

I read the sequel to Adams and Clamp's book Hunter's Moon. (See post below.) The book is called Moon's Web, and it ticked me off.

Not the book itself; for an urban fantasy it's really good. I won't go into the plot points, but basically Tony has a meteoric rise through the ranks of the Sazi (werepeople) and kills bad guys while maintaining his own badness. I did like the world building, and the Sazi could provide books from now until the end of recorded time. Which is apparently the plan, as I understand there are several more books on the Sazi published.

Tony is in danger of being Mary Sue'd, and I'd prefer that he were maybe a tad less competent and speshul (he has powers no one else does,) but I still enjoyed his POV. I absolutely liked this character. It is told in first person again, something I normally don't go for, and it didn't quite work as well as in the first. One nitpick- I hope the authors don't continue with his identifying every single emotion people feel with a scent. I swear, even if a person has four different emotions in one paragraph, they are all described in that paragraph. And practically no emotion ever felt by anyone is just told, it must be associated with the proper smell. That got annoying. Fear smells like this, jealousy smells like this, anger smells like this, I GOT IT. I GOT THE CONCEPT. It was cool in the first book, but once we get the idea perhaps a smattering of scents would serve. Just sayin.

Here's what burned my biscuits. The first book is published by Tor Romance. Says so, right on the spine. And in the pages? Romance. I've been reading them since I was a teenager and I know romance when I see it. The first book centered, primarily, on the relationship between Tony and Sue. It was about them. Beyond a Happily Ever After, or even a Hopefully Ever After, a romance is about the relationship.

This book, the sequel, is also published by Tor Romance, and identified on the spine as a romance. Sue is barely in the book. Tony thinks about her a lot, deals with the pain of needing her on a psychic level (a function of the Sazi mating thing) and she is way important in his mind, but we don't have very many scenes featuring them both. Maybe this is where the first person falls down; since he doesn't have a lot of contact with her, we can't see her understanding of things at all. Most of the book is about Tony and the Sazi hierarchy. There are something like fifteen new characters he deals with, and Sue is relegated to sitting in the apartment until the last battle. It does end well, but Moon's Web is Not. A. Romance. Not by my definition, and not by the standards set in the first book.

Not that it's bad; as I said, it is a good urban fantasy. But I felt cheated, ripped off. I was looking forward to seeing how Sue was going to grow, how she and Tony were going to deal together with his enormous life changes. They don't. He deals with everything by himself. This book isn't about them, it's about him. And that is not a romance.

I know I am not the first reader to bring up this particular point- one of the Ja(y)nes at Dear Author.com did a righteous rant on books that are marketed as romance being rather a story with romantic overtones. As I understand the debate over What Constitutes Romance, the SF/Fantasy romances in particular are under fire for just this sort of thing. My opinion, for what it's worth: I have read some wonderful fantasy books that had a good, satisfying romance in them. Even if the story was primarily about the couple and the relationship, if it was not marketed as a romance a less than happy ending wouldn't throw me. But if I pick up a book that is already pigeon-holed as a romance, I'm going to have certain expectations. Chief among them- an ending that is at least hopeful if not happy, and no matter what other things are going on in the story the primary focus is going to be on the relationship of the hero and heroine. And I trust that theme is going to be carried out in sequels, whether the protags become secondary characters and the sidekicks come to the fore or not.

I was very disappointed. I will probably read the other Sazi books, Tony's stories or others, but I'll be forewarned this time.

Cool, Kinda

2007-02-02T10:11:00.000-08:00

I took up December's challenge to find new authors and show them some support. These may not be new authors in the sense that it's their first book, but they were new to me.

I have read Tor books before, but only sci-fi/fantasy. I read that they had branched into romance some time past, but I hadn't read any until now. C.T. Adams and Cathy Clamp have come up with a doozy in Hunter's Moon.

It's told in first person, through our "hero" Tony Giadone. The story starts with a Sam Spade vibe, one of those It was a rainy night in the city by the bay, with a fog so thick you couldn't see your own thoughts kind of thing, which I totally dig. Tony is meeting a woman in a bar, a potential client. He takes all kinds of precautions, because Tony is a paid assassin. The woman nervously explains that the person she wants whacked is...herself.

This is where I was really glad it was told in first person. The woman, Sue, makes Cinderella look like Lara Croft, Tomb Raider. Seriously. Her drunk, needy mother and abusive sisters have treated her like a servant all her life, and now think they own her since she won the lottery. Yes, the lottery. She knows they will never leave her alone, and she will be guilted into taking care of Mom (who purposely fell down a flight of stairs to make sure Sue would take her in) and paying for everyone the rest of her life. She can't stand the thought, and is so emotionally abused she thinks her only way of escape is death.

I'm so glad I wasn't allowed in her head. I wanted to whack her myself and get back to the good stuff with the hunky hit man. If you can get past this plot point, she does get better. It's all so over-the-top, I was morbidly fascinated. Tony is attracted to her, but that's not why he refuses. She's too recognizable, and that's bad business. I have to say if you can get over the he-kills-people-for-a-living thing Tony is great. Sue pays him to listen to her, just so she can talk it all out. He takes her to his hotel, where he rents a suite on the top floor for three days every so often. Can you guess why? I'll give you a hint: one these three days, there's a full moon.

Yes. As if a lottery winning suicidal wimp who is too scared to do it herself and hires a hit man isn't enough for you, he's also a werewolf. At this point, there's really no reason I should have kept reading. There are so many things wrong with this. But it's kind of like Springtime for Hitler- it shouldn't have worked, but it did.

Tony politely offers to hit Mom and the sisters, but no. They're family, after all. Sue puts the hit on hold, and she and Tony start dating. Oh- she's not weirded out by the werewolf thing at all. Seems she saw one when she was just a tyke, who protected her when she was lost in the woods. I couldn't help thinking: She can't tell her mother to take a hike but she's brave enough to sleep with a werewolf assassin? Whatever.

It was cool to read about Tony dealing with his new senses. Smell takes on a whole new meaning to him, and he associates scents with emotions. Fear smells like hot and sour soup, etc. He can even take delight in discovering new ones, and he uses the new sharper senses in his work. He does occasionally do jobs for the local mafia. While exploring his relationship with Sue, who is going to therapy and growing a spine, Tony fights a rival mob boss who, we find, is also a shapeshifter.

We're then told about the Sazi, werepeople who will go to any lengths not to be discovered. Tony's part of that society now, but he isn't happy about it. Suffice to say, Sue is Tony's mate, only she's human and that's not supposed to happen, Tony and mob people fight, but are sighted by local media and so are taken into the Sazi Protection Program, and Tony and Sue are given new lives with papers to prove it.

Tony and Sue become so close that they have a sort of telepathy; a function of mates. And here's the one passage in the book that made it all worth it. Tony goes out on a job. Sue, who is in his head, "sees" what he's doing and is appalled. Contradictory, she knows, but being faced with the reality of what he does throws her. Tony whacks the guy, then lays it down for Sue: I was raised this way, and I don't have a problem with it. You knew who I was when you got involved. Deal. I imagine this is why Sue is such a pushover- most women would back away at this point, but I can see Sue caving in.

I liked it, probably because it's one of the few times I have seen the Alpha hero of a romance stay Alpha. They always get wussified! Twu wove changes them into softened mama's boys that can't stand the sight of blood. Tony has to change occupations in the strict social world of the Sazi, but that's to keep Sue and himself alive, not because he's discovered his feminine side.

The true GRRRRR factor in this book? The sequel. Tell you about it later.

You'd Make a Wonderful Dread Pirate Roberts

2007-01-29T07:47:00.000-08:00

Mandy Patinkin as Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride. I loved Inigo. And as cute and charming and heroic as Westley was, I never quite went for him. I mean, after all, the dink fell for Buttercup- a more useless wimpy character I've never seen.

I hated Buttercup.

Use the dagger on herself after the wedding she didn't want? Screw that. Use it on the Prince and make sure he won't have a wedding night, if you catch my drift.

But anyway- as I said, I loved Inigo. The image of a little boy seeing his father killed; growing up studying relentlessly so he'd have the skills to avenge the death; and overcoming mortal wounds to finally kill the murderer. Okay, so maybe he wasn't the sharpest sword in the shop, he still fascinated me.

At the end of the movie, I couldn't care less what Buttercup and Westley did with their HEA. I wanted to see Inigo with his new adventures as the Dread Pirate Roberts.

We own the movie, and watch it at least once a month. The latest viewing had me chortling over my favorite line, naturally, Inigo's: (after hearing Vizzini cry 'Inconceivable!' for the 3rd or 4th time) "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." But then I started thinking. There are very few times in movies that I root for the hero. Sidekicks rule. And as dedicated a romance reader as I am, I have to admit it's happened in books quite a bit, too. So many times the sidekick will get the job done when the hero can't. I always manage to get so invested in them I get frustrated when they don't get as much airtime. Or pagetime, as the case may be.

I don't imagine I'm alone in this, because many a romance series has been built on the sidekicks we all fall for. Haven't you ever read a passage giving you a tiny glimpse into a second stringer's heart and thought, Oh, yeah. Sequel fodder. If you read Julie Garwood's The Secret, you just knew sidekick Brodick Buchanan was going to have his own story.

What about you? Do sidekicks do it for you, too?

Titles That Will Make You Twitch

2007-01-21T09:20:00.000-08:00

Harlequin Presents.

Need we say more?

A Virgin for the Taking

Robyn: Which is sooo much better than a virgin for the sacrificing.

Missie: Um, I'm confused....is this a Viking novel? Or maybe medieval Scotland? No? Mmm, kay. Got nothing then.

The Forced Bride

Robyn: I can't tell if he's backing her up against a park bench or a radiator.

Missie: That title, combined with the author's name, just gives me the willies.

The Italian Millionaire's Virgin Wife

Robyn: Thank you for letting me know his nationality and financial status right in the title. I'm sure it never would have come up anywhere in the book.

Missie: All the virgins I know totally wear slinky red dresses and let guys carry them. It's like in the rules of the club or something.

The French Count's Pregnant Bride

Robyn: Since she's obviously not a virgin, I suppose the Count's not as good at this as the Italian Millionaire.

Missie: Did the French Count Nair his chest or is he just now going through puberty?

Pregnancy of Passion

Robyn: As opposed to Pregnancy of Test Tube? Pregnancy of Passed Out After Jello Shots?

Missie: Mommy, why are there naked people on our Christmas tree ornament?

Blackmailed by Diamonds, Bound by Marriage

Robyn: I don't need to read the book now, right? The title told me everything.

Missie: Not to be confused with Embezzled by Emeralds, Bound by Handcuffs.

These Ladies Have No Friends

2007-01-17T08:53:00.000-08:00

Or at least none that would tell them what they really look like. We've wondered what causes excessive catty snarkiness around award show fashion, and we've decided its a big honkin' case of schadenfreude. I mean, when we have a big night out, we go shopping for a new dress...but can't get the shoes AND the clutch, unless we settle for that other dress that's only okay, but then if we get the wonderful clutch we can't get our hair done, so maybe the shoes we have at home will work, and we can get the perfect dress, the clutch, hair AND nails. When we finally get the financial wizardry done and go home, we have to put on panty hose while removing toddlers from our legs and apply make-up in stages while making arrangements for the babysitter to be picked up when her ride falls through and ordering pizza for them all to eat and figuring out what to say when our darlings choose that moment to ask where babies come from.

So we think we're entitled to a little unholy joy when a woman is a jillionaire who doesn't have to say no to anything, has unheralded access to designers and stylists and glam squads, an army of nannies and flunkies to take care of domestic issues, and teams of P.R. people whose job it is to make sure she doesn't make an idiot of herself, shows up at internationally televised events looking and acting like this:

Robyn: We are in mortal peril of finding out if she got a Brazilian before the show.

Missie: Note that fell from Beyonce's clutch while walking the red carpet:
"Dear Beyonce, Just wanted to let you know that your Pap smear came back negative. Don't forget to schedule your yearly exam next January. Sincerely, Your OB/Gyn".

Robyn: Angie, I know children are starving in Africa. You didn't have to wear a shroud.

Missie: You can't read it, but her tattoo is cussing you out.

Robyn: Justin is NOT worth losing your mind for. Come away from the ledge.

Missie: She reminds me of my crazy aunt who thought she found the Crown Jewels in her closet.

(Snarkling Clean editorial note: Missie's not kidding.)

There were more, but we can't take it. For the love of Pete, please listen to your stylists. Or fire them. Whatever. Just so you starlets have an example of how to do it right and rock it no matter what your age:

Robyn: I so want to be her when I grow up.

Missie:I want to be Helen Mirren now!

And just because we want to:

Robyn: YUM!

Missie: Now that is something I could look at for a solid 24, that's for sure!

Book Pimpage!

2007-01-14T18:00:00.000-08:00

We here at Snarkling Clean have a couple of good friends- regular commenters who are celebrating their newest releases! We wanted to give them a big hand, and encourage you to give them some linky-love and check them out. And hey, they're both medieval. Can't go wrong there. We haven't read them yet but we can't wait.

December Quinn's The Black Dragon is available now. She has a short story in an anthology and another release as well. You go girl!

Michelle Willingham's Her Irish Warrior will be be available May 2007, but I think you can pre-order it on Amazon. Michelle, we're giving you a smiley face on your paper!

Congrats, ladies!

Sunrise, Sunset...

2007-01-11T14:13:00.000-08:00

Today is my son's eleventh birthday.

For the past week, I have been buying, hiding, and wrapping presents, getting miscellaneous cheap toys and candy ready for the goody bags, calling hither and yon to make sure the cake is ordered, the pizza will be delivered, etc etc etc, in preparation for his big party on Friday night. All the while thinking...and remembering...and dreaming...and crying.

Twelve years ago, I was 24. Young, idealistic, madly in love with my husband of three years. We talked about having a family and how we'd like to maybe get pregnant around September sometime. Then the baby would be born in the summer, and wouldn't that be great? Um, yeah. First parenting decision that wouldn't happen like we thought it would. We got pregnant in April. Right after our anniversary. Two weeks after me starting a new job. With new insurance. Yeah.

I remember in mid-May feeling very tired all the time. I couldn't get enough sleep or drink enough caffeine to keep me halfway functioning while I was awake. I was only about a week late for my period so I wasn't thinking that this fatigue could be caused by SOMETHING! IMPORTANT! A friend of mine said one day, "Well, are you pregnant?" Light bulb went on...Duh? Could I be? Well, I suppose. But see, we were planning to get pregnant in September, remember? So off I went to buy the pregnancy test that very day at lunch time. My husband was at home for lunch that day too, so while he was resting on our bed, I went into the bathroom and took the test. I remember coming out and sitting down by him and saying, "What are we gonna do if it's positive?"
His response: It's not positive.
Me: How do you know?
Him: I just do.
My man? Is currently working for the Psychic Friends Network.
So after the three minute waiting period, I went to check. There were two lines. And they were pink. Now, I don't mean faintly pink. I don't mean a pastelly pink that could possibly mean yes or no. I mean, two neon pink lines that could be seen from space. I grabbed the test and brought it out to Him Who Is Still Lying On The Bed And Not Acting Like Our World Is About To Change Forever And Ever Amen. I was laughing and crying and shaking, waving the test around like a magic wand, and babbling, "Honey, look! It's positive! We're pregnant!"
His response: It's Not Positive.
Me: Whaaa?
Him: What do the two pink lines mean?
Me: POS-I-TIVVVAH!
Him: Nuh-huh.
Me: (getting really mad now) Yes, huh!
Him: Did you do the test right?
Me: Honey, I had to pee on a stick. If I didn't do the test right, I have no business reproducing.

(sidenote: Approximately 8.5 yrs later, when I got pregnant the second time? He again asked me if I did the test right. Apparently, he thinks my mental status may have declined in the interim.)

At the ultrasound when we were going to find out what our little person was, I just had this knowing, this maternal instinct that I had heard so much about...I KNEW I WAS HAVING A GIRL! Because, see, here's the deal. Of course God would give me a girl first because hello? I am a girl. I know about girl stuff. I would have so much fun with a girl. I could dress her all in pink and take her shopping and paint her nails and she would look just like I did as a child. Oh, what fun my girl and I would have.

(sidenote: Alison? Looks nothing like me. Not even remotely. The End.)

Imagine my surprise when the tech said, "You are having a boy." No way, I said. Did you do the test right? The tech looked at me and said, "I don't know that I have ever seen a little guy who is so intent on showing us exactly who he is during an ultrasound." My son. The exhibitionist. So. Okay. Yeah. A boy. I am going to have a little boy. What do I know about little boys? Nothing! They are loud and sticky and noisy and like dirt and frogs and trucks, and Oh, Lord, what were You thinking?

Can I just tell you what He was thinking? He was thinking He would bless me in spite of myself, that's what He was thinking.

Let me tell you a little about my boy.

My boy is intelligent. Not only book smart, but common sense smart. He doesn't always use the common sense portion of our program, but it's there. I have seen it. He gets honor roll grades, has a 98% in spelling for the year, and is a voracious reader. He has written about four books that are actually very good. Mom just needs to find a publisher now. He also did about 38 illustrated books about an alien named...well, Alien...before he could even write. The stories chronicle Alien's adventures with his friends and cousins. And draw? This kid can draw like nobody's business. A talent he did not get from his mother.

My boy is funny. His sense of humor and dry wit are far beyond his years. He can make adults laugh with his jokes, and that is saying something. (Not that he doesn't enjoy the usual fart/burp/vomit variety of humor that most boys his age are into, mind you. He's all over that too.) While watching the Sugar Bowl with the whole family, he quips during a commercial for chips, "Oh yeah, it's Tostitos that brings us all together. Because no way would we be spending time with each other if not for chips!" You have to admit, that's funny.

My boy is sweet. A few weeks ago, I was having a very rough day. We are talking run away from home and return when the kids are 18 kind of day. I told Zach, "Look, Bub. I am feeling really stressed right now. I am trying to control my temper and my words, but just know that if I snap at you or sound mad, I am not. I am just really tired and need a time out myself." He goes into his room and returns a few minutes later with his wallet. "Mom, how much are the drinks at Starbucks that you like so much?" So I told him. "Mom, here's five dollars. I want you to go there tomorrow while I am at school and get yourself whatever you want. You need a little treat." (I am tearing up while typing this.) He does stuff like that all the time.

He takes care of his sister for me when I need to do something around the house. He plays with her and can make her laugh like no one else can. Even though he calls her Hobbit or The Little Stench, his love for her shines through his irritation. He's a good boy.

My boy is a goober. This kid is so goofy sometimes. It is so fun to watch him and his friends just be boys. And he and his dad? The biggest set of goobers ever to roam free on the planet. They've watched Napoleon Dynamite about 57.2 times and quote the lines back and forth to each other. They wrestle on the floor and tickle fight and make funny guy noises. They play GameCube and go to thrift stores and target shooting and hiking and generally have a lot of fun together. They can sing the SpongeBob Goofy Goober song so realistically that you think the yellow guy is standing in the living room.

But my boy is so much more than what I have listed here. He is my light, my heart, my world. He is the second best thing that has ever happened to me. His existence gives me a purpose I was lacking and a joy that is all-encompassing. I had no idea that it was possible to love another human being that much, to have that little person's happiness be my number one priority, to have his pain rip my heart clean out of my chest. I worried when I was pregnant with Alison that maybe I wouldn't love her as much as I did Zachary, because seriously? Can one heart produce that much love? Um, yeah. It can. And after seeing Zachary interact with her? The crazy love I had for him multiplied about a billion times over and combined with my love for her and my love for my husband and now I am just one big gushy heart full of mushy mommy love. (Except for when they tick me off.)

So, happy birthday, Maynard. Or Bub. Or Mister. Or SB or Zman or Zachmeister or Zachary Scissors or Zaccheus or any of the other fifty bajillion nicknames we've given you over the last eleven years. But the one name I will always be so thankful to call you by is Mine. I love you, little dude.

Shout Out, Peeps!

2007-01-11T09:43:00.000-08:00

Did you guys know that it is National Delurking Week? Huh, huh, didya? Stop by, say hi, and just let us know you are out there.

Because we like you. And we want you to like us. And invite us over for playdates and let us come to your birthday parties and hang out at recess with you and stuff.

This is my daughter, showing you how we say "What up, homies?" in Idaho. Which would be in a pretty dress with clashing bracelets and bare feet. Because we're all street like that.

If you don't leave a comment....

I will be forced to scrunch my face up even further in the next picture. And it won't be pretty.

I'm not playing here.

Comment....

Comment now...

Or else....

Random Meanderings

2007-01-10T17:03:00.000-08:00

You ever feel that your best posts are behind you? Especially if you spend most of your time fighting with Blogger and you have no idea how the post is actually going to look until you post it?

Sometimes I think I should write about writing, but so many people do that better than I. Or I should wax poetic about spiritual issues, but I don't want to get pedantic on a mostly humorous blog. I've got plenty of Mommy material, but do you have any idea how many Mommy bloggers there are on the internet? About 12 parsecs. (Geeky Star Wars in-joke. Groan or snort through your braces if you got it.) And romance review sites are growing like ticks at a Cub Scout camp.

Of course, there's always cover snark.

If you can't write a good joke about John DeSalvo's radioactive pants, there's something wrong.

And just when I think I should pen a thoughtful piece on the state of the world, I realize I'd much rather ask Which Discovery Channel Host Would You Snog?

Butch Brit Bear Grylles from Man Vs. Wild
Adorable supergeeks Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman from Mythbusters
It Takes A Thief's dashing burglars Matt Johnston and Jon Rainey
Hunky-hunky-but-must-smell-funky Mike Rowe from Dirty Jobs

I could do celebrity snark:

"Why exactly am I up here, again?"

But as I said, it's being done better.

At times I think I must be captivating, charming, and witty. At other times I find myself a victim of terminally arrested development. Do you ever feel like a living dichotomy, someone who can appreciate impressionist art and Verdi but still giggles at the poor schmucks who get whacked in the golden globes by their kids aiming for the pinata on America's Funniest Home Videos? Who am I?

Wow, that was slightly introspective. One might even say, kind of deep. I'm impressed. And totally sure that most of the pithy comments from my intelligent friends will include the votes for Most Shaggable Discovery Host. Which is why I like you all so much. You're like me. Flexible enough to appreciate both sides of life. We get serious when we need to, but most of the time we're Easy Like Sunday Morning.

Did you hear that, Mike? I'm eaaaaasy. Mee-oww. But take a shower first.

Dear Me

2007-01-06T06:01:00.000-08:00

The first cover of 2007. The cover isn't necessarily that bad, although shades of Christopher Walken's Continental come to mind (can't you just hear him offering you some sham-pan-yay?) But the title simply begs for it:

Tame Me

Robyn: Rescue me.

Missie: Spare me.

Robyn: Hide me.

Missie: Gag me.

Robyn: Save me.

Missie: Shoot me.

Day of Grace

2007-01-03T08:59:00.000-08:00

That girl, in the foreground? In the black and green dress with the green ribbon sash? That, my friends, is the most beautiful girl in the world. My daughter, Beth.

This Proud Mommy Moment is brought to you courtesy of a little annual school shindig called Hanging of the Green. She and the other well-dressed kids are waiting to perform their green-hanging duties, which consist of choirs and bands and cute boys in ties holding said greens escorting gorgeously gowned girls carrying candles. It's a very pretty little ceremony, and participation only comes through fierce competition.

Essays. Usually the bane of any kid's life, this essay posed a (gasp!) interesting question: If you could declare another national holiday, what would it be? Beth's idea- The Day of Grace.

On that day, you could talk to, have lunch with, or hang with anyone you wanted to without fear of reprisals from your usual peer group. A goth could talk to a preppy. A geek could hang with a jock. A rich kid could laugh with a poor one. Anyone, from any race, religion, class, or social status could make friends from a different clique without losing the ones they already had.

A beautiful idea from a beautiful girl. Honestly, sometimes I just have to pick my jaw up off the floor as I ponder the fact that I actually gave birth to this amazing kid. To pick up on the frustration of Junior High social structure is easy.

You belong in Slot A. Do not go to Slot B, or your former Slot A friends will shun you. And don't even consider Slot C. They will not accept you without a lengthy application process.

But to come up with such an intelligent, innovative solution? That takes a big brain and a big heart.

That's my girl.

In Praise of Readers

2006-12-31T15:05:00.000-08:00

There's a post over on Romancing the Blog that kind of irritated me. The poster is complaining about slasher-bloggers; nasty reviewers. I've read this complaint more times than I have fingers and toes on which to count. Yes, some reviewers are nasty and go way too far. Apparently. I don't know which slashers she's accusing, since she won't name them, and I can only think of a few sites that have gone overboard, and that's only with one or two authors. She seems to want all reviewers to be, using her word, Pollyannas. To focus on the positive, and only give negatives if they are couched in the tenderest apologies. Buddha on a nine dollar cracker, have you heard of the concept of free speech? I for one am tired of hearing how snarky readers who post a bad review are responsible for bad sales, bad feelings, and the demise of civilization as we know it.

The comments section brought up some very interesting points. Amazon reviews were cited as major nastiness pits, but I find that somewhat laughable. I humbly beg your pardon if you post reviews there, but to me, Amazon is not a discussion board. It's a bookstore. Reviews there are the equivalent of some poor schmoe lurking outside Barnes and Noble who jumps on you when you come out. "Did you buy That Book by This Author? You did? Well let me tell you what I thought..." I would not be interested in that person's opinion- I'd want to get away as fast as I could before I was infected. As for nasties that only post anonymously: why would I care about the opinion of someone who wasn't brave enough to give me her name, or smart enough to give me a fake one?

I must point out that some authors have charged that their private lives and characters have been maligned, and that is just wrong. I can find all kinds of things wrong with a book without thinking the author is a miscreant. Conversely, I can absolutely love a book without thinking the author is a shining angel. The ripping of a book is free speech. The ripping of an author is the act of a cowardly bully.

That said, I have to agree with a good number of commenters who both praised reader blogs and defended their right to snark, nasty or not. Some quotes: (BTW, some do not have blogs or links. Please see the comments section of the RtB post for the ones who do.)

Tara Marie: "Where’s the turning point between snarkisism and mean-spirited snarkisism? Who determines what qualifies as “ethical literary criticism”? Can ethical literary criticism ever be snarky or are we to believe that only glowing positive and tepid negative reviews qualify as ethical?"

Robin: "I get a little nervous, though, when talk starts about how so-called slasher bloggers only “want attention,” though, because it seems to me the real anxiety on the part of some authors might be that those bloggers are taking attention away from both the author and the so-called cheerleader bloggers. Because no one accuses a blogger who writes a A+++++++++ “best book evah” review of seeking attention. If a so-called slashing review can take away attention from an author’s book, well, is that only a reflection of the review, or of the book, as well? Or at least of the Romance culture?"

Yes, I chimed in as well: "Any snarkiness comes out of my natural smartass personality. Some will find it funny, and others will find it juvenile and annoying. That’s fine. Any book reviews I do (and there really aren’t many) are not intended to be literary discussions. It’s just me, talking with my girlfriends over coffee at the kitchen table about the latest thing I read. Am I going to bring up the wonderful, tender moments that made me catch my breath? You bet. Do I gush over wonderful characterization or plot? Of course. Am I going to call out WTH? when I read something I find incomprehensible? Yep. Will I tell readers about the thud as I threw the hated thing against the wall? Yes, I will."

Karen Scott: "I see a lot of hand slapping and tut-tutting, but when was the last time anybody gave props to the readers out there who are buying your books and talking about them?"

And the best for last, from Jane: "But readers should be able to converse with other readers, no matter the tone, if they want to. The online community of readers is so bright, vibrant and interesting, that it seems natural to want to share our thoughts with each other. The old form was email loops and listservs which graduated to public message boards and forums which now has evolved to blogs and comments. Personally, I love the blogs, the different flavors, from the positive to the negative. All this chatter means that we love this genre. We love it and we are grateful to the authors who make it alive."

Well spoken. Yes, I snark; but romance is the genre I bathe in. If I did not adore it I would not work up enough enthusiasm to post about it. So I give a big shout out to reader blogs, snarky or sunshiny. The romance world wouldn't spin without you, and it sure wouldn't be as much fun. Keep writing.

Bow, Peasants

2006-12-28T19:18:00.000-08:00

I have finally found myself. And all through my peculiar title. I am:

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is:
Her Most Serene Highness Lady Robyn the Prickly of Buzzcock Lepshire
Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

ACLU, Bite Me

2006-12-19T06:16:00.000-08:00

Missie and I are going to be as busy as the rest of you this week, with family and baking and kids home from school. We're taking a bit of a blog vacation, and we'll be back December 29 with fresh cover snark to ring in the New Year. I can't believe it will soon be 2007. Remember when we all wanted riot guns for the sure societal meltdown after Y2K? And let me tell you, the Holiday iceberg has struck our ship, and she is leaking money all over the darn place. It's like:

Huge big-box bargain store who will go to Machiavellian lengths to ensure they won't pay their employees more than $7.00 an hour even though they will rake in an obscene amount of money: 1

Struggling parents who are trying to teach the kids about the true spirit of Christmas but still be the cool mom and dad who manage to give the insanely expensive (insert MUST HAVE OR WILL DIE object here) so the child's peers will not laugh, ridicule, heap scorn upon, or throw darts at said child: 0

And notice I just said the forbidden word. Christmas. Yes, frightened wussy airport and township lawyers, I said CHRISTMAS. Loudly. Proudly. I'm going even further-

A Christmas Tree! Flagrantly displayed! HA!

The PC police will not silence me. They cannot stop me. I will say, and say again, Merry Christmas.

MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHR-

*~*

Got. To. Have.

2006-12-13T09:12:00.000-08:00

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Heather. Without you I wouldn't have found it.

My Christmas present.

Who wouldn't squeeeeee with delight upon opening this Christmas morning?

The Fish-n-Flush toilet tank aquarium.

My most personal, intimate needs taken care of while being viewed by a dozen tiny eyes. The sweet little fishies- oh, the sights they'll see!

This gift will be perfect- I've always had a secret crush on the Plastic Diver Guy.

Help Me Out Here

2006-12-10T20:23:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make. Yes, I can hear you all whining, "Gad. Not another one."

But it really isn't a biggie: I have no sense of smell. Never have had one. I apparently had a few infections as a baby which 'burned out' part of my olfactory. I can't smell bread baking, or flowers, or candles. But then again I can't smell body odor or diapers or barf, so it hasn't been too bad. Except when my mom got great pleasure out of telling people that I didn't smell very good.

But it leaves me with a bit of a problem when writing. People are generally scent-conscious. I've read that a single smell can trigger memories and emotions from decades ago, which must be incredibly powerful for those who have experienced it. My eyes may start to water if my unbathed dog gets too close, but that's about the extent of it for me. I have to drag my husband through the perfume department, forcing him to smell me, right there in public, to see which scent he likes. He'll be the only one smelling it, anyway, so he may as well pick it out. So I don't include much about odor in my descriptions. I have to rely on what has been written or said by others.

Except there's not much there. A hint of cologne, or the stench of a decomposing body; that's about it. As I look on in wonder at you non-smell-challenged people, I have to ask why more writers don't make the sense of smell more important to their characters. There are BIG cliches in Romancelandia, as you might guess.

The hero always 'identifies' the heroine by catching her scent. Her scent. Like she has one, and one alone. Every woman I know has one or two good bottles of perfume for special evenings, and two or three Avon/Walgreen's bottles for everyday. Not to mention the small samples that seem to accompany every gift bag at any ladies' meeting. Fer crying out loud, I can't even smell and I have five sitting on my dressing table right now! My question is this- don't women smell different on any given day? Or smell more like a combination of all the scented crap they've poured on their skin? Soap- floral. Shampoo- citrus. Deodorant- Powder Fresh. Body lotion- Vanilla. Spray anything else on top of that and I wonder if the heroine's identifying 'scent' is a lot worse than she intended.

But heroes? Whether it's historical or contemporary, men seem to have just four choices. Sandalwood, leather, horses, and sweat. Sometimes the sweat is called, "man." I will be honest and tell you I don't even know what sandalwood is. Is it wood? Were these guys cutting down trees or something? If leather truly has a distinctive odor, wouldn't that make him smell like a couch or a car, too? I personally don't know anyone who yearns to take a deep cleansing sniff in a barn; even animal lovers will admit that beasts, while noble and admirable and lovable, stink. And sweat. Man. I thought that was what wives and girlfriends complained about while forcing their honeys to go change shirts.

So you people who smell better than I do (*rimshot*) give me some feedback. What are these authors leaving out? How many smells do you encounter in a day, and how does it affect you?

A Message from Vince

2006-12-07T20:14:00.000-08:00

Hey, y'all. I'm Vince Gill, and I want to tell you about a special lady friend of mine. Spe-shul, if you catch my meaning. Missie.

She's having a birthday today, and her wonderful, gracious, generous friend Robyn asked me to put together a little sumpin'-sumpin' for her. Now, when Robyn had a birthday, Missie posted pics of a baby scared of an old wrinkly lady with no teeth. That's not Robyn's way. To show once and for all that Robyn really is the nice one, here are some presents for our birthday girl.

This feller is supposed to make her swoon. All that hot Latin blood or somesuch nonsense. I'm a total white guy; I wouldn't know.

Criminy! This guy's got a sword! Missie's not into that kind of stuff, is she?

I dunno, this guy looks like he's been working in a coal mine. Robyn, are you sure Missie's excited by facial hair and sweat?

Ah, that's more like it. He's even in a tie. Although he does sorta look like he's waiting for her at the Motel 6.

This here feller done went into the motel pool with his skivvies on. At least he's not skinny-dippin', cause I know Missie don't like that stuff.

Right?

Why, this one's old enough to be her Daddy! Shameful!

Don't tell me. She likes movies about Gladiators.

Well, Happy Birthday Missie- you Sick Twisted Freak!

Every So Often You Do Something Right

2006-12-05T08:21:00.000-08:00

Even though Christmas is still a few weeks away, we're starting to hear those Year In Review reports. From the government to entertainment to retail sales, we'll be treated to long lists of who had hits and who had misses, who married and who broke up, who had babies and who died. In short, who won, and who lost.

For this year, I think I can safely say I won.

No, not a book contract or a new house or a promotion for hubby, but something that counts a little more. My daughter was talking to her dad and her brother as I was cooking dinner last night and I heard this:

"Dad, I just know I'm not going to be one of those girls who lets guys treat her like crap. I want more, because I've seen how you treat mom."

Slam. Dunk.

I stirred and heated and poured while blinking the tears out of my eyes, listening to my man tell his children his responsibilities to them, and to me, knowing that none of what he said was a surprise because they've seen it lived before them from the moment they were born.

I know that my daughter is going to demand that she be treated like a lady, and won't settle for less. No boy is going to abuse her, mentally or emotionally or physically, trash talk her, use the B-word as an endearment, or use guilt or threats to get her to do something she doesn't want to do. She knows she is worth more than a guy who sits at the curb and honks, expecting her to come running. She knows she is worth more than a boy who will pull out the old "if you love me you will" argument. She knows, because her father has never treated me that way.

I know that my son is respectful to women, and will never think it is his right to get physical because his date may wear a mini-skirt. He knows that it will be his responsibility to get his date home before her curfew, not to convince her to disobey and leave her to face the music. He knows that it is dishonorable to call any woman a name that reduces her to the status of an object. He knows he must treat the woman in his life as a precious treasure. He knows, because his father treats me that way.

In spite of money that's always too short and bills that are always too long, jobs you don't like and houses you aren't fond of, and all the myriad things that can go wrong in a day, you still win. I have. I married "up." And I'm supremely grateful for it.

Mystery Puddles, Snow Days, and Cute Guy Friday

2006-11-30T19:20:00.000-08:00

Okay, so something weird's going on at my house. The past couple of days, right before the blizzard hit, there were unexplainable puddles. Random, strange puddles in random, strange places. Not near a sink or a toilet or any water pipe that I'm aware of. The wall's not wet. The ceiling's not dripping. Nor does the carpet squish. I mean, we've got to have some kind of leak, right? And before you ask, no, the dog isn't leaking. It's just plain water. Unless someone's walking around with ice cubes in their pockets, we must have some ghost who got lost trying to get away from the wreckage of the Titanic.

And we have snow! Real snow! Five freaking inches of snow!! Why am I so excited about this, you ask? Because Oklahoma generally gets one good winter storm a year, and it usually isn't snow. It's ice. The closest we get to actual snow is charitably called sneet. Impossible to build a snowman or even a good snowball, it's worse to try and drive in the stuff. Our city has like three trucks to spread salt and sand- I have seen plows stuck in ditches. That's because no one here knows how to drive on ice.

You'll invariably be stuck behind one of two people: the idiot who thinks it's fun to tie water ski ropes to the back of the truck and tow his beer-soaked buddies on a sled behind him as fast as he can possibly drive, or the woman who is convinced that 'taking it easy on the road' means going FIFTEEN miles an hour. On the highway.

And of course, school's out. Which is a good thing, since our bus drivers have a hard enough time on a clear, warm day with a minimum of traffic. But 'snow day' for teens is apparently vastly different than 'snow day' for kids. Before, if they had a day off school so they wouldn't jeopardize their lives on the streets, they spent the whole day jeopardizing their lives on the streets. Snow angels...er, ice angels, hockey, iceball fights, you name it. I had to drag them inside to make sure they didn't have frostbite or wouldn't get hit by truck skiers. But now? I had to threaten and bribe just to get one of them to walk the dog, who was so turned on by the cold she spent fifteen minutes running around the house in a hyper fit after her constitutional. For teens, snow day=sleep. Come to think of it, that's not a bad idea.

And just because I feel like it, here's someone I wouldn't mind curling up on the sofa with on a cold, blustery day: Hugh Jackman.

Who'd A Thunkit?

2006-11-27T13:49:00.000-08:00

I have some really bad news for you guys.

I need you to sit down, take a deep breath, and make sure there are no sharp objects in your hands. Find a quiet spot and prepare yourself because I cannot be having anything bad happen to any of you just because of what I am about to share.

And maybe grab some Kleenex, too.

Are you ready? Ya sure?

Deep breath....

Pamela Anderson has filed for divorce from Kid Rock after four long months of marriage.

I know! I can hardly believe it! Because nothing says eternal commitment before God for all time like getting married in a barely-there white bikini with Just Married spelled out in rhinestones on the butt. I thought for sure they would beat the odds and last forever. Or at least until Christmas.

But it is such a good thing that they don't have any kids who'll be affected by this...

Oh, that's right. She has two sons, ages 10 and 8, from former husband Tommy Lee. (Can you imagine? "Yeah, my dad is Tommy Lee, and my stepdad is Kid Rock! Oh, and the entire world has seen vast portions of my mom's anatomy." No way will these kids need therapy.) And he has one son from a previous "relationship". Too bad neither one of them are taking their relationships with their kids seriously enough to be choosy about who comes into their lives and how long they stay.

So even though yet another Hollywood marriage bites the dust, there is still hope, my friends. We'll always have TomKat.

Random Black Friday Musings

2006-11-24T13:02:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving, if you celebrate. Hubster had to work, but got home about 4:30. We still had the traditional dinner, just in the evening. It was so nice! I mean, I still cooked way too much, but I didn't have to get up at the crack of OHMYGOD to put in the turkey. It was just us four and no more, and if I may be permitted a holiday blasphemy, that was kind of nice too. I was able to drink an entire cup of coffee before it cooled and watch THE WHOLE PARADE. I love parades. I'm a total sucker for them. I'm so glad my kids are used to my dorkiness. "Look!" I squealed. "Barry Manilow's going to sing in Herald Square!"

"Happy you're enjoying yourself, Mom."

Last Thanksgiving was the last time I really saw my mom. I'm very, very thankful that we decided to stick my brother-in-law's family with the dishes and ran off to a quiet spot to talk. I never in a million years thought it would be the last time I'd sit and giggle with her over absolutely nothing important, but I thank God that I had the chance.

I missed out on something today. And I'm jubilant. No after-Thanksgiving sales this morning, hurray! I used to do that big-time, especially when the kids were small. I got all psyched for it, up at 4:30am, sweats and running shoes ready, elbows hardened for the inevitable block-and-poke so that lesser bargain hunters didn't horn in on MY finds. But the older I get, the less I want to face the ordnance in the field. Almost everyone is getting gift cards or something from an online catalog. If I can't click it, you ain't gettin it. My elbows aren't what they used to be.

In better news, my sister-in-law is hiring me to write some things for her company's website. I'm having a lot of fun, but the best part is that I SHALL BE PAID. I can now tell everyone that I am a freelance writer and not feel that I'm telling a fib. I don't know why most of us unpubbed writers feel it necessary to proclaim that fact. I can't just say, "I'm a writer." That feels shady, somehow, if I can't back it up with a printed book title. It shouldn't, it just does. If I say I write and can show the book, people think, "writer." If I say I write and have nothing published, people think, "bum."

And that ridiculous Mind-Sticker song has gone incessantly through my head, thanks to Girl con Queso. She found some more (more!) of those TAB commercials. See them here. I laughed so hard I almost had a Depends moment. Not because of the bad music, or bad fashion, ladies playing tennis by themselves, or the snotty announcer telling me to get a clue. I'm laughing at the men whose minds have been stuck. These poor schmucks are wandering around walking into walls because they can't quit thinking about boinking their wives. At least you hope the mind-stickers are their wives. Can you imagine the conversation at home?

"Harry, you what?"

"Drove into a tree."

"How on earth did you do that?"

"Simple. I just stepped on the gas."

"Seriously, what happened? Did you swerve to miss a dog or a kid on a bike or something?"

"If you really want to know, it's your fault."

"My fault? How?"

"It's that tennis outfit you had on yesterday. I couldn't stop thinking about it and imagining all sorts of things you could do with a tennis racket. If you had just let yourself go like the other women on this block, it never would have happened."

"Shut up and get me a TAB."

More About Us! (Cause We Know You're Fascinated)

2006-11-20T08:36:00.000-08:00

Michelle tagged us. 5 Things You Don't Know About Me.

Do you how hard that was, since I've blathered on about practically everything to you people?

Here's Missie's list:

1. I wear perfume, body spray, or scented lotion every single day, no matter what. Except when camping.
2. I am a terrible cook but a terrific baker.
3. The name Alison had never popped up on my baby name radar--ever---until one day in my sixth month when my husband mentioned he liked that name.
4. I have been on Weight Watchers since June 27 and have lost 16.8 lbs so far.
4.a. Today is my 47th consective day exercising. I have never done anything in my life for 47 consecutive days, other than complaining.
5. Other than a brief stint working in a daycare in my teens, I have only worked in the medical field for my entire career.

Mine is stranger but not as impressive:

1. I hate it when my food touches each other on the plate.
2. I took ballroom dancing in college and can still do a pretty good tango.
3. Right out of high school, I was in a community production of South Pacific. The woman playing Bloody Mary got sick after opening weekend, and I was handed the part with no rehearsal- with 12 performances to go. (I was marvelous, dahling.)
4. I have not lost any weight and intend to gain a bit over the holidays. Life is too short to skip pumpkin pie.
5. I was almost lynched once by a group of angry drag queens in a gay bar in Dallas, Texas.

Quirkychild and starvingwritenow, you're it!

Weighing In On The KA Heroine

2006-11-15T09:36:00.000-08:00

Much has been debated in Romancelandia lately about the so-called “kick ass” or KA heroine. Harlequin’s line dedicated to the KA, Bombshell, was recently discontinued, and it sparked a debate about whether or not the average romance reader really wanted to read about the KA woman.

Now, some of the books in that line didn’t have Wonder Woman, Xena, or even Sydney Bristow. Some of those heroines were KA brain trusts, but I think the perception of physical women endured. With a few notable exceptions, romances haven’t been as successful with KA’s as television shows have. I have to wonder why?

We’re all in favor of strong, independent, capable women, right? I like reading about a damsel who can slay her own dragon; and there’s a lot to admire about them. However, I think there are a couple of places where the KA romance heroine falls.

Certainly not her fashion sense. J.D. Robb’s Eve Dallas is the one I can think of who wasn’t necessarily confident in that area. The KA isn’t afraid to showcase her, er, assets in the latest leather ensemble. Even though it’s skin tight, she can still hide about fourteen weapons. That’s style, baby.

Of course to do that, she has to keep herself in shape. Our girl usually eats like an 8-yr-old and drinks like a fish, but she can perform physical feats no ordinary woman can. Who wouldn’t love reading about that? Finally, no fainting woman who reacts to stress by not being able to eat a single bite- but that’s a whole different rant. The KA can eat as much chocolate as she wants.

She can be a mentor to other women. Who wouldn’t want to inspire some insipid jellyfish waif to get a little backbone? Even if the waif is us? I mean, every woman secretly wants to be her, right? We’d all like to be powerful enough, just once, to knock the snot out of the salesman who automatically talks to the husband and only includes us when pointing out the color. To have the ability to grab the smarmy, lecherous co-worker by his Golden Globes and point out the advantages of singing in the Vienna Boy’s Choir. To…well, okay, I’m going there; hang on and promise you’ll still like me. TO BE A MAN.

I think one place that KA’s fail is their invincibility. No wonder they deserve an action figure. I have never seen a KA lose a fight. Never. If you know of one, clue me in. Oh, they may get caught at the end, through treachery or drugged chocolate, from which of course they’ll escape; but in the regular middle-of-the-book thug fights every action protag must have, they never wind up getting their clocks cleaned. Male KA’s? Get beaten up all the frigging time. Again, that’s another rant.

But IMO the big place romance KA’s trip is the hero. Steve Trevor was a war pilot, for goodness sake. Heartthrob gorgeous, with the sparkly teeth and everything. He was honorable, upright, polite to old ladies and children and had great hair. He fought Nazis, okay?? Who could get more heroic than that? But next to Wonder Woman, he was the biggest goober alive. He got caught or kidnapped or got the snot beaten out of him (see? I told you!) regularly, and Wonder Woman wound up having to save him every time.

I’m not saying the romance heroine can’t do the saving once in awhile; I love it when she steps up to the plate. And though I love hairy chest-thumping men I have liked beta and gamma heroes, too. But I think I’m a pretty typical romance reader, and I like it when Alpha Hero comes to the rescue. Part of the fun is seeing the Big Strong Man fall to pieces when faced with his feelings for the heroine. When he bends his knee, figuratively or literally, he acknowledges that this woman has power over him. He has to change how he’s always looked at the world and his place in it. I hate waifs, and I love a good strong heroine, but when the KA shows up, it is very difficult to portray equality with the hero. (Nora does it very well with Eve Dallas and Roarke.) Part of the appeal of the KA is her physical power in a world where physical strength is still where men outdo us; seeing her bend her knee doesn’t have the same satisfaction for me.

All that said, I’ll still love watching reruns of Xena and Buffy, and I’ll probably see the new Wonder Woman flick when it comes out. And I’ll still go to bed dreaming of kicking the crap out of that grocery clerk who focuses on my chest instead of my face.

Be A Mind-Sticker

2006-11-13T07:45:00.000-08:00

Saw this on Ellen and had to grab it. Ah, the 70's. Gotta love it.

Tab TV commercial

Veteran's Day

2006-11-11T16:38:00.000-08:00

Please go here and view a wonderful slide presentation to honor our fighting men and women. No matter how you feel about the war, please pray for and support our troops.

To those who have fought in past wars, a heartfelt thank you.

To those currently fighting, a prayer that you can come home soon.

What's Happened to Us?

2006-11-07T12:55:00.000-08:00

I watched a great interview with a guy I regularly drool over. A Gladiator. Master. Commander.

Russell Crowe. I think he's a fabulous actor, and he's a perfect subject for a romance hero. But the thing that got me about the interview with Mr. Intensity was his answers to the inevitable rehashing of the Phone Throwing Incident.

Don't get me wrong- grown people should be able to control their tempers, at least to the point where they don't throw things. Especially at other people. I am not condoning Russell's actions, no matter how personally appetizing I find him.

When the interviewer- Steve Croft, 60 Minutes, I think- questioned him on the matter, Russell said something along these lines: "Where I come from, we would have thrown a couple of punches, gotten up, shook hands, apologized, and that would have been the end of it." Instead, police were called, charges filed, and so much press over a third-degree misdemeanor that called for a $160 fine you would have thought he was Hitler incarnate confessing to mass murder. Add to that the concierge who had the phone chucked at him sued him for several million dollars for pain and suffering. Russell made some not-too-nice insinuations about the American legal system and how easy it is to abuse it.

As a patriotic, proud, bleed-stars-and-stripes American, I have to agree. I can remember a time when two guys might have let their tempers get the better of them, and yes. After the fight, they would have stood up, shook hands, apologized, and that would have been the end of it. When did Americans get so pissy? The image we all like to have of ourselves- the John Wayneish pioneers, tough, hardy, honorable- has fallen to the wayside. There are people like that still around, of course, but those noble souls are being outnumbered and outvoted by brats who think they are actually worth hundreds of millions of dollars if they spill their own freaking coffee in their own freaking laps.

I get infuriated when I think of how much time and money is taken up in our courts with frivolous stupid lawsuits that, in time gone by, would have been settled with a handshake, or, at the least, with an arbitrator. And for no more reason than this- many Americans have become pissy little whiners with a horribly inflated sense of what they're owed in this life. How many people who truly need judicial intervention have to practically forsake it because the courts are so clogged with these spoiled children?

Granted, we're all so money-hungry I'm sure there's a ka-ching factor at work here too. You can't slip on a grape in the grocery store without three ambulance-chasers trying to convince you that you don't just need money for the doctor or time off work, but compensation for your pain and suffering. Yes, I let my two year old loose in the store and he threw the grapes on the floor and I didn't stop him, but I have pain and suffering, you heartless corporate conglomerate! This is your fault, somehow!

I remember the old Bloom County cartoon that depicted a lawyer suing a camera company because they were negligent in not warning customers Do Not Photograph Psychopathic Paparazzi-Hating Celebrities For Injury May Result.

Which brings me back to Russell Yummy Crowe. I suppose he could sue the hotel for the psychological pain and suffering they inflicted on him by their inferior phone service preventing him from contacting his family, right? Or he could have done what he did. Accepted responsibility, apologized, paid his fine, and, I'm sure he wishes, that was the end of it.

That used to be the American Way. Too bad an Australian has to remind us of it.

Christmas Toys

2006-11-04T09:30:00.000-08:00

I wonder what my childhood would have been like had I been given these toys for Christmas, from the Archie McPhee catalog:

Every child faces a breakout of head lice in school. Why not make it fun for the tykes? As you pour poisonous chemicals on their little heads to kill the infecting horde, let the kids hug on Dig Dig the Head Louse Plushy Toy.

Of course, after de-lousing every organic surface in the house, your little one may have hygiene and cleaning issues. Help them explore these feelings with the Obsessive Compulsive Action Figure, complete with anti-bacterial moist towelettes. You never know who handled the toy before you, right?

We want to make sure that all these emotional upheavals don't bring on bad behavior. Fight the peer pressure! Any child forced to see exactly where cigarettes come from will not take up the habit anytime soon. Warning: they may discover a lifelong dislike of donkeys.

If the little darlings have some aggression that just has to come out, let them role play with their favorite doll and the Helpless B-Movie Victims. Or skip the doll and let them be the one to terrorize the poor citizens.

Be careful when unleashing this force, though. It can go too far. WAY TOO FAR. Go here if you don't believe me. Happy shopping, everyone!

The Quick-Step, Courtesy, and Cute Guy Tuesday

2006-10-31T05:50:00.000-08:00

So I rented this movie the other night...

and drooled all over myself. That's Antonio Banderas up there, ballroom dancing- beautifully, I might add- in full tie and tails. It's in the first few scenes of the movie and honest to goodness, I almost fainted. My adolescent crushes on actors gene was in full flower.

But what got me about the hero, Pierre Dulaine (based on a real person,) was his rather Old World courtesy. He stands when a lady walks by. He opens doors for them. The story goes like this: ballroom champion and instructor Dulaine teaches ballroom to disadvantaged inner city kids stuck in detention. Redemption by rhumba, someone called it, but I liked the movie. Back to the exquisite manners. He does the standing-door-opening thing for a number of women in the school office. A teen boy sitting next to him cannot even understand the concept, but the women are practically swooning.

Just an aside- I don't know that they would have fainting spells if an old short guy with a big nose and hair coming out his ears had shown them such courtesy. I mean, it IS Antonio, after all.

But it made me think. What is courtesy but consideration and respect? It isn't supposing that I am a poor weak little woman who can't open my own doors. I do. Frequently. But when my husband opens my door, keeps his hand on the small of my back when we're going through a crowd, and makes sure he walks on the side nearest the street so any cars splash him, I don't feel oppressed. I feel special. For all that I love Alpha heroes that grab and growl, I have to admit manners make me swoon, too.

Oh, today's Halloween. That means I have to show somebody wearing a mask, right? Okay. Here you go.

Have fun!

Danger! Danger! Danger!

2006-10-26T08:20:00.000-07:00

These covers are dangerous! Full of horrifying scary danger! Hugely frightening danger! Because for author Anne Stuart, DANGER is her middle name, people!

At the Edge of the Sun

Robyn: Spy School Study Courses
Distressed Damsels 101- How to Rescue the Girl AND Get A Look Up Her Dress

Missie: Apparently, the edge of the sun is surrounded by water.
And also, why are both his hands on the right side of her waist? Someone doesn't care if someone else lands in the wah-terrrrr!

Darkness Before the Dawn

Robyn: I've never seen that flag before. Just what embassy is this? Whatever country it is, I'm guessing it's fine to wear black pumps with a white suit.

Missie: You would think if she's all, "Danger is my middle name", she would also be all, "Hey, maybe I should wear pants and flat-soled shoes." For the running, and the escaping and the dropping down off balconies and all that. I am just sayin.

Escape Out of Darkness

Robyn: I just want to know one thing. How did Miami Vice's Sonny Crockett get South Beach confused with Switzerland? OnStar, man, OnStar!

Missie: Her: I don't care what you say, PINK IS NOT THE NEW BLACK!
Him: If you don't get down from there right now, little missy, I am so going to slap you! I am seeeer-eeee-ous! Don't even go there! Great, now my manicure is ruined! Thanks! Thank you so much!

A Name By Any Other Name

2006-10-23T05:44:00.000-07:00

Writers use pen names all the time. But I found out lots of other professions do too; and in my constant search to find myself- and help you find you- I give you the ultimate name list. Thanks to Jenny for finding herself and linking to it.

1. YOUR PORN STAR NAME: (Name of first pet / Street you live on): Moustafa Bill Carrol I hope I'm a guy.

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (Name of your favorite snack food / Grandfather's first name): Funyan Basil I love it.

3. YOUR FASHION DESIGNER NAME: (First word you see on your left / Favorite restaurant): Font Johnny Carino Derelict, anyone?

4. EXOTIC FOREIGNER ALIAS: (Favorite Spice / Last Foreign Vacation Spot): Garlic Ireland Sounds more like a cooking show featuring Italian immigrants to Dublin.

5. SOCIALITE ALIAS: (Silliest Childhood Nickname / Town Where You First Partied): Missy Mobin Tahlequah Yes, my mother called me that. Shut up.

6. "FLY GIRL/BOY" ALIAS (a la J. Lo): (First Initial / First Two or Three Letters of your Last Name): R Har At least it's a comedy.

7. ICON ALIAS: (Something Sweet Within Sight / Any Liquid in Your Kitchen): Cappucino Joy True, so true!

8. DETECTIVE ALIAS: (Favorite Baby Animal / Where You Went to High School): Chihuahua Broken Arrow That sounds more like the porn star.

9. BARFLY ALIAS: (Last Snack Food You Ate / Your Favorite Alcoholic Drink): KitKat Champagne Does anyone else think that sounds really good?

10. SOAP OPERA ALIAS: (Middle Name / Street Where You First Lived): Lynette Cleopatra Freaking brilliant.

11. ROCK STAR ALIAS: (Favorite Candy / Last Name Of Favorite Musician): Hershey Turner No way! Sounds real! I'm using it!

12. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: ( First 2 letters of your first name and the last 3 Letters from your last name makes your first name. Take the first 2 letters of your mother's maiden name and the first 3 letters of the city you were born in): Roper Wialb Shoot. I bet you anything I turn out to be an Ewok.

Drive-by Snark, Day Five

2006-10-20T06:00:00.000-07:00

We saved the best for last.

Hungry Like the Wolf

Robyn: "I’m on the hunt, I’m after you…" oh. Like you people who were alive in the eighties and addicted to mullet bands weren’t thinking of this:

I also thought Two Moons Over Miami was going to break into a number from A CHORUS LINE. But my girl Missie had her snark on and came up with the premiere comment of the week-

Missie: CRACK is WHACK!!

Have a great weekend, everyone!

I'm Free!!!! Drive-by Snark, Day Four

2006-10-19T06:53:00.000-07:00

This is my last day at work. My amazing, wonderful hubby has requested that I quit the part-time work so I can concentrate on writing, and on getting things queried and submitted. He is so supportive; I really don't deserve him. To celebrate my coming days of BICHOKing, a piece of Loveswept horribleness.

One Touch of Topaz

Missie: This one registered seven hundred frillion on the Squickometer.

Robyn: Does Dolly Levi know you’ve stolen most of her dress?

Blogger Needs Caffeine- Drive-by Snark Day Three

2006-10-18T05:33:00.000-07:00

Blogger is slllllllooooooowwwww this morning, y'all. Maybe it did a little partying last night with Mario Lopez and Eva Longoria and learned to do the samba. Whatever, WAKE UP! People need their snark in the morning, yo?

Forbidden Ecstasy

Missie: There are not enough hours in the day to list all that is wrong with this cover.
Also, is that a skunk on her shoulder?

Robyn: DUDE! That is not an aroused white chick with cleavage hitched up to her clavicle! She's a vampire who came to the frontier looking for fresh meat! RUN!

Robyn's Blond Moment, or Drive-by Snark Day Two

2006-10-17T13:51:00.000-07:00

So I'm sitting at home folding laundry last night, thinking about which cover to post today. I didn't think about the fact that I work today and couldn't get on until after 3:00 pm. Sorry! I really shouldn't be allowed leadership of this blog! Anyways, on to the good stuff:

Perchance to Dream

Missie: Her hair!! It's alive! It's AAALLLLIIIIIVVVVE! Run, oh Highlighted One! Run like the wind!

Robyn: I personally think she's dreaming of a world where her bosom isn't in traction.

Drive-by Snark, Day One

2006-10-15T16:54:00.000-07:00

We're doing something a little different this week- one cover a day, for five full days of snarkage! You lucky, lucky people you. How's about a little Catherine Coulter?

Devil's Embrace

Robyn: Yes, dear, I'm glad to be back on land. Now put me down.

Missie: How many times do I have to tell you, lift with your knees! Lift with your knees!

Robyn: HA! You do sort of hear him making that "unnnggghhh" noise, don't you?

You're It!

2006-10-08T14:13:00.000-07:00

I've been tagged by December! Let's see...

#1 - One book that changed your life: Madeline L'Engle's second Austins book, The Moon By Night. The 14 year old heroine, Vicki, sees a play of The Diary of Anne Frank and cannot understand how a loving God can let such horrible things happen to good people. Another character thinks it is because God is too committed to our having and exercising free will to interfere every time someone uses their right to make the wrong choice. If there were no consequences, there would be no true free will. I was 14 when I read it, and related with Vicki completely. My grandparents had just been murdered, and I was having trouble with all those questions. Whether or not you agree, those passages helped me tremendously.

#2 - One book that you've read more than once: It would be easier to list the ones I haven't read more than once. I'll put an annual read for me- Within Heaven's Gates by Rebecca Springer. It's her recounting of going to heaven during a lengthy coma-inducing illness. No clouds or harps here; it is described as an incredibly beautiful place but the inhabitants still have work to do. Joyous work to be sure, but far from bland or boring, which I always viewed the harp-playing cloud sitters to be. Reading this lovely account of the afterlife totally took away any fear of death I ever had.

#3 - One book you'd want on a desert island: The SAS Survival Guide: How to Survive Anywhere, on Land or at Sea by John Wiseman is running neck and neck with the Bible. If I didn't manage to pull off the things advised in the guide, I'd surely need to know how to pray.

#4 - One book that made you laugh: To Hell with All That, Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife, by Caitlin Flanagan. Think Erma Bombeck writing for The New Yorker.

#5 - One book that made you cry: Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird. I was 12 when I read it. This was the first time I really became aware of racism, and could see it in some of my own relatives and neighbors. A harrowing thing.

#6 - One book that you wish you had written: Make that One book you wish you had submitted and I'll say Virtual Danger by Robyn Harper. Dang, this synopsis thing is kicking my behiney.

#7 - One book that you wish had never been written: I don't think I can go there. Even evil books deserve to be published. I'll call them crap from the loudspeaker that goes to 11, but I can't wish them undone.

#8 - One book you're currently reading: Ghost Hunter by Jayne Castle. (Jayne Ann Krentz' futuristic/sci fi pen name.) Woman can build her some worlds. Just put a stranded human colony on another planet, throw in some stuff from long-dead aliens and trigger some human psychic evolution, but make the tech about the same as present day earth. All the benefits of aliens without the weird names. You just can't go wrong.

#9 - One book you've been meaning to read: One book I've been meaning to finish is London: a Biography by Peter Ackroyd. Good history ho that I am, I've been stuck in the 1500's for months now. Maybe I just can't move into Elizabethan times; I don't know. I may skip ahead to the Regency.

#10 - Tag Five People: Rather than a tag, why don't you just respond to the questions in the comments? One question or all of them, whatever you like.