Our pumpkins are carved, and no one opened a vein which I always worry about when I’m working with crazy, big knives.
Any Halloween visit that doesn’t include a trip to the ER is always a success.
Here’s to getting more treats than tricks
(To Suzy – 10 years today. I just can’t imagine that’s possible. Wish you were here.)
We’re back from the enchanted lands of New Mexico. Well, to be completely truthful, not all of us actually went. We had to leave one of us here to glare scornfully at the bad drivers, annoying waiters and uppity baristas. We do not take our obligations lightly. But we are reunited, the planets are aligned, and many amusing things are happening in the world. Here are five of them.
- Pope John XXIII. “It often happens that I wake at night and begin to think about a serious problem and decide I must tell the Pope about it. Then I wake up completely and remember I am the Pope.”
You know, this happens to the Sisters all the time. We will think of a serious problem and think, “We need to tell the smartest people we know” and then we remember that’s us! It also works with funny things. However, it is good to know that at least THAT Pope contemplated deep things in the night. Things like world peace, the Vatican art collection, birth control for third world countries, – you know, insignificant things.
- George Clooney. There are many, many things to contemplate about Mr. Clooney. If you want, we can pause a minute while you contemplate them. Sigh. Alright, let’s move on or we’ll waste the whole day with contemplation. When asked about Twitter, Mr. Clooney stated he didn’t follow it, adding, “No, because I drink in the evening and I don’t want anything that I write at midnight to end my career – ‘You can kiss my ass,’ all spelled wrong.” Tell us what you think, but that sounded like an invitation to us. We’ll bring the wine and a red editing pen.
- Sore losers. We discovered Scrabble people are a little crazy. At the very least they take their championships way too seriously. At the
World Scrabble Championships in Warsaw there was an accusation of cheating. **GASP** This is big time people. There were demands for a strip-search in the bathroom when the British competitor Ed Martin was accused of concealing a letter tile. Now that would seem completely feasible if Amylynn or Ava were playing. Neither of them is really to be trusted. Kelli, however, is a fine Scrabble player and would never resort to such underhanded tactics. Amylynn and Ava need all the help they can get.
- Facial Hair. Our town boasts the top winner of the National Beard and Moustache Championships held this year in Lancaster, PA. If you are unaware, this is almost as big a deal as the World Scrabble Championships but, mercifully, there were no accusations of cheating or demands for strip-searches at this particular competition. We can barely express how thankful we are of that. Clearly the bearded and mustachioed among us are much more
civilized. Our winner, Mr. Patrick Gorman wears his moustache in the “Hungarian” style (!!) which is not to be confused with the “Freestyle” type which include waxed loops and such vulgarities.
- Jack-o-lanterns. We love carved pumpkins. We try to make amazing jack-o-lanterns but there are some people out there who are like the Michelangelo of gourds. One of our favorite things about this season is the outrageous, unbelievable pumpkins. Behold.
I feel like I’m cheating you, oh faithful reader, by putting up all these photos to comment on, but when I saw this on one of my favorite blogs, The Goddess Blogs. Apparently Karen Hawkins (an absolutely lovely lady) gave this to Suzanne Enoch.
I think it’s completely hysterical.
My Honey and I are always trying Jedi mind tricks on the kids. They rarely work anymore. I sort of hate it that they’re getting smarter.
There is a book coming out that I’m very excited about. This happens to me all the time. I get almost as excited about some book releases as I do about the latest superhero movie.
Do you remember those old Mervyn’s ads where the lady is waiting outside in the dark for the store to open for a big sale. “Open open open.”
That’s me at the bookstore on Tuesdays. Tuesdays is almost always new release day. “Open open open.” Of course I can always preorder books on Amazon, but usually I buy my new releases from a brick and morter store (or adobe). I love holding a new book in my hands. It’s such a tactile pleasure.
I also look forward to figuring out how to sneak my new purchases into the house. Some women have to sneak in new shoes. I have to figure out how to get new books in the house without My Honey seeing. I find that shoving a paperback down the back of my pants works pretty well – not so much with a hardcover copy. That takes a little more cunning. Usually a diversion is in order. He’s not falling for the old, “Look! The Goodyear blimb!” anymore. It’s really a shame. Now I have to let the dog out the front door or run past the living room really fast, but I suspect he sees through my ruses. Sadly, I even think he was secretly relieved when Borders closed down. It was one less
While editing my new book, The 50 Funniest American Writers: An Anthology of Humor from Mark Twain to The Onion, I made a discovery: “If Mark Twain had had Twitter, he would have been amazing at it. But he probably wouldn’t have gotten around to writing Huckleberry Finn.” The following are some of the most hilarious quotes by some of America’s funniest writers featured in my book (and they all fit perfectly into 140 characters).
This is my favorite of the quotes, maybe because of how Sassy and I are getting along this week.
It’s nights like this that makes you want to get your own apartment.
I’ve been holding on to this picture for just a day like today when there is no way a witty little bon mott is coming out of my imagination.
I read all of the Twilight books (I’ll never get that time back) and all the Anne Rice Interview books (the mystique was lost on me there, too.) Honestly, I think both of those series have WAY TOO MUCH WHINING!
Now, the Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris – totally blows those other vampires out of the water.
Do you remember how I’ve told you I have issues with “perfectionism-mania”? That’s a word my mother and I made up to describe the craziness that ensues when I have made up in my mind exactly what I want but, sadly, that thing doesn’t exist.
It’s why I can’t ever be Cinderella for Halloween.
Whoever drew this cartoon (the brilliant people at Shoebox) might have been listening in to a conversation in my head. I can totally see myself being completely fixated on finding something as impossible as a blow up Cthulhu.
I’m a lunatic.
I totally get it.
Ava wanted to know if I wanted my own hotel room when we were out of town or if we just wanted to bunk together. “Of course, you can have your own, but just know I’ll be over there all the time anyway.”
Of course, I picked the sleepover. It just seemed stupid not to. We’re compatible roommates.
Ava got to the hotel first on Sunday and she texted me that the room was HUGE. And when I arrived on Wednesday night I agreed. The hotel was lovely and the room was nicely decorated.
There were a few oddities, however.
“What the hell is that?” I asked pointing to the peephole in the middle of the door at about bellybutton level. There was another one at the normal height.
Later, I mentioned that the bed was really, really low to the floor.
“I know!” Ava exclaimed. “That’s what I thought.” So we lay in bed and contemplated the lowness of the bed. We finally came to the conclusion that it must be due to the Contemporary decor.
When we were down in the lobby, Ava mentioned it to the front desk. “Yeah,” the clerk informed her. “You booked a handicapped room.”
For the rest of our stay, we kept having those “aha!” moments.
Aha! That explained the bars in the shower and around the toilet.
Aha! That explained the closet – the hanging bar was about three feet off the floor which was a problem if you had a dress.
Honestly, for as long as it took us to figure out the deal, perhaps the handicapped room isn’t really for wheelchairs but for those of us who should ride the little bus to work.
It’s still a million degrees out here in the desert regardless of the date on the calendar. While that was always lovely when Halloween came around and you didn’t have to wear a coat over your costume when you trick-or-treated, it’s not so lovely at noon on a Tuesday when you dehydrate on the way across the parking lot. It also sort of lessens the thrill of hunting for the perfect pumpkin if you get sunburned while you’re wandering around in the patch. And yet, we still found five things to amuse….
1. Yurts. The word yurt conjures up pictures of Mongolians with scraggily beards, running around in the freezing cold, wearing those yak-skin coats. This Yurt defies that stereotype. There are no descendants of Genghis Kahn charging around routing villagers near this yurt. Neiman Marcus won’t stand for that nonsense and neither do the Sisters. This little beauty is from the Neiman’s Christmas catalog and only cost 75,000. It’s filled with one of a kind feather pillows, a handcrafted crystal chandelier, and the walls are linen tapestry. It was designed with I Dream of Jeannie’s bottle in mind. Just think of the wonderful stories we could write in this luxury. When you see Santa…
2. Quitting. Do you remember that Jet Blue airline steward who famously quit his job by cussing out a customer over the PA system, triggering the emergency escape slide, grabbing a beer and leaving the plane on the tarmac? He was our hero for a while there. Well, we have a new front runner in the category of Best Way to Quit Your Job. Joey had had it with his job at a major hotel chain so when he went to quit, he brought a marching band with him. Ladies and gentle,men, that is style. The Sister’s decided when we quit Bank of No Forks, we’re going to bring KISS with us.
3. Hotel rooms. Traveling for work sucks. No doubt about it. The only plus is an expense account and a hotel room. Even though we don’t sleep really great in hotels because it’s not our own bed, there is still something wholly luxurious about sleeping in a hotel room. The sheets are soft, the pillows squishy, the towels freshly laundered. There’s cute soap and stuff in the bathroom. There are no children fighting. No dog hogging all the leg room. You can watch whatever you want on TV. It’s nice – just so long as you don’t have to do it very often. Thank you, Mr. Hyatt.
4. Gadhafi. He’s dead. The Sisters disapprove of dictatorships of any kind, unless we’re the ones doing the dictating. But, now that it’s over, what we find is the most pressing consideration is not the fate of NATO, or the Middle East, or what have you. There’s not a thing we can do about any of that. What we really want to know is, what’s gonna happen to his wardrobe? The man may have been the devil himself, but he knew how to dress. Look at these gorgeous textiles. Call us shallow if you will, and we dare say you won’t be the first, but you have to agree with us when we say – the man had style.
5. Dinner with NewMexiken. As mentioned above, we don’t like business trips, we do like hotel rooms, and we LOVE going to dinner with Amylynn’s Uncle, NewMexiKen and his lady, Donna. They took us to a charming little restaurant in Old Town. Really Old Town. The building that housed the restaurant was 305 years old. There were margaritas and much laughing and we had a fabulous time. If you must go away, make sure you do it to a place where you have charming family.
My Agent is in NYC this week. She’s pitching my series to the editors and publishers. I’m sure my project is not the only one she’s trying to drum up interest in while she’s there, but let’s pretend like it is, OK?
Knowing she’s where she is and that she will be presenting my work to the decision makers is filling me with anxiety. I’m so nauseous over the whole thing, sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.
Part of me wants to think positively – to imagine what I’ll do with my advance money. Another part wants to pretend that nothing unusual is going on as not to jinx it.
I can pretend – but not very well – that it doesn’t matter to me, but it totally does. Just in case my jinx theory isn’t fool proof, I think I should make offerings to all the Patron Gods of writing. I’ve done some research and I have a list.
- Catholcism – The Arch Angel Gabriel – angel of creative writing
- Hindu – Devi Sarswati – Goddess of literature, books, writers, poets, etc
- Ganesh – Patron God of Writers
- Byblos – Baalat – the chief deity watched over books, libraries and writers
- Egyptian – Seshat – writers and builders
- Thoth – scribes and writing
- Greek – Muses – Erato was the muse of love poetry
- Hermes – said to be the inventor of the alphabet thus the god of writing as well
OK – so what does one use to make an offering to the gods? I don’t know any virgins who are willing to be sacrificed, even if I had the stomach for such a thing. I googled it and I got all kinds of ideas for marriage and harvest and that kind of stuff, but nothing about how to make editors offer you a three book deal.
There is all kinds of suggestions on the Internet for offerings of food, but the more I read, the dicier it gets. The Hindu gods only accept vegetarian offerings, and even then the veggies are sketchy. The Catholics won’t accept an offering if the heathen gods are involved. No one speaks Blybos so who knows what issues they have. One site suggests that an animal offering is required for the Greek Hermes, uh yeah, so no on that. I don’t even know where to start with the Egyptians.
Gads. When did this get so complicated?
So, just spit balling here, I’m guessing I’ll find some printer paper, a toner cartridge and a cupcake.
I have to fly out of town for work tonight. Kelli will take me to the airport as Ava has been at the off site location since Sunday night. This time, Ava managed to get all the way to the location with no incident which is unusual for her as you can see from here and here.
I have every faith that I can negotiate the security check point without raising any eyebrows. That being said, prepare yourself for a blog explaining how I managed to screw everything up.
I hate traveling. I know a lot of people say this but I really do, but not for the normal reasons. I hate it because I always, always forget something. Something important. The anxiety of waiting to figure out what desperate thing I left at home always drives me crazy.
Thank Zeus we no longer have to keep track of tickets and just boarding passes these days. Carrying a ticket around used to drive my stress levels through the roof.
I have my work laptop and scanner and cords. I have my iPad for blogging and working on my manuscript. I have my iPod. I have my cell phone and charger. I have my Kindle – yes, my Kindle and my iPad. When I review Advance Reader Copies (ARC) of books, I can’t put them on my iPad. I’ve spent a long time with the Kindle folks and I have expressed my displeasure.
Note to Amazon: get on that will you? Seriously. I have WAY TOO MANY electronics to haul through an airport.
I checked on the underwear situation. I packed all my migraine medicine. My work credit card is in my wallet. HERE IT IS – RIGHT HERE. THIS PART ABOUT HAVING HER WORK CREDIT CARD. IT’S A LIE. HERE’S WHAT SHE FORGOT. AMYLYNN DOES NOT, I REPEAT, NOT, HAVE HER WORK CREDIT CARD. THEREFORE, SHE MUST SPEND EVERY WAKING MOMENT WITH AVA BECAUSE AVA REMEMBERED HER WORK CREDIT CARD AND IT’S THE WAY THAT AMYLYNN IS GOING TO BE ABLE TO EAT.
On my honeymoon I forgot my blow dryer and thus in every single picture my hair is in a bun. I double checked my blow dryer this time.
I have no idea what it is, but it’s something. I’m certain of it.