Uesless Ramblings of the Deranged Mind

I haven't posted in a couple of weeks. Things here have been chaotic, but moreso than usual (hard to imagine, eh?). Yeah, for me too, and I freakin' LIVE it.

Buy SURROGATE & WIFE, by Emily McKay. Although the title doesn't wow me, Emily and her writing do. It's through Desire. Buy it and be amazed.

While you're there, buy THE PREY, THE HUNT, and THE KILL, by Allison Brennan (Allison, if the order is wrong, forgive me in advance.) I have bought all three but only read the first one (refers you to the chaos comment above as to why) but it amazes me that these are her FIRST published books. She's amazing. Already up there with Linda Howard and Sandra Brown in my mind.

B just drove up - he's supposed to be on-shift. One moment please...

Ah, he came to put one of the a/c units in the living room. It's super muggy and hot now in Texas (for now, anyway) and when we looked at this house, it had six big honker window units (it has central heat, but no central air, which I think is retarded. The duct work is the hardest part of "centralizing" and since that's done for the heat, how hard would it be for the a/c, yanno?) ANYWAY, while they were putting in the paneling and stripping the carpet from the original hardwood floors, they took out the units to have them serviced and make sure they work, blah blah. Well, they haven't been returned yet. Wasn't a biggie at first because we were using the heater, but now we're all dying and no a/c to be had. We had our own unit from Maryland that B just came home to put in, but it's going now and it doesn't seem to be very COLD. It's cool, but not COLD. (sigh)

What else? OH YEAH! I realized why Janet Evanovich is Satan. I read VISIONS OF SUGARPLUM. I didn't like it. I hated the magical aspect. I mean, one of the reasons we think Stephanie and Ranger and Joe are so rockin' cool is because they're so rockin' REAL. Well, adding that magical part is so NOT real, although being attacked by a mob of cussing, screaming midgets has something to be said for it. Anyway, the reason Evanovich is Satan is because although I didn't love this particular book, Stephanie had another perfectly sexy, gorgeous, witty man after her (so what if he was magical and had weird never-really-explained-and-that-bugged-me-a-bit-as-a-writer powers?) He was MAN NUMBER THREE after Stephanie and yanno? That's just NOT RIGHT. Not to mention hugely unfair. Thus, Satan. Makes sense now that I've explained it, huh?

Now that I cleared that up, what else is going on?

For those loving Joe Joe, there is No Mo Joe. Joe just wasn't cutting it here as we feared, and he's found a new home in the 'burbs with no other animals and two kids that think he's a god - in other words, kids agreeing with him (he SO had a short-man-god-complex.) And so WHAT do I do? I get a puppy.

No, I'm not kidding.

Do I get a little cute tiny little thing? No. I got a Newfoundland puppy.

I'll give you a moment to let that sink in...

Better now? Okay good. We'll continue: His name is Samson. He's black, Newfie, 12 weeks old and three times in height already to what Joe was. AND, in just twenty-four hours, I've trained him to sit and come AND totally relearn a new name. Right now, he and Cooper Man are playing with the bucketload of Samson toys. The last two nights he's slept through the night and I feel like a new mother, exceedingly and stupidly happy to not have to wake up at 3am.

OH! We're up to 15 different birds now. Rupert, of course, plus the three hens Dad got me: Cleta, Mildred and Bea. Then the babies we had: Ruby, Pearl and Opal. Then one baby of the two from my Dad, (Joe got one) Naomi. THEN I bought a baby turkey whom I named Ira but Sydney named Angel and two black and white specked baby hens, Pepper and Shaker (think I can make this stuff up?!) Well, the turkey looked super lonely and wasn't really meshin' with the baby chickens (they're SO cliquish!) so I got another one (Ira! HA! In your face, Syd!) and two more white baby hens because they're good layers, and named them Madge and Evie. AND, Dad got me two more babies, but he got like super-tiny-NO-FEATHER-kind of babies, so they're still up at his house. That'll be 17 by the time they get here. (blinks as she realizes and notes she HAS finally lost her damn mind). So, we gotta build a bigger coop. OH! And we get at least two eggs a day now!!! One from Cleta and one from Bea. Mildred is being left in the dust...

By the way, Cheddar Peppers from Sonic make THE perfect breakfast food, in case you were needing something to start your day off right.

What else? This week RWA PRO is having a bootcamp featuring Jenny Crusie and Bob Mayer. Just reading the answers to questions from Jenny makes me feel retarded. She is my idol. Her wit and insight and pure brilliance leave me in awe. I'm both discouraged that I'll never obtain to the height that she is in this career, and at the same time, totally and completely encouraged that "someday that could be me".

And that leads us to: "Hey Bren, ya writing again yet?"

Gah - I knew you'd ask! You SADISTS!

No, not yet. But I did come up with two more storylines (sigh) with full characterization (bigger sigh) and titles (huge, gusty sigh). Now if I can just get this house to the point I want it, I'll write without guilt (is there such a thing?) I did get the laptop reloaded (I forgot my password and had removed the backdoor to get into it and had to totally wipe the harddrive and reload XP because I suck like that.) And I got a wireless router for it. And I got it loaded. But I can't seem to get it loaded RIGHT. BUT, it's ALMOST there for me to get to crankin'!!! I'm actually excited about it.

Shari and I are pondering Nationals this year. With me being dead on writing forums and loops, and without new product to pitch, it's almost a "what's the point" kind of thing. Although I come back totally jazzed to write and write and write, I'm just not there yet. This last year has been wicked bad and although I'm on the upswing NOW, we're questioning the expense and time of Nationals and instead, looking at cruises and pool-side drinks served by tight men in banana slings. Hmm.

Decisions... decisions...

Greet This, Weiner Dog!

You've been hearing about Joe, the hairy weiner, but I haven't told you about Rupert and Joe together. Joe talked a lot of smack when Rupert was stuck in the dog crate at the other house in the mudroom for a month. He'd snarl and snap and show his mean doggie teeth to the caged Rupert. Rupert stared at him with that one-eyed stare, and if Joe got too close to the cage, BITCH-PECK! Right on the nose. Joe would go ballistic trying to get into that cage.

And then, of course, we were at the farm.

Where Rupert was free to roam.

We introduced Joe.

~pausing for effect~

Well, Joe's a dog. So Joe did the usual doggy greeting. Surprisingly, Joe wasn't all that intent on chowing down on the rooster; he just wanted to shove his nose up Rupert's butt repeatedly. Rupert, being the Grumpy One that he is, didn't really go for this. After about 5 minutes of that long doxie nose up his rump, Rupert pecked.

And Joe had this MAJOR post-traumatic flashback of the mudroom/cage days and went crazy after Rupert.

Well, Rupert's a rooster - cock fight!!! Rupert WAILED on Joe. I was panicking (as usual) and we put Joe back inside and decided to try it again the next day.

Have I mentioned we're slow learners yet?

So here comes Joe outta the house, sniffing the yard, eyeing Choxie the mini-pony. Where's Rupert? Noooooooo idea.

From the corner of my eye comes this rush of feathers and squawking, and there was NO preparing for the absolute Blitz Attack Rupert unleashed on Joe. Talons latched into Joe's thick long hair, wings flailing like a tornado, feathers totally PREDATOR looking, all pushed out and huge as he repeatedly PECKED PECKED PECKED Joe on the head. Joe squealed like a little girl and hid behind me while B was doing what looked like the Pee-Pee Dance trying get ahold of Rupert while I was screaming, "NO RUPERT! NO!" and frantically circling as a human barrier between the two as Joe cowered behind me, once again suffering from puckered-doggy-ass syndrome.

If we set up webcams, I swear people would pay to secretly watch our lives.