I’ve been asking people I know why it is that I have such an easier time writing dialogue between men than I do between women.  If, for example, I have my heroine and her best friend having a chat about something, I’ll toil over it for days.  I’ll hem and haw and find ways to get distracted.  I’ll over think it and allow the writer’s block to take root.  If, on the other hand, my hero and his best friend are having a discussion I can barely write it down as fast as it’s coming out of my head. 

Men just come so much easier to me.  Why do you, dear readers, suppose that is?

If this was years ago, I would have told you it was because with very few exceptions, I had more guy friends then women friends.  It’s a fact that I’ve always been able to have a great camaraderie with folks of the male persuasion.  I grew up a tom boy and retained much of that attitude through out my life.  My oldest friends are guys.

Now that’s not to say I don’t have good women friends.  Ava and Kelli, obviously, are more than friends, but there are also several other women in my life who know an awful lot about me.  Clearly, it’s not that I don’t get women.

Can I get a clue for my affinity for male conversation from Kelli’s previous post?  Is it because my male conversations are fluff?  I don’t think that’s true.  Of course, you haven’t read my male conversations yet (soon I hope – cross your crossables) so you can’t help me decide. 

One thing I do find with my male conversations, they’re funny.  So, do I think men are comic relief?  I don’t know.  Maybe.  Kurt, are you comic relief?  My brother is pretty funny.  My father hasn’t been funny haha lately, but he does provide a few chuckles.  My Honey is one of the funniest people I know.  Ava’s husband, Ed, is a riot.  My son is a complete clown. 

Maybe that’s it, but as you know from these pages, Ava & Kelli are pretty damn funny.  Faithful reader Michelle is funny.  My mom has a great sense of humor.

I don’t know.  But the more I think about it, the more I suspect this whole convoluted post is a stall tactic to avoid working on chapter fifteen.

So Ava and her family went to Turkey.  Yes, Turkey.  They had a wonderful time, except that Ava brought home some hideous Turkish germ that doesn’t speak English and all the antibiotics available to us here don’t speak Turkish.   I’ve begun searching Craigs List for the services of a Turkish exorcist.  Ava’s husband, Ed, thinks any witch doctor would work and, ultimately, that might be better as our health insurance may cover it because there is “doctor” in the title.

I’ve told you about her trips to the medical professionals here and here.  By Thursday, I was feeling like complete crap.  My teeth and jaw were killing me which is a sure sign of a sinus infection.  I seriously questioned if my neck was strong enough to hold up my head, it was so full of snot.  Also, is there supposed to be a sharp and persistent stabbing feeling in your ear?  That doesn’t seem right to me.  Fairly quickly the misery spread to my chest and the coughing began.  Friday was awful.  I knew just how Ava felt because the coughing spasms would make me tear up and left me gasping for breath.

My mom was concerned at how sick I was after so recently having the strep.  I have included for your reading enjoyment an email exchange I had with her on Friday when we were at our respective jobs. 

She’d been giving me some home remedies she thought would help with the sinus infection when I replied the following:

Me: I also have a BUNCH of the antibiotics from my strep.  Should I start taking those again?

Mom: Are you telling me that YOU HAVE ANTIBIOTICS LEFT OVER FROM YOUR STREP??????????????????
If you are not putting me on to get a rise out of me, then I no longer feel bad for you. That is why you are sick again. YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: OK.  I was over the strep.  I’ve never in my life – except with a z-pack – taken all my antibiotics.

Mom: OMG. You are supposed to finish all antibiotics so that you kill all the bugs, including all the ones that are just barely hatching, that is why you are sick so soon. Finish them and never tell me that again. I will disown you and give all your inherited stuff to someone that minds their mother about antibiotics after having their mother be a nurse for over 40 years.

Me: OH dear.  How much of an inheritance are we talking about here?

Mom: I substantially raised my life insurance this last year. And it has a clause in it that specifically reads, “ ANY  HEIR THAT HAS NOT TAKEN THEIR FULL ANTIBIOTIC DOSE WHEN SICK SHALL FORFEIT THEIR INHERITANCE.”

Me: Of course you know, I’ll be blogging about this.  I have no qualms about embarrassing myself at all.

Mom: AND ME. I am serious. That is why you are so sick so soon. How many you got left?

Me: I’m not going to tell you.

Mom: Take them till gone, got it, then if you are still sick go to the CVS nurse prac and get more and I will be by to see that you take them. And absolutely no books in the coffin.

The books in the coffin line is because I’ve always made it clear there should be several books in my coffin with me.  What if there is a line where ever it is I’m going?  If I have to stand in line for the afterlife, or for reincarnation, or hell, or simply to molder there in the ground, I’m going to need something to read.  Several somethings most likely.

The following post is totally off topic.  I’ll follow it up with something authory or witty tomorrow. 

I’ve told you my husband is a musician.  How that affects our life is thus: there is a million cd/casette tapes/lps in this house.  Music is played really loudly here because My Honey can’t hear. In fact, as I write this a Pink Floyd concert is playing very loudly in the living room. There are a zillion guitars in the office and various closets, either hanging on the walls, tucked away in cases or standing up on the floor.  There are amps and speaker cases and microphone stands in the way quite often.  Once a week or so he’s off to band practice so the kids and I have to fend for ourselves (hence the famous “waffles for dinner” extravaganza). 

I like the guys in his band.  In fact, with few exceptions, I’ve liked all the guys he’s played with as long as I’ve known him.  They are a motley group but that makes it interesting.  One or two of them are like my husband.  By that I mean they look family-ish.  Another one has pitch black hair down past his ass.  Yet another is covered in tattoos and wears a giant ring through his nose.  He also happens to be absolutely hysterical and I like him a lot.  His daughter has just started babysitting our kids.  I like the wives, too, which is very convenient. 

The reason I bring this up is that they just finished recorded a track on a tribute album.  I don’t expect you to know the band or the drummer in which they are playing in tribute of unless you’re into very heavy metal.  I am not, but I recognize the name which is more than I can often say of the bands he talks about.  The band this time is Type O Negative and apparently the singer/bass player died around this time last year of heart failure.

The entire song was recorded here in our house on My Honey’s equipment.  I have yet to hear the entire thing – only bits and pieces as they mixed it, but it sounded cool.  Nevertheless, it’s pretty cool to be invited to be on the album and I’m proud of them.

Metalunderground.com To Release Exclusive Peter Steele Tribute Album, “All For None, None For All: A Tribute to Peter Steele”

Band Photo: Type O Negative (?)

Last year the musical world was dealt a serious blow when gothic metal titan Peter Steele tragically passed away at the age of 48. While Peter may be gone, his music and his legacy live on, and they continue to inspire musicians around the world.

To honor Peter’s memory on the anniversary of his passing, and lead a new generation of metalheads to his music, heavy metal news site Metalunderground.com has teamed up with a dozen underground bands from across the globe to release an exclusive tribute album. The tribute, entitled “All For None, None For All: A Tribute to Peter Steele,” was done in collaboration with Dan Mitchell of Beneath The Woods Studio and features twelve stellar cover songs from many stages of Peter’s career in both Type O Negative and Carnivore.

The songs covered, which include interpretations running the gamut from depressive rock to power metal to death metal and many stops in-between, are as follows:

My Honey’s band is Blind Greed and their song is Christian Woman.  It’s released next Thursday.

In the continuing saga of Ava being sick, I’d like to share with you all the following text exchange. 

Here’s the setup.  I took her to the Minute Clinic late last week where she was diagnosed with “ick” and given a whole bunch of prescription meds.  She faithfully took her Z-pack and her various cough meds like a good girl.  Unfortunately, she’s still sounds terrible.  In fact, it’s gotten to the point where she’s coughing so much, so powerfully, and so often that the pain in her ribs and back brings tears to her eyes.  I cringe when I hear her.

So we tagged teamed her and we managed to get her to go, all by herself, to her primary care physician.  This is a doctor she’s probably seen twice in the last seven years.  Suffice it to say, she doesn’t like to go to the doctor.  Some crap about showing signs of weakness.  That and she’s a germaphobe.  She’s just positive she’s going to contract something worse at the doctor’s.

Ava: OMG, this place is overflowing with people.  I’m sure to get Legionnaires here from one of them.  I can’t believe you let me come over here.

Me: Hold your breath and touch nothing.  DO NOT LEAVE

Ava: The lady at the desk just asked the latest addition to our boat of illness if she felt nauseous.  Now I’m nauseous.  Jesus Christ I can’t believe you let me come here.

Ava: come get me.  Please!

Me: You’re fine.  Settle down.  Think of the cute get well cards I can send to the hospital.

Ava: have you seen an electric walker?  What the hell is that about?  Regardless, we’re getting one.

Me: It’s called a scooter.  I’ll have mine in pink with tassels

Ava: Nope, it was a walker.  Electric but why?

Ava: The nauseous one is now complaining it’s hot in here.  It’s not hot, it’s her.  She’s likely dying.  Someone  needs to tell her the hot is because she’s dying and going to hell.

Ava: There’s a teen boy here picking his nose.  I wish I knew how to use my camera.

Me: We don’t want to see that, but thank you anyway.

Ava: There’s a sign that says no cell phones.  I hope I get thrown out.

Me: I already called the lady at the desk & told her not to let you leave.

Ava: She’s already annoyed with me because I wiped the pen with sanitizer.  She thinks I’m crazy.

Me: You are crazy.  We embrace the crazy at the Quill Sisters.

Ava: It’s not crazy to try to save yourself from horrible disease.  Everyone here is SICK.  Really SICK.  I knew I shouldn’t have come here.

Me: Stop panicking. You are not immune deficient.  You’ll come out of there fine with a fist full of new prescriptions.

Ava: If they don’t take me in the next 5 minutes I’m leaving.  I’m afraid

Ava: OMG ANOTHER sicky just showed up.  There’s not enough room for all of us.

Me: Deep sigh.  Don’t make me drive over there.

Ava: the nauseous woman is now sniveling.  I hope she’s next.  In fact, she can take my turn because I can’t stay here much longer.

Ava: NOW

Me: I’m rolling my eyes.

Ava: The nauseous woman’s name is Ava.  I hate it here.

Me: It’s like a weird alternate universe of sick Avas.

Ava: This is taking too long and I feel better just having been here and I’m going to go.

Me: shut up.

An hour and a half later….

Ava: Now I’m getting an x ray.

Me: Oh my goodness

Ava: Yep.

Me: Yikes what does the DR think?

An hour later…

Ava: X rays are done.  I’ll find out in the morning.  I have a scrip for steroids which is really supposed to help.  We’ll see.  I was made to swear I would stay home tomorrow which was a negotiation from staying home Thursday and Friday.

Me: We’ll all be fine tomorrow.  You really should stay home.

Ava: I’m going to because I want to get well and for the pain to go away.  Frankly, I expect Legionnaires to develop by mid day tomorrow.  An old man was there and he looked like a convention goer.

Me: I don’t get it.

Ava: That I contracted some horrifying disease.  Trying to get rid of the disease I already have?  What don’t you get?  I blame you.

Me: I’ll find funny get well cards.

Ava: You’ll need to find funny sympathy cards for Ed.

And that, my friends, is a typical text conversation with me and Ava.  In fact, that is what a lot of our actual conversations sound like, too.

You all know I love dogs.  I even love the Idiot Dog who’s antics graces these pages frequently.  However, even with my all time favorite dog of all time which is a toss up between my Sweet Sophie and loveable old Hugh, I would never even begin to consider this.



This, my friends, is insane.  I’d like to think it’s a joke, but there are crazy people out there with way too much money and I’m certain IKEA will sell a ton of them.

I also love the part where the guy says that dogs are basically a trial run for kids.  Hahahahahahahaaha.  If that isn’t the stupidest damn thing I’ve ever heard.  I’ve had A LOT of dogs in my life: good dogs, bad dogs, naughty dogs.  Believe me, I’ve never had a dog smart off to me about their homework, or flat out refuse to take their dirty dishes to the sink, or, in a moment of canine insanity, tell me I’m the worst doggy mommy in the whole world and they hate me. 

Not even the Idiot Dog has punched a parent in the eye over their messy bedroom. 

No canine family member of mine has shoved mushrooms up their nose or smeared rice in their armpit during dinner. 

Never has one of my fuzzy faced “children” flushed Army men down the toilet causing $1,500 in sewer repairs.

But also, my St Bernard mix, as charming as he was, never sang Queen songs in the shower.  My Newfoundland, as sweet as she was, never made me a hundred different sets of beaded earrings, bracelets and necklaces.

Hmmmmmmm.  Somedays I just don’t know which way I’m leaning.

PS.  It has come to my attention, thankfully, that this commercial was an April Fools joke from IKEA.  They’re funny people.  I’m so relieved because I was really worried that there were morons out there who’d buy this ridiculous contraption.  It seems those people are out there as IKEA has been inundated with requests.  Unbelievable.

Around the corner from my house, in a lot I have to pass several times a week, there is a new building under construction.  The giant block walls have been slowly forming and climbing higher and higher.  It’s a shapeless sort of gray building: long, rectangular with windows.  It’s so nondescript at this point there is no way to guess what it will ultimately become.

Isn’t that one of the most imagination inducing events?  A new building with no signage of any kind could be virtually anything.  Maybe it’ll be an astronaut training facility, or a fortune cookie factory, or a floral genetics

Seussical

 laboratory.  Oh, the possibilities are endless.  It turns my imagination Seussical.

Even more mysterious is the fact that I’ve never, ever seen any constuction workers there.  Now granted, I’m not driving by the site during the day while I’m at work, but I do pass it sometimes in the morning and there’s never anyone there.  It’s at the end of my street – you’d think at least once during the several months activity has been going on there I’d see a hard hat or flat-bed truck dropping off supplies or something.  Nope. 

It’s like invisible trolls pile up the bricks and mortar because everyday the building is bigger with no evidence of construction workers.

This weekend, Sassy and I went into the convenience store next door to the lot and while I was paying my 75.00 per gallon of gasoline, I asked the clerk if she had any idea what the building was ultimately going to be.

“A Window Depot,” she said.

What color was my disappointment?  It was industrial gray, let me tell you, industrial gray like the bricks and mortar of that shell of  a building.  How mundane – A Window Depot.  My Seussical imagination totally deflated.

Worst invisible construction trolls ever.

I’m going to ask all of you a favor.  It’s not going to be an easy favor.  In fact, I don’t know if I could accomplish this favor if it was asked of me, but I’m going to ask it of you anyway.

Say, for example, you’re in a Starbucks or a small café and you spy a lone individual – they’re always alone, these people – sitting at a table and pecking away at a lap top.  Characteristically, they will be typing furiously, great spurts of key clicking which will slow and come to a halt, then pick up again, more slowly, before the fingers pick up some more momentum and burst off again.  During longer lulls, this person may stare off into space, out a window, or unseeingly into a crowd of people.

Here’s where the favor comes in.

All of a sudden, that person will suddenly and repeatedly jerk an arm in an extravagant gesture, or make a severe expression over and over again, or even silently mouth words at different cadences but with great feeling.  I understand this is amusing, and you may even question this person’s sanity and ability to function in normal society.  You may snigger to your friend how, “they must be off their meds!” 

Hahahahahahaha.

You wanna know what’s really happening?  I’m willing to bet all the money in your wallet right now that person is a writer, probably a novelist.  They are working on some dialogue and they are acting out the scene, trying to describe how the characters are talking, walking, thinking, feeling, etc. 

I know I’m right.  I rarely get the luxury of writing in coffee houses, but when I do, something will invariably break my concentration and I’ll find someone across the room watching me with great amusement.  I will have just furrowed my eyebrows over and over in different levels of severity to look up and see some very handsome business man watching me from over his newspaper with a very mirthful grin.

Or a retired couple will be sitting several tables away, forks poised on the way to their mouths, staring at me and wondering why I’ve been sweeping my arm over the table over and over and over with great flourish.

Or a teenager will be watching the crazy lady gaze seductively into the winsome face of her imaginary lover, then tilt her head to the side and back ever so slightly, before wetting her lips …

There is no incident too great or too small that doesn’t provide me an excellent opportunity to embarrass myself.  Is it too much to ask not to stare? 

Deep sigh.

That’s what I thought.  Go ahead.  Stare away.  I know I would.

It took nearly ten days of listening to the hacking cough get worse and more frequent before we could convince Ava to get to the doctor.  Her husband was tired of listening to her cough all night long, and those of us who work with her were alarmed with listening to it all day.  She kept refusing to go because she insisted the doctor wouldn’t be able to do anything for it.
 
I finally hauled her butt to a Minute Clinic while we were at work today.  The very same Minute Clinic, in fact, that diagnosed my Strep throat last week.  She whined and complained about it the entire time, but when it was her turn to go in, I shoved her through the door and told the Nurse Practitioner that I’d already diagnosed her on the internet with Legionnaires Disease and I just needed her to confirm and prescribe.
 
I couldn’t hear what was going on in the room, just the pervasive hacking cough and some laughing.  I spent my time reading all the funny greeting cards and buying M&Ms. 
 
When she finally emerged she had four prescriptions in her hand.  Four. 
 
The best part came when we checked out and the pharmacist with three-inch fingernails came over to do the obligatory counseling session.
 
She picked up prescription bottle number one and inspected the label.  “You need to take two of these at exactly 3pm today and then one every day for the next four days at exactly 3pm.”
 
Ava nodded her understanding.
 
“Also, if you experience any swelling of your head you should cease taking the medication.”
 
Ava looked a little alarmed at this instruction.
 
“Don’t worry.  It rarely happens.  BUT IT COULD,” Pharmacist Lady told us with a very severe expression.
 
The pharmacist inspected bottle number two.  “You are not allowed to drive on this medication.  If you do, you’re technically an impaired driver.”
 
I snorted.
 
Ava admitted that she rarely drives so that wouldn’t be a problem.  The woman stared back at us from across the counter. 

“Look,” I told the woman, “it was hard enough getting her here in the first place.  Please don’t terrify her.  
 
Bottle number three was the biggie.  “Are you planning any rock climbing or hiking?”
 
I guffawed and laughed so hard I nearly peed myself.
 
“This is no laughing matter.  This drug can cause serious problems with your Achilles tendon.”
 
Ava didn’t even know where your Achilles tendon is, so I kicked her in the foot so she would feel educated.  “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be doing any rock climbing,” Ava told the woman who did not pick up the irony at all.
 
“Or hiking,” the Pharmacist reiterated.
 
I could hardly contain myself.  I stepped back several feet so as to not spit on the counter while I wheezed to catch my breath.
 
“I don’t see that in my future either,” Ava promised as sincerely as she was able while I continued to make a scene in the background.
 
The Pharmacist went on to discuss the eye drops with as much vigor as the other meds, but my snickering only caused her to give me a very stern look so I backed further away, thus missing much of the dire warning associated with that drug.
 
I wonder what tipped her off to our planned rock climbing excursion.  Maybe it was the pasty white skin or our general appearance that just screamed “outdoorsy type.”  I know all the pear shaped people I’m familiar with are into rock climbing.

I’m writing a ballroom scene for Book Two.  I had my assistant do some research on dances in Regency era balls.  Of course, you all know my assistant is Kelli from these pages don’t you?  Well if you didn’t, you do now.  That’s one of the things I’ve been doing to keep myself on track with writing.  Instead of allowing myself to get lost in the research by getting sidetracked and spending hours on something that should only take a couple of minutes because I find one interesting thing after another, I have Kelli look it up for me.

It’s been working brilliantly.

She sent me an email with the names of the dances I was looking for and a little bit about each one.  Unfortunately, this paragraph was written at the bottom of her very informative email.

Numerous instruction manuals survive from the Regency era. Several by Thomas Wilson are in the US Library of Congress online collection. The Scotch Reel is described by Francis Peacock, whose manual is also available in the LC collection.

This was not good.  Guess where I went. 

I’d never been to the Library of Congress website.  I have no idea why.  The Library of Congress sounds like heaven to me.  Well, it’d be heaven if they let you have coffee drinks and cupcakes, but I’m betting that’s frowned upon in that establishment.  I have been to Washington DC and I’ve always regretted my time there was too brief to visit the Library of Congress.  I’m sure my uncle would have taken me had I requested it.

So, the next best thing is their website.  It’s not the most user friendly site, but I figure it out and lo and behold, there were the very books from the above passage.  Really.  All of the pages from those books written in 1810 and 1815 have been scanned in..  It’s awesome.  The only frustrating thing is that you really can’t print the manuscripts.  You can print page by page and I guess if you were really patient, but why bother?  That’s what a library is all about right.  I can bookmark it and return anytime I need to.

So I started tooling around in the pages of these books and learned a lot.  I learned that these dances were really freaking complicated.  Thank God the people of the highest social circles had nothing else to do because learning these dances would take forever.  No wonder they had dance masters.   And speaking of forever, one of the Quadrilles outlined in the books could last for over an hour.  An hour!  What if you had to pee?  What if you didn’t like your partner?  The whole thing just sounds dreadful to me.

Here is a random page.  If that was me in position as Lady A you can be certain all hell would have broken loose. There would have been scowling all around and “That Miss Bright” would never be invited back to the good parties again.

I’ve never been the kind of Mom who caters to the children over food.  Dinner is what their father or I made and if you don’t want to be hungry, you’ll eat it.  There will be no special dispensation for dislike of meat, vegetables or pasta.  No special meal will be made.  No peanut butter and jelly sandwiches will be substituted.  My Honey and I have always been of one opinion that finicky eaters will go hungry.

The one exception being each child’s birthday dinner.  That night you get whatever you want and we’ll all eat it without a fuss. 

Sassy has been toying with vegetarianism for the last year or so.  I call it convenient vegetariantism.  I’ve told you about this propensity with her before.  She is a vegetarian when it comes to steak, hamburger or tuna.  She happily eats meat when it comes in the form of a sausage like salami, or bacon, or anything in the form of a nugget.

Dinner with Sassy is like an episode of Fear Factor.  Remember that stupid show always had a horrendously disgusting food challange on each episode.  Sassy pushes her food around, peering at it intensely, smelling and touching the tip of her tongue with a miniscule forkfull.  You’d think we’d made Trantula ala King or Dog Poo Parmesean the way she inspects everything.

Next comes the histrionics, a blatant play for sympathy that causes her eyes well up and the tears begin to flow.  She has even been known to throw in a gag reflex if she thinks it will get her anywhere.  Of course it doesn’t, but I do appreciate the Oscar worthy performance.

Like many kids their age, Sassy and The Bandit mess around with their food and their father and I try not to show our amusement when one of the kids has to go to the bathroom sixteen times during dinner, or the other one uses fourteen napkins in the course of the meal.  Do they really think we have no idea what they are trying to pull off.

One thing you wouldn’t expect is that Idiot Dog is not a coconspiritor.  You’d think he would be right on top of this opportunity, lurking under chairs and slinking around the table, but no.  In fact, the cat is more likely to show interest in table scraps than Roscoe is.  I personally think this is a missed opportunity, but what do I know.

Either way, dinner is always an event at the Bright Compound.  Anytime you find your own repast to be dull or typical, feel free to come by.  Odds are someone will probably spill and entire glass of milk for your entertainment as well.

Yeeha!