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.

The Horned Weiner

So I have this little long-haired dachshund named Joe-Joe. I call him the hairy weiner. (A short-haired doxie is a weiner dog, so a long-haired much be a hairy one, right? Of course.) The problem with Joe is he thinks he's a Pit Bull.

And, speaking of bulls.... Well, let me backtrack a moment. Joe likes to run off if given the chance. Problem is, the new house sits on a road in the country with a speed limit of 55 mph. Not good for a dog with exceedingly stumpy legs measuring about 3" total.

So Joe got loose and darted off like a bat outta Hell. I'm screaming for him to get back (yes, there's a lot of screaming to be had in the country) and all of the sudden, he darts right under the barbed-wire fencing to the Longhorn Bulls.

Did you know that if a dog goes running and barking at a young, smaller calf that the big GIANT HORNED bulls will rush to defend it? Me either. Now I know though.

Joe, being a smart dog, felt his ass pucker all the way up the length of his long, stretched out dachshund body. Now Longhorns are tall, lanky things, so imagine their legs running after Mr. Three Inch Legs (that sounds like a title for a song...Hmm.)

The bulls have their heads down, aiming those long, long horns right at Mr. Stumpy who is high-tailing it as fast as he can, but it's really no contest. B tells me to go inside and make sure the kids don't walk out in time to see a Joe Kabob. I panicked just a bit at the visual and scurried inside.

Joe's saving grace ended up being his height, or lack thereof. The bulls' noses were longer than Joe's height so they couldn't get the horns down low enough. By the time B got out into the field (Of COURSE it was a rainy day), Joe was hunkered down in the dead grass, praying and whimpering to the doggy-gods. The horns were sliding a mere inch over his body. It was a close call, to say the least.

The bulls shooed off as B walked up to Joe, and from the window, I swear I saw Joe french B in thanks. B denies it.

Ruling the Roost

As most of you know, I now have a rooster. I had him in my mudroom at the other house and he stayed all the time in a large dog crate. Now that he has an entire backyard to play in, he's dang near obnoxious. His name is Rupert.

And he thinks he's human.

Off of the master bedroom we have a patio room. It's like a sunroom - all windows all around. Of course, we're in the country now and it's PITCH black outside at night. With the patio light on, I can't see into the yard.

Whenever I would smoke, I'd go out into the backyard to light up and I'd walk around and talk to Rupert and Choxie (the mini-pony). They followed me around, loving my stories and thrilled to being spoiled by this whacko-chick as I fed them treats while out there. Well, apparently Rupert is to the point that if he hears my voice at ALL, I MUST be talking to HIM.

I was sitting out on the patio talking to Shari on the phone. It was night, I couldn't see out, and just yakkin' it up and blah blah blah. Out of the blue, this SLAMMING vibrates all the windows. I crapped my pants then went outside to look at what was thrown against the window. There sits Rupert, cocking his head to one side and staring at me. The crazy freakin' rooster had body slammed the window trying to get in!!! I muttered, went and sat back down and figured, well, it's glass. Maybe he thought he could get in, but now he knows better.

Ha.

Five minutes later, when my heart-rate had finally gone back to normal, SLAM!!! I go back outside to shoo him away and he's sitting under the window literally shaking his head. My crazy-ass rooster almost knocked himself stupid. Man. But he hasn't done it again since. He may be a slow learner, but he's a learner, nonetheless.

Well, the younger two kids have a room "downstairs". It's this great big giant room that we used to put all the boxes in at first when we got here. We call it "downstairs" because you have to go down like two-three whole steps. We're weird that way. I sent Carly down there to get me something, and she starts screaming.

I'm thinking, "Good grief, NOW what?" B was on shift, so I'm home in the dark country with kids by myself - no telling what I was going to have to deal with. I ran to the door, three other kids right up my butt following me, and stop dead in my tracks.

There's Rupert.

Inside.

Apparently the door had come open from the backyard. He'd used boxes like steps til he was perched up on the highest one, so I was basically face and face with this big, honkin' rooster staring at me, content there with the heater on and giving me this look like, "Whatcha think YOU'RE going to do about it, lady?"

Well, I didn't KNOW what I was going to do about it! I was a good 20 feet from the backdoor and the idea how to shoo him out! B had picked him up once. I'm standing there as Rupert stares at me with one eye (he always looks at me from the side... bugs me to no end) and trying to remember what all B had said. Thinner than he looks - all those feathers are really nothing. He put the wings between his index and middle fingers to keep him from flapping around. Okay, okay. Right. Finally, I just GRAB the damn bird.

He's squawking. I'm freaking. His wings are flapping a mile a minute, his little talons just a flinging in the air like he's running on the wind. I'm running for the back door so that if I drop him, at least I'll be close to it to shoo him out. Well, the kids were standing near there and here I come at them running with a squawking, flapping pissed off rooster at them, so THEY all start screaming and squealing and running in different directions.

I get to the backdoor and toss him out.

Then I called my mother and cried. She laughed and called me an idiot. I felt much, much better after that.

Small Update

Manohman, still in the middle of the move and I only have five seconds to borrow a computer and give a small update. Bad news: Still moving stuff from old house to new house. I think it's a never-ending thing. Bad news: two weeks without internet SUCKS so hard I should orgasm from the strength of it. Good news: Farm life is providing me all kinds of little stories to share with you all. Good news: I should be back online in a day or two - on DSL. Should be interesting to see the difference between that and cable that I'm already so used to.

Moving sucks

That's all I gotta say about that.

The Cock and the Ass

Green Acres is the place for me! Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarm livin'... blah blah blah. Now that we have THAT song stuck in your head, it's time for a little update to answer the "When ya gonna blog again?!?!" questions I've been gettin'.

In my mudroom is Rupert. Rupert is a rooster. He's a beautiful rooster too, not like the usual ugly white ones. No, no, MY rooster is black irridescent. Gotta have the pretty ones, yanno?

And we just recently got a miniature pony. He's cute. I'll have to post pics. And a thoroughbred who is monsterously tall - like 17 hands (that's tall.) Oh. And the donkey. Do I get a regular gray donkey? Noooooooooooo. I get this ugly white donkey that looks like he has some serious issues, but man does he have a ROCKIN' 'tude. After interracting with him, and telling him if he didn't show more personality, I wasn't going to spoil him at the farm with apples and carrots. He snorted at me, then sauntered away all sassy-n-stuff. I turned to B and said, "We're gettin' that donkey."

He said, "I figured."

So we have the rooster, in the mudroom (we're not at the farm yet, fyi), named Rupert. We have the miniature pony named Choxie (Hmm, wonder where I got THAT name from?), a thoroughbred named Titan (and for DANG good reason) and a white donkey named Mosey.

My life. Ugh.

Here's a little tidbit you may not have realized about roosters (cuz Lord knows I didn't know it!) Sure, they crow when the sun comes up.

And then every 30 seconds for the rest of the freakin' day. (siiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh) He best be glad he's pretty.

So I think I'm going to make my white donkey a straw hat with daisies on it. Gotta be careful with him being white and the Texas sun, after all. Hmm, a cross-dressing donkey - that should work his 'tude up a little more, ya think?

What'd you THINK this post was going to be about? Man, you're just nasty.

OH! Yes, I am writing again. ~smiles~ And we should be settled at the farm around the first of the month, and hopefully life will give me a break and let me relax for a bit. Not likely, huh?

~smooches~

Choxie!

Well, first let me say that the name of this gives me pause: According to the packaging *cough- pardon the pun that I surely didn't intend* but... Chocolate with MOXIE? In my brain, "moxie" makes me think "balls", so now I'm thinking chocolate-covered testicles. Although not an overall unpleasant thought, still not something that renders me drooling. Unless shaved, you'd have bits and pieces of little hairs pokin' out and then the "crust" that forms as chocolate dries and cracks and holy ball sac, Batman, the visual is endless.

Anyway...

My dear, DEAR friend eliana sent us some Choxie for Christmas. The SPICE NUT TOFFEE is to DIE for.

So, if thinking of chocolate-covered testicles is the punishment I have to endure for the savory sensation of spice nut toffee dancing across my taste-buds and awaking me with little bits of oral orgasms pinging off my teeth with each crunch, well... okay!

Man oh MAN!

So the Art of Procrastination, which I have down to a science now, just bit me in the butt again.

Remember my posts about the small town book I was working on? I was going to call it RUMOR HAS IT (it's all about rumors in a small town). And just now on TV I heard an ad for a new movie with Jennifer Aniston in it with that title! (I don't watch much tv, so if this isn't "new", ignore that part.) I couldn't BELIEVE IT!

Coming up with titles is no easy thing - Rah! Now I gotta think of a new one for it. *grumble*cuss*grumble*

The Morning After

It's done. It's over with. And yet I know now, as I sigh deeply in relief from just the survival of it all, that I'll blink and it'll be here again before I know it. Christmas is evil that way.

Or maybe it's Time that's evil.

Or both. Yes, let's go with both.

We spent Christmas Eve at my parents this year. Usually we stay home for Christmas Eve and have Santa here at the house then pile in the car for the three hour drive to my parents. But this year, we went on Christmas Eve. We let the kids open their gifts from us that morning so we didn't have to haul them, but then they all ended up hauling 1/2 of the new stuff with them because they couldn't bear to go 1.5 days without. I guess that should be a good thing - they must have really like what they got.

One of my favorite things I got this year was this bracelet from my mother. I'll try to post a picture of it soon, since I'm sure I'll fail miserably in trying to describe it. It's got a jewel, then a tiny gold flat link. Each jewel is one of the kids' birthstones, then the plate next to it has the child's name engraved. Goes all the way around with all four kids, plus Brian. I LOVE IT. It's gorgeous and I've never seen one like it before.

Speaking of cameras, I remembered EVERYTHING I could think of for the trip, but one thing. ONE LITTLE THING. One LITTLE but MAJOR thing: My camera. So no photos. Hopefully Mom got some good shots with her digital and can email me some. I just couldn't believe of all things to forget, it was THAT. I blame being tired on that.

Or the fact that Christmas Eve morning the entire honker-ass Christmas tree here at the house fell on top of me.

I'll refrain from mentioning this is the third time that's happened to me over the years.

Merry Christmas to you all. I hope you found every blessing possible.