California Rocks!

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

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

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

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!

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

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'

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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...

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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?