Once a year I go see my neurologist. I have suffered from migraines since I was thirteen. This doctor has done a really good job of getting me on maintenance drugs and I do pretty well.

Then I developed some new weird symptoms. Some awful symptoms.

Hang with me here. There’s a punch line coming.

Wretched electrical sensations and what feels like a cattle prod stabbed through my eye. Lovely, no? Then this past weekend, the cattle prod was stabbed through my ear.

Seriously, the punch line is coming.

In one of those rare occasions where the timing is perfect, I saw him today and mentioned this shitty new development.

He confirms that I have trigeminal neuralgia. It’s shit. Don’t get it. So I ask him about treatments. There is some maintenance drug therapy. And there’s this other thing.

Gamma radiation.

WHAAAAAAAT?

“Like in the Hulk? That kinda Gamma radiation?” I asked, stupefied.

Like this shit is real?

It’s called Gamma knife surgery. Don’t Google it; it’ll scare the bejesus out of you.

My response was, “I’m out.”

There is no part of this that sounds good to me.  No one with as short a temper as I have should be messing around with Hulk medicine – brain disorder or no.

Besides, green is really not my color.

I had a nice, relatively quiet birthday. My daughter is really upset because she and my son ordered me something on the internet and it hasn’t arrived yet.

Apparently it’s coming from England. I have absolutely no idea what this could be, but my mind boggles.

This morning Sassy says, “If your box doesn’t come we’re going to have to get you some other extravagant present.”

Extravagant present? What the hell is in this box?

Shetland ponies in sweaters! Yes!

I asked if it was a Shetland pony. I was given the look. I’m assuming that it’s not a pony. I was hoping, because that’s pretty extravagant don’t you think?

Ava wondered how it was possible that I was going to be able to wait patiently for this box to arrive without pestering my children to tell me what it is.

“Maybe it’s proof that I’m finally growing up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

“Well, maybe it’ll be okay since I’ll get other presents that will feed the present demon and ease the pressure until that one arrives.”

“Uh huh,” she said, but she sounded skeptical.

I’ll be honest with you, it was hard. I could make that boy crack in seconds. He’s weak.

I did ask Sassy if I should be concerned that no one is feeding the box. I got the look again. I hope there are breathing holes.

God, I hope that box comes soon. I don’t know how long I can withstand this “mature person” façade.

August 5th is Amylynn’s birthday. We’re certain your calendar alerted you to that fact. No? Rectify that for next year why don’t you. Go ahead, we’ll wait.

OK – are we ready for the festivities to begin?

Amy wants everyone to be happy on her birthday – so cake for you and you and you. And best of all, here’s a little something special from us to you.

Tom Hardy with a puppy.

My favorite part is when he gives the huge sad eyes when they quit.

In case you didn’t guess, we would like a lemur. I would name this one Clyde. Or Bernice if it’s a girl. But I think it’s a boy cause no girl would ever let her armpits get that bad.

The Sisters are still on their convention “high”.  We have all sorts of plans and dreams we’ve started working on now that we’ve unpacked and gone back to work.  The laundry’s not done yet but who cares?  We’re going to be the next Stephen King! Exactly like him except not scary or fantasy or dystopian – well okay, maybe more like Julia Quinn.  There you go.  And here we go on our favorite authors from the convention.

1. Terri Brisbin. Ms. Brisbin was the poor sot who was forced to sit next to Amylynn at the RWA Literacy Signing. Keep in mind it was alphabetical so Brisbin/Bright – you can see the proximity. Still, Ms. Brisbin held her own against a pack of Sisters like a boss. Once we discovered she was from New Jersey, well, then it was a lock. Ava forgave her for being from South Jersey. We liked her. And she was funny.

2. Rose Lerner. Rose had no idea what she was getting herself into when she elected to take a seat with us at the Beau Monde ball. We’re sure she thought, “Oh, look a seat. I need a seat. These ladies in costume seem totally normal.” Rose mentioned that she wanted a little piggy. Things went downhill from there.  Ava roped her into agreeing to participate in our panda-napping scheme. We tried to convince her to get a cat. Her initial reaction was “Ew, cats are sneaky.” We disagreed and informed her they’re not sneaky, they’re stalkers, but that is what makes them fun. Every time we saw her at the convention, she never once ran away. She must have been very tired. Seriously, we love her and we’ve decided to keep her.

3. Collette Cameron. Collette has been lovely and generous and helpful and too many more adjectives to list here without running the risks of looking like a thesaurus. Up till now we’ve only known her on the internet. We got to meet her in person at the convention and it turns out she’s also beautiful and funny and friendly.

4. Marie Force. Marie’s success has become our inspiration. She has done fabulously well, but she’s still just like us. She told us about her daughter troubles and her very real fear that she’s not going to make it out of college without killing her. We totally understand because we don’t think ours will make it out of elementary school alive. We’ll all just have to think positive, won’t we.

5. Every other author at the conference. Honestly, that place is chock full of funny, brilliant, and amazing women. We can’t remember them all or list them by

The literacy signing!

name we met so many, but you couldn’t swing a saved cat without hitting one. We enjoyed each and every person we made friends especially the ones that didn’t run away from us.  Also, a shout out to all the ladies who rode the elevator with us. We appreciate you not staring as Ava pressed herself against the door in order to spring out the instant the door opened.

Winnie the Wonder Mutt wanted to go out at 2AM the other night. Of course, I was awake and working, so I let her out. While she was doing her thing, I got myself ready for bed. It was 2 o’clock after all. I went to let her back in and she allowed some sort of horrifying prehistoric insect to skitter in under the back door. I don’t know what it was but it was about 47 inches long, black and fast. It ran directly under a stack of books, some crates and other miscellaneous stuff in the office.

Winnie and I stared at the place it disappeared. It was way too late at night to be dismantling the office to find and kill a bug. Besides, I didn’t think anyone, neighbors included, would be too receptive to my constant screaming every time I saw the thing. Winnie and I switched off the light, closed the door, and went to bed. I’d tell My Honey in the morning.

The world’s most handsome mouser. Surely he can handle a 12 foot beetle.

I have never been the sort of person who becomes ‘fanlike” in the presence of a famous person.  In my youth, I knew quite a few rock stars, not in the biblical sense, and found them to be very ordinary and often annoying and not worth bothering over.  When I lived in LA and met a few movie stars, I felt the exact same way.

Ava and the incomparable Sarah MacLean

Imagine my shock when I discovered I’d swallowed FANGIRL!  This came to me late in life and happened during my first RWA conference two years ago.  I met several of my favorite authors and squealed at them and spoke incoherently.  There may have also been drooling and babbling.  It’s all a blur.  This year was no different.

Anyway, I have not added a new “favorite” author to my list in at least ten years.  That is until last year.  Last year I found Sarah MacLean at Margaret Mitchell’s house.  Fitting don’t you think?  I’d never read anything by her before and she was adorable!  I vowed right then and there to read one of her books the second I returned home.  And I did.  Then I insisted Amy take me to the book store to buy everything she’d ever written.

This year, I ended up meeting Sarah in the Starbucks at the hotel.  I squealed.  I babbled.  I insisted she write faster even though she has a seven month old baby.  I attended her master class on conflict.  It was amazing and helped Amy and me improve our writing.  At the end, I asked a question and was given a deck of cards with Sarah’s latest cover on it.

Amy actually thought we were going to play with them!  I think she’s lost her mind.  I have given Amy clear instructions on what these cards are for – she is to throw them on my funeral pyre.  One at a time while she is weeping.

It was nice to meet you Sarah!

We’re totally in.

So the Romance Writers of American conference was awesome–as it always is–and we had a wonderful time.

And then we drove home. In Dave.

First, I feel like I should defend Dave. He has been much maligned in the past several months–much of that is his own damn fault. The issue we had on the way home was not probably not.

You can be the judge.

On the way there, the drive took exactly 12 hours from the moment we hit the highway till we made the front desk for check in. Of course, that meant we only stopped to buy gas, pee, and grab a snack. We never stopped for longer than 10 minutes. We were highly motivated to get there. I’m the first to admit I am not good in the car for very long. “Are we there yet?” was mentioned about 7,000 time between Ava and I.

The way home was going exactly like we anticipated. We made excellent time through Texas and New Mexico. We even beat a thunder-storm and smallish haboob-like sand storm by the skin of our teeth. Excitement grew when we hit Arizona. I was keeping my eyes wide for a saguaro. We were exhausted.

A half-hour from home, the shit hit the fan.

Interstate-10 had been littered with shredded tires from Texas to Arizona. Then there was one right in the middle of the road and there was nothing we could do to avoid running it over. If I could have swerved without killing us, I certainly would have. Pretty quickly after that my

Once upon a time this was a successful tire

front right tire made a terrible racket.

The emergency lane was terribly small and the berm dropped off at an angle. The traffic was buffering Dave and it felt like he was going to fly off the road. We all piled out of the car and found this.

There were giant red ants from like a horror movie.

And then we decided we needed to pee. Because of course we did. Ava offered me a handful of Starbucks napkins and directed me to the ditch. I declined as there was a wire fence and don’t you know that damn thing would have been electrified. That is not what I want my obituary to read, “Died by electrifying herself while urinating.”

AAA was called and that went POORLY. They were called again, this time by one of the calmer passengers. We were assured that a tow truck would be coming.

And nothing.

So  we called again. We were told the driver had been dispatched and would be there in 10 minutes.

And nothing.

Finally the driver called to find out where we were. The AAA operator have him the wrong mile marker by 15 miles. Yes, that happened.

Can you believe you have to pay for air?

So eventually the man showed up in a giant tow truck. John had an epic mustache. It was…impressive.

There was immediate trouble because we had to unload half the luggage onto the side of the road in order to get to the spare tire release. Then he had to figure out how to jack up the SUV since the pavement was so uneven. Wood was placed beneath the floor jack and up Dave went. The tire came off. The spare was placed on the lug bolts.

Then BOOM – Dave fell off the jack.

Really.

Eventually the tire was changed. And the shredded, mangled tire was then shoved in the back of the SUV and the stuff on the pavement was piled into the back seat with Ava.

And then we discovered the battery was dead.

Our mustachioed hero

Really.

So John jumped the battery. He told me to drive slowly to the nearest gas station because the spare was low on air.

We limped onward, delighted to see that John was following along behind in the giant truck, to the closest gas station–about 10 miles away. John put 28 pounds of air in my tire. We told John to thank his wife for us for being such a nice guy, and TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER WE WERE BACK ON OUR WAY!

Our 12 hour car ride took 15.

This is what we’ve decided: We’re never doing a road trip ever again.

Ever. Again.

Our friend Kilian described it best – we’re road trip kryptonite.

Our 12 hour car ride from San Antonio turned into 15 hours.

I promise that I’ll tell you the whole story tomorrow. With the pictures and everything.

Tomorrow.

I can barely spell right now.