Cheeky Wench's Tavern

New Goals

2010-12-18T13:55:00.001-06:00

So the goal from last year didn't pan.

Sometimes you have to scrap and start again. That's where I am; that's what I'm doing; and that's what the ticker above is reflecting.

New goal: first draft of new idea (of old characters) by May 20th. 90,000 words.

NaNoWriMo

2009-10-31T23:59:00.002-06:00

I need to finish this book, so I'm casting my lot with NaNoWriMo. 50,000 words should finish Adam & Eve.

I need to make things bad and worse for Adam & Eve, as they date in the modern world. Any suggestions for things that would be plain awful or plain funny? I have a handful of ideas, all leading back, of course, to Adam and Eve falling back in love with each other. But I really, really want a BLACK MOMENT. Right now, though, it's in the vague category...I guess like all true NaNos, I'm going to have to go on faith that when I get there, it'll be as godawful as I'm hoping. Godawful for the characters, not the book....

One hour into NaNo and I haven't any new words yet. I better be off to get cracking at this...it's nearly 1700 words a day.

If you're NaNoing, good luck, and I hope to cross the finish line with you!

Banter

2009-09-22T21:02:00.005-06:00

I read books for the banter. It's why I love Jennifer Cruisie books so much. You can practically roll in the banter.

Basically I write dialogue for women to say all the cheeky, clever things I'd either wouldn't have the guts or think of in time to say; and I write all the stuff I wish men would say. *LOL*

Eve scoffed. “You couldn’t get me.”
“I got you once.”
“You’ll recall the options were limited.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe if we’d had all the options in the world, we never would have ended up together. Then again, maybe we would have. Come on, Evie, what’s so bad about me you wouldn’t have picked me again?”
“I assume you’re looking for an answer other than: you’re an asshole.”
“Babydoll, all men are assholes. We just have varying degrees of it.”

Okay, maybe that's not dead romantic...but does feel like it might at least be true. *LOL*

What do you look for in dialogue? Funny and bantery; or the "You are my favorite form of heroin" romantic whatnot?

Cute Meet, Again

2009-09-13T12:22:00.002-06:00

We know the hero and heroine of this book have been married before--so really the cute meet is hard to do. How do you make something old new again?

Nyiah—the dusky brunette from downstairs—was talking to a potential Mrs. Smith. Just the right height—maybe 5’4—and the right build, a pert ass and reach-to-Heaven legs. She wore a pair of heels that made her look vulnerable and kick-ass at the same time. Ass, legs, strategically placed clothing. This girl was intriguing.

She looked like a girl, a real girl, much more so than any of the other half-naked females in this room, and she did it without so much as removing a shoe. Her short blond hair was frayed into something that looked like she’d spent quite a bit of time making it look like she’d just climbed out of bed. And with her little sunflower halter sundress that looked like it was one string tug from falling off altogether, he was very much tempted to invite her to bed.

Of course, he was going to have to find out her name first.

He took another long drink of tequila, wobbling a bit, but not bad. He wasn’t really drunk. He never got too drunk. He’d always been able to hold his liquor.

Although he was curious how he suddenly found himself behind the little blond vixen. He was only just across the room—then again, the room was small. Maybe that’s how he got here so fast. He just didn’t remember such a short expanse.

She smelled like apricots.

Funny, apricots are what he always associated with….

“Eve!”

His perfect woman turned and Adam gaped down into the familiar lines of his ex-wife. But not his ex-wife. His ex-wife was wholesome, round, and had honey-brown hair. This woman was all sophisticated and sleek lines and bald. And blond. He’d loved Eve’s hair, the way it felt in his hands, the way is trailed down her back and tickled his thighs when she rode him.

The room spun upon that thought. Concentrate, old man.

Eve’s aqua-blue eyes widened between their thick lining of black stuff women put on their eyes to make them look bigger, which only made her look more fragile, more seductive. Why was she wearing makeup? She didn’t need makeup. She didn’t need to look anymore seductive. Her nostrils flared, and her gaze narrowed. “Are you drunk?”

He’d be the one asking the questions here.

“What the fuck happened to your hair?”

Then a funny thing happened. The room swirled so fast around him, it went black, and he didn’t remember Eve answering his question. Typical.

So be honest--he knows too much about her hair right? How does a guy-guy describe hair? 'Cause the guy I'm dating would possibly describe it this way, but he also painted his kitchen "terracotta"--so he could be a secret fan of Judy Garland too...

Meet Lucy

2009-09-05T00:00:00.000-06:00

Lucy is clearly a side character, though Lucy being Lucy, he does have a thing about stealing the spotlight (I'm pretty sure he's a Leo, bless him). Therefore, even though this book is about Adam & Eve (don't tell him, he still doesn't know the title isn't called "Lucifer: Finally My Side of Things"), I thought the first excerpt should be about Lucy.

This scene takes place the day after Adam, Eve, and Lucifer arrive to Las Vegas. The hows and whys they got there are detailed in the previous chapters, but let's just say: it's Lucy's idea. Lucifer, as you might imagine, has his own and clear agenda. The devil has made his own deal with well, his own devil...and now he's got 40 days to reunite Adam & Eve to wedded bliss. If he fails, oh, well, at least he had fun in Vegas, right? He can remember that while serving eternity (again) as that snake.

In the mean time, he'll work his plan, which is "Give them what they want" and "Make sure what they think they don't want is forbidden." And he'll start with Eve, because she at least is still speaking to him.

“It doesn’t matter if I did or not,” she replied coolly. “It only matters now that we’re divorced. Of course I loved the father of my children. He was a great father and a good provider.”

Lucifer cupped his hands behind his head. “Really? That’s weird. I always thought he was an unmitigated ass. And considering how he blamed you for that whole garden debacle, I think it’s really great you can think of him so fondly. The fact you’re carrying a torch for him now is a bit much….”

“I am not carrying a torch for Adam!”

“Oh, you clearly are. You’re still in love with him. Which is so tragic since he’s so clearly over you.”

Eve reeled as if slapped. “Excuse me?”

“I know. I wouldn’t have believed it either. I mean of the pair of you, I would have thought the situation would be reversed. Adam much more likely seems to be the torch carrier. I suppose, though, if you really want him back, you can just dally about, pining like some pathetic wallflower, and reunite with him back in the Garden of Eden. I mean, he’s made it clear how forward he’s looking to doing that.”

“I am not pining!”

“Never mind the 1001 ways to fix mangoes, which I’m sure is in your repertoire.”

“I am finding a new husband!”

“Of course, there is the possibility of Adam finding a wife in the next forty days.” Lucifer grimaced. “That would be awkward in the Garden, wouldn’t it? The new wife and the old?”

At Eve’s dirty look, Lucifer sighed theatrically. “Listen, I’m an avid watcher of American TV, and I can’t tell you the number of desperate women there are in the 21st century. I grant you it’s one of my favorite reasons why I’m here, if you get my drift. And where else would they be most desperate but in a city with more wedding chapels than liquor stores? And I hate to admit this, but Adam isn’t that bad looking of a guy. After watching a few seasons of The Bachelor, I have to concede, it’s probably going to be like shooting fish in a barrel for him.”

“As opposed to me?”

“Well, you’re not exactly in the first flush of youth.” Lucifer rocked his hand. “I mean, you’re not bad. No one is going to kick you out of his bed for eating crackers or anything, but it’s like the difference between George Clooney and Jennifer Aniston. Women are dying to marry George Clooney, but the same does not hold true for poor Jennifer.”

Sweet, isn't he?

A New Beginning

2009-09-04T12:03:00.002-06:00

Here's the scoop, the premise if you will: Adam & Eve have been going to marriage counseling for about, oh, 6000 years. It hasn't been working. In fact, at the last session--after the Counselor emphasized "empathy" and "tolerance"--Eve blurted out she wanted a divorce and Adam said it was the most sensible thing she's ever suggested.

The Counselor--after some thought--agreed with one caveat: they must find new "soul mates" (you know, the soul mates they so clearly weren't for each other); they must do it in 40 days; and they must do in 21st century Las Vegas.

Good luck to those poor bastards.

Oh, did I mention Lucifer is being sent along with them to be their mentor?

Let the games begin.

Pirate: I'm Going to Steal That

2009-09-04T12:00:00.002-06:00

Terri did something brilliant with her personal blog. She's going to blog about her book. I want to do that too! Well, I don't want to blog about her book--I don't know it as well as she does. Though it's a GREAT book, be sure to keep up on her writing adventures.

No, no, I want to write about MY book. The "In the Beginning, Again" book about Adam & Eve. So you'll get semi-regular blogs about the progress of that book here. Now that I'm actually making some progress, you should get some relatively regular blogs.

Yeah, I can tell you're excited. Try to contain the enthusiasm.

What's My Crime?

2009-05-26T13:54:00.001-06:00

If you saw ME in a police car what would you think I got arrested for?

I saw this in an email and am curious what you all think I'd be in jail for.

(P.S. Harry Potter is in theaters in 49 days.)

So It Begins...

2008-11-24T15:57:00.002-06:00

What with Twilight come and...gone (well, it'll be gone in about 8 weeks or so, I imagine), I can now turn my attention back to that Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince will be out in about 8 months. 7.81 months to be exact. I have a little tracker. No idea how it works--math, you know--but the movie I was so excited and wanting to see on November 21 will actually be out July 17, 2009. Barring that WB doesn't flake out a second time and move it to Christmas 2009 to be complete prats.

I had a half-second's inkling of "waiting" to see Harry Potter 6 after the hub died down. Then I saw the second trailer. Or the actual trailer, really, the one that follows the kick-ass teaser which had me foaming at the mouth months ago. Oh, this looks good. These looks like things from the actual book! Could a miracle really have happened?

Anyway, I'm doing my Harry Potter dance, focused in on the release date with all the single-minded obsessiveness of a native-born Missouri deerhunter, counting down days until the next time he can deer hunt. Which by the way, is in December. I know, I didn't care to know that trivia either, but if I'm going to be burdened with that useless bit of info, it's only fair you should be too.

Anyway, here are the current stats for when Harry Potter will be in theaters. Obess with me. You know you want to.

Months: 7.81
Weeks: 33
Days: 234.33
Hours: 5,640
Minutes: 337,458
Seconds: 20,246,658.17

Friendship: Oh, What a Tangled Web...

2008-11-06T11:30:00.001-06:00

My best (and longest standing) friend and I were talking about the complications of the man-woman dynamic. As in, women are sensitive, and men, while they typically mean well, are usually missing something important in the sensitivity area, like a brain. Men and women, duh, are wired differently and therefore think differently; and she was marveling that men and women ever hook up at all. I too wonder from time to time how men ever get laid.

I’m sure you all agree men can be amazingly obtuse and singularly dense about things that should be so obvious. You can even tell them and draw them diagrams about the importance of the topic you’re ranting about, and like Frasier, men are of this thought: “There's an incredible piece of scientific equipment known as the Tunneling Electron Microscope. Now, this microscope is so powerful that by firing electrons you can actually see images of the atom, the infinitesimally minute building block of our universe. If I were using that microscope right now, I still wouldn't be able to locate my interest in your problem.”

This makes men seem very insensitive—you know, not caring about our problems—and it’s not that they don’t care, or even that they don’t understand. I believe they’re more than capable of both. It’s just their priorities are not our priorities; and they are not going to devote that much energy into worrying about something that is not going to matter in five years (when it so clearly barely matters now), when they can be using that brain power for good and happy outcomes, like how to get sex…and possibly a beer.

I can’t say men are wrong in this. I like beer. But as a woman and a best friend, I have to agree that men are insensitive…and empathy deficient much of the time.

However, as complicated as the man-woman dynamic is, there is no way on God’s earth I will ever be convinced that it is more complicated than the woman-woman dynamic. My best relationships are with women, and they are the most frustrating, rewarding, irritating, happiest, worst, best, and most fulfilling relationships I have. One would think having a uterus would at least put me on a level playing field with my friendships. And God knows we talk about everything, so it’s not like we’re not communicating. It’s just that…I spend a lot of my time pandering to a lot of the irrational.

As women we hate this, right? I mean, that excuse holds us back from higher positions and holding office—it’s a lame excuse. We can be very rational, thank you. But oh, my God, I do think we hold the corner on being completely irrational as well. “You’re not even angry at me. Why am I the one being yelled at?” “Because I can’t tell my mother-in-law she’s a blazing shrew, that’s why!” Oh-kay. It’s also amazing to me how something can be only my problem, my desire or whatever, is suddenly encroaching on their happiness in some way. And if I pursue it, I’m not a good friend…and I’m not being sensitive to the situation. (Women can do the guilt manipulation like no one’s business, can’t they?) It’s even gotten that I almost have the same empathy disorder my best friend accuses men of having. Technically she knows I’m not, but I’m certainly giving a good imitation of it.

And it’s when I’m being my most unempathetic that I actually feel men might have a point: this barely matters now. What are we getting so worked up about? Can’t you just be happy right this second without trying to predict the next five years of potential happiness to follow? After 33 years of being a female, I’m going to say: Nope. We can’t. Sorry. We’re just weird.

But the woman-woman dynamic is so important. I think it was my second day of kindergarten when I came to the stunning conclusion: Life sucks. Followed by the second conclusion: I better find a friend because that’s the only way I’m going to cope with the first conclusion. So that’s where I found my best friend. For a long time, I thought you could only have one real best friend. This is probably because of school. There’s a lot of back-stabbing and turncoating in school, so it’s little wonder that I basically had one friend who never did that so therefore I thought, you should only have one best friend. I’m not sure. I didn’t have a therapist then, but I imagine that was a lot of it.

Only my best friend knew something then that I didn’t learn until much, much later. College actually, because by then, I had been replaced in my friend’s life by a boyfriend. Talk about a rude awakening and adjustment phase. This is what I learned: No one person can be every single thing to you, and what an incredible burden to assume one person can be. You can have lots of best friends. For God’s sake, you wouldn’t want just one pair of shoes, would you? Which pair would you choose? Surely you’d need to consider the occasion.

This is a lot easier on certain aspects of the woman-woman dynamic. That means you can stop pestering your BFF to go to movies with you that she has no interest in, or asking to do “girl only” things with you, when you know she feels guilty leaving her husband alone on the couch. Don’t force your friends to be more than they are or give more than they can freely give. And for God’s sake, stop trying to make them more like you. It’s not going to happen; and it shouldn’t. That’s what being a friend is about. These are supposed to be people in which you feel free to be yourself around and they love you anyway. It’s about accepting people as they are, and if you can’t, then let them go. There is no point in continuing a friendship in which everyone is unhappy. Life sucks—and the point of friends is that they’re supposed to make life a little shinier.

But having all these best friends, all of which only see a certain Hellion, is this lying? Does this mean no one friend has ever seen Hellion in the altogether then? Which Hellion is the real Hellion then? Or are all the bits of Hellion true, even if when you put them all together they contradict themselves? (Women are nothing if not contradictory.) Is it possible to have a friendship with any one person in which all aspects of yourself can be shown and not fracture the friendship?

I don’t know.

Poem of the Day: Ballad of the Men I Have Vamped in Vain

2008-10-03T13:52:00.002-06:00

I saw this once a LONG time ago, printed it, lost it, and couldn't find it again. Fortunately someone put it on the web again, so here it is, for the rest of you. Truly fitting. And I'm sure some (or all) of you can relate like me:

OF virtue in woman and honor in man
Has many a bard sung the praise;
And if I now mention the subject again
It's distinctly a negative phase,
For while virtue and honor are well in their ways
One wearies at length of their clutch,
Especially when it inspires the phrase
"Yes, dear, but I love you too much."

These modern young men who write books about sex
All say, "To be chaste is a sin!
Live life to the full without hindrance or checks!
None too young or too old to begin."
But for the deplorable plight that I'm in-
(And you'll surely admit it is such)-
They have no reply but an asinine grin
And a "Really, I like you too much."

There are brave men a plenty, the newspapers say,
Who rape and seduce all the time-
But none of them happen to come 'round my way.
My friends don't seem given to crime.
For bridge or theatres or parties they're prime
And they don't seem to shrink at my touch.
But their failing (which goaded me into this rhyme)
Is that all of them like me too much.

It's not that I go in for Passion myself-
I find it a terrible bore-
But a virgin can have no respect for herself
In this day of the glorified whore.
So I call at young hopefuls' apartments galore,
But, when safe in a masculine clutch,
I imply my intentions, they show me the door,
And assure me they like me too much.

Are they cowards, or heroes, these diffident males?
Do they brave every feminine shell?
Or is it my personal presence that fails
To intrigue them? I never can tell;
For experts have said I make love very well
Still I must lack the magical touch-
For they praise and admire and love me-but Hell!
They-all of them-like me too much.

ENVOI:

You, prince, who have hardily ventured to learn
Of the men I have vainly ensnared,
I've done as you bid me, and ask in return
Whether you, in their place, would have dared.
And this I implore you, don't ever get scared,
And when virgins entreat your fond touch-
Do whatever you feel that the Fates have prepared-
But don't tell them you like them too much.

Anonymous, US, C. 1920

Yoga & Hellion the Stress Addict

2008-08-21T14:58:00.001-06:00

My doctor yelled at me again. Okay, she didn't actually raise her voice. She smiled kindly as she said, "Your blood pressure is a concern." You're telling me. Please don't tell me to stop eating salt, please don't tell me to stop eating salt.

So I need to work on not eating as much salt. And eating more fruits and veggies. And losing more weight. And walking more every day. And not stressing about every little thing every five seconds. Gah.

After leaving the doc's office, rather depressed that I'm about two more doctor's visits away from being taken out back and being shot for my crappy processed-foods lifestyle and genetics (both sides of the family) like some nag that's outlived her purpose, I went to the library and contemplated skipping the gym. But thought after having written on my form I went to the gym three times a week, that I shouldn't lie so soon after committing it to paper.

Holly was there after my BodyPump class. (I did both BodyPump and Yoga--does it matter? No, I still have a crappy HBP rating. Bastards.) I was laying on my mat, enjoying the fact I hadn't collapsed and died in the last class, and she grinned: "Corpse pose already?"

"Yep." Then I mentioned the doctor thing.

"You need to stop stressing out, man."

I just looked at her.

"You're right. Look who I'm talking too. Maybe you need some Xanex. And make sure they write you a big enough prescription that I get some too."

I've heard of worse ideas. Xanex is sounding mighty tempting at the moment.

But I did yoga instead. Maybe I'll ask the doc at the next checkup. Which is in a month. Yeah, me.

Song Lyric Wednesday: Our Favorite Pet

2008-08-06T13:23:00.003-06:00

As sung by The Limeybirds, who you should totally Google and go watch their act live if you get the chance. These girls are hysterical--and the interpretative dance is worth the price of admission alone. When I grow up, I want to be Charity.

Some folks have a pussy, a budgee or a tit,

Some folks have a puppy to fill the house with sh….

But me, I raise chickens, and I’ve a favorite one,

He’s Dick, my little cockerel, and I don’t know where he’s gone.

Has anybody seen my cock,

My big Rhode Island Red,

He’s mostly pink

With a little bit of blue

And purple round his head.

He’ll stand straight up in the morning

And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*

[He’s a chicken.]

Has anybody seen,

Anybody seen,

Anybody, anybody seen my cock

He’s a plucky little fellow

And he’ll stand straight up to me!

He’ll raise his head,

Again and again,

And make me utter, “WHEEEEE”

Has anybody seen my cock,

My big Rhode Island Red,

He’s mostly pink

With a little bit of blue

And purple round his head.

He’ll stand straight up in the morning

And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*

[He’s a chicken.]

Has anybody seen,

Anybody seen,

Anybody, anybody seen my cock

His two enormous waddles hang down

The best you’ll ever find,

Mister, you can stroke him if you like

If you feel that way inclined.

Has anybody seen my cock,

My big Rhode Island Red,

He’s mostly pink

With a little bit of blue

And purple round his head.

He’ll stand straight up in the morning

And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*

[He’s a chicken.]

Has anybody seen,

Anybody seen,

Anybody, anybody seen my cock

But now he’s gone

And flown the coop

His life was such a strain

He was always up…

When I needed him.

Perhaps he’ll come again.

Has anybody seen my cock,

My big Rhode Island Red,

He’s mostly pink

With a little bit of blue

And purple round his head.

He’ll stand straight up in the morning

And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*

[He’s a chicken.]

Poem of the Day

2008-07-30T10:29:00.002-06:00

Hey, I was in the mood for poetry. Even if it was my poetry. I wrote this about 10 years ago (Sept 1998).

Happiness is a state of being in which one feels
characterized by good fortune and marked by pleasure….
Soft kisses, wispy as moonlight,
Then rest quietly
Against my breast as the shimmering caress
The sweet-plump curve of my hip—once, twice,
And the game is up.

I stretch and groan, my belly stretching
Into me, his morning stubble raking in a teasing nuzzle
Down the slope of my neck…and
His teeth graze
Wantonly along the rise of my breast, nipping delicately.
And he pauses there until I open my
Eyes and smile, my hands reaching to cup his face
Between my palms, one leg creeping to curve over his hip.
His smile is voracious, carnivorous even…and he
Pounces, kitten-like, his silky hair tousled across his brow
And his muscles rippling…he smells of bedsheets and nights unbridled
And moments tender-rough…and I tug at his shoulders until he collapses
Mockingly into
A heap on top of me, laughing as he rolls me
Above him, my hair teasing as it spills around
Us. His hard warm hands
Rub up my back and curve firmly over my shoulders, tilting me as he
Drawing a slow wet kiss on my midriff.
The morning light dims and the bedrooms walls fuzz at their edges,
As we melt languidly into the bedsheets…and his fingers
Begin their roguish romp, sliding down and down, and I open my eyes
To see his impish salacious smile—and I laugh joyfully,
Thinking….
Happiness is a state of being in which one feels
Characterized by good fortune and marked by pleasure.
Ah, ‘tis true, ‘tis true.

P.S. Here's your quote of the day: "If you don't think sin is fun, you haven't been committing the right sins."--Billy Graham (attributed)

Heaven, Ice Cream & Mark Twain

2008-06-23T14:02:00.003-06:00

My sister and I were discussing church yesterday. She was trying to talk me into going to her church. I said, I'm too liberal for a church; and I look for fights. I believe what I believe. Not to get all political or religious, but if you did a checklist of the democratic party, I'd probably agree with most of it...though most of the little ticks on the democracy side is, well, considered immoral by 99% of churches. (You know, hate the sin but not the sinner, which sorta drives me crazy since I still think you're not really loving the sinner at all. You're kinda being...self-righteous and better-than-thou towards someone you think you're better than. I call it conditional love. They'd love you for real if you were sinning like a big fat sinner you are.)

Anyway, so was our discussion. And my sister says: "Well, it doesn't matter. There won't be any sex in Heaven."

This is not news to me. 18 years as a Deacon's daughter, I'm well aware of all the fun things Heaven is without. To which my sibling added: "Well, it's better to spend eternity in a pleasant climate than in a fiery hell." I asked her if she was sure, since we were going to be without sex and all. I mean, ETERNITY is a long time to go without something. That's like getting to Heaven and there's no ice cream. "But you won't be hungry," they explain patiently; and frankly I have to think: "That's really not the point of ice cream, is it?" How often do we eat ice cream because it's a health food to help along as we're hungry? Exactly.

You don't eat ice cream because you're hungry. You eat it because it tastes good.

So it's really not the point that in Heaven we won't need sex because we won't need to procreate; and we'll all be brothers and sisters (and therefore it's all sorta incestuous anyway)--and well, you think it was bad now when you're in the middle of sex and you realize, "Hey, Jesus is watching." (Hey, it's happened.) I mean, in Heaven, he's really watching. We all are.

Frankly I want to be wherever Mark Twain is. He has us nailed.

...the human being, like the immortals, natually places sexual intercourse far and away above all other joys--yet he has left it out of his heaven! The very thought of it excites him; opportunity sets him wild; in this state he will risk life, reputation, everything--even his queer heaven itself--to make good that opportunity and ride it to the overwhelming climax. From youth to middle age all men and all women prize copulation above all other pleasures combined, yet it actually as I have said: it is not in their heaven; prayer takes its place.
- Letters from the Earth

Prayer. I don't know about you, but that does not sound like a pleasant way to pass an eternity. What would we have to pray about? We're already in heaven; everyone else is in heaven--if they didn't make it, we've been told prayers won't help them at this point. So now we're left with praise prayer, which I'm not saying God's not deserving, but I think he has a bit more to do with his time than say 'Thank you' a billion times a day as we continue to praise him. I mean, that's gotta be boring after a while...and he's a humble guy, so he's only going to tolerate that so long, I would think.

Still.

Clearly I can't hope for Heaven making up for the dearth of hanky-panky I have going on down here. So I guess I'll just have to catch up so when I'm in Heaven, I don't miss it so much. I should probably go ahead and eat all the ice cream I'm going to want as well.

I don't know about you but I'm going to my local Ben & Jerry's.

6 Words or Less

2008-06-19T13:41:00.002-06:00

I think Marnee tagged me for this. Weeks ago, but I haven't thought of anything.

Obsessed...no. Passionate. Yes, passionate.

Passionate, rebellious, and freedom-seeking pirate

There we go.

Me in 6 words.

Taglines and Costumes

2008-06-11T14:41:00.002-06:00

At the Bandits, we were asked to pick three words that describe your "voice." I picked irreverent, droll, and chick-littish. Then I said, well, not typical chick-lit, more like "small-town, Southern chick-lit." Terri now thinks that should be my tagline; and Cassondra (at the Bandits) also thinks that is the way I should pitch my work to agents/editors. What do you all think? And those of you who've read my stuff--do you think small-town, Southern chick-lit works?

And I think I'm going to be Maid Marian (dressed as a sassy Robin Hood outfit with bows and arrows) for Halloween. I have the costume picked out; lot less material than usual; and I get weapons. Now if I can just find the right shoes!

An Ideal Man Is Like....

2008-05-21T14:23:00.000-06:00

A good bra: supportive, uplifting, and makes us feel sexy

The perfect pair of jeans: a perfect fit where it counts, looks good dressed up or dressed down, and always highlights the best aspects of our ass

Okay, these are lame. Do you guys have any?

2008-05-20T11:01:00.001-06:00

Which HP Kid Are You?

Quote of the Day

2008-05-19T15:21:00.001-06:00

The entire sum of existence is the magic of being needed by just one other person. --Vi Putnam

No idea who Vi Putnam is, or if in fact, this is a person...but damn, that's a great quotation.

Movie Season Is Upon Us

2008-05-06T16:10:00.004-06:00

I love this time of year: the morel mushrooms are all over the place (and God, they're good) and the hype for summer movies is at full throttle.

My former boss isn't intrigued by the movie selection this year, but man, I'm hyped. (Okay, not the in same sort of hyped I was last year at this time, when I was literally counting the minutes until I got to see Sweet Jack again...but there can be only one Pirates of the Caribbean. Or three, maybe four if they work out the details. Whatever.)

Speaking of sequels I'll toss my money at, Indiana Jones is coming back to the big screen. Granted it's been almost 20 years and lately, Indy has been looking a bit worse for wear, but they're bringing back Marion, too. And there might be a "secret baby" (all grown up), being that Indy's sidekick in this movie is a 21 year old guy who has some "personal business" with Indy. That is one secret baby plot I can get behind. I've been dying for Marion and Indy to have some babies, and just the THOUGHT that might be what's going on has me excited! He's still got the hat and the whip...and that devilish look about him. AND he's an archaeologist! Hello, the older you get, the more interested he is in you.

This weekend I'll be seeing Made of Honor, which Patrick Dempsey has become my favorite movie leading man. Loved him in Enchanted, and I think he'll be just as enchanting here. This weekend, What Happens In Vegas also will be out--and though I'm sure it's not going to win any awards, it still looks amusing. Campy and funny...and the same plot device we've seen in about three other Ashton Kutcher movies, but whatever. Looks amusing. Anything to distract me from my dreary life.

In June, I've picked my "Get Out of Jail BAD Movie" Movie: The Love Guru. I've already raved about this at the ship, because it features, at some point, Justin Timberlake in a speedo and sporting a pornstache. I'm so there, baby. I don't care how bad it is, it looks funny.

Of course, Adam Sandler's summer movie comes out like a week before him (maybe two), and it looks like it has some merit as well. Politically incorrect, cheap laughs, and I'm sure an ending where he saves it from being a completely themeless movie.

So it's clear I'm going to be spending a lot of my time at the movie theater this summer--which is good because I don't have AC anyway. What movies will you be seeing and what are you excited about?

Contest

2008-04-15T10:55:00.002-06:00

No, I'm not featuring a contest. But Amazon is.

If you're a Harry Potter fan...or even an Amazon.com fan, this is the contest for you.

Go here, and play.

No fee. Just be willing to be one of a billion entries that's filtered out...and take the chance that you might be one of the ones. I've already entered. Wish me luck...and meanwhile, I wish you luck. One of us should get the chance to go!

And if you don't win the Grand Prize, there's always the second prize. :)

2008-04-14T09:23:00.001-06:00

It was a necessary war, they said.

We must fight for truth.

For justice. For prosperity.

And for these things, they sent my son

To die for peace.

My prayers fell on deaf ears,

My fury at the senseless death ignored.

And so my son returned to me,

A broken toy soldier in a box,

And I buried him with my heart.

The Deathman Cometh....

2008-04-03T12:13:00.003-06:00

You know you sometimes read these little new bits in the newspaper and laugh because they can't be true. And yet they are.

This week, I read about a man who was on the way to the store to get some mushrooms for his pizza, who died when he swerved to miss hitting a deer. The clincher? He was riding a scooter.

You laugh because you think, No way, what kind of bad luck are you under to have that happen? I mean, he was wearing a helmet!

To top this, this guy was in my yoga class. A marathon runner. Tight hamstrings--only wanted to do that yoga pose where you can put your fingers under your heels and straighten your hips to the ceiling. He was a wonderful guy. For one, he never was resentful for the fact me and my two yoga-partners-in-arms were complete gigglers; and if any of us were missing, he'd ask after that person by name. He was smart, interesting, and the loving father of three sons and loving husband of a professor here at the university. He was a very valued colleague; he worked for the chief counsel of the county. He ate right, I believe; exercise faithfully; and even yoga'd to relax. What does all this get you?

Dead. From a rogue deer.

So last night I yoga'd to the best of my ability, as we lit candles for him and played his favorite CD in class; then after we went out for ice cream (though we hadn't had supper yet.) Because you never know. You might not get a chance for dessert if you do it the "right way."

So go get ice cream. Tell your friends you love them. Hug your children.

The Grim Deer stalks, baby. It stalks.

Watercooler Talk Friday

2008-03-28T16:17:00.003-06:00

The boss is out of town today, so there were several moments in the day where my ass actually wiggled out of the office and talked to the co-workers.

First topic of discussion was very important. I sent a co-worker to go look at the movie trailer for The Love Guru. Clearly an Oscar-nomination worthy flick coming out in June--and if anyone should get the Oscar nod, it should be Justin Timberlake, who is going to be the sole reason I'm watching this flick. Plus the site had the quite memorable quote of the day: "If you're happy and you know it: think again." That's my mantra, baby, right there.

The rest of it...well I was *going* to talk about but it got too long, too heavy, and displayed way too much of my ignorance about China-US relations. Clearly though I prefer to not worry about the direction the boat (America) is headed and will just play my fiddle to the best of my ability until the damned thing hits an iceberg and sinks itself.

The question of the day boiled down to this: when it comes to November and you head to the polls are you going to be voting FOR someone? Or are you going to do what most of us will be doing, "I'm not voting to FOR someone, it's more like I'm voting AGAINST someone." None of us knew who we wanted to voted for. All the options frightened us. And frankly I'm going to think it's a miracle if Bush doesn't get us in another war before he leaves office.

Revelation Monday

2008-03-17T14:26:00.001-06:00

I found out I'm not a pessimist.

Look.

"Philosophical pessimism is the similar but not identical idea that life has a negative value, or that this world is as bad as it could possibly be."

I do not believe the world is as bad as it could possibly be. I have the utmost faith and belief that it can and will get worse.

Happy Monday!

Old Obession Thursday

2008-03-13T13:40:00.002-06:00

Normally I don't write on my personal blog so often, but clearly I'm procrastinating on...well, everything.

And the Daylights Savings Time has totally #(%)*#()$#* up my week.

So I was up till 1 am finishing Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows--there is a certain point of the book where you literally can't put the book down, you have to start doing stuff one-handed and hope you don't, oh, crash your car and stuff.

So I've finished up the annual "Christmas" read of all the books, which is basically what I've done since I've started the series. Harry Potter is very...well, Christmasy in the way. Christmas is a big deal to him--so I read them at Christmas.

I read The Goblet of Fire for what, the tenth time? I honestly don't know; and in book 3, Harry acquires a map. In Goblet of Fire, a professor BORROWS this map and doesn't return it. Seriously. I realized suddenly he doesn't have his map back by the end of this book; and in book 5, when Harry is clearly holding the map once again, there is no explanation HOW this occurred?

So I'm calling out to other fans, does anyone *know* how he got the map back? Did I misread my 10th reading of book 4 and my whatever reading of book 5 and he did get it back?? Please help me. It's been driving me mad, and MuggleNet Staff won't return my emails.

New Obsession Tuesday

2008-03-11T09:59:00.005-06:00

Yippee! The Young Riders Season 1 came in the mail last night.

This lovely show was on TV from 1989-1992. I went through a mourning period when it went off the air, being I was madly in love with The Kid (and frankly, Buck, Jimmy, and Cody.) Now granted, since nearly (dear God) 20 years have passed and my ability to suspend reality ("Are you kidding? How in the heck did they all just happen to end up there to rescue each other?") has dimmed since I've gotten so old; I find I'm not so old as not to enjoy watching them set fence posts shirtless, their tanned beautiful skin rippling under the Wyoming sun.

This was back in the days that Stephen Baldwin still looked hot; Josh Brolin was an unknown (but damn, what a cutie!); and Ty Miller was my future husband, though he didn't know it at the time.

It's still worth a watch if you get the opportunity. I realized my main attraction to The Kid (who'd I'd typically call The Beta) was because he had the best looking horse of the outfit. Obviously during my adolescence when horses mattered as much (if not more) than men.

If you don't mind your historical not very accurate (and hey if you watch any Hollywood historical, you do); your plots as holey as Swiss cheese; and your men young, ripped, and earnest--this is your TV series.

Anyone else used to watch this show? I could have been the only one.

Talladega Nights Friday

2008-03-07T12:22:00.003-06:00

I was in the mood for some movies quotes...and Will was just speaking to me.

Ricky Bobby: Here's the deal I'm the best there is. Plain and simple. I wake up in the morning and I piss excellence.

Cal Naughton, Jr.: I like to think of Jesus as a mischievous badger.

Cal Naughton, Jr.: I like to picture Jesus as a figure skater. He wears like a white outfit, and He does interpretive ice dances of my life's journey.

Cal Naughton, Jr.: I like to think of Jesus like with giant eagles wings, and singin' lead vocals for Lynyrd Skynyrd with like an angel band and I'm in the front row and I'm hammered drunk!

Susan: It's because it's what you love, Ricky. It is who you were born to be. And here you sit, thinking. Well, Ricky Bobby is not a thinker. Ricky Bobby is a driver. He is a doer. And that's what you need to do. You don't need to think. You need to drive. You need speed. You need to go out there, and you need to rev your engine. You need to fire it up. You need to grab ahold of that line between speed and chaos, and you need to wrestle it to the ground like a demon cobra! And then, when the fear rises up in your belly, you use it. And you know that fear is powerful, because it has been there for billions of years. And it is good. And you use it. And you ride it; you ride it like a skeleton horse through the gates of hell, and then you win, Ricky. You WIN! And you don't win for anybody else. You win for you, you know why? Because a man takes what he wants. He takes it all. And you're a man, aren't you? Aren't you?
Ricky Bobby: [pauses] Susan, I've never heard you talk like that... Are we about to get it on? Because I'm as hard as a diamond in an ice storm right now.

Ricky Bobby: [television commercial] Hi, I'm Ricky Bobby. If you don't chew Big Red, then f-*bleep* you.

Chip: [to Ricky Bobby] Are you just going to let your sons talk to their grandfather like this?
Ricky Bobby: Hell yes I am! They are winners! That is how winners talk!
Carley Bobby: If we wanted two wussies, we would have named them Dr. Quinn and Medicine Woman!

Lucy Bobby: So how was your day driving with you father?
Ricky Bobby: Well let's see. I got mauled by a cougar, my Crystal Gayle shirt is ruined, and I didn't learn dick about driving. Other than that, it was great.

Ricky Bobby: [running around on the track in his underwear] Help me Jesus! Help me Jewish God! Help me Allah! AAAAAHHH! Help me Tom Cruise! Tom Cruise, use your witchcraft on me to get the fire off me!

Cal Naughton, Jr.: Please don't let the invisible fire burn my friend!

The Written Word

2008-03-03T09:15:00.002-06:00

I'm not a very good journal-keeper. I like to collect them, mind. I have a stack of 70-sheet notebooks, a number of leather-and/or-cloth-bound journals, and post-its to myself everywhere in my room, in my purse, in my car. But I'm loathe to commit anything personal down, anything really personal.

Now mind you, I have a desire for immortality, and what is more immortal than the written word? Would we know a guy named Shakespeare if he hadn't written down those eternal words: To be or not to be, that is the question. Maybe, but maybe not.

The written word is viable. Imperative. We wouldn't have know the Golden Rule if someone hadn't taken the time to write it on papyrus. But I hate committing my little treasure-trove of Hellionisms to journal entries. Well, perhaps I don't mind the outrageous ones. But I do mind writing down the stuff that journals are actually made for. The vulnerabilities. The "I hate Jane Smith, that two-time, double-crossing snake that stole my boyfriend!" or "My boyfriend Tom kisses like an eel." Or my personal favorite Hellionism: if I had an opportunity to run over Chris Roberts, I would. Then I'd back up and hit him again. Rat bastard.

There are lots of things people remember about me that I don't remember at all. Seriously embarrassing little anecdotes that I would have been content never remembering at all until they showed up at Happy Hour and decided to share that tidbit with all my new friends. Perhaps it would be easier if I'd quit just doing embarrassing things, then nobody would bother to remember them at all. But that's not likely to happen.

Anyway--I have all these leather journals that no one would ever see and I won't even commit my own follies for my own eyes (I figure I'll have enough of Hellion This Is Your Life come Judgment Day, you know?)--and yet some people use their blogger to post their real vulnerabilities out there for all web-eternity. (I don't mean the pre-teen who's despairing about That's So Raven being canceled. I mean: My husband is a cheating scumbag and his new girlfriend, my former best friend Jessica, is a cheating whore type blogs. Or work woes blogged, using real names of bosses and co-workers.) Doesn't that seem dangerous to you all?

I don't know if it's stoic-father or what, but isn't there something dangerous about expressing every single emotion that filters through us before we've had a chance to digest it and figure it out? I don't know. It just makes me think of Tom Riddle's diary from Harry Potter. Little Ginny Weasley poured all her feelings into it, and it talked back to her, justified her feelings, soothed and petted her--and in the end, it turned out really badly.

What do you think? Yea or nay? Does it matter this is a wide-world forum? I mean, technically, now many people are likely to read your inner-most thoughts, right?

For Irish: Blasphemous Wednesday

2008-02-20T16:22:00.003-06:00

Since Irish reminded me of it, I'm going to post some of my favorite quotations from The Life of Brian. Don't worry. You won't go to hell for laughing. Unlike some of His creations, God has a sense of humor. You should see the dates He sends me out with. Seriously.

Coordinator: Crucifixion?
Prisoner: Yes.
Coordinator: Good. Out of the door, line on the left, one cross each.
[Next prisoner]
Coordinator: Crucifixion?
Mr. Cheeky: Er, no, freedom actually.
Coordinator: What?
Mr. Cheeky: Yeah, they said I hadn't done anything and I could go and live on an island somewhere.
Coordinator: Oh I say, that's very nice. Well, off you go then.
Mr. Cheeky: No, I'm just pulling your leg, it's crucifixion really.
Coordinator: [laughing] Oh yes, very good. Well...
Mr. Cheeky: Yes I know, out of the door, one cross each, line on the left.

Suicide Squad Leader: We are the Judean People's Front crack suicide squad! Suicide squad, attack!
[they all stab themselves]
Suicide Squad Leader: That showed 'em, huh?

Reg: [arriving at Brian's crucifixion] Hello, Sibling Brian.
Brian: Thank God you've come, Reg.
Reg: Well, I think I should point out first, Brian, in all fairness, we are not, in fact, the rescue committee. However, I have been asked to read the following prepare statement on behalf of the movement. "We the People's Front of Judea, brackets, officials, end brackets, do hereby convey our sincere fraternal and sisterly greetings to you, Brian, on this, the occasion of your martyrdom. "
Brian: What?
Reg: "Your death will stand as a landmark in the continuing struggle to liberate the parent land from the hands of the Roman imperialist aggressors, excluding those concerned with drainage, medicine, roads, housing, education, viniculture and any other Romans contributing to the welfare of Jews of both sexes and hermaphrodites. Signed, on behalf of the P. F. J. , etc. " And I'd just like to add, on a personal note, my own admiration, for what you're doing for us, Brian, on what must be, after all, for you a very difficult time.

(This is my *favorite* scene)

Matthias: Look, I don't think it should be a sin, just for saying "Jehovah".
[Everyone gasps]
Jewish Official: You're only making it worse for yourself!
Matthias: Making it worse? How can it be worse? Jehovah! Jehovah! Jehovah!
Jewish Official: I'm warning you! If you say "Jehovah" one more time (gets hit with rock) RIGHT! Who did that? Come on, who did it?
Stoners: She did! She did! (suddenly speaking as men) He! He did! He!
Jewish Official: Was it you?
Stoner: Yes.
Jewish Official: Right...
Stoner: Well you did say "Jehovah. "
[Crowd throws rocks at the stoner]
Jewish Official: STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! STOP IT! All right, no one is to stone _anyone_ until I blow this whistle. Even... and I want to make this absolutely clear... even if they do say, "Jehovah. "
[Crowd stones the Jewish Official to death]

Judith: [on Stan's desire to be a mother] Here! I've got an idea: Suppose you agree that he can't actually have babies, not having a womb - which is nobody's fault, not even the Romans' - but that he can have the *right* to have babies.
Francis: Good idea, Judith. We shall fight the oppressors for your right to have babies, brother... sister, sorry.
Reg: What's the *point*?
Francis: What?
Reg: What's the point of fighting for his right to have babies, when he can't have babies?
Francis: It is symbolic of our struggle against oppression.
Reg: It's symbolic of his struggle against reality.

Stan: It's every man's right to have babies if he wants them.
Reg: But you can't have babies.
Stan: Don't you oppress me.
Reg: Where's the fetus going to gestate? You going to keep it in a box?

Spectator I: I think it was "Blessed are the cheesemakers".
Mrs. Gregory: Aha, what's so special about the cheesemakers?
Gregory: Well, obviously it's not meant to be taken literally; it refers to any manufacturers of dairy products.

Brian: What will they do to me?
Ben the Prisoner: Oh you'll probably get away with crucifixion.
Brian: CRUCIFIXION?
Ben the Prisoner: Yeah, first offense.

Lead Singer Crucifee: [Dying on the cross] Cheer up, Brian. You know what they say: some things in live are bad. They can really make you mad. Other things just make you swear and curse. When you're chewing on life's gristle, don't grumble; give a whistle, and this'll help things turn out for the best. And... always look on the bright side of life...

Email Forwards Demystified

2008-02-19T11:02:00.000-06:00

You’ve gotten this email, haven’t you? You probably have sent it to me. And yet every time I read it, I’m always slightly disturbed by it.

1. There are at least two people in this world that you would die for.

Easy: Jack Sparrow and…and…Shoot. I’ll come back to this one.

2. At least 15 people in this world love you in some way.

Awww, that’s nice. *starts counting on fingers* I can only think of 14, but whatever.

3. The only reason anyone would ever hate you is because they want to be just like you.

Unlikely, and since this should work in reverse, I don’t want to be damned bloody thing like Keith Schawo or Chris Roberts. I hope everyone is clear on that.

4. A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they don't like you.

I suppose this is reasonable. Smiles do make me feel better, even if they’re from the executioner.

5. Every night, SOMEONE thinks about you before they go to sleep.

This is the one that bothers me. Anyone else thinking about a guy on cell block 5, who as he goes to bed at night, thinks, “13 more months and I’ll get murder the little bitch.”?

6. You mean the world to someone.

Yes, apparently the guy on cell block 5.

7. You are special and unique.

Just like everyone else.

8. Someone that you don't even know exists loves you.

Again with the guy on cell block 5. (Just what did I do to him anyway?)

9. When you make the biggest mistake ever, something good comes from it.

Uh-huh.

10. When you think the world has turned its back on you take another look.

I do like to face the people I’m flipping off. Has more meaning.

11. Always remember the compliments you received. Forget about the rude remarks.

And it’s always this one that makes me laugh hysterically that I received the forward. Come on. It’s like you guys don’t know me at all.

A Pirate's Life For Me: A Year Later

2008-02-07T12:01:00.000-06:00

If you scroll back to Feb 2007 (Feb 9) to be exact, you'll find this post below. I have been feeling melancholy and pissy and weepy and all accounts depressed.

I'm also been feeling a need to dust off my resume and move somewhere far away.

Funnily enough, a year ago I felt the exact same way. Only, I don't want to work in retail...and I don't want to go back to school. I'm not exactly cut out for office work, where I'm currently miserable; and the more I try to write, the more I think maybe I'm not cut out for that either.

How do you figure out what you're good for?

As I sit at my desk, trying to get out of doing folders (story of my life), I look down at my little desk companion, Captain Jack Sparrow Bobblehead, and I think, God, what I wouldn’t give for a Miami Vice right about now. (Miami Vice being the name given to a Carnival Cruise drink that was a layered drink of half pina colada and half strawberry daiquiri. Rum is a beautiful thing.) *taps Jack’s braids and he agrees with a bobble nod*

If I had my druthers, I would be sitting on a beach in Grand Cayman with my Miami Vice and my bobblehead doll (the real Jack Sparrow is temporarily unavailable), and I soak in the warm delicious sunshine, blind fellow beach combers with my pasty white skin, and dream about being a pirate.

No, not the scurvy, short life expectancy parts. The interesting parts. Rum, wenching (can men be wenches? I mean I know they can be bas…oh, well, men-wenching), and freedom. I long for the dissolute life. Probably because I’m so damned Amish. The Other Side calls to me…Freedom calls to me. Bobblehead Jack agrees. Well, he should, he put the idea in my head, after all. He said it, tapping his rum bottle to Miss Swann’s, when they were toasting. “To Freedom!” Aye, to freedom.

And I admit there is a lure there. It cannot be denied as I sit at this desk, staring at folders, watching my single, all-I-need-now-is-a-damned-cat life unfurl before me as I continue to do folders and people please and defer. Not Jack. Not if you’re a pirate. You please yourself—and you make every moment count because you’re not going to live long enough to need a damned cat. (Though they do make good companions. Don’t get me wrong.) And you don’t even bemoan the fact you’re single and rootless, without family—because you have friends who are like family—and you have all the bed companionship you want once you hit port. Well, at least if you’re Jack. I imagine I could do all right if that’s what I sought. Show up naked and bring beer—I could have all the companionship a girl could want.

Plus I’d get to sail a ship and live on the ocean…and being a Pisces, that almost holds more lure than having all the rum we can handle, and I assure you, Pisces are horrible alcoholics. Where’s my rum?

If you could do anything else right now? Rock star, Vegas show girl, oh, hell, school teacher—what would it be—and why? How DO you figure out what career you should be in?

I Ain't Superstitious...

2008-01-22T16:36:00.000-06:00

Okay, so maybe I am. Sue me. But I'm not the only one with this superstition, and if you had my childhood of adults over the age of 50 who kept dropping off like flies, you'd start believing it too, even if you and your entire family were healthy as oxen.

Death happens in threes.

I guess we figure if He's going to show up for one person, he should make it his while and come for #2 and #3, and if you have any sense, you find them quick before he makes you a designated hitter. By no means, do you want to be who Death comes for to round out his numbers.

So in mid-December, a co-worker, Pat, died. She was 77--and a spunky, wonderful lady--and gracious. She would always listen to what you said, and if she didn't agree with you, she's smile in a bit of sweet gentility and say, "That's nice, but this is how we're going to do it." And you did. You were glad to do it her way. She never said an unkind word--well, maybe she did--but it was nothing that the rest of us weren't already complaining about. She'd smile, exasperated, say something gracious and Southern, and then go about her business. She was a corker.

The first one is never really a pattern.

But then my great-aunt Lena died. She was 102 (almost 103) and granted, while she is older, she still was pretty hale for her age. And had all her mental capacity. And capacity for about a dozen or so of her relatives, not to make too fine a point on it. Opinionated, proud, productive, and a sweet-tart (no, not sweetheart--sweet-tart. If you'd been on the business end of some of her remarks, you'd understand)--she was a CORKER.

Okay, *now* we have a pattern. So we look for #3.

And now Heath Ledger is dead. Now I'll grant you I didn't know Heath personally. We're not what I'd call bosom pals or anything, but as with celebrity, you feel like you know them. You spend more time watching their films than looking at family photos--and you feel like they are your bosom pals, so it's a big deal when one of them dies. It's a huge deal when one of them dies and they're younger than you! Okay, younger than you *and* not of any disease other than possible stupidity and tragedy.

I know, I know. *throws salt over shoulder* Don't speak ill of the dead, but if it is a drug overdose, you rather have to question what was going on in his head at the time--and possibly the ones who are supposed to be keeping tabs on young, talented actors? (Britney, anyone?) You'd think they would have started monitoring the sleeping pill situation a bit when Marilyn died--but no....

Is anyone else superstitious about death? Anyone else floored by Heath's death? Anyone else suffer from the same problem as I do about celebrities--you think you know them better than most family members?

Critique Groups Revisited

2008-01-05T22:25:00.000-06:00

I have blogged about belonging to this fantabulous group called "The Sassy Scribes" which comprised me and two other engaging, funny, intelligent women who would drive to the middle of nowhere, where some excellent pie was served--and we'd discuss writing.

This was, by and by, the best critique group I've ever belonged to. Anything that has eating as a central subplot definitely helps with the feedback I get back on my chapters.

In September 2007, The Sassy Scribes disbanded, because one of our central members (the PUBLISHED critiquer--full of brilliant Mary Poppins ideas and a kind word) had to move to Chicago. We tried to talk her out of it. We tried to convince her to take us with her. We cried.

By September, I had brought a fourth member to The Sassy Scribes, a new hot writer who I knew as Sin and who knew me as Hellion. After the disbandment, we decided to press on. We met in our main home town (so about an hour closer) and held our important meetings at the local El Maguey's. Over the excellent cheese sauce, we'd discuss important issues like: the cheese dip stain I'd immediately get on my shirt, whether anyone noticed I'd tried to lick it off, and if the waiter looked like Ranger from the Stephanie Plum books. About two hours later, we'd eventually discuss our chapters, the fact our Muses were on vacation with no forwarding address, and how we wouldn't have this problem if Kris--the missing member--would come down her and flick the whip a few times.

Today though, I think we did a little better than usual. Sin bought dipping cheese from Walmart; we discussed her erotica; we discussed her series (both sets); and we discussed GMC. We ate more cheese. We plotted goals for 2008. We discussed the online critique group and what we needed to arrange as the rules so we'd be moderately successful at it. We discussed how to get cheese dip stains out of my shirt--and luckily no one cared that I licked it off.

Dynamics change. Sometimes you're forced to be more leaderish than you're used to. Sometimes you have to find more like-minded folks--they're out there--and start over again. You just keep plugging...and eating cheese dip. Eventually you'll win.

Christmas Procrastination

2007-12-14T16:57:00.001-06:00

I'm the worst present giver ever.

I blame my parents. They were awful about presents too. I inherited it honestly. I shop last minute, if I shop at all; I usually tell you what I got before you get to unwrap it; and that's if I wrap it and it's not in a Walmart shopping bag with the tags still attached.

This year, despite my love of Christmas (I do usually have to decorate and make Oreo truffles and give out one wrapped gift), I haven't done jack shit.

Oh, I've bought stuff for me. Dec 4, POTC: AWE came out on DVD, and you bet your sweet ass it was pre-ordered back in October. Dec 11, HP5 came out on DVD, and I ordered that before you could say, "Expelliarmus!" and blast me away from the keyboard.

This is frustrating for friends who want to buy me things they know I like, but I beat them to the punch. On the upside, if there is a pirate or HP reference whatsoever on the item, I will bounce up and down, screaming like a lunatic, announcing to the world: "This is the best gift ever!"--and my friend will point out. "They're just pencils. Have you even looked at the other items? I bought you a Ferrari!" "Look!" I'll scream, "Will Turner's face is right there! Isn't he dreamy?"

But enough about my gifts. It's December 14--and have I shopped?

Yes.

Finally.

After weeks and weeks of procrastinating. I ordered some stuff. Only one item for me (don't worry, it wasn't on anyone's radar that I even wanted it; nobody would ever guess), and the rest for friends.

Family gifts, yeah, I still have to do some actual shopping. But that's not the point--the point is: I might actually have to put up my tree now.

Of course, this is a given. I have to hang my new Hallmark Keepsake ornaments of Jack Sparrow on my tree. With any luck of my obsession, I might round up an even dozen before the holidays are over! Imagine a tree with a dozen Jack Sparrows hanging from it.

Soul Mates

2007-11-13T12:13:00.001-06:00

When I was a kid, I wanted to grow up and marry a country singer. Specifically: Johnny Horton. It wasn't until I about 9 or 10 I even realize the man was DEAD and had been for 15 years prior to me showing up.

My luck entirely. I find my soul mate and he's dead.

Johnny Horton started my fascination with voices, though. My Dad's got the gruff somber Johnny Cash voice; and we all know what a sucker I am for Alan Rickman. Johnny Horton's got a voice to fall in love with. Deep, smooth, but within its cadence, a happy-go-lucky, wouldn't-we-have-fun tone that makes me want to ride around in a convertible with him and laugh.

My favorite ballad by him is called Miss Marcy. I *cannot* find the lyrics anywhere, but I remember being moved by the story as a kid. It's about a boy named Billy who's asked to recount what happened at the mill the night before (there was a dance)--and apparently Miss Marcy, who was his step-mom, was dancing a bit too close to "Uncle Will" and Billy's father killed or injured like three or four people. I'm trying to remember if he killed himself and Marcy too?--it was a DARK song, but boy, when I was 11, I knew EVERY word. *LOL*

My other favorite ballad by him: They'll Never Ever Take Her Love From Me. Difficult to find lyrics, but not totally impossible.

If today the sun should set on all my hopes and cares
There is one who's smiling face the Gods would see
Cause she'll walk along beside me up to golden stairs
Oh they'll never ever take her love from me
What a fool I was to go and break the trust she gave
And to see her love turn into sympathy
It's the one regret I'll carry with me to my grave
Oh they'll never ever take her love from me
[ strings ]
I'm so thankful for each golden hour of happiness
That we shared together in the used to be
Someone else's arms may hold her now in uncaress
But they'll never ever take her love from me
I thought I'd make her happy if I'd step aside
But I knew her love would never set me free
Even on the day that she became another's bride
Oh they'll never never take her love from me

Hellion Clothed

2007-11-06T13:08:00.001-06:00

Ignore my hair. I didn't have a hat. But the duds are ones I sewed. I wish you could have seen the accessories: cat-o-nines, sword, gun (with real sound effects). I still need a hat. *sighs* But I'm not paying those prices for one! I'm not the only pirate on the internet.

Post Halloween Highlights

2007-11-01T08:07:00.000-06:00

I went to Pam & Chris' house to hang out Halloween night. I slurped down a bowl of hot and sour soup and had just settled in for some lo mein when the doorbell rang. The first trick or treater!

Chris has already spent time laughing at us because Pam and I had seen a little Harry Potter roaming the back street behind her house. Between houses we could catch glimpses of his red and gold scarf. We bounced around, squealing like we had seen glimpses of Brad Pitt.

Between the hours of 6 and 8, there must have been at least 50 trick or treaters. While some folks might find this a low turn out, I hail from the country--and we never got trick or treaters. I've never seen so many costumed children since I was in grade school.

Harry stopped by, and I squealed about him then. He did not seem nearly as excited to see me.

There was a young bride, no more than 6 years, her father standing quietly at the back of the yard. Her pretty blonde hair was scraped back with a white rose headband/veil, and her lovely bridal gown swept the sidewalk. Very beautiful, very bridal. Wow, I thought, her father must have broke out in hives seeing her in this outfit. It was a very Father of the Bride moment.

A little later, a trio of trick-or-treaters came up. One as a princess; one as Spongebob Squarepants (clever paint job on a box), and the cutest of all, a farmer boy with overalls and a hat, "driving" a John Deer tractor (a box also cleverly painted) that hung from black straps on his shoulders.

The trickiest costume I saw was a 1940s bomber pilot. All of 7, he wore a miniature bomber jacket and one of those skull caps of the era with goggles on his head. He wore a bomber single-engine plane, painted a sort of grayish-green army color around his waist. I think his father spent a lot of time working on that. He looked extremely authentic. He nearly had an accident trying to turn his plane around on the tiny concrete porch and navigate down the stairs again.

Easily the trick-or-treater we enjoyed most was the little pirate who couldn't be more than 4. He was bold for his age--after an entire evening of very shy children who seemed very confused by this ritual of free candy--and he swaggered up in his red and white striped trousers, a red skull cap on his head, a 12-in plastic sword waving fiercesomely, and a twinkle in his eye. He arrived with a group of less confident children, and as Chris calmly told all the children to take one piece of candy, Little Jack reached in with one hand, snagged a piece, then with a gimlet stare right at Chris, snagged a second piece with his other hand. We adults all sucked in a breath at this disobedience of Candy Courtesy. Then Jack grinned roguishly, spun on one heel, and leaped off the porch like a pirate swinging from one ship back to the other. He waved his sword maniacally, screaming as he ran down the walk: "I got it! I got it!"

Back in the house, we looked at Chris: "You just got pillaged, mate."

Happy Halloween all. Any good trick or treater stories where you lived?

Daily Smile

2007-10-12T10:26:00.000-06:00

It's Friday. I already started out the morning in a crank-fest--badly behaving applicants, my names misspelled by people who don't read, self-doubt about my writing--all vicious contributors.

But then my boss was standing at my window and said, "Hellion, come look."

I went and looked.

Three adults were herding a group of children, no older than four years old, across the street. Each child held a part of a rope, and the lead adult led the way, while another adult followed to make sure no one lagged and the third adult flanked them on the left to make sure no one bolted from the ranks. All the children were smiling and excited about the adventure they were on, all clutching one grubby hand on the white rope.

Once they made it to the sidewalk, the children filed where they were supposed to--though taking time to bounce up and down on all the man-hole covers and grills, with such obviously enthusiasm my boss and I could practically hear the rattle of the metal grates even though my closed window.

Leaves are falling off the trees, whipping around them; their hair is windblown and their cheeks are rosy--and not one of them looked like they had any concerns whatsoever. They were just as happy with the journey as they were with the prospect of the destination.

My boss and I have been grinning ever since.

Fall

2007-10-02T14:45:00.000-06:00

There are many notable things about Fall. It's not so bleeping hot you can fry eggs on the sidewalk. The leaves turn and it's gorgeous with the sunlight reflecting off the trees. The students are back in town, so the driving is abysmal. People start talking about football like I actually care.

And the movies start getting better.

Now, you say, "Hellion, how can they get better than POTC: At World's End?" Right you are. It can't. And you'll be thrilled to note the third movie will be making it's way to DVD on December 4th, what, 2 months away? It IS on my Christmas list if anyone is looking to bequeath me with the normal gestures of goodwill and generosity.

But after all, summer releases are really all about the male ages 14-25. Wedding Crashers. Spiderman. Harry Potter. Yes, even my beloved Pirates is designed with the "male ages 14-25" in mind. Which I find quite unfortunate because all the males I've ever known between those ages have no taste whatsoever in what qualifies as a great movie, with the notable exceptions of Pirates and HP, obviously.

But finally these goobers go back to school come Fall, and Hollywood starts catering to the rest of us--those not male and between the ages of 14-25. And who probably don't care for football.

For instance, Oct 12: Elizabeth: The Golden Age. This has Cate Blanchett revisiting her role (of which she rocked) as Elizabeth I. This time instead of rocking the bedsheets with Joseph Fiennes (God, he's hot), she'll be rocking them with Clive Owen (who's hotter.) I don't see a lot of males between 14-25 going to see this movie, do you?

Further out is The Kite Runner. Based off a book I'm sure I should have read and didn't--and it looks like I'll be sobbing into my popcorn at the end.

Way out, Beowulf. Finally I can know what happened in the story I never read. Either in high school or college. Looks actiony enough to draw the boys.

Some low brow stuff to amuse me: The Comebacks, Fred Claus....

Love in the Time of Cholera! Hey, that sounds promising as an uber-chick flick!

And finally, Enchanted...which looks hysterical, even though predictable.

I also really want to see: Across the Universe, which features Beatles' music and has a character named Jude. It's out now...I need to see it ASAP.

Any movies you're looking forward to? Anyone seen Across and can recommend or not?

Anger Management

2007-09-24T14:36:00.000-06:00

I had a long blog, but it got too revealing, so I'm going to summarize:

From Coyote Ugly:

Lil: That's Rachel, you can learn a lot from her.
Violet: She just cut some guy's ponytail off.
Lil: Yeah, the court ordered her to take anger-management classes after she pummeled a customer for grabbing her ass. He pressed charges, I gave her a raise. Cheers!

Hellion: The Musical

2007-09-21T07:34:00.000-06:00

In the movie, Singing in the Rain, there is this "musical within a musical" effect. The movie itself is a musical, but it also has a plot twist of actors who are moving from the silent screen to talking pictures--and get the bold idea of making a musical. (Of course, considering the lead actress can't even talk prettily, never mind sing, this gives Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds time to make moon eyes at each other as they sing and speak the talking parts of the "talking picture.") Great movie. Classic bit with the umbrella and the dancing in the rain. Donald O'Connor makes a particularly memorable sidekick.

In Anchors Aweigh, the first musical I watched outside of the children classic standbys of Mary Poppins and Sound of Music, I fell in love with Gene Kelly. Madly. "Get there? Oh, darlin', you know I'll get there." And my soul soared at hearing Frank Sinatra sing that lullaby to the much adorable kid who would grow up to be the sidekick to the Quantam Leap guy. It was here I also met Kathryn Grayson, who also starred in my much favorite: Show Boat. Howard Keel and Kathryn fall in love on the river--and he's a roguish river gambler; and she's the innocent boat captain's daughter. There is a dark, sad angsty twist where the gorgeous Ava Gardner is exposed as a mulatto--and is forced to leave the ship (it was neither the captain's nor Ava's idea...but it was the time period, unfortunately.)

Howard also does roguish pioneer man well too. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers is campy, fun, and as deep as a Arizona mudpuddle--but boy, it is a good time. When the six brothers are pining for the town girls and Howard comes in and says, "Well, why don't you do something about it? The Romans would have carried them off! It's right here in Millie's book!"--and what do they do? They kidnap the town girls. The movie is worth the barn-raising dance-off alone. (My friend Holler would beg to differ, but I think it's a great movie.)

Howard was a man of many musicals. I also loved him in Kiss Me, Kate--again, Kathryn Grayson--and he's ever so rakish as he sings, "Where lately is the life I led?" Though he's perhaps not half so rakish as Harve Presnell in The Unsinkable Molly Brown. That movie has some slow points...Holler would probably say they were all slow...but there is this scene where he's teaching her how to read, and he's watching her in such a way you know he's thinking of her naked. Which ironically he's already seen her naked, but...never mind, you'd have to watch the movie. So he sings this song to Molly called, "I'll never say no to you..." Dead sexy.

There are the more obscure musicals like The Pirate and Can-Can (Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra respectively), which while not as memorable as Seven Brides or Singing are still wonderful...and fun.

And these are just the MGM Golden Era of Musicals...I haven't even gotten to Moulin Rouge, Chicago, et al, which have slowly been making their way into the film biz once more.

So I got to thinking (always a frightening pastime), and I wondered what would Hellion: The Musical look like. I mean, never mind the fact I can't sing. Would my childhood years feature songs from Hank Williams, Sr and Johnny Cash; then my pre-teen/teenage years have all 80s music and big hair bands; and the 90s, four hours of George Strait songs? Would I have Waylon's theme from The Dukes of Hazzard, or would I use his Never Could Toe The Mark? Would everyone be dressed in jeans and t-shirts, my obvious choice apparel, or would everyone be in pageant-themed looking outfits, lots of "Halloween" outfits, depending on the mood at the time? Perhaps a pirate theme, and a Medieval theme...and a Regency theme...and whatever else might fit my whimsy.

What do you think Hellion: The Musical would have in it? And what if your life was a musical, what songs do you think would make the list? Who would play you on Broadway? I'd have Kate Winslet play me, of course...ha, ha, Mike the Titanic would eat his words then....

Can't Help Lovin' That Crazy WIP of Mine....

2007-09-20T16:48:00.000-06:00

Oh, listen, sister,
I love my manuscript,
And I can't tell you why.
There ain’t no reason…
Why I should love this prose
It must be something that the devil only know…

Phones gotta ring, emails gotta fly,
I gotta write this manuscript till I die—<
Can’t help this crazy plot of mine….

Tell me it’s trite, tell me’s slow,
Tell me the dumb hero has got to go…
Can’t help this crazy plot of mine…

When I don’t write a line…
I near go out of my mind…
But when I sit with my pen and write—
That day is fine…those words do shine.

This plot can go to eternity,
Crazy and trite, I don’t care how it be.
Can’t help this crazy plot of mine.

*can anyone tell I have a thing for Howard Keel flicks? Man, was he HOT!

The Ultimate Exercise Equipment

2007-09-17T09:56:00.000-06:00

Due to the very poor grades I received in my overall health, I have been endeavoring to exercise more. Here’s the problem: I hate exercising. I hate sweating. I hate being hot. I hate doing things I’m uncoordinated at, like walking. Sex also comes to mind here, but that’s a different blog.

Friday, I went to my friend Jackie’s house, who also hates sweating, being hot, and doing things that make her look uncoordinated. She is a good friend though, and doesn’t want me to croak quite yet, so we went for a brisk walk. 4000 steps for our little jaunt.

Yes, yes, I’ve got one of those dorky pedometers. Blue.

Saturday, we went to a Pirate Festival at the Rotary Park. This has lots of opportunities for walking. I would tell you how many steps I took, except about halfway through the park I realized my handy-dandy pedometer had fallen off. Probably during the petting zoo area or the pony ride location. (Before anyone points out I’m too big for pony rides, let me assure you I had a 3-year-old in tow who was interested in petting the ponies—though not riding them.) I think the black pony ate my step-counter.

After about 3 hours of wandering around the park, the 3-year-old misbehaved horribly and we had to leave. (So much for pirate hunting.) Once home, I dragged Jackie to a JoAnn’s, where I got the rest of my materials for my Halloween costume; and then we went to a Barnes & Noble, for no other reason than to sit in the squishy chairs and read books. Then Erica, Jackie’s little sister called.

She was going to take her dogs to the dog park. Did we want to go? Now let me just say she has the coolest dogs ever. Nakira and Monty are these cute, hilarious mutts. Nakira is the ham, and she’s always so excited to see you…and she smiles all the time. Monty is lower-keyed, but a lover. If you lay down, he’ll crawl up beside you, worm his way into your arms, and sigh in contentment as his head is resting on your chest. (Monty is proof males are the same no matter what species they are.) I love them both, so I’m game to the park.

We go. Erica lets the dogs run in their area as Jackie and I walk on the trails for our evening walk. (I wanted to make sure I got plenty of walking in—since that horse ate my walking device! How was I to know when I could quit walking? Blast.) So we probably walk a mile roundtrip. Erica wants to now walk the dogs on the trail. Okay. So I get Monty, because he’s lower-keyed, right? Hahahahahaha. I trotted my ass off to keep up with this dog!

I don’t jog, folks. If you ever see me running, it’s not “to” something because frankly “it” can wait until I can saunter to it or I just don’t need it. If I’m running, it’s from something, like snakes. A serial killer. One of my really bad dates. Monty, though, doesn’t know how to saunter, and unless I wanted to be dragged down the gravel road on my belly, I adapted immediately.

So I jogged. Panted. Gasped for air as I walked at an uber-fast clip when I could no longer jog. By the time we left, I was certain all-told, I must have walked/trotted at least 3 miles. Yes, of course, I’m counting the Jackie-Fran sauntering mile—but two miles of jog/trotting is quite a bit, thank you much.

I’ve decided the ultimate exercise device is not a pedometer but a dog. Not one of those sissy dogs though—a 40 pound mutt who doesn’t know what a saunter is and is very interested in trotting up and down roads. If he likes to also curl up with you as you watch TV and sigh against your chest, that’s just a bonus.

So what’s your secret exercise equipment? Your toddler? Your dog? Your husband?

Mousetrap Part Deux

2007-09-11T11:37:00.001-06:00

I shared a "Mousetrap" poem with you some months ago. I think. I'm pretty sure. So I wrote a part 2 to the poem.

Our moments have passed and the years have gone by
But still I find I’m intrigued by this Cocksure-ish Cat.
If he would but stay unmarried for the blink of an eye
I’m race him to the bedroom in six seconds flat
But this is a Feline who can’t be alone—
Thus I’m unable to allow him to make me his own.

My virtue has thwarted him time and again
As he sets to convince me it’s inevitable we’ll mate.
How could a passion as ours be considered a sin,
When it’s clear we’ve been marked by the Fickle Finger of Fate?
Oh, he’s persuasive and every glinting look beguiles.
I’m enchanted by the beast of his masculine wiles.

“Take me and kiss me,” he pleads against the curve of my lips;
His caress could cause a nun to recant to her vows.
I find I’m disabled, dishabille, and empty of quips,
Full of “yeses” instead of “back away nows.”
Good thing the faith of Christendom doesn’t depend upon me
For I find I’m ‘tween the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea.

Lies we have bantered, truths we have forsook;
We’re caught in the web we’ve created ourselves.
A tangled romance you’d find nowhere but in a book,
A love bartered in a circle of Hell.
Eternal Hope springs and refuses to wane
When I’m in the embrace of my favorite Bane.

Ode to Men

2007-09-05T16:35:00.000-06:00

Men, thou art handsome savages,
With rakish grins to make me swoon;
Even the shyest of you are prone to ravages
And seductions under the light of the moon.

“Fancy a fuck?” or other such words,
Will command your attention like cannon fire blast.
If it weren’t so funny, it’d be for the birds—
Anything, I suppose, to get us to mount your mast.

Like dogs on collars, chained to a tree,
You forget and run to the end of the tether.
Hope springs eternal for a sex orgy spree,
Complete with whipped creams, cuffs, and a feather….

Oh, men, how I adore thee, thy simplistic motivation,
For why shouldn’t we screw instead of most anything?
Let’s then do as thy will—and call for a cessation,
And instead explore all the pleasures that sex can bring.

Lunch With Friends

2007-08-31T19:24:00.001-06:00

I don't think women leave their desks at work often enough and meet their friends for lunch. I don't sit at my desk and eat; but I do spend an ungodly amount of time in the breakroom, nose in a book, unthinkingly eating, enjoying little.

Today I went to meet Pam for lunch. This week was her birthday, and we've all been busy and haven't found the normal weekend time to celebrate her birthday. And if we try too hard, it's been known to get all complicated and nasty and very unenjoyable. Instead I was, "I'm going to buy her a book, damnit"--being Thank God, she likes to read more romances now--"and we'll go to lunch."

We met at Taj Mahal, an Indian restaurant. We hoped the food would be better than it had been at the other Indian restuarant. It was. It was awesome. It was beyond awesome. We talked, we laughed, we shared. She delighted in the fact I'd actually bothered to wrap her gift; and she cooed over the card I made her, even though I had shown her the card a couple weeks ago.

Then we started girl talking. You know the kind I mean. The kind you do out of earshot of boys because you'd get into massive trouble, especially if you're married to one of them. The talking that involves bad sex, bad dates, men who don't talk, romance novels, and on and on.

"I love my husband, but he does not talk like the men in these books." Pause. "Well, no man does...and it is fiction."

"You know, Christina Dodd says she writes men's dialogue by thinking of woman and then dumbing it down." Pam laughs so hard she covers her mouth--because I know her guilty Virgo butt is feeling bad she laughed.

"I love my husband, but he doesn't talk."

"Well, of course not. The man watches TV all the time. He has Eric for a brother. He never got a word in edgewise. He's quiet. You married the Quiet Man. This is not unusual."

"True. And don't get me started about him interrupting me while I read. He's watching the Chiefs play, so it's not like I can talk to him, but then he wants me to talk to him."

"You know why, right?" I say, ever the expert on men. "It's so he can tune you out while he watches the game. He's so used to doing that he can't watch the game without it." Pam's eyes widen at this new conspitorial truth.

"You're right!"

"So the solution," I say, "is to tape yourself talking, play that while he watches the game and you can read in peace. Plus if he says he didn't hear the last thing you said, you can just hit the rewind button. It's really a win-win."

"I like this tape recording idea."

"Oh! Oh! And in the bedroom, you can just have him read a script--and then you can play the recording as he does his thing." We fall over into hysterics. We're freaking hilarious, aren't we?

Then there is a discussion of a Geoduck. (If you don't know what it is, you need to Google it.) She had recently learned of what they are, but the guys at work explaining what they were couldn't do it--because in their words (the ones they COULDN'T say), it looks like a penis with a clam/oyster shell clamped on one end. Men. Everything looks like a dick.

I Googled this creature when I got back to work. I couldn't resist. You know what it looks like? It looks like an elephant trunk with an oyster shell clamped on the fat end of the trunk, or as I described to Pam later: it looks like an oyster swallowed an elephant but couldn't manage the trunk.

*Beevis and Butthead laugh* Heh-heh, I said swallow.

Pam said, "Well, the picture they showed, the trunk end was wrapped around the shell, that's why they thought penis."

"When in the history of penises have we ever known them to do that? In fact, I'm sure if I ever asked a man if he would or could wrap his penis around an oyster shell that would clamp down on the end--he would have bolted out of the room and called Men Abuse Hotline."

So the point of this blog is: go out and eat with your girlfriends. It's good for your health.

Look!

2007-08-31T09:01:00.001-06:00

Ha! It arrived!

2007-08-29T12:58:00.001-06:00

My Captain Jack Sparrow talking action doll arrived! He's so awesome and sounds just like him! Now if he would only STAND properly. Obviously he's drunk even by statuette.

Favorite Romantic "Forbidden" Movie

2007-08-28T15:25:00.000-06:00

I usually want what I can't have. The more forbidden something is, the more enticing it is. I don't like apples, but I guarantee you if I'd been Eve and that was the fruit, I would have had a batch of them whipped up for supper, served with a side of caramel sauce. (Because everything is better with a side of caramel sauce.)

I think my interest in the Forbidden carries well into my whole obsessive side of my nature too--so really I enjoy having compatible parts of myself. (By the way, I ordered a Captain Jack Sparrow doll that speaks. I'm sure I'll be blogging about it soon.)

So last night, I tapped into my obsessive/forbidden side by watching The Scarlet Letter. This pushed buttons on about every level. It has Gary Oldman (who plays Sirius Black in Harry Potter films), who looks extremely hot in this film. (Those eyes. *swoons*) It has that FORBIDDEN romance between the married woman and her minister. (Normally I would never think of jumping my minister, but understandably, he looks nothing like Gary from this movie.) And because they "freely adapted" from the original story, it has an ending where they finally get together at the end (though it's said he dies before their child gets to be a teenager, et al, blah, blah, blah.)

Doesn't matter. They ride off triumphantly out of town, their adulterous love a victory at last.

Yes, yes, only in fiction, right? (Though I do know an amazing amount of adulterous affairs turned marriages that are hanging around, looking rather victorious. Funnily enough, they morph into regular old marriages where everyone is fighting about who left the toothpaste cap off the toothpaste.)

I also watched Dracula, and I'm pretty sure I'm the only person (except maybe Dracula) who went, "Oh, that's so romantic! He cursed God because he lost his true love...and then...and then...she broke the curse. Their love broke the curse!" Now mind you, there is about another hour and fifty minutes of non-romantic stuff...and some bestiality, but I was distilling it to its purest elements for you guys. Dracula is a love story.

You'll also notice that Gary Oldman was in Dracula. Yes, I know. I'm having a Gary month.

So what is your favorite forbidden? What is your favorite movie with a forbidden element? (Or do you prefer your movies slightly less "forbidden" and more sweet?)

A Francelot Parody

2007-08-22T12:24:00.000-06:00

Writing Muse! Writing Muse!
At boring work I heard your cry.
Writing Muse! Writing Muse!
Here I am, ready to shoot the sky.
I know in my heart the book I should write,
And I shall publish it with all my might.

A writer of the Vagabonds should be creative,
Succeed where a less ingenious gypsy would flunk.
Write a sentence without a single gerund,
Compose a sex scene to leave the readers stunned,
Pen a book that no reader would dare refund.
No matter the struggle, she ought to be unflaggable,
Impossible scenerios should be as natural as air.
But where in the world
Is there in the world
A writer so *extraordinaire*?

C'est moi! C'est moi, I'm forced to confess.
'Tis I, I meekly reply.
That mortal who
These wonders can do,
C'est moi, c'est moi, 'tis I.
I've never lost
In penned prose or wit;
I'm simply the best by far.
When characters are crossed
'Tis always the same:
One keystroke and au revoir!
C'est moi! C'est moi! I am so blessed!
An Amish Nora Roberts unbound.
And here I sit, with wit audacious,
Exeption'ly corny, steamin’ly salacious,
To serve at the Gypsy campfire round!

The soul of a writer should be quite outstanding,
Her heart and her mind as brave as Will Ferrell.
With a force and resolve
Round all ideas do revolve
She could easily work a Happy Ending in Hell.
To love and desire she ought to be demanding,
The ways of the flesh should offer every allure.
But where in the world
Is there in the world
A writer so sexually secure?
(C'est moi!)

C'est moi! C'est moi, I blush to disclose.
I'm far too noble to lie.
That writer in whom
These qualities bloom,
C'est moi, c'est moi, 'tis I.
I've never procrastinated
From the book I am writing;
I'm blessed with a one-tracked mind.
Had I published
Far before now,
I’d still be on tours with fan lines.
C'est moi! C'est moi! The angels have chose
To write their love scenes in prose,
And here I stand, as wicked as Sodom,
Incredibly boastful, with ego to spare,
The conceitedest writer I know!
C'est moi!

Books, Banes, and Bast....

2007-08-20T17:45:00.000-06:00

I've been drinking a lot lately, I admit. And last Saturday was no different. I stopped by Pam's house and realized they were going out, and they invited me. They even invited me knowing that a certain guy would be in the group. Pam's brother-in-law, who is this guy I share on-again, off-again witty banter (and occasionally more), and who also happens to be married. For a second time. "Unhappily."

I'll let everyone pause for a second to remember the plot of my current WIP and go "Holy Shit."

It's really not quite the same. Pam is far nicer. Her husband would NEVER do the things he does in my WIP. This guy is not Ben. He IS the inspiration for Ben though--and I can say that here, because he has absolutely no idea about this blog...or my writing (well, not much anyway)...or well, let's just say, I figure it's good odds he'll not figure it out. Unless the book gets published...and he buys it. But again, it's not really him. Oh, well, I'm done arguing with myself about this....

Any way at some point during the evening, he says to me, "Hellion, you've always been the bane of my existence." This is possibly in direct irritation of him asking a question I didn't want to answer and I said I plead the fifth.

Nice. I concurred he'd always been MY bane as well. We smile. We make our reluctant goodbyes, and he leaves.

Then I looked up bane today, just to be sure it was what I was thinking. It was.

He could have meant any of the following:

1. A person who ruins or spoils. (I have not ruined anything. I think we can mark this off the list.)

2. A deadly poison. (Flattering, but unlikely.)

3. Death, destruction or ruin. (This one has possibilities. I think we really would be the death of each other.)

4. A source of persistent annoyance or exasperation. (Ooh, I think we might have a winner. I'm annoying. Now there's a surprise.)

5. Something that causes misery or death. (Also a possibility.)

So question of the day: Has anyone inspired you to make them a character in your book? Do you have anyone you'd classify as a bane (and nobody better say me--I'm just saying)? And which definition was he shooting for? Annoying or misery?

Dumbo

2007-08-17T10:40:00.001-06:00

I was sitting in traffic, at the last light I turn with on my way to work, and I was doing my usual routine at 7:54 am. Then the news comes on and makes an announcement about a new baby elephant born at St. Louis zoo, and weighing in at 236 pounds.

I then realized after all those years of saying the toss-away exaggerated statement of "I'm as big as an elephant", that I was indeed as big as an elephant. A pre-maturely born baby elephant. Quite humbling.

But then I got to thinking about Dumbo, a very cute baby elephant—and his big ears. (I did get to thinking about my ears as well. They are awful pointy. Everyone tells me this; Dumbo and I have so much in common, weight and ears.) But he can fly.

So I thought some more. And then I thought, well, his ears, that he was born with obviously, are his talent and/or ability. Writing is my talent—my elephant ears. And like Dumbo, I didn't think I could fly and was scared too. Now, I didn't have this really cool mouse mentor who handed me a feather and said, "Now you can fly" but I do realize I have used many types of feather talismans over the years to get liftoff. In fact, I use my English Major label as a sort of feather. It's why I went to college, to polish up my writing, to better refine my writing techniques.

But did I really need to go to college to learn to write? No. There are plenty of great and well-published writers who never got college degrees. In fact, there are also plenty of well-decorated, many-degree-carrying people who still can't write, though they may indeed be published.

Another famous feather many writers clutch is "The Muse". "Well, I can't write anything until I'm inspired, until the Muse tells me. I don't want to just write trite fiction; I want to create something brilliant." But any trite fiction writer will tell you it's impossible to fix a blank page. Edits are what makes trite writing something worth reading.

Writing books and writing classes are easy to come by if you have the money; and you always feel safer at your desk while writing if you have the latest book to help you plot or get past writer's block—but they aren't actually what makes you write. In fact, 90% of the time, I get a book, read it, get bored or frustrated, and say "Screw it, I'm writing it however I want" and then start writing. That, in and of itself, was worth the $13.95 to me, and it will come in handy another dozen times when I consult the book, but really, it didn't exactly tell me anything I haven't already heard a dozen times before. For free.

So should I ever lose all my feathers—my books, my degree ("What? What do you mean I needed one more hour of PE?"), my Muse—I should take a page from Dumbo and remember I don't need a feather to fly with to really fly.

How about you? What abilities/talents do you have and what feathers do you clutch?

Joke of the Day

2007-08-15T09:19:00.000-06:00

We’ve all heard about people having guts or balls. But do you really know the difference between them? In an effort to keep you informed, the definition for each is listed below…

GUTS - is arriving home late after a night out with the guys, being met by your wife with a broom, and having the guts to ask: “Are you still cleaning, or are you flying somewhere?”

BALLS - is coming home late after a night out with the guys, smelling of perfume and beer, lipstick on your collar, slapping your wife on the butt and having the balls to say: “You’re next.”

I hope this clears up any confusion on the definitions.

Medically speaking, there is no difference in the outcome since both ultimately result in death.

It's Official

2007-08-15T07:48:00.000-06:00

Summer is not over yet, it's true; and we've got at least two more weeks until Labor Day (and the whole "Summer's Over" is truly though)--but I have to say: This has been the best summer ever.

Summer 2007 started out with a bang: Pirates of the Caribbean 3 came out May 25, and I went to a sneak peek the night before of it. It was possibly my favorite movie of the three (though it's a close call, since I do adore the first movie so much and have watched it a hundred times.) I've only been able to watch POTC3 twice so far.

My next summer obsession was Harry Potter, both the 5th movie and the last and final installment in the books. My Harry Potter partners-in-crime went with me to a Harry Potter feast in Kansas City (which was admittedly lame, but fun because of the company). The movie rocked--and we think it might be the best movie of the series so far. My friend Pam and I now have unhealthy obsessions with characters from the movies: Pam (Lucius Malfoy) and me (Sirius Black). Admittedly I had a bit of a crush on Sirius in the book at first (I've always liked handsome, arrogant black-haired men)--but Gary Oldman does a good job. And he has tattoos!

I was quite relieved, when a week later, I got my book of the last Harry Potter, and I read it cover to cover. I was not going to have to burn my books in a fit of rage. All ended well.

Then a week after that I was set to go on vacation (my first real vacation in 6 years)--and I flew out to Virginia to meet fellow writers and Bon-Bons, Terri & Tiff. It was the best vacation ever! (The IPod 9th-Circle-of-Hell Incident notwithstanding.) Now I'm having to come off a high of where men actually know I exist...and flirt with me...and go back to work. *pouts* Oh, well, there is still a chance to look for jobs in Virginia. I've always liked Virginia, since I went to Washington, D.C./Arlington/Alexandria; and I love it even more now. It's beautiful like Missouri...but with an ocean. Plus there are sailors, which I find far more fascinating than farmers.

Now...it's back to the old grindstone. Edits to make on my novel. A query letter to write; and agents to beg. Oh, and my 8-5 job too. (And by the way, has anyone watched the extras on The Notebook and wanted to slap Nicholas Sparks? I mean, he's the NICEST guy...but I still want to slap him. Is it just me? AND has anyone seen the deleted scenes on The Notebook? HOLY COW. The alternate sex scenes are...OMG! I don't understand how I can love that movie, but not like the book. Does anyone else feel this way? I mean, aren't you supposed to like the book more? Maybe it's Ryan Gosling...Yeah...I think it's Ryan Gosling NAKED in the movie...)

I'm shallow. What can I say? Oh, and that bit where he yells at her that she's a pain in the ass but he wants to be with her anyway. *sighs longingly*

Flight of the Innuendo

2007-08-10T08:10:00.000-06:00

Admittedly I was a bit depressed to be leaving Virginia and all its fine, fine scenery--and it was a very sad, Paxil popping Hellion who checked onto her flight to Missouri. I had "C" boarding, and I talked to this charming fellow who talked incessantly about the last flight he took that got struck by lightening three times and nearly crashed the plane.

I chose not to sit next to him.

However, since it was Southwest, and it was "general seating", I looked for a place to sit. Around the mid-part of the plane, there were two cute guys sitting, with the seat between them--and being I love cute guys, I asked if I could sit there. The aisle seat one jumped up obligingly and I sat.

They were not chatty. Enter more depression. I was thinking fondly of my Y108 guy...and Mark the Merchant Marine...and I thumbed through my magazine as I was ignored. Finally while up in the air (after I ran out of magazine--damnit), I broke down and talked to the young one on my right. (The guy on my left was very unchatty. I thought, well, maybe he doesn't want to be bothered.) So the young one and I talk for about 15 minutes or so. We get our snack and drink; the guy on my left doesn't even get a drink. How can you not get a drink?

The guy on my left SO doesn't want to chat, he brings out a crossword puzzle to ignore me. So I keep bothering the youngun on my right. Then finally I notice Crossword Guy is struggling...and I see a clue I know. I lean over, run my hand down the section of the page, and say, "This one is 'Grisham'."

He looks at me. I know. I've broken the cardinal rule, right, but I figure, well, screw it. He'll change planes and never have to see me again. "No, really, it's Grisham. See." He does.

"Thank you." He scribbles it in. And then it was on. We worked the crossword puzzle together. I've never had more fun working a game in my life. At the end, we're stuck...and I say, "Well the answers are on 230."

He gives me a horrified look. "We can't CHEAT." You would have thought I asked him to kill somebody.

"Yes, you can."

But we didn't cheat. We finish; we revel in our brilliance...and then because there is another 20 minutes of flight, I say, "Hey, let's start the next one."

"No, that's too hard."

"Oh, come on, what are we going to do for the rest of this flight? We can at least try...and if it's as hard as you say, we'll cheat."

And boy, did we ever cheat! We cheated like four times in as many minutes within the start of the puzzle. I started giggling madly. "OMG, cheating's bad. Once you start cheating, you just can't quit doing it."

Crossword Guy gaped at me. "I can't believe you just said that out loud!"

I laughed again. "I don't care. It's not what it sounds like..."

"I know!..."

And so it was on. The Flight of the Innuendo. We tossed back and forth really bad puns for the rest of the flight...and he decided, once he realized I too was flying to St. Louis he would take the magazine and we'd finish it on the next flight. He followed me off the plane. "I'm keeping close to you. You're the other half of my brain."

I know. I laughed hysterically too at that.

I go to the bathroom; I return to call Jackie--and I promptly tell her about Jack, from Colonial Williamsburg. "He was the best thing about this trip!" I gush, because, well, he was. I get off the phone, and Crossword Guy says, "You didn't hear me, did you?" I shook my head. "I'm the best thing to happen to you on this trip." Oh, boy.

"You're the best thing to happen to me today. I was living in the past, you see...what are we going to do now to kill time?"

THEN our flight gets delayed. Yes, Fate says, "Hey flirt with this guy..." and I do...like mad. He buys me some food and a drink. I even spit on him--which I've really got to stop doing to guys. He calls his buddy--and says he'll be late...but he doesn't tell the truth. He doesn't say, "Because our flight has been delayed..." No. He says:

"I met this redhead on the plane." There is a pause as the friend asks a question, and I'm blatantly listening...and Crossword Guy's eyes flick over me in this rake-Once-Over, then he grins and goes, "Yeah." OMG, he just told that guy I was hot! I've never been hot in my life! "Gotta go, I'm busy," he says and hangs up. Then he shares a laugh with me. "That's going to tear him up."

More innuendos. We line up for our flight--because we obviously want to sit together. We're standing next to this cute little chicky-poo who suddenly says, "You guys are so friendly and cute! How long have you been married?"

I know. I laughed hysterically at that too.

Finally after exchanging a look with him, I say, "We're not married. I'm returning from vacation; and he's returning from business. We met on the last flight--I don't even know his name."

Chicky-poo gapes at us. "You're kidding! You guys acted totally married!"

Crossword Guy grins. "I told you my name was George Jetson." I roll my eyes with Chicky-poo.

Then Chicky-poo, Bless Her Heart, says, "Hey, you're Jeff!"--and points to his boarding pass. Yes! Finally!

"And you're Cathy," I say, because I noticed hers earlier...and then I had to reveal my name...which Jeff then made a Stripes reference, in regards to my name. Nice.

So Cathy, Jeff, and I sit in the last row of the plane and finish the crossword...and Jeff & I still flirt...and it's 10 pm (an hour and a half PAST when I was supposed to come in), and...Jeff helps me collect my luggage...well, he takes me to the luggage...and I'm on the phone with my ride...and he bids me farewell. *coughs*

Did I get his number? No. Did I give him my number? No.

I should be taken out and shot. Seriously.

P.S. Weekend Update

2007-08-05T00:43:00.000-06:00

I am *so* drunk.

How many of my stories have started with these infamous four words? Not nearly enough. It's 2:45 am, and I've had at least 4 rum runners (none of which I paid for), and I have to say:

1. I love Merchant Marines. *rebel yell* Go, sailors!

2. I love 108 FM. I think there was a "point" something too, but devil if I remember what his shirt said. I wasn't faced that way when we danced. *cough* Yes, danced. Damn, he was pretty. Dark eyes with killer lashes; short dark hair; cute, cute, cute!

3. Yeah, for the Vin Diesel look alike. Hell, it might have been Vin...but if so, he wasn't nearly as persuasive as 108 Guy. (NOT that was 108 Guy was totally persuasive. You can take the girl out of the church, but you can't take the church out of the girl. *pause* Damnit. Because if you COULD....)

4. I could swear I had four offers this evening. *moue pout* Yes, there was a blonde. He said his name was Chris...not that I believe anyone, really, let's be real, who gives their real name? Okay, I did, but I'd had a BUNCH of rum runners and I'm from several states over. Like they'll Google me. Ha! Merchant Marine guy had to ask me my name for a second time. *tsk, tsk* (He was multi-tasking.)

This was the best bar ever! Bar Norfolk! The line was long; the rum runners were crap, but fuck, did I have a blast! Buy me another round!

Listen to 108. He rocked. I mean, cute little Jack guy from Williamburg was HOT, but this one definitely gave him a run for his money. *thinks hard* *continues thinking hard*

Yeah, they were both damned hot. They are going in novels as soon as I sober up.

Enjoy this incriminating evidence while it lasts. I'll delete it as soon as I sober up.

Love, Hellion

Vacation Update: With Hellion

2007-08-02T18:00:00.000-06:00

Flight was perfect, slightly cramped--just further proof I need to lay off the freaking Doritos, but too late for the moment. I sauntered to the luggage claim, and upon whom do my twinkling eyes do see? Tiff & Terri, who if they had been any closer, they would have met me at the doorway of the plane. Hugs & giggling were exchanged, then we found my suitcase that weighs roughly the amount of a dead steer.

Wednesday night, we spent the better of the evening trying to get food. Terri tried to accommodate my "need" for batter-fried fish, but strangely a city located a stone's throw from the ocean doesn't serve mundane stuff like "fish & chips", so I went back to the house with a steak, because I really can't get a good steak where I live in Missouri. In cattle country.

The steak was delicious.

Then the boys came. With liquor, which honestly is how all men should show up--with gifts. (Only kidding. Partially.) So after about three shots of rum, I spent an inordinate amount of the evening showing my talent for balancing my ass on the tip end of a chair and sprawling with my feet above my head (not quite what you're probably thinking, but close) and draping off the other end of the chair, hanging on to either the table, the person next to me, my beer...whatever.

I didn't have a hangover. I don't know why either...I totally deserved one.

Thursday came...early. I didn't have curtains in my room, so the bright sun at 9:30 am tends to be distracting. We got up and ate (I had more steak; it was huge); then we ventured off to a bar. I don't remember because Tiff kept liquoring me up with beer. That's a friend. We arrived at the deadest bar ever, but yes, the boys noticed Tiff. (Let's be real.)

Summary: Drunk as a skunk. Predictable men. Pour ourselves in the car and drive to the nearest IHOP to sober up. Slept in till 11 am Friday.

Skip to today because that's my favorite: we were in Colonial Williamsburg. We're in Raleigh's Tavern, and I saw this man with the skinniest calves ever. I wanted a picture with him just to show everyone: Hey, there's this guy with incredibly skinny calves, but the guy goes, "So-and-so will take care of you" (as I'm going down the stairs)--and I say, "Who?"--and a new voice says, "Hello."

And I look down the stairs, and I kid you not: a cross between Will Turner and Jack Sparrow was standing at the bottom of the stairs, tall, handsome, and with a roguish, devilish grin. In my sedate feminine nature, I galloped down the stairs, "Oh! Yes, I must go!" and was at his side in a half-second.

His name was Jack. I got a couple pictures of him. If I could have brought him home as a souvenier, he'd be in my pocket for the rest of this trip.

We're going out now. More to report later. Meanwhile, I'm going to have some very delicious thoughts about "Jack" because he's going to make an excellent hero in one of my books. Oh, who am I kidding? All of my books.

Signing out.

Hellion

Last Post For Awhile

2007-07-31T09:22:00.000-06:00

Because I'm going on Vacation!

That's right. Hellion is flying to Virginia (no, not on my broom) and meeting with Terri & Tiff, who will already be hanging out and doing all things indolent and vacationy.

Some interesting trivia before I go:

Sin has the ability to "scissor-kick" people in the back of the head. She told me so on the way up to meet our critique group, The Sassy Scribes, on Saturday. I nearly drove off the road, I was laughing so hard at her story about it.

"Russian Goggles" is a similar term to "Tea-Bagging", which I had interestingly enough HAD heard of before both terms were bandied about at the co-worker party Brad took me to Saturday night. His friend, Ted, brought it up, then left Brad to explain it to the rest of us ignorant females...and when he brought up "Tea-Bagging" as a frame of reference, a look of enlightenment must have skittered across my face because he looked rather priceless when he asked, "You know what that is?" "Yes, I know I've been told before what it is...but I'm not drawing a complete definition at the moment." At the moment, I was thinking, It was something Jack and Matty had yammered about--and it's probably as deviant as that whole donkey punch crap that Matty had to explain to me. If you don't know what the terms are, you can Wikipedia it. I'm not telling you.

I've discovered not all Mikes are bad. I know, I wouldn't believe it either. I have been emailing with this applicant/student for a couple months; and he really wanted in this summer. I told him it would take a miracle; I bugged the hell out of him; and he did everything I asked. I finally got to process him for summer, since I wanted to do it before I left on vacation and when I told him all was done, he wrote back he was "speechless." I had written I wasn't opposed to bribes of chocolate. He sent me this ostentatiously huge bouquet of flowers--and I stared at it for five minutes, couldn't sign my name to "receive" them I was so flummoxed and shaky, then nearly broke into tears at the card. "Thank you for saving me. Gratefully, Mike." Usually at best, I get a chocolate bar from a grateful student...and really, it IS my job, so why expect more? But this was awesome. I've taken about 6 pictures of it. I'm rather devastated I won't be able to enjoy it much more since I'll be on vacation (it arrived yesterday). P.S. Mike is engaged. I *did* ask; I mean, I had to, but I figured he'd at least be dating...anyone who follows a woman's directives that well without complaint or questioning...yeah, he's taken.

Anyway, if you ever want to make me cry: send flowers. And you know the totally kick-ass part--this bouquet is freaking gorgeous and not one carnation in the batch--and we all know I hate carnations. You didn't know? Oh.

I hate carnations. They are the flower of death. Can't stand them.

My luggage for the trip probably weighs as much as I do. I pack like Scarlett O'Hara. Although my boss (I adore the man) said, "I had a student once who brought four trunks with her for an overnight trip. The others never let her live it down." I'm not that bad. One big suitcase, one backpack and my purse. I tried to leave some room for souvenirs. I've brought 6 pairs of shoes; 2 pairs of which are flip-flops; 2 are high-heels; 1 pair tennis shoes; 1 pair leather sandals.

Quiz Results

2007-07-26T14:16:00.000-06:00

Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is...?
You scored as a Hermione Granger
You're one intelligent witch, but you have a hard time believing it and require constant reassurance. You are a very supportive friend who would do anything and everything to help her friends out.

Hermione Granger

85%

Ron Weasley

80%

Harry Potter

75%

Albus Dumbledore

75%

Sirius Black

70%

Severus Snape

65%

Remus Lupin

65%

Ginny Weasley

65%

Draco Malfoy

60%

Lord Voldemort

45%

The Hero's Journey: A Rant

2007-07-26T08:44:00.001-06:00

For those Potter readers without the benefit of a liberal college education and who somehow circumvented having to take a mythology class, a head's up: STAR WARS was not the original hero's journey, so therefore JK Rowling did not steal Spielburg's idea.

I can hear you croaking now, but it's true. "Snape is Hans Solo..."--blah, blah, blah. No. Spielburg stole it first. Actually he didn't exactly "steal it" because he simply used a story arc that has been used since the flipping beginning of time called: The Hero's Journey.

Stories, as you might not realize or understand if you think they're all supposed to mean something and change the world like Rushdie's Satanic Verses, are about the Human Experience. If you're writing something outside of the human experience, while you can gloat you actually wrote about an "original idea", no one will actually give a damn because no one will understand it since it sits outside the relevance of what we know and understand. We understand ambition, hate, greed, power, God or the Higher Being, jealousy, sloth, temptation, lust, goodness and charity, friendship, death, loss, fear, family, and love. We've all felt these, been captured by these...maybe fallen into hell by these...but I assure you, these aren't "original". They are Timeless though.

So if you want to say JK Rowling's writing voice is boring; that you just couldn't get into the world she's drawn--FINE. That's logical. I don't exactly get into Homer's voice either, but he tells a damn fine hero's journey too. But don't say she's unoriginal because she stole her ideas from STAR WARS because it's just not true. Nor did she steal them for Tolkien...or the other thousands of other fantasy writers who's penned a fantasy novel.

#1: The gray-bearded mentor ALWAYS dies because the hero must face the BIG BAD EVIL all by himself. That's how it's always been--since Beowulf. #2: The hero must always "die" (usually to save everyone)--but is then resurrected. Jesus comes to mind--I suppose you're going to say he stole it from somebody, Beowulf, perhaps?

And in the hero's journey, the hero returns to the "normal world" to live Happily Ever After, a reward for conquering all that was evil and unjust. The ultimate boon. Usually with the sassy redheaded girl he meets along his journey.

Thank you. And I will stop reading people's reviews of Deathly Hallows because it's obviously just pissing me off!

Mea culpa: So sorry--George Lucas rather than Steven Spielburg wrote and directed Star Wars--not that I give a f*ck.

Brief Song Parody

2007-07-25T13:50:00.000-06:00

I miss doing song parodies...so here's a brief, bad one. I'm working on one for "Camelot"--Cest Moi. I'll probably do it at the Vagabonds sometime.

There's just one wizard for me at Hogwart’s
Harry's his name, of that Potter fame
Why for every hero there must be a fan
I've found my mate, by fate of a bad date…

And now…

[Refrain]
I'm just wild about Harry
And Harry's wild about me
The dangerous larks with a Lord so Dark
Cause me and my friends to disagree!
He's brave like a Gryffindor lion
And like those schmucks on reality TV
Oh I'm just wild about Harry
And he's just wild about, cannot do without
He's just wild about me

There are some fellows that like all the girls
But Harry has no time to do manly crimes
He says he must vanquish Voldy before
Voldy kills us all, this is Total Recall!

Harry...

2007-07-23T10:38:00.000-06:00

Well, I can't tell you. I'd probably he lynched by some Potterite who hadn't finished the book but was still bothering to patrol the net for spoilers...but it's ended. I can stop obsessing about it, just as soon as I read the book a second time, which I plan to do this week.

I will mention a couple of my favorite moments:

1) When Ron Returns: "You...complete...arse...Ronald...Weasley!" God, I love Ron & Hermione together. They are a riot.

2) When Ron Punches Draco: "That's the second time we're saved you, you two-faced git!"

3) When Severus Snapes Reveals All: OMG, Alan Rickman, can I please have your babies?

4) When Harry d... Oh, I said I was only going to mention a couple. Oh, well, then...carry on.

What did you all think of the book? The ending's a little crazy, right? Lots of stuff that didn't make sense? Did you love it or loathe it?

10 hours....

2007-07-20T12:47:00.001-06:00

You know your obsession has gotten the better of you, when you can't hardly plan a date because you'll be too busy reading about what happens to Harry. "I'm really sorry. I promise I'll be a lot more fun once this book is read...and a lot more available." Sad, sad. Hell, my Captain Jack Sparrow fantasy life has been shunted aside for Harry. (Jack wasn't near as understanding.)

Tonight, I'm going to the movie again, then I'll have some butterbeer (1 cup cream soda and 2 tablespoons butterscotch schnapps), then we'll go stand in line (the Peasant line because we didn't preorder through B&N) to get our books. Mind you, my OTHER copy of the book is coming by owl...and I didn't want to take a chance on the owl getting lost on the way to my house. Or actually the far more likely prospect: being shot on the way to my house...or becoming a part of someone's truck grill. (That last one has actually happened.)

Pray Harry lives...we won't know what to do with me if he doesn't. (A Cheering Charm will not work.)

1.55 days left until Harry...

2007-07-19T09:44:00.000-06:00

Lives. Or at least, he damn well better. And in the famous words of Emerson at Mugglenet.com--make sweet, sweet love to Ginny and make lots of babies. *LOL*

*hopping up and down like on crack*

My normally practical friend and I spent an HOUR after yoga last night discussing Jason Isaacs (Luscious Lucius) in the parking lot of the gym. An HOUR. Just about Jason Isaacs--though I did rhapsodize a bit about Gary Oldman and we discussed my collection of DVDs and whether I should be renting them out since I have so many (egads). Pam thinks I have a good chance of being marketable--since I'd have movies that some places wouldn't have. Obscure period or British movies, I guess. *LOL* True. I have a LOT of period pieces.

Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Harry Potter.

For Terri

2007-07-18T11:45:00.000-06:00

Here you go. Just for you. But not with MY pictures...I don't want him besmirching my photos.

And I cropped out his badger beard and dorky Captain Underpants underwear and cape.

Enjoy.

Continuation of Yesterday's Obsession

2007-07-18T09:32:00.000-06:00

2 1/2 days until Harry's Fate is revealed. I had a long, exhaustive talk with the UPS guy about it. I think he's relieved he is not delivering my book on Saturday. Well, he might be sorry; I'll most likely kiss whoever delivers it.

Because Terri has no idea of the HAWTNESS of the characters we're talking about, I thought I'd post a few pictures. Seriously, the woman should obsess more like normal folk.

Here is a pic of Lucius Malfoy, or as I suspect my normally very practical friend is calling him in her mind: Lucious. I think there might a bit of the S&M about her and she doesn't know it, what with her fascination of his bitchy expression and big stick.

Me, I'm no better. I have a fascination with men old enough to have technically fathered me. *sighs* Or ones I could have almost given birth to. It's creepy in either direction.

Sirius Black:

But admittedly I preferred Gary Oldman in The Scarlett Letter:

Yeah, I think he's far hotter here too...but this was about 10 years ago. Give the guy some slack.

And then there is Snape. Not only does Alan Rickman have that delicious growl and snotty way of speaking, but...well, there's not really a but...the voice is truly enough, but the heavy-lidded eyelids that make you think of bedroom-matters even as he's obviously sneering at you is too delicious to pass up.

And because I couldn't resist, mate, I will include this final Snape shot I found on the net:

So...does this help the "jumpable" question from below? Oh, and I didn't include pics of Harry and Ron because all their pictures looked incestuous in comparison with these guys.

Who Would You Jump?

2007-07-17T11:19:00.000-06:00

After a scintillating conversation with my normally very practical girlfriend, I realized we share a secret obsession with “bad boy” villain characters. Of course, let’s be real, we always had an unhealthy fascination for bad boys. We both loved Bo Duke, and it’s gone downhill from there.

She confessed a current obsession with Lucius Malfoy, who played quite a role in Harry Potter 5, and with his long blonde hair and his big stick he carries—well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why she wants to jump him. He’s quite jumpable. Myself, I played the Sirius card. Not only did he have long hair (a bit curly which I always love), he had the goatee going on. Men with goatees and a bit of a badass—irresistible to women. I cannot express this enough. (My friend said Sirius was very fine—and she too like goatees, but that Lucius currently held her attention. She was very shamefaced since he always says horrible things. I said, “Who cares? You weren’t planning to hold a conversation with him.” This cheered her considerably.)

Then I pointed out that Lucius wouldn’t have anything to do with her anyway, since she’s a Muggle, she said she’d impress (actually I think her word was “dazzle”) him so much with her witching skills, he’d totally forget she wasn’t a pureblood. I said this was a great plan; then said I would work on giving Sirius a “cheering charm” (since he’s so depressed and broody) but that I’d probably start simply with a Muggle trick of “flashing first” to see if that had any effect. As Dumbledore said, start with the simple charm first—since it’s always best to go with the simple answer first.

So which character from the Harry Potter movies would you most like to jump and why? And how would you go about it? Okay, maybe not the last question…I’m sorta afraid of the responses I might get.

Hellion's Holiday

2007-07-16T08:36:00.000-06:00

So I was gone Thursday & Friday. (Did you miss me? Of course, you did.)

There's too much to talk about what happened Thursday and Friday, so I'll just share some various conversation snippets of the last few days:

* * *
Holly: *handing a Bertie Bott's Bean to Pam* Here, try the earthworm flavor. It tastes like dirt, but with something a bit zesty.
Hellion: *chomping hers* Yes, it IS like dirt with something more. Something meaty. *casts look in rearview mirror at Pam, who looks positively disgusted*
Holly: Liver I think.
Hellion: Good one!
*Pam takes a dainty nibble off the end of the earthworm flavor, making gakking sounds*
Holly: *realizing we've tried all the flavors* Anyone else want another bean? We've gone through them all.
Pam: *still delicately gakking* Soap. Give me another soap.
Holly: Really? You liked the soap?
Pam: I'm trying to get the DIRT out of my mouth.
Holly: Oh, well, that'll do it.

* * *
While watching the lame magician at the Harry Potter feast, disturbed our $45 went toward paying for this guy.

Professor Snap: You know Harry Potter has that scar on his forehead; in high school I had a big L on my forehead so I could totally empathize...
Pam: *leaning over to whisper* You mean, it's not still there?
Hellion: *bursting into hysterical laughter, non-Snap related*

* * *
Several times during the day.

Hellion: Where did Holly go? I can't find her. We're going to be late [or: kicked out of the store because it's closing. or: really late...]

* * *
On the phone.

Pam: So do you think you'll want to go to happy hour?
Hellion: God, I have a headache...let me take something. *yawning* I did promise to go. *click, my phone hangs up* Son of a bitch.... *redials, gets Pam* Sorry, the phone's acting wonky.
Pam: Do we know where we want to go? *click, my phone hangs up again*
Hellion: Son of a bitch! *redials, apologizes to Pam a second time* No, I don't even feel like drinking at the moment. It's so hot. *click, the phone hangs up a third time* Arrggh!

* * *

At the bar. After three beers.

Brad: And then... *gestures, his arms swinging and accidentally a bowl goes flying off our tiny rickety table and crashes to the floor spectacularly; we stare in horror*
Waitress: I'm cutting you off.
Brad: *pointing at me* She did it.
Hellion: *wondering if I might have, can't really remember* Well, it was good of you to take the blame for my klutzy ways...

* * *

After the fourth beer.

Brad: *says something funny as I'm taking a drink of beer*
Hellion: *spits the beer all over Brad and Chris, coughs* I'm sorry, shit, I'm really sorry.
Brad: That's okay. I broke a bowl.

Ten minutes passes.

Brad: *says another funny thing; probably that he was Greek and that was why he broke the bowl--which is clearly untrue since he's fair complexed and freckled*
Hellion: *spits another mouthful of beer, really splashing both Chris and Brad* Oh fuc...
Brad: *laughing* It's okay...
Hellion: *mopping up with napkin* No, this is really bad manners. I usually swallow.

So I had a really fun holiday...and I didn't even talk about the cardmaking portion of my weekend. How was your weekend? What did you do?

Harry Update

2007-07-10T13:28:00.001-06:00

Harry lives! Or at least he does for the next 10 days.

I'm halfway through book 6 (this is probably my second or third reading of the book--and I find myself devouring the book just as rapidly as I did the first time)--and wonder what the hell I'm going to do to bide my time between now and July 21.

Thursday, I will be gone all day. A Harry Potter feast in a castle AND to see the movie.

Friday, gone all day. Probably going to see the movie again (with the friend who can't go to KC with us to the feast & movie); and I'm probably going to get my hair cut. I might even go to a Happy Hour.

Saturday will be card-making--and I've got new Pirate stamps, so be prepared everyone. All Hellion gifts you may receive in the future will probably have a pirate stamp somewhere on it.

Sunday, I will probably sleep...though I really need to write. I'm such a schmuck. I haven't written anything on Ben in weeks! (Though I did write a bit on Adam & Eve & Lizzie & Lucy.)

THEN it will be a WEEK of waiting until the book is released. I foolishly ordered my book through Amazon--super saving shipping--so I probably won't even get it until the 25th...and then I'll have a critique group meeting the Saturday of the 28th; and the week after I'm going to Virginia. Oh, well, there's always the plane rides. It IS the last book. I suppose I can "savor" it.

How many betting I'm going to cave on Saturday, July 21st, if it doesn't arrive by mail and drive to B&N and BUY a copy to read that day?

I Saw This On Sin's Site and Totally Hijacked It (Pirate)

2007-07-06T13:29:00.000-06:00

Body: Finish the sentences. [Hellion: okay, I'll try] Some may be uncomfortable, but you'll manage. [Hellion: *snickering*]

1. I've come to realize that my last kiss was..
way too long ago. I need to work on that.

2. I am listening to...
POTC3 Soundtrack…I’m so predictable.

3. I talk...
when I want, all the time, loudly, with very little censorship. I can also be very quiet. If I am quiet, someone probably needs to hand me a Pepsi.

4. I love...
Captain Jack Sparrow.

5. My best friends are...
wicked, brilliant, funny, fun, loving, loveable, and unmitigated pains. I wouldn’t change a thing about them.

6. My Car is...
a fast brilliant piece of machinery, cleverly disguised as a boring sedan

7. My love life...
is the gas station on a remote route of Route 66—self-service if it’s in service at all.

8. I hate it when people ask..
“So you’re an English major—you must be a teacher, right? Do you teach?” Nope, hate kids. That shuts them up pretty quickly.

9. Love is...
the root of all power. It corrupts; and it corrupts absolutely.

10. Marriage is..
slightly less dangerous than house cleaning, but why chance doing either?

11. Somewhere, someone is thinking...
“If I had Hellion to myself for ten minutes, I could die a happy man”—Jack! How lovely to see you again!

12. I'm always...
procrastinating. Obviously.

13. I have a secret cheesy crush on...
just about everyone, really. Captain Jack Sparrow. Orlie. Richard…Ranger…really, the list is unmanageable.

15. My cell phone...
is somewhere in the bottom of my purse, dead, because I never remember to charge the damned thing—that is if I ever remember to turn it on.

16. When I wake up in the morning...
lay there until the last possible moment, then amble around like a chicken with its head cut off because I’m late.

17. When I go to bed at night...
I sleep like the dead.

18. Right now I am thinking about...
Sleep, now that you’ve mentioned the bed. I would love a nap, right about now.

19. Babies are...
tiny tyrants who smell funny, are largely demanding, and whose only saving grace is that they’re tiny and cute and therefore everyone wants to fawn over them.

20. I get on myspace....
and immediately book over to the superior facebook to talk to my friends.

21. Today I...
will work until 4:30, then run off to my friend’s house to eat Chinese and watch Pride & Prejudice. I’m very excited to learn what the ending will be…

22. Tonight I will..
try not to bite anyone’s head off…it will be a feat of accomplishment.

23. Tomorrow I will...
asleep, until it’s too hot to sleep, then I will read, then sleep some more. I’m really looking forward to it.

24. I really want to...
have sex with Captain Jack Sparrow…oh, I mean, sleep. I really want some sleep.

Woohooo

2007-07-06T09:25:00.000-06:00

14 days until HP7 is released; 4 days until the movie's released (and 5 days until I actually get to see it and go to the Harry Potter Feast in KC). Everything is so close I can almost taste it.

Then about a week and a half after that, I'll be in Virginia, doing my damnest to not be Amish.

2007 is a great year. But I knew it would be. It has a 7 in it. 7's a great number; and if you add up 2007, it makes 9, which is 3 x 3, and 3 is an awesome number too.

Now I need to go write on Adam & Eve's story. I have to give Adam a makeover and turn him into Brad Pitt, which he kinda looks like. Eve is going to spit fire. It's going to be awesome.

What's your favorite number and what will you be doing today? In a few weeks?

What I Always Talk About

2007-07-02T07:36:00.000-06:00

18 days until Harry Potter 7 is in stores. 18 days. I remember when it was 18 weeks and I didn't think July would ever get here.

I'm currently engrossed in book 5, in my bid to re-read the series again before the movie & book hit the theaters/stores. (A faculty member, upon realizing I wasn't just reading book 5 but all of them, blinked and said, "Okay. If that's how you want to spend your summer." I didn't take her to heart. Her idea of a great book involved a tortoise and a baby rhino, both victims of the tsunami in India. Whatever. I mean, it really doesn't compare to the life and death tension I'm facing with Harry and the gang.)

Last night I watched (after a day of "napping" so much I actually got a headache) Pride & Prejudice and Sense & Sensibility. I can't decide which one I like better. It used to be S&S, no contest, but the more I watch the new P&P, the more it grows on me. (I'm sorry, Colin. You'll always be Mr. Darcy to me.)

As usual with my Sundays, I read all day and didn't write anything on my WIP or my other WIP...or well, I didn't write some notes about a blog, but not for this blog.

And POTC3 was still listed in the top 10 movies. Hurrah. It was #8. :) I love you, Jack!

So what Sunday things did you do? The same as you always do? Anything new? Watch any favorite movies?

Regression

2007-06-26T07:41:00.000-06:00

So I was at the grocery store, looking at the books (there was one about Camelot I wanted to find, Camelot's Destiny?? I don't remember), and suddenly I see IT. I squeal, lunge at the shelves, and pick up the coloring book.

Harry Potter.

Pictures from all five movies.

Clearly I must have it. I gladly pay the $5 for it, though normally I would never pay that much for a coloring book. Any coloring book. I go home before I recall: I have no crayons.

So last night I wandered over to Wally World, a box of crayons at the top of my list. Just above a roasted chicken. I broke down and bought the 96 box of crayons. I was tempted to try the 120 box, since it came in what looks like a cigar box, but refrained. Then I wandered down a few more steps, and lo, a coloring book of Pirates of the Caribbean! Poster sized floor coloring sheets, it advertised...and lots of representations of Jack. It was mine. I threw it into the cart.

Once I got home and ate my roasted chicken (discounted, no less), I started on a picture of Jack, then put it away when his boots sucked up about half my brown crayon. I pulled out the Harry Potter book and flipped through it for twenty minutes, choosing carefully which page I wanted to color. I finally picked one with Harry & Ron, and I began to color to my heart's content as I watched Flags of Our Fathers.

So...are there any childhood toys or memories you have that you can't resist revisiting whenever you get the chance? Me, I liked to draw and color. Occasionally if I'm in a park, I'll find myself hanging upside down from the nearest gym bar and shrieking like a monkey. I like to blow bubbles with my gum and pop it next to someone's ear. And whenever I see a carosel I can actually ride on, I lose my mind picking out the right horse. (It's usually a fierce black one who looks like he's going at a full gallop....)

All Things Harry Potter (warning: this blog may contain obsessive raves)

2007-06-21T09:41:00.000-06:00

Today is June 21, and while to most people this only means: "hey, it's the first day of summer", for me (who shuns sunlight like a vampire), it means: in exactly one month, I'll have Harry Potter's newest (and last) book in my hot little hands and I will finally, finally have all the big questions answered.

Warning: if you write "Harry Potter is going to die" in the comments, as a dictator, I will delete it. Just saying. Cast your John the Baptist bits of doom on someone else's blog. I am obviously too narrow-minded to consider the possibility.

Okay. Per your request, I have come up with a short guide to dating a la Harry Potter. And it goes like this:

Number 10: Be moody, broody, and slightly mad. It worked for Lord Byron, and it probably helps if you’re also known as “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” This worked well for Harry in book 5, where he finally got to snog a girl.

Number 9: Transfiguring your date into a supermodel will probably not get you a second date with them. Transfiguring yourself might. Swallowing some Polyjuice Potion might work for you, as well; however, keeping Orlando Bloom or Jude Law locked in a trunk so you can have access to stray hairs will most likely get you jail time for being a complete stalker/kidnapper. (Might just be cheaper, less law-breaking, to do a Hugh Grant.)

Number 8: Falling in love with yourself is the beginning of a life long affair. Ask Professor Lockhart.

Number 7: Be careful not to break your wand under stressful circumstances. “Making magic” with a broken wand is nie onto impossible.

Number 6: If you find yourself bickering with someone of the opposite sex all the time, you are in love with this person. You won’t know it though until she starts dating a complete prat because you live in complete denial.

Number 5: If blind adoration doesn’t work (and it never does), pretend to fall in love with someone else to make your Girl/Guy of Your Dream realize you’re a limited commodity. (Supply and demand has ruled since Eve and the apple.) Lead him on a merry chase as you happily date other idiots until GOYD kisses you in the middle of the Common Room.

Number 4: Fall in love immediately with someone who doesn’t know you exist. Wear your heart on your sleeve for years and blush profusely anytime he/she talks to you. Promptly get yourself possessed by the Evil Villain so he/she has to rescue you—at least that way he/she knows you exist.

Number 3: Tamp off jealous rages that the GOYD is dating a complete prat by accusing her/him of showing disloyalty to country, school, or common friends. Make something up if necessary. Guilt is a necessary and viable dating tool to get you to make out with GOYD.

Number 2: When asking a girl out to a dance, separate her from the “Pack”. This will be difficult since we all know women do everything in groups of two or more, even going to the bathroom—which is completely absurd since there is no such thing as two toilets in one stall.

Number 1: When you finally find the love of your life, break up with her to “protect her” from the bad guys and thereby let everyone in the world know that you’re just as much of an idiot as the next guy—because we all know this whole heroic ploy will have been useless when the villain kills her anyway and you wasted valuable time you could have been using to make out with her. Dumbass.

So what dating advice have you gleaned from Harry Potter? Or any movie really? I might be having another date again, eventually, I could use all the advice I can get.

Family History

2007-06-18T11:12:00.000-06:00

When I was 10, I fervently hoped somewhere in the background of all our pious family histories (my family is riddled with do-gooders and deacon elders) there might be an outlaw or two to spice things up. I sincerely believed I might be a throw-back to an otherwise unremarkable family. Being I was the one child in like the entire family who hated church, being good or even particularly Christian, I wanted proof that we had some wild blood somewhere.

Now 20 years later, I’m realizing something: the current family members are the “throw-backs”. We have an entire family of outlaws; and if anything, I’m pretty sure much of current family are outlaws, but they spend so much time hiding it, we’re just not aware of what they’re doing. I can’t even in good conscious call myself the “black sheep” because comparatively, I’m a lamb when held against the others’ exploits.

For years, I would ask the aunts for family tidbits. Women=gossip, right? No, these guys were massive “cover up agents” and if I mentioned so much as the thought of “wouldn’t it be cool to have an outlaw in the family”, I got a half-hour lecture. Apparently I was approaching the wrong sources.

Last Memorial Day, Dad and I walked at Perche Church among the gravemarkers (because that’s the sort of morbid thing my family does), and he caught me up on stories. I was standing next to the marker of John Marshall [my last name], recalling he was the son of Adam Wirth (the one who died in the Confederate war), and was flummoxed by the marker next to him. George.

“Who’s George?”

“Oh, he was one of my uncles.”

“He’s by himself. He didn’t get married?” I mean everyone in my family gets married, usually a couple times.

“Yes. But she left him, so she’s buried somewhere else.”

She left him? Scandal! “Really?” I said. “Why was that?”

“Oh, he was wild. He shot a man and killed him.”

I gaped at my father, who deadpanned this bit of trivia. What? “He didn’t go to jail?”

“No, he got off. Pappy got a lawyer and they were able to get him off.” Dad stared at the stone, nodding. “Come to think of it, it was a cousin who turned George in for the reward, because up til then he was on the lam, then he gave the money to Pappy to pay for the lawyer.”

While I’m still gaping at this—with sudden clear revelation that this is the “relative” that the aunts hinted at but refused to talk about, awesome!—and Dad pointed out another headstone. “This cousin got married the day she had a baby. Nobody knew she was pregnant.” How can that be? I thought that only happened in The Enquirer.

“Oh, come on.”

“No, really. Her mother went and got her sister to help figure out what was wrong, and it was her sister who said, ‘She’s going to have a baby.’ They found the man she’d been with and she got married. She put the day of her wedding on her marker, see; and the baby died that day too…so we could all tell when she had the baby.” Very tragic, but at the same time, proof positive I'm not a throw-back.

Nothing but outlaws in my family.

How about you? Any salacious bits of gossip you’ve discerned over the years? You should hear my dad talk about the teacher who shot one of his students (in a fit of road rage, no less) and got off!

Friday Music Blog: At World's End

2007-06-15T08:28:00.000-06:00

My obsessions know no bounds. Some say I have the making of great stalker material, but I like to think I'm more along the lines of: joie de vivre.

We all know Captain Jack has been my raison d'etre--okay, probably still is. (Harry does run pretty neck and neck, but if both of them were going to get hit by a bus, I'd save Jack first.)

Last Friday, after a spectacular bit of drinking with Sin at the local Trops (I had a half pina colada, half rum rummer, which was funnily enough called: A Pain In The Ass--how apt), we roamed around a bit and ended up at the local Target. We roamed the mall; but I soon began hunting for POTC: At World's End, the soundtrack.

One of my favorite music purchases for me is to buy soundtracks. I must own more soundtracks than...well, anyone. I have a Harry Potter one, yes. But Target did not have said soundtrack; the mall closed and I couldn't return to the music store and get the lone copy they had. Sin and I parted ways around 10, and I darted off to the local Wal-Mart to find the soundtrack. (I can be very relentless in my pursuit of something, I know.)

And there it was. A lone copy--right there at eye level--and I skipped out of the store (after I paid for it) and played it all the way home. And all week, really. At work. In the car. If I had a CD player in my room, I'd probably play it for when I went to sleep at night. I went and found the lyrics for the "Hoist the Colors" song; and I sing along with the little boy in the first track. (The words are very interesting by the way.)

My favorite track is probably #11. It's the one where Jack and Davy fight on the main mast. I love that...bit...the rise and fall of it. It's so exhilirating. The track that immediately follows is the one that's for Will and Elizabeth--and it's so romantic and heartbreaking, I get choked up all the time listening to it.

Do you like movie soundtracks? Do you own any? Which ones and why? And can you listen to a soundtrack and pinpoint where in the movie we're at?

Ranger, Ranger, Ranger

2007-06-12T15:31:00.000-06:00

Six days until a new Plum book hits the stands. Apparently this one will be much like the other twelve: no resolution in regards to the Morelli and Ranger debate. Much like reaching a conclusion of 'whose side Snape is really on', it seems Janet is loathe to make her commitments known. She loves instead to play her “The Lady or The Tiger” card and leave us fans squirming and wailing in the background, wishing for our commercial fiction to have a bit less ambiguity and a lot more Ranger.

Because face it, it’s gotta be Ranger.

And in honor of that Man of Mystery, let’s list the top 10 things you can (and should) do with Ranger, should you ever cross paths:

1.) Have him ruin you for all other men
2.) Drive his car—and get it hijacked, or at least suitably wrecked
3.) Take him out for pie
4.) Think of new and impressive ways to amuse him, mainly by being yourself
5.) Elope to Vegas—this will be especially exciting since he’s got a warrant out for him in Nevada
6.) Invite your wily, sex-crazed grandmother over to hit on him; laugh when he squirms
7.) Give him a bubble bath—and use a lot of that good-smelling soap of his as you suds him up
8.) Exchange sexually-charged banter for hours—then go home and take a cold shower (it’s what Janet does to Stephanie in every episode of the Ranger show)
9.) Dress up in your best CFM outfit and pretend you’re helping him catch a mark
10.)Have him ruin you for all other men—because the first time, while memorable, is never
enough

Anything special you’d like to do with Ranger?

8 Random Facts

2007-06-11T13:47:00.000-06:00

Terri has finally (finally) started her own blog; and the first thing the wench does is assign the rest of us homework. That's just like her hard-working Capricorn ass. Delegate.

And to add to it, there are apparently RULES (but I'm going to say they are more like guidelines.) 1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 2.People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. 3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 4. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

8 Hellion Relatively Obscure Facts

1.) I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 22, which in our town puts me in the same classification as “senior citizen discounts”
2.) I had a pony named Dance when I was 12; she had dark liquid eyes and long white eyelashes, and when she trotted it looked like she was floating on the air.
3.) I can quote an absurd amount of the dialogue from both POTC movies. This probably stems that I watch those movies at least twice a month.
4.) I finished my first manuscript in April/May 2002. It was my “Lucy” story; and I got lots of polite “no, thank yous” from agents and editors when I tried to query it.
5.) My favorite thing to drink is regular Pepsi. It can almost always right a bad day; and having the first sip is so much like the first drag of a cigarette, it’s not even funny.
6.) My 11th grade English teacher was Ms. Yount, whom I happened to see over the weekend, and when she asked if I was writing and what, and I told her, she said (in front of my father, who was standing there patiently): “Frannie, you know I never read that trash. Don’t you read anything decent? How about Sue Monk Kidd? Have you read her?” I haven't but I do have one of her books on my bookshelf. Next to Pride & Prejudice, which I've also not read.
7.) I have a red stapler on my desk like Milton from Office Space. Of course, I’m rarely ever threatened to be moved from my premise because nobody else who works here wants to deal with the students either.
8.) I’m not actually Amish. I do live on a farm though; and I do still claim I didn’t even know what FM was until I was at least 9 or 10 and my big-city niece brought her naughty rock-and-roll music out to corrupt me.

And that's all. Tag the following: Sin, Terri, Holly, Susan, Ely...ah, hell, I can't think of 8 people. I'm tagging 5. I'd like to see anyone make me find another 3. Yeah, that's what I thought.

Body Pump

2007-06-05T08:07:00.000-06:00

I'm convinced I was not created for exercise. Truly. I don't enjoy it; I don't enjoy sweating; none of it. I enjoy SLEEPING. If "naps" or "reading on the couch with my legs dangling off the top cushion" were considered olympic sports, I'd be a gold medalist. So it is with great surprise I tell you that I survived my first (and possibly my last) Body Pump class last night.

Now let me qualify this that the person teaching this class was subbing for the normal teacher; and the substitute is our Yoga Instructor. We would pretty much follow her into the nine circles of hell if she went; she's that good. So when she said she was subbing the Body Pump and wanted us to come, I was like, "You're kidding, right?"

My friends (traitors) all sing-songed, "Oh, that'll be awesome, Sue!" and immediately signed us all up.

Yeah, traitor #1 wasn't singing that tune when I showed up last night. "I'm so tired. We didn't promise we'd go tonight."

"Yes, you did. She said, I'll see you and you and you on Monday night at 6."

"Oh, I guess we'll go."

You bet your sweet bippy, we're going, you sadist.

So there we were. And to add to it, she made us go to the front of the class. I hate being in "classes" of any sort of athletic prowess. I suck; and I hate sucking in front of EVERYONE. It's like 7th grade PE all over again. To make matters worse, we were far and away from the door, so I couldn't just sneak out if it got to be too much (which admittedly is what I did LAST time, to a different teacher & class). I was in this for the long haul, for better or worse.

Time passed relatively quickly; and Sue, as always, was excellent at showing us how to do the movements, while making it fun and not making us feel stupid about it. And in the middle of the squats I thought I was going to die, literally die. Then after the squats were done, standing became a real chore because my legs shook like a palsied victim for the other 30 minutes of class. But I managed to do almost all of the moves for the class.

Granted today my range of motion is rather limited; and I expect (I totally expect) tomorrow's range of motion will be even less (and I have yoga tomorrow night!)--but by the end, I was rather impressed I hadn't died in the middle of the class. That I had done the moves almost as well and as many times as the regulars. I would totally high five someone right now in victory, but I can't really lift my arms (good thing, my keyboard sits on my lap, right?)

So what have you ever done that you couldn't believe you did--and you were totally proud of?

Vacation

2007-06-01T14:07:00.000-06:00

May is always the time of year I contemplate vacation.

Mostly because I'm swamped under about 200 folders, of which I'd rather be doing ANYTHING else, than and about a 1000 questions daily of random shit and problems. Drama, drama, drama. Vacation begins to look mighty fine.

So I booked my plane ticket to go see Terri (and Tiff and Sin--but I'm flying to Terri's house--so she doesn't have to go in the parentheses) and will be gone for a week. Of course, being our plans are basically to everything as much as possible for as long as possible until we're completely broke--or dead, I imagine when I return from vacation, I will need a vacation to recover from it. Such are what vacations are all about though, I suppose. And when you're with friends, you don't notice you're tired as easily. Sorta like little kids who've been allowed to stay up for an overnight slumber party. Yeah, right, try getting them to go to bed at 8 pm. Good luck.

In the meantime till August, I'll still have folders. And reports. And reports of reports. And the 1000 daily dumbass questions...and drama. Tonight though, I'll be driving up to St. Louis to visit my friend Jackie, whom I also forget I'm tired when I spend time with her. (Forget, that is, until I find myself in the midst of a hypoglycemic rant and no idea why...and then I realize, maybe I should have let Jackie go to sleep hours ago. *LOL*)

Tomorrow, after my writing group, Jackie, Erica (Jackie's little sister--and rather my honorary little sister), and I will go see POTC3--because that's the good friend I am. *grins* It has nothing to do with the fact I only want to see that movie about a dozen more times or anything. No, no. It's friendship and loyalty only.

Where are you vacationing this year? Who will you most be glad to get away from at the office on your vacation and why? What is the first thing you're going to drink on your vacation?

My Beloved Jack

2007-05-29T09:10:00.000-06:00

You'd think with four days off, I would have been able to compose an Ode for the many and varied ways I loved and adored POTC3. But if you know me, you know that once I hermit myself into my house, I immediately don pjs and don't do much of anything, let alone compose odes. Nay, I merely stared at my ceiling, sighed in a very swoony manner, and contemplated all the various ways I loved and adored POTC3.

Top 10 Reasons You Should See POTC3

10. The fight scene with the maelstorm. Now I know this scene was hyped to death but it was still extremely awesome! I was on the edge of my seat, nearly clutching the slightly post-teenaged boy beside me in supreme tension. PLUS there is something that is so unbelieveable that happens in that scene--and it's not that Will and Elizabeth have the most spectacular kiss ever!

9. Will and Elizabeth have the most spectacular kiss ever! Seriously. When it happened, every woman (and quite a few men) in the audience swooned in delight. What cinema magic!

8. The desert crab-moving-the-ship scene. It's particularly hysterical because Jack is up in the rigging like he is in the first movie, looking like the bold and wonderful pirate he is--and just in command.

7. Will actually LOOKS like a pirate in this movie. Before (and though I love Orlie; I have as many pics of him as I do Johnny) I thought he looked like a blacksmith posing as a pirate, but once he tied that scarf on--and he's wearing a black shirt... *fans self* Will IS a pirate.

6. It makes the 2nd movie make sense. Basically it's just the second half of the second movie. I like my loose ends tied up.

5. Did I mention that totally hot, sexy kiss between Will and Elizabeth? Did you read #9? Read it again. I mean, I thought the screen was going to melt--especially at one point when he was trying to get his boot back. (Hellion screaming in the audience: "Kiss higher, damnit!")

4. James Norrington. OMG. And that's all I can say about it.

3. Things HAPPENED I could NOT believe. Things where I gasped and went, "That wasn't supposed to happen! What the hell!" and yet they did. Then I spent my entire drive home going, "That's good storytelling. Talk about SINKING SHIPS." (No, the ship didn't sink. I only mean...way to ruin your characters lives totally!)

2. Witty Jack is back! And really, that's quite enough for anybody, right? I mean, we couldn't have pirates without Jack! And he's back--and multiplied, really, because he has some interesting hallucinations!

1. They obviously pave the ending to imply there will be another Pirates. Eventually. Thank God. Because there are some things that happened...well...there needs to be a fourth movie.

Countdown

2007-05-24T15:06:00.000-06:00

4 more hours and I'll be with my beloved Jack again! I cannot wait!!!!

One More Day...and Then onto a Different Obsession

2007-05-23T16:17:00.000-06:00

What? you say in your Scooby Doo voice. A different obsession? Yeah, yeah, I'll get to that. First, PIRATES.

Tomorrow I get to go see my sneak peek of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End. *does pirate dance, lots of interpretative movements* VERY EXCITED...which anyone could tell you I am from the manifesto I wrote Monday at Romance Vagabonds about Everything I Learned About Writing I Learned From Captain Jack Sparrow, a Tolstoyian length opus of all things Jack. Bless my obsessed little heart.

I have my shirt laid out to wear tomorrow. A pirate shirt. (I'm wearing a different pirate shirt today; but tomorrow's will have Jack's pretty face on it.)

I really need this movie because I'm truly sick of folders, reports, Excel, folders, report data I can't get from faculty, and Excel--I really loathe, despise and abominate everything that is Excel. What a fucking stupid program, Bill Gates...or whoever wrote it. (I blame Bill, regardless.) *sighs* ANYWAY...Pirates is tomorrow...then a 4 day weekend to stay at home (and not drive and spend gas--which is like gold dust at the pumps now)--and possibly work on my book. Ha, ha.

Oh, the new obsession. (See the report has so scattered me...I'm rambling. I don't even have a THEME. What does that tell you? It tells you I need to see this damned movie and have a four day weekend!)

Lean, Mean Thirteen will be the next obsession. Sin wrote me in a funk that the reviews of this book aren't that good. I feel bad for her. I adore Ranger...but I've never thought the mysteries or hijinks of any of these books (EXCEPT 12, which we all agree was DIFFERENT and AWESOME) were anything but frothy wanna-be mysteries. (Sin has said the same; we agree that on the level of suspense and actually keeping the mystery a secret or tense until the end of the book is NOT Janet's strength here...it's characters and making us want to "watch the Stephanie Plum Show", which we do.)

Apparently this is another frothy wanna-be mystery in which Stephanie bumbles her way to figuring out the mystery a la Bridget Jones: Bounty Hunting in Trenton, while meanwhile juggling both Ranger and Morelli (whose apparent script for this entire book was to watch TV and eat potato chips--GOODNESS, I bet it's hard for Stephanie to make a decision in her love life...)

I'm sure this is no big surprise to either of us--because let's face it, we KNOW there is at least one more book she's contracted for...so it's obvious she's not going to resolve anything in the relationship line. Although I think the fact that Morelli is eating chips and being the Ultimate Lazy Man With Attitude, should be a big fat indicator that when Janet DOES decide to end these books--we know she's going with Ranger.

Of course, let's also be real. The Cupcakes and The Babes are too much like the Jets and the Sharks. If Janet, even though she's in the Babe camp, did write the end of the book clearly to say "Stephanie marries Ranger, has his 12 kids, and moves onto having a reality-TV bounty hunter series"--the Sharks (Cupcakes) would mafia her ass. I imagine she's going to "Lady Or The Tiger" this series and just piss off both factions entirely--and let us duke it out amongst ourselves who Stephanie stays with.

It's Ranger. We *know* it's Ranger. The Cupcakes will just have to suck it up.

Bad Boys, Bad Boys, Whatcha Gonna Do...?

2007-05-21T13:12:00.000-06:00

To say I was excited when Disney decided to do two more Pirates of the Caribbean would be the understatement of the decade. To add to my level of excitement--they made Norrington a badass! And we know how much I love my men with a lovely layer of BAD to them. And except for the bit where Jack gets swallowed at the end and it abruptly ENDS, the second one was just as good as the first.

And it truly is a tie for me as Norrington has some delicious lines in this film, like when he says to Elizabeth, "There was a time I would have done anything for you to look at me like that." And he laughs when she denies she feels nothing for Jack. Yes, we all laughed, Commodore, we all laughed.

In three more days the third installment will hit the theaters. I already have my tickets for the Sneak Peak on Thursday (8 pm). *does a little pirate dance*

And here's my favorite quotes, mostly from the bad-asses, in movie 2 for your enjoyment! What's your favorite part of the 2nd movie? What do you hope will happen in the 3rd?

Jack Sparrow: [With his back to Elizabeth, thinking that she is a man] Come to join my crew, son?
Elizabeth Swann: I'm here to find my true love.
Jack Sparrow: [Startled] Deeply flattered, boy, but my first and only love is the sea.
Elizabeth Swann: Meaning Will Turner, Jack.
Jack Sparrow: [Turning around] Elizabeth!
[to a crew member]
Jack Sparrow: Hide the rum.
* * *
Jack Sparrow: We are very much alike, you and I, I and you... us.
Elizabeth Swann: Oh. Except for a sense of honor and decency and a moral center. And personal hygiene.
Jack Sparrow: [Sniffs his armpit and looks back] Trifles.
* * *
Elizabeth Swann: Jack, the letters, give them back.
Jack Sparrow: No. Persuade me.
Elizabeth Swann: You do know Will taught me how to handle a sword.
Jack Sparrow: As I said, persuade me.
* * *
Norrington: [drunk and angry] So am I worthy to serve under Captain Jack Sparrow...
[he draws his pistol and points it at Jack, who is hiding behind a pole]
Norrington: ... or should I just kill you now?
Jack Sparrow: [tries and fails to hide behind his pole] You're hired!
Norrington: Sorry. Old habits and all that.
[smiles and prepares to pull the trigger]
* * *
Elizabeth Swann: There will come a moment when you will have a chance to show it. To do the right thing.
Jack Sparrow: I love those moments. I like to wave at them as they pass by.
* * *
Jack Sparrow: Now where is that monkey? I want to shoot something!
* * *
Elizabeth Swann: [to Jack] Curiosity. You're going to want it. A chance to be admired, and gain the rewrds that follow. You won't be able to resist. You're going to want to know what it tastes like.
* * *
Elizabeth Swann: Why doesn't your compass work?
Jack Sparrow: ...My compass works fine.
* * *
Jack Sparrow: My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled.
* * *
Elizabeth Swann: [chains Jack to the pearl] It's after you, not the ship... It's not us. This is the only way, don't you see?
[leans in as if to kiss him, then pulls away]
Elizabeth Swann: I'm not sorry.
Jack Sparrow: [smiles] Pirate.
* * *
Jack Sparrow: [to Norrington] You look bloody awful. What are you doing here?
Norrington: You hired me. I can't help it if your standards are lax.
Jack Sparrow: You smell funny.
* * *
Jack Sparrow: [to Elizabeth] You know, these clothes do not flatter you at all. It should be a dress or nothing. I happen to have no dress in my cabin.

Wednesday's Movie Blog One Day Late

2007-05-17T11:05:00.000-06:00

As you might know (or maybe not), I’ve been out sick a lot this week; however, I think it would be a travesty if I didn’t post my Movie Blog this week, especially when I was going to write about Pirates of the Caribbean. I mean, I’m sick—I ain’t dead. And this is by far, my favorite movie to put on when I’m sick…or well…or writing…or reading…or having sex….

Kidding with the last one. Haven’t actually tried that one yet—probably would though. That sounds like something I’d do.

I remember seeing the theatrical trailer for this flick in 2002, when they were advertising their 2003 blockbusters. I was with my friend Jackie at the time, in a theater that actually knows the meaning of stadium seating—and the screen is even larger than most movie screens. It came on, the soundtrack pounding in the background, and I was like a five-year-old seeing a movie for the first time—the thrill of excitement chilling down my arm, my popcorn hanging limply from my fingers as I stared, openmouthed at the screen—“Yo ho, yo ho” the little girl sing-songed—and there was Captain Jack Sparrow, turning for his three-quarter stance and smiling over his shoulder with his gun near his face.

I nearly swooned out of my chair and landed into the Cinemuck on the floor.

I didn’t blink for the minute and a half that trailer teased us—I didn’t breathe. And when it was over, Jackie and I turned as one, looked at each other, and said, “We’re so seeing that.” And we did. And we were total lunatics about it. We laughed hysterically throughout the whole movie. I probably hadn’t enjoyed a movie that much since the first Harry Potter movie (when I hadn’t even known who Harry Potter was or cared).

So just in case you’ve been living under a rock, I’m going to share my favorite moments and dialogue:

Will Turner: You cheated.
Jack Sparrow: Pirate.

* * *

Jack Sparrow: [to Weatherby Swann] I think we've all arrived at a very special place. Spiritually, ecumenically, grammatically.
Jack Sparrow: I want you to know that I was rooting for you. Know that.
[to Commodore Norrington]
Jack Sparrow: Elizabeth... it would never have worked between us darling. I'm sorry... Will... nice hat. Friends... This is the day that you will ALWAYS remember as the day that you...
[backs up and trips over ledge]

* * *

Will Turner: Where's Elizabeth?
Jack Sparrow: She's safe, just like I promised. She's all set to marry Norrington, just like she promised. And you get to die for her, just like you promised. So we're all men of our word really... except for, of course, Elizabeth, who is in fact, a woman.

* * *

Jack Sparrow: [looking at all the swords] Who makes all these?
Will Turner: I do. And I practice with them three hours a day.
Jack Sparrow: You need to find yourself a girl mate. Or perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you already found one, and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet. You're not a eunuch are you?

* * *

Jack Sparrow: Stop blowing holes in my ship!

* * *

Will Turner: We're going to steal a ship? That ship?
Jack Sparrow: Commandeer. We're going to commandeer that ship. Nautical term.

* * *

Jack Sparrow: One question about your business, boy, or there's no use going: This girl... how far are you willing to go to save her?
Will Turner: I'd die for her.
Jack Sparrow: Oh good. No worries then.

* * *

Jack Sparrow: [Imitating Elizabeth] "It must have been terrible for you, Jack. Must have been terrible." Well, it bloody is now.
[Seeing Norrington's ship off shore]
Jack Sparrow: There'll be no living with her after this.

* * *

Jack Sparrow: [Wakes up and sees Elizabeth burning the rum] No! Not good! Stop! Not good! What are you doing? You burned all the food, the shade... the rum!
Elizabeth: Yes, the rum is gone.
Jack Sparrow: Why is the rum gone?
Elizabeth: One: because it is a *vile* drink that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels. Two: that signal is over a thousand feet high. The entire royal navy is out looking for me, do you think there is even the slightest chance they wont see it?
Jack Sparrow: But why is the rum gone?

So what's your favorite Jack moment?

POTC's Guide to Dating

2007-05-14T07:00:00.000-06:00

A few years ago when LOTR's came out, there was this hysterical email that went around, offering a LOTR's Guide to Dating. The #1 bit of dating advice they offered (and to which nobody could argue): Some people will go to any lengths to get a ring; others, having had one for awhile, will go to any lengths to chuck it into a volcano. Too true. I've never even had a ring and I know there is wisdom in this statement.

I showed this list of dating rules to one of the Mathematics Education doctoral students, to which he suggested I add to this listing. Well, for one, I didn't think you could improve upon perfection (I mean, who can top that ring statement?); and two, you should write what you know, and my expertise does not lie with LOTR. (A fact that made my last coffee date go horribly, horribly awry.)

In any case, if I were to write a dating guide (Terri, you can stop snorting in laughter now) I would write it according to Pirates of the Caribbean. I mean, I've watched those movies about 700...I mean, five or six times, and as we all know with LOTRs, watching them more than once definitely takes a time commitment on your part. Like your entire Saturday.

So here are some rules to dating, according to pirates (and as with all rules--they're more like guidelines than actual rules.)

1) Timing is essential. Asking the love of your life to marry you while you're swordfighting a shipful of the enemy is probably not the optimal time to propose marriage.

2) There's nothing kinkier or more fun than handcuffing the bad boy pirate and having your wicked way with him--but make sure your goody two-shoes boyfriend doesn't catch you doing it.

3) No matter what gorgeous, well-adjusted, career-minded NICE guy you fall for--you'll always secretly wish he was a bit more like Captain Jack Sparrow.

4) If you want to have any chance among pirates in competing against their love for gold--you better not dress as a boy. You should probably dress in nothing.

5) If all else fails during an awkward situation, in which you cannot gracefully extricate yourself, fall off the side wall of a fort into the ocean below. Be sure to miss the rocks.

Can you think of any "guidelines" to dating a pirate?

QOTD

2007-05-11T08:54:00.000-06:00

I love quotes. (But then as a writer, I love words...and I love how other people arrange them.) So today I'm posting one of my favorite quotes. (Terri, I hope you're sitting down.)

“It seems that it is madder never to abandon one's self than often to be infatuated; better to be wounded, a captive and a slave, than always to walk in armor” --Margaret Fuller

And you'll note, it ties in with yesterday's blog. Don't you love themes?

Crushes

2007-05-10T08:00:00.000-06:00

I suffer from crushes constantly, irrepressibly, and against my will. Oh, they're usually fun for a time. For instance, Orlando Bloom is a current crush; and the cute mechanic who worked on my car at Ford is also a fond crush of mine. If you’ve got melting, puppy-dog eyes and a woman-eating-let’s-get-naked grin, I’m pretty much toast. But typically, after a certain amount of time, I don’t crush on certain people any more. They eventually get bumped from the play list like a Milli-Vanilli one-hit wonder.

Such is the topic of this blog, a one-hit wonder.

At the impressionable age of 14, I rebelled and joined the Baptist Church because the preacher’s sons were two years older than me and totally hot. (We can see my spirituality has always been in the right place.) Keith and Kevin. Beautiful blue eyes; ripped; and killer smiles. And mostly nice to a youngster two years their junior who so obviously had the hots for them—well, as nice as was possible for teenage boys could be at any rate. They moved straight to the top of Hellion’s Crush Play List. They mostly stayed there until I was 18 (though Keith was removed from the list when I was 16 and never made it back on—but that’s another blog.)

So at the top of my Crush Play List sat Kevin, the beautiful preacher’s son and nice to boot. And best of all, he remembered me. We’d occasionally run into each other—and he’d remember my name and such. (This was why he remained so high on the list. Kevin had Rock Star God status and I was a peon—to be remembered was a huge deal to me. Yes, I know, but I'm a dweeb. It's an unfortunate fact.)

I went to college and found new guys to put at the top of the play list. Kevin and I never ran into each other. All was good—because it’s tough crushing on a person. I don’t know about you, but when I get around someone I’m crushing on, the tripping heartbeat and the inability to form coherent sentences…well, it’s not good for the ego to feel like a complete ass in someone’s presence all the time. Kevin has never had the opportunity to meet the funny, witty, fun Hellion--only Hellion the Tongue-Tied Twit.

But Hellion, you say, you're older and wiser now...and we know damn well, you're funny. Funny you should say that--here's the point of the blog.

So I’m at the gym (I swear 90% of my stories start with these five words) and I’m on the elliptical—and on pops a commercial. One of those ones you know were locally made—it’s low-tech, cheesy, not impressive…and there is Kevin! In the commercial!

I suck in air, grasping the TV, gurgling and pointing at the screen. He looks the same—just as hot, unattainable, and flashing that killer smile. I move up on the articulate scale from gurgles to squeals that perhaps a hamster could have interpreted: “Look, Kevin is on TV! I had a crush on him in high school! I thought he was so hot!” Unfortunately my friend Holly is unable to speak hamster and simply thought I was having a heart attack.

“What? What? TV? Are you okay?”

Frustrated she could not interprete my clear joy and enthusiasm at seeing Kevin, I waved her off and stared at the screen, not wanting to miss a second of him. He's there with his wife (she’s pretty); and I thought, “Gosh, I’m glad he found someone. He’s so nice; I hope she’s nice.” And the commercial ended and I was very, very, very happy that this had not been a real life run-in since I’m pretty sure Kevin doesn’t speak hamster either…and I would really hate to hear these kiss-of-death words, “Hellion! You haven’t changed a bit!”

Then I had a post-commercial low of “You complete geek. A 30-second commercial and you’ve flashed back 15 years to Moronville (or perhaps Hamsterville.)” This low was complete with self-recriminations of “You’re still single” and thus “still a loser”, which I tried to stem off like an EMT trying to tourniquet an artery. Too late. (I swear, if I could put a muzzle on my Inner Critic, he’d be thrown in the dungeon never to see the light of day…but again, my Inner Critic is another blog.)

So do you have any crushes from your past that send you back to the 16-year-old you still are inside? Do you believe the happiest marriages are those with people you meet in your childhood? Did you ever like Milli Vanilli?

Movie Blog: The Pirate

2007-05-09T08:57:00.000-06:00

Okay, so we all know I'm slightly obsessed about pirates. Their rakish smiles, their inability to not take things that aren't theirs, their ability to assessorize... *swoony sigh* I love pirates.

Now you may not know this, but Pirates of the Caribbean 3 is coming out in 15 1/2 days. (I know, it was news to me, too.)

In honor of this debut, I am blogging about my favorite pirates movies for the next few Wednesdays, starting with the Gene Kelly classic: The Pirate.

This movie combines both things I adore most: pirates and bursting into song for no apparent reason, while dancing in a carefully chorographed motion you just thought of.

In case you haven't seen this classic bit of cinematography, it is a classic tale about a young girl engaged to someone else--but she's in love (or fascinated by) a pirate named Macoco. A traveling stage performer finds this out (and being he has fallen instantly in love with her)--he starts posing as the famous pirate Macoco. Comedy of Errors ensues. Definitely worth the watch just to follow the story itself, but Gene Kelly in shorts, dancing across the stage and pressing Judy Garland close...well, that's not bad either.

If you have seen this musical, what did you think of it? Do you also think Gene Kelly is one of the Hottest Dead Guys around? What do you think of pirates? Good as pets or hard to housebreak?

The Sassy Scribblers

2007-05-07T12:26:00.000-06:00

I spent my Saturday with my Critique Group, the Sassy Scribblers. (Sometimes we’re The Sassy Scribes; we’re never quite sure which one we are, but to be fair, we only just decided on our name last month. I mean, there’s three of us, for crying out loud. It’s just easier to call each other by our names.) I love my critique group. Both of these ladies are the most generous, upbeat, fun, witty, hilarious…well, you’ve got the picture.

We meet the first Saturday of every month, usually at this place just off I-70 called “Maggie’s Café”, a lovely trucker’s stop off with awesome food for cheap prices, and the waitresses are characters—and unbelievably accommodating. We even have an agenda (to keep on task), and the last thing on the list every month is the same: PIE. You see where most of our priorities lie.

I have been a part of critique groups in the past. Once upon a time when I got “very serious” about writing (the Lucy book, if anyone is interested), I joined an online critique group. That was an interesting experience, to put it politely. I think it meant well initially, but as with anything online—and with any group over a number of two—it got to be a hotbed of potential Middle East activity. Flamers, Righteous-Critiquers, the whole nine yards. In fact, at one point when the group seemed to have turned on one lone member, I jumped in to say “I don’t think she meant anything by it”—and got flamed myself. Of course, I did win a brand new friend—and we merrily exited said group and made our own. *LOL* She was an awesome critiquer—up until she quit writing altogether.

So we remained friends and I went in search of another critique group. I joined the Missouri chapter of RWA—which had another group of lovely fun thoughtful ladies; however, their critique group met on Tuesdays in St. Louis. I live 2 ½ hours away. I’m a dedicated writer—okay mostly dedicated—but I couldn’t see myself driving 5 hours round-trip to meet with these guys, so I had to settle for the once a month meetings. They’re good, but weren’t the same as having a critique group. Then I met Kris, also a part of the MORWA, and also not a fan of the Tuesday meetings—and thus Sassy Scribblers was born.

I cannot recommend enough the importance of critique groups. Critiquing other people’s work improves your writing; and them critiquing you also improves your writing. The support keeps you writing—it is a lonely business and there is no replacing having your butt in the chair and writing every day, but I have to say, having people who go, “This is so good. What if you did this?” helps you out of writer’s block and keeps you focused on the big prize of finishing.

Meeting once a month with my small group is enough for me to write and help others. There are some groups that critique and submit once a week, and I don’t think these people sleep…or email or anything. But there is a critique group out there that can meet your needs. I know. I found one. You can too.

Are you for or against critique groups? Have you learned anything from being in a critique group? Would you like to be in a critique group? Or are you a reader and are very thrilled you don’t have to bother with things like critique groups?

Please Excuse Us, Your Program...

2007-05-04T07:43:00.000-06:00

Is being interrupted for this special announcement.

I'm blogging at the Romance Vagabonds! (Can you believe they invited me to blog? Neither can I. I must have read the invite like three times before writing "HELL YES" in 36 pt font and whinging it back.)

Anyway today is my virginal debut. Sara has graciously given up her regular blogging day to let me babble about The Hero's Journey. I know, I know. I don't know why I didn't choose to babble about rum and Brad Pitt's butt either...but it's what I picked. It's okay. We'll save Brad Pitt's ass for another day.

www.romancevagabonds.com

Your regularly scheduled Friday Music Blog will occur at a later time. Possibly around 3:30 or so when I'm supposed to be doing folders and I'm screwing off again. Or possibly Monday or Tuesday instead. *eyeing folders*

Have a great Friday, guys, and I hope to see you over at Romance Vagabonds!

Acts of God

2007-04-26T09:10:00.000-06:00

I’m not an overly religious person, but I do believe in God. Here’s an example of why I think God is out there, looking out for us and that we’re not just left to the fickle finger of Fate.

Last week, my childhood best friend Pam who changed gyms some months ago emails me to say: “Hey, did you know Gold’s gym (which is the gym I belong to) has been bought out by Key Largo?” (which is her gym). “I can go to yoga again! Yippee!” This was the silver lining in a spiral of depression since Mattycakes no longer worked there (nor Jack), and by extension, Mattycakes’ girlfriend and my new best friend, Sin—no longer frequented Gold’s. That Wednesday, Pam comes to yoga. It is awesome.

This week Pam comes again to yoga. Afterwards, Holly, Pam, and I leave at the same time, making exciting plans to see the midnight showing of Harry Potter in July. We head to our cars. As I go to get into mine, which is parked across from Holly’s—Holly wigs and says, “Shit, I locked my keys in my car.” She threatens to hari-kari herself in shame (I only wish I was exaggerating this part), as I try to reassure her. I then get the bright idea to flag down Pam. Why?

Hellion: A History. In January when Holly locked her keys in her car, we had a hell of a time figuring out how to unlock the car again. (Fortunately that time a custodial guy was quite dexterous with a piece of coat hanger. God intervenes again.) Back then, I had called my friend Chris (Pam’s husband) to do some hypothetical questioning. “Say I lock my keys in my car and I don’t want to call the police to come break my window—do you know how I could get a slim jim or anything?” And he says, “Tyson has a kit. You can’t really get slim jims anymore.” Bloody thieves ruined it for all of us.

Tyson, for the sake of character development here, is Chris’s childhood best friend, and like Chris, he is a chivalrous, kind man who doesn’t make you feel stupid for doing idiotic things like locking keys in your car. He also makes this sexy little purr-growl sound if you ask, but that doesn’t have a lot to do with this story. (And he’s happily married, so no one get their hopes up, okay?)

Okay, so Holly wigs. I say, “Hang on” and I start flying across the parking lot after Pam. This is difficult in flip flops. It’s been raining a little, though the rain (and this is important to note) had momentarily stopped. “Pam!” I’m shouting like a maniac as she doesn’t see me, pulling away and going down the parking lot. “Pam!” I look like one of those frilled dragon lizards, waving my hands in the air and running after. Very attractive. She still doesn’t see me. Shit. Suddenly there is a piercing whistle, one of those redneck ones that I seriously need to learn—and lo and behold—Pam stops in the parking lot. I nearly kissed the stranger who did this—bless his beautiful hide. “I love you,” I shout at him as I trot up to Pam’s car and explain the predicament. I get in the car, and Pam is trying to figure out how to go over there—as Holly wanders up to the car too, clearly disoriented and still depressed. Holly gets in the car. Pam drives us over to our cars and we check to make sure Holly’s keys are indeed locked in her car.

They are.

Pam calls Chris, and Chris gives her Tyson’s number. I take Holly’s scissors away so she’ll stop threatening to commit hari-kari. Pam calls Tyson, who says, “No problem, be there in a minute.” And Pam gets off the phone. We all look depressed, so Pam, master organizer, says, “Let’s go to Shakey’s and get some ice cream. It’ll take him a while to get here.” We go. We get the brilliant idea to get some ice cream for Tyson (since he is doing this out of the goodness of his heart.) We stand in a hellaciously long line. We marvel that there are only two workers at this joint, but there are about a half dozen people in our line, and about 10 cars in the drive thru. Nice. We finally place our orders (except Pam was skipped—and never got her ice cream, poor woman) and wait for them to be filled. I think we all aged about a decade waiting for the ice cream. As we’re waiting, Holly and I suddenly notice Pam has disappeared. I mean, she’s short, but she’s slightly harder to misplace than this.

This time we both kinda wig, though rationally we know—she’s probably headed back to the cars to be there when Tyson shows up. But why’d she go by herself? After a few minutes, Holly agrees to venture off to check and I’ll wait for the orders. We both figure she’ll be back long before any of us get our ice cream. She disappears through the parking lot, and whaddayaknow? Our ice cream is ready. I collect it and I stand for a minute or two, then think, “Well, I’ll just head back.”

Now as I’m going, I notice this white SUV that recently parked. I do recall Pam saying something about Tyson driving a white SUV. I *think*, “I bet that’s Ty.”—but I’m not going to check unless I’m pretty sure. I glance over and it looks like an arguing deaf couple in the front seat. Lots of animated gestures and discussion. I think, Nah, can’t be Ty and go to hike off. Suddenly I hear, “Hellion! Over here!” and I turn, and it’s the arguing deaf couple, only it’s really Tyson and Pam. I happily skip over to the SUV and hand Tyson his ice cream, which he is quite delighted with.

Holly comes back with her car. After about 10 minutes. We all talk for a time, and we laugh and carry on and it’s good. Then we part ways; Pam and I head back to our cars—stopping over in the gym again for a quick potty break, then we all go home. I no sooner get into my car and turn onto the road to leave, and it starts downpouring, like literal sheets of wrathful rain. It downpours the entire 45 minute drive home. I could have floated home in an ark.

And to think I could have been out in the parking lot, trying to unlock Holly’s door with a coat hanger, standing in a downpour. Because as of a week before, Pam didn’t belong to our gym—and wouldn’t have been with us at yoga—and if she hadn’t been with us, we couldn’t have called in our friend-of-a-friend card to have her call Tyson. And hell, if she wasn’t married to Chris, who knew Tyson—we would have had the police coming to break one of Holly’s windows. That’s not luck, my friends, or serendipity—that’s God looking out for you.

Tin Cup

2007-04-25T13:41:00.000-06:00

I admit it. I love Kevin Costner. I don’t necessarily love his movies, but I love that man. The first time I remember watching a Kevin Costner movie, I was 16 and it was Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. He didn’t have an English accent—so why he was Robin Hood was anyone’s guess; he didn’t have a butt you could necessarily bounce a quarter off of since he does give rise to the theory that all white men have frog butts; and he had a mullet. Then again, pretty much everyone had a mullet then—so that could be overlooked.

None of these facts mattered to me. The man was hot—H-A-W-T, hot, and I couldn’t wait until it came out on VHS so I could own it. He instantly rocketed to the top of my list of men I’d love to marry (or whatever). He remained there for a good ten years; and he’s shifted up and down the listing over the years, but he’s definitely still in the top twenty of “Boy, would I—and where are my handcuffs” category.

Soon after listing him thusly, I got to do some catching up with other movies of his: Silverado (boy, is he adorable in this!) and Bull Durham (which in my opinion is the definitive Costner movie). Other movies came: Dances With Wolves (good); Waterworld (geez, Kev, what were you thinking?) and JFK (jury’s still out on that one). Then came Tin Cup.

Arguments can be made and defended this is really Bull Durham with golf clubs. You would be right—and you would be wrong. But it’s Kevin Costner at what he does best. Cocky, but insecure good old boy who has to overcome himself and then wins the girl in the end. I’m assuming it’s not a real acting stretch for darlin’ Kevin, but who cares?

The dialogue and actions in this movie are quite hysterical. Or maybe it’s only hysterical to me since I can identify with said hero who would willingly self-destruct just to make a point. “Give me another ball.” The last fifteen minutes of the movie are just painful to watch, but you can’t turn away. Fortunately, it all works out anyway. Sorta. He at least gets the girl. (And by the way, when he starts kissing her on the couch? *fans self*)

Since quotations and movie quotes are possibly my favorite thing in the world—you should see the number of Quotation Reference books I have on my shelves and the scores of quotes stored on my computer—I will list my favorite quotes from this movie.

Roy 'Tin Cup' McAvoy: Sex and golf are the two things you can enjoy even if you're not good at them.

Dr. Molly Griswold: There's no such thing as semi-platonic.
Roy 'Tin Cup' McAvoy: Well there ought to be.

Roy 'Tin Cup' McAvoy: Does my inner child need a spanking?

Do you have any favorite movie quotes? Any favorite Kevin quotes? Favorite Kevin Costner kisses? Because I have to say the sex scene from Bull Durham is definitive for me! Sign me up and lay me in the spilled milk, baby.

Tuesday Is Almost As Good As Monday

2007-04-24T14:04:00.000-06:00

My computer died. My new laptop I bought in January and I'd already returned (a week after I bought it) to replace the CD drive. Yes, wouldn't come on.

SILVER LINING: Still under warranty, supposedly, so it will be fixed. Plus I have a real reason to procrastinate on my novel. Which I wasn't writing.

I took it to the store and they shipped it off. Geek Squad Guy (not the same one I was totally crushing on from last time, but not bad) looked moderately concerned. "You realize they might not be able to save your data." Translation: God, Lady, I hope you hadn't written your Great American Novel on this thing because it's GONE, GONE, GONE.

SILVER LINING: I have two flash drives, and strangely, earlier in the week, I had recopied everything to the flash drive. Thank you, God.

Monday I worked on folders, applications, emails, et al. I accomplished little.

SILVER LINING: Possible job security...but only if I get everyone completed by the start of summer semester like I need to.

Monday night I went to a dinner my boss invited me and other co-workers to, to thank us for helping with his grant. I ate too much; I'm even more of a cow.

SILVER LINING: The dessert had rum in it, so I didn't much care that my supposed diet was blown

Monday I also got another email from Coffee Date Guy #4 (or is he three?)--asking me if I want to go out this week. Hmmm, my subtle disappearing act and inability to return phone calls has not convinced him I'm not remotely interested.

SILVER LINING: I'll finally get to use "I'm looking for a love like the Titanic and you're just not it" like I've been dying to for years now. Maybe that will spell it out. Maybe I'll need to work on bursting into tears--it's worked remarkably for the men who've broken up with me.

Monday I finished The Leopard Prince and The Raven Prince, and nothing else I've tried reading has caught my interest as much as they did.

SILVER LINING: I plan to fly by the library tonight and drop off books. Maybe my gym partner will be cool with me doing a fly by the NEW BOOKS shelves for something to read. Because God, if I don't find something to read, I might actually have to do something like write on my own story, which I've still yet to complete chapter 14.

I have to go to the gym tonight to make up for being a cow yesterday.

SILVER LINING: Nothing really. But I should get home early enough to watch The Holiday again and see Jude Law do that little cute dialogue of "Look at you. You're already better than you think you are." *husky laugh* Oh, don't I want to be.

Only like 40 days until Summer School starts. *eyes mountain of folders*

SILVER LINING: It's only 30 days until POTC3 comes out. I'm going to need some Jack when I finally collapse into a heap of overwrought nerves for being the worst secretary on the planet.

Anyone got any problems--and silver linings?

Friday Music Blog, a Possible New Routine

2007-04-20T15:20:00.000-06:00

I thought I would start a routine. Mondays are probably “Random Hellion Topics” and Wednesdays would be my movie blog; and Fridays, joyful, wonderful perfect Fridays would be music. *hops in the air like King David*

This week since I’ve been on such a Stranger Than Fiction kick, I thought I would focus on my favorite song from the movie, “Whole Wide World.” If you’ve known me more than five minutes, you know I obsess easily. POTC comes to mind. (5 weeks, guys! FIVE WEEKS! 35 DAYS!) And if I fall in love with a song, I will play it over and over and over again. Case in point, in college, while dying my hair (which is approximately a 45 minute process), I put George Strait’s Famous Last Words of a Fool on repeat as the girls were dying my hair. Around minute 43, my friend Nicki, who is unaware a ‘repeat’ button exists, asks, “When does this song end?” (*sounding faintly desperate, faintly depressed*) “Oh, I’m sorry, I have this on repeat. It’s been playing again and again.” Nick’s face was actually quite priceless in that moment. I’m still not allowed to play that song in her presence.

Such is the case with “Whole Wide World.” I wasn’t content with just getting the movie. I had to buy the song. Then I put the song on repeat one day, and had my door shut (so the co-workers wouldn’t catch on)—and listened to it in absolute bliss. The song is 2 minutes and 59 seconds long. There are 480 minutes in an 8 hour day; so I got to listen to approximately 160 times. Before anyone starts sending me Xanex for my OCD, I *did* put the song into a mix of songs the next day. So now I only get to hear it about 7 times a day.

Now that everyone is thanking God that they don’t actually have to hang out with me in real life, let me repeat that moment in the movie when Harold sings this song is so sweet…and sexy. He has his eyes closed, he’s not a great singer—but Ana watches and we see her start mouthing the words with him. “I’d go the whole wide world, I’d go the whole wide world, just to find her…I’d go the whole wide world, I’d go the whole wide world to find out where they hide her….” Then Ana sits by him, he sings another half-verse and she attacks him with a kiss. Which is good because I was getting ready to attack him with a big wet one if she wasn’t going to!

And if anyone watches How I Met Your Mother, there is an episode that features a song that plays over and over again—and it’s quite funny.

Is there any song you don’t get tired of? Why? What magic does it conjure for you?

Stranger Than Fiction: Movie Blog

2007-04-18T11:31:00.000-06:00

I love movies. I love to rewatch movies; and I adore DVDs because I can immediately rewind bits of it and watch something again and again. When Stranger Than Fiction came to big screen, I, of course, went. A writer with writer's block who is inadvertently going to kill someone who actually exists? Front row, holding popcorn, don't talk to me.

The dialogue is hysterical at times; the characters are real and heartbreaking and wonderful. We all wish we could write characters that are as big as life as Harold Crick, who is admittedly the most boring, reviled man on the planet--and yet, you can't help wonder what will happen to him and love him for all his quirks.

The scene where he brings Anna the "flours" to apologize--I cried. I mean, flowers are a thoughtful gesture to begin with; but flours for a baker? That's the most romantic thing I've ever seen. And then she invites him up to her apartment, and he sees the guitar and she suggests he play a song. "I won't laugh." No, he says, maybe some other time. She doesn't press, but when she goes to the kitchen, you see him think about it. After all, this is a movie about the imminent death of Harold--and he realizes, he might not have another time to play her his song--and so, he plays it. It's shakey; it's a bit painful; and it's heartbreakingly sweet and romantic. And I definitely started crying again.

So this blog is for Harold, an inspiration to all us boring, reviled non-heroes who are just living our normal lives when it suddenly occurs to us that we don't have forever. "When I was young boy, my mother said to me there's only one girl in the world for you. She probably lives in Tahiti. I'd go the whole wide world, I'd go the whole world just to find her...."

And because Harold is in love with numbers:

POTC3 comes out in 36.46 days, or about 5 weeks, and 1 1/2 days.

Eloisa's new book comes out in 40.46 days.

The new Ranger book comes out in 61.46 days (2 months, 1 1/2 days)

JQ's Secret Diaries comes out in 68.46 days

Harry Potter vanquishes Voldie in 93.46 days. (3 months, 3 1/2 days)

Sherrilyn Kenyon's next Darkhunter book is out in 110.46 days.

2007-04-17T15:00:00.000-06:00

Sean Patrick O’Brien ducked behind the counter of the nearly empty bar and glanced through the spare bottles for a new Bacardi. He knew he had one; he saw it only last night. Dusty perhaps, but available. His brother, Dylan, prided himself on having a variety beyond the longneck standbys. He spied the tall clear container behind a Jose Cuervo and snagged it, setting the potent brew blindly on the counter above him as he did a quick account of the stock. By the time he stood again, he realized he’d broken cardinal bartending rule number one.

Never let your guard down.

Of course, his grandmother would say that rule number one, bartending or no, is that you cannot escape your fate. Very Irish, his grandmother. Considering who had just entered the room, it was only fitting he could hear his grandmother chortling, for certainly his Fate had just entered the room.

He sensed it in the way the young woman squared her shoulders; the way she surveyed the bar with searching liquid eyes; and the way she fooled with the train on her poofy, white wedding gown.

She held a wedding bouquet in one gloved hand, and the other hand lifted to rearrange her veil which seemed to have caught itself momentarily in the door. Her bare shoulders were a creamy alabaster white, like she and the wedding gown had been carved from one piece of marble. She straightened her tiara without having to look in the mirror, no doubt a crown being a part of her everyday wardrobe. This town was only big enough for one princess: Julia Trinity Davenport. She even had a princess-like name.

The bar clatter quieted almost instantly, Pete and Tommy’s baseball debate pausing in mid-rant. The final tinny strains of Hank Junior on the jukebox tinkled to silence as Sean and the sporadically seated customers watched her every move with rapt stares. With the shutting whoosh of the bar door, the hush became as eerie as the eye of a hurricane, and they waited for the rest of the storm to follow.

Actually, he waited to see the storm to follow. Brides did not float into Dylan’s Wild Irish Rose in full wedding regalia everyday, and this was hardly the place for a wedding reception. Dylan had certainly said nothing about hosting one. The dark wood and smoke dirtied walls made a stark contrast against her pristine white gown. She looked as if she’d stepped from the pages of Today’s Bride, perhaps a depiction for ‘themes of the Middle-of-Nowhere’.

With a final nervous arrangement, Julia Trinity Davenport squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and glided to the bar as if nothing were out of the ordinary, her heels clicking invisibly beneath her satin gown and echoing throughout the room, her wedding veil sailing behind as if caught in the trade winds. And Sean Patrick O’Brien fell in love for the second time in his life, with the same girl no less. His heart thudded in his chest as the familiar waves of awareness swept over him, and he shook his head to clear the lustful fog that suddenly enveloped him. Whoa, old man, what are you thinking? You’re over her, remember? Especially since she’s obviously just married someone else.

Yeah, right, tell that to his subconscious. He’d been dreaming about her for months now, ever since he started working on the corporate merger. He had a better chance of forgetting his own mother. His dreams never even came close to the reality though. God, she was gorgeous. Middling height, dainty, and full of aching curves, she was his every high school fantasy. He remembered her bouncing blonde curls she wore in a ponytail, and her long slender legs in her private school uniform.
She wasn’t a young girl now, but wonderful ripe and ready woman. She stood nearly eyelevel now, obviously stepping up on the barstool step that ran the length of the counter floor, leaning against the bar top on her elbows. A hint of expensive perfume wafted up to tease him, a scent that was all too familiar. Coconuts and lime. Put the lime in the coconut and drink them both up.

Her wide thickly-lashed blue-eyed gaze held his with no hint of recognition in their Pacific depths, and she grinned and thumped her empty hand on the counter.

“I need a goddamned drink.”

It was like hearing an angel swear. He could almost see the white feathers fluttering to the ground. He hadn’t heard her right. He was sure. Though it had been twelve years since their night together, her words would not be about liquor and lack utter recognition of the man she lost her virginity to.

She looked utterly composed and unruffled, as if she thought this was an ordinary request, which it might have been if the customer weren’t garbed in a wedding dress. “Pardon?”

“A drink,” she enunciated slowly, continuing to smile her famous Davenport smile: white, perfect, and slightly fake. “A shot, a pint, a nip, a bit of mother’s milk, or the hair of the dog that bit me, whatever. Set ‘em, Joe. A bride walks into a bar, what do you think she’s looking for? Honeymoon tips?”

Julia’s brow wrinkled and another unangelic word fell from her lips. Sean blinked, and she sighed in explanation. “I seem to have forgotten my credit card. This dress didn’t exactly come with a credit card holder, I’m afraid, an oversight, I’m sure, but I seriously need a drink.” She turned her attention to the still watching customers, Ed, Pete, and Tommy, and widened her grin. “I can’t begin to tell you how badly I need a drink.” She reached for the Barcardi, eyeing it speculatively before setting it back. “Not this though. Not strong enough.”

Tommy lifted his half-empty longneck to point at Sean. “You heard her, Joe. Pour the girl a drink already.”

Julia beamed, turning her attention back to Sean. “Finally, a man after my own heart. A shot of Jose, please. Make it a double.”

“Tequila?”

She slapped her white rose and orange blossom bouquet on the counter, flower petals flying upwards from the abuse. “Seriously, if you’re going to repeat everything I say, I’m going to pour it myself.” She lifted her skirts and climbed onto the barstool before flinging her body across the countertop and hanging over the side, her veil flipping over her head and trailing onto the floor.

Before Sean could motion her away or even gape in wonder at her cleavage nearly popping its borders, she opened the cabinet, snagged the bottle of Jose from its location, and wiggled back onto the barstool, batting away yards of the veil’s gauzy opaque material. This time when he took in her appearance, one lock of champagne colored hair fell from its orderly topknot and curled against her forehead, over her eye. She blew at it twice before giving up.

“Seriously, I’m not above drinking straight from the bottle. If you want this done in an orderly manner, I suggest finding a shot glass.”

Sean reached above the bar where the glasses were kept and plopped a glass for her use. She poured a drink, then set the bottle aside. “Lime please.”

When Sean turned back with a saucer of limes, Julia was staring at her hands as if just realizing she wore gloves. “Here, tug this….” she demanded, as Sean scooted a shaker of salt near the limes. She held up her satin-gloved hand, and Sean obliged her. How could he not? She might ask for help removing the dress next and he didn’t want to be disqualified because he wasn’t willing to help with a mere glove.
Come to think of it, this is how several of the dreams had concluded. Though in his dreams, he never removed wedding gowns from her delicious sweetly-curved body.

He helped remove her glove, and she picked up the shaker of salt, licking her wrist. As she sprinkled, she slanted a look back at him. “Thanks for the assistance. You are?”

She licked her wrist again to get the salt. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more provocative than her pink, kitten-like tongue stroking her skin. Too bad he hadn’t offered his own wrist, or even a body shot. A body shot would have been good.

She snapped back her drink and popped the lime piece in her mouth. She was a curious blend of lady and bawd. Her shoulders shimmied as she swallowed the taste of tequila away, and she grinned again. “Better. Couple more of these, and I might forget just how much I paid for this gown.” She leaned on her folded arms, intense and candid in her demeanor. That, at least, had not changed a whit. She cocked an eyebrow at him to indicate she had not forgotten she had asked him a question and was waiting for a hint of verbal intelligence.

Sean poured her another shot instead. She didn’t recognize him. Sure, he’d been gone for almost twelve years, but hell, he’d been their gardener that entire summer before the night in the gazebo. Didn’t women remember their first time?
Oh, the ironies. He dreamed about her; and she couldn’t even remember his name.

“Joe, of course; you knew me right off. You must be psychic.” Sean narrowed a warning look at the others to keep silent. He didn’t know why he gave her a fake name. Only that if by chance she recalled Dylan had a brother named Sean, a boy she used to kiss and more, he didn’t want her suddenly going, “Oh, gosh, it’s so great to see you again! I almost didn’t recognize you.” Yeah, well, no almost to it. She didn’t recognize him at all.

“Joe,” she repeated, oblivious to his ill-humor. “Well, keep ‘em coming, Joe. This has been a hell of a day.” Lick, salt, lick, drink, shudder, suck, thunk. She wiggled on her perch, her dress rustling. “Oh, yeah, this is more like it.” She looked back at the regulars, her gaze seeming to narrow slightly on the tall, lanky regular in the Cardinals t-shirt. “Tommy, right? Tommy Powers. You played pitcher on the baseball team in high school, right?”

Oh, sure, she remembered him.

Tommy straightened on his barstool as if he had been acknowledged by the Queen. “Yes, Miss Davenport…er….” He stopped.

A pained looked flickered on her angelic features before she schooled herself back into poker-player composure. “Call me Julia, Tommy. We’re all on a first name basis here. Your name is still on the boards for most strikeouts, you know.”

Sean filled her shot glass a third time without prompting. Maybe there hadn’t been a wedding. She tossed it back like a frat boy, then smiled at Pete. “Peter Lansing.”

“Everyone just calls me Pete,” the shorter, slightly balding man corrected, then flustered to a halt.

“You bet. Your daughter, Emma, is in my kindergarten class. She is a sweetie. Got your wife, Katie’s, eyes. You’re a good man, Pete. You showed up for your wedding.”

Oh, hell.

Julia looked back at Sean, her blue eyes slightly watery from unshed tears, but she blinked them away, took the Jose from Sean and poured her own drink. She did the ritual again, more slowly this time as if every movement was an effort.

Then she shook her head, snapping her shoulders back defiantly. She looked over at Ed, smiling again, an empty shell of a smile. “Hi, Ed, I’ll probably be going to your place next.”

“Order anything you want, sweetheart, it’s on me,” he returned. “In fact,” he nodded at Sean, “put this on my tab too.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. She tapped her empty glass again. “Pour another, Joe. I don’t want to spill any.” She slurred it ever so slightly. “Joe, Joe. It doesn’t sound right. Can I just call you Irish? You look rather Irish, you know, must be the hair.” Her gaze focused on him intently, narrowed a bit as she studied him, a wrinkle forming in the middle of her forehead.

“Princess, you can call me anything you want,” Sean promised, reluctantly pouring her a fourth shot. She was going to need help getting home. No way was she fit to drive in this condition. Come to think of it, how did she get here?

“Thank you, Irish.” So polite. So much a Davenport. Polite to the core.

“You want to talk about it, Princess?”

Her fingers reached out and rubbed one of the loose rose petals between her bare pads. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and it was as if he held his breath for her answer. Come to think of it, he didn’t think he could hear the others breathing either. “Not really. He just didn’t show up.”

She downed the fourth shot without preamble, pushing it forward for a refill. “He called this morning to say he had to go to a business meeting, and I told him if he didn’t show up at 2 p.m.” She glanced at the others. “That’s when the wedding was supposed to be, you know. Of course, you know. The entire town knows I was supposed to get married today, and now they’ll all know I didn’t.” She shook her head. “Anyway, if he didn’t show up by two, I was leaving.” She twisted the shot glass in her hand. “Two-o-clock came without him, and I left. Anne helped me out the window.” She nodded, in her own world. “Good friend, Anne. I didn’t snag the dress or anything.”

Sean poured a fifth shot. Perhaps not a great idea, but anyone who got left at the altar deserved as much liquor as they could hold. He did not know what else to do with a crying woman, a jilted bride no less, and he had a feeling none of the others did either. The responsibility would fall to him since he was the one in charge of the bar and tequila, and his instincts said pour.

Pete cleared his throat. “It’s a fetching dress. You look quite beautiful.” The others immediately followed suit with agreeing nods and grunts.

Julia sniffed before smiling at him. “Thank you, guys. I appreciate it.” She chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip a moment. “I should be angry, shouldn’t I?” She nodded to answer her own question. “I mean, I’m angry, don’t get me wrong. I’m fucking pissed, excuse my French, but at the same time I want to sit in the middle of the floor and cry.”

Sean opened his mouth to try to convince her not to, but the others beat him to it. Actually Ed reached into his pocket for a clean white handkerchief and handed it over. “Go right ahead, darling. A good long cry never hurt anything.”

She tucked the handkerchief in her gloved hand, and Sean couldn’t help but ask. “Your groom didn’t show up to the wedding because he had a meeting?”

“Richard. Richard Harrison. I forget, you wouldn’t know who he is, Irish, not like Tommy, Ed, and Pete here.”

“Yeah, we know Richard,” Tommy said, sounding less than enthused by the acquaintance. “Good riddance, I say. Sweetheart, you deserved better than him. Be lucky you don’t know him, S…Joe.”

Sean was all too aware of who Richard Harrison was. He wouldn’t have wished him on anyone, let alone on Julia Trinity Davenport, even if she didn’t remember him.
Julia sighed. “Richard had a last minute meeting pop up at noon, an emergency meeting that would be the life and death of, well, everything, and he decided it took priority over our wedding. I would wait; New York would not.”

Ah, New York. The Brookering Brothers. They had been pacing in the sidelines, twisting their hands and wondering if they really wanted in. Apparently they did. Interesting.

“You mean to tell me no one else in his office could take care of it while he got married?” Of course not. Richard was the one with the connections with the Brookering Brothers, not Oliver Davenport. No time to waste once they agreed. Sean wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t have cancelled a wedding if they had been on the line.

Well, surely not. Who in their right mind would leave Julia at the end of the altar? Hell, he knew Richard was an idiot, but he didn’t think he was that big of an idiot.

Julia waved her salt hand. “Exactly my point; however, Richard said the CEO of the company was used to dealing with him and refused to work out the situation with anybody else.”

“And Richard chose the meeting?” He really needed to come to grips with this. Still, he had Harrison and Davenport panicked. This was good.

She nodded. “A million dollar deal? You bet he did. In financial loss, my wedding was nothing compared to what he would have lost with this company. He promised to pay for a new wedding if it came down to it.”

Sean nodded, sliding her new drink toward her. “And what did you say?”

“Oh, I couldn’t repeat it,” she said, her voice at once demure. She finished the fifth drink as peculiarly as the first, making the same grimace-smile. She sighed, relaxing on the barstool. “I think I feel a little fuzzy.” She stared up at the ceiling.

“Good.” He reached for a water glass and filled it with ice water. “Here. Before you fall under the counter.”

“Good idea.” She picked it up to take a sip. As she had it halfway to her mouth, a cell phone rang. He heard it, he knew. Only it seemed to be coming from her breasts.

“Are your breasts ringing?”

She gave him a look and put the glass back down, reaching into the top of her gown with one hand and pulling out a tiny cell phone. She waved it at him, and he couldn’t help himself. “Anything else you’re hiding in there?”

She ignored the comment, but not before she let an unladylike snort escape her lips. Yeah, she was definitely buzzed. A Davenport would never snort. She flipped open the phone and put it to her ear. “Hello?” She definitely didn’t sound friendly now. Peevish, he thought. Very peevish, and very clipped and clear for someone who had just downed five shots of tequila. She seemed to listen for about two seconds before she snapped the phone closed and disconnected the call.

It immediately rang again. Julia didn’t pause as she dropped the ringing phone into the glass of ice water. The trendy looking hardware gave a watery trill before gurgling, then dying outright. The sound was rather disturbing. Sean swallowed and looked back at her. He had a feeling it wasn’t the phone she wanted to dump in the icy deep.

“Who called?”

“Wrong number.”

“And the second time? The one you didn’t answer.”

She shrugged, one alabaster shoulder lifting. “Also a wrong number. If I had known you were so interested in being my personal secretary, I’d have let you screen the calls for me.” She clapped her palm against the counter. “So how about another drink? I think I’m getting my second-wind for this now.”

He nodded, grabbing another water glass and filling it with ice. She frowned when he slid the ice water to her. “That’s not what I had in mind.”

“Just what exactly do you have in mind, Princess?”

Her mouth opened to reply, most likely with something smart, but a sudden noise interrupted them. “Julia!”

“Oh, no,” she said instead, almost hunching on her perch. Sean looked over her head at the tall, stodgy looking man who strode into the bar as if he owned the place. Richard Harrison.

Well, it seemed the real storm had arrived.

Sean immediately glanced back at Julia who’d straightened, her expression clear of any intimidation her ex-fiancé might have caused. She was tugging her glove back on, her shoulders drawn back so far she looked like a candidate for the Marines.

“Richard,” she drawled. He watched her turn on her seat and meet his gaze coolly. Sean wanted to grin like a simpleton at her proud behavior. She certainly had style. “How did you find me? I was sure I removed the ankle tracking device….”
“The white limo outside with the ‘Just Married’ sign was a dead giveaway. Never mind this is the only bar in town, and you have a weakness for Cuervo.” Richard drawled superciliously, “Not unlike your mother really.”

Julia frowned. “Oh, let’s not discuss mothers, Richard, or we’d have to get into who you’re the son of. Aren’t you supposed to be at a meeting?”

“The meeting concluded a while ago. I came to the church, but you weren’t there.”

“Funny. I had the same experience about forty-five minutes ago. Maybe we could form a support group. People who get left at the altar.”

Richard frowned, and Sean decided Richard didn’t seem as amused by her wit as he was. “You’re blowing this out of proportion. I told you I was only going to be a little late. I would have explained, again, if you hadn’t hung up on me.”

“And I already told you what I thought. This conversation is over.” She paused for effect. “We are over.”

“Let’s not discuss this here. Come home with me. Let me explain.”

“There is nothing to explain. You explained it quite effectively this morning, and when I told you if you were not there for our wedding we were over, I thought I made myself crystal clear. You didn’t show; we are over.”

Richard tsked, closing the final bit of distance between them. His voice lowered, but the occupants of the bar were so quiet it didn’t matter. “You’re overwrought. Come home with me now; calm down and think this over. You’ll see this is not as bad as you’re making it.”

“Negotiation with me is not an option, Richard. Now if you don’t want a scene, I suggest you leave.”

“Julia,” his voice warned. Richard took a deep breath. “You have no where to go. Your apartment lease ran out last week, and you’ve been spending the last few days with your parents. It’s either them or me.”

Julia’s laugh sounded hollow. “And you think I’d pick you over them. Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t plan to spend the night with either of you.”

“Where will you go? The bed and breakfast? It’s full of wedding guests. Anne’s one-room basement apartment? Where’s she going to put you? In the kitchen pantry?”

She shook her head, pointing her thumb behind her. “Nope. I’m going home with Irish.”

Sean suddenly found himself the recipient of several stares, most of them intrigued, one of them angry, and one of them mischievous and daring. Two realizations occurred to him. Number one, he was in big trouble, and number two, it seemed Princess did indeed want help in removing her gown.

Predictability

2007-04-16T16:38:00.000-06:00

I find men frequently like to argue with me (why? It’s not pleasant) and say that fantasy writing isn’t predictable like romance writing is. In fact, most suggest I try reading a fantasy novel to ratchet up my intelligence level…and to prove that it’s not predictable.

It’s predictable. It’s as predictable as a Friends’ episode. In fact, my friend Jackie and I took my list of “predictable fantasy writing quirks” to a fantasy movie once and checked them off as they happened. They all happened. In fact, we got to laughing so hard when the sidekick died that we couldn’t even mourn the poor fellow’s passing.

The List:

1) Rename everything some unpronounceable. Horses aren’t horses in this world, even if they look exactly like them. They’re called fogrips or something equally incomprehensible.

2) The hero is nobody. In fact, it’d be really cool if you find him in a gutter or something. The lower he lives, the greater it’s going to be when he’s crowned king at the end.

3) The hero doesn’t believe he’s the one who’s been tapped for this adventure; he denies it and tries to avoid going. It annoys everyone.

4) The hero has some goofy sidekick, usually not as a good-looking or skilled, but definitely has the better come-backs. The sidekick is the master of understatement.

5) The hero will encounter a mentor (sometimes the sidekick will be a partial mentor, but usually the mentor is either going to be some long-bearded white haired magician wise man type—or the ethereal sorceress type.) He’ll learn a lot and ask a lot of dumb questions.

6) The story is always a quest. We’re looking for a sword, a ring, a grail bearer, a princess, something. And of course, the FATE of the world hinges on the outcome of finding this person in a limited amount of time or someone more evil than Satan will take over and ruin everything

7) Villain has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. No backstory. Typically two-dimensional, so we will always support the hero.

8) The first to die is the mentor. Don’t worry though—he’ll usually show up as a ghost or a figment to counsel when you least expect it

9) The next to bite it is the sidekick. After all, the hero must face the Supreme Ordeal alone to prove he didn’t need any help. (The woman he acquires half-way during the quest doesn’t count because we all know women aren’t any good in a brawl.)

10) He marries the girl he acquires half-way through the story at the end…she gets to be queen to his king. And don’t worry about the whole Divine Destiny here. He could have been born of a peasant, but we find out that he was actually the bastard son of the previous king who was tragically killed by the villain.

11) Oh, almost forgot one. To keep this from being truly trite writing, make sure you put in your own liberal/political platform (i.e. deforestation, global warming, war, etc) within the novel so no one will notice the predictable mentor and sidekick hanging out with your hero, and so English professors can sermon on and on about what you were actually talking about when you made up that totally overdone predictable quest for a ring (sword, girl, grail) to save the world.

Anything I’m forgetting? Anything that always appears in a fantasy/sci-fi flick or book?