While blog-hopping for a bit this morning, I saw posted on Gina's blog this link to Blog Explosion. Not exactly sure what it all involves, but I'm checking it out.
Update: I can't figure it out - granted, I didn't take a lot of time to try either. I was hoping someone could give me a clue and what kind of benefit there is from this. I'm assuming if you have a lot of time to invest into the "system", it'd have some kind of pay-off. I can only see this as really a good thing if you have a paid site or something, right, where you make money based on hits or ads. Ideas?
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
A Moo to You Too
There's nothing like going out to the sunroom and looking out into the backyard and seeing a yard full of freakin' cows.
Apparently B left the gate of the backyard open this morning after feeding the chickens. The cows liked this idea, and decided to come and roam the tiny backyard - as opposed to the huge 10 acre field they have right behind the yard. Yup, makes sense.
Cows are surprisingly paranoid animals. I think I heard one whisper, "Carnivore!" I walk outside and they freeze. The few of them back there aren't babies, but they're not full-grown either. More like teenage cows. Teens without parental supervision who look up at me with expressions screaming of, "Crap - we're so busted!"
So I walk out there, and they start to slowly step back. There wasn't a lot of room to back up though - small yard - so their collective roast rumps hit the fence and their heads swung back and forth, huge eyes looking at each other like, "Oh man, now what??"
I, on the other hand, have Samson - MIGHTY DOG! I get the lead, put him on it, and ZOOOM, off he goes, jerking me along with him, herding those stray cows right back out the gate.
The cows stop once they got in the field and gave me a look like, "Was that all really necessary??" Samson looked back like, "Heck yeah, wanna play again?" The cows slunk off to the back pasture, the adventure over.
I called B: Honey, leave the gate open this morning?
B: No, why?
Yeah - right.
Meanwhile, I stand there wondering why I've suddenly started to create imaginary conversations amongst my animals. Not a good sign.
Apparently B left the gate of the backyard open this morning after feeding the chickens. The cows liked this idea, and decided to come and roam the tiny backyard - as opposed to the huge 10 acre field they have right behind the yard. Yup, makes sense.
Cows are surprisingly paranoid animals. I think I heard one whisper, "Carnivore!" I walk outside and they freeze. The few of them back there aren't babies, but they're not full-grown either. More like teenage cows. Teens without parental supervision who look up at me with expressions screaming of, "Crap - we're so busted!"
So I walk out there, and they start to slowly step back. There wasn't a lot of room to back up though - small yard - so their collective roast rumps hit the fence and their heads swung back and forth, huge eyes looking at each other like, "Oh man, now what??"
I, on the other hand, have Samson - MIGHTY DOG! I get the lead, put him on it, and ZOOOM, off he goes, jerking me along with him, herding those stray cows right back out the gate.
The cows stop once they got in the field and gave me a look like, "Was that all really necessary??" Samson looked back like, "Heck yeah, wanna play again?" The cows slunk off to the back pasture, the adventure over.
I called B: Honey, leave the gate open this morning?
B: No, why?
Yeah - right.
Meanwhile, I stand there wondering why I've suddenly started to create imaginary conversations amongst my animals. Not a good sign.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Happy Mother's Day, 2006
Normally, I'd have a lot to say ont his particular subject, given I have two mothers. Well, I have my Mom, and then I have the lady who birthed me. Thankfully I had the fabulous opportunity to meet her thanks to my ability to manipulate the chicks who work for the State of Texas, but alas, that's another story.
I called Mom and wished her a good Mother's Day.
I called my 96 yr old grandmother. She will forever be my ultimate heroine, considering she raised seven kids (six of which are boys!!). She asked about the kids, I said they were heathens and with only four compared to her forever-impressive seven, I had no idea how she'd done it without Xanax. She laughed and said, "It was a farm - I shoved 'em out the door and into the fields and made 'em pick their dinner or go hungry."
I love that woman.
To summarize my life as a mother, my almost 16 yr old captured it to perfection with a homemade card. It's sporting a rather beautiful painted flower, and then it reads as follows:
"If mothers were flowers, I'd smash you in a book."
I called Mom and wished her a good Mother's Day.
I called my 96 yr old grandmother. She will forever be my ultimate heroine, considering she raised seven kids (six of which are boys!!). She asked about the kids, I said they were heathens and with only four compared to her forever-impressive seven, I had no idea how she'd done it without Xanax. She laughed and said, "It was a farm - I shoved 'em out the door and into the fields and made 'em pick their dinner or go hungry."
I love that woman.
To summarize my life as a mother, my almost 16 yr old captured it to perfection with a homemade card. It's sporting a rather beautiful painted flower, and then it reads as follows:
"If mothers were flowers, I'd smash you in a book."
Friday, May 12, 2006
Summer Preview from Hell
Yoe Day.
In Cameron, Texas, this is an official school holiday. It's true. I didn't make this up. To begin with, why WOULD I? The district has designated students from the schools go and put flowers at the grave of Mr. Yoe.
Yeah, well, I can't think of anything else to say about this. So we'll move on.
So Thursday was the Ever Delightful and Yet Oh So Odd Yoe School Holiday - no school. Today they didn't have school either - why? An unused weather day. This would make sense except that the kids had to go to school on Good Friday to make UP for a weather day. Huh. That's logical.
Now, take four kids home for a super-long weekend, and toss in a new puppy. Yes, a new puppy. This lady at Walmart was holding up a sign which read "FREE UGLY PUPPIES". How can you NOT stop and see in the box, yanno? So I did. And because it was Yoe Day, I had all four kids with me.
Can you see where this is going?
They weren't ugly - well, maybe a couple were a bit ... different looking. Weird. Odd. Yeah, okay, some where ugly. They're 1/2 black lab and 1/2 "some neighbor's ugly-ass dog". Oooooooh-kay. I picked up one, held him up face to face. He's all black except for this little white "soul patch" under his chin, and he had this look of "WTF, Mate?!" and I fell in love.
So I called B on the cell.
"Hooooooooney!!!"
B: "What?!" he asked warily, knowing the tone meant trouble.
Me: Free ugly puppies!
B: NO!
Me: Please?
B: NOOOOOOOOOO!! We have enough animals.
Me: Yeah, yeah, you're right. I know you're right.
I hang up, and Cooper, holding one of the truly ugly ones looks up at the one I'm holding and says, "Samson would have a baby brother" - which sounds so way meltable cute from a four year old little boy who isn't quite understanding why his pleas of having his own baby brother will forever go unrealized.
I get out the cell.
B: NO!
Me: I haven't said anything yet!
B: What?
Me: Cooper says Samson would have a baby brother.
B: Cute, but no.
Me: Fine! (and I hang up.)
Now, my middle daughter, age 12, is just like me. Looks the most like me, people-person like me, runs at the mouth like me and drives me nuts on a regular basis in a way I'm sure I did my own parents on a regular basis. She's also twisting things to suit her own purpose as often as she can - like her father did. *blink*blink*
Carly: It could be your Mother's Day present since I know Dad didn't remember to get you one yet.
Shandie (ever so cynical 15 yr old): She's got ya there.
Me: ~evil grin~ Indeed.
We take it home. His name is Spencer, and compared to Samson, this puppy is TINY. And he's going to be THE fattest, useless thing ever to grace the planet because my younger three children refuse to put him down long enough to allow the dang dog to develop a single leg muscle.
Samson thinks Spencer is a chew toy.
The kids fight over who holds him, who feeds him, who takes him potty. Screaming, arguing, blah blah blah.
And only two weeks of school left until they're home ALL THE TIME. Thanks so much, Mr. Yoe, for giving me a glimpse of the summer to come - two weeks early.
In Cameron, Texas, this is an official school holiday. It's true. I didn't make this up. To begin with, why WOULD I? The district has designated students from the schools go and put flowers at the grave of Mr. Yoe.
Yeah, well, I can't think of anything else to say about this. So we'll move on.
So Thursday was the Ever Delightful and Yet Oh So Odd Yoe School Holiday - no school. Today they didn't have school either - why? An unused weather day. This would make sense except that the kids had to go to school on Good Friday to make UP for a weather day. Huh. That's logical.
Now, take four kids home for a super-long weekend, and toss in a new puppy. Yes, a new puppy. This lady at Walmart was holding up a sign which read "FREE UGLY PUPPIES". How can you NOT stop and see in the box, yanno? So I did. And because it was Yoe Day, I had all four kids with me.
Can you see where this is going?
They weren't ugly - well, maybe a couple were a bit ... different looking. Weird. Odd. Yeah, okay, some where ugly. They're 1/2 black lab and 1/2 "some neighbor's ugly-ass dog". Oooooooh-kay. I picked up one, held him up face to face. He's all black except for this little white "soul patch" under his chin, and he had this look of "WTF, Mate?!" and I fell in love.
So I called B on the cell.
"Hooooooooney!!!"
B: "What?!" he asked warily, knowing the tone meant trouble.
Me: Free ugly puppies!
B: NO!
Me: Please?
B: NOOOOOOOOOO!! We have enough animals.
Me: Yeah, yeah, you're right. I know you're right.
I hang up, and Cooper, holding one of the truly ugly ones looks up at the one I'm holding and says, "Samson would have a baby brother" - which sounds so way meltable cute from a four year old little boy who isn't quite understanding why his pleas of having his own baby brother will forever go unrealized.
I get out the cell.
B: NO!
Me: I haven't said anything yet!
B: What?
Me: Cooper says Samson would have a baby brother.
B: Cute, but no.
Me: Fine! (and I hang up.)
Now, my middle daughter, age 12, is just like me. Looks the most like me, people-person like me, runs at the mouth like me and drives me nuts on a regular basis in a way I'm sure I did my own parents on a regular basis. She's also twisting things to suit her own purpose as often as she can - like her father did. *blink*blink*
Carly: It could be your Mother's Day present since I know Dad didn't remember to get you one yet.
Shandie (ever so cynical 15 yr old): She's got ya there.
Me: ~evil grin~ Indeed.
We take it home. His name is Spencer, and compared to Samson, this puppy is TINY. And he's going to be THE fattest, useless thing ever to grace the planet because my younger three children refuse to put him down long enough to allow the dang dog to develop a single leg muscle.
Samson thinks Spencer is a chew toy.
The kids fight over who holds him, who feeds him, who takes him potty. Screaming, arguing, blah blah blah.
And only two weeks of school left until they're home ALL THE TIME. Thanks so much, Mr. Yoe, for giving me a glimpse of the summer to come - two weeks early.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
November & December
Well, at the demand of Peggy to update, here I am. I never know what to say. Right now I'm working on some craft books that I truly felt I needed to read. Thanks to G, I finally got GMC by Deb Dixon and omigod, what a fabulous, eye-opening book. Then I read Hero's Journey, which wasn't nearly as fun to read as Deb's. Now I'm on Bob Mayer's Writer's Toolkit, which I really like a lot. Maybe it's because I've met him and I've heard him speak so I can get the tone and infliction and it's really fun to read it. Dunno, but that's what I'm doing. And I'm taking notes on my characters while I do it, so I'm actually working on a novel. Amazing, I know.
Did I mention I don't know what to write on here anymore? Gah.
Anyway, about the title of this post. November & December. That's what my dear, dear friend Shari calls my poor little turkeys. Granted, they WERE little. And super cute when they were tiny. Now they're not so little anymore. They're downright big. And they're not even grown yet. Oy.
So, we moved the chickens (chicken is all inclusive meaning the turkeys and rooster as well) to the back field and not in the backyard anymore. We took the old chicken coup that was in the field and revamped it. It's way bigger than the one we'd made, and since all of them are getting big now, they were really crowding it up. It's a bit of a PITA to go out to the field to put them up at night, but technically, they now put themselves up at night, so no biggie, right?
Uh huh.
And this is where the story really begins (Jennifer Crusie would hate all that above "prologue to the story" I put up there - my bad).
I waited a bit that night to go out, so it was already dark. I have Samson (the I'm-only-4-months-old-but-now-weigh-50-lbs-Newfoundland-puppy-who-comes-to-Brenda's-hips) with me on his retractable leash. I'm doing the chicken head count - should be 13 in there. I count. 12. Hmm. Hey wait - one of my BIG GIANT bright-white-can't-miss-him-in-the-dark turkeys (probably November, since according to Shari, he'd die first) is missing. I have my flashlight in one hand, the leash in the other, walking in a small circle, seeing if I could find him. Both turkeys used to attempt to sleep on the fence at night, and I'd have to grab their fat turkey asses to put them in the coup, so I'm looking over there. No turkey.
Then, in the pitch-black of the field with only a barely-there flashlight to aid me and a psycho, heavy dog wanting to play with chickens and I'm trying to constrain him and look for the stupid turkey, I hear RUNNING, fast, hard RUNNING come right my way in the dark.
Scary as hell, let me tell ya.
It was Titan, the thoroughbred, running at me full force in the dark. I almost crapped my pants. Samson, being the stupid puppy he is, starts jumping up and down like "OH GOODIE! SOMEONE TO PLAY WITH!" Yeah, well, Titan didn't think so and jumped all four freakin' feet at Samson at once, who circles me and wraps me in the leash. I thought how fitting it would be, dying on this damn farm with these damn animals I had to have, being stomped by a nervous horse who just scared me spitless.
Titan backs off, I untangle and I look up at the sky, I guess in an imploring look toward God, wondering about my life and almost dying, and there above my head, pirched on a limb in the tree, is a big white turkey butt.
My damn turkey was in the tree. Argh. He'd jumped up on the coup then jumped from there to the limb. What the HECK? I could touch him, but not reach him enough to lift him up and put him away. So I shove him from the tree, and this swooshing sound of big wings is something I can't even begin to describe, but at the time I thought, "This is what the coming of Christ and angels would sound like, and it's frightening."
He lands on the coup. Out of reach. I start finding little twigs to chunk at him. He finally jumps down to the ground, walks from the back of the coup to the front and into the shed.
I closed the damn door, none to happy.
Titan blows out air and shakes his head at me, and I swear the look he gave me was, "And she's a higher life form than I am?"
Then I called Shari and cried.
She merely giggled uncontrollably. What a pal.
Did I mention I don't know what to write on here anymore? Gah.
Anyway, about the title of this post. November & December. That's what my dear, dear friend Shari calls my poor little turkeys. Granted, they WERE little. And super cute when they were tiny. Now they're not so little anymore. They're downright big. And they're not even grown yet. Oy.
So, we moved the chickens (chicken is all inclusive meaning the turkeys and rooster as well) to the back field and not in the backyard anymore. We took the old chicken coup that was in the field and revamped it. It's way bigger than the one we'd made, and since all of them are getting big now, they were really crowding it up. It's a bit of a PITA to go out to the field to put them up at night, but technically, they now put themselves up at night, so no biggie, right?
Uh huh.
And this is where the story really begins (Jennifer Crusie would hate all that above "prologue to the story" I put up there - my bad).
I waited a bit that night to go out, so it was already dark. I have Samson (the I'm-only-4-months-old-but-now-weigh-50-lbs-Newfoundland-puppy-who-comes-to-Brenda's-hips) with me on his retractable leash. I'm doing the chicken head count - should be 13 in there. I count. 12. Hmm. Hey wait - one of my BIG GIANT bright-white-can't-miss-him-in-the-dark turkeys (probably November, since according to Shari, he'd die first) is missing. I have my flashlight in one hand, the leash in the other, walking in a small circle, seeing if I could find him. Both turkeys used to attempt to sleep on the fence at night, and I'd have to grab their fat turkey asses to put them in the coup, so I'm looking over there. No turkey.
Then, in the pitch-black of the field with only a barely-there flashlight to aid me and a psycho, heavy dog wanting to play with chickens and I'm trying to constrain him and look for the stupid turkey, I hear RUNNING, fast, hard RUNNING come right my way in the dark.
Scary as hell, let me tell ya.
It was Titan, the thoroughbred, running at me full force in the dark. I almost crapped my pants. Samson, being the stupid puppy he is, starts jumping up and down like "OH GOODIE! SOMEONE TO PLAY WITH!" Yeah, well, Titan didn't think so and jumped all four freakin' feet at Samson at once, who circles me and wraps me in the leash. I thought how fitting it would be, dying on this damn farm with these damn animals I had to have, being stomped by a nervous horse who just scared me spitless.
Titan backs off, I untangle and I look up at the sky, I guess in an imploring look toward God, wondering about my life and almost dying, and there above my head, pirched on a limb in the tree, is a big white turkey butt.
My damn turkey was in the tree. Argh. He'd jumped up on the coup then jumped from there to the limb. What the HECK? I could touch him, but not reach him enough to lift him up and put him away. So I shove him from the tree, and this swooshing sound of big wings is something I can't even begin to describe, but at the time I thought, "This is what the coming of Christ and angels would sound like, and it's frightening."
He lands on the coup. Out of reach. I start finding little twigs to chunk at him. He finally jumps down to the ground, walks from the back of the coup to the front and into the shed.
I closed the damn door, none to happy.
Titan blows out air and shakes his head at me, and I swear the look he gave me was, "And she's a higher life form than I am?"
Then I called Shari and cried.
She merely giggled uncontrollably. What a pal.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Say It Isn't So!
Argh. I am not old enough to be dealing with things like... oh, I don't know: PROM! CLASS RINGS!!! What happened? Did I find a vortex and get sucked into a time-altering reality? Yes, that must be it. Has to be.
My oldest daughter is 15, in 10th grade. She was asked to prom by a senior.
Argh.
And, add small town life. Ready for this?? I go to the florist today to get the boutinerre for the dude. Me: I need a boutinerre.
Old lady: For who?
Me: ~BLINK~ Uhh... for my daughter's date to the prom. White.
Old lady: Rose okay?
Me: Sure.
Old lady: What's your daughter's name?
I tell her my daughter's name.
Old lady: OH! She's going with that tall boy... Andy something.
Me: ~BLINK~ (Insert about 10 seconds of silence here. To really appreciate that, count to 10 slowly and realize what kind of lapse in conversation that is!) Uhh, yes, Andy.
Old lady: He was in here this morning order her flowers! He got white roses with silver ribbon.
Me: Oh! Good! So they can match then.
She shows me out the back door (I had to park in the back - the parking up front is weird) and waves the ticket to a lady making arrangements. "We have Andy's boutinerre order so we can make them match now!"
Me: Still speechless. Small town, I'm a'tellin' ya.
THEN, my daughter comes home today and what does she have? The freakin' order forms to get her senior ring. I swear, it didn't seem that long ago when I was in prom dresses and getting MY senior ring. What the heck happened?!?!
~pout~
My oldest daughter is 15, in 10th grade. She was asked to prom by a senior.
Argh.
And, add small town life. Ready for this?? I go to the florist today to get the boutinerre for the dude. Me: I need a boutinerre.
Old lady: For who?
Me: ~BLINK~ Uhh... for my daughter's date to the prom. White.
Old lady: Rose okay?
Me: Sure.
Old lady: What's your daughter's name?
I tell her my daughter's name.
Old lady: OH! She's going with that tall boy... Andy something.
Me: ~BLINK~ (Insert about 10 seconds of silence here. To really appreciate that, count to 10 slowly and realize what kind of lapse in conversation that is!) Uhh, yes, Andy.
Old lady: He was in here this morning order her flowers! He got white roses with silver ribbon.
Me: Oh! Good! So they can match then.
She shows me out the back door (I had to park in the back - the parking up front is weird) and waves the ticket to a lady making arrangements. "We have Andy's boutinerre order so we can make them match now!"
Me: Still speechless. Small town, I'm a'tellin' ya.
THEN, my daughter comes home today and what does she have? The freakin' order forms to get her senior ring. I swear, it didn't seem that long ago when I was in prom dresses and getting MY senior ring. What the heck happened?!?!
~pout~
Monday, April 24, 2006
Things that make your jaw just drop
On this website are forums were I hang out with a lot of my online buddies. One of them posted this story. This is unbelievable. Seriously. Sitting there watching tv late at night and a HOLE opens in your living room and you die. What the heck? Apparently his home was built over an old mine. Wouldn't someone KNOW this? His pregnant wife was sleeping in another part of the house and okay. The officers say from the outside of the home, it looks totally normal then you walk in and there's this huge, gaping hole in the living room.
Now I'm not a sue-happy kind of person, but it seems to be someone should have known about this. It screams of negligence. And that poor woman.
Of course, I look at it from a writer's viewpoint, and I thought, "No way would an editor go for this for the unbelievability factor" and yet it's REAL. So, so sad.
Now I'm not a sue-happy kind of person, but it seems to be someone should have known about this. It screams of negligence. And that poor woman.
Of course, I look at it from a writer's viewpoint, and I thought, "No way would an editor go for this for the unbelievability factor" and yet it's REAL. So, so sad.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Three for Three
Shari rocks. Several of you who read here know this already, but I had to reiterate, nonetheless. She was just here for 8 days and my life will not be complete until I convince her to be a Texan. Anyway, we had a crapload of fun, and one of the things we did was go to DFW to meet up with Tanna and Terry, two of our friends from the forum here on the website. We had a BLAST. But while in DFW, amongst the civilized, I got to go to Barnes & Noble and about had an orgasmic fit over being in a real bookstore for the first time in forever (slight exaggeration, but it's been a long, long time.) I was on a mission: DON'T LOOK DOWN by Crusie and Mayer, two of my favorite people, much less novelists. It's sitting on my lap as we speak and I'm digging into it tonight.
Why tonight? Because it's a Crusie. And I know it takes me five to six hours to read a Crusie book. I know this because when I start one, I can't stop til I'm at the end. Even if I've read it before. It's a disease, I think, but one I embrace. So, there ya go. In light of that information, although I picked this up on Wednesday, I have not started it before now because of one reason: Tonight is Saturday night. Therefore, I can stay up ALL NIGHT LONG reading (quiet at night when the heathens are sleeping) and not worry about getting up early in the morning (aside for when Rupert starts going off and demanding that he and his chick-whores be released at 5:30am - I can go right back to sleep afterward.)
While at B&N, though, I got me a little horde of books. They are, as follows:
BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON, by Dean Koontz. This is my first ever of his to buy new. I'm excited by the mere thought.
THE GOODBYE SUMMER by Patricia Gaffney. I have a confession with this one. I've never read Gaffney before. But, because of the Cherry Forums, I felt compelled to do so and saw this one and snagged it up. And it's a first edition, which is always a plus.
BLOW FLY by Patricia Cornwell. I've read one by her, but I can't even remember the name. I remember it had a chick for a detective and some really, really passive dude, and that's about it. I don't like passive guys. I like MANLY MEN, Testosterone-Overdosed-Mega-Alpha-Dudes. Needless to say, I wasn't overly impressed, but I've been drawn to this particular title for awhile now, and decided to give into the feeling. I hope this one gives me more than the other one did. I'll report back to let ya know.
And lastly, but certainly not least, I grabbed up Lani Diane Rich's EX AND THE SINGLE GIRL. I have read both of Rich's other books (TIME OFF FOR GOOD BEHAVIOR and MAYBE BABY) and I loved them both. TIME OFF FOR GOOD BEHAVIOR hit me somewhere deep and personal and made me sob more than once. Add this book to that list. Three for three now, Rich has amazed me and moved me like no one else. In fact, this entire post is because I knew I had to blog about this book - so I started at the beginning of the little journey that put this book into my hand and moved forward to where you're reading now. Her insight into first Wanda and now Portia is ... unbelievable. You cringe with them, you laugh with them, you love with them and you most definitely cry with them. If you want a moving novel, grab it. And grab it fast. To top it all off, Rich is a rockin' cool chick too. That just adds to how great it all is.
Needless to say, I'm a happy girl. A week-long visit with my best friend and a horde of new books. It doesn't get much better than that, let me tell ya.
Why tonight? Because it's a Crusie. And I know it takes me five to six hours to read a Crusie book. I know this because when I start one, I can't stop til I'm at the end. Even if I've read it before. It's a disease, I think, but one I embrace. So, there ya go. In light of that information, although I picked this up on Wednesday, I have not started it before now because of one reason: Tonight is Saturday night. Therefore, I can stay up ALL NIGHT LONG reading (quiet at night when the heathens are sleeping) and not worry about getting up early in the morning (aside for when Rupert starts going off and demanding that he and his chick-whores be released at 5:30am - I can go right back to sleep afterward.)
While at B&N, though, I got me a little horde of books. They are, as follows:
BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON, by Dean Koontz. This is my first ever of his to buy new. I'm excited by the mere thought.
THE GOODBYE SUMMER by Patricia Gaffney. I have a confession with this one. I've never read Gaffney before. But, because of the Cherry Forums, I felt compelled to do so and saw this one and snagged it up. And it's a first edition, which is always a plus.
BLOW FLY by Patricia Cornwell. I've read one by her, but I can't even remember the name. I remember it had a chick for a detective and some really, really passive dude, and that's about it. I don't like passive guys. I like MANLY MEN, Testosterone-Overdosed-Mega-Alpha-Dudes. Needless to say, I wasn't overly impressed, but I've been drawn to this particular title for awhile now, and decided to give into the feeling. I hope this one gives me more than the other one did. I'll report back to let ya know.
And lastly, but certainly not least, I grabbed up Lani Diane Rich's EX AND THE SINGLE GIRL. I have read both of Rich's other books (TIME OFF FOR GOOD BEHAVIOR and MAYBE BABY) and I loved them both. TIME OFF FOR GOOD BEHAVIOR hit me somewhere deep and personal and made me sob more than once. Add this book to that list. Three for three now, Rich has amazed me and moved me like no one else. In fact, this entire post is because I knew I had to blog about this book - so I started at the beginning of the little journey that put this book into my hand and moved forward to where you're reading now. Her insight into first Wanda and now Portia is ... unbelievable. You cringe with them, you laugh with them, you love with them and you most definitely cry with them. If you want a moving novel, grab it. And grab it fast. To top it all off, Rich is a rockin' cool chick too. That just adds to how great it all is.
Needless to say, I'm a happy girl. A week-long visit with my best friend and a horde of new books. It doesn't get much better than that, let me tell ya.
Friday, March 31, 2006
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...
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...
Friday, March 17, 2006
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.
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.
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