NEW RELEASES
Revenge is a dish best served with a dash of spite
The house next door to us just went up for sale. We’ve been suspecting as much as a bunch of workmen have been in and out for the last couple of weeks. We weren’t sorry to see the previous neighbors go. They were exceedingly bad to live next to. It was a residence for mentally challenged adults and they were difficult to by. We constantly had trouble with our mailbox being tampered with, which was the residents, and things disappearing, which was the people who worked there. We had to call the police more than once. One time spectacularly involved a naked streaker with excessive body hair on New Years Day
Nevertheless, the for sale sign went up on Christmas Eve.
That house will never sell regardless of all the new gravel spread in the driveway or the paint or whatever the hell they did inside.
Not even if they lower the price to rock bottom levels.
I am certain of this fact.
On the Saturday after Christmas I was awakened by loud yipping from a Lab, ear-splitting baying from a hound dog and screeching from two children. I peeked out the window into the backyard from between the slats of the blinds and found the following scene.
Roscoe the Hound Dog was racing circles around the brand new trampoline, baying in frustration. Winnie the Wonder Mutt was inside the trampoline with the children because she is part kangaroo and was barking with glee. The most troublesome part was the actual children. Sassy was wearing new Christmas pajamas which was mostly OK. The Bandit, however, was jumping with a great deal of exuberance in his underwear. Tighty whities Transformer underwear, yet.
The first time a prospective buyer looks over our fence to see that scene, it’s all over for the realtor.
Serves them right for calling the county on us about the weeds next to the curb.
December 20
Shhhhhh. Did you just hear that? Ah, nah, it was nothing. We thought we “heard the pracing and pawing of each little hoof” at Bank of No Forks. It’s also possible that we’ve been hallucinating from our sugar intake. Things are a little out of control over here. We fully expect to have die-a-beetus by the end of the year. At least we’ll go out with a smile on our face. And won’t everyone be surprised that we die like that and not from being mauled by an animal? Remember back in high school when your English teacher made you write your own obituary with all the things you hoped to accomplish? We assure you it did not contain anything about die-a-beetus or maulings, which frankly is A LOT more interesting than whatever bullshit we came up with when we were sixteen – especially since neither one of us married a rock star. (Amylynn apologies to Mr. Bright – no aspersions meant, but at last accounting he didn’t have Tommy Lee’s bank account, just as many 
guitars.)
1. Boba Tea. We can’t really explain Boba Tea. It’s a tea shoppe. Kinda like Starbucks and coffee but not like that at all. There’s a cute Panda on the front speaking chinese. The tea isnt tea, it’s frozen Snow or Milk tea or some fruit juicy stuff. What makes it hard to explain is the Boba part. We’re not sure what Boba’s are but they appear to be round gummy bears with no flavor and no color so not like gummy bears at all. Anyway, we ate/drank the Boba’s and we hope there’s 
not a bad end to this story . . .
2. Brushfire Ice Cream. Amylynn tasted a sample of this ice cream last weekend and, if it’s possible, she saw God. At the very least angels were singing on high. Right away she texted Ava and expounded on the gloriousness of it. So this week she herded everyone in the car and drove them all the way over to hell and gone to get some. What the stupid people at Brushfire BBQ didn’t mention when they got her addicted to the ice cream was that she couldn’t have any. The stupid store isn’t even open for business yet. WTF?? Why would they give you samples of the best ice cream ever made and refuse to let you pay for some? Why? Santa is going to leave them coal.
3. Harvey the Gerbil. Sassy got honor roll again, so she was given permission to purchase a gerbil. She’s been campaigning for literally months. She has amazing stamina when it comes to a campaign of that sort. She may actually be Napoleon Bonaparte reincarnated. Amylynn was against it because its life expectancy in a house with Jojo Kitty is approximately 13 minutes. Regardless, there is now a gerbil in her room, most likely 
cowering in terror. So, long live Harvey. We’re pleased to meet you. Sorry about the tiny tiger.
4. The War on Christmas. Really? War? What are they using for ammunition? Glittered ball ornaments? Blow up Santa lawn decorations? That would work cause that shit’s everywhere. EVERYWHERE. War on Christmas. We scoff. Loudly and with feeling. You’d be able to hear us except the freaking Christmas carols in the mall are so loud it would be impossible. We’re not bah humbug by any means, but to modify a line from Forest, “Stupid is as stupid says on Fox news.”
5.Flannel Sheets. You know how they say that people in the desert have thin blood? It’s not a joke. We’re freezing to death down here. It’s raining and 47 degrees. Brrrrrrrrrrr. There’s snow on the mountain. We can see it from where we’re sitting under a blanket on the couch with cocoa. Actual snow. Where we can see it! That’s much too cold for the likes of us. We’re much happier in the 80 – 85 degree range. You guys living where there’s REAL winter are braver than we are. We have no intention of being heroes. Flannel sheets people. With penguins and snow men.
OR I’ll just check the after Christmas sales for appliances
In the last few months we’ve had all kinds of crap go wrong in the house. I almost hate to mention it because it seems like I shouldn’t be tempting fate that way. We just replaced the garbage disposal in the kitchen. We need a new ballast in the lighting fixture in there, too. Right now we have what I call “mood lighting”. The dishwasher is acting very cantankerous and the oven/stove is on it’s very last legs. Our washing machine and dryer are at least eleven years old. Earlier this year we needed a new hot water heater and we got a new air conditioner.
Being a home owner is wicked expensive.
That’s why when I saw this website I got excited. If I have to replace all the damn appliances anyway, we should just get a new house. I suggested this one to My Honey.
It’s in France and is from 978. That’s the year it was built. It’s gorgeous don’t you think? There’s a vineyard and trees and gorgeous views.
Or maybe you’d be more interested in something closer to Paris.
The construction on this little beauty began in 15th century and is only 63 miles from Paris.
Perhaps though you’re thinking that it might be more trouble than it’s worth to learn to speak French.
Never fear, there are plenty of castles available in Ireland. If you’re so foolish as to think that the Irish speak English that you can understand then you’ll love this.
So gorgeously green, right? This is Ballindooley Castle in Galway. It was by far the most pronounceable name of all the Irish castles. Some of those are just ridiculous which goes to prove that you can’t understand the Irish version of English – but boy is the accent beautiful. The castle was reduced to 599,000 Euros. That’s a steal considering that it comes with all the furnishings and drapes. Although, I’ll tell you right off, based on the pictures of said furnishings you’re going to want to have a yard sale right quick.
Still, maybe what you’re looking for in a castle is prestige. You can’t do much better for the bargain price of 2.6 million Euro for this beauty.
Owned at one time be King Henry VIII, it is located in Kent. It was built in the 14th century and is restored and GORGEOUS.
Look at all you get for the price.
Right by the train station! SOLD.
I wonder if I could get Alan Rickman to come by and read me bedtime stories.
Looking at the bright side of an arrest record
Ava was off from work today. That left me and the receptionist (who has decided her pseudonym will be Gatekeeper for the purposes of this blog) to our own devices. Things went badly, but honestly, they probably would have been worse had she been with us.
We started out the day reading the newspaper as we usually do. There was an article about the ridiculously idiotic children of Mexican drug lords tweeting about their exorbitant lifestyles. There was a picture of a cheetah wearing a studded collar hanging out of a Range Rover like a dog. The
Here kitty, kitty, kitty.
owner of this animal also owns a tiger cub and a full grown lion. He was just arrested in our town when he was crossing the border. More on that later.
We went to the Chick-fil-A for lunch. We know what you’re thinking, but they’re very close to work and they have yummy milkshakes so don’t judge us. We joined the queue and waited like civilized people. Just when we got to the front, a woman walked into the place, ignored all ten of the people in line, and marched to the front.
“Hey!” I said and looked at Gatekeeper.
“Excuse me,” she said to the cutter. I’d like it to be clear that she used a very polite voice at this point. “There’s a line here.” Gatekeeper indicated the beginning and ending of said line.
The woman turned her snotty blonde head, sneered at us, and said in the bitchiest possible manner, “Yeah, well, now there’s a line here, too.”
Gatekeeper and I looked at each other in disbelief. Who does that? Who? Was this the first time they’d let her out of her cage?
Right then, the Chick-fil-A gal raised her hand and called, “Next person in line.”
Gatekeeper and I actually ran to get there before Bitchy Woman. There was a great deal of posturing and snotty looks from her, but there were two of us, so we weren’t afraid. As we all waited for our food, we actually became quite amused by the whole thing. The woman was texting furiously – probably about the big Mexican girl and the short fat one what were harassing her. LIKE WE STARTED THIS!
I told Gatekeeper with some dismay, “Crap. I’m going to have to back you up, and I’m not really dressed for a brawl today.” I looked at my freshly painted toenails peeking out of my flip-flops. Was this the outfit I really wanted to be bailed out of jail in? Well, at least it’s comfortable while I wait for Ava to show up with money.
The one bright shining moment in all this was the thought that if we were arrested we might get a chance to meet the cheetah guy.
Useful skill – reading like the wind
The Patron Saint of the Quill Sisters is Julia Quinn.
All hail the Julia.
Honestly, she is the one who set us on this path. Good or bad, this is all her fault.
When a Julia book comes out, we’re like the crazy people at the bookstore, our faces pressed against the window, drumming our fingers against the glass until they let us in.
The Sum of All Kisses came out this week. I bought it immediately, even knowing I can’t read it until I finish the manuscript 
that is overdue and the book I’m currently reading. You can tell I love Ava because I gave her Ms. Quinn’s book to read on Monday evening – with the stipulation that she finish it by end of business Tuesday. Otherwise there is the potential the long holiday would commence, I would finish my manuscript AND my current book and risk the potential that I wouldn’t have Ms. Quinn’s book to read.
We’ve all lived through an episode of that horror show and none of us wants to do it again. It would probably be less terrible to live through a zombie apocalypse than that. Or being revisited by the plague. Or a nuclear war.
Seriously. It’s that awful.
Ava read while on the treadmill at work. She read while on boring conference calls. She read while she was doing everything in an effort to be done before the end of work. I left her alone because I was dying to read it.
“The brilliant Julia is baaaaa-aaaaaack,” she’d tease. Later she insisted, “Oh my God, listen to this line.”
My response was always, “Get back to reading, you!”
Well she did it! She did it! She read Ms. Quinn’s book all day and gave it to me at 5:45. I CAN’T WAIT.
Now, if I could just finish writing Chapter 23.
Hold on, Julia, I’m coming!
Where happiness comes with samples.
We were doing some Christmas shopping this weekend and My Honey mentioned that he’d never been in a See’s Candy Store 
before.
“Seriously?” I asked. How can that be? That must be amended immediately. Not only is the candy wonderful, but the lovely ladies in the cute white and black uniforms give out free samples.
Free samples in a candy store? Are you kidding me? The Bandit was in absolute heaven.
In case you don’t know, you can assemble your own custom box of candy at See’s. It’s like going to Dunkin Donuts and putting together your dozen donuts only with glorious chocolate. You can have an entire box of nuts or creams or toffee’s.
We assembled a lovely box for a whopping $12. That, my friends, is an entire box of happiness for a measly $12. You’d think the lovely people at See’s would send me a present for this endorsement (hint hint).
I’m getting fatter just thinking of it.
If we pull this off we want Congressional Medals of Honor for saving Thanksgiving
Did you know it’s almost Thanksgiving? Really. We can’t believe it either. Still, pie is coming, thus making this one of my favorite holidays.
Of course that also brings up all kinds of turkey discourse.
Butterball has been in the news for a couple of reasons lately. First, they’re going to have men answering the Butterball Turkey Talk-Line. Bravo, we say. At our respective houses we often have a fried turkey and we’ll tell you that we NEVER get anywhere near that boiling oil. Maybe it’s a flash back to former lives as Viking warriors or something but boiling oil just seems like a bad idea. We’re a bit fond of our skin, and we’re not known for our grace
Pre-Quill Sisters Diet Plan
It seems reasonable that our husbands and brothers-in-law would want to chat up the Turkey Guy. The men in our lives seem to have a penchant for making friends with strangers.
ALSO – and this is way more important to Thanksgiving – there seems to be some trouble with skinny turkeys this year. Butterball has no idea why the turkeys wouldn’t get fat. They said they tried everything and the damn birds are still skinny.
Two weeks later – easy.
The doctors at the Quill Sisters Clinic for Obesity prescribe white cake squares with white frosting and sprinkles, left over Halloween candy, pizza, orange chicken and coffee cake.
Those little suckers will be waddling for sure.
We hope this means there’ll be HellBoy 3
We live in the only state in the main US that doesn’t do Daylight Savings Time. What that means is several times a year we don’t know what the Hell time it is. That is to say, we know what time it is at home, but in relation to everyone else, we’re totally confused. What time is it in LA? If we have to do something for work at 3 Eastern Central Time it will take us twenty minutes to figure out if that is that noon or one? 
The reason I bring this up is because the time just changed EVERYWHERE ELSE and now all the good cable TV shows come on an hour later. This can get really distressing when something super exciting is happening on TV and you have no one to talk to about it.
These days Sons of Anarchy comes on at 11:00 and doesn’t end till about 12:30 or so. This is really bad because I have to watch it all by myself. If you don’t watch this show let me emphasize the fact that this is a seriously drama laden show. It’s brutal. Characters die all the time. Characters you love. Characters you hate. There are massive twists and turns. This is the kind of show that you want to watch with someone so that you can shriek, “What the hell just happened?”
So last night My Honey went to bed since he gets up for work at 5AM knowing that the DVR would record the show and he could watch it today. Ava never stays up that late. A couple of the other girls at work watch and it’s our water 
cooler show, but you still can’t be calling or texting them at midnight or later.
It was killing me. Epic things happened. Really epic. I was desperate. I contemplated poking My Honey awake to tell him. I WAS DYING!
Even after I got to work on Wednesday and got to discuss it with everyone, we periodically would yell across the office, “I can’t believe XXXX is dead!” My Honey texted me that afternoon when he got to watch it. He texted me, “Holy crap they killed XXXX!”
I really hate Day Light Savings Time. It seriously delays the enjoyment of good shows.
It’s not really bad unless ABBA is involved.
Today is National “Have a Bad Day” day.
At first, the Sisters thought that was funny. But it’s not, not really. Clearly, it’s a direct hit on all of those people who tell you to, “Have a nice day”. The Sisters never follow that directive. We just aren’t the kind to do what we’re told. The last time a sales clerk told us to, “Have a nice day” – we didn’t. On purpose. Don’t tell us what to do.
Amylynn told the fool flat-out, “Young man, we work at Bank of No Forks, a nice day has been off the table for years.”
Say what you will, the man could work a sparkle.
Sometimes Ava takes things too literally. When Amy told her it was National “Have a Bad Day” day, she wanted to know
Classic 70’s!
Amy insisted BAD meant terrible. She refused to entertain the 70s, unless Peaches and Herb or maybe Captain and Tennille are involved. “Surely Muskrat Love will ensure a bad day”, she said. Amylynn also wasn’t interested in hearing about the Michael Jackson theory. That made the day bad for Ava who really wanted to wear one sparkly glove and a black and red leather jacket. Moon walking could have been on the agenda.
But no. Amy said, “NO! I’m not going out with you dressed like that.” Besides, Ava’s not coordinated enough to moon walk. A trip to the emergency is NOT the kind of bad day we’re really interested in.
We hope a Bad Day was had by all? How was yours?
Dear Australian People,
We’d like you to meet Douglas. He’s a baby wombat. Now, surely, after watching this video, you understand why we need a wombat, right?
The people from Australia are not returning our calls. Do you think it’s possible they’ve already heard about us? We thought perhaps, since we’re writers, we’d try persuading them with a letter.
Dear Australian people,
We’re willing to go out into the desert and find you a lovely Gila monster. They’re much prettier than they sound. Or perhaps, you’d rather have a javelina. The baby ones are pretty cute. We’ll trade you for: 1 Wombat, 1 Quoka, 1 koala, and a joey. We promise to love them and pet them and feed them and adore them until we meet our demise, probably after being eaten alive by some adorable fuzzy thing we fell in love with and brought home even after being expressly forbidden to do so by our spouses.
Please let us know if these terms are amenable. We’re happy to come to your place and pick them up. We have several kitty carriers we think would be more than suitable for transportation. We plan to tell the airline they’re puppies. Delta Airlines owes us a solid.
Thank you for your consideration.
Amylynn and Ava
The Quill Sisters.