Picnic at Stonehenge

See You In A Bit

2009-04-03T13:19:00.000-07:00

Been having internet woes, so I'm typing this in the library. my service should be up and running again on April 16 or 17, so I'll see you then!

I'm Strange

2009-03-26T14:49:00.000-07:00

But you knew that. I just finished reading an inspirational romance, and...meh. Seriously. I know the author, and I've liked other stuff she's written, but this was vanilla.

I don't like vanilla unless it has chocolate and sprinkles on it.

I tried to put my finger on it. Characters were drawn about as well as any can be in category length. Plot was fine. A few things weren't neatly drawn up at the end, which I kind of like. Not all problems should be solved. But a romance is, first and foremost, about the relationship of the hero and heroine, and this...just didn't cut it.

It wasn't just the absence of sex. I've read plenty of no-nookie stories that had heat. (And why can't we find a word for these romances? Sweet brings syrupy and childish to mind. Clean seems to accuse the others of being dirty. What do we call them?) I guess heat has become synonymous with sex, but I've never really suffered the loss if there's no bouncy-bouncy in the book. But I need there to be an intensity, where all the nerve endings stand at attention. I want to see the characters captured.

When they look at each other, I want to catch my breath with them. My breathing was not impeded at all with this story. There were a few good moments, such when he pinned her with his unblinking stare and declared that he'd get the truth out of her. Gad I love those stare scenes. I want to squirm right along with the heroine.

But when the relationship deepened, it got boring. And fast- too fast. Without that intensity- whether or not it leads to the bedroom- it's just boring. Get married, don't. I don't care.

Inspys have done this to me several times, and it just makes me furious. There are ways to show a captivating romance minus tea and crumpets if you do it right. Sticking in a few prayers and a church service doesn't make up for it, either. Gimme more.

You CANNOT Be Serious

2009-03-16T20:47:00.000-07:00

Okay, y'all. I am mad. Lobster-faced rage monkey McFurious. We all know about a certain singer who was beaten senseless by her singer boyfriend, right? If the tabloids are to be believed, she took him back. Which makes her stupid. But what makes the blood shoot from my eyeballs?

A study of 500 teenagers found that 46% of them thought she brought it on. Provoked it in some way. In short, it's her fault that she walked into his fist.

Any guesses how many teens would think it's his fault if he walked into her knife?

I took a seminar on domestic violence, and several of the abused wives said that the abuse was cyclical- there was a gradual build-up of stress until an abusive episode occured that ironically relieved the tension. A number of the women admitted to provoking their abusive husbands when the stress was high, so that they could have some measure of control over when he blew. Knowing it was coming but not knowing when was almost worse than the actual abuse, so they pushed buttons they knew would burst the bubble.

I understand that. But even in these instances, IT WAS NOT THEIR FAULT. Good God, have we not moved past this by now? The discussion isn't even about why the abused stay with their tormentors- people, KIDS, still think it's somehow her fault that he's a coward and a bully?

Well if no one ever told you, I will. IT IS NOT HER FAULT. IT IS NEVER HER FAULT. I don't care if she is the biggest shrew alive with a voice that shatters glass. I don't care if she shoves her tongue down other men's throats. I don't care if she wrecks your car, ruins your credit, and lets your dog run away. Call the police, call her boss, call her a b*tch with a loudspeaker, but you are not justified to hit her. Never, ever, ever.

It's easy to blame the hip-hop culture, I suppose. Lyrics and lifestyles that promotes violence and objectifies women as B's and Ho's is bound to have an effect on the teen mind. But women get abused by rednecks, too. And gumbas. And just about every other segment of society. I just can't believe the generation with access to the most information than any other generation before them still has the nerve to think she deserved it.

Well she didn't. No one, man or woman, deserves to be afraid of their spouse. PERIOD. Chris Brown? He deserves to walk into a cast-iron skillet.

About ten times.

Harlequin, You Make Me Wonder

2009-03-06T15:41:00.000-08:00

You make me wonder how in one month you can go from OH YEAH!

To OH, NO!

To Oh, GOD, no.

Mystery, indeed.

I've Accepted It...Sigh

2009-03-01T13:28:00.000-08:00

I'm OLD. Ancient crone old. Dried up prune hag old.

I used to be the girl who rocked out. I loved concerts. Loved them so much that my hearing is now compromised. I'd sing, I'd dance, I'd jump, and I'd scream. Lord, did I scream. If you could talk the day after a concert, you just weren't doing it right.

My family loves to go to a concert tour every year called Winter Jam. A roster of 5 or 6 Christian artists comes to the local NBA arena, and it's always a fun time. Lately, the artists have been a little more hard-core rocknrolla, and I found out something.

I'd rather be home having a nap.

One of the bands, Hawk Nelson, had a light show. The lights started flashing- not slow enough to be ignored, not fast enough to be a strobe. My vision was blurring slightly, and I got dizzy. I felt like one of those Japanese kids that watch the fast cartoons and have seizures.

The volume was as loud as it always has been, I guess, but it affected me more than it used to. The bass THRUM THRUM THROB practically reset my heart rate. I felt sorry for the people who had pacemakers; they were probably twitching for hours afterward.

And of course, we sat right in front of an entire row of teenage girls. Why do girls scream? I did it. If you're a girl, chances are you did it too. I don't remember hitting decibels unknown to man, however. During intermission, I jokingly told them they had really good lungs. One girl smiled and said, "Oh, did you hear us?"

I did at first, but not by the last act. I had given up hearing by then to concentrate on voluntary brain functions without pain.

My husband had deserted us much earlier, since he's smarter than I am. When I joined him outside on the concourse, wonder of wonders! I can actually hear the music! I can understand the artists when they speak! In the arena, I basically got "GARGLEBLARKFOOSTUSDOO OKLAHOMA CITY!"

If there had just been a video feed somewhere, it would have been perfect. That, and a small drink that didn't cost six dollars.

Listen Up, Gentlemen

2009-02-22T14:16:00.001-08:00

I'm so glad my husband is smarter than this guy.

Hey There...

2009-02-18T18:04:00.000-08:00

How YOU doin'? I was thinking maybe we could check out the life raft on this tub. You bring them little crackers with the cheese- not the fish eggs, they're nasty- and I'll grab a bottle of champers. Meet ya there!

Things I Don't Understand

2009-02-12T15:50:00.000-08:00

Wearing a dress that makes everyone want to sing the Oompa Loompa song while chewing gum

The appeal of the Jonas Brothers

The fact that Angelina grabs Brad's bohunkus in public actually makes me feel better about her

The appeal of the Jonas Brothers

Cloven-hoof boots

How Mark Harmon can still be so blasted cute

The appeal of the Jonas Brothers

But I especially don't understand how a woman could do this to herself ON PURPOSE and then ask us to pay for it via VISA, MasterCard, American Express, Discover, and PayPal.

Do A Favor For Me

2009-02-06T15:14:00.000-08:00

Most of you who stop by here also read the blog of Bernita Harris, An Innocent A-Blog, which you can find in my sidebar. Bernita is a fantastic writer, and one of my oldest and dearest blog buddies. She's that rarest of all breeds- a classy broad. Intelligent and witty enough to make you feel slightly intimidated, but she'd be great to knock back a pint or two at the pub whilst reciting limericks.

Her husband had been in very poor health for a few months- cancer surgery, cardiac trouble and pneumonia. She had welcomed him home the last week of January; a joyous time in spite of ongoing problems. But Feb. 3, he passed on.

For those who know and love Bernita and haven't posted your condolences, please do. And if you haven't had the pleasure, please check out her archives. You'll be enriched.

This is all I can do, little as it is. As helpless as I usually feel with family and friends, I feel doubly so with a cyber-relationship. So strange to completely adore a woman I've never met, isn't it?

How Much Would You Pay?

2009-02-01T18:32:00.001-08:00

My daughter and I were doing laundry, and bored, so we perused the selection on On Demand. I felt like some mindless fun, so we rented Mamma Mia. Cute movie; not a classic. Meryl Streep is a freaking mutant. She looks fabulous and I was surprised at how well she could sing. Hearing Pierce Brosnan try to sing was painful, but he's still so pretty to look at, who cares? That's what the mute button is for, right?

Beth said after the Dancing Queen number, "I'm so jealous of your time. Your music was just so fun."

I reminded her that we had our envelope-pushers, too, but she replied that at least the majority of 70's-80's acts weren't shoving their crotches in your face. I have to agree.

And just in case you ever wonder: dancing around the living room with your kid to songs from your teenhood is absolutely priceless. So crank this up and have fun!

Random Ranty Winter Musings

2009-01-27T12:50:00.001-08:00

So I did a beautiful, artistic triple toe loop on the ice yesterday, and stuck the landing. Right on my knee. The only really bad thing about living in the South? No, not tornadoes. Those you can hide from.

It's the fact that it gets cold, but it hardly ever snows. All we get is wet little pellets that can charitably be called sneet. And our poor little truck fleet...er, fleet-lette, I guess you could call it, pours sand and salt. Which melts it just enough to let you drive on it, which melts it a little bit more, which freezes solid overnight.

Or we just cut out the middleman and get ice rained down on us. Having worked in retail for lo these many years, I've never understood people's reactions to weather. In short form, the Oklahoma guide:

A heat wave with temps over 100? Shop til you drop and make sure you close up your car. After letting it bake for a few hours, be surprised when your shorts-and-tank clad self comes into contact with the leather seats.

A small, warm, gentle rain? Do not go out under any circumstances.

Thunderstorms? Go about your daily activities.

Tornado watch? See thunderstorms.

Tornado warning? Grab your camcorder and stand in the street to get footage. Your neighbors will be out there, too, so find a good vantage point. Important: sell your footage, don't just upload it to the local station's website.

A blizzard that is more ice than snow? Wait for two hours, until the officials declare a state of emergency. Then decide you have a fatal case of cabin fever and head immediately for the mall. Ignore the mall employees who will glare at you because they want to go home before dark. When the cabin fever has passed and you go home, forget that you live in a predominately warm weather state, and curse all the people on the road who don't know how to drive in ice.

So the sleet started shortly after I got to work yesterday morning, and my boss told me to finish up only the important stuff- the billing, because, you know, we like money- and go home as soon as possible.

Have I told you how much I love that man?

Tell Me The Truth

2009-01-20T19:07:00.000-08:00

Did anyone else see this and hear, "YOUNG MAN! There's no need to feel down...it's fun to stay at the YMCA!"

Some Things I Know For A Fact

2009-01-14T18:12:00.000-08:00

I know that:

I never ever want to see this stuff again

Salma Hayek has the most impressive rack in the known universe

With parents like this the poor kid never had a chance

I'm glad and munchy that these are here

but I'm downright giddy that these are coming

This looks like the cinematic equivalent of rubbing broken glass in both eyes

Joaquin Phoenix will eat your soul

the world is a much, much sadder place today.

How Far Should I Go For A One-Finger Neighbor?

2009-01-04T12:35:00.000-08:00

Perhaps I should explain the term. My dad maintains that there are levels of neighbors; when driving down your street, people may be out watering plants or washing cars or yelling at kids who have just knocked over the mailbox with their bikes, right? With your hands at the 2 and 10 o'clock positions, you can acknowledge the people you don't know that well with your pointer finger upraised. The ones whose names you know, whom you may have spoken with during a blackout or while the men are in the street looking up at the sky and discussing it when the tornado sirens are going off, deserve a two-finger wave. The neighbors that have actually been in your house for a football game and reciprocated with a barbeque get the whole hand.

Well, I have some One-Finger neighbors that have the most obnoxious dogs on the face of the earth. Seriously, I'd rather deal with the turkey-stealing Bumpus hounds from A Christmas Story. One is a Heinz 57 mix of Akita, Chow, and Satan; the other is a Napoleonic Dachsund. We have leash laws in our town, which are obeyed about as frequently as you think they are, and these dogs Own. The. Street.

When they are let out for a potty break (there's no fences in the back yards) the owners just stand there on the porch and hope for the best. If you happen to be out, the Dachsund will zero in on you like a tiny black yapping missile. He'll completely ignore the shouts of his people and run at you full speed until he reaches your leg, whereupon he quivers and growls. It's like facing a small junkie on a bad trip.

The other one is slower and not as loud, but he will stand about five feet away and stare at you. I kid you not, he'll just stare at you. Spookiest thing I've ever seen. The owners are pretty good about coming right over to take the dogs home, but just once I'd like to go out and get my mail without spying the land for hostiles first.

My little diva can be annoying; she hates big dogs, cats, and squirrels and she'll be all Barky McYipperson if the wind blows hard. But when I take her out I have her on a leash, a plastic baggie for her mess, and I don't let her bark very long. If she does manage to intrude on someone's rose bush, I apologise and try not to go past that yard again. But these One-Fingers? "I'll be right there. You better not move."

No. You'd better get a chain. If that Black Terror hallucinates that my leg is a big Milk Bone, or if your spook sacrifices a chicken on my front porch, I'll feel free to give you a different kind of one finger salute.

Happy Whatever

2008-12-24T06:23:00.000-08:00

And I truly mean that. This should be a season for celebrating, no matter what the faith or reason. This should be a time for sharing all that is good about our particular celebration, and even commiserating over the stresses. I read once of Christians who lived in the same community as their Jewish neighbors, and on the Sabbath the Christians would bring food to their friends because the Jews did no work on that day. That's the kind of world I want to live in.

I've heard news reports that say shopping is way down this year, which I guess is bad for the retailers. I can't help but think maybe it's a good thing for our souls, though. Not having the underside of the tree crammed with presents lets you focus a little more on the important stuff.

Charitable giving, though, has only dipped slightly. And the bell ringers have had diamond rings, watches, and extremely valuable old coins dropped in their kettles. Maybe we're not as bad as everyone says we are.

So whether it's Kwanzaa or Chanukah or Solstice or just enjoying the baked goodies around the fire- I mean, we need a few extra pounds to keep us warm over the coming winter- enjoy your family and your friends. I'll be offline till New Year's, so now I wish all of you a most blessed, Merry Christmas.

Angels Are Spiteful And Dangerous

2008-12-21T13:54:00.000-08:00

Or at least they are if you believe the emails I get. You know the ones; there's a picture of the most annoyingly cute little chubby-cheeked cherub you've ever seen, tiny fluffy wings a-flutter, sprinkling hearts and rainbows on grinning kittens and puppies waiting below.

These adorable seraphim are accompanied by an anecdote about a woman having a dream about God talking to her about footprints, or a man failing to take time out of his busy life for an old homeless woman who prayed for him and then finding out she died the next day.

Then the emails treat me to a long poem that gushes. Over me. And y'all, I am loved, I am special, and people think of me CONSTANTLY.

And since that kind of friendship is so special, how nice would it be if I forwarded that email to ten friends? If I do, the angels will bring me a blessing within 72 hours. It really, really, works! But if I don't, well...I wouldn't want to do that. I mean, I forward meaningless jokes, so why wouldn't I forward this? Something BAD might happen.

Why have these angels decided to hold me hostage? These cute, benevolent little beings are showing their teeth. Do they get a kickback from each email that's forwarded? Are their positions on the harp choir taken by other angels who are successful at threatening their recipients? Does God throw them out of heaven entirely if they don't make the quota?

If you're an angel's fondest wish and you always forward these things, fine. Just don't forward them to me, okay? I don't want to be responsible for heavenly wing pruning.

You Want Me To Do WHAT?!?

2008-12-18T14:08:00.000-08:00

I don't blame him.

Have a great weekend, and finish your Christmas shopping!

Holiday Snark Trifecta

2008-12-14T21:21:00.000-08:00

Two of the best blogesses I know, Missie of More of a Woman and Beth from StarvingWriteNow are doing a three-way with me. Take that how you will.

Ah, the holidays at Harlequin headquarters…

A Daddy for Christmas

Missie: We're all going to have a Merry Christmas because this year, Daddy is on the right meds.

Beth: "And then, little Susie plunged the star into daddy's chest, killing him instantly. Christmas night, the family dined well.. and had plenty of leftovers for New Year's."

Robyn: Does anyone else get the feeling that once she puts the star on the tree the mother ship is going to zap him up?

The Christmas She Always Wanted

Robyn: Take your time opening your presents, honey. Mommy and Daddy are going to…um, write thank-you notes to Santa.

Missie: She always wanted to leave her child alone under the tree opening presents while she runs off to be with the latest in a long line of studmuffins.

Beth: Mommy and Daddy are poised for flight just in case Little Satanic Sweetie doesn't like her gifts. (and btw, anyone else notice that Mommy's left leg is half the size of her right?)

The Italian’s Miracle Family

Missie: Somebody has spent a leeeetle too much time in the tanning bed.

Beth: Hello? HQ Art Department? What happened to the little girl's neck? That bowling ball head of hers is going to roll right off without it!

Robyn: Christmas just isn’t complete until you’ve impaled a toddler on the tree.

Follow the links for more holiday snark!

I'm Such A Weenie

2008-12-10T20:22:00.000-08:00

So for the past couple of weeks I've been assaulting you with my mouse problems. I've been all MOUSE ON MY COUNTER and I CAN'T KILL IT and GREEN MOUSE POOP EEEWWWW and feeling smug about winning over Mother Nature. Lemony-fresh victory is mine!

Until I was cleaning out some old computer files and found these from some people my Aunt knows in a little bitty town in OK called Watonga:

This woman's kids were playing on the floor in the kitchen last winter. She came in and noticed THIS THING staring at the children.

I should just count my blessings and put up with the mice.

Happy Birthday, Missie!

2008-12-07T12:03:00.000-08:00

My bestest friend, Missie, is another year older! Of course, since I'm so much nicer than she is, I won't tell you older than what. I wanted to bake a cake for the occasion, though money is tight. Hmmm...

Okay, I guess bargain shelf Thanksgiving pumpkin cakes with questionable stems are a little crass. Maybe this...

Well, the dead circus clowns on a moldy hill didn't quite have the festive atmosphere I wanted. Let me keep looking...

Naked babies riding carrots! That's the ticket! No? Oh, well. I can always fall back on the old standard that never fails to please-

Old Beefcake.

Happy day, my friend. Enjoy!

(cake images from CakeWrecks)

Darn You, Global Warming!

2008-12-04T17:44:00.000-08:00

I know, Kate, I know. It's so hard to find an outfit when your top half is cold and your feet are freezing, but you just don't want your legs to get too hot. I feel your pain.

Hope You're Not Eating Leftovers

2008-11-29T14:26:00.000-08:00

News on the Southern Front-

The war is over.

He came limping out right before we left for Thanksgiving, circled a tiny spot in the carpet with a dazed expression, coughed a few tiny convulsive coughs before collapsing and closed his beady little eyes.

God love him, he went for the Oscar.

I felt triumphant and horrible at the same time. I certainly didn't want his poop in my counters and his disease-spreading self on my countertops, but...he was little. And fuzzy. And cute. Was a warm place to sleep and a bit of food to much to give, you heartless beyotch? Of course, this was awaiting us when we got home:

My husband found it in the bathroom. We were spared the death scene, at least.

Me: Eww!

Gary: Here's the broom. Lemme sweep it up.

Me: Wait! I have to get a picture of this for the blog.

Gary: Eww.

Me: There was another one. Gross.

Gary: Of course there was. If you see one, there's always more hiding.

Me: Don't tell me that! I could have still pretended I didn't know!

Gary: (shaking his head) I'm throwing this out.

Now I'm just hoping the family members will think it was natural causes.

The War Rages On

2008-11-23T13:12:00.000-08:00

Don't let the cuteness fool you. I opened my cabinet- my previously CLEAN cabinet, and found them. Little presents to remind me of my mortal enemy.

Not just mouse droppings. GREEN mouse droppings. Which means one of two things:

He's gotten irradiated by the microwave and will soon be as big, and as demanding, as my dog;

Or he's eaten the Green Pellets of Death and they've passed harmlessly through his tiny, cursed intestinal tract.

Either way, cleaning bright green mouse poop was so not how I wanted to spend my day.

The Most Foul-Tempered Rodent You Ever Laid Eyes On

2008-11-20T21:27:00.000-08:00

And he lives in my kitchen. There's nothing quite like hearing that little scurry across the foil on the brownie pan on the counter, the knocking behind the oven. This mouse is a portly klutz; a rodent Chris Farley.

Today I was washing dishes and I turn around and there he is, sitting there looking at me like, "Wow. What is that and why is it in my kitchen?" I'm not normally frightened by things but a small squeal escaped me, which in my present health sent me into a coughing fit. All I could do was splash dishwater at it. It sauntered- not ran, not scurried, not flew- but slowly meandered back behind the oven, probably because the soggy little blighter knew I was incapacitated and couldn't hurt him.

I've set out glue traps, which I find the next morning with footprints that mock me. We finally broke out the Green Pellets of Death, which have not as yet shown any effect. I think he's hooked on them and is waiting for his next fix. I have visions of becoming the mouse world equivalent of a back alley, with this rodent instructing his little junkies, "Just make some noise in the walls, and leave some poop under the sink. She'll put out the stuff."

I thought about getting a cat, but with my luck he'd just want a cut of the pellet profits.

Forget Ricola, I Want An Android Body

2008-11-17T19:01:00.001-08:00

You know, when I was a kid being sick was almost fun. You got to stay home from school. You got to laze around in your jammies in the middle of the day, and sometimes Mom would wheel in the small TV we kept in the den and you could watch cartoons. Decadence! You got all the 'easy' foods you wanted, including the push-pops you just had to have because they helped your poor aching throat. Yeah, that was why. And you got 7-UP in the special glass with the bendy straw.

Except for the, you know, feeling bad thing, the only difficulty was choking down Triaminic. That stuff was brewed in Satan's own barrel. I refused to give it to my kids, preferring the tang of Robitussin.

Face it. It was vacation with maid service and tissues.

But now? I still get sick. Still get coughs and watery eyes and headaches and sore throats and snot. Can I lounge and suck on push-pops and drink 7-UP? In between caring for the other people in the house who have the same crap and spending as much time as I can working because for some reason I like money, sure.

I'm just feeling sorry for myself. The one day I finally could sleep on the couch and have the remote to myself, no marathons! My hubby gets the NCIS marathon, my daughter gets the America's Next Top Model marathon, my son even got the Cosby Show marathon. Me? NO MARATHONS. That has to be one of the signs of the apocolypse, right there. Cable always has a marathon. They'll show Grasses Of The World Growing In Real Time for 18 hours, but I can't even find more than two episodes of Law and Order? Yeesh.

It doesn't help that I look like recycled hell. I bark like a seal, and when I'm in the store people back away from me like they want to cry, "Unclean! Unclean!" I've used so much soap and sanitizer, my hands look like they've been in an industrial accident. And I find at my age, in spite of all those lovely Kegel exercises, coughing has an unfortunate side effect. I'm just waiting for the day I completely lose my pride and actually buy Depends instead of using panty liners.

Next time there's a good marathon, I'm calling in sick whether I am or not. And I'm breaking out the bendy straw, too.

Does Anyone Have A Ricola?

2008-11-10T14:30:00.000-08:00

Right now I'm making that sound. You know the one. The one old men make in the barbershop after they proclaim that Rocky Marciano vas the greatest fighter in de vorld! UUUrrrrrhhhAAAACK.

So I'm taking a day or two to shower with those little vapor tablets that let you bask in the menthol-scented steam, huddle under a blanket with my hot tea with honey and lemon, and ignore my dogs. And watch Iron Man and The Hulk. And Get Smart. If you haven't seen it, you need to.

And I'm also taking a certain amount of unholy pleasure in the fact that Barack Obama will not be able to go take a leak by himself for four years. See ya!

In Which I Refuse To Talk About Elections And Instead Gush Over Weird But Hot Guys

2008-11-05T15:43:00.000-08:00

I'm probably the only woman in the world who doesn't think Brad Pitt is all that. He looks better post-Troy, and he's aging well, but he's just too...pretty.

Oddly enough, my boat tends to get floated by guys like this:

Christopher Eccleston. He's known for being the Doctor Who in Leather, but I loved him in Elizabeth. Nothing he has should work, but it does.

I don't really watch Doctor Who that much anymore, I swear! But I adore David Tennant. With a serene, serious face, he's an absolute matinee idol movie star. But when he smiles his chin draws up, his eyes bug out, and his eyebrows attach to his hairline. So cute I could eat him with a spoon.

Nice guys do finish first. At least, this one does with me. Special Agent McGee from NCIS (Sean Murray) is so normal and so nice and so geeky he shouldn't be this yummy. But he's also smart, loyal, and honorable. A hero in my book.

But my plugs really get sparked by competence. Jean Reno was great in Ronin and The Professional, but I got all swoony over his super secret service soldier in Godzilla. He just flat got the job done, you know? He could save me from a mutated iguana ANYTIME.

What about you? Any non-traditionally gifted guys you'd want on your romance cover?

Lemme Guess

2008-11-02T20:41:00.000-08:00

He's an 80's detective who had to save a murder witness from drowning when the mobsters broke into her house at night and chased her off a pier in her nightie and now he's trying to cop a feel, right?

Hey, it makes as much sense as swans living in the ocean.

Truly...

2008-10-30T20:41:00.000-07:00

...the scariest picture I could find.

Happy Halloween!

I Am A Sucker With A Capital Suck

2008-10-29T06:24:00.000-07:00

Meet the newest member of the family.

My daughter has wanted a dog of her own for a long time. Mazie the diva is really more my dog than anything, my son has his lizards, and my husband has us. And Beth has been a very dependable, mature girl, who keeps her room clean and her grades up. She works hard, so we told her she could adopt a dog.

Of course, what she really wants is a lawn ornament that will put up with her snuggling whenever she wants, but there are dogs who are good for that. Her French club does a community service project every year, which is to help the local shelter with their big adoption day. Perfect opportunity for her to get to know the dogs and choose, right?

Except she chooses a GOLDEN RETRIEVER. We live in a townhouse. True, we're saving to move, but for now you cannot take a step without tripping over this animal. And Rolls (that's her name, have no idea why, except it makes me think of cinnamon rolls and now I get hungry every time I tell her to move) wants to be loved. Every flippin' minute. Mazie's life has changed considerably; she hasn't figured out how to outmanuever Rolls yet, and has received a tail slap in the face a few times.

Really, she's a very sweet dog, who already adores Beth and loves the rest of us. She's patient with the yappy diva terrier, and Lord can that dog eat. But here's the kicker.

She's 11 years old. She's very healthy, and is fairly spry, although stairs aren't her favorite thing. Beth and I talked about a dog's usual lifespan, and how Rolls is getting close. Beth is in high school now, and only has a couple of years before college. My daughter is a very social animal- how is she going to care for an elderly dog when she's in an apartment with roommates, a full load of classes, and the parties and road trips college usually calls for?

Oh, that's right. That's what suckers like me are for.

I Put On Heels For This?

2008-10-26T14:17:00.000-07:00

From my post at Enduring Romance:

Yes, I'm double-posting. It's my blog and I'll plagiarize if I want to.

I don’t have a review up because I made a big mistake- I bought this book, loved the blurb, loved the first few pages, and loved the ending. Yes, I peeked. Sue me. So I thought it would be perfect to review today.

Except, the book was ultimately a disappointment. Not exactly a wall-chucker, but a frustrating near miss. I won’t go into detail, because it’s just unique enough that you would recognize it and I don’t want to slam anyone. I will tell you that it is a historical, with one of my favorite plots. I must marry Bachelor #1, but I love Bachelor #2…or do I?

The characters were engaging and different, and the storyline was interesting, but it fell where I find most historicals go plop. The, you know, intimate scenes. Tea and crumpets. Regency hula.

If the characters are married, and learning to love each other while consummating, fine. Love it. Got no problem with it. Even if our heroine is a widow who knows very well what she’s about, I can at least understand that. But a virginal young miss who knows very well that her reputation is truly all she has? You just lost me.

Historical writers have to walk a fine line- you have to do enough research to make it believable, but there will always be some reader screeching that those kind of wine glasses weren’t used until 20 years later, moron! I understand the frustrations of appealing to modern readers while staying true to history, but this one thing I can’t swallow.

How, precisely, does a typical sheltered young girl, who has been protected from the exact details of sex, who has probably at some point been told to “lie back and think of England,” decide that hiking up her skirt OUTSIDE ON THE GRASS is perfectly fine? I can accept that said young miss got carried away, and can straighten her dress with nary a stain and go back to the house unseen. What I can’t accept is that, without benefit of marriage or instruction beyond a gossiping servant, is that she can on second tryst become a skilled and enthusiastic…er, performer of certain type of crumpet-making, if you catch my drift.

I can't make the leap that a girl not known for flaunting herself or fighting authority can suddenly be not just okay with that kind of intimacy but actively pursue it. Turned a really, really good story into a disappointment. Sort of like dressing up for dinner with your husband to find out he's taking you to Cracker Barrel.

Say It With Me

2008-10-23T19:48:00.000-07:00

Here's to a much better weekend!

Things I Sometimes Wonder

2008-10-21T20:23:00.000-07:00

If someone knocked a vampire's teeth out, how would he eat?

If I'm 44 and very, very sure I don't want any more kids, why is there no switch to throw to jump-start menopause?

When a car pulled up next to me blasting loud enough to be heard in the next county, I couldn't help but notice the lyrics. It was someone screaming the alphabet. Yes, the literal alphabet. A-A-A-a-a-a, B-B-B-b-b-b, C-C-C-c-c-c, it throbbed. Does this mean we're in store for a new kids' educational show called Sesame Hood?

Would Cookie Monster push chocolate chips in front of Hooper's Store?

Will Christmas toy shelves be full of Pimp Me Elmo?

Why do I always buy two bags of candy "just in case" when I haven't had a trick-or-treater for 3 years?

Never mind, I know the answer to that one. Go about your business.

Lemme Ask You Something...

2008-10-19T15:16:00.000-07:00

Does first person do it for you? In romance, I mean. I just posted my review of Michele Lang's NETHERWOOD over at Enduring Romance (link on sidebar, awesome book BTW) and I believe I made some snarky comment about how reading first person POV in love scenes made me feel like I was trapped in a booth at Denny's with the other girls from the office who were totally oversharing.

I don't know why, but third person interests me. First person embarrasses me. I guess I'm okay with spying on you, just don't call me and tell me about it, 'kay?

I tend not to like first person all that much anyway, so maybe it's just an extension of that particular prejudice. I like to be in as many heads as the story has; the whole Nora Roberts head-hopping thing has never bothered me. But I have read some first person stories that were done really well. I just don't like the bouncy-bouncy with "I shivered as he stroked my protuberances."

What say you?

Starship Troopers

2008-10-13T16:47:00.000-07:00

I love a good space opera. From Star Trek to Serenity, I've always loved reading, and watching, stories set in the stars. Even though there will be butt-ugly aliens, political intrigue, daring escapes and swoony romance, these stories always seem to be about one thing: the human condition.

Things in space don't seem to be that different from things here on Earth, except that Earthlings are universally reviled. We're weak, young, arrogant, carbon-based bags of water that are far beneath the notice of superior species- but those species wrestle with the same things we do.

One thing I always appreciated about Star Trek: it was hopeful. We didn't push the button; we didn't drop the bomb. And I personally love the fact that network honchos were worried about the original Trek's diversity, but the public didn't march in protest as was feared. We all loved the crew, even the Russian. I hate that female writers like Dorothy Fontana had to use her initials, D.C., to get scripts to air, but at least she still got to write.

And of course, there are plenty of stories that have nothing whatsoever to do with Earth- but they still have our challenges. Vonda McIntire is a personal fave of mine; who do you like to read (or watch) when you feel planet-bound?

My Weekend

2008-10-10T06:12:00.000-07:00

Celebrating my father's birthday this weekend, complete with chips, queso, tostadas, and birthday cake and ice cream.

Diet Pepsi totally cancels that out, right?

Why I Love December Quinn

2008-10-07T21:18:00.000-07:00

She wrote this awesome post, which led to me writing, and deleting, a huge comment. Rather than bleat all over her blog, I thought I’d write my own post.

December mentioned actors- actors who stump for candidates, specifically- and expect us to believe they somehow know more about the issues than the little people in flyover country. I got news for them. They don’t know anymore than anyone else. They just have a whole lot more money, which makes my blood boil when they pontificate about the needs of the poor. Come juggle my finances for awhile, Master Thespian. What gets me is how pissy some of them get when they are challenged. Why, don’t you know who I am? I am creative and talented and feel deeply about the deep things of the world. I’ve talked to actual scientists and been filmed while I felt my deep feelings in some third-world sinkhole. Celebrate me!

But even though I’d love to tell them to shut it, they are American citizens. (And I’m not talking about celebrities who are European, or live full time in Europe because it’s so much more civilized. Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass what Europeans think of us.) Except for Wesley Snipes, they pay their taxes. They have the right to hold, and express, any opinion they please.

I remember Tim Robbins protesting the Iraq war, which he has a right to do. When people starting telling him they would no longer see any of his movies because of his views, he said there was a “cold wind blowing across the country” and the First Amendment was in jeopardy. Excuse me, Tim, but no it isn’t.

The First Amendment refers to freedom from the government censoring speech. His kids weren’t taken away. He wasn’t forced from his home. He can not only work in Hollywood, but he’s rather celebrated there. Even though I think the last movie he did was Zathura a few years ago. He can take out a front page ad in the Times telling his views; that is his right.

But it’s my right to think he’s a self-important gasbag. And if he creeps me out enough with his various political stances, or if not the opinion itself, how he expresses it, I also have the right to stay away from the theatre. I am not censoring him. The First Amendment guarantees freedom of speech, not freedom from every possible consequence.

What I think celebrities don’t realize is that their views aren’t necessarily what grate; it’s the I Know More Than You, You Pathetic Mouth Breathing Knuckle Dragger attitude. From what I’ve seen this election season, it’s not limited to TV’s talking heads. Which I guess only proves the point that actors do have influence.

On The Clear Understanding That This Kind Of Thing Can Happen

2008-10-05T21:53:00.001-07:00

My daughter and I watched The King and I yesterday. Oh, how big is my love for Yul Brenner! Vengeful Pharaoh, magnificent gunfighter, or rogue robot, I adored him. The King of Siam is probably my favorite Brenner role, largely because of the Shall We Dance number. He is arrogance and innocence, a stubborn boy and a powerful man. And when he pins Deborah Kerr with that intense stare, and reaches for her waist very slowly- swoon. That moment is more romantic, more breathtaking, and frankly, hotter than the last eighty-five romances I’ve read. Sometimes I think we’ve lost those beautiful moments in our preoccupation with thundering breastplates and pebbled nubbins and moisture.

Shall we dance?

What Do Horses Think?

2008-10-03T06:31:00.000-07:00

"HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. Somebody pinch me. Scratch that, somebody slap me. Get me out of this nightmare! She's dressed me in bright pink. And silver. And- are those garters she's put on my hooves? Lady, not even Barbie rides horses in heels. She has tiny boots like any sane pers- oh, no. Please no. She's not going to try to ride me, is she? Even sidesaddle, in that skirt she'll wind up sticking to the saddle. Look, one of you humane people out there- do a poor beast a favor. Just shoot me."

Have You Noticed?

2008-09-30T19:43:00.000-07:00

It seems wherever I go, I'll find a book rack, and there will be some romances on it. Gas stations, grocery stores, hotel lobbies, you name it. I've started to see romance everywhere.

Brick and mortar stores have HUGE sections of romance, of course, but have you seen WalMart lately? The ones here have a big, big selection- from HQ categories to single title. I like to think it's because the worse the world seems, the more you need Happy Ever After.

What do you think? Is there any one reason for the profusion of romances?

Don’t Try To Breathe My Rare Special Air

2008-09-28T14:54:00.000-07:00

I got this letter the other day, from an earnest young woman named Katie. She said, “…we have just taken a closer look at your profile. It turns out you’re more special than any of us imagined!” I could have told her that.

She went on to plead with me to keep this all a secret, but you’re my special friends. I’m sure it will be all right. “There has existed for many years an exclusive association, a secret society, of some of the world’s most famous and powerful people. These include renowned actors and musicians, leading scientists and intellectuals, self-made entrepreneurs and artists, even some of the rare genuine astrologers and psychics.” Of course. Because those people HATE attention from the press.

This association has uncovered shockingly powerful secrets; that lead to prosperity, love, happiness, and total peace of mind. Secrets which they share only amongst themselves, and- what do you know? They analyzed my profile! Katie tells me that my hidden talents must be phenomenal for the members to select me!

I have been chosen to receive their book, Greatest Kept Secrets, absolutely free. How wonderful of them. And what happened for Katie can happen for me- she won when she gambled; she knew what other people were thinking; she started an incredibly successful business; she gained a photographic memory; and eliminated all addictions and bad habits.

Now, everyone wants to be her friend. She is the center of attention. But the best part? She is wanted by all men, including her husband. She, of course, has eyes only for him. She can play the piano and paint with no training, too! She can predict the future AND heal people. Goodness, but she must be busy. And I can certainly see why you’d want to keep healing disease to yourself.

When analyzing my profile, they discovered something else- I’m about to enter Cycle Two. That’s why the association is contacting me now. It’s all very exciting, but I’m afraid I shall have to pass. Why did they use the mail when they could have just contacted me telepathically? Sad waste of funds, that. Sorry, but I have standards, people.

There's Something A Little Freaky Here

2008-09-23T18:09:00.001-07:00

I just don't understand politics these days. Even with four-star scandals, romantic peccadilloes, and late night comic routines there used to be a certain respect for the presidency. Now?

Sarah Palin Action Figure!

John McCain Plushie!

Half Naked Soap Opera Stars in Obama Underwear!

I will admit that I kind of want the Sarah Palin action figure. But honestly, why all the debates and concerns over experience and foreign policy and Presidential Form when we the people think this is the way to put forward a candidate for the highest office in the land?

And is that actress on the right holding basketballs? Just asking.

Get Off My Back!

2008-09-22T06:30:00.000-07:00

You have no power over me, evil Coke fairy!

Just a quick note to celebrate that I have been clean and sober, NO COCA COLA, for 2 weeks.

And my family deserves whatever their hearts desire for living with an angry, snarling, sugar-deprived demon.

Now if I could just do the same with brownies...

Happy Friday!

2008-09-19T06:25:00.000-07:00

I've started a new job, and so have been rather busy this week. I'll leave you with this:

It's That Time Again!

2008-09-16T20:43:00.000-07:00

There's not much time until the frenzy of Christmas shopping begins, so I thought I'd get a jump on it from my favorite gift extravaganza, The Harriet Carter Catalog.

A laser alarm clock, how fun! And practical. The alarm won't shut off until you hit the bullseye. Since most people can't even see until a shower and a cup of coffee, you're sure to be familiar with your neighbors when they come a knockin'!

Of course, Christmastime can also mean colds and flu. This clever and attractive tissue box makes sneezes and wheezes galore when dispensing your Kleenex! You'll be so comforted in your illness when mocked by fake respiratory distress.

Don't forget the holiday parties! The Season of Love and Giving will shine when your guests can help themselves to hors d'oerves by removing a spike impaled in a tiny body.

With all these bargains, you're sure to have a little change leftover for yourself. When you put your money in this fanny pack, it lets you know the deposit has been made by a cacophony of toots! There's just no better way to say, "I'm worth it!"

Only 100 shopping days left!

I Have A Question...

2008-09-14T17:04:00.000-07:00

...about Michael Kors' Spring 2009 collection. Why does the guy who designed these:

have the right to tell Project Runway contestants they have no taste?

Authors Behaving Criminally

2008-09-11T17:46:00.000-07:00

ABC news had this story yesterday morning. It concerns a young 21-year-old woman, Alex Firestone, who has basically had to be mom for her 5 siblings, one of them autistic, for the last SEVEN YEARS. She did this because her mother went on a short trip, and never returned. Her mother also conveniently cleaned out the family's bank account before she left. Alex never heard from her mother again.

She took a chance on an internet search, knowing that her mom was a struggling author. She typed in the title of one of her mom's old stories, and there popped up a site for romance author Sandee McCann. New name, same picture. Her mom, now going by Sandee, had apparently struck up a friendship with some man in England, and moved in with him. She started a fairly successful career as a romance novelist under the new name.

Sandee McCann claims that the man she left, Alex's stepfather and the father of her other five children, was abusive and controlling, and she had no choice but to leave. She says that she tried multiple times to contact her children, but her ex blocked all her attempts to communicate.

Alex disputes that theory, saying that she had quit school to take care of her siblings and was home all day. She was the one who picked up the daily mail, and never once got a letter or card from Sandee.

Now that you're up to speed, here's my question: Many of those who left comments on the ABC website wanted everyone to boycott Sandee McCann's books. In fairness, I don't know any of these people. I know that abused spouses go through terrible soul-destroying madness, but I have serious doubts about Ms. McCann's claims. If her ex was abusive, why leave the kids in his care? If she was so isolated and cut off from any money, how could she strike up a friendship with a man she felt comfortable enough to move in with, and grab enough money to go to Europe? After becoming so successful, why not hire a lawyer to insist on her rights? Her ex and her kids are in poverty. She'd have had a chance.

I've always felt that how an author behaves shouldn't necessarily affect his/her sales; but I'll be honest. I've never bought, or read, Sandee McCann's books; after this, I'm not likely to. Do you think any author's personal life should be a deciding factor for a buyer? Or are there levels? An author getting snotty on a blog is one thing- this? For me, at least, it's quite another.

Gad, We're Hard To Please

2008-09-09T20:11:00.000-07:00

I read a review of Jayne Ann Krentz’s new one under her Jayne Castle name, Dark Light. This is on my TBR list, as are all of Ms. Krentz’s stories. The reviewer and many of her commenters stated that they liked her books in spite of the fact that they were all the same- the plot and characters do all have a striking similarity. But the stories are good enough that the familiar points are comforts rather than irritants.

I have to admit that’s the very reason I love her stuff; I pretty much know what I’m going to get, and her stories hold up after several reads. Does that say something bad about us as readers? We’re always whining that we want something new, new, new. More vampires! More vampires! Gimme, gimme, gimme! But, ew, now they’re all starting to bore me and –ooh! Look! A shiny new Regency!

We bleat about the death of originality. But then we turn around and reward sameness because it’s soothing.

What about you? Do you have comfort reads?

The Mighty HQ Strikes Again

2008-09-07T17:59:00.000-07:00

I love the HQ rack at the bookstore. It's a treasure trove of Saturday afternoon entertainment.

Montana Royalty

Otherwise known as: Subtlety is for Losers!

Bodyguard to the Bride

Maybe they should have included the actual bride in this one. I’m wondering if he’s looking for her or looking for a dressing room.

The Night Serpent

Is ‘night serpent’ a new euphemism for ‘trouser snake?’

The Desert King

And what do you know…one I like. The internet picture doesn’t do it justice. Look for it in a bookstore. I’d like a different hairstyle on him, but this cover is really pretty. It looks as if it’s done in watercolors; misty and iridescent. A somewhat classier throwback to the old clinch covers, it looks as lush and exotic as the title.

What? I can be nice, too, y’all. Geez.

Friday...

2008-09-05T07:16:00.000-07:00

Have a great weekend, everyone, and remember to hide the bodies!

Now That I Think About It, I Don't

2008-09-03T17:56:00.001-07:00

(Image from Funnyjunk.com)

I recently read a story in an anthology that had a very familiar trope- the heroine at the altar with the Wrong Man, about to pledge her life away, when the hero bursts in and stops it.

That scene has always bugged me. If she's marrying the villain to save said hero, or sacrificing herself for the good of her family, I can take it. If it's a marriage of convenience, so much the better. That's one of my favorite historical romance scenarios- it ALWAYS turns into a love match, even if she had mad warm feelings for someone else before exchanging rings.

But what I can't take is a modern woman who actually goes to all the trouble and expense of a wedding- even hastily thrown together affairs are a bother- when she knows she doesn't love this guy. She didn't have an ill-advised trip to Vegas. She wasn't doing Jello shots and woke up with a new hubby. She, with a clear mind and clear intent, bought a gown and flowers and sent invitations to her family and now stands there, ready to give her life to this man.

Because she's pregnant? No. Because she wants to build a home with him? No. Because he turns her on? Again, no. Because she loves him? Absolutely not.

It's because the man she really loves didn't step up to the plate. For whatever reason, he fell off the white horse and so she falls back on Plan B. Or Man B, if you will.

I can't stand this. It's insulting. I've known some women who were desperate to marry, but to intentionally defraud some poor slob so she can say, "I'm MRS. Lovelywife, and I have more to go home to now than my cat, so suck on it you single slimes?"

That's not a woman I want to know, not a heroine I want to root for. And I don't care if Man B didn't really love her, and was marrying for the wrong reasons as well. These stories always try to let the heroine off the hook that way. This girl was ready to take meaningful vows one second and, because her true flame came bursting through the door yelling "I object," the next second she dropped the poor schmuck she was going to love, honor, and cherish and rode off into the sunset with someone else.

Quite frankly, if I was Man A, I wouldn't trust that woman.

On another page entirely, anyone up for some fun? Writtenwyrdd is having a contest to celebrate her 2nd blogiversary. Hop on over.

Devious Couplehood

2008-09-01T21:36:00.000-07:00

Hope everyone had a great Labor Day, for those who celebrated. My hubby actually had the day off, which floored me. Working in retail means extra holiday pay, but never time off. With the buzz and busyness of back-to-school madness, we haven't had much wink wink nudge nudge time, y'know?

Stealing time with my husband has become just that- stealing. I feel like we're the teenagers trying to desperately to neck on the couch without getting caught. The kids are old enough now to stay up as late as we do, and with the computer and the PS2 in the same room the loveseat is... not as advertised.

We've smooched in the kitchen, but again, with two teens the kitchen is constantly under attack. "Get a room!" they cry. We reply that, technically, ALL the rooms are our rooms, but it doesn't seem to get us anywhere.

The shower might seem an interesting solution, no? I mean, saving water is all environmentally friendly and I'm all for that. When it benefits me. But we have reached the age, or girth, where the contortions required are an iffy prospect at best, especially terrifying when slippery.

So why not the bedroom, you ask? Seems like the perfect place, and there's a lock on the door. Simple:

SHE OWNS THE BED. If we toss her off, she'll wait until she thinks we're not paying attention and then she'll sneak back up again. One cold nose in a sensitive area is enough to throw off the groove.

If we lock her out, she whines and howls and scratches at the door. Easy enough to ignore if you're dedicated, but the lovely teenagers are now smart enough to know what's going on when the dog's banished to the hall, and they giggle. And giggle. And that? Buzzkill, folks. Major.

We seriously need a nice hotel room.

ETA: Anyone want to have some fun? Writtenwyrdd is having a contest to celebrate her 2nd blogiversary! Go over and check it out.

Maybe You Can Explain It To Me

2008-08-29T06:09:00.000-07:00

I love fiction. I've read all kinds of books, of course, but fiction has always reigned for me. Writing fiction, however, has been stalled. I don't have writer's block, I have writer's brick wall.

So imagine my surprise when I was jotting a few thoughts down in the journal, on parenting, of all things- and I decided to start typing it up. Suddenly thoughts are flooding me. I can barely type fast enough to get it all.

Could I be actually writing a non-fiction book? And do I qualify to give anybody advice? I have no alphabet soup after my name. I do have two pretty great kids, though. Maybe you can explain it to me.

Or maybe you can explain why my dog can whine and moan and lie on her back and paw the air like she's saying CAN THE POOR, POOR DOGGIE GET A LITTLE BIT OF AFFECTION FROM YOU, PLEASE and when I reach down to give her the begged-for belly rub she springs up to sniff her butt to check if it's still there. Whichever is easier.

In Which I Lay A Big Smooch On Alan Rickman

2008-08-26T20:25:00.001-07:00

Cute Guy Wednesday features a somewhat unorthodox hottie...

Was there anyone who wasn't fascinated by Die Hard's Hans Gruber, the ultimate suave villain? I loved it when Bonnie Bedelia said, "After all your posturing, all your speeches, you're nothing but a common thief."

"I am an exceptional thief, Mrs. McClane. And since I'm moving up to kidnapping, you should be more polite. "

Even when the rest of the movie sucked- and Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves did- he shined. The Sheriff of Nottingham was Snidely Whiplash on acid, but his over-the-top antics still made beautiful sense. It was also a joy to watch.

"That's it then. Cancel the kitchen scraps for lepers and orphans, no more merciful beheadings, and call off Christmas."

[to a wench] You. My room. 10:30 tonight. [to another wench] You. 10:45... And bring a friend.

Of course, he wasn't always a villain. I don't know many women who didn't absolutely swoon when Col. Brandon carried Marianne home, and waited outside her sickroom door in Sense and Sensibility.

"What can I do?"

"Colonel Brandon, you have done so much already..."

"Give me an occupation, Miss Dashwood, or I shall run mad."

Any man who could make me feel for Severus Snape while still despising him has got Mad Skillz.

By Grabthar's hammer...

I love that man.

Visions Of The Eighties Dance In My Head

2008-08-24T13:26:00.000-07:00

OMG you guys! To the Max! I mean, like, it's totally bitchin', ya know?

Fer sure!

Old Ladies Rule

2008-08-22T07:02:00.000-07:00

I just finished washing up after fixing my family a hearty (read: ventricle slamming) breakfast in honor of my son's 15th birthday. Funny how different things make me feel young, and different things make me feel old.

My own birthdays don't really affect me much anymore. I went into a spiraling depression on number 38; all the Things I've Never Done loomed very large. So too did the Things I'll Never Do- not that I wanted to become a ballet dancer or go to the Olympics or be in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Putting things into the file marked "that ship done sailed" hurt more than I thought it would. I got my groove back around age 40. There truly is a freedom that comes with new dreams.

The older my kids get, the older I feel. I find myself telling old stories more, you know the drill: When I Was Your Age, We Had To Walk To School Uphill In The Snow, We Ate Dirt And We Were Thankful, etc. My children never tire of hearing about things they did as babies. It's like they need to fill up that time gap from birth to when their own memories take over. As much as I enjoy it, it blows my mind. I still have trouble saying I did anything 15 years ago, much less I gave birth 15 years ago.

I still get angry that I've been cheated on the wonderful times I could be having with my mom. There's so much she could talk me through right now, so much we could share. I hate cancer.

But there's an odd sort of hope, too- I am very firmly PARENT, but more and more becoming FRIEND. I have so much fun with my kids. Quite frankly, the older they get the more interesting they are. And I'm looking forward to being an old lady with unholy joy. Old ladies can get away with anything. Demand certain seating, tell someone off, pat the occasional young man's tight backside, whatever. Old ladies can do it all.

And as much as I love my children, I'm dreaming of the things I'll be able to do when they're gone. Or at least at college.

Victoria's Secret? Volleyball!

2008-08-20T07:07:00.000-07:00

I am an Olympic fanatic. The opening ceremonies are must-see for me. Even sports like archery, shooting, and trampoline (yes! trampoline!) will do for a late-night insomnia session. But I've noticed a disturbing trend lately in a few of the summer games, namely track and volleyball:

Now I understand why volleyball has suddenly become a prime time hit.

Have you seen what the men wear to play volleyball and run track? The shorts are so long they're practically pedal pushers! They still seem to be able to run fast and spike balls. I just can't grasp why wearing dental floss undies would make it easier to jump and sprint. One would think the mega-wedgie alone could cause major problems. I know I would miss the ball coming straight at me while I was dislodging my Nike Swoosh.

Do I have a point or am I a hopeless old person who's just a JELUS LOOSER?

Chapter 33: In Which Our Heroine Is Menaced By Angry Drag Queens

2008-08-15T07:20:00.000-07:00

I’ve mentioned this incident a couple of times, and someone asked me to elaborate. When I was in college at North Texas State University, now known as U. of North Texas, I stayed in the musician/actor/artist’s dorm. Bruce Hall was a crumbling mansion with no air conditioning and a dozen ways to smuggle in contraband. We had slackers, divas, and a little more than our share of those in Alternative Lifestyles. Bruce’s official motto was The Last Dorm to Conform, but we knew it as Bruce: Where Men Are Men and Sheep Are Nervous.

Anyhoodle, some of my friends decided to go clubbing in Dallas and made me go with them. I wondered how much fun I could actually have in a gay bar, but whatever. The first club was pretty cool- there were men and women, straights too- and I got propositioned by a beautiful woman in the bathroom. I don’t know why I’m still slightly proud of that. Probably because I’m a pathetic attention ho at times.

At the next club, they knocked a few people out of the way to get the perfect table. When I asked why, they just smiled and said, “You’ll see.” I did. The music started, which sent the guys into a flurry of primping; hair perfect, skinny ties adjusted, eyebrows pasted down. When the drag show performers took the tiny stage, they were in heaven and I was depressed. It’s bad enough to be intimidated by another woman, y’know? A million dollar’s worth of surgery couldn’t make me look as good as those guys. One guy, Bart, had his own hair grown out, no wig. It was glorious. At this point, my friends were practically drooling. Cheerleaders walking past a construction site wouldn’t get this reaction.

After the show, a few of the showguys sat at our table. In yet another example of why no one should ever drink, I said, “Let me ask you something. You all are Men, right?” I had infused the word with the proper amount of macho pride.

“Yes!”

“And you love men?”

“Yes!”

“And the men you love most look like women?”

You know those movies where there’s a party with really loud music and people chattering and the characters have to shout to be heard and one person says something very stupid and suddenly the music stops with that record-scratching noise and everyone stops talking and stares at her? Yeah, it was that kind of moment.

The two friends I had left hustled me out with declarations of how much I’d been drinking and how I wasn’t too bright in the first place. They never took me out again, which was okay with me, although Bart did give me some good advice on conditioner.

Oh, Whatever. I Hate Titles

2008-08-13T08:15:00.000-07:00

It's a bummer of a week over here. My son's beloved bearded dragon, Drake, died Monday.

I know, I know. Most of us mammal lovers will say Come On. It was a lizard. A lizard that cost $70, from a reputable pet store. But for my herpetologist, that little reptile was his world. He worked very hard to get it; we made him do all his research on what it needed to live, habitat, feeding, etc. When he finally did get Drake he was so conscientious about when the basking light was to go on and off he set the alarm for 6 am. In the summer. He was a positive demon about cleaning the $120 terrarium- the rest of his room didn't get that kind of attention. I heard him say wash your hands before you touch him, please so many times that I wondered where my messy, procrastinating teenager had gone.

From what information we could get, some lizards are very picky about their diet. But they will turn their pointed noses up to the point of starvation, which is what Drake did. We had just bought a different food source and vitamins and what not, prepared to force feed him, when he went South.

My son held him when he died. We buried him under the irises off the front patio, and Lord but there are times when being a mother sucks. Since he's a young man now, he's past crying on my shoulder. Since he's a carbon copy of his father, he won't talk much. My main worry is that he'll blame himself- but there's not much he could have done. He worked as hard for that animal as I worked for him. Thank God the salamander we got from a kiosk in the mall for $30 is still going strong.

If This Is Hollywood's Idea Of Hot I Need To Poke A Stick In My Eyes

2008-08-10T12:48:00.000-07:00

So I decided to find out what the fuss is with the Twilight books by Stephenie Meyer. I'm about halfway through the first one and...I don't get it. Seriously, I don't get it.

Granted, I am not exactly in the target audience. Teen angst ceased to thrill me about ten years ago, and there's only so much she likes him and he asked her to the prom and did he kiss you OMG! OMG! I can take. The main character finding interesting ways to bend the truth around her dad so she can go out with the 'bad boy' while still getting A's on her math tests and term papers gave me hives. Probably because my own daughter is about this age, and it started to scare the crap out of me.

I think these books are termed YA, and aimed there, so I don't think I can fairly compare it to vamp romance novels. But having read my fair share in the past five years, I can't help but think I've seen this all before. And I have, in...almost every vamp romance novel I've read in the past five years. Just take them out of their 30's and shove them in high school, and viola! Megahit.

The book isn't bad, per se, but it isn't new. And I don't think the movie is going to help matters for me. To wit:

Good Grief. Okay, really? This is what passes for hot these days? Yes, I know that the vamp, Edward, is supposed to be pale but this dude would put a fish's belly in the Artic in the winter to shame. Or the current state of my legs, take your pick. Sexy, tousled hair is one thing; small animal got caught in it is another. And Edward's described as having dark circles under his eyes, but I don't think that comes from L'Oreal eyeliner. I want to know what shade his lipstick is, though. I've got a dress that would look great with it.

What gets me is that actor played Cedric Diggory in the Harry Potter movies, and he was all kinds of cute. They had to actually work to make him look this bad. Considering that Edward is misogynistic in the extreme, moody, borderline stalkerish and takes emo to the horrifying limit, he'd have to be waaaay hotter than that to make me swoon.

Kids today. What are you gonna do?

The Best Romance Hero Ever

2008-08-07T19:50:00.000-07:00

This guy is definitely the best hero I’ve ever seen. He isn’t an Alpha male;

He isn’t a fireman, a cop, or a Navy Seal;

He isn’t a cowboy, a pirate, or an eligible Duke;

He isn’t a Greek businessman, a powerful Sheikh, or a ruthless Italian millionaire;

And he certainly isn’t a shape shifter, demon hunter, or vampire.

But he has worked jobs he didn’t enjoy for 20 years to provide for his family;

He has loved his daughter and shown her the way a true man treats a lady;

He has overcome his natural ‘men don’t show emotion or affection’ to give his son both;

And he has made his wife feel important, wanted, sexy, smart, and loved- so, so loved.

Waking next to him is like turning the next page of the greatest love story ever written, and for once, I am the heroine of the tale.

He’s my hero, and today we celebrate the 21st year of our happily ever after.

Happy Anniversary, Gary. I love you.

I Think I'd Re-title This...

2008-08-06T06:46:00.000-07:00

...to Allergic to the Were-Chihuahua.

Books: Dead Or Undead?

2008-08-04T06:06:00.000-07:00

My daughter went to the release party for the new Twilight book, Breaking Dawn, Friday night at Borders. She had a blast. There were total strangers bonding over character dissections, the overpriced iced coffee in the cafe, and whether or not they thought the movie would be any good.

There were also frenzied groupies screaming in the parking lot. "Oh My God, this is the best book EVAAAHHHH!"
"SECONDED!"
"WOOOOHOOOO!"

She and her best friend had so much fun, and have had their noses stuck in the pages all weekend. Which leads me to ask:

Is the printed page truly going the way of the dodo, as has often been prophesied? If it is, then how could a book warrant this kind of fangurl squeeing? Especially from the text message-OMG-LOL-will not capitalize my i's-generation, who supposedly have the attention span of a gnat?

I will admit I do not understand people who hate reading. I'm sure they have their reasons; one friend of mine said it was because she couldn't take just sitting there. She got anxious if she just sat for too long. Nevermind that she and I could have an Antonio Banderas marathon with no problem.

But if Twilight and the Harry Potter phenomenon and even the Left Behind series (they had to build a 2,500 square foot warehouse just for the release of the last book) are any indication, books aren't going anywhere soon. Maybe it's just with all the competition, they have to be better.

And Boy, Was She Good

2008-08-01T07:11:00.000-07:00

Happy weekend, everybody!

Now I Feel Stupid

2008-07-30T06:58:00.000-07:00

I read a great book over vacay- an anthology called My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding, edited by P.N. Elrod.

I love anthologies, mostly because I love short stories, mostly because I have what my daughter calls ADOSD- Attention Deficit OOO! Shiny! Disorder. Seriously, though, I rarely have big chunks of uninterrupted reading time, and something in me just rebels at stopping before I've reached The End.

Among others, this book had a Sherrilyn Kenyon Dark-Hunter story, a Jim Butcher Dresden Files, and an Elrod short about an Elvis impersonator who's just a little too good. Hilarious. Susan Krinard has a Kit and Olivia adventure that I just loved. She's built an alternate universe Victorian England where magical talents, like land and titles of the peerage, are entailed among the aristocracy. Kit turns into a Black Dog, a big hound once known for being the harbinger of death. They are detectives after a fashion, and I'll definitely be seeking more of these out.

My favorite story was by an author I hadn't heard of before. The Wedding of Wylda Serene was an absolute joy. The first line set the tone perfectly: "It has been said that God makes marriages, but the Devil plans weddings." At first there's nothing supernatural about this, just some stuffy Harvard old money men planning a granddaughter's wedding at the club. The narrator goes to pick up the groom at the airport, and describes him thusly:

"The sight of him, bronzed and blond, with steel blue eyes, perfect teeth, and a profile purloined from Michelangelo's David, filled my heart with a nauseating swirl of personal inadequacy and overpowering envy. In that moment I knew that no ordinary human being could ever see Miles Martial so much as behold him. There is a difference, as vast as it subtle.
"I also knew, in quick succession, that 1. I wanted to punch him in the face, for no other reason than because it was there. 2. Every man at the club would share my feelings."

I'll let you read the rest, don't want to spoil it for you. After I finished, I thought who is this...*searches for author bio* Esther Friesner? Nobody. Just the author of thirty-one novels and more than one hundred and fifty short stories, published all over the world, and, oh yeah. A NEBULA AWARD WINNER. I'm so observant about this business, don't you think?

Anyway, pick it up for a happy rainy Saturday. It's well worth it!

Vacation Update: I Love Pedicures

2008-07-28T08:08:00.000-07:00

I was soooooo wrong about the pedicure thing.

They do so much more than paint your toenails! I spent half an hour in a massage chair, with my feet in a mini-whirlpool with blue bath salts. This nice lady trimmed the nails, buffed off the callouses, dipped my feet in hot wax, which at first was YOWAIEE but the warmth seeped in all the way to the bone and when she peeled the wax off they were softer than a baby's behind, and THEN she massaged my calves (calfs?) before applying gold paint. Because I am a STAR, y'all. My daughter enjoyed hers, too, and it was a wonderful day of pampering for the girls.

My son and my husband went on a male bonding spree with home improvement, bowling, and reptiles. Specifically, this reptile:

A bearded dragon named Drake. Short for Draco. Get it? He's actually very cute, he isn't slimy, and he doesn't stink as much as the salamander does. He does, however, eat LIVE crickets. And can we catch them in the backyard? Of course not, you fool. This lizard must have special 'gut loaded' crickets that we must go buy at the pet store every 3-4 days. As well as veggies when he gets older, but not just any old salad greens that will upset his delicate reptile digestion. Argh. And I thought the dog was spoiled.

Speaking of whom, we didn't forget her. She got to ride in the car and went to the lake and chased varmints and came home so covered in lake debris she got sheared.

Don't feel too bad for her. I bought her a squeaky toy ferret and some snausages, which is gold in her book.

Peanut Butter Jelly Time

2008-07-21T07:24:00.000-07:00

We're not actually going anywhere for vacay (who could with these gas prices?) but the kids have got some cool things planned for this week. I think sunburns, head-shearing, and reptiles are included. I'll tell you all about it next Monday. Though if there are photos, I may have to burn them.

And check these guys out. I'm glad they can find a little PBJ time, too.

Just Get To It Already

2008-07-18T05:53:00.000-07:00

A discussion on character description at Romancing the Blog has me thinking about description in general.

I generally find it irritating.

I come from a theatre background, and I know the importance of a well-designed, well-dressed set. The audience can tell at one glance that they’re about to see something about the rich and famous, the used-to-be-rich, or adventures with Bubba and Billy Joe at the Dew Drop Inn.

I wonder if it’s that background that causes me to dislike excessive description. I’m used to seeing the set quickly, and getting right into the action. As beautiful as the house may be, I care more about the occupants.

Of course, a person’s house can say a lot about him or her. I certainly wouldn’t want to read, “The house was clean,” and that was it. But an immaculate house can mean one of two things: she just cleaned, knowing company was coming, or she’s an OCD clean freak. And that’s only going to come out in bits and pieces during the story, so why dump a bunch of visuals in one sitting?

I liked the movies well enough, but cannot read Tom Clancy without getting bored. He could take twenty pages to tell you about a paper clip. I just barely got through the beginning pages of Hardy’s Return of the Native- geez, that guy must have gotten paid for every gallon of ink he went through. The pastoral scenery was beautiful at first, but after awhile it’s just a hill, okay?

I think description works best when a place is seen through the eyes of a character, and everything comes through that filter. Depending on where we came from, what we’re used to, and what’s important to us, we’ll all have a different reaction to what we see. A poor man might be intimidated by the halls of a mansion; a new mother will spot potential baby-harming hazards; the aforementioned clean freak will notice any tiny bit of clutter. Which is why she’d never want to come to my house. *rimshot*

What about you? A tour guidebook or a snapshot?

I Love It When A Man's Transparent

2008-07-15T18:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, okay. Paranormals are just running out of ideas.

In the world of "The Sexth Sense," har har, the ghosts have apparently run out of people to haunt and are now trying to feel up the undead.

Random Monday Musings

2008-07-14T07:59:00.000-07:00

Some strange wriggly fish in my stream of consciousness this morning:

Rachel Ray's food really isn't that good.

Sitcoms suck. How did all these fat bald fools who can't manage to tie their shoes marry these hot women with 0% body fat even after three semi-adorable children? I want some older, wiser women who aren't stupid and desperate. I lust for the rant Julia Sugarbaker from Designing Women would have had after the Great Starlet Ladybits Flash-a-palooza last summer. And the only movie made from an old tv show I want to see is Picture This: Sicily, 1939.

My daughter and I want to become chocolate pushers in Hidden Valley.

Just once, I want a gorgeous, haunted, seductive, alpha male vampire to hear this from his chosen mate. "Hell, no, you can't bite me! Ew, gross!"

We should be able to move in September to an actual house with a fenced backyard and a garage and a driveway but why do all these freaking 3 bedroom houses only have 1.5 baths?!? Is another tub, or at least a shower, really too much to ask? Geez.

Happy Monday!

The Adventures of Grammar Girl And Spellcheck Boy

2008-07-11T06:31:00.000-07:00

Dear internet,

After seeing a trillion forty-nine sentences like, "I hope he doesn't loose this contest," and "UR a looser," may I enlighten you on a small fact?

LOSE: (looz) vb. destroy, to miss from a customary place, to suffer deprivation of, to fail to use, to fail to win or obtain, to fail to keep or maintain, to wander from, to get rid of.

LOOSE: (loos) vb. not rigidly fastened, free from restraint or obligation, not dense or compact in structure, not chaste, slack, not precise or exact.

You will notice, internet, that not only do the words have different meanings they have different pronounciations as well. That means they are not homonyms, so from now on you will stop getting a free pass. Please stop. Losers.

Sincerely,

Grammar Girl and Spellcheck Boy

More About Me, You Lucky Internet, You

2008-07-09T07:54:00.000-07:00

Because there's no better subject than me, you know. And not because I ran out of ideas and stole Alice's meme. Of course not.

Let's go to the Movies!

1. One that made you laugh: Too many to count, but I have to give a shout out to YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN. When Kenneth Mars says, “…following in his grandfather’s voodshteps.” “What?” “Voodshteps, voodshteps!” “Oh! Footsteps!” I still have a Depends moment.

2. One that made you cry: CASABLANCA. Humphrey Bogart may not have had traditional romantic good looks, but he loved her, dammit! He deserved so much more than he got. When he delivers the classic “Here’s looking at you, kid” line I get weepy.

3. One movie you loved when you were a child: ESCAPE TO WITCH MOUNTAIN. Two kids who have telekinetic powers and ran circles around adults? I was so there.

4. One you’ve seen more than once: Yes, I am that geek who has seen MONTY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL 247 times and can recite the whole thing. Nit!

5. One you loved, but were embarrassed to admit it: JUST ONE OF THE GUYS. Standard 80’s teen movie schtick, but I adored it.

6. One you hated: MOULIN ROUGE. I didn’t get what everyone was so darn thrilled with and I’d really like those two hours of my life back.

7. One that scared you: When I was 17, my parents had gone for the weekend. I decided to watch this horror flick I’d always heard about. I mean, I’d watched HALLOWEEN and CARRIE, so this movie couldn’t scare me, right? It was in black and white, for pity’s sake. PSYCHO certainly wouldn’t scare the crap out of me and make me mentally ill for the rest of the weekend and force me to bathe with the door wide open, curtain drawn back, dog leashed to the toilet, and biggest kitchen knife in one hand, would it? Nah.

8. One that bored you: Pink Floyd’s THE WALL. Liked the album, hated the movie. Yawn.

9. One that made you happy: THE SOUND OF MUSIC. I am a complete and total sucker for it. Julie Andrews, singing kids, and Christopher Plummer fighting off Nazis. And puppets. What more do you need?

10. One that made you miserable: SCHINDLER’S LIST. As far as I’m concerned that should be mandatory viewing for the entire world population.

11. One movie you weren’t brave enough to see: As it happens, the movie I actually did see. I was stupid enough to see a 5 o’clock matinee of POLTERGEIST by myself. There were about 6 people scattered about in the theater, and halfway through we were sitting in the same spot, clinging like old relatives.

12. One movie character you’ve fallen in love with: ONE?!? I can’t do that, I love too many! If pressed, though, I can probably say that in all his various movie appearances, THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA still gets me in sensitive places.

13. The last movie you saw: THE INCREDIBLE HULK, and I was enormously pleased. It had good action, good angst, but gave several respectful nods to the T.V. show, including a cameo by Lou Ferrigno! SO much better than the last one.

14. The next movie you hope to see: I’m going to be dragged to THE DARK KNIGHT. I love Christian Bale, and the first was very good, but seeing Heath Ledger will be sad. Plus he looks Cree. Pee.

Do the movie meme if you wish!

I'm A Bad American

2008-07-06T14:56:00.000-07:00

This 4th of July, we watched 1776 on TCM. I love that musical, and I felt the familiar stirring of national pride when the members of the Continental Congress signed the Declaration. Which is why my current thoughts are so sad. I don't really want to get political here. Frankly, I don't want to get political anywhere. So, without getting into specifics or issues, I'll simply say this. I'm thinking about...*whispers*...not voting this year.

Before everyone gets their Constitutional Tomatoes ready to throw, I know voting is every citizen's duty, as well as their right. That people fought, suffered, and died for me to have that right. And the suffragettes had to fight, in many instances, their own husbands so I could have the right to vote. My voice can be heard and if I don't vote I don't get to complain and blah blah blahbitty blah.

The problem is, for whom do you cast your vote when there is no one running you want to elect? I've never voted straight party line in my life, but it is frustrating when the person I was backing didn't win the primaries. What now? Party or even philosophy (liberal or conservative) will tell you Too. Bad. Vote for the one who won the primary or This Evil Guy from the other side might win! But that feels wrong too. I want to vote for somebody, not vote against somebody else.

And my citizenship fervor becomes as appealing as lukewarm coffee when it looks as if I'll be voting for the lesser of two evils. Sigh.

On the other hand, most of the people I'd really like to see in the job have way too much sense to get involved in that mess. I just wish there was an option on the ballot that read: None of the Above.

He’s Still Here

2008-07-01T20:34:00.000-07:00

If you read my old blog, you know how impressed I am with this guy.

Oh, the joy! Such depth! Such layers! Such range! But, not content with merely posing wet and shirtless, he's branched out.

Shagged out after Vegas weekend

Ticked at tattoo artist who forgot to spell out ‘Mom’

Contemplating new agent who will insist on full facial in contract

Making sure female model’s abs aren’t better than his

Trying to finish photo shoot before six-pack of Coors Light catches up with him

Smugly triumphant because Robyn kind of likes this one

Surely Shakespeare in the park can't be far behind. Or at least a Will Farrell comedy.

The Family Way

2008-06-29T20:29:00.000-07:00

Just finished re-reading some of Louis L'Amour's Sackett series. One thing I really admire about L'Amour: he can give you the flavor of down home speech without resorting to phonetic nightmare Hicksville. You'll find no character saying, "Wal, Ah figgered yew wuz out thar, cuz Ah smelt yer purty toilet water."

For those who aren't familiar with the Sacketts, they are a family of noble character, if not noble birth, in Tennessee. L'Amour has written about the first Sackett, in England in the 1700's (I think, don't have the book with me) coming to America, and most of the successive generations to the late 1800's. The main family traits are not backing away from any fight, following their honor code, and family loyalty. In the extreme. Any Sackett can call on another Sackett for help, even if the twice-removed cousins have never met. If you're family, you're taken care of.

I like family sagas; watching the generational ebb and flow. Romance is filled with them because families are guaranteed sequels. Any unattached siblings or cousins are automatic sequel fodder, especially if they proclaim they'll never marry. But they are also one area where romance tends to fall flat- when the couple who has been featured in a previous book appears, all is sunshine and light. I'm supposing no one wants to mess with the HEA, but I think an exploration of the happy couple after the wedding or the baby is interesting. I want to see how they're doing. I may want to be sure they'll make up after the fight, but I wouldn't mind witnessing the marital spat.

Lori Wick, a Christian inspirational writer, did a Western historical story where the heroine and hero married young and were separated. When they got back together, he was a Christian and she wasn't. But by the end of the book, the heroine hadn't changed her mind. I was sure we were going to get a salvation scene, but it never came and I was floored. The couple was referenced in another book, 20 years later. They were still happy together, but she was still unsaved. Very brave choice, and one I didn't see coming. I loved meeting the couple again; it certainly didn't ruin my enjoyment of the original tale.

What about you? Do you like reading about dynasties, royal or common?

Oh Good God

2008-06-27T08:40:00.000-07:00

In the middle of Get In Shape Summer, and I was idiotic enough to do Billy Blanks' Tae Bo workout yesterday.

Am sore. Can't move.

Have church picnic tomorrow with a jillion screaming children going down an inflatable water slide.

Pray for me. Or hold a pillow over my face, either one.

My Carbon Footprint Is An Eight And A Half Wide

2008-06-25T08:14:00.000-07:00

I think the Green movement is much like the Health movement; a lot of people talk about it but no one wants to do it. My family grew up recycling, using old things in new ways, composting, etc. My kids have been taught to save water when they brush their teeth and we are considering buying a hybrid car. But when I hear the current crop of zealots dissing me if I throw away a 3x5 card I have to fight the urge to tie the refrigerator door open and cackle maniacally.

Going Green is the hot new thing, but I’ve noticed I haven’t seen it in romances. Thank God. The minutiae of life is often glossed over in these stories- she did the dishes, he mowed the lawn- which is fine with me. I don’t think I could take a Mother Earth lecture while waiting for the first kiss.

Emma pushed away thoughts of Paul as she did her recycling, making sure that her paper, plastic, and aluminum were properly sorted. His handsome face had intruded on her mind so much that she forgot to turn off the water as she was washing her hands! Thank goodness her water heater was permanently set to 100 degrees, or she might even have taken more than a ten-minute shower!

A mention of Green, as long as it fit in the story, wouldn’t bother me. And if the hero is a carbon-emitting, SUV-driving, electricity waster and the heroine is a total Green guru who is horrified at her attraction to him, that would be okay too. I don’t normally mind if current sensibilities are adhered to; you rarely see any character in any book smoke, for example. You know I can’t stand reading about ripping open shiny foil packets in the middle of the action, but I would find it hysterical if the heroine woke up the morning after, noticed the three or four ripped shiny foil packets on the dresser, and smiled.

It isn’t the sentiment, it’s the PSA I can’t stand. I imagine the Green Mother will make her way into stories. If she wants to give me a gentle nudge, fine. But if she starts preaching, her book is getting hurled into the next landfill I can find.

Please Tell Me I Didn’t Just Hear That

2008-06-23T07:40:00.001-07:00

I’m not sure daytime television really needs Emmy awards. An Emmy is supposed to reward excellence in television. Daytime is, by many definitions, junk food. It’s like giving a James Beard award to Hostess for the Ding Dong.

But I watched some of the Daytime Emmys to make fun of the fashions, the only true reason for watching award shows, when the Emmy for Best Talk Show-Informative came up. They had to split talk shows into categories this year, Informative and Entertainment. I was remarking that TV was really bankrupt if they had so many shows they to make up more categories, when The Tyra Banks Show was nominated for Informative Talk Show. Tyra, informative? That officially marks the beginning of the apocalypse, right?

Now, I love Miss Tyra. I’ve got to love a woman who is not ashamed to be photographed eating a Twinkie during New York Fashion Week. My daughter and I are addicted to America’s Next Top Model, mostly because we know that after all the catfights, none of these women will ever be seen again. Tyra has accomplished one good thing, though- she champions the curvy girl every chance she gets.

Some magazine or other last year called her fat. Yeah, right. She’s fat. She may love her BBQ ribs, but that girl ain’t fat. I know what fat is. It’s in my mirror every time I can’t avoid a glance. But an angry Tyra yelled on her informative talk show, “Every woman who is built like me needs to tell those kind of people to KISS MY FAT *SS!” Number one, Tyra, please don’t lump yourself in with real fat people, but number two, I appreciate the sentiment. It’s about time that different body types are celebrated, especially in modeling and television and film.

She won an Emmy for that episode. That may be a tad unreal, but no one ever believes awards mean what they’re supposed to. What got me was her acceptance speech. She went on about how no one thought her show would last two weeks, but now it’s on the fourth season, and if you have a dream that no one else believes in you should tell them to, “Kiss your big, juicy, bootylicious,” and I changed the channel. Surely Tyra, who scolds the Top Model girls on their comportment, did not just accept her Emmy by telling people to kiss her big bouncy.

Hey, I said I liked her. I never said she was classy.

Teacher, Teacher

2008-06-19T08:47:00.000-07:00

Where did you learn about writing? We all learned the basics from school, of course, but I bet most of us couldn’t diagram a sentence today if our lives depended on it. Schoolhouse Rock was great for learning about subjects and predicates and fueling the romantic heart at a young age. “Mr. Morton was lonely…Mr. Morton was…”

I think I learned the most from reading. How wordsmiths put thoughts together; when I understood it, when I felt it, and when I didn’t. I always wrote stories, even if I kept them in my head, but I started seriously putting them on paper because I wasn’t finding exactly the kind of story I wanted to read.

When I decided to write romance, I hung around the Harlequin site. E-Harl was doing a number of community boards, frequented by newbies, unpublished, published, you name it. The boards were very dedicated to helping writers learn the basics. Along with the lessons, there were contests and flash fiction exercises and round robins and stories. Lots and lots of stories, written by people who just loved to tell them, knowing that these were probably never going to be in any actual book. In fact, they are all the property of Harlequin. We knew it was highly unlikely that HQN editors would look at them and scream, “Eureka! We’ve found the next Nora Roberts!” But we learned. And kept writing. It was a wonderful, supportive environment; once you made the initial plunge it was not at all intimidating to post there. I kind of miss those days.

Today I am blessed to listen in as blog buddies like Bernita and December talk about the craft. Opinions about the ‘rules’ are as different and varied as snowflakes, but what binds us all together is the need to share a story, and share it well. I’ve been thinking about starting a romance board where friends can get together and talk about stuff; give lessons we’ve learned and post stories and ideas that we know won’t darken an agent’s desk but we still love; celebrate after the victories and console after the rejections; anyone can post and give honest feedback but you have to be constructive. Snarking would be fine, but crushing would be out of the question. How it would differ from the 1,245,987 other boards out there I haven’t figured out yet. I’ll have to think on it some more.

You Just Don’t Appreciate My Genius

2008-06-17T05:17:00.000-07:00

With the opening of M. Night Shyamalan’s The Happening, I’ve seen buzz around Blogsylvania about what a total tool M. Night is. So, a big Hollywood director is a diva and a brat. What a surprise! Surely, that’s never happened before!

I couldn’t care less if he threw a fit in front of reporters, and thinks he deserves to have some poor flunky pick out all the red M&M’s in the green room before he’ll touch them. (No one reported the M&M thing. I’ve worked for some theatrical venues where the one-hit wonder coming to perform had that sort of thing in the contract.) As long as he loves his wife and kids, and does his job by giving me some good movies, he can pitch all the hissies he wants.

What annoys me is the bloggers writing about him. If they’re pro-Night, then everything he’s touched is absolute gold and he’s the bestest ever and if you didn’t like his film, you obviously just don’t Get It. You have a higher intuitive power if you do Get It, I guess. I’m sick enough to envision a group of Nightfans huddled in a cave somewhere, discussing the Greater Meaning of seeing dead people and waiting for the big computer generated bird to take them home.

The anti-Nights are worse. He’s pedestrian, predictable, and highly undeserving of his artistic reputation. Yeah. And how many billion-dollar movies have you made, again? “I figured out the plot twist to Sixth Sense in the first thirty minutes.” “It took you that long? Well, I figured out the twist to Signs in the first fifteen minutes.” “Idiot. I figured out The Village from the previews!”

I will admit it. I didn’t see any of that coming. I didn’t figure out the twist. Does that mean I’m some kind of stupid, knuckle-dragging regressive? I did catch the one in a non-Night movie, The Lake House. Even though I knew what was coming, I still enjoyed it.

Are we all saddled with such huge inferiority complexes that we have to beat up on movie watchers to feel better? I generally like M. Night’s movies. I don’t have to worship at his altar. If you don’t like his movies, fine. But don’t make insinuations about my intellect when I say I loved Lady in the Water. By the way, what does it say about yours when you say you hate him but you keep seeing the movies?

Why can’t we just say, “ I liked that,” and “Oh, really? I didn’t,” and go get a macchiato?

You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry

2008-06-11T07:02:00.000-07:00

SciFi channel has been having a Hulk marathon this week, to hype the new Incredible Hulk movie. As interesting as the movie looks, I prefer the old TV series. Probably because I grew up with it; but it was a great story on a lot of levels.

“Dr. David Banner, physician, scientist, looking for a way to tap into the hidden strengths that all humans have…”

It’s quite obviously a reworking of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; the Stevenson allegory that says we all have a monster deep inside that could come out given the right circumstances. And the image from the end credits of the lonely Banner, forced into isolation, hitchhiking down the road while a haunting piano plays, is etched into my memory.

"The world believes David Banner to be dead. And he must let the world believe he is dead, until he finds a way to control the raging spirit that dwells within him."

I cried all the time watching that show. My brothers, of course, just liked watching HULK SMASH!!! It was the perfect formula. Guys got to see cars tossed around and girls got to sigh over the hero.

My kids are enjoying the series, and enjoying watching me squee over it. Yes, the plastic rocks and easily bent metal and special effects- if you could call them that- are laughable by today’s standards, but I still get that feeling when his eyes turn white. He’s gonna Hulk out! He’s gonna Hulk out! The stories are standard 70’s TV fodder, but my attention-deficit Nintendo kids still liked it. I have to believe it’s because of one thing:

The talent and charm of the late Bill Bixby. Oh, my gravy, did I have a crush on him. I know, I know, who didn’t I have a crush on, but still. He was wonderful. And it goes to show that a great character can transcend some mediocre storylines.

And, yeah. They liked seeing Lou Ferrigno roar and toss around cars, too.

I’m So Glad I Didn’t Marry My Dad

2008-06-08T19:45:00.000-07:00

Okay, that needs some explanation. I was reading this cool post by StarvingWriteNow about a childhood staple, car trips. It pushed my nostalgia button, and brought back these wonderful memories…

Like sitting on the hump in the middle of the back seat because I was the youngest and the smallest. The most uncomfortable seat in the car. I was really positioned there because my mom wanted a barrier between my brothers. They would smile at me, highly pleased with themselves, since they always won Animal Rummy or License Plate Tag or any game of that kind. I didn’t stand a chance since I wasn’t near a window. That was okay. When it came time to break into 99 Bottles of Coke on the Wall, I blasted them out of their smugness.

I would have taken those trips over the teen ones, though. By then my oldest brother was living with our father, and I sometimes had the backseat to myself. Good thing. My stepdad was a trip all by himself. I love the man dearly, but he drove like he was on a mission. He had to conquer the road. Gotta make time, gotta make time.

One of the ways he made up lost time? Not stopping for bathroom breaks. We kept a 10 lb. coffee can and a roll of toilet paper in the backseat floorboard. When my mom needed to use the facility, she and I would simultaneously climb over the seat, changing places. To tinkle, you had to put the can on the seat, take off the cover (yours and the can’s) and hover over the opening at 75 mph. You prayed that the road was smooth and no semi trucks passed.

This torture ended when Mom was emptying the can- which happened in motion as well, gotta make time, gotta make time- but she didn’t just pour it out the window. She gave it a heave, hoping the contents would fly out far enough to miss the side of the car. They blew back in her face.

Dad had a choice. Bathroom breaks, or divorce papers. He had a few manic ideas, but he’s no dummy.

When Gary and I were putting together our wedding vows, I nearly put in “I promise to love, honor, cherish, and stop at the first available porta-potty.”

Venus And Mars Both Blow

2008-06-04T21:15:00.000-07:00

As Tammy Wynette sang, “Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman.” And I don’t want to stand by my man, because he’s thinner than I am. It’s like those Slimquick commercials: a rotund couple sits on the sofa. The man has a bowl of chips on his lap. The woman tells us that her husband just started drinking diet soda, and lost 17 pounds. She’s been drinking nothing but water for a year, and…nothing.

Why, why, why can men just barely start doing exercise or eating more salad, and they can fit into their old pants; but when we skip breakfast and eat 1 little chocolate covered diet granola bar for lunch and splurge on exactly four raisins, and cannot get the sound of Billy Blanks out of our heads (“Go! Work it! Go! Work it!”) and feel guilty over having a skinny latte with Splenda and three weeks later, exhausted, we can proudly point to a two pound weight loss?

I don’t know if it’s hormones or metabolism or age, but I’m sick of it. And the weight is hard enough- I’m going through peri-menopause. Which means hot flashes and moodiness coupled with cramps and PMS, and could continue for the next seven years. Can’t my body just pick one or the other? Do I have to have both? Or could I at least get skinny while the hormones duke it out?

But talking to my son lately made me realize that men don’t have a bed of roses either. Recently a men’s group at our church decided to go coed. And that bummed him out big time. “Mom,” he said, “why is it that every time guys get to do something together, a girl decides to crowd in?” I had the typical response ready- that’s the price you pay to live in a patriarchal society, etc., etc., but then I thought about it. I wouldn’t want to tell my daughter that there was anything she couldn’t do, but should there be places or groups she shouldn’t try to join?

Does “For Men Only” automatically make it chauvinistic? I had more male friends than female growing up, and I’m very comfortable with the company of men. But I also know that the very air changes when a man walks into a group of women. It changes the dynamic. And there are times when I just like talking to women. Ain’t nobody gonna squawk if there’s a sign on the door that says For Women Only. Are men any less deserving?

My son said it wasn’t just being invaded. It was that he thought he’d get blasted for thinking it sucked. I’m going to suggest that he start a guy’s club, and hang up a big NO GIRLS sign. I think the females of the world can take it. Heck, I’ll even jeopardize my diet and make them snacks.

The Winnah!

2008-06-01T18:45:00.000-07:00

The winner of My Favorite Romantic Line contest is-

Charles!

My hubby's fedora liked you best. Please email me at rob.writer@cox.net with your addy and I'll have your gift certificate winging its way to you with champagne wishes and caviar dreams!

Thanks to everybody who entered. A few of these great lines:

From Charles, our winner: Say I'm reading a book and a beautiful woman like Lana asks, "whatcha reading?" I say, "I'm reading a book on how to meet beautiful women but I had no idea it would work so fast."

From Precie: "And when my body shall cease, my soul will still be yours. Claire---I swear by my hope of heaven, I will not be parted from you."

From Carrie: "You were the song all along, and before the song dies... I should tell you... I should tell you... I have always loved you -- "

And finally, from Becky: "OK Gerdie, brace yourself, here I come..."

Is it any wonder I love romance?

The Mighty HQ: Fug or Fab?

2008-05-29T19:15:00.000-07:00

Since she’s been taking over Snark Empress duties lately, I’ve asked Beth from StarvingWriteNow to cross-blog snark with me! We have to wonder at the bi-polar nature of the cover artists over HQ way. Some are really, really good. Others are...not so much. To wit:

Last Wolf Watching

Robyn: Don’t you just hate it when normal, intelligent women see a picture like this and get so bothered that they aren’t capable of rational thought and can’t speak except for words like WHOA and ACK and OH, BAYBA and have to keep themselves from licking the page? Yeah, I hate that, too.

Beth: WHOA. ACK. RRROWWRR! Like to get my hands on that six pack, baby! What? Oh, yes... (ahem!) Well, he's ripped like nobody's business, but the question is, what is going on with that feathered flippy hairdo?

In The Flesh

Robyn: Yes, he certainly is. But do you ever wonder if these guys speak like, say, Christian Siriano from Project Runway? Mr. Buff would meet you at the door and say, “Girl, is it raining? You look like a hot tranny mess. Come in. I just made lattes and they are fierce.”

Beth: LOL... you just know Mr. Buff's got some gold lame shirts in his closet. "Like, how do I hold this gun thingy again? Up? You sure? 'Cause it would look totally bitchen in my waistband. Where's my latte?"

What's your vote, Fug or Fab? For more covers, go over to StarvingWriteNow!

A Discussion Worth Having

2008-05-28T07:25:00.000-07:00

Ello is having a guest on her blog today, one Dr. Durham who wrote The Lolita Effect. It's about the media's sexualization of young girls, and I for one think it's a discussion worth having. There are many, many avenues that issue can take, but I have two thoughts.

First, even in adult circles it's not enough anymore to look groomed, or pretty, or attractive. It's all about looking sexy. My daughter bemoans this particular trend, as do I. See, I met my husband at work. I did not wear come hither clothing at work, yet somehow, surprise, surprise, he still found me attractive. My daughter (she's 16) told me once, "I can't find anything to wear. They are all made for a stick with boobs, and designed to make you look like a prostitute."

When did it become necessary for every woman to look as sexy as she possibly can, even when going to the grocery store?

Second, why do these girls have these outfits in the first place? Even though some corporate doofus will market them, the parents are footing this particular bill. Yes, I've given my kids money to do their own shopping, but when we got home I nixed anything I thought was inappropriate. Trying to explain to a 12-year-old why they don't need micro-mini club outfits is bad enough; but worse is mothers who buy leopard print undies and shorts with LUSH spelled out on the butt for their 4-year-olds. Come on Moms. Get a clue.

Romance’s Favorite Man

2008-05-25T21:14:00.000-07:00

He does have a last name, but he doesn’t need it. When I think romance covers, I think of him.

Fabio.

He could be anything. A pirate;

A cowboy;

An Indian;

An alien.

He could be a migrant apple picker;

Stealer of Santa’s boots;

Barbie's Fantasy that Ken doesn't know about.

You could land a plane on his shiny, hairless chest-

But you couldn’t make him shave his legs.

And when you thought he had done it all, he made a generation of people beleef it was nah buttah.

But the thing I like most about Fabio- even though his cover days are long since over, he always takes the work, and the fans, seriously. But not himself. And he would have kicked total tool George Clooney’s behiney when the Sexy But Self-Important One insulted the ladies El Fab was lunching with.

There are good covers, and bad covers, and meh covers on the romance shelves. But there’s only one Fabio, and I’m not too proud to admit that I miss him.

Fabio would undoubtedly approve of my contest. Four more days- winner announced on Monday, June 2. Get your entries in!

My Kids Are Deprived

2008-05-21T07:21:00.000-07:00

December Quinn had this very interesting post about how maybe adults wouldn’t act like children if adulthood were more fun. And while I don’t drink or smoke, she made some good points. There used to be a mystique, a glamour, to being an adult. So many things my parents did I longed to- mysterious things like cocktail parties and R-rated movies. I would lie on my parent’s bed and watch my mother dress for their nights out; I loved her jewelry box. No treasure chest in the world could have held more fascination for me. Watching her put on a beautiful dress and dabbing perfume behind each ear was a ritual I yearned to perform someday. And the secret smile my father and mother would share before they left made me catch my breath even though I didn’t yet understand what it meant.

But even as a teen who snuck around to see movies I shouldn’t have, let Dwayne Buhler cop a feel at a dance, and forced down beer I hated just because of the glorious wickedness of it all, I understood that were rights and privileges to being an adult that I did not have. And should not expect. Why, beyond the un-funning of adulthood, do parents abdicate their right to be grownups who can do what they like, and the kids will just have to live with it?

Because now, kids run the freaking universe. I have been in children’s ministry for close to 12 years; I have seen toddlers who are wreaking havoc and they are told, firmly yet calmly, with no trace of censure that might injure their delicate feelings but with enough determination to let them see that you mean it, “No, Billy.” The experts say if you do this right the children will obey without having emotional damage. Apparently thousands of parents aren’t doing it right. My kids had two rules growing up- you cannot disobey and you cannot show disrespect/defiance. They didn’t have to like it, and they didn’t have to like me. They were allowed to feel whatever they felt- they could be mad and pouty if that’s how they felt about it- but they were not allowed to tell me that I was mean or they hated me; neither were they allowed to show me any kind of physical disrespect. I cannot tell you how many times I have seen 3 year olds hitting their parents and mom and dad think it’s funny or justified. And these are the kids who are never spanked, which supposedly causes such behavior.

Which, IMO, leads to school age kids who think they deserve anything they darn well want. What adult has time or energy for parties and old-fashioned romance when Bobby and Sissy have a different activity every night, sometimes two, and the weekend is completely taken up with things the kiddoes want to do? And you can’t blame them. Mom and Dad have trained them to believe they are the center of the universe. And that leads to teens who take adult rights and privileges without having any of the obligations and responsibilities. The day my high school aged self could have gone to another city, let alone state or country, for Spring Break, to dance and drink and have sex under the ‘watchful’ eye of the one or two poor chaperones, and my parents would have footed the bill? Shyeah. When donkeys fly. But when these kids get STD’s, get pregnant, or get killed? They pay. And it’s our fault.

So, yes, my poor kids are deprived. They will just have to look at us and dream of the day they can do cool stuff. But hopefully, they’ll also be relieved that they can spend a few more years without ultimate responsibility.

Bits and Pieces

2008-05-19T06:17:00.000-07:00

My review is up at Enduring Romance- Seducing the Mercenary by Loreth Anne White. Good political thriller.

I have a coupon for a free pedicure. Not sure if I'll use it or not. There are so many pampering services I could enjoy if I trusted people more. I haven't had manicures or pedicures because I've heard too many horror stories about workers using unclean tools and I would just be the one to catch some disease and have my fingers and toes fall off.

I don't want massages, either. Friends who try to rub the back of my neck make it worse. They press down too hard on the front part of my collarbone- treating it like a handlebar, I guess- and I end up aching for the next hour. But even for someone who is trained to do it right, I cannot bring myself to lie on that table nude to the waist. If you're going to ask me to get naked, at least buy me dinner first.

Friday is the last day of school, so I'm enjoying this week as much as I can. I've decided to put off all cleaning except for toxic zones, and stay on the computer as much as possible! Of course, to celebrate summer (and both of my kids being 4.0 students this year!) we're going to the new movie theater in our area- doormen greet you, and you can have dinner brought to your theater seat. As I understand it, a small pizza costs $30, but still. Perfect children are hard to come by.

Deciding on the movie is harder. We all want to see Iron Man and Prince Caspian, hubs and kids want to see the new Indiana Jones. I'm not as excited about that one. One part of me squees- I had an enormous crush on Indy, and loved those flicks- but I don't like my memories messed with and Harrison's shelf life as leading man is coming close to ending. Watching Indy break a hip isn't worth a $30 pizza. And thinking of what George Lucas did with Star Wars 'prequels' makes me wonder if the new Indy is going to be a big bowl of suckage. Oh, well. That pizza had better be worth it.

I Totally Made Up A Word and Cute Guy Friday

2008-05-15T21:15:00.000-07:00

BLOGPLAIN vb. blogplained; blogplaining : to express grief, pain, or discontent on one’s blog. Similar to complaining, but whinier.

That’s my word. You can use it, though. Just pay me a penny every time you do.

I tend to blogplain a lot. In fact, Blogsylvania seems to be one big therapy session, don’t it? From righteous indignation to primal anger to general pissyness, it’s an ugly world sometimes. So today, I’m going to do something happy. Hugh Jackman is advertising my contest!

Nope. Nothing to blogplain about here.

Random Rainy Wednesday Musings

2008-05-14T06:23:00.000-07:00

It’s raining. AGAIN. I happen to like thunderstorms, but my diva dog does not. She’ll be trying to climb on my head most of the day. I can’t convince her that, at 5’2”, my head is not higher ground. We’re blessed to live in an area that misses most of the really bad weather, including tornadoes. There’s some long geographical reason for it that I can’t explain or remember, but we’ve never had a big tornado here.

Of course, living in Oklahoma I’ve been through a tornado or two. And even though they are deadly, when you grow up here you don’t really think about it. The proper Oklahoma Response to Weather:

Thunderstorm Watch: So?
Thunderstorm Warning: Let’s go to the mall!
Tornado Watch: Honey, my tee time’s at 8:00.
Tornado Warning: Kids are in the bathroom with pillows over their heads; moms are running between the bathroom and the front door to yell at their husbands, who are all in the middle of the street peering at the sky and discussing it.

Men.

Saw snippets of Alec Baldwin on 60 minutes the other night. Of course, they replayed his phone message to his then 11 year old daughter, where he called her a rude, thoughtless little pig and he was going to fly to her home and straighten her *ss out. He apologized, said it was wrong, and promptly scolded Morley Safer for being judgmental of him. After all, he was under tremendous stress, enduring a terrible custody battle, and he just lost his temper. Way to make it all about you, Alec. He asked Morley haven’t you ever gotten mad at your kids?

I know I have. Really mad. Seeing red, veins throbbing in my neck mad. I will admit that I have shouted. And stopped when I saw how much it scared them. Parents are humans, and therefore will make mistakes. Sometimes, bad ones. But calling your little girl a thoughtless pig and whining that you were somewhat justified months after the fact? Alec, you’re still a jerk.

Don’t forget to enter the contest. And I’m working on a post about Romance’s Favorite Man. Watch for it!

Enter or Endure the Wrath of the Salamander

2008-05-11T20:07:00.000-07:00

Meet the newest member of the family. My son was thrilled with this little guy, whom he named Bruenor, after the dwarf Bruenor Battlehammer in R.A. Salvatore’s Icewind Dale trilogy. It’s my son’s favorite book series, and when I asked him why name a salamander after a dwarf, he said, “They’re both spirited and they don’t like to stay in one place.”

I am now searching for a terrarium with the tightest-fitting lid in the civilized world.

I am also waiting, impatiently, for entries for my contest. Here’s the original post, but skip those requirements. I’m going to make it easy for you. In the comments of this post, give me your favorite romantic line of all time, from books, television, film, or song. The contest runs until May 30, and the winner (chosen by my hubby’s fedora) will receive a $20 gift certificate from Amazon. Come on and enter! Who wouldn’t love book money?

It’s better than a belly rub.

Can We Just Agree That Disney Is Evil?

2008-05-08T06:56:00.000-07:00

Not that they’re sacrificing virgins or anything, but…then again, maybe they are.

Disney has made its fortune on sweet young girls. Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Annette Funicello. Annette was the only Disney girl who missed the “I am a woman now, and so must show my cleavage. And my coochie.” From what I understand, Walt Disney was so concerned about the Mouseketeer image that he asked her not to wear a bikini in her beach movies with Frankie Avalon.

Walt, I wish your head wasn’t frozen and hidden in Disneyland somewhere. We could use you now. Maybe you could have spared us Christina Aguilera becoming a nasty girl, then a drag queen version of herself- seriously, do you think she had her hair done and the tranny makeup on when she gave birth? Maybe you could have knocked some sense into Lindsay Lohan. Or her mother Dina, so she would actually deserve a parenting award.

I won’t even talk about Britney. Or her sister.

And now Miley Cyrus. Let me say that I am not a prude; I enjoy the human body and would never dream of putting a fig leaf over any parts of David that Michaelangelo crafted. Though I do enjoy the Bernini better, but that’s another post. I have nothing against an artistic nude, or even a sensual semi-nude.

But I want to know at what point everyone in this process thought it was a good idea for a 15-year-old girl to take her clothes off. Miley says she was manipulated. Then your parents failed you miserably, honey. If any teens are reading this, lemme tell you now so you’ll know: if anyone, anywhere, anytime, is taking your picture and says, “Oh- just one more pose. Lose the shirt,” you should run screaming from the studio.

Supposedly the parents thought they were done, and left to take care of their other kids. Miley’s grandmother and handlers- handlers, yet- were there when photographer Annie Liebowitz decided to do the ‘classic pose.’ Good God, that woman would have lost her hair and possibly an appendage if my grandmother had been in that room. The handlers failed Miley, too. And grandma should be ashamed.

Even if they were not Machiavellian schemers who were hungry to see a skinny kid naked, Annie and crew missed the boat. You’d think that simply as a matter of good business, she would have insisted the parents be present for the shirtless pose. At some point, even artistic sensibility should give way to common sense. She failed Miley as well.

But the biggest villain? In my opinion, it’s Vanity Fair. You cannot tell me that the editors didn’t see this picture and think, “BINGO! This will cause so much controversy, we’ll make a mint. Oh, Miley’s reputation will be trashed and she’ll go through public relations hell, but we’ll sell a bajillion copies! We can just tell everyone that there’s only a tiny bit of skin on her back showing, so it doesn’t matter. If they start pointing out that a girl who’s got a slightly come hither look, tousled hair, and is covered with a bedsheet is too obvious to possibly be considered innuendo, we’ll hide behind the artistic card and blame it on her parents.” Vanity Fair failed, utterly.

I wonder what Walt would have thought of all this.

I WON! Oh, Yeah, You Can Too. And Also, I WON!

2008-05-05T05:32:00.000-07:00

And very proud of myself for having been pulled from Bernita's hat. As part of my 'fee' for winning, I'm paying it forward. Let your friends know!

Here's the sitch. From today until Thursday, May 15, tell me in the comments of this post your favorite romantic line from a contemporary romance. I'm talking those printed from 1970-present; books set in different time periods are fine. If you can't remember the title, that's okay. My favorite line is from a book so forgettable I don't recall anything but the line: "I cannot promise you social position, or riches. But I can promise you a heart that beats for you, and you alone, until it beats no more."

What made you cry? What made you sigh? Any romance sub-genre is accepted, and as long as that line or two made you catch your breath (even if YOU wrote it, authors) we're good.

My husband's fedora will serve as judge. The winner will receive a $20 Amazon gift certificate. Let me feel the love!

Alpha-Bits, Pt. 4: Hard Core!

2008-04-30T21:21:00.000-07:00

Alphas, be they cops, corporate honchos, cowboys, or car mechanics, are all Tough. As. Nails. Not so much with the warm fuzzies. Not very understanding, or even, at times, forgiving. A friend of mine who was more Alpha than I have ever seen before or since once said, “Every criminal should be executed. The really bad ones should be tortured first.”

That unbending spine is both a source of frustration and a reason for admiration for our heroine. As difficult as it may be to live with Mr. Upright, it’s that sense of justice that makes him strong. Call it the Good-Kirk-Evil-Kirk Syndrome. Remember that episode of Star Trek? Evil Kirk was a bad man with poor impulse control, but he was the one who got things done. Good Kirk was compassionate and caring and suffered from crippling indecision.

Romance Alphas aren’t much different- they start out somewhat dark and dangerous, even if they’re firmly on the right side of the law. Helping them find the balance between Val Jean and Javert is the heroine’s flipping job in these books. But I beg, plead, and bribe with Triple Split Your Pants brownies if need be- quit wussifying my Alphas!

I’m perfectly okay with a hero who can blow the bad guy away and not suffer the agonies of the damned. I’m perfectly okay with a hero who can blow the bad guy away, period. Forgiveness and sweetness and warmth can be powerful, wonderful things; any Alpha is capable of them. And sometimes those things can require more strength than pulling a trigger.

But I want a good reason for his decision. Please, please, please don’t turn my ruthless, tough hero into some milksop who can’t take care of business simply because he’s now in luuuuurve. Let my caveman keep his club.

Alpha-Bits, Pt.3: MINE!

2008-04-29T07:25:00.000-07:00

Perhaps my favored characteristic of the Alpha hero is his possessiveness. I'm not even going to think about what that says for my psyche. All I know is that I love the moment when the hero growls, "You're mine!"

Even before he's allowed himself to admit he loves the heroine, he just can't take the thought that any other man will be spending time with her. From Nora Roberts' historical Lawless:

She stepped closer to stab a finger at his chest. "If I allow Samuel to kiss my hand, that's my affair. He's asked me to marry him."

The last thing she expected was to be hauled off her feet so that her slippers dangled several inches from the ground. "What did you say?"

"I said he asked me to marry him. Put me down."

He gave her a shake that sent hairpins flying. "I warn you, Duchess, you think long and hard about marrying him, because the same day you're his wife, you're his widow. That's a promise."

I know, I know. In real life, I'd be calling the police and asking for restraining orders just like you. But in fiction, those scenes just sing through me.

Maybe it's the combined force of all those dates and boyfriends who made it known that I was their girlfriend, but if I wanted to go further than that? "I need space, man." And then they'd look at me as if I was a new and not very attractive form of fauna. "What the hell's wrong with you, anyway? Why do you women always have to get all weird?" Grrrr.

The Alpha may have issues with commitment at first, but once it's made he'll keep it to his pain. And do anything he can to make things right. Yes, I like possessive heroes. Sue me.

Alpha-Bits, Pt.2: Swagger!

2008-04-25T07:18:00.000-07:00

Confidence or arrogance? There’s a fine line between a bold belief in oneself and being a pompous ass. Alphas are often accused of being tools, but I say the true Alpha skates the right side of that line.

For those who love Alphas, that absolute self-assurance is a prime part of the attraction. I want a hero who won’t dither with should-I-shouldn’t-I when it’s time for action. He’ll take time to plan, of course, but when it’s time to git ‘er done he’ll go in with guns blazing.

It isn’t that Alphas have no introspection. On the contrary, Alphas are well aware of their own flaws, and it kills them to admit it. They are, therefore, usually to be found doing a job in which they excel. But if they are faced with a situation they don’t have a skill set for, pure perseverance will get them to the top. Even Alphas who have gone to brood in their castles don’t quit.

All this confident competence makes for a boring hero then, right? Not hardly. Consider this hero from my favorite rainy Saturday read, Amanda Quick’s historical Ravished:

“Well, then, Miss Harriet Pomeroy?” There was an unmistakable challenge in the words.

“Well, what, my lord?” Harriet managed breathlessly. It was true she had virtually no experience of this sort of thing, but all her womanly instincts were assuring her that Gideon had been as powerfully affected by that kiss as she had been. She did not understand why he had suddenly gone all cold and dangerous.

“You have a decision to make. You may either take off your gown and lie down on the stone floor of this cave so that we can finish what we have started or you may run back toward the beach and safety. I suggest you make your choice quickly, as my own mood is somewhat unpredictable at the moment.”

Now he has just given her the Swoop and Grab kiss, but he’s giving her a choice. And shocking her with the suggestion of sex to scare her off, because he knows his reputation alone will destroy hers, even if they haven’t done anything. For me, a big part of the fun is seeing the firm, self-assured, big strapping man fall apart when faced with his feelings toward our heroine. Later in the book:

He had not been at all kind to Harriet. He had virtually coerced her into marriage, exhibited her to the ton as if she were an exotic pet, and put her in jeopardy at the hands of Bryce Morland.

In return she had given him her love, helped him restore his reputation, and made it possible for him to mend the breach with his parents.

No, he had not been particularly kind to Harriet. All she had ever really wanted from him was his love, and he had told her he could not give it. Six years ago I forgot everything I knew of love.

What an ass he had been.

He’s strong and confident and totally assured that he’s wrapped around her finger and delighted to admit it. That’s my Alpha.

Alpha-Bits

2008-04-23T06:47:00.000-07:00

I just got through reading a very good story; good characters, believable situations, good plot, but- it fell just a little bit flat. I’m trying to understand why, and I think for me a romance really does stand or fall on the hero.

I love a good heroine. Feisty or shy, kickazz or quiet, tough or tender, I like her. But even if she’s an irritating, annoying bint or a stoopid, wilting waif, I can take her if the hero works. Even if I can’t quite figure out why he digs her.

I have also read many books that had contrived plots and overwrought prose and prime entries in the Oh Yeah, That’s Believable Awards. If the hero works, I’ve been known to overlook things because I am apparently just that shallow.

But a book can have an amazing heroine and a fantastic plot and great writing and I will never pick it up again if it doesn’t give me a hero I fall in love with.

According to my keeper shelf, the men I favor most? Cavemen in an Italian suit. Or a uniform. Or a kilt. Or hip waiters.

Anyone who has ever read my blog, former or present, knows I love Alpha heroes. The more hairy the chest, the better, metaphorically speaking. I wonder what Alpha males spark in me? They’re large and in charge, but ultimately so helpless when they try to understand this woman who won’t stay where she’s put. Fun times.

I’ll be exploring the Mighty Alpha the next few posts, and I’d like to hear from you, too, on what makes a great hero. Join in!

Mad Men

2008-04-19T21:07:00.000-07:00

So a few nights ago I was watching Marnie. I love Hitchcock, and though Marnie isn’t one of my favorites I adore Sean Connery. There’s a scene where he has found out that the woman he loves has been lying to him and robbing him blind, and he goes tearing off to find her. When he does, he’s so mad he can’t see straight. My reaction?

ZING!!!!!

That’s the burning question I just can’t answer: Why do ticked off heroes turn me on? When men are mad in real life, I hide unless I think I can take them. But in fiction, film or page? Aitch Ay Double-yew Tee. HAWT.

I don’t enjoy scolds or lectures. I certainly don’t want to see spanking or ‘taming.’ And I don’t get the Punishing Kiss. I’ve made my husband mad. Veins throbbing in the forehead mad. In those moments, I can assure you he hasn’t wanted to kiss me.

Maybe it’s the thought that anger will break down some walls, make the hero finally take action. It might be that it proves he cares. Or maybe it’s the totally shallow notion that, at least in fiction, a man who lets a woman get away with anything isn’t quite a man.

Or maybe it was just Sean Connery.

I Sooooo Don't Get It

2008-04-16T10:27:00.000-07:00

I've been watching the polygamist camp women on tv today, hair piled high, prairie dresses pressed with crisp little collars, while they cry for the return of their children in soft voices.

I have no doubt that they are anguished. They are hurt and afraid. They were taken from the only home most of them have ever known at gunpoint, and then had their children taken away while they were sent back to the ranch.

I also know that they were raised to this, have no idea what the outside world is like, except that it's sinful and evil. So it isn't as if I have no sympathy for these women.

But it's just so hard for me to understand how a woman could watch her son be used as little more than slave labor, and then cheerfully give her daughter to an older man in marriage, knowing that immediately after the ceremony he's going to take her to a bed behind the altar and 'consummate.' But then again, I'm not the one who's been brutalized and brainwashed.

The trial over custody of these poor kids starts today, and it's a madhouse. Putting these children in foster care, especially a system that's already strained, will be a nightmare. These children will have to have counseling, or even deprogamming, for years. They have been taught that being with us will not just lead to punishment, but eternal damnation. As a Christian, this horrifies me.

As a human being, I say that the police removed the wrong ones from the compound. The women and children should have been able to stay- and the MEN should have been taken into custody. I noticed that none of them are featured on the news; granting interviews and being filmed. If the church- and I say that sarcastically- elders think that parading their Prairie Stepford Wives is going to make this go easier for them, they're mistaken. The men who make the rules and enforce them are the ones who need punishment. And as far as I'm concerned, hell is too good for them.