Random Acts of Randomness

Thing that should not be thought about in a library

2008-11-24T17:20:00.001-07:00

"God, my nipples are so hard!"

Yeah, that's the thought that just went through my mind. It's fucking cold as shit in here!

And another

2008-10-30T22:31:00.001-06:00

YEAH!

2008-10-24T20:13:00.000-06:00

Genius

2008-09-29T20:00:00.000-06:00

To All Hillary Clinton Supporters Now McCain Supporters

2008-09-07T01:14:00.003-06:00

I thought long and hard before deciding to post this blog but I couldn't hold this in anymore. I dreamed about this blog last night.

So here it goes.

I have two words for all of you.

FUCK YOU!

I'm sorry. I shouldn't say that but it's how I feel. I'm not saying that you need to like Obama but if you're a Democrat you sure as hell need to support him. If only for the fact that he IS our candidate. You see, to me, being a Democrat is more than who your candidate is. It's a fundamental belief, an underlying philosophy about life and politics. It means being Pro-Choice, believing that everyone has the right to affordable healthcare (and yes, I am a Universal healthcare supporter), it's believing that Gay people are entitled to the same rights as everyone else, including the right to get married, it means that I believe that the government is for the people and it is all of our responsibility to take care of those of us that cannot help themselves because we are only as strong as our weakest link.

When I hear former Clinton supporters saying that they are going to vote for McCain because she didn't get the nomination I feel betrayed. I feel that they are betraying not only Mrs. Clinton but their very beliefs. How can you respect that? And the reasons they give? They call sound like sour grapes to me. Their main reson for the defection is that Obama doesn't have enough experience and since Hillary's out of the game, they have no choice but to vote for McCain.

Experience? Really? Okay.

Well, you cling to that 'Experience' excuse when young women start dying in back alleys because the uberconservative Supreme Court overthrows 'Roe v Wade.'

Let 'Experience' keep you warm when our education system starts falling apart because McCain starts issuing vouchers and closing low performing schools, these schools that are mostly in Urban areas that don't get enough funding anyway because crime is so high and property taxes are so low.

Keep touting 'Experience' when these poor and now even more uneducated kids turn to crime, start overflowing our overburdened criminal system to the point where we start building more prisons than schools.

Oh, and let 'Experience' feed your family, put gas in your car, and take care of you when you are sick because the middle class keeps shrinking and working harder to earn less, the cost of food and gas continues to grow, the rich continue to find every loophole in the muddles tax system to pay less taxes than the poorest families, and millions more American jobs go overseas because we keep giving big coporations tax subsidies.

If that future makes you happy, then by all means vote for McCain.

Oh, and for all you Clinton supporters who say that you're not going to vote at all, BITE MY BALLS. Stop being cowards. That's the same as voting for McCain while at the same time assuaging your liberal guilt because you didn't cast the actual vote and can continue to say that you're a staunch Democrat. And if McCain does win, then it's not your fault.

WRONG!!!

I didn't vote for Bush but he's still my President, as much as that fact pains me. I voted for him. I didn't cast my ballot for him but I was part of the process that elected him, both times.

I know that I am being harsh but I can't help it.

Yes, I was an Obama supporter from the beginning, but I also like Hillary Clinton. I would have been pleased if she had won the Democratic nomination. I would have been overjoyed if they both had been on the ticket.

And that's the difference between us Obama voters. I can't speak for all of us, but I doubt that we have had the same response as to be so embittered that we would defect to the enemy camp. Because it makes no sense, at least to me.

I vote on my values. And the Democrats embody the things that I believe as an American, as a person of color, as a woman, as a human being. I would have thrown myself 100% behind Hillary Clinton. I wouldn't need to be convinced. She would have been my candidate.

Barack Obama IS my candidate. He believes in what I believe in. He has my same values.

And if you won't listen to me, then listen to her...

YOUR CANDIDATE

If there was any doubt about why I'm a Democrat

2008-08-28T23:42:00.003-06:00

Take a look at these two websites...

The Democrats

AND

The GOP

How petty and disgusting can you be? Just look at their website!

Obama must really have them on the run for them to dedicate this much effort into exaggerating facts and throwing that much mud on a good man.

I mean seriously! It's not even about your candidate. It's about discrediting Obama. McCain's crazy face isn't even on the page.

Bastards!

Making History!

2008-08-28T23:29:00.002-06:00

I have never been prouder of my country than I was tonight. If Barack Obama's speech didn't move you or stir you, then I don't know what will. We were lucky to host the DNC in Denver and my Dad was part of history as he watched Obama accept the nomination for president at Mile High Stadium. I did not go but more on that later. Plus pics!

God Bless Barack Obama and God Bless America!

Funny!

2008-08-25T22:23:00.001-06:00

I'm evil

2008-08-10T23:47:00.005-06:00

I always thought that the commercial with the old lady who falls down the stairs and says 'Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!' was HiLaRiOus! Not that old ladies falling is funny but the acting and the obvious set up of the fall made me chuckle.

Now they have an updated version of that commercial. I just saw it and it just gave me a huge belly laugh because the 'old' lady is about 20 years younger and she's in a darkened studio with nothing to indicate what she may have tripped over and she's looking directly into the camera saying her 'Can't get up' line. And just in case there's any doubt, it's subtitled beneath her tortured face.

I laughed so hard.

I'm evil.

What I know about geography...

2008-08-10T15:47:00.003-06:00

Could fit into a thimble.

Now, I never said that I was good at everything. I'm a genius, I know, but even Einstein couldn't tie his shoes.

It's just that every once in a while, the glaring spotlight of my ignorance will shine through and I'm unmanned. Or un-(wo)manned in this scenario.

Case in point: The geographic proximity of China to Alaska. I have always believed that China was on the opposite end of the earth from the U.S. But when you're dealing with a sphere, the 'opposite' end of the world is not that far considering it wraps around.

I spent at least an hour last night marveling at how close China is to Alaska. Really, they're only separated by the Bering Sea. How is that possible?

China is here and Alaska is right here. (You can't see my demonstration but trust me, they are really fucking close!)

Why don't I know this? And why when I tell people I don't know this they look at me as though I've got buck teeth and am drooling profusely from my mouth?

Seriously, geography is one of the few categories on Jeopardy! that could floor me.

I kick ass at Trivial Pursuit and the home game of Jeopardy! As a Gemini, I have an endless capacity for useless information.

That must be it!

Geography is use-ful information.

Just Bought a MacBook

2008-08-05T17:15:00.002-06:00

Shit! It was expensive. $1600 for the Black MacBook (because really, I only do Black for electronics). The $1600 included the MacBook with iWork pre-installed because, hey, I'm a writer and I need a prodictivity suite. I also bought a remote and a notebook case. The good news is that I did get $100 off because I work in a school. Any little bit helps.

I'm so happy. I almost hyperventilated as I was buying it because it was more than I had spent on any single purchase other than my car. And I've never had a brand new laptop in my life.

And while I am ecstatic to have bought it, let me let you in on a little secret. So, I saved $100 which is great but I also paid $100 in taxes. So I went to Amazon to see if I could buy it cheaper. Amazon also has a $100 discount PLUS I wouldn't have to pay taxes, I think. Of course I did this after I had already purchased it through Apple.

I do this all the time. I constantly second guess myself about everything. I can't just let myself be happy. I bought my dream laptop but I overpaid by about a hundred dollars. I already know that I should have waited until October or November because that's when the updated Macs come out and I could save some money by buying this year's model. But knowing me, I would want the newer model so I wouldn't really be saving anything. I might actually pay more because who knows how the new MacBooks are going to be updated? It could be really, really cool. Maybe the new MacBooks have HD screens. My MacBook doesn't have HD. That sux! What the hell? Why didn't I wait?

I know why. I decided buying a new MacBook was worth the 2-3 months of bliss because the anger and frustration associated with my current laptop was driving me up a fucking wall. We'll just have to see in October or November if I'm really going to be happy.

Sigh.

I'm insane.

But an insane person who could have her new laptop by Friday.

Now if only the external hard drive that I bought a week ago were to be delivered first, that would be a miracle.

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAMA!!!!

The MacBook Just Gave Me An Orgasm

2008-08-03T03:23:00.000-06:00

So I plan on buying a MacBook next week because my current laptop is a piece of crap. And while I realize that this will put me further away from my dream of being totally debt free by a couple more months, it is a necessary purchase. The laptop that I have now I literally want to snap in half. If it were possible to actually break it over my knee and toss that shit out the window then I would.

And yes, I do have a desktop but that's more of the family computer and I need the laptop for when I'm writing which is usually late at nite or at coffee shops.

So I decided on the Mac because, A) they're cool and B) I used to always use Macs because they were just the better computer. They still are. So, I've been searching and comparing prices and while the MacBook has more upfront costs, they are cheaper in the long run, especially considering I won't have to deal with antivirus software or subscriptions.

I did give serious consideration to the PC. But there is something about the MacBook that draws me to it. I spend hours endlessly on line, staring at pictures and watching videos. It's like geek porn to me. Pleasure vibrates through me as I shift through these pictures and videos. It's like fire racing across my skin that burns so bright and so sweet that I would gladly get lost in the flame.

Just tonight, I was looking at photos of my MacBook to be. I was caressing the screen as though I could feel the softness through the LCD display on my crap machine. I bit my lip to keep from moaning aloud as I imagined rolling around in a field of wildflowers with my new Mac. I shivered as I thought of what it would be like to get my hands on him. And yes, my Mac, is a man. Unlike all of my other machines, like BABs (synonym for Bad Ass Bitch) my iPod or Midnight, my Honda.

I envision him to be a smart yet cool Quirky but down to earth. We spend hours together discussing Proust but our evening are reserved for Seth Rogen and Judd Apatow. He wears funky sweaters with hip jeans ripped at the knees and scuffed Vans. We are a perfect fit. We go hand in hand to out of the way cafes and at night I use him without mercy.

Yes folks, tonight a MacBook gave me an orgasm and I am still shuddering from the aftereffects.

Sigh!

God Bless Steve Jobs!

What I'm Listening To

2008-08-01T03:46:00.001-06:00

Joss Whedon Rocks!

2008-07-18T23:44:00.001-06:00

This is genius!

Dr. Horrible

Sunday is the last day!

Funniest Movie Quote This Year!

2008-07-15T04:09:00.001-06:00

Form the HiLaRIoUs and Heartwarming Film JUNO:

Abortion Clinic Worker: Would you like a free condom? They're boysenberry.
Juno: Uh, no. I'm kind of off the sex... right now.
ACW: My boyfriend uses them everytime we have intercourse. They make his junk smell like pie.

Fucking Genius! I laughed for five minutes.

What's your movie quote of the year?

So LONG!!

2008-06-21T00:21:00.003-06:00

Hello Blog Reader!

I cannot believe that it has been two months since I've blogged. I've gone back on my word and not blogged at least 2x/week. But I swear that I will do better.

Let's see. What to talk about? Well, my birthday was Thursday the 19th (Juneteenth, look it up people!). What did I get, you might ask? Well, my mom got into a car accident---in my car. So I've been dealing with insurance adjusters for two days and my rear quarter panel looks like an accordion. This is funny. At this very moment, it's covered with plastic because I think that it's going to rain and my trunk won't close. So, yeah. That's very ghetto. Happy Birthday to me. It was the 2-9, btw.

What else has happened? I went to Costa Rica for 10 days. I LOVED IT!!! I want to move there. Live there. I was almost impregnated by Jesus (Hey Zeus). Not really, but not for lack of trying on his behalf. But poolside sex when I'm on a trip surrounded by Mormons is sure to send someone to hell. I had so much fun. I sag Karaoke. Badly. Mostly because I had laryngitis and my voice was for shit. But it was fun.

I'm now enjoying a 10 week vacation. I work in a school so I'm off for the summer. I'm trying to do more writing. It's hard because I'm a natural procrastinator and I'm lazy as shit.

That's it for now. More later.

Redeemed

2008-03-23T20:15:00.002-06:00

So, maybe not going to hell. At least not in a kerosene handbasket. During Good Friday services, not one snicker passed my lips. In fact, my eyes teared up. Who wouldn't cry listening to the Passion?

So I guess all is well.

Until the next time someone yells Fuck Me! in my ear.

Holy (Fuck!)

2008-03-21T17:05:00.003-06:00

So last night was Holy Thursday and as a member of my church's choir, I was singing last night. And we were singing a perfectly lovely song, in Latin of which I understood exactly none of.

Now, admittedly, I have a dirty mind and the circumstance or place does very little to curb that. So, you can't blame me for giggling when the words, in Latin, are pronounced 'Fock May.' C'mon, you know that sounds like Fuck Me. And you know that that's funny. So I had a bit of a giggle at rehearsal. I straight up busted out laughing during the service when the woman next to me practically yelled it in my ear. FOCK MAY!!!

Hehehe.

But what made the night even better is that the words 'Fock May' were running through my head for the rest of the night. Making me giggle. Especially during the communion service when I was giggling as the Pastor talked about the Last Supper and Jesus being betrayed. I am sure that everyone in the congregation thought that I was laughing at Jesus and his betrayal.

And that made me laugh harder.

Okay

2008-03-18T20:21:00.002-06:00

So I lied about that whole posting 2-3x/week. It's more like whenever I get a wild hair up my ass.

So my life:

I sent off 'On Business' now officially retitled as 'Lucky Number Four' off to Kate Duffy at Kensington. It should get there tomorrow or Thursday. Wish me luck, person who never reads my blog. (I know no one actually reads this stuff.) I don't know why it's taken me so long to send it out (almost 11 mos! What the FUCK!!!) but it's done now and could be sold by this time in June. I'm not thinking about that now.

I'm working on a romantic suspense. 50,000 words into it and not a drop of sex. I need to rectify that.

Just got a crown. Am I the only person on the planet that finds the sound of a dentist's drill soothing? Seriously, I was about to fall asleep. I find it a bit comforting. Now the smell...yeck!

Oh, and a treat! I'm working on Luck of the Irish! Should be done soon.

That's it. Nothing else.

Later

Pieces of me

2008-01-13T03:13:00.000-07:00

So the other day, my mother and I were in the car. And because I control the radio when I'm in the car and because I'm Black, I was listening to the hip-hop station.

On this particular day, that Ludacris was on the air. You know that song, "What's Your Fantasy?" The one where he and some random skank want like lick each other in non-sanitary areas and get really freaky in what I can only consider very uncomfortable places. I mean, really, on the 50-yard line when the Atlanta Falcons are playing? Bitches will get trampled!

Anyhoo, that song began to play when my mother exclaimed, "Ooh, I like this song!" and proceeds to turn up the volume.

*thud*

"What? What are you talking about? You can't like this song?"

"What?" she replied. "At least I know what they're talking about. Unlike your father."

(Side note: My father really likes that song 'Pony' by Ginuwine. He had no clue what it was about for years. Yeah, that's my family.)

"No, it's not," I cringed. "It's worse. You like a sex song. I'm dying. Is there blood coming out my ears?"

"Monica, please! How do you think you got here?"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear that."

She didn't say anything else. Just proceeded to dance her old lady car dance. I was too horrified to change the station. I think I died a little inside that day.

Another Installment: I'm Going to Hell

2008-01-09T20:49:00.000-07:00

So, I love going to church. I go every week. I especially enjoy the church that I attend. The people are nice (although it IS church so what would you expect), the pastor makes me laugh (which if you know me is the number one way to my heart) and I feel stupid saying this but I feel like I get filled up when I go.

That does not, however, mitigate the fact that I am Monica and my mind is a sick, twisted, demented morass of evilness. (Heidi, you may not want to read past this point!)

This is the scene last Sunday. It was Epiphany Sunday (know your Liturgical calendar people!) and so we were celebrating the Three Wisemen, The Star, The Shepherd, yadda yadda yadda. And in the service, they were singing a very sweet song called "Mary Did You Know?" which asks if Mary, Mother of Jesus, knew that she was carrying the Messiah. (Which of course she did! Duh! The angel came to her to ask to implant her.)

Anyway, one particular line struck me. It was "Did you know that when you kissed his head, you were kissing the face of God?" Innoculous enough, right?

Au contraire, mon freres!

THIS is where my sick, twisted, demented mind goes.

So, if she gave birth to the mortal face of God, His presence on earth, did that mean that she then breastfed God?

I KNOW!!! I'm SICK!!! Who thinks about breastfeeding God? No one. Just me. But if you follow the logic of it, then it really makes sense. I mean, a baby's got to eat! And if she didn't breast feed him, did she then pawn off the breastfeeding of God off to some crazy milkmaid. What? Was she too good to breastfeed the Messiah? Or did she just feel extra weird about God sucking on her titty?

Don't worry, people, I've got my handbasket all ready because you're going o need it for this.

So, after contemplating the breastfeeding of God, I move on. Oh, yes, I move on.

My next stop on the road to hell is thinking about Mary and Joseph. Having sex.

Would you, COULD you, have sex with a woman that you knew gave birth to the Christ child? I mean, how do you hit that knowing who had been all up in there? You've got to be thinking, "I'm doing God's old lady!" I mean, I know that God didn't have sex with her but in a case like that it's really just semantics.

And you know Joseph had to have some massive inferiority complex. You know that when they were doing it and she was moaning, 'Oh, God' he had to be thinking 'Does she mean that literally?'

I'm depraved.

Wow

2008-01-04T14:30:00.000-07:00

It has been a long time. My new year's resolution is to blog at least three times a week. The good news is that I finished my 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo. The bad news: it's only half finished. I'm working on finishing it. A good romantic suspense is at least that long. I don't know how successful I will be in this particular genre but my next tackle is a paranormal.

On a side note, I love my new job. Who hates having two weeks off?

Untitled Excerpt

2007-11-24T00:47:00.000-07:00

Fucking whore!

Fucking whore!

The dark clad man paced the small confines of his apartment. All around him were pictures of the cause of his pain. His agony.
Carmen.

Bitch.

Whore.

Most of the shots were candid. Indeed she had been unaware that he was there, photographing her. Keeping tabs on her.

How dare she talk to me like that? Her! A whore who screwed everything in her path. Like a dog. One word and she spread her legs from anyone who
asked. Like that Todd, guy. How dare she go home with him? Him? A man so unworthy of her.

Well, he’d taken care of that. He’d made sure that Todd was sorry that he’s even dared to touch her.

But it was an empty high. It wasn’t Todd’s fault. Not really. He was snared by her just like a fly was helpless to resist the lure of a black widow’s web. Still, he needed to pay for daring to put his hands on her. He could still remember the feeling of the knife in his hands, the slick feel of the blood on his skin as it sprayed over him. Like a baptism. He’d been renewed.

While Todd hadn’t been his first kill. It was the first time he’d attempted it with a knife. It had slid into Todd’s flesh as easily as a knife through warm butter. Or like sliding deep into the warm body of a willing woman.

He’d been there. The night she’d taken Todd home. It was the first time she’d done that in a long time. She’d been celebrating. Getting drunk and flaunting her body on the dance floor. A siren’s call that Todd had been unfortunate enough to answer.

He had followed them back to Todd’s place. He’d watched through the blinds from across the street as she and Todd made love. No. Not love. Fucked.
They had fucked like animals. Like animals in heat.

The thought was enough to cause his cock to twitch. He ignored it. That’s what she wanted. She wanted him to think about her and rub his cock. She wished that he would pleasure himself. In his mind’s eye, he imagined her across the room. Her curly ebony hair flared out on the pillow. Her caramel skin glowing against the red satin sheets.

“Come on, baby,” fantasy Carmen pleaded, running her hands down her naked body, stopping on her breasts to pinch her nipples. “Let me see that big, hard dick.”

“Whore,” he hissed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side.
Behind his zipper, his penis twitched and grew longer, more demanding. He would not give her the satisfaction.

Fantasy Carmen pouted. “You know what to do. You know what I like.”

“Fucking bitch,” he spat, his fingers coming up to the button at his fly.
Unconsciously, they made quick work of his zipper until he sprung free. “Evil slut. Is this what you want?” The man grabbed his cock in his hand and began to pull.

Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. She did this to him. She was Jezebel. She was Circes, leading mean to their doom. He was a good man. But that didn’t matter to her. She cared only to spread her wickedness to decent men. Men like him.

Tears fell harder as he sped up the motion of his hand.

“Yes, yes,” fantasy Carmen moaned. Her hands left her breasts running along her flat stomach.

He watched with hungry eyes as her thighs parted, revealing her mound. In his mind, she was completely shaved, just as he remembered. He watched as milky fluid

She was hot for it, for him. She was begging for her just like the dog that she was.

“Cunt.” His hands moved over the length of him, faster, pulling harder until the point of pain.

Fantasy Carmen laughed. “You’re pathetic. What kind of man are you? You couldn’t satisfy me. That’s why I left. You and your tiny pena.”

The man’s tears fell harder. “No, no,” he sobbed, never breaking the rhythm of his hand.

Fantasy Carmen sat up in bed, her normally languid brown eyes small and mean. “You wish you were man enough to handle me.”

Despite himself, Carmen’s words only added to his arousal. He knew he was sick. But she did this. She made him this way.

“Go on. Play with your puny, pena. I’m surprised that you could even find it. I know that I couldn’t.” Carmen’s eyes laughed at him.

“Shut up. Shut up,” he shouted hoarsely even as he reached the breaking point. He threw his head back as thick wave of desire and shame washed through him, a tidal force that almost brought him to his knees.

When he opened his eyes, she was gone. She was always gone. She and her taunting eyes. Fucking bitch.

Fucking cunt!

He pulled up his pants and ran over to the wall, began tearing down the pictures that hung there. He looked at the photos of Carmen. Carmen smiling. Carmen laughing.

Soon, he thought.

She wouldn’t be able to forget him. Not again. He would make sure about that.

“So, Dr. Santiago, I saw you talking to Dr. Mitchell.”

Carmen looked up from reading Dr. Gower’s preop orders for their next patient. Carmen was trying to figure out a way to wrangle her way assisting. She had spent the rest of her morning performing scut work, chasing down labs, finding x-rays, and generally doing those things that were delegated to med students but Gower had a sudden belief should be given to Carmen. Which she accepted with a smile on her face. It wasn’t the first time she’d been made to eat shit.

This time, however, she was relatively certain that she wasn’t going to run into
Yummy. After their encounter at lunch and the shitty way that she’d treated him, she would be surprised if he spoke to her again. Which was fine with her, she assured herself.

The mindless scut work had also enabled her to forget about the phone call she’d gotten. Even though it was twice in the space of two days, she was convinced that either someone was playing a stupid prank or that they had the wrong number.

Looking up, she saw the RN who was the day ward supervisor. Molly. She was a cute curly-haired redhead who gave Carmen a run for the money in the bust department. She was also happily married, had three kids, and was the biggest gossip in the entire hospital. After working here for almost 20 years,
she knew everything and everyone.

“Yeah?” Carmen hated her hostile tone.

Molly smiled mischievously. “So? He’s only the most eligible doctor in the hospital. Every single nurse under the age of forty, and some married ones too, have been trying to get his attention. No luck. It’s so sad about his wife, though.”

“His wife?” Acrid anger burned deep within Carmen’s stomach. The bastard was married.

“Oh, yeah,” Molly continued, unaware of the daggers that were flaring from
Carmen’s eyes. “She was so young when she died. Only twenty-nine. They’d only been married for a couple years. Although, I tell you what, if I were married to a doctor I would’ve given up my career like that.” She said with a snap of her fingers. “Especially if I did what she did. I can’t imagine having to go into people’s houses and removing kids. I don’t envy that job.”

That’s it! Carmen knew now why that name was niggling at the back of her mind like a persistent puppy. Dr. Mitchell. His wife Julie was a social worker who’d been killed during a home visit that had turned into a shootout. It happened almost ten years ago, during Carmen’s freshman year in college. She vaguely remembered the grainy pictures of a man torn apart by grief at the loss of his young wife.

Carmen felt shamed by her irrational jealousy. From what she remembered about Candace Mitchell, she was a beautiful woman. Very blonde. Very pretty in a wholesome kind of way. The pictures that she’d seen of them together had reminded Carmen of the typical cheerleader who married the captain of the football team.

“I don’t remember him when I was doing my rotations in med school,” she mused out loud.

“Oh, you wouldn’t have,” Molly answered. “He took a sabbatical a couple
years ago to start that clinic for victims of domestic violence and their families. He only came back a few months ago when they offered him Chief of Medicine.”

Carmen groaned inwardly. Great. Not only had she pissed off a senior staff member, but the Chief of Medicine no less. She was sure that he spoke with Dr. Crosby, the Chief of Surgery. One misplaced word could kill Carmen’s
career before it had really started.

Well, when you fuck up, you do it big, Santiago.

“Anyway, you two looked awfully cozy when I saw you. What were you talking about?”

Carmen knew Molly’s type. One word to her and she would have Carmen and Greg screwing in the bathroom. “Uh, we share a patient.” It was the truth.

Mostly.

Molly’s face fell. “Oh. That’s it?”

“That’s it. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run down to pick up some labs. See you later, Molly.”

Molly eyed her skeptically. “You, too, Dr. Santiago.”

Carmen turned and made her way down the hallway, her mind still on what Molly had said.

When Carmen left the hospital that night, she was exhausted. Like she’d been run over by a bus. Although she hadn’t been able to get in on a surgery, she’d done more than her share. Carmen’s steps as she made her way to her car dragged, as if she were walking through quicksand. She was so exhausted that it took a few minutes for the other steps to filter through her mind. She paused. The steps paused. Carmen quirked her head, her ears strained to detect any sound. There was none. Her heart jumped into her throat.

“Hello?” she called, her voice shaky. Nothing.

Trying to shake off the feeling of dread, Carmen continued walking. For several seconds, she heard nothing. Then there the subtle scrape of rubber on concrete.

Carmen whirled around. “Who is it?”

She expected no answer and wasn’t disappointed. “Listen, fuckface, I’ve got mace and steel-toed boots. You better back off if you want to keep your balls.”
True to her word, Carmen rummaged through her purse until her hands came upon a small, black plastic container. She pulled it out and deactivated the safety.

“Do you hear me?” she yelled.

More silence.

This time, Carmen wasn’t taking any chances. She booked it. By the time she reached her car, her breath came is raspy shudders so loud that she couldn’t hear anything over it.

It took her two times before she was able to find the lock with her key. Her hands were shaking so badly she was terrified that she was going to drop them on the ground.

When she felt the hand on her shoulder, she couldn’t help it. She screamed. She swiveled around so quickly that the man standing behind her had to take a step back.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s only me.”

It took a few seconds for Greg’s voice to register. When it did, Carmen felt her knees give out. She had to catch herself before she fell down. She stayed like that for a while, hands braced against her knees, face pointed down. She concentrated on bring her breathing under control. Calm again, the fear receded and was replaced by acrid anger. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Greg stared at her as though she had grown a second head. “With me?
You’re the one who’s screaming bloody murder.”

Carmen’s face flared with heat. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you decide to accost women in parking garages. Asshole.”

Greg has the decency to look sheepish. “You’re right. I apologize. I wasn’t thinking. I guess I assumed that you had heard me coming.”

“That’s what you get for thinking.” Suddenly, a nasty thought came into
Carmen’s mind. “How long were you following me?”

She watched him blink in shock. “What are you talking about? I didn’t follow you.”

Carmen wasn’t sure that she believed him. “So you just happened to be leaving? At the exact same time I was?”

“It does happen. What’s up with you?”

“You didn’t see anyone?”

“No one. Why? Was someone following you?”

Carmen saw the change come over him immediately. Like a switch had been flipped. His easygoing posture stiffened and his eyes took on a sharp focus as he scanned the area around them. “Where was he? What did he look like?”

Carmen cursed herself for saying anything. “It was nothing. Probably just my overactive imagination.”

She saw the speculation and disbelief enter is midnight eyes. “Are you sure? After that phone call today…”

Carmen stiffened. “That phone call was a wrong number. And probably the reason that my mind is playing tricks on me.”

* * *

Greg considered the pugnacious jut of her chin and knew that there was little that he could do now. Little that she would let him do. “Well, if you want, I can ask the security guard to walk you to your car.”

He knew right away that it was the wrong thing to say. Greg didn’t know that it was possible to become any more rigid, but she went straight as an aluminum bat.

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much, Dr. Mitchell.” His name was spat at him with enough force to push nails through redwood.

“I’m not saying you can’t. Don’t be an idiot. You said yourself that a woman alone at night needs to take some precautions.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

Greg groaned. He wasn’t sure that if he wanted to kiss her or shake her. He did know that either choice was going to lead to her knee in his balls. He looked up to the long fluorescent light bulbs that ran the length of the ceiling and prayed for patience. None came.

Greg ran an impatient hand through his head, causing parts of it to stand on end. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m calling you. Stupid and so fucking hard headed that even if someone where to take a baseball bat to it, I have every confidence that the bat would break.”

Carmen’s lips twitched. She couldn’t help it. He looked too fucking adorable.

“What?” he demanded. “Why are you smiling? I just insulted you.”

Carmen snorted. “That’s not an insult. Do you think you’re the first person to call me hard headed?”

“No. And I probably won’t be the last.”

“You’re right about that. And you’re right about the escort. I usually do have one but with the sun setting so much earlier, I forgot.”

Greg shook his head in disgust. She was not short of a complete enigma. “I don’t get you. I’m nice to you, you treat me like dog shit. I insult you, and you laugh.”

“What can I say? I’m a complicated gal.”

It was Greg’s turn to smile. “That you are.”

“Um, I have to go.”

“Hot date?” Greg tried to ignore the irrational twist of jealousy that clenched his heart.

“Are you kidding? I’m a surgical intern. I have no life. Just a warm bed and a copy of Surgeon Today. I need to get some rest. I’m on night call tomorrow.”

Greg’s brows shot up. “That surprises me. I expected…”

“What? That I was some party girl out there shaking her culo every night?”

The words were harsh but softened by the smile that spread across her face.

Actually, that was exactly what he’s been thinking. “Sorry. I shouldn’t judge.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Carmen muttered beneath her breath. Greg couldn’t understand exactly what she said but he thought it sounded like pendejo. He wasn’t familiar with Spanish but he was sure that she’d just called him a bastard.

“You know, when you get angry, your accent really comes out.”

He knew instantly that that was the wrong thing to say. Carmen’s half-smile faded and her face once again settled into its normal severe lines.

“Thanks.”

“I know I risk a kick in the nuts but do you mind if I ask where you’re from?”

“Why? Looking for a Green Card?”

“No, just curious.”

At fist, he was sure that she wasn’t going to tell him. “Puerto Rico.”

“Really? I went there on my honeymoon.” Greg groaned. It was never sexy to mention your ex. Even less sexy to discuss your honeymoon with your dead wife.

“Really? Good for you. I hope you enjoyed El Yunque and were lulled to
sleep each night by the melodic sounds of the coqui.” Sarcasm coated dripped icily from her lips.

Huh. This was different. Most Puerto Ricans that he knew had an almost perfect devotion to their country. This woman sounded as though she would gladly let it fall back into the ocean.

“Okay, this has been fun. I mean it. Next time you want to scare the living shit out of someone, please find some other insane partner. Later, Mitchell.”

Carmen turned to get into her car. She was stopped once again by the hand on her arm. This time her accelerated heart rate had nothing to do with fear.
She ignored the shiver of desire that wiggled down her arm and straight to the place between her thighs.

“What?” she demanded, her voice harsh with suppressed lust.

“Well, seeing as how I almost made you crap your pants, don’t you think that you could at least tell me your first name?”

“Carmen. But you can still call me Dr. Santiago.”

Carmen ducked into the car and slammed the door so quickly that Greg had to jump out of the way or else break a few fingers.

Through the red haze of her tail lights, Carmen saw Greg still standing where she left him, watching her car as it disappeared from sight.

You may not know this

2007-11-23T18:09:00.000-07:00

But I expanded "On Business" to almost 30,000 words. When I did that, I renamed the story. It is now called "Lucky Number Four." You'll find out why later. I'll post the updated story soon. Or at least excerpts. I'm sending it to Kate Duffy at Kensington to be a Brava novella.

(How's that for thinking positive!)

Well, when I did that, I added the character of Maria Carmen Concepcion Flores y Santiago. Or Carmen Santiago for short. She is one of my absolute favorite characters that I've ever written. So much so that she is the subject of my NaNoWriMo. Which has the bones of being a pretty kick-ass romantic suspense. It's the first time I've attempted to write this genre but after struggling for almost three weeks, I have to say that I think that I'm getting the hang of it. I think that when it's done, I'll have over 100,000 words. My most ambitious yet!

So stay tuned. An excerpt to follow.

In a couple hours, actually.

Wish me luck. I have about 36,000 words now. Only 14,000 words and 7 days to go!

Racistvember

2007-11-23T03:16:00.000-07:00

So I have officially decided that this has been the most racist November in my life and hopefully it is one that will not be repeated. I have therefore decided that this month will be officially christened, Racistvember. A horrible name for a dispicable month.

Why? You ask. What has happened to dull your child-like innocence? I'll tell you.

It all started about three weeks ago. I was going apartment hunting and I brought my friend with me. She's probably reading this blog and will be offended if I call her a white person, so I'll call her Caucasin-ish.

Anyhoo, we go to these apartments that I'd found online. And I'd made an appointment. So I go in and my friend is with me and there's a woman sitting behind the desk talking to whom I assume is another client. Now, at this time, I had no idea that she was Racist Bitch so I stand there, waiting to be acknowledged. My friend is admiring the walls, I don't remember. So I'm waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, the woman looks up, sees me, sees my friend, and proceeds to deny my existence. She's asking my friend if she's looking for an apartment. My friend ignores her. She asks again. My friend ignores her. Finally, she deigns to look at me.

"Hi, yeah, I'm looking for an apartment."

"Well, we don't have any available."

"I'm not looking to move until January."

"We require 60 days' notice and we haven't received any yet."

"I saw three apartment vacant on your website."

"Those have been rented."

Yeah, that's basically how it went. There's only a bit of artistic license that's been taken.

Needless to say that bitch can bite my ass. I wrote a letter to everyone and their mama at that company and I'm considering filing a complaint with the Fair Housing Commission.

Now, that was bad enough. At least I thought so until Monday. I was at a bookstore cafe, working on my NaNoWriMo. There's an old white couple at a table. I sit behind them. The man promptly tells his wife to get up, that they're moving to another table. Now, this isn't an easy move, seeing as how thay had like about a million things that needed to be relocated. (That's a bit of hyperbole.) All the while, he's muttering under his voice. The only word I can make out is 'she.' I ignore him. They move to a new table. He then says to his wife in a loud voice "If she tries anything, you just call out really loud and I'll take care of it." Then he glares at me. At me. And not an angry glare. A hateful glare. Like just my presence in the world was an abomination.

Now. Being a Black American, I know that racism exists. I've experienced it. Just look at the 'Jena 6.' But this has been the first time I've ever had it be so blatant. Nowadays, racists and racism are a bit more subversive They're happier with universally keeping us down. 'The Man' kind of thing.

And to top it off, at church, we had an Ode to the Pilgrims. That, I drew the line with. It was ridiculous. The Pilgrims were a buch of murdering religious freaks. 'Salem Witch Trials' anyone? After the Native befriended them, they repaid their kindness by killing them. God's work, apparently.

I have to say that I am glad that I live here in the U.S. despite my recent tribulations. Better here than Africa, IMHO. But I am not about to build a shrine to the slavers. I'm not going to thank them. I prefer to think of it as bitter seed bearing sweet fruit.

So, that's it. My Racistvember. Fuck it.

NaNoWriMo

2007-10-17T21:36:00.000-06:00

I AM WRITING A BOOK!!!! IN A MONTH!!!!

OMG!!!

2007-09-29T23:48:00.000-06:00

It's been over a month since I've blogged and even longer since I've wriiten anything or even had any thoughts of writing. In my mind, that Nora Roberts' quote "I can fix anything but a blank page," scrolls through my mind like those crazy electronic billboards in Times Square. I feel a lot like that only I still have the blank pages. I wish I could put something funny or witty here but I'm just too sad.

Monica

Ch-ch-cha-changes

2007-08-22T00:53:00.000-06:00

Not much of that happening now. I'm still mired in writer's block and laziness. The good news is that I joined a crit group. We have our first official meeting tomorrow (today). I'm hoping that they will spur me into writing again. Nothing that I'm doing is working. I'm attending my RWA meetings and that's not helping. Maybe I just don't want to be a writer as much as I say I do. MAybe it's just not the right time for me, Maybe I'm super lazy and I'm looking for an excuse for it.

Life sucks!

What I've been up to

2007-07-31T22:51:00.000-06:00

I know, I know. I'm a bad blogger and an even worse author. Writer's block has been kicking my ass! The good news is that I'm reading a lot more. I discovered a new author. Well, new to me. Linda Castillo. She writes romantic suspense. VERY WELL. Her characters are so real and flawed and awesome. I immediately went out and got all of her books from the library. As with every author, there were a couple I didn't dig totally but that's only in comparison to her other books which were awesome.

I'm also reading the Harry Potter books. I never got into them before but I enjoyed the movies. So, I'm starting from the beginning. And I must admit, they are quite good. Easy reads and very interesting. And it doesn't even matter that I know how the final book ends.

What else? I'm in love with someone who doesn't love me but every time I hear his voice or think about him, my stomach quivers. Of course, he's all wrong for me. Four years younger and in general a typical 'guy.' But I can't help it. I think that maybe my lovesick state is contributing to my not writing. Who knows? But I'm going to make an effort to at least do something. I'm joining a critique group. I'm studying Donald Maas. I'm also starting a new job that's going to allow me more time to write. I firmly believe that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

Later Gators

Am I Gay?

2007-06-27T00:59:00.001-06:00

So, I was reading an article published in New York Magazine about the science of gaydar and scientists have found certain links to the physiology of gay people that lead them to believe that being gay is biological (DUH!). Well, one of those things is the relationship between a person's index and ring fingers. Lesbians and straight males tend to have an index finger that is shorter than their ring finger. Gay men and straight women tend to have their index and ring fingers be the same length.

And me? My index finger is a WAY shorter than my ring finger, thus indicating that I'm super gay. LIke Rosie O'Donnell or Ellen Degeneres gay. Am I gay? I'm pretty sure that I don't like to eat cooch, but biologically...

Now this is a slippery slope. I don't know if you remember a study a few years ago done on serial killers which found that serial killers tortured animals. Somehow it got into the American psyche that torturing animals=serial killer. But if you read the study, you'd know that while all serial killers tortured animals, not all people that tortured animals became serial killers. That's a BIG distiction.

Another thing is that if we study the biological basis of being gay, can a 'cure' be far behind? Can we genetically engineer straight children just like we can manufacture our children's genders or physical features? SCARY!!!

To read the full article, click here.

It's my birthday...

2007-06-19T22:27:00.001-06:00

pfft!

Life And Romantic Times

2007-06-11T15:11:00.000-06:00

Hello Again,
I figure that since I'm suffering from a complete and total nervous breakdown I can at least give y'all the lowdown on what's been happening in my life.

First (and most important) I went to the RT Convention a few weeks ago. I had a blast! I highly recommend that all you writers (and readers) go. I cannot remember a time when I had that much fun. I barely slept. I partied all night. I drank. I made some great friends. I met with editors and agents. I got a request for a full by Kate Duffy who I fully intend upon making my platonic life partner I love her so much.

I think what I liked most about it was the environment. There's nothing like being around people who are like you. They read what you read, write what you write. There's no need to justify your choice of reading material. I don't know about anyone else, but I sometimes get tired of the sideways looks I get when I'm in public reading a romance novel. And it's not as though they don't read them. Romance can't sell over 50% of the popular fiction market with just me buying them. (Besides, I rarely buy books.)

I was planning to go next year as well. Unfortunately, I'm about to start a new job and probably won't be able to make the trip. I will be at RWA next year. It's in San Francisco so I'm definitely going.

I've also decided to go to Italy next June for my birthday. I will be thisclose to leaving my twenties behind and I decided to do it up. I hear the nines are harder than the zeroes so that's why I'm treating myself to two weeks in a romantic country. Maybe I'll leave there with a Italian Count as a husband. Or maybe never leave at all. I've got a whole year to plan (and save) for the trip. Part of my plan is to lose weight. I think that now that I have a reason, it may be easier to keep motivated. I'm starting my diet on Wednesday. Why Wednesday, you ask? Well, statistics show that people who start diets on Wednesdays, typically have higher success rates than those who start on Monday.

What else...? I told you I'm starting a new job in August. I'm going to be working in a school. So you know what that means? I get SUMMERS OFF!!!!! Hell yeah! I only have to work 8 months out of the year (including spring break and Christmas vacation)! I'm super excited.

And that's it for now. I'm glad I got a little writing done. Even if it's only my blog.

TTYL

Life(less)

2007-06-10T22:59:00.000-06:00

Hi All,
Sorry that I haven't blogged in like forever but I'm having a few issues right now. I find myself totally devoid of creativity. I don't know what's going on with me. I'm not writing much of anything right now. I'm in a big slump and I don't know why. I'm really sorry for all of you who are waiting for updates on LOTI. I know writing is like a job and I need to treat it as such. But I'm having difficulty being creative, finding words, creating stories. I have lots of ideas but no motivation. I'm hoping this is a fad but it's been like a month and I still haven't shaken it.

Ah, well. Poor me, I guess. I'm going to try harder. I hope to have something accomplished by the end of the week.

Pray for me.

RT Brewhaha (sp?)

2007-05-03T13:53:00.000-06:00

I don't have time to blog extensively right now but here are a few articles for discussion...

http://sensualwriter.blogspot.com/2007/05/rthyatt-author-targeted.html

http://karenknowsbest.blogspot.com/2007/05/kathryn-falk-romantic-times-book-review.html

http://www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com

I will say that I am behind Laura Baumbach 100%!!

I Think/I know

2007-04-18T21:05:00.000-06:00

I think...Nina Bangs is an awesome name for a romance novelist.

I know...Carla Neggers is a great writer but an unfortunate name.

I think...life is too short to spend it miserable.

I know...you're supposed to wipe your ass from front to back.

I think...sex is fun and I need to have WAY more of it.

I know...a2+b2=c2

I think...romance novels are a valid form of artistic expression.

I know...that the sky is blue because it reflects off the ocean.

I think...chocolate is the greatest thing ever invented.

I know...Jesus loves me.

I think...I have a pretty face in spite of my fat ass.

I know...what the word hyperbole means.

I think...most vegetable are delicious.

I know...water's molecular structure is H2O.

I think...I don't know as much as I know I do.

I know...I'm done with this post for now.

What do you think/know?

Random Survey

2007-04-06T23:17:00.001-06:00

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

Monica Quatermaine from General Hospital- No LIE!!

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

I have no clue.

3. do you like your handwriting

I'm illerate.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?

Honey Ham

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

Not anymore...

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?

I'd do me...wait, that wasn't the question

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?

No, I'm always spreading sunshine from my fucking ass

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS

Considering all that my throat's been through, surprisingly yes

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?

Only if I want to land on my fat ass

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?

Honeynut Cheerios

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?

I wear velcro

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?

I can kick your ass if that's what you're asking

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?

Mocha Almond Fudge or Ben and Jerry's Oatmeal Cookie Chunk

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

Their teeth

15. RED OR PINK?

Red

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?

Why? Did you notice something? Are you trying to tell me I'm ugly?

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST

18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?

Why not?

19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?

No pants and red high heels

20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?

Turkey burger

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?

Commercial

22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?

Purple.

23. FAVORITE SMELLS?

Coconut, vanilla, Maui musk, chocolate

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?

Todd

25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?

She's swell!

26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?

FOOTBALL!!!!

27. HAIR COLOR?

Dark Brown

28. EYE COLOR?

Dark Brown

29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?

No

30. FAVORITE FOOD?

Lasagna

31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

Scary movies wth happy endings

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?

Shopgirl

33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?

Brown

34. SUMMER OR WINTER?

FUCK WINTER

35. HUGS OR KISSES?

Only if we're having sex.

36. FAVORITE DESSERT?

Very moist chocolate cake

37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?

Melissa

38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND

George Clooney

39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?

Some crappy romances from my RWA chapter

40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?

Don't have one

41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V . LAST NIGHT?

Shopgirl

42. FAVORITE SOUND?

A baby laughing

43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?

Beatles

44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?

Spain

45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?

Is killing a special talent?

46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

California

47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?

You ask too many fucking questions!

My Latest Obsession

2007-04-04T01:41:00.000-06:00

GERARD BUTLER. I love this man. I want to do very bad, very sexual, probably half-way illegal things to him. I want to do things to him that would make a porn star blush. That's how much I love this man. I mean, c'mon! Did anyone SEE 300? As if there weren't enough half-naked hunks all sweaty and oiled and homoerotic, we had GERARD in the movie.

How can you not look at all this hotness and not want to rip his clothes off?

Now, I admit that there are women out there that may fight me for him, but I am fully prepared to shank a couple trifling hoes who are out to steal my man. I don't play. How can I when the prize is this?

Luck Of the Irish Chapters 1-4

2007-04-03T00:02:00.000-06:00

Chapter One

As Leila flopped down onto the soft feather mattress, she wondered yet again at the mad impulse that led her to come to Ireland. Maybe it was the bitterly cold weather back in Chicago. Maybe it was the fact that she’d recently taken a leave of absence from her job as a pediatrician at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
But it was more likely the fact that her mother had passed away almost six months ago and Leila still felt lost.

She turned onto her side and tucked her knees into her chest. She stared blankly at the lace curtain that covered the window. The town of Dublin lay just beyond the curtains. Normally, Leila would’ve been excited to explore a new place. Instead, the thought of going out into the world felt more like a crushing load than a grand adventure. Leila could feel the black wave of sorrow threaten to drown her as she turned her face into the flowery duvet and cried.

It was the light fluttering through the eyelets of the curtain that awakened Leila the next morning. Leila groaned as she rolled over. Her entire body ached from the odd position in which she’d been sleeping.
Even worse was the fact that she’d forgotten to brush her teeth, she thought with a grimace.

Leila lay on her back. She stared unseeingly at the ceiling. She supposed that she should get up and get showered. Leila took a deep breath.

Get a grip, Mason, she told herself sternly.

She knew that her mother would have been disappointed by Leila’s lack of enthusiasm. Audrey Mason would have already been out of bed and practically dancing around the room in her excitement. She loved visiting new places, exploring, learning.

Leila allowed a small smile at the thought even as she felt her heart clench. Even after all these months, she still couldn’t believe that her mother was gone. At times, she felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare. The cancer had come so quickly, no one had been prepared. Not even her mother, who until the time she was diagnosed had been extremely healthy.

That was the problem. By the times the doctors caught the cancer; it was too late. It had metastasized throughout her entire body until it was virtually eating at her from the inside. Audrey died three months later.

Throughout that time, Leila hardly left her mother’s side. She was there when her mother drew her last breath. She’d been holding her hand.

And now she was alone.

With a weary sigh, Leila hefted herself out of bed. She shuffled her way towards the bathroom, removing her clothes as she went until they left a trail behind her.
In the bathroom, she accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She almost didn’t recognize herself.

Perversely, she thought, ‘Well, at least I finally lost those twenty pounds.’
And they were pounds that she could well afford to lose. Audrey had always affectionately referred to Leila as ‘Roly,’ as in roly poly. Leila had eventually come to accept that she would always be more than a bit pudgy.
She turned to study herself more fully in the mirror. The loss of weight had gone a long way to slimming her hips and buttocks. She looked more curvy and less like a pear. She decided that it was a good look.

It was anybody’s guess as to if she could actually keep it off.

Turning away, Leila turned on the taps and adjusted the temp before starting the shower. She stepped into the tub and under the warm, beating water. She allowed the water to work out the kinks in her neck and shoulders until the water began to cool.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. As she did, she became aware of a gnawing hunger in her stomach. She realized that she hadn’t eaten in almost 36 hours. She was famished.

Leila hurried through the rest of her morning ablutions. She set and dried her naturally curly hair until it fell in soft curls around her face. Leila’s smooth almond skin was a blessing as all she really needed was a quick swipe of lip gloss and some mascara. Back in the bedroom, she hastily donned a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. As she did, she heard the sounds of laughter and crowds outside her bedroom window.

Leila paused as she entered the lobby, unsure of her next move. When she’d arrived at the quaint B&B the night before, she’d been too tired to do anything but collect her room key. She shifted nervously from foot to foot. She could see no one behind the desk.

As she debated whether to go out to eat, she heard a movement from behind her. She turned to see who and entered the room.

And promptly swallowed her tongue.

Danger! her mind screamed.

The man’s stocky frame filled a tiny doorway to what Leila assumed was the storeroom. She estimated his height as maybe about an inch or so above six feet but his powerful frame made him appear more intimidating. He reminded her of a heavy-weight prizefighter, big and bulky.

However, it was his face that caught her attention. He wasn’t classically handsome. His age could have been anywhere from 30 to 50 but Leila guessed that he was probably closer to forty. His craggy, weatherworn face appeared stern and hard.
Until you looked into his eyes. They were the most startling blue she’d ever seen. Like a soft spring sky over a crystal clear lake. They could easily have been cold, but instead they twinkled with unknown merriment. There were deep lines around his eyes that stated that this was a man who loved to laugh.

The combination was baffling.

“Can I help you, lass?”

Leila allowed the smooth, rich sound of his voice wash over her. His voice managed to somehow be both comforting and dangerous.
Leila finally became aware that he was staring at her, waiting for an answer to his question.

Leila shook her head to clear it. “Sorry. Do you work here?”

She grimaced as she realized what a stupid question it was.

The man smiled, revealing dimples on either side of his firm, full mouth. Leila melted a little.

“That I do. At least for the day. Was there something that you were needing?”

At that moment, Leila’s stomach decided to make its demands known. Quite loudly. She could feel the heat begin to seep into her cheeks.

“Ah, so it’s a bit of the grub that you’re after.”

She smiled wryly. “How could you tell?”

The man winked at her. “I’m told that I have a bit of the fey in me. Come. Let’s go see what Old Bess has for you in the kitchen.”

“Oh, no,” she protested, “I don’t want to be any trouble. I can go out if I missed breakfast.”

“Nonsense. It’s no trouble. This is a B&B, is it not? What do we do but provide for bed and a breakfast? And I see you’ve had yourself a bit of one and now on to the other”

The man stepped away from the door and man is way toward her. For such a big man, he moved with surprising grace. His movements sleek and coordinated, much like that of a cat after its prey.

Suddenly, Leila’s heart began to race as though she were the one being stalked. She took an instinctive step back. The air in the room had suddenly gone thick. Leila found it hard to drag sufficient air into her lungs.

The man stilled. He cocked his head in askance. His eyes were gentle but…knowing.
Thankfully, she was saved from having to answer by the arrival of another person into the room. This one was blessedly female.

“Ah, lass, you’re awake then. And I see that my nephew Liam here is taking care of you well enough.”

Leila pulled her gaze away from Liam to see the person who was speaking. She was extremely grateful for the interruption.

It was the same woman that had checked her in last night. Now that she mentioned it, Leila could see the resemblance between the two. They had the same black hair and blue eyes, although Bess’ weren’t as brilliantly hued as Liam’s. Bess also had the same, tall, yet study body structure. They were definitely family.
Leila search frantically for her name. Shea? Shannon? Sheehan. That was it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Sheehan.” Leila dredged up a small smile for the woman.

“Oh, call me Bess. Everyone does.”

This time, Leila’s smile was genuine. “Bess. I was just asking your nephew if he could recommend a good place for breakfast.”

Bess smiled. “You’ll find no finer breakfast than right here in this very house.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Bah.” Bess waved away her concerns. “What is this if not a place to fill your belly and find a good night’s rest?” Her words echoed that of her nephew.

Leila refused to look over at Liam. She had a feeling he would be smirking.
“Now come along, lass. I’m thinking that you’ll be needing a nice hearty Irish breakfast. Too skinny, you are.”

Leila opened her mouth to protest. Never in her life had anyone told her that she was ‘too skinny.’ She quickly shut it as she realized that she liked the feeling.

CHAPTER TWO

Liam stayed and watched as his aunt led the woman away. His eyes strayed to her hips as they swayed in time to her steps. Although he would’ve been embarrassed to be caught staring at the woman’s ass, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that the woman had a world-class arse.

Liam propped himself against the reception desk and considered the woman who’d just left the room.

Everything about her screamed woman and yet whispered fragile. There was something behind her dark chocolate eyes that bespoke pain, hurt. He wondered if she had recently broken up with a lover. It was one explanation as to why a single woman would travel all the way to Ireland by herself.

Maybe this was a lover’s trip, cut short by quarrel.

However, something deep inside him hoped that it wasn’t the case. There was something about the woman, with her soulful brown eyes and almond skin that spoke to him. Something that made him want to scoop her up and hold her until all the shadows disappeared from her eyes.

It was an uncomfortable feeling. One that he wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue.

Still, his curiosity led him to trail after her. He found them where he’d expected. Bess was buzzing around the kitchen. Her hands busy plating food. The woman, whose name he still didn’t know, sat quietly at the kitchen table as she quietly sipped coffee. She looked a bit bewildered, but then most people did when faced with his aunt.

Liam leaned against the doorway, simply watching. If he hadn’t been studying her so carefully, he would’ve missed the almost imperceptible stiffening of her back. She was aware of him even if she studiously avoided looking back at him.

“Here you are, love. You go right ahead and eat up.” Bess said as she placed the plate in front of Leila.

Liam’s smile widened as he watched the woman at the table took down at the items on the plate. He could practically see the wheels turning on her mind as she worked to decipher what exactly she was about to eat.

“Aunt Bess, I think I’ll have a bit of a bite as well.” Liam stated as he strode towards the table.

Bess looked startled. “Have you not eaten then, Liam?”

Liam straddled the chair next to Leila. As he did, his thigh brushed her. Leila stiffened even more and shifted to put some more distance between them.

“I have indeed, Aunt Bess. But there’s only so much temptation a man can take and your black pudding is one that I cannot resist.”

Bess looked pleased. “It’s a bit of the sweet tongue you’ve got, Liam O’Donnell.”
She hurried back to the stove to plate his food.

Liam turned his attention back to the woman sitting beside him. She stared down at the plate in consternation. Liam couldn’t resist the urge to tease her just a bit. He leaned over and whispered, “Don’t you worry, love. Aunt Bess makes the best bangers in all of Ireland.”

“Bangers?” she asked hesitantly.

“Sheep intestine,” Liam lied.

Leila recoiled.

Liam had to quickly bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the expression of sheer horror that crossed her face.

“Now, child, don’t be listening to Liam. He’s have a bit of fun on you. He has a liking for getting you Yanks all riled.”

Liam’s grin widened at the venomous glare Leila shot him.

“Now, eat up, girl. A good Irish breakfast will cure what ails you.”

Leila reluctantly picked up the fork. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Not at all, love.”

“What exactly is that?” Leila’s for stabbed in the general direction of the fat, greasy black cylinder on her plate.

“It’s nothing but a bit of Black Pudding.”

“Black pudding.”

“I think you Yanks call it Blood Sausage.”

Liam watched the color drain from the woman’s face. Apparently, that wasn’t the
answer she was hoping for.

Still, he had to give her credit. She did take a tiny bite of the meat. And her
grimace was virtually undetectable.

“There’s a love,” Bess stated, pleased as punch. “There’s so wrong that a good breakfast can’t fix. So, how are you liking our fair Dublin.”

Liam watched the woman quickly swallow her food. “Well, the view out the window of the cab was lovely. I’m hoping to see some more today. The noise outside my window
reminded me of Chicago. I had no idea Dublin was so busy.”

“Well, it is and it isn’t. You caught us in the midst of our St. Patrick’s Day festival day,” Liam answered.

Leila looked surprised. “I totally spaced that it was St. Patrick’s Day on Saturday. But I thought it was only an Irish-American tradition. I didn’t think it was a big deal here in Ireland.”

“Yes, and you thought we’d let all you Yanks have the fun?” Liam winked.
He saw the uncomfortable look that crossed her face before she turned back to her food.

“So, miss, if it’s not a bit of old St. Pat that you’re after, what brings you to Ireland?” Bess asked.

Leila shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. My mother has always wanted to visit but she never got a chance to before…”

Light dawned on Liam. Her mam was gone.

Bess looked as though she wanted to reach out and hug the young woman. She paused as she thought better of it and settled for patting the woman’s shoulder. “Well, you picked a fine time to visit. Perfect time for you young ones.”

Leila offered a weak smile, her appetite gone. She picked at her food.

“So, what do you do there back in Chicago?”

“I’m a doctor. A pediatrician.”

Both Bess and Liam looked surprised. “Really? But you’re so young.” Bess protested.

Leila laughed at this. “Not so young.”

“When you get to be my age, there’s not many who aren’t so old.”

“Yes, Aunt Bess is positively in her druthers.” Liam added cheekily.
Bess swatted at him. “I swear if you weren’t my nephew, I’d cosh you.”

“Ah, Bess, gods be blessed for your gentle heart.”

Leila watched the pair as they teased one another and felt her heart squeeze. It was reminiscent of her own relationship with her mother. Unfortunately, her mother had had no family and only God knew where her father had disappeared. So when Miriam Mason had passed, she’d left Leila truly all alone.

“Excuse me,” Leila gasped, her eyes burning with tears. “I don’t think I can eat anymore. Thank you.” She pushed her chair back abruptly, the legs scraped the floor. Without looking back, she fled the room.

CHAPTER THREE

Bess and Liam stayed behind. They watched the distraught young woman hurry from the room as though the hounds of hell were at her heels.

“Poor, girl. So young to lose her mam.” Bess murmured.

Liam’s eyes were speculative. “Yes.”

Bess recognized the look of hunter in his eyes. “Now, Liam, don’t you be getting ideas. I won’t have you bothering Miss Leila while she’s staying here. She’s got enough on her heart right now without you adding extra burden.”

Leila. Liam rolled the room around in his mind. Sweet. Exotic. Much like the woman herself. “Aunt Bess, you know me.”

“Aye, I know you. And I know that you’ve got the silver tongue of the devil. That girls needs to heal. Not a tumble between your sheets.”

Liam looked offended. “I’m not that careless.”

Bess leaned over to pat his shoulder. “No, Liam. You’re a good man. But you’re hell on a woman’s heart.”

Liam wanted to argue but deep down he knew she was right. It wasn’t purposeful. He enjoyed the company of women, probably more than most. He found them the most fascinating of creature. He loved the way they smelled, the way they moved, the delicate line between the nape of their necks and their spines. The problem was, while he thought the woman fun, they had a tendency to want more. They wanted a relationship.

Liam shuddered at the word.

Bess nodded sagely. “I see that you take my meaning. Let the girl be. She needs to heal. And Ireland is a place of magic and miracles. I’m sure that she’ll find hers.”

Liam bowed his head in acquiescence. But his eyes strayed again to the door, his mind still on the woman with the strange, haunting eyes.

CHAPTER FOUR

Leila raced up the stairs, not stopping until she was back in her room. Breathless, she leaned back against the door.
Too soon. Too soon. The thought repeated over and over, a mantra in her head.
Coming was a bad idea, she thought. She was in no shape to be around people. It was part of the reason she’s decided to leave Chicago. She knew that she had alienated some of her friends. She felt raw and exposed and that made many people uncomfortable. Not that she could blame them for keeping their distance. Not many could tolerate being with a walking wound. For them, the death of a parent was a foreign idea. It had been the same for her…before.

Leila slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor. She rested her forehead on her bent knees. She willed herself not to cry. She’d never been a big crier and that weakness made her all the more disappointed in herself.

“Mama,” she whispered, the sound rife with a shattered heart.

Sitting there, Leila felt a strange sensation, like that of a stroke of fingers across her cheek. For a brief moment, she could have sworn she could smell the scent of her mother’s perfume. She closed her eyes. It was probably her mind playing tricks on her. Like before.

Before she’d left Chicago, Leila began to have strange hallucinations. She would see her mother standing outside her bedroom window or have incredibly vivid dreams of talking to her mother. In them, her mother had talked about how she’s always wanted to visit Ireland. She’d said that Leila should go in her place.

In desperation, Leila had gone to see a therapist. The woman had told her that it was not unusual for people who were grieving to think that they could see the deceased or ‘feel’ them in a room. It had helped to know that she wasn’t going crazy. The therapist had encouraged Leila to take this trip. She felt that it may help Leila feel a sense of closure around her mother’s death.
Leila was beginning to suspect that she’d wasted her money.

It’s okay, baby. Leila’s mother’s voice floated through her mind. Leila felt the
impact of them as immediately the tightness in her chest began to ease. Her
breathing slowed as a sense of peace flowed through her.

Leila stood and as she did, she wiped away the tears she’d been unaware were running down her face. She allowed herself a small smile.

Well, if you’re going to go crazy, she thought, you may as well do it in Ireland.
The worst they could call you is a wee bit daft.

She walked to the bathroom. Once inside, she turned on the water, intent of washing her face. Instead of the round of rushing water, there was instead a horrible grinding noise and before Leila’s horrified eyes, the pipe beneath the lovely pedestal sink burst.

“Oh, shit!” she exclaimed. “Fuck. Fuck. Shit fuck.” Leila frantically scrounged around for something to stem the rushing water. Finding no towels, she rushed from the room to the bedside phone.

“Um, I have a bit of an emergency here,” Leila began at Bess’s cheerful greeting. “Could you send someone with a wrench?”

Leila didn’t wait for Bess response before she hung up the phone and raced back to the bathroom.

After what seemed like several minutes, she heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called, frantically attempting to use a hand towel to contain the leak.

“If you really wanted to see me again, you needn’t have flooded the bathroom. A simple phone call would’ve sufficed.”

Leila’s head whipped around at the sound of the arrogantly amused voice coming from the doorway.

“What are you doing here?”

Liam held up the wrench. “You rang?”

Leila bit her lip in frustration. He was the last person she wanted to see. “Do you plan on standing there all day or can you actually do something productive?”
Liam leaned against the door jamb. “I don’t know. I’m thinking that I like the view from here.” He said as he stared at her chest.

Leila looked down to where the water had soaked through her thin shirt and was plastered against her body. She could clearly see the outline of her breast and thanks to the simple laws of nature, her nipples stood out, diamond hard against the lace of her bra.

Leila gasped and covered her chest. “Pervert.” She accused.

Liam feigned hurt. “You can’t blame a man for looking. Especially when the scenery
is so tempting.” His voice dropped until it was practically a purr.

Leila shivered with awareness. For the first time since her mother died, she could feel the sizzle of attraction race down her spine.

Leila shot up like a cannon. “Um, can get it to stop.”

“I can try. I may not be successful.” Liam’s meaning was clear.

Leila ignored the spark of desire his voice ignited. “Please just fix it.”

Liam bowed gallantly. “You wish, my lady.”

Leila was tempted to say that he wish was that he leave her alone. That he stop tempting her with his hooded eyes and thinly veiled innuendo. Especially now that her body decided to emerge from its deep freeze. Leila was certain that it had more to do with the passage of time and the close proximity to an incredibly virile, incredible appealing man.

Leila couldn’t help but notice how snugly his jeans fit over his ass. She almost shivered when he bent over, tightening the fabric even further.

Stop staring at his ass! she admonished herself. But her eyes refused to listen and instead began to follow the line of his spine to the nape of his neck. She stared intently at the spot. She wondered what it would taste like if she were to go over and take a nip at it. She imagined walking over and grabbing that tender flesh between her teeth.

Her breathing quickened as she felt her body begin to soften. Her pussy began to throb.

She pictured dotting sweet, suckling kisses up and down his neck until she reached his mouth. There, she would place a hard, hungry kiss. The taste of him in her tongue would be tantalizing, spicy and exotic, much like the man himself.

Leila swing away from the door. She fanned her face, embarrassed at the direction of her thoughts. Another few seconds and she would have acted on her wanton thoughts.

What the hell was wrong with her? She was not the type of woman who engaged in erotic fantasies and she certainly never acted on them. Why all of a sudden, was she a needy mess?

“That should take care of your pipes for now, but I’ll have to run out to the shops to buy the parts. I should have your pipes good as new by tomorrow,” came Liam’s muffled voice.

Leila almost laughed at the absurdity of talking about her ‘pipes.’ If he only knew.

“Thanks,” she croaked.

Liam emerged from the bathroom. He tilted his head to stare at her. “Are you alright, love? You’re looking a bit peaked.”

Leila didn’t return his stare, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep last night.”

It was a lie. He knew it. He moved closer. Leila’s breath hitched in her throat.

“Okay. Well, I’ll be letting Aunt Bess know that your bathroom needs to be dried.
You’ll be right as rain by tonight.”

Leila nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Are you sure that you don’t need anything else, love?”

Liam’s voice was pure temptation. Leila couldn’t help but respond. She backed up further into the wall in a desperate attempt to put distance between her and Liam.

“You don’t even know my name,” she whispered, all pretense gone.

“You’re right about that, love. That doesn’t seem to matter. Still, I am curious. What is your name?”

“Leila.”

Almost before the word left Leila’s lips, they were captured by Liam’s.

Instead of being hard and demanding, Liam’s lips were soft and firm. They sought to gently coax a response of Leila’s trembling lips. Tenderly, he used the tip of his tongue to trace the shape of her lips. He lapped softy at their seam. Leila let out a small, breathy sigh. Liam took full advantage and slipped his tongue into the dark, humid opening. He tasted sweet yet salty. Familiar yet exotic. Liam took his time with the kiss. His tongue hunted hers. He engaged it in a playful dual, sliding sensually between her mouth and his. It was the sweetest kiss she’d ever experienced.

Leila could feel herself slowly melting into him. Liam tightened his arms around her, bringing their fronts into tight contact. The motion caused Leila to shiver. Her nipples tightened into diamond-hard points. She arched gently into him, seeking more contact. She silently willed him to touch her. He didn’t. He kept his hands on her back, holding her securely.

Leila could feel the prick of tears in her eyes. It had been so long since anyone had held her. Even longer since she could remember feeling so safe.
Liam tasted the salt of her tears and pulled away. “What is it, love?” he asked as he brought his hands up to cup her face. He gently wiped away the tears from her cheeks.

Leila shook her head, too upset to speak. She kept her eyes closed she turned her
face into his touch.

“It’s okay. You’re not ready yet.”

Leila nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words. As much as her body was willing, more than willing, there was still something that held her back. She appreciated Liam’s patience even as she cursed it. Part of her wished that he would push a little harder, somehow take the choice away from her. The other half of her know that he was a good man, too good to coerce a fragile woman.

“Thank you for understanding.” Leila sighed as she moved out of his arms. She went to stand in front of the window. She looked out at the throngs of people that lined the street.

Liam stayed where he was and watched her. She had complication written all over her, this beautiful American. Normally that alone was enough to make him run away. But something about her vulnerability called out to him. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to take her in his arms and assure her that everything would be alright.

“I’m not normally a tease, you know.” She said wearily.

“Oh, are you a bit of a tramp, then?” he teased, eliciting the smile that he hoped for.

“Not that, either, smart ass.”

“Well, that’s good then. I can’t have you sullying my practically angelic existence with you base and debauched ways.”

Leila let out a small laugh before once again sighing. “I feel like I’m on a roller coaster. I can’t seem to find my footing. One minute I’m up and the next I’m walking on glass.”

“It’s to be expected, love. Losing your mother can’t be an easy thing. Give it some time.”

“That’s what everyone says. Me, I say I’m losing my mind. I still feel her, you know?”

Liam looked confused. “Beg pardon?”

“My mom. I still feel her in the room with me. Like she’s haunting me. Sometimes I hear her voice or smell her perfume.”

“That, too, is only to be expected.”

“It’s crazy is what it is.”

“Crazy? Not a’tall. Now, let me tell you about my great-aunt Brigid. A nastier woman you’d never want to meet. Made her husband Seamus’ life miserable. Over fifty years they were married before she was kicked in the head by a goat.” Liam heard Leila’s muffled laughter and was encouraged. “A happier man never did you see at a wake. Freedom was what he was thinking. At least until he went to bed that night and Brigid appeared. She nagged him about the wake. She complained about the food and the lack of sufficient mourners. Day and night she nagged at poor Uncle Seamus until one day he took to wearing earmuffs and singing bardies at the top of his lungs. Every time you saw old Seamus, he was singing, his voice never went hoarse by the grace of God. Now, did we put him away? Of course not. Everyone know that Brigid was too bad to get into heaven and too mean to get into hell.”
This time her laugh was genuine. “That’s what I love about you Irish. You have a high toleration for the eccentric.”

“Of course, lass. You’re in the land of fairies and leprechauns. Pah! What’s a ghost? A trifle really.”

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“Any time lass. I’d best be off, now. I’ll send someone up to clean the mess. Soon, you’ll be right as rain.” Liam gathered his tools and headed out the door.
It closed behind him with a soft snick.

Leila watched him go with a heavy heart. She wanted to call him back. Her body ached with the need to finish what they’d started. But she knew that she’d just be using him to help her to forget and once those brief moments of satisfaction passed, she’s be awash in guilt. It was fair to either one of them. Leila plopped down on the bed.

It was too bad, really. She had a feeling that it would’ve been better than good.

Damn!

To Domain or Not to Domain

2007-04-02T13:59:00.000-06:00

So, this whole being a finalist is really getting to my head. I have spent the last forever it seems like just wallowing in the inflated greatness. I think I'm the shit, which is a change from somedays when I feel like shit. I'm sure that this will all go away in a couple days. I mean, I'm only a finalist, not the winner. Yet. Just kidding. For all I know, I could get honorable mention.

One thing that this has done for me is made me realize that I need to take my writing a bit more seriously. To that end, I've started an online writing class. I've been reading books on publishing and editing. I'm joining a critique group. And more importantly, I'm thinking about starting my own website. I just went to Go Daddy and looked up my penname and it's available for the taking. It's only $9/yr. To buy the name. Let's not even talk about hosting. So, I'm in a quandry as to whether or not to buy it and think about hosting later. I'm torn.

What do you think?

And in other 'Business'

I've got good news and bad news.

The good news is that I'm thinking about expanding 'On Business' to at least 40,000 words for possible publication. I got some really cool ideas that bombarded my brain last night and kept me from sleeping.

The bad news is that I won't be posting the updates.

*hands covering head*
donthitmedonthitmedonthitmedonthitmedonthitme

I'm sorry! I just don't think a publisher would buy a story that people are getting for free.

But, just this minute, I've decided to make it up to you by posting 'Luck of the Irish.' It'll be up later tonight and it'll be good. Really good.

Not an April Fool's Day Joke

2007-04-01T14:04:00.000-06:00

Hello to all my loyal 'Random' fans,

A couple months ago I told y'all that I'd entered a couple of my stories into a writing contest. Well, after weeks of hearing nothing, I've finally decided to check the website. To my great disappointment, I discovered that I was not a finalist.

To that end, I've decided to pack it in. I'm quitting my writing 'career.' I'm already a successful social worker (if there's even any such thing.) I haven't decided if I'll pack up Random, yet. My heart's broken so I may be away for a few weeks. I don't know...

SIKE!!!

As if that would ever happen! I do want to share my extremely awesome great wonderful news. My very own blog story 'On Business' is a finalist in the Heart of the Rockies contest in the Erotica category!!!!!

Can you BELIEVE it?!??!?!

I just about shit my pants. I was with my family having breakfast when I heard got the call. (Unfortunately, I'll have to wait until the day when I get THE CALL.) My screams could be heard for several miles. I called my best friend and told her. She was surprised and very supportive. She asked for a copy. I may or may not give it. Who knows?

You may be asking yourself what exactly this means for me. Well, my story is going to get read by a real-life Agent. She may or may not offer representation but she will know my name when I query her later because she's on my 'list.' More importantly, it's a honest-to-GOD writing credit. It may just keep my query letter or partials out of the slush pile and in a publisher's or agent's hot little hand.

So I wanted to thank all of you who've enjoyed my writing and encouraged me and inspired me to pursue my writing.

Love,
Me

Check Me Out!

2007-03-22T20:39:00.001-06:00

Ny author day is here! Thanks to Nicole who is a super fan of my work and she did me a big solid my posting me on her blog. Fan(s) of me will appreciate my humorous answers to the questions. I am nothing if not quirky.

So, run, don't walk over to Nicole's blog:

http://darkicegoddessmusings.blogspot.com/

Later gator

A Little Late...

2007-03-18T16:22:00.000-06:00

Apropos?

2007-03-12T13:08:00.000-06:00

Your Mind is NC-17 Rated

You're mind is so filthy... you should should be washing every part of you out with soap.
If your thoughts can go dirty, they do. Almost everything is NC-17 to you!

Do You Have a Dirty Mind?

The Urge To Merge

2007-03-02T00:19:00.000-07:00

So, I finally got around to watching 'March of the Penguins' which I found out is a play on the mating season which begins in March.

Anyhoo, if you haven't seen this movie, you should. It's amazing. It really is a love story about family. The fact that there are even Emperor penguins in this world. It's truly a miracle. I was awestruck.

But not too much that I didn't wonder first how penguins actually do the deed as it were and secondly what they might taste like. Not that I'd eat them. I won't even eat buffalo. But I wondered if there were actually people out there that may have killed and eaten penguin. And of they have, please don't say that it tasted like chicken.

In other news...

I have finally decided on a penname. When my books are published, the front cover will read 'Monica Kaye.' Catchy, huh? It's my first name and middle initial.

And in really good news...

Check out my pal Nicole's blog 'Dark Ice Goddess' Musings' on March 23rd when yours truly will be the guest author. She sent some really funny questions and I sent some what I thought were funny answers.

So, check it out!

A Confession

2007-02-28T22:11:00.000-07:00

I love romance novels. I read them voraciously. And although I've been superbusy in my life and haven't read as many as I would like lately, I'm still all about romance.

My confession? I don't buy books. Well, rarely. And only at used bookstores or K-mart which sells them for 25% off list. I never buy hardbacks. Ever.

Or I go really cheap and do the library thing.

Why? Because I think that they're just getting so fucking expensive. $26 for a book? Really? I don't think so! And paperbacks aren't all that much better. I remember when I could buy a Harlequin book for $2.50. Now, they're almost $5. And people outside of the industry may not know this, but word counts are going down, Blaze used to be 75,000 words. Now they're 65,000. That's a huge difference. People are paying more but getting less.

And although I am an aspiring writer, I'm also a consumer. I think I'm the typical consumer who's outraged at the treatment that we're getting from publishers. I rarely buy even my most fave authors and never take the chance of new ones.

I cannot tell you how angry I was when JD Robb's 'In Death' books went hardback. I used to immediately buy them right off the shelves. Now not so much. And there was that brief stint that Christine Feehan made into the new 'reader friendly' format. They were those long columns books. I hated them. And they were like $3 more expensive than normal. For the same thing!

The problem is that I know that when I spend a Saturday at the bookstore and read 3 books that I won't buy, while I think I'm hurting the publisher (which I am), I'm doing more damage to the writer. Especially unpubs like myself. When I make it harder for established writers, I make it damned near impossible for myself.

I think that the publishing industry needs to address many of these concerns. The growing popularity of e-pubs and e-books are taking a chunk of their business. I would buy an e-book before a print. I know that may of the publishers are dipping their toes into the e-pub trade. I think it's a step in the right direction. I saw a book at the bookstore that I wanted to buy but it was too expensive. I went onto the website and I bought the e-book a few days later. That should tell publishers a lot.

I don't know exactly what the solution to this may be, but I know that my concerns are that of many others. It's the talk of the publishing industry. It's a problem that needs to be solved.

Now, I love books. I love the feel of them in my hand. I love the smell of them. I want to buy more books. I want whole rooms full of them. There is nothing wonderful than holding a book in your hands, feeling the pages, becoming intimate with the writer and the story.

I simply can't afford them. Not like I used to.

And that makes me sad.

Life

2007-02-25T23:31:00.000-07:00

I wish I had more interesting things to report. My life is pretty much simple. And by simple, I mean boring. I wonder if that's why I live in my head so much of the time. I love reading and writing. I love creating and exploring. Unfortunately, I do most of this through reading. I say that I want to get out and have new adventures. However, if I really did want to do that, I would do it.

There's always an excuse not to do something. What's your?

Writer's Life

2007-02-20T16:47:00.001-07:00

I didn't think that I had one but I do. I've written nothing for the past few weeks. Literally nothing. I've either been surfing the net aimlessly or watching television. Yeah, my exciting life. I've heard writers talk about their working environment but it all sounded like a bunch of hooey to me.

Now I know better.

My environment? Sitting on my bed in a completely darkened room. No lights on, no televison, not even my beloved iPod. I have to write late at night or not at all. I'm a complete night owl. Now, why this works for me, I can't say. But I wrote like woman possessed last night.

Getting Serious

2007-02-12T22:56:00.000-07:00

So, I submitted a probably shitty query letter to an agent. According to RWA when I receive my rejection letter, I will officially become an RWA Pro. Yeah, me!

Seriously, the query was just okay. It's not as though I am expecting anything to come from it. I just wanted to experience of actually going through the process. I fully expect a form rejection letter. If by some miracle a partial is actually requested, I may shit my pants.

I have already erected a bulletin board titled 'Wall of Rejection: or Publishing Industry Assholes on my Shitlist.' I expect it will be quite an impressive list.

I must be really serious about this writing thing if I'm willing to put myself through this torture.

That's Racist?

2007-02-04T22:36:00.000-07:00

So, I'm watching 'Top Design' and the first thing that I noticed (as always) is that there's no Black Folk.

What? Black Folk don't decorate? They don't like to paint walls or buy throw pillows? They have no sense of visual aesthetics?

I know I don't. I could care less about what's on my walls or on my couch. But I do like to see my peeps represented properly.

C'mon 'Top Design' give a brotha (or a sista) a break. Show us the love. It IS Black History Month after all.

And talk about stereotyping! Are all male interior decorators gay? Apparently so, according to this show!

Just an aside...What's the deal with Todd Oldham's teeth. You'd think the man'd have enough money to get his grill tight.

He's also a bad host. There was no finesse to the introduction of the players. It's definitely no 'Project Runway.'

I'll give it another looksie just to make sure I'm over it.

CONTESTS!

2007-01-30T22:07:00.000-07:00

Cross your fingers everyone. I have entered The Heart of the Rockies contest for unpublished authors. I entered 'On Business' in the erotica category and my finished ms 'Chasing Riki' in the single title category. This is the first time I've entered my work in a contest but I've heard that a lot of authors got their start that way so I'm hopeful.

There are also more contest coming in the next few months. I'm really excited about The Molly. I'll be working on some new projects to submit to them.

Something that I've learned this week is that writing a synopsis is hard. Especially when you're doing it in three days, which was when I decided to enter the contest. But I'll blog more on that later.

In other news, I'm going to the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention. It was a choice between RT and RWA and while RWA is more staid and businesslike, I really don't relish spending July in Dallas. So. I'm saving up to go next year in San Francisco. I'll give me another excuse to go to California.

California Rocks!

2007-01-25T23:54:00.000-07:00

This of you who read my blog on a regular basis know that it's been snowing its snowy little ass off in Denver.

Luckily I'm in Sunny San Diego this week. At least until my plane leaves Sunday morning. I have to tell you all that I am seriously considering a climate change. I hate snow. I hate being cold. I hate driving in icy conditions. It's January and I was laying out by the pool today. Even saying that is enough to put a smile on my face.

The problem is that San Diego is expensive as hell. I can't afford to live here unless I marry a doctor or a lawyer. Or become one myself. But I figure it's easier the other way around.

So as I contemplate my last few days in paradise. Feel sorry for me.

It's snowing in Denver.

Waxing and Whining

2007-01-14T10:44:00.000-07:00

This is one of those days when I'm grateful for the anonymity of the internet because I'm about to tell a story that I probably won't tell anyone else in my life.

So for the past few months I've noticed a rather conspicuous growth of hair on my upper lips. At least it was noticeable to me since I look at myself in a mirror at least once a day. So this week I was at my local K-Mart buying stuff to shave my legs when I noticed face waxing strips and I figured 'What the hell' and I bought them.

So that night, when all in the house had gone to bed, I waxed. HOLY SHIT! Not only did that shit hurt like hell, it was awfully effective. The dofference was blatantly obvious. I literally stared at myself in the mirror for almost 10 min. I could tell that something was different.

And now, my mind panics. Did people think I was growing a moustache? Were they staring at my Groucho Marx? How long have people been staring at the stache? Could I grow into the bearded lady?

But is there any polite way to tell a woman that she's grown a moustache? Even of she were your best friend? "Listen, girl, you need to do something about that caterpillar growing on your lip." Most women, including myself, would want to sink into the floor.

Yet, we have no qualms about telling our friends if they have broccoli in their teeth. We want to know those things. In fact, I was at work the other day and told a co-worker she had blueberry stuck in her teeth and she was positively grateful.

Zippers are another matter. It's hard to tell someone that their zipper is down. Do you want to let someone know that you were looking at their package or snatch as it were? No. But we all look. Something that catches our eye, something other a flaccid penis.

But then we're caught in a quandry. How do we inform a person that they're junk is in the wind?

New Year Randomness

2007-01-03T23:52:00.000-07:00

Rediscovering Old Hotties:

So, last night I was watching Leno and George Clooney was the main guest. Suddenly, about 20 mins into the interview I think, 'Damn, George clooney is fucking hot!' This is weird because I've never really thought about him in that way. I've always thought he was handsome but never that I wanted to fuck him. Now I do.

Also on my rediscovered list: Leonardo DiCaprio. He's another one that came out of left field. I've never even found him remotely attractive. Not even in that God-awful 'Titanic' movie. (Which is, BTW, the WORST movie I've even seen.) But I went to go see 'The Departed' and halfway through the movie, I turn to my friend and say 'Is it just me or is Leonardo DiCaprio totally hot?' To which she reponds, 'Oh, my God yes!'

In other news, I LOVE Barack Obama. I would totally fuck him and have more of his children if it wouldn't ruin his marriage and political chances. He just does it for me. He is intelligent, good looking, and appears to be a vey genuine, socially minded person. He's AMAZING!

OBAMA 2008

Now, I have laid claim to several men, both real and fictional. I call them my 'Husbands.' They are men I's like to fuck, marry, or have their babies. Here is a small taste:

Colin Firth
Colin Farell- TOTALLY FUCKABLE!
Roarke- from Nora Roberts' 'In Death' series
Patrick Dempsey
Jesse L. Martin

People Who Don't Live In The Real World

I admit it. I love shows about rich people. My faves? The Fabulous Life, Cribs, and My Super Sweet Sixteen. It's interesting to see how the 'other half' (which is really the other 1% but why quibble?) lives.

But what I saw last night was crazy. It was The Fabulous Lives of Heiresses. These bitches were crazy! I won't even go into their spending habits. It's painful.

But the fact is that you can't really blame them. It's their parents who've indulged their every whim since birth. Now, being firmly ensconsed in the lower middle class or upper lower class, this sits wrong with me. I understand spoiling children...to a point. But to give in to anything and everything? That's where I draw a line. These people are raising children no only with no concept of the value of achievement or the worth of a dollar, but also with no possible framework to understand people who don't live in that bubble that isn' reality for the other 99% of the world. Things are just things, they have no meaning if they are easily replaced. And not only do they place too much value on things, they can't understand the plight of the poor or the quickly dimishing middle class. How could they? They don't live on a planet that I like to call earth.

HAPPY 2007!

I'm going to hell Pt. 2

2006-12-25T16:00:00.000-07:00

So, last night I was attending Christmas Eve services at my church. And it was a very lovely ceremony. But it was running a bit long and I was anxious to get home and finish my story. Now, I am a firm believer that God knows all and sees all and hears all. Even our thoughts. Am I a bit paranoid? Maybe.

So, it was in the middle of this ver reverential celebration of the birth of the Christ child that I begin to mentall write the ending to my story. It was a very involved sex scene, complete with the word 'fuck.'

Oh shit! Not only am I thinking about fucking (both the act and the word) but I'm doing it in church. ON JESUS' BIRTHDAY!

Hell, party 0f one.

SNOW DAY!

2006-12-21T00:21:00.000-07:00

Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

Well, as people in other parts of the country may or may not know, there's a blizzard here in Colorado. And my job, in its not-so-infinite wisdom has declared not one but TWO snow days! Hell yeah! I've spent the day sleeping, watching trash television, and reading. Tonight, I will spend writing. I do my best writing between 1 am and 5 am. I have a process. I like to sit in a dark room with my laptop and write. So that's what I'll do tonight.

I also got my official membership to Romance Writers of America. Yeah me! I now plan to join 2, possibly 3, chapters: Heart of Denver Romance Writers; Passionate Ink; and Colorado Romance Writers Inc.

I am so excited to meet other aspiring and published writers!

Happy Snow Day!

Random Thoughts

2006-12-18T11:12:00.000-07:00

I haven't blogged in like a month. You may ask what have I been up to? Well, I'm STILL polishing my novel and writing-and re-writing- my query letter.

I'm also realizing that I'm WAY behind the times. A couple weeks ago I checked out the first season of 'Queer as Folk' from my local library. Luckily they have self-checkout because I felt just the tiniest bit conspicuous with that box in my hand. Kind of like when you go to buy condoms. Everyone knows what you're going to be doing later that night.

Anyhoo, I don't have cable so I never got a chance to watch QAF when it was new and exciting. But I did watch 'The L Word' and I really enjoyed that show. With 'L' I was hooked immediately. I have to say that it took at least 4 episodes of QAF before I really got into it. I don't know why. Maybe because it was so raw. I mean, all they needed was to show an actual erect penis and it would've been gay porn. Shocking!

But eventually I came to enjoy the show. And now I have my faves. Emmett cracks me up, he's my favorite character. I think Ted is really hot. Michael I can take or leave. And Brian can't act. Also, aside from Brian and Michael, the other characters get no play. Except for that little boy, Sunshine. Seriously people, that's like illegal and kind of creepy.

There are still moments in that show that make me cringe in a way that doesn't happen with 'L.' Maybe it has to do with the more gritty storylines. I mean men, even gay men, are still men. I don't know many men that go for softer, more emotional storylines.

So, what about you? QAF or The L Word?

More Randomness...

My favorite shows this week are

The Best Week Ever

And

The Soup

And don't worry, everyone will get a Christmas/Chanukah/Kwanzaa present VERY soon!

Peace on Earth

File Under 'I Could Give A Fuck'

2006-11-27T23:37:00.000-07:00

Last week Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes got married. Now this event is really insignificant in my life as it was in almost everyone else's in this country and in he world. My problem, AGAIN, is that the media assumes that the public is hounding for news about the wedding. I could care less what dress she wore or what food they served at the reception.

But what bothers me is that for like a week, I could not stop seeing reports about the wedding. In fact, the TV Guide channel practically ran this stupid two-hour show about the wedding on a perpetual loop last weekend. (At least, I assumed it was two hours because the shit was on FOREVER! I stopped watching the TV Guide channel that week and was forced to just click aimlessly through my channels.)

Now, I wish Tom and Katie every happiness. I do. I think he's a freak and she's brainwashed and vapid, but hey, to each his own.

What got me is that everyone, and I mean everyone, seemed to have an opinion about this relationship. People (reporters mostly) that I am 100% sure have never met Tom Cruise nor Katie Holmes in their entire lives, now have a national forum in which to give their unsubstaniated best guesses on things that are none of their business. One woman actually went so far as to say that she believes that Katie's parents didn't approve of the relationship but that all changed once Suri was born. But how does she know that? Maybe they still don't approve. Maybe they're going along with in because they want to stay in the lives of Katie and Suri. Maybe Tom Cruise sent them to the mother ship to get a labotomy. I don't know. But neither did she. Since when do we have the right to pry into people's lives? To dissect their every move? I understand that celebrities are fascinating to most people. But since when did that come to mean that they weren't entitled to any sort of private life?

And more importantly, why are innocent bystanders such as myself subjected to the media's constant fascination with every single aspect of a celebrity's life?

The dispirited writer

2006-11-12T14:49:00.000-07:00

Everybody has talent. Even the most untalented of people have something that they're good at. The most boring accountant or actuary you've ever met probably plays a mean bass guitar. If you find that you're truly talentless, then you haven't looked hard enough and need to try again.

For me, I love writing. I really do. And judging from the response to this blog and The Sweetest Taboo, I'm pretty good at it too.

The problem:
I'm lazy and insecure.

Oftentimes, I lack discipline and focus. I can be like an ADHD child on speed. My minds skips to seventeen different places. I can't commit to one thing. I need help focusing. Otherwis, I'm liable to walk off into unpublished author oblivion.

The problem is not that I don't want it. I do. I've wanted to do this since I was 18. I'm 27 now and life has gotten in the way of my illustrious writing career. I've read many, many, MANY times that unless you're Nora or JAK, making it in publishing, especially mass market fiction, especially romantic literature, you don't make money.

My solution was a fall back career. I went to school. Got my Bachelor's. Went back to school for my Master's. Took another test and got licensed in my chosen profession. So, now I'm sitting pretty for someone my age with no children. And no husband. And no boyfriend. And no life.

And I still can't find the time to devote to my writing.

I wish I were really brave and could just say 'Fuck it' and leave it all behind. I could live in a carboard box with only my laptop which I hide beneath my tattered tweed jacket. I would spend my days in the library. Working on my novels. Creating sexy and funny stories that I will one day sell to the masses in mass market fiction.

In actuality, even if I were to chuck it all, I'd probably be at the library, as I am right now, surfing the internet, as I am doing right now. Because I lack discipline.

Shit! The whole 'lazy' thing just never goes away!

I'm also insecure.

I think most artists are.

I want people to like me, to like my work, to lavish adulation upon me to feed the black hole that once was my self-esteem. Well, maybe more of a brown hole or a closed door with light shing from beneath the door and around the frame.

At times, I'm crippled by fear. But that just feeds my desire to do better.

So why don't I devote more time to my crafy? Is it just laziness? Am I not a good writer despite all the evidence to the contrary? Do I want it but just not enough?

What keeps people from following their dreams?

Because misery LOVES company

2006-11-10T01:05:00.000-07:00

I'm miserable. I have Strep throat. And I'm surfing the internet aimlessly. Here's what I've found...

This ladies and ladies (I don't know that very many men come round these parts) is what I've said before about big girls who dress inapporpriately. There is no reason on God's green earth that this woman should be out in this outfit. I admire it when we big girls have confidence, but come on!

And to show that it ain't just big girls...

Photos courtesy of Hot Ghetto Mess

Election Day

2006-11-08T00:13:00.000-07:00

And as always, it's bittersweet. Here in the fine state of Colorado, in one day the democrats have wrested control of the state from the hands of the evil republicans. In the same breath we also banned gay marriage and domestic partnership.

A bit of a paradox? Yup.

But you can't get everything you want. Our only hope is to storm the House and the Senate!

However, as a democrat myself (as if y'all couldn't tell), I say that our victories are not so much a big vote of confidence in the party but more of a slap in the face to President Bush.

Our country is ready for a change, we're tired of the way we're being run into the ground. We want our troops to come home safely. We want reform and bipartisan cooperation.

Was that made clear enough tonight?

Now, personally, I consider myself a moderate liberal. I have some very liberal views and I have some moderate views, not so many conservative views (obviously!). I love this country and I wouldn't want to live anywhere else on a bet. I want to see a return to taking care of our own country. To work on our problems with poverty and homelessness and lack of healthcare. If we aren't healthy ourselves, how can we then be an example that other nations WANT to follow?

Can you tell I'm a Social Worker?

I'm very frightened of those on any extreme, any fanatic. The crazy liberals and the crazy conservatives. I can't hang with people who speak in absolutes but leave no room for possibilities. If our country is to be united, it will have to be under a moderate flag. One that leaves room for broader knowledge and possibilities.

A big you go girl to Nancy Pelosi.

OBAMA 2008!

Love Affair

2006-11-05T02:03:00.000-07:00

I fell in love with romance when I was very young. I think I was 12 or 13. No, wait, I was 11. I read 'Gone With The Wind' in 3 days. Hey, 1100 pages is a pretty big feat when you're 11. To this day, it remains my favorite book. I highly recommend it, it's WAY better than the movie.

Anyhoo, the point is that people never really get over your first love. I sure haven't. I must have read thousands of romance novels. I started with HQ Temptation and Desire. No HQ Presents for me. I went straight to the 'hardcore.' Story of my life. My favorite writers of the time were Barbara Delinsky, Ruth Jean Dale, Kate Hoffmann, and Olivia Rupprecht. (Sidebar: Hurts So Good is a Loveswept that is totally fucking awesome!) As I matured so did my taste. I went from serials to single titles. Here, I discovered Nora and Jayne. Then, as my mind was in its formative years, I discovered historicals and they totally blew my mind. Linda Lael Miller and Susan Johnson. These books were dirty. And graphic. And wonderful. Not just because of the sex although I do have to say that as a hormone riddled teen, the sex was definitely an added bonus.

But more than that I love the fact that there is always a happy ending. I love happy endings. (In books, smartasses. I am NOT a masseuse.) I enjoyed, and still enjoy, couples overcoming adversity and pain and finding something good and true at the end. This was especially important to me because my life had never been a particularly happy one. I was a shy, socially isolated teenager. For me, there was always tunnel and no light. In romance novels, the hero and heroine always managed to find that light. It gave me hope. It helped me to think that maybe, just maybe, I could have that same happiness. That the suffering I was going through could make me stronger.

That's why I write romance. For me, it was a lifeline. I hope that in someday, my words will someday give that same hope and happiness to another person. That's why I write romance. That's my great love affair.

And even after all these years, the sex still ain't bad.

The magic has gone

2006-11-04T01:55:00.000-07:00

So, I'm in a bit of a funk. I'm not reading. I'm not writing. I'm not dating. I'm not doing much of anything at the moment. I'm a bit apathetic at the moment.

But oddly enough, I do care about the fact that I don't care.

Why?

I couldn't tell ya. Maybe it has something to do with the change of time or the phase of the moon or the fact that there's nothing happening in my life right now. I feel a bit stagnant and I have no idea how to create something exciting.

How do I know that I'm in a rut?

Here is a typical phone conversation with me.

You: Hey! How's it going?
Me: Good. And you?
You: Great. What's going on with you.
Me: Nothing much as usual. Just working...and working.
You: Are you dating anyone?
(strained silence)
Me: Not in the past like ten years.
(awkward silence)
You: Oh, well. I'm sure something will come along soon.
Me (defensively): What? Is that your way of saying that I need to get laid?
You (timidly): No, I'm just saying you're a great girl and I'm sure that something will come along soon.
Me: You saying that I'm a great girl is like saying I have a great personality. Why don't you just advertise that I'm a fat, lonely girl. Why don't we get one of those sandwhich boards that you see those idiots on corners wearing and parade me up and down the 16th Street Mall. The sign can say 'I'm a great girl with a good personality.' For a little bit of irony let's add 'And I'm not at all desperate. Here's my phone number 303-123-4567.'
You: Well, I've got to go.
Me: Fine. Leave me to wonder where my life is going. Leave me in a nihilistic hell. I'm only going through an existential crisis but don't let me disturb you life.
You: Lunch tomorrow?
Me: See you at 1.
You: Later.
Me: Later.

Well, most of that is true (y'all can guess which parts).

You know what is going through my mind? 'The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again each time expecting a different result.'

That's what contributing to my rut. I do the same thing every day. I talk to the same people. I visit the same websites. I watch the same shows.

I need change. I need excitement.

I need a life.

*SIGH*

The magic has gone.

And in other news, one person who's not on crisis? John Mayer. He's actually funny. Check it out.

Hell anyone?

2006-11-01T00:24:00.000-07:00

Let's go together. I'm on my way there right now. My handbasket should be here to pick me up at any moment.

I just finished watching 'Nip/Tuck' (one of the best shows on television btw) and there was a little person who has a significant part on the show. And being the curious person that I am, I got to thinking. What do I really know about little people?

A whole lot of nothing.

I do know that there are many forms of dwarfism. I do watch 'Little People Big World' afterall.

And it seems to me that Peter Dinklage who stars in the show, has one of the more 'lucky' forms. It also seems to me that Dinklage is a really funny name for a little person.

And that my friends is reason number one for going to hell.

As I continue to think, I wonder, in the way many normal people would, what his package would look like. I have heard that little people have normal heads and torsos but short arms and legs. That being said, he could, this little man, have a penis that hung halfway down his leg thereby giving the impression of some serious meat. I mean, there's no reason to believe that God would be so cruel as to give little men little pee pees (because let's face it, small penises are called pee pees).

Being a woman, I can honestly say that I would be let's say a bit put off if I got into bed with a man with a penis the size of a 9 year old. But then again, if I were to go to bed with a little person, I may have less than high expectations. I would be pleasantly surprised, however, if said person were hung like a horse, or at least looked the part. If a little person had a normal sized dick, it would look bigger than it actually was. It's a matter of perspective. Bigger objects seem smaller farther away and vice versa.

Ooops, my handbasket is here.

If I ruled the world...

2006-10-30T22:20:00.000-07:00

I have a t-shirt that says 'Everyone is entitled to my opinion.' People look at it and laugh, probably wondering why an adult has a shirt with Tweety Bird on the front. Little do they know that the shirt tells people in explicit terms what my personal philosphy is.

The world would be a much better place if everyone would just do what I said. My world would be one based on common sense, common decency, and equality.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm NOT a megalomaniac (much!). The world doesn't have to elect me as empress or give me huge amounts of money or even lavish praises upon me. They just have to listen to me and do what I say.

I'm a reasonable person. I wouldn't order people to walk off bridges. And although I'd be tempted to demand Colin Farrell as payment for my services, I'd refrain from indulging in my more base insticnts. I'd sit around on silken pillows, a Black Buddha. People from around the world would come and gather before me, patiently awaiting the pearls of wisdom that drop from my full, lush lips. (If this scene is in anyway reminiscent of the Princess Leia and Jabba the Hut, please keep that to yourself.)

So, you may be intrigued and ask yourself (or me)...

How would this world be different?

Well, here are just a few ways in which the world would change...

1. People would be free to marry whomever they choose. Now, please don't misunderstand, there are certain caveats to this satement. Such as people COULD NOT marry their siblings, children, cousins, aunts, uncles, or any combination therein. They COULD NOT marry animals. Now what Petey and Ole Bessie choose to do within the privacy of their barn is between them and God.

2. Everyone would be middle class. There would be an even distribution of monetary resources. Educators and Social Workers (such as myself) and Sanitary Engineers would be afforded the respect and remuneration that they so greatly deserve. No poverty or homelessnes would exist. I know that this sounds a bit socialist and I know that the US is a Free Market Economy, so I don't want to begrudge our entrenprenuers, so if people are able to become rich, there would be a requirement that businesses be socially responsible.

3. There would be National Healthcare. Enough said.

4. Quality education for all members of our society. Now, I'm not suggesting that everyone HAS TO go to college, but that there is an equal OPPORTUNITY to go to college. In my world, people choose not to attend college not because they're not prepared academically or technologically, or financially, but because they truly choose not to do so.

And THAT'S my world.

I HATE Celebrities

2006-10-29T22:15:00.000-07:00

I do. Well, most of them. Almost all of them. Now, I don't know these people personally, so I don't really hate them, just the idea of them in general. I hate that we've become a society that reveres them and obsesses about them. Myself included. (So there is a bit of self-loathing there.)

But as you may have read in a previous post, I'm more fascinated when bad things happen to them.

Is it jealousy? Of course that's a part of it. Who wouldn't have a little pang that these people get paid an inordinate amount of money for basically doing what we all can do? Not to say that many celebrities aren't talented because they are, most of them. But let's face it, it's possible that anyone could be an actor but how many people can be astrophysicists? I'm just saying.

However, I have a real problem with the way in which our society treat them and agrandizes them, as if they were somehow inherently worthy of such adoration for simply being famous. When in actuality the chance of being famous depends mainly on luck. The country is filled to the brim with talented actors and singers and dancers and blah blah blah. But they're not famous and 95% of them never will be. And the ones that are really are no different than anyone else on the street.

So why is it that we're a nation obsessed with celebrity? We love to love them and we love to hate them. We enjoy builiding them up until they're on a pedastal and then we enjoy tearing them down to the ground with almost cannibalistic pleasure. It happens all the time. Just look st the recent press on Madonna.

Now me, I've never even written a fan letter. I don't buy celebrity magazines or fashion magazines or even tabloids. Or any magazine in general. I don't see the point in wasting my money or time. I don't watch ET or Access Hollywood or The Insider. Same reason.

Now, I wish I can say that I don't watch television in general, but then I'd be lying. I watch more than my fair share of television. I'm obsessed with it. And movies. And music. I like to be entertained. But I don't mistake that the characters that I so enjoy on television are in any way representative of the actors that portray them. I don't think that famous people are special just because they're famous. I respect and admire their talent but there's a woman in my church choir with a voice that puts Whitney Houston to shame. And that puts things in perspective for me. I like people more than I like celebrities.

I don't know that everyone has that same perspective.

Case in point. Princess Diana and Mother Teresa both died within a relatively close proximity to one another. And yet, who's death garnered more attention? Who's funeral was broadcast in its entirety on two continents? Not Mother Teresa. Both women were known for their generosity and kindness (although I think that living with lepers for 40+ years takes a bit more precedent over 'visiting' orphanages, but again, that's just me).

Who am I to say that Mother Teresa's death was more important than Priness Diana's or that Mother Teresa was a better person than Diana?

I can't.

And neither should anyone else.

Madonna's Maladies

2006-10-25T00:29:00.000-06:00

Okay...

Is it just me or is anyone else pissed off at this whole Madonna-Malawian baby boy thing? What I'm having a problem with is why the media is giving her such a hard time for adopting that baby. Angelina Jolie can walk her happy ass into Cambodia or whatever African nation that she adopted Zahara from and the whole world talks about what a good deed that she is doing and how she's such an amazing parent full of love. The bitch wore a vial of Billy Bob's blood around her neck for heaven's sake! Not to mention the fact that she's a homewrecking slut. (Sorry to sound so harsh but I really, really, really have a problem with infidelity. Another topic, another blog.)

Yet, Madonna, who's only real issue is the fact that she had a bit of a checkered past and that unfortunate decision to have a gold tooth during her 'Erotica' years. Oh, and the fact that she banged Vanilla Ice. And Big Daddy Kane. At the same time, apparently. Which reminds me I never did get a gander at that 'Sex' book so if anyone happens to have a copy of that, hit me back.

One of the major arguments that I hear is that if Madonna really wanted to help the little boy, she would provide money to his family and his village. 'He has a father. Help the father to raise the boy." What a load of shit! Everyday here in the United States people adopt children who have living families. Mothers, fathers, grandparents. When a wealthy couple is looking to adopt, we don't tell them that they should just help the parents financially. No, we let them buy that kid.

Another argument is that Madonna didn't follow the laws of Malawi. Well, duh! When was the last time a celebrity had to follow the law? They get special treatment. The more money you have, the more doors are open to you. It's a sad but true fact of the world. Again, I point to Angelina. She was in and out of Zimbabwe with Zahara before anyone could say 'boo.'

Give me a fucking break!

What's up with me?

2006-10-15T23:07:00.000-06:00

I haven't posted in a week. What have I been up to?

The answer: a big fat nothing.

I've been making snail progress editing my finished ms. 'Working' on two new projects. And trying to work on my blog story. All with limited success.

The problem: the internet. It's a horrible, horrible thing. I get lost in it for hours upon hours. And the bad part is that I don't do anything all that interesting. I surf the same spots, read the same blogs, read the same e-mails. I think I could do more if I had a faster connection, but I'm working on dial-up. It's free so I don't complain. Much.

So, here I am, 11 at night and instead of working, I'm surfing, trying to think if anything interesting happened in the past week.

It hasn't.

I'm actually a really boring person with a really boring life. I'm a watcher not a doer. I watch entirely too much television (it's on right now. I'm watching a documentary about Wal-Mart, an entirely different conversation) and spend entirely too much time with my family. Why do I do it? I'm young, I'm in the prime of my life, I'm single. Toxically single (a whole other issue).

It's all very sad. Pity me.

What I do have are a sharp tongue and a keen intellect. My powers can be used for good or evil. Lately, they've been doing more evil than good. But, I'm always funny. Well, mostly funny.

I like that about myself. I like the unique perspective that I have on the world. Once, I was considering writing a book full of my opinions. It was going to be semi-autobiographical. It was titled 'Confessions of an Unknown Fat Girl: or Everyone is entitled to my opinion.'

Writer's are generally observers of the world. We see, we interpret, we skew to our own POV. Hey, we're fiction writers, not reporters. At least not the CNN kind, maybe more in the realm of Fox News. But way better. At least we can be believeable.

Ciao bellas

Deja Vu All Over Again

2006-10-08T00:33:00.000-06:00

First some funny:
I was reading a book today at BN. Luckily I didn't buy it because it contained the following phrases:

"He buried his face in her muff." EWWW! That's just wrong on so many levels. Muff has not been used since 70's porn. Actually, it was even tacky in "Debbie Does Dallas." I have a few suggestions. Try beaver. Or the always classy hairy clam. Yeah, those work.

Also in the book: "He drank down her girl juice." I am so not even touching that one.

I'm all for 'purple prose' as we call it in the industry. There are only so many ways that one can describe the fluids that accompany the orgasm, but the thought of calling it 'girl juice.' I'm just saying.

Next:

I have one big fear. Actually I have a lot of fears but for the sake of brevity, I'll talk about my big fear of the day.

My fear: becoming my mother.

I can see it happen. Literally. I see some of the gestures that I do and I think 'Oh, shit! That's my mom! That's her. I can feel her start to possess my body. That's not my hand." All of a sudden I have to stop everything I'm doing and run to the mirror. I half expect to see my mother reflected there. You know, kind of like Bloody Mary, only WAY scarier.

Don't get me wrong. I love my Mama. It's just...well, she's crazy. And not in the she's a bit eccentric wearing her panties on her head sort of way. But in the Psycho, I-will-cut-you-bitch, kind of way.

Seriously.

She's going through menopause, but that's only exacerbated an already existing condition.

Growing up, my siblings and I would pray that when we got in trouble, our dad would be the one to whup us because once our mom got a hold of us we'd be lucky to sit down at the end. When my mom used to whup us, it would be in time to her word. I-thought-I-told-you-to-clean-up-your-room. Each word accentuated by a smack. Or there was the switch. Does anybody else the switch? My parents would make us go outside and strip one off the tree. Then...well you know the rest.

So you can see that why turning into my mother is a frightening proposition.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT:

I saw a bumper sticker today. WWLDD. So, naturally I thought of the popular WWJD (What would Jesus do?). And I came to the conclusion: What would Lucifer Do Differently?

What can I say, I'm evil.

How would you interpret it?

A BLOW to the EGO

2006-10-06T23:17:00.000-06:00

It may surprise many people to know that I don't have that many friends. At least according to MySpace. I have about 40. And I think ten of them are celebrities or bands or some random person. So needless to say that it always gets me excited to log on to MySpace and see that I have a friends request.

And that's exactly what happened tonite. Imagine the scene...a lonely young woman sitting in front of her computer. She longs for some acceptance. After all it is a Friday night. And she is dateless once again. Truthfully, she's only two glasses and a pair of sensible shoes away from playing for the other team. But she has hope. So in an effort to relieve the crushing loneliness in her chest that threatens to turn her soul into an immense black chasm of emptiness.

Well, maybe not quite that dire.

More like the fear of becoming like that creepy old lady who lives in that big house on the corner, her yard overgrown hiding all manner of creature including her seventeen cats and twelve dogs. The entire visage so frightening that little children dare each other to walk past and then end up running past, screaming 'She's sucking out my soul.'

Wait. I hate cats. That was way worse. I'll take the black chasm and sunken chest please.

Back to the story. She's checking her MySpace account when Lo and Behold, she has a freinds request. She could feel the heart begin pound in her chest. Fingers shaking, she clicks on the bright blue word. There he is. John, her mind sighs. could this be him? Could it be that easy? She takes a minute to daydream. This could make a very cute and funny story to tell their grandchildren. How Granddad 'found' Nana in a sea of profiles, choosing her above all. Again she moves the cursor. Click. Her breath stops in her throat. Faster, dammit, faster, show me my destiny.

There. There he is. John. 40 years old. United Kingdom. Okay, that could be a problem. Not too unmanageable. Intrigues she scrolls down the page. It looks a little off. There's something that she can't put her finger on.

Then she sees it.

Thunk. The sound of her heart dipping into her stomach like a boulder. The words blur as the tears fill her vision. It's over. All before it even began. It was the last thing she'd ever expected.

An advertisement for how to make money money using the internet.

Using her sleeve, she wipes her eyes. No more crying. Suck it up and go to bed. Your cold lonely bed.

Awww.

It wasn't quite that involved. I don't think I'd named our grandkids. Just our firstborn. And his sister. Maybe their baby brother as well.

Aw, well. There's always the next random loser that sends you a request to be his friends.

Maybe next time, it'll be an advertisement for Natural Male Enhancement.

Random Ranting

2006-10-05T23:06:00.000-06:00

As my loyal readers may already know by now, I'm an asshole with an opinion. I have one for everything. Even those things that I know nothing about. Especially those things that I know nothing about. I go off half-cocked and make outrageous statements that may or may not be correct. But I do it with conviction. I have a lot of that. I have conviction. Which is a good thing but can also hurt me because I tend to see things in terms of black and white, right or wrong.

An example: Infidelity. I think it's just plain wrong. There is never any justification for it. Period. I don't find it romantic, I don't see the participants as tortured souls. THERE WAS NOTHING ROMANTIC ABOUT GUINEVERE AND LANCELOT. They betrayed her husband, their friend, and their king. And for what? The kingdom fell and Guinevere ended up living out her days in a convent. With no sex. Ever. Unless the nuns were doing things that I don't want to know.

But this was so not what I wanted to say tonight. I did have a point to this rant.

WARNING THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS CONTENT THAT MAY BE OFFENSIVE.

It all began with shoes.

I hate the mall. I HATE the MALL. I LOATHE THE MALL. I also hate shopping in general So imagine my surprise when I found myself wandering the esteemed halls of K-Mart. I didn't have any agenda. I was just kind of loafing around with nothing to do on a Saturday night (pathetic but true). So my good friend Julie calls me and we decide to go to a shoe store because we both decided that we needed to buy shoes. And pants. Well, I needed pants. I'm not sure about her. She may have needed pants.

So, we're in the store looking for shoes. And I'm pointing to a pair of chunky-soled something or others and I ask Julie, "What do you think?" "Fine. If you're a lesbian," came her ready reply. Needless to say, I don't buy the shoes but I do leave the store with a nice pair of New Balance sneaks.

Fast forward to the next day. I'm at Payless, my normal shoe mecca, looking again for a nice pair of black shoes suitable for work. And all the shoes that I find are nice, sensible shoes. Lesbian shoes, according to my friend Julie. So I call her and I leave her the following message, 'Hey Julie. I think I'm a lesbian. I like sensible shoes.'

And I did. But I didn't want to buy them.

Now, before anyone jumps down my throat for making crass generalizations, I do now have justification. I was watching an episode of 'The L Word' in which all of the main lesbian characters are on a quest to find out if another woman is a lesbian or not. Their two main tells: The woman's nails and her shoes.

So apparently even lesbians have a dress code. And it starts with the shoes. I guess clothes do make the man, or the lesbian for that matter.

What about you? What would your clothes tell the average people watcher about you?

Football Freak

2006-10-03T00:08:00.000-06:00

I love football. No, I adore football. If football were a real man, I'd be his love slave and allow him unfettered access to my body. THAT'S how much I love football. Most days, football loves me back.

Fantasy football, however, hates me with a passion. For the second year in a row, I am LAST in my fantasy football league. I am a laughingstock. People now stop and point at me on the street and whisper behind my back that my team, Moe's Joes, are now 0-4. They shake their heads in shame as they ask what kind of football fan am I.

A very sad one.

Now, some women who read this may be asking themselves how another of their kindred can be so devoted to such a violent and immature game. To them I say, have you ever taken the time to WATCH a game. To see modern-day warriors take the field in a battle of wits, skill, and brawn is truly an almost holy experience.

Plus they wear really tight pants and most times have great asses.

For me, I think that football is an outlet for all of my pent-up aggression. Since I can't necessarily go around tackling all the people that get on my nerves (mostly because I'd never even have time sleep) I have to get my jollies some way.

What about you? How do you release frustration?

My Blurb

2006-10-02T00:19:00.000-06:00

So this is the blurb that my good friend Jaye wrote about my blog...

"Random Acts of Randomness lives up to its title. You never know what subject CreativityVacuum will take on next. But you always know her unique perspective on the issue will be funny. The hot sex scenes are just a bonus."

YEAH!!!! She hit it right on the head. At least SOMEONE sees the humor that I try to spread in the world. And hot sex is never a bonus. It's a necessity, ladies. Am I right? You know I'm right.

Ciao Bella

ANNOUNCING...

2006-10-01T01:52:00.000-06:00

The winner of the 'Name My Book' Contest is....(drumroll please)

Nicole and 'Chasing Riki.'

CONGRATUALTIONS!!!!!!

This was a very hard decision. You all had some VERY GOOD entries. In the end, Nicole's title just seemed to click.

But I have to say that it was a close race with Ljay and 'Mister Opportunity' running a close second. This title alone has sparked an idea for yet another book. And for this, I have decided to offer a prize for runner up which is some very luscious Godiva chocolates.

Thanks to everyone that participated. You guys were awesome. Thanks again for visiting my blog and I hope that y'all will continue to read and enjoy my admitted craziness.

To Nicole and Ljay, y'all can claim your prizes by e-mailing your addresses to me at CreativityVacuum@gmail.com

Later Gators

Evil Bitch Whores

2006-09-30T01:12:00.000-06:00

It's time that I introduced the world to a group of women that I call the EBW- Evil Bitch Whores. Now, this is a special category reserved for a certain type of woman.

Please don't misunderstand. I'm not a misongynist. Some of my best friends are women. But as with everything there are the proverbial 'bad apples.' Or immensely evil crazy bitches. Both men and women.

Evil Bitch Whores are women who amplify everything that is wrong with the world. They're narcissistic. They prey on the misery of others. They create misery in other people's lives. The worse part is that they somehow always come out smelling like roses. It's never that they did anything wrong. It's always turned back on you. Other people like them. There are moments of normality. But they can turn just as quickly. Cross her and she will make it her life's mission to make sure that you pay.

They do it with a smile on their faces and a knife behind their back or in yours.

Don't get me wrong. I don't want to be too gloom and doom, They're not always the Devil Incarnate. They can be arrogant, self-agrandizing, sanctimonious, self-involved, patronizing, or just plain stupid.

And because I consider myself an evil bitch- not to be confused with an Evil Bitch Whore- I'm also a bit petty. So, I include those women (and men) that I simply don't like.

Now, I have my own list of EBWs. There is even a Queen of the EBWs-well more of a shared title. I will reveal my Queens but I must warn you that there will be an outcry the likes of which the earth has never seen. So when you read the next sentence please keep your scream to that of a low roar.

The Queens of the Evil Bitch Whores are: Martha Stewart and Oprah Winfrey. I cannot stand these women. Martha for the obvious reasons. But Oprah you may ask. Why Oprah? Well, the simple answer is that I hate her. I can't stand her. I am the first to admit that she has done a lot for a lot of people. She is an incredible philanthropist. She is also incredibly fake. I think she is out of touch with the common person. She is sanctimonious and presumptuous and thinks her shit doesn't stink. That's just my opinion. I don't actually know her but I'm sure that I don't want to either.

There are also EBWs that don't reach the status of Queen. Mine are too numerous and my time limited.

Okay. So what brought about this discussion?

I'm watching Larry King Live with Dr. Laura Schlessinger. This bitch is out of her fucking mind. I literally cannot believe the steaming, heaping piles of shit that come out of her mouth. She basically said that women belong in the home, raising her children, and catering to her husband's every whim, sexually and otherwise. They shouldn't work outside the home, they should be self-sacrificing drones, and be happy about it.

Don't get me wrong. I am all for women being good mothers and wives. But I think the way that this is defined is different for everyone. If you want to work outside the home and need to put your child in daycare, that DOES NOT make you a bad mother.

But Dr. Bitch would tell you differently. She would tell you that you need to be at home raising your children, cooking their meals, and screwing your husband blind. Women are to be submissive towards their husbands.

But Dr. Laura, I'm a single mother. What do I do? Dr. Laura says that you need should move in with your parents and only work at night. Simple really.

Premarital sex? Never!

Women should act like 'unpaid whores.' But only for their husbands. Direct quote. Lay back and open your legs, ladies! Not in the mood? You will be. Just let him rut on top of you for a few minutes and eventually you'll have an orgasm.

But what if I'm not happy, not fulfilled? You should get the joy in your life from taking care of your family and catering to your husband. How could you not be happy?

She has now made the Queen of the Evil Bitch Whores a triumvate.

If you had a league of EBWs, who would make the cut?

CONTEST UPDATE

2006-09-14T22:43:00.000-06:00

So, I decided that if this were to be a real contest I should at least offer a prize. And that's what I've decided to do. The winner of the 'NAME MY BOOK' contest will receive a $25 gift certificate for the book store of your choice. To sweeten the pot I'll even throw in some Godiva Chocolates. Contest restarts today and ends 9/30/06.

Good luck Peeps!

NAME MY BOOK CONTEST

2006-09-09T22:43:00.000-06:00

So, I'm working and reworking and reworking my query letter when all of a suuden it occurred to me that I'm seeking representation for a book that has no name. So, I'm enlisting the help of my five loyal readers to help me find a name.

So here it goes...

Riki Watson’s life was…well, boring. But it was hers and if she wasn’t happy then at least she could be content. So when exactly did her orderly life turn upside down? In the space of twenty-four hours she learns that her best friend, a woman for whom the word hoochie seemed to have been invented, has become involved with their boss, a man that would make any Trekkie look like The Fonz hanging out at Arnold’s on a Saturday night with two hot chicks on his arm. As if that weren’t bad enough, their sex life was apparently nothing short of Sexual Olympics. Added to these startlingly revelations is the fact that her entire family believes her to be gay. Well, sure she hadn’t had a date since Bush the First was in office but that had more to do with lack of opportunity than lack of desire. It was definitely not lack of desire.

A chance meeting in a bookstore brings Marsh Evans into her life. Riki knows from that moment that her life would never be the same. He was everything that Riki could ever want and nothing she believed she could have. Riki doesn’t believe that they have anything in common. Even if she disregarded the fact that he was White and she was of mixed heritage, there was still the fact that Marsh was drop-dead gorgeous and she was well…not. However, these obstacles don’t seem to stop Marsh in his pursuit of Riki despite her attempts to put distance between them. Eventually, Riki has no choice but to give in to the incredible desire between them.

There's more to the story but that's a general sketch. So people...

NAME MY BOOK!!!

And speaking of Jaye...

2006-09-09T00:31:00.000-06:00

I was IMing my friend Jaye tonight and like always I enjoyed our 'conversation.' But it did get me to thinking. A dangerous occupation to be sure but one in which I engage in with startling regularity. Anyhoo, my good friend, who is also a romance writer and although I've not read her stuff her blog is enough to convince me that she's nothing short of brilliant (Please note that these comments are solely the opinion of this writer and were not in any way solicited or paid for by Jaye) and I were discussing telling people what we do now as our avocation although we hope to soon make it our vocation. And we both agreed that we're a little, shall we say hesitant, to tell people that we write romance.

Now, I know that I've written about this before and I've said that I'm proud to tell people that I write romance. And I am...after a bit of hesitation. And under the right circumstances. And to the right people. But the fact that I hesitate seriously pisses me off. Why should I hesitate? To be honest I think that it has a lot to do with the perception that what I do is somehow less than honorable or worthwhile.

And that's the problem. Our society has a grudge against not only romance but also 'popular fiction.' Which is somehow different than 'literary fiction.' Jaye described it as the difference between a huge Hoolywood blockbuster and a critically-acclaimed indie flick. And to all this I say...bullshit! There is nothing wrong with commercial success. Nothing wrong with bringing a good story with a happy ending to the public. Nothing wrong with a bit of brain candy. And by implying that writers of 'popular fiction' are somehow less talented that those that write the other crap sounds like a whole lot of jealousy to me.

And really how does one distinguish 'literary from 'popular' fiction? I know it's not the level of telent. So what makes it 'better'? I wish I knew, But I do know that those who write that type of fiction look down their snooty little noses at us lesser peons. But they can kiss my ass. I'm having way more fun.

Hasta Luego

Fat Fashion

2006-09-07T01:18:00.000-06:00

I wish that I had the discipline to post everyday like my good friend Jaye (see sidebar for link, she's kick-ass!). As it is, I surf the internet for untold hours and get nothing accomplished. If I ever get an office in my home, my computer won't have an internet connection. It helps to have no distractions.

So...what great thoughts have I been thinking?

Well, number one is how hard it is to find sexy lingerie for big girls. C'mon designers! Big girls want to look good for their men. We want the crotchless panties. But not the edible undies. We'd go throigh like 10 packs in a day. Plus there's the added downside that most women have no desire to stick fruit roll-ups (or any other food product-see previous post) in our hoo-has. SIDENOTE: I should really look into all the euphemisms that I know for human genitalia.

But back to my point...I have been scouring the internet for said items (sans fruit panties) and have not been very successful.

And that leads to yet another related point. Why do fashion designers feel that all big girls want to do is wear MuuMuus? I know that there's been a shift, but for the most part, it's same ole, same ole when it comes to larger women. Did you SEE Project Runway? That design that Jeffrey made was made for a cow. Now I may be a heifer but I am not a cow.

What else?

My best friend just got engaged. And while I am very happy for her, I also want to gauge her eyes out.

Is this normal or am I more demented than I thougt?

Adios

Fat Chicks and Horror Flicks

2006-08-24T23:39:00.000-06:00

Fat people aren't in horror flicks. Not that I'd actually want to be in a horror film but I'm saying that even if we were I wouldn't be much of a challenge. This is how I imagine the scenario:

A dark cabin in the woods during a thunderstorm. Six friends are on vacation. After a night of laughing and wine, the friends prepare for bed. Unfortunately, two of the friends are also a couple so they decide to make love. And as you all well know, sex is like a psycho magnet. Suddenly, outside the window, a crazed machete-wielding sociopath appears in the window with a flash of lightning. He silently makes his way inside the cabin while the unsuspecting friends sleep or bone. He goes for the sex monkeys first, slashing and slicing his way through the beast with two backs. The noise awakens the other residents who run toward the noise. (Which in and of itself is a huge mistake.) All, that is, except for the lone fat girl who decides to stay her happy ass exactly where it is. The others, upon seeing the massacre of flesh and blood, run toward the phone, whose service has been inconveniently disrupted due to the storm. They decide to make a run for it.

Now, where the sociopath is at this time is anyone's guess, he's off plotting his next move in his elaborate cat and mouse game.

They rush into bigt girl's bedroom. She waves them away, 'Nah, I'm good.' They look at her incredulously. Doesn't she know that a machete-weilding psycho is trying to kill them. Yes, she answers, she does. But there's also no way that she can outrun him so they should just go ahead and do what they do. She's just going to chill. They don't have time for this shit, someone yells angrily. Let that fat bitch die. Yeah, well it's not looking that good for you either you, dumb fuck.

So, the friends leave the big girl to her fate and run off to eventually get maimed somewhere deep in the woods because that's what usually happens in these movies. She knows that when they get outside none of the cars will work because true psychos are truly genius and he would have thought about that before starting with the dice-o-matic thing.

So, she waits. Kicking back, bowl of popcorn in her lap, reading a romance novel. The psycho burts into the room. Blood rnning down the wicked blade in his clenched fist. She looks up and in a bored voice states, Well, lets get this over with. Mr. Crazy Pants tilts his head as if in askance. Look, Crazy, Machete Wielding Psycho, you and I both know that there's only one way this will end. I'm too big to try to outrun you, even if you do do that slow walk thing that somehow always manages to catch unsuspecting coeds. So, I'll save you the trouble and myself the effort. I'll just lay here and you can go ahead and kill me. Just let me finish this paragraph right quick and then we can do this.

The psycho is clearly bewildered. She was supposed to be running. She was supposed to be afraid. He had a fucking machete for chrissake! To prove his point he waves said object. No deal. She continues to read her book, idly turning the page. Needless to say he's in a bit of a quagmire. He's a killer. It's what he does. But he's also a man so he likes the thrill of the hunt. She's not cooperating. Added to that, there were three other who were locked and loaded as it were.

Decision made, the psycho turns and leaves the room. She's no fun.

So, the fat chick is saved and uses her cell to call the police because she's apparently the only person that thought of that. And she looks very sad as she attends five funerals but deep down inside she thinks, that's what y'all get for all those fat jokes.

Of course I AM Black so these are all moot points.

Later

Crimes of Fashion

2006-08-20T15:49:00.000-06:00

I've never proclaimed to be a fashion expert. I don't know DKNY from Chanel. But even in my limited experience I know that there are certain things that must never be done. Ever.

1. No booty shorts in church- even if they are the 'classy' ones that look like a pair of nice plaid pants that some hoochie chopped off just before they reached the lower curve of your ass. Now while I have no problem with this at the club. In fact, I think it's quite cute. But don't wear them to church. God's house deserves more respect than your half-moon. For that matter, there are any number of things that you shouldn't wear in church. T-shirts that say 'I'm with Stupid' or 'Co-ed Naked Volleyball.'

2. Men should never wear cut off shorts. EVER. Not unless you live in rural Alabama and are sitting in front of your trailer, cigarette dangling from your mouth with a can of Budweiser in a beer cozy. If this happens to describe you, then go on with your bad self. If not, then can I interest you in a nice pair of bermuda shorts, or a pair of Dockers perhaps?

3. Fat people- including myself- should not wear clothes that cause the following body parts to hang out: belly, ass, or thighs. Now if you want to play up your assets, more power to you. Let those titties run free. Ain't no shame in your game. But at all time, remember, classy can be sexy. Honestly, those looks aren't even all that on skinny bitches.

Now, I'm sure that there are more Crimes that I haven't reported. What's on your Most Wanted List? Better yet, What are your Pet Peeves?

Ciao

FINALLY!

2006-08-19T16:00:00.000-06:00

...well not yet but soon. It's official, I've fulfilled my occupational obligations. I took my licensing exam and I passed. Thank you very much! Now I can concentrate on what's important. So you can expect an update to my story VERY SOON! I swear. Thanks to everyone for being so patient.

Peeking my head out

2006-08-07T20:08:00.000-06:00

Yeah! There really is a 'real' world out there. Not that I get to see much of it these days. I hope y'all know that I'm not avoiding you. I've just been really busy studying for this test that I need to take for my job. In 12 more days, the test will be over and I can get back to my real life and my real world. Writing.

I was talking to a friend today and he was commenting on some of my blog entries and he told me the sweetest thing. He said that I should get a collection of essays together and he would buy them. Now he wasn't talking about my romantic writing but my funny writing. He told me that he'd been showing my blogs to friends and he was very impressed with me. I thought that was the sweetest thing he'd ever said...and if you knew him, that's saying a lot. He's not exactly the soul of kindness. But he's fun and quirky and an asshole so I love him.

Now, if y'all couldn't tell from my previous writings, I'm a tortured artist which means I'm massively insecure and in constant need of validation.

Part of me wants to be the next Nora Roberts while the other half wants to be the next Dave Barry. I want to write romance novels and have a weekly column in the New York Times. Is that too much to ask? I am nothing if not a study of polarities.

So I thank everyone who reads this blog and appreciates both sides of my personality.

And to those who check to find the next installment of 'On Business' I know I've said it before and I've meant it every time, it's on its way. I think there will be two more and then it'll be done. But never fear, another will soon take up the torch.

Making like a gopher,

Me

P.S. Speaking of polarities and talent, I think I'll take a cue from my pal Jaye's blog and posit something: Does talent transcend genre? If you're good at fiction would you be equally fabulous at say being a columnist? Answers appreicated.

Human Root Cellar?

2006-07-16T02:11:00.000-06:00

WARNING: FUNNY BUT SICK HUMOR AHEAD

Ok.

I admit it.

I have never had the urge to mate with a fruit. Or a vegetable. Or sausage.

Or really any food stuff in general

Odd topic for a blog you say?

Definitely.

Do you, CV, spend a lot of time thinking about vegeatility? (It's supposed to be a play on beastiality but it's two am here in CO and I'm not about to pull out Roget and find a cleaver new word for vegetable. Is there one?)

Actually, dear reader, I do not. But I was recently listening to Howard Stern on my SIRIUS satellite radio. (The BEST investment I ever made, by the way.) When his ever-annoying sidekick Robin Ophelia Quivers announced that when she was younger she was (and I quote) "Like a rabbid dog" with lust that she would raid the refrigerator--IN HER PARENT'S HOUSE- bto look for suitable items to pleasure herself with.

NASTY ASS!!

She then proceed to lead a detailed discussion about the process of finding just the right 'material.' A cucumber was too 'girthy' and a carrot wasn't 'girthy' enough. She then moved to the freezer. A hot dog, which needed to be defrosted, wasn't the right size so she moves on to the sausage. Finally a match.

As I listened in my car, parked outside my apartment building as neighbors peeked out their windows, I could feel my jaw drop as the story unfolded. It was one of those things where I don't want to listen but I couldn't turn ot off.

She told the story, it was in a weird second person way. She kept on saying 'You look in the fridge to see what might work' or 'You decide that hot dog doesn't work.' And all I could think about is 'Don't lay your shit at my feet, bitch.'

In my head I imagined a young, blonde Robin rifling through her parents' refridgerator like some sort of perverted Goldilocks.

A cucumber? Too big, she decided.

A frozen hot dog? Too small, she decided, her vaginal lips starting to turn that purpley-blue tint that us Black folks get when we get hold.

A Polska Kielbasa? Just right, she moaned in ecstasy.

Sick.

So, a few days later, I decide to tell my mom and dad about this phenomena. To my horror, neither of my parents were surprised.

'Girls do that all the time," my mother says, my father shaking his head in emphatic agreement.

I'm thinking what nasty hos do my parents be hanging out with.

'You'd be surprised,' my father chimes in.

Hell, yes, I'd be surprised. Never once in my like have I considered sticking meat into my cooch. (No jokes please)

Or any vegetable for that matter.

So, I get to thinking. This must be a generational gap. I mean, I grew up in an age of dildoes and vibrators. They had the potential to be easily accessible. I even got one from my oh-so-generous-sex-shop-employee cousin for my eighteenth birthday.

Then I started to feel a little sad for all of those poor women who came into their sexuality at a time when it was still a dirty thing. Who reduced themselves to fucking bananas. Who quivered in ecstacy at the sight of a cucumber. Who's only way of releasing all of their pent-up frustration was to stick a sausage in their womanhood.

But then I thought, 'You had your hands and fingers, you nasty bitches. They were invented like 10 million years ago. Use them.'

I am proud to say that I have never desired to be a human root cellar.

I have never placed groceries in my poon.

God Bless America!

Ciao

P.S. I can tell you this though, I now look at my parents' friends in a whole new light. Mrs. Walters definitely has the look of a woman who's molested a pickle. Or a prune. At least if the saying 'You are what you eat' also refers to your nether lips as well.

Sparkle Moments

2006-07-12T21:13:00.000-06:00

It's hard being a genius. I mean, the pressure alone is enough to break lesser persons. You, the average reader, would be amazed at all of the positively brilliant things that I think everyday.

The problem is that I never remember them.

Seriously, out of the blue, I'll think of something funny and I'll want to blog it.

But as quickly as the idea comes to me, it leaves me.

Now, if I were a smarter person, I would carry a notebook to catch my sparkle moments as I just now thought about calling it. Well, the problem with that is that I would have to remember to carry it and then I would have to remember to write it.

Now, I said I was a genius, I didn't say that I was smart. Intelligent maybe, but smart, not always. Did you know that Einstein couldn't tie his shoes and Howard Hughes never bathed? That didn't stop him from getting laid on the regular, but then again he had money. Women and men have done a lot more for a lot less. It's no hardship having sex with a smelly person. C'mon, you know you've done it for free. You probably won't tell anybody, but it was probably the best screw you ever had. I tell you, I would so do Bill Gates, that troll looking dude simply for the fact that he's the friggin' richest man in the world. Does that make me a whore? Probably. However, I was already having issues around being a slut so we're just talking semantics, here.

But I digress. Which, of course is another one of the perils of being...

yes, a genius.

Ciao

Celebrity Obsession

2006-07-12T00:16:00.000-06:00

Okay, I admit it. I'm obsessed with celebrities. Not in the I'm-going-to-stalk-you-until-you-realize-that-we-should-be-together-forever way. More in the I-think-it's-really-funny-when-bad-things-happen-to-famous-people. I think that we all are. Americans in general relish the misfortunes of others. It's what we do. Now do we do it because we're jealous? Probably. Do we do it because it's fun? Definitely! I have to say that when I hear that a celebrity is going into rehab or lost all their money to unscrupulous business managers, it puts a smile on my face. C'mon, you have to admit that you feel the same way.

Expect for death. I draw the line at death.

Unless it's a funny death. Like they died while on the toilet jacking off to kiddie porn. I'm sorry. I don't care who you are, that's just funny.

Except for the kiddie porn. That's sad.

And what is this thing with mashing celeb couples' names together. TomKat or Brangelina. That's just stupid and wrong. Do they have no other identity? Will they forever be entwined? And it's a recent phenomenon. Brad and Jen weren't called Braden or Jenad. It's a sad commentary on our country today.

I mean can you imagine going to a dinner party and introducing yourself as "Moniken." (Monica and Ken---get it?)

I seriously spend too much time thinking about this shit.

But like I said, it's an addiction. I can't help but lapping up gossip like a drunk man with his last bottle of rotgut.

Later

My week in Hell

2006-06-25T01:12:00.000-06:00

Well, it wasn't really hell and it wasn't really a week, but close enough. As those of you who read my blog may or may not have noticed, I've been less than active this last week. Well, there's a reason for that. I've been in California visiting my Nana. She's sick and has to go on Dialysis.

So, for the first time in years, my family decides that we need to take a road trip. The result: seventeen hours in a car with my parents, EACH WAY. And that's not exactly a trip ANYONE wants to take. What you have to understand is that my mother is crazy. I don't mean eccentric or wild. No, the woman is literally insane. Her diagnosis: my money would be menopause sprinkled in with a dash of undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder (Manic-Depression for my lay readers). All in all, it makes for a tasty crazy concoction. And then there's my dad. He's not crazy or insane, but he feeds off of my mom's crazy. They've been together for twenty-four years and their interactional pattern in pretty much set.

And then there's me, pretty normal, average gal (quite a feat considering my role models), well on my way to committing acts of murder. And it's not being cooped up in a car with them, no. And it's not sharing a hotel room with them. No, the reason for my homicidal rage was quite simply that they can't fucking drive! As you all well know, I have road rage issues, and when my parents decide to go 50 mph, in a 75 mph zone, I tend to get a teeny bit irritated. Like to the point where, as we're snailing through the Utah desert, I think to myself, "Huh, a person could drop off a couple bodies here and no one would be the wiser."

It was a comforting thought.

Later

My hot night with Three Guys

2006-06-12T23:51:00.000-06:00

So Saturday was a red-letter day for me. I spent it with not one, not two, but three men. One of which even wanted to sleep with me.

#1 Man
Name: Sam

I met Sam when I was out at a bar to hear my friend's band play. He's a friend of a friend and my friend told him that I was an aspiring author. Sam is also an aspiring writer. He's going to grad school to get his MFA.

So we chat for a few minutes on and off throughout the evening. He's getting hammered. And then the time comes when he asks me what I write. I tell him honestly that I write romance. And then he sends me a look. Like I'm doing something wrong, like it's a sin. And then he tells me that I need to write 'real' books. 'Literary fiction,' he intones over and over again.

At first, I'm embarassed. I mean I love writing romance. And I'm damn good at it. But there are times when I get embarassed to tell people what I write. Then I started thinking, why? Why am I ashamed of the books I love so much that I want to write them?

And then I got mad. Fuck him! There is nothing wrong with my craft or the genre I choose to embrace. Just because we're writing romance does not make us any less talented than any other 'fiction' writer. We are just as talented, just as imaginitive, just as creative as any of them. I'd like to see James Joyce write a really good romance novel.

Good Luck, buddy!

Man #2
Name: Tom

So, I'm on my way out of the bar when I feel a hand on my arm. I turn to find this average-looking white guy holding on to me.

"Hello," I say, perplexed.

"I have to tell you that you're hat is dead sexy."

I almost faint. He had the sexiest Irish brogue I'd heard. And what was one an average guy os now like ten-times hotter. So, instead of walking away, I stay and talk. I'm no fool.

We flirt, and laugh. He seizes his opportunity to put his head on my breasts (longer story). And as we talk, it becomes more and more clear that this man is angling for some sex. And I found that I was not above giving it to him.

Then in the way of all great lovers, some of my friends come to say goodbye and his attention gets pulled away at the same time. And before you know it, the moment's gone.

SIGH

I really wished the night ended differently.

Man #3
Name: Asshole in a Cab

So, I'm driving home and I pull up to a stoplight. Next to me is a cab. I look over to see two drunken assholes in the back seat.

Suddenly, one flips me off.

Now, normally, I would chalk this up to drunken randomness, but this night I was feeling more than a little frustrated. And like the lady that I am, I yell:

"Yeah, fuck you too."

My window was down.

So was theirs, and not one to take things lying down, they yell back,

"Fuck you, you fat black bitch."

To which I reply,

"Back at you, drunken white asshole."

All in all, the most exciting Saturday night I've had in a while.

SIGH...Tom

Later

My Two Cents

2006-06-08T22:08:00.000-06:00

Penny #1
Is it just me or does this whole 'immigration' debate seem sort of racists. I mean all the talk is about 'illiegal immigrants' but they're really talking about Mexicans. The debate is about Canada. We;re not thinking about building a fence to keep the Canadians out (and why would we? Who would supply the quality comedians?)

Now I know what you're going to say...most 'illegal immigrants' are Mexican, plain and simple. I do agree. However, my point is why are we making it so hard for Mexicans to come into the states? Our border with Canada allows for Canadians to enter our country willy nilly, whenever they want, no visa needed. You don't armed guards at the Canadian border waiting to snatch those dirty Canadians before they cross Lake Superior and enter the country where they'll take low-paying jobs that most Americans, even those that are poor as shit, wouldn't take. No, just those brown-skinned, hard-working Mexicans.

And that, to me, is uber-racist.

2nd Penny

LET GAY PEOPLE GET MARRIED YOU STUPID (GOV'T FAT CATS) FUCKERS

Seriously, how sanctified and holy is marriage when you can go to Vegas, get married and annulled all within the space of 54 hours (yeah, I'm talking about you, Ms. Britney Spears Alexander Federline)

CREATIVITYVACUUM HAS SPOKEN.

A Lament for the Damned...

2006-06-04T23:10:00.000-06:00

Well, if you've read my previous post, then you'd know that I'm going to hell. I mean, don't you go to hell if you spend part of your time in church on Sunday lusting after your pastor? Because that's exactly what I did these past two Sundays. It's not love, and it's not really lust, but there are times during his sermon that I look at him and go, 'Wow, he's hot.' And he is. I think that what's getting me is that he's really funny. I mean, he's cute, but he's also almost 60 at least. And while this may have horrified me at 20, as I near my 27th birthday, it doesn't seem all that insurmountable. And he looks good. So, in addition to lusting after my pastor, now I wonder when did 60 become not old. Huh.

But anyway, is it wrong to admire a man at church? I mean lots of people go to church to look for available men. But doesn't it seem weird and a bit creepy to feel that way about your MARRIED pastor? It does seem weird, but knowing that I'm going to hell anyway, it kind of makes it easier to take.

Later

P.S. If you're following the story, a new chapter should be up in the next couple days. And thanks for reading my ramblings, but the title should have warned you.

Guess who's Coming To Dinner?

2006-05-26T00:27:00.000-06:00

I was watching this movie tonight and I have to say that it's one of those movies that is always relevant. Sidney Poitier is a genius as well as Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy. However, that's not what this post is about, This movie did get me thinking. I'm a big proponent of Interracial/Intercultural relationships. In fact, all of the stories that I write feature IR romances. Now the good news is that these books and storylines are becoming increasingly popular, especially with e-pubs. And because e-pubs are now venturing into print, these stories are now creeping into bookstores, at a slow pace, but a steady pace.

Here's the bad news. 'Guess Who's Coming to Dinner' was almost 40 years ago. 40! That's longer than I've been alive. Yet, as groundbreaking as that movie was, it really did little for this type of storyline in the Hollywood media. And I can imagine how controversial that was. An older Black man with a young white girl. WHAT!?! That's crazy. And it was a movie that dealt with the subject matter in a frank, sensitive manner. It's a classic example of great filmmaking.

But when was the last time you even heard about a movie with an IR storyline? I know when I did, but the truth is that Hollywood rarely make movies with IR couples. Why is that? After 40 years are Americans still so offended by the thought of two people of the same race being together? It can't be more 'taboo' in America's eyes than a gay couple, yet I see more of those in movies and on television than I do IR couples. What up with that?

Later

P.S. And I don't mean that funny but irrelevant Bernie Mac/Ashton Kutcher schlock, 'Guess Who?' I admit that I enjoyed it but watching the original, I see that they did that movie a grave disservice. What's even sadder to me is that I can't even find IR couples on soap operas. There used to be a time when all of them had at least one IR couple. Not so anymore. However, if you want to see a quality romantic comedy featuring an IR couple, I'd suggest 'Something New
starring Sanaa Lathan and that Hottie McHotterson Simon Baker.

Sans Sex

2006-05-25T14:20:00.000-06:00

So, as the two people that read this blog know, I am an aspiring romance author. Unfortunately, lately I'm not feeling very aspiring or inspired and have therefore resorted to the old standby...research. Which basically means that I'm reading a whole lot of books. Fortunately, I'm a fast reader. And now, biting the idea from a friend of mine, I'm making book recommendations. I'm currently reading a series of mysteries by David Handler, the Berger and Mitry mysteries. It's about a New York film critic living in Connecticut (slight thought break, has anyone ever met anyone from Connecticut? I was thinking about that last night, and I can't say that I've ever had the pleasure. Do people ever immigrate from Connecticut? I know that tons of people visit there or settle there, but I don't think they leave. Could Connecticut be the most inbred state in the country and we just don't hear about it? Think.) who meets a Black State Trooper and they fall in love. And solve mysteries. Hence the subtitle "A Berger and Mitry Mystery."

Now, I have to tell you that I'm digging these books. Which is surprising considering it is rare that I read a book that has no sex. I'm strictly a romance, romantic suspense, romantic thriller, or romantic mystery type gal. Do you get that I love romance? But I've got to say that I am definitely expanding my repetoire. They really are enjoyable, a little slow, gentle, and not too much violence, and nothing graphic. So if that sounds appealing, y'all should definitely check them out.

I really should get a ratings system. Hmmm...what would I do. I read a lot of romance and increasingly a lot of erotica. Maybe instead of stars, I should use batteries. Get it...batteries. I know you do. And when I'm evaluating mysteries, I should use little magnifying glasses. It's definitely something to think about.

Later

BTW...the first two books in the Berger and Mitry series are called "The Cold Blue Blood" and "The Hot Pink Farmhouse." Both of which rate 3 out of 4 little magnifying glasses.

Call me Old-fashioned

2006-05-08T00:58:00.000-06:00

So this is going to be a bit of a rant but I promise to keep it short. This particular rant has to do when the evening news. I watch it, I like to stay informed. But I have to ask, when did this annoying habit of newscasters laughing and flirting with each other develop? I hate it. I want to watch the news, not two people who probably hate each other trade witty repartee. I didn't ask for your opinion and I don't want to watch senseless banter. If I did, I'd be watching 'Will and Grace' not the evening news. I long for the good old days when news was unbiased and newscasters were somber reporters of daily events, not pedantic and trite. The days when newscasters could be dependent upon to be honest and trustworthy and not necessarily chosen for their Hollywood good looks.

(Humming 'Ms. Robinson' by Simon and Garfunkel)
So here's to you Peter Jennings, a nation turns it's lonely eyes to you, whoo-whoo-whoo
Where have you gone Ted Koppel? Everyone has left and gone away, yeah yeah yeah
God Bless you Please Walter Kronkite, Jesus loves you more than you will know, oh-oh-oh

(They're the last journalists that I believe had any integrity, but I could throw in a Dan Rather or Tom Brokaw...son los mismos)

*Sigh*

So in the immortal words of Edward R. Muro (another one of the greats)...

Good night and Good luck

Funny Shit

2006-05-06T11:08:00.000-06:00

So, my family and I are crazy close, like almost to the point of being psychotically enmeshed, but that's neither here nor there. The point is that we spend A LOT of time together. And when you spend so much time together, you sometimes forget that you're not hanging out with your friends. Especially myself. That being said, another thing that you need to know about me is that I LOVE to curse. I use fuck and shit and bitch and mother fucker and ass on a regular basis. Except when I'm at work...not good to curse around children under six. Now there are people that believe that cursing is the sign of a weak mind and to them I say 'Fuck you. I've got a whole fucking lot of education so you can kiss my ass bitches." (Like that? Yeah, I know you do.)

Anyhoo, the point I'm trying to make is that I have a really bad habit of cursing in front of my parents. Yeah. I know, but I can't help it. And twice in the past week I've cussed in front of people and they've looked at me and said, "I didn't know you cursed." To which I laughed hysterically and said, "My parents would disagree with you."

But, it's not like I learned this shit on the street. My parents used this exact same language in front of my sibs and I during all of our formative years. So, they only have themselves to blame. The sad part is that should I ever be blessed enough to actually have kids, I'll probably do the same thing. So if you see an adorable three-year old going through daycare laughing and saying, "This is some funny shit." That's my kid.

Later

Post Note: The other night my parents and I were hanging out (again!) and we were talking about what we'd do if we won Powerball. My Dad and I want to buy Harleys and my mom says to my dad, "If you get a trike, I'll be your biker bitch."
More funny shit!

So the question becomes...

2006-05-01T00:26:00.000-06:00

...Is no sex better than bad sex? I mean really bad sex. The kind of sex you can only have with a virgin who's lived in Mongolia all his life and hasn't even had the occasional blow job or hand job in the back seat of his parent's car. I know most men's response to this, 'Bad sex is like bad pizza-there's no such thing.' But au contraire my penis-having friends. The same cannot be said for woman. For us, there is such a thing as bad sex and a remedy. It's called 'Faking an Orgasm just so he'll get the fuck off of me,' It's simple but effective.

So we know that there is bad sex but is bad sex worse than no sex? I mean yeah it's bad, but at least you're having it, right? And then there's all the accoutrement (look at me using those fancy college-like words) that go with having sex. I mean, you may be in a relationship with a really wonderful man whom you care for deeply despite his lack of sexual prowess or you may be doing it so that your light and heat don't get turned off. But whatever the reasons there are distinct advantages to having sex, regardless of quality.

And are we really so shallow as to base our relationships on sex? Do we really value sex so much that we would value it over simple things like companionship and heating our homes? Have we really become that jaded?

My answer: Give me my vibrator and shut the door on your way out.

Later

A Mother's Kind Words

2006-04-24T22:24:00.000-06:00

So, the other day I was hanging out with the fam and as is often the topic when you're edging towards thirty, the subject of my love life came up. My brother for some reason believes that I'm going to marry a white man. For my part, I have no problem with that. It's been so long since I had a date, I wouldn't care if he were green. Hell, I'm probably green.

Anyhoo, so whilst my brother and I were debating the merits of Interracial dating (FYI, he has 'issues' with Black women, but that's a post for a different time), my mother turns to me with a quizzical tilt of her head and quite seriously, she tells me, "You know, I don't see you married at all." My eyes widen and my jaw drops on to the floor as she continues "Oh, I think you're going to have kids but I don't think you're going to get married." Now this of course comes from a woman who tells me at least once a month that she has dreams of my getting married. Most of the time, I'm married to some Jewish doctor or a Canadian or some such conjuration of her imagination.

My brother and I stare at each other for a minute. He of course recovers quickly and burts into laughter. So I say to her (and please take this for the sarcastic commentary that it's meant to be) "So, what you're telling me is that you see me as a whore. Is that it? Am I to be yet another sad statistic? What you see me with four kids and five Baby Daddies? Is that what you're saying?"

My mom shrugs nonchalantly and says "No, I just don't think you're going to get married."

At that my friends is a mother's kind words.

Later

Christmas Musings After Easter

2006-04-20T21:41:00.000-06:00

I'm going to hell.
No, really. I am. I know, you're shocked! I was, too. I mean, I really am a nice, decent, if somewhat perverted and bitchy person. I try to live my life in a way that doesn't harm others. But this means nothing; I'm still going to hell. And this here's why:
First, let me preface by saying I love Christmas, and embrace the spirit of giving and love and peace that it brings. Unfortunately I have a mouth like a sailor and a mild case of road rage. Not the: Knock-out-your-windshield-with-a-nine-iron kind of road rage. But rather the: I-think-that-all-other-drivers-are-idiots-and-shouldn't-be-allowed-behind-the-wheel kind.
With that said, this is me for most of the Christmas season. (Me singing along to KOSI 101) 'Oh, Holy night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the morn of our dear savior's birth. What the fuck are you doing, you stupid-ass motherfucker?!?! What the fuck is wrong with you? I swear to the sweet baby Jesus, you are the son of a whore.' And that's me yelling in my car at the top of my lungs (which have considerable power) after someone cut me off or is going like 15 in a 50 mph zone or just being an asshole in general. One minute I'm praising the birth of the Son of God and the next, I'm taking his name in vain and using profanity.
And that, my friends, is a surefire ticket to hell.
Pray for me

Repost from another time-MUCH FUNNIER!

2006-04-20T21:38:00.000-06:00

My First Post: What I should've said:

So, I pride myself on being massively self-important and think that everyone should listen to what I have to say. To give me a forum is a dangerous thing.

But anyhoo...what exactly is my concept of Random Acts of Randomness? This is a something that I think we should all embrace. Basically it involve me e-mailing my friends a bunch of crap that's on my mind, thing that I've been thinking about, all the weird shit that goes through my head. It's really just for my own amusement because no one really cares. Also, I like to think I'm funny and set about proving it on a daily basis.

With that said, here's what's been on my mind lately. Do rich people have health insurance? I mean, not your 'typical' rich people like doctors and lawyers you make $500,000/yr. I mean your Bill Gates' and Waltons. Do they have good insurance coverage? On one hand, you would think that they have the best coverage money can buy, but on the other hand do they really want to go through the hassle of fighting with insurance companies over paying for a heart transplant. Think about it.

Something else that should be noted about me is that I'm kind of a bitch. I know, you think I have a sweet face, but it's all show. Have a conversation with me some day, you'll find out. Take Saturday for instance. I was walking down on the 16th St. Mall, minding my own business when out of nowhere a man comes towards me wearing a red velour peacoat, a pair of velour pants that may have been black at one time but has now faded to a brownie black (it's a color, ask Crayola!), and a pair of brown loafers with tassels. Tassels people! So, I'm staring at him, not a polite glance, but really staring at him and I'm thinking, 'He really did it! He really left the house like that.' I mean come on! Who looks at themselves in the mirror and thinks that's attractive? And you just know that he was walking out feeling really good, like a panther on the prowl, going to find himself some Ladies!

Later

Occupational Hazards

2006-04-18T22:08:00.000-06:00

Okay, something that y'all may not know about me is that I am an aspiring romance author. Chessy? Maybe. Fun? Definitely. So, last night I'm in my room, click-clacking away, when a truly random thought came to me. I'm writing about people having sex with each other. I'm writing words like 'wetness' and 'cock' and I'm like really. I'm really writing this? These are things that I wouldn't say in real life. I can't imagine telling my boyfriend 'I'm so wet for you, baby.' But yet, I'm writing it.

The problem comes my friends when I'm trying to describe the process of the act of having sex. Do y'all realize the imagination it takes to write a really good sex scene. If I just wrote: "He put is penis in her vagina, thrust for about 2 minutes, and released his seminal fluid." it would be horrible and no one would read it. Women don't want that. I know. I'm a woman myself, most days. (JK!) They want the emotional connection as well as the detailed descriptions. So everyday I struggle about how many ways I can write a french kiss. Tongues in mouths that's all they are. But they have to be soft or sweet or deep or wet. I'm pulling out my thesaurus (a very useful tool anyway) like 7 million times a day. And then I move on to descriptions of thrusting and holes and more wetness and mutual masturbation. That takes A LOT of work dammit!

But how great would it be if I could actually make a living doing what I do? If somebody asks me what I do for a living I could say I write word like 'cock' or 'pussy' and I get paid to do it. Tee-hee. My life would be sweet!

Later

My First Post

2006-04-17T02:48:00.000-06:00

So, I did it (again!). I've created another blog because apparently the blog that I have on MySpace isn't enough. I need to feed my megalomanical tendencies by making sure that my voice gets out to a larger audience. I mean, I've always been of the opinion that the world would truly be a better place if only everyone would bow before my superior intellect and common sense...JK
Actually, I'm just bored and I'm dangerous when I'm bored. I named my blog Random Acts of Randomness because that's just what it'll be...just the random musings of my random mind. (Have I used random enough times?) I like to pride myself on being funny so I really hope that the eight people who read this will be entertained. Not by this one necessarily because I'm not feeling particularly creative but I can assure y'all that I am one funny mofo. And as soon as i fgure out how to do this blog thing, I will get right down to my own funny shit.
TTYL