We have stuff to tell you but it’s midnight and Mickey Mouse kicked our asses.

We’re too exhausted to tell you about it today.

Tomorrow……

We made the trip to Anaheim in 7 hours and 5 minutes including 17 potty stops. Let’s just say, there will be no beverages in the car on the trip home.

The first potty break happened in Gila Bend. Amylynn was driving and she was so desperate to find a potty that she didn’t even notice her iPhone fell out of the car. Thank Zeus it was there, laying on the pavement next to the car in the middle of a scorching McDonald’s parking lot. My Honey is considering that she have the thing surgically attached with a tether. We’ll check into that when we get back. Until then, we’re going to train Siri to screech out a warning whenever Amylynn acts like an idiot.

The next event of note is that Quartzsite, the location of potty stop #37, has a convenience store selling Swedish Fish buy one get one free. We bought nine and we’re not sharing.

The thing about Anaheim is that it’s always associated with the happiest place on Earth. Apparently it’s not as there was a whole block with boarded up windows from a riot sometime during the week. Excuse us, but, as the disgruntled employees of Bank of No Forks, we have no idea what the people of Anaheim have to be so worked up about. Call us selfish, we won’t even flinch, but we’re hoping that keeps the weenies away from the real happiest place on Earth. You know, now that we’re thinking of it, Anaheim IS LIKE A WAR ZONE. SAVE YOURSELVES! DON’T COME HERE.

We attended a literacy event this evening at the Convention center. We saw lots of friends – Karen Hawkins, Sabrina Jeffries, Lauren Willig, Brenda Novak, Suzanne Enoch, Julia London, Jennifer Ashley, Vicki Lewis Thompson, and Patti Knowles. We were super disappointed to have missed Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Jayne Ann Krentz, and Julia Quinn but we still have three more days to track them down and have our fan girl moments.

At the event there were some crazy ass outfits that we really fear were not worn in irony. Who would have thought that Romance Writers of America would have this many people with wonky colored hair? Not us, certainly. But there you go. There was one person in particular we noticed from clear across the room. Ava thought she was Marge Simpson’s sister because who else would have a two foot, hot-pink beehive? We were forced to get closer and look. How could we not? Turns out Diane Kelly was absolutely adorable regardless of the fact that the wig was so alarming Ava couldn’t look straight at it, and we bought her book, Death, Taxes and a French Manicure, because it looks very funny and we love funny.

Also, there seemed to be some crossover with the hooker convention in the next ballroom. We’re not sure how the invitations crossed like that but that’s really the only way to explain some of what we saw. The real tragedy, certainly, is that the hookers were of all the wrong sex.

In addition to authors we love, and others we fully intend to love once we meet them, there were agents here. We didn’t see Amylynn’s agent but she’s here somewhere.  She’s very tiny and easy to miss behind a potted palm. We did see a certain agent who famously rejected Amylynn’s first book with the inexplicable phrase, “it’s a hard row to hoe”. After we rolled her in the third floor ladies room she’s rowing with a swirly.

We also saw a certain lovely agent who has a secret submission of ours. She saw us and we saw her but it wasn’t until after we passed each other that we realized who she was. We decided to pretend we are adults and didn’t chase her down. We’re going to take the high road and wait patiently until she responds like normal people do. We’re going to see how that works for us.

We’re not holding out a lot of hope.

The night wrapped up with a party with the Goddesses. Suzanne Enoch insisted we wear tiaras. Tiaras!

You know what? We think we found our people.

I had every intention of getting off work early today so I could get home and finish the laundry. Not to mention that I had to try on all my clothes, cry for a few minutes, try them on again with various different foundation garments, have a fit and throw all my clothes on floor, and then text Ava in complete and utter despair.

And then I had to figure out shoes.

I finally got a grip on myself and picked out some suitable clothes that mostly fit. Then I have to figure out how to get them all in a too small suitcase. Why too small? Because there are four women trying to shove four suitcases in the trunk of a Cadillac. I’m pretty sure I can make it work. I have rolled and scrunched all the clothes and wedged and shoved them into wrinkled wads of fabric – but they’re in there.

Still, even after the demoralizing effects of the packing, I’M STILL SO EXCITED!

We plan to Tweet like maniac’s from the convention. If you’re interested in following us and our escapades you’ll find us under my account – @amylynnbright and we’ll use the hashtag #RWA12. The reason we’re using my account and not the @quillsisters is because I have the app on my iPhone and Ava doesn’t. Lets face it, there isn’t enough time to teach her how to use the app anyway. It’s really just easier to do it on mine. This is exactly how she gets people to do everything for her – she acts completely incompetent even when she’s not just so she won’t have to do stuff. I know it’s a ploy but who has the energy to fight about it?

 So Anaheim Convention Center (conveniently located ACROSS THE STREET FROM DISNEYLAND) prepare yourselves for the coming of the Quill Sisters. Well, two out of three Sisters anyway. We’ll sure gonna miss Kelli. Sigh.

Alright – I have to finish up and get to bed at a reasonable hour tonight.

Till tomorrow.

The most tragic thing happened to me after I had my kids. Well, beyond the obvious tragedies that I’m sure all mothers have like zero privacy and a bunch of short people who hang all over you and touch all your stuff.

My particular tragedy is an allergy to alcohol. How much does that suck? A lot. It sucks a lot.

In all honesty, I don’t drink that much or that often and haven’t since it was actually legal for me to do so. Still, though, a glass of wine here or there, an ice-cold margarita, a bottle of hard pear cider would be lovely.

So what happens to me when I drink? Nothing like anaphylactic shock or anything that exciting. Instead, I turn red, bright red. Red like a tomato. Or a beet. Or a red bell pepper. And I sweat. I feel like I’m on fire from the inside. My ears and cheeks are hot to the touch and it spreads down my chest. It’s itchy and crazy uncomfortable.

And yet….. Sometimes a glass of sangria is just the thing.

My mother-in-law suggested I try Benadryl before I drank to see if that would temper the effect. I took one and had a drink and everyone stared at me like a freak. It didn’t help, instead I was just extra sleepy.

It drives Ava crazy that this happens to me. She investigated the entire thing on the internet and decided that it was either cancer or rosacea – you know how the internet is. She demanded that I discuss it with my doctor and get medicine. She demanded. Usually when my Sister demands I cave in just to shut her up, but not really on this. I mean, come on, its an alcohol allergy.  It’s not like I’m going to die without a daiquiri or something. I felt stupid wasting my doc’s time.

And then I went to Albuquerque again. When we went out to dinner with my uncle, I decided to have a glass of wine with my roast duck. I chose a lovely Malbec that would also go well with my chocolate dessert. I really love wine. This was the first time my uncle saw the effect of alcohol, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t warned him. I always warn people because the effect is really quite alarming. Ava immediately launched into her tirade, hoping to get Ken on her side. It totally worked. He stared at me in shock and declared that I should discuss it with my physician.

Great. Now Ava was really on a mission. Let the eye rolling commence.

I saw the doctor for unrelated stuff today. She adjusted my back – it was so ready it started popping the minute she walked into the room, and I wanted to discuss a really horrendous migraine event I had recently – another reason why I don’t drink very often.

Ava texted me no less that four times while I was at the doctor. Sigh.

When I brought it up, the doc basically agreed with Ava, but told me there really wasn’t much to do about it since, really, it’s alcohol and it’s hardly life threatening. I have to agree with her.

Nevertheless. the doctor suggested that I try some experiments and see if the amount of alcohol varies my reaction. I told this to Ava to shut her up since the doc had no pill to offer me.

That was a huge mistake. Now I’m Ava’s new science project.

I was thinking about freedom of speech today.  Not in a patriotic constitutional sort of way but more along the lines of everyone needing to take a test to gain access to that government given right.  Or – if that’s too harsh, we could make people take the test after they say any of the following within ear shot of another human being who can hear:

Sho nuf’  – I don’t know what that means but a sales clerk says this to me at the local convenience store after I say thank you.

I says, you guysis, ainna – you might know some of those or all of those but you should never say them out loud.  Never.

Wait, what? – these two words, when said together, make the speaker sound like an idiot.  They say it slow and drag out the As.  Don’t do it.

Here’s the test:

Use the following words, correctly, in a single sentence: THERE, THEIR, THEY’RE.

I think we can all agree this step is necessary, short of another amendment to our constitution.  One of our glorious presidential candidates needs to build an entire campaign platform around this very serious problem that affects as all.

Sho nuf’

***Note from Amylynn: I’d like to add the word “axt” to the list of verboten words. Used in a sentence it sounds like this: So I axt her a question. Doesn’t that make you insane? It makes me insane. Wanna  know why? Cause you sound like an idiot. Stop it. Stop it right now. This has been a public service announcement – for the betterment of me.

What words do you want to never hear again? Ever. Under pain of someone else’s death. We realize that English is an ever evolving thing, but really, we still have to have standards.

So yesterday I talked about the perils of shoe shopping, especially the danger of accidentally speaking to the wrong

I would be proud to say that’s my work in the middle

salesperson. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Ever notice, though, when you get those shoes home sometimes they rub around the heels or try to pinch off your little toe on your left foot. Of course, they didn’t do that in the store. It’s like the salesman’s revenge.

The solution is to wear them in, of course. By doing that though you run the very real risk of losing a toe.

 There is one brilliant woman out there who has solved this very problem with a finesse I can only be awed at.

Queen Elizabeth II has apparently employed an assistant to wear in her shoes. Who do I have to kill to get that job? Can that person work from Hawaii? Would Liz be willing to ship the shoes to Maui? I understand the humidity on Kauai is ideal for breaking in leather.

Actually, I don’t know if that’s even a little bit true but one of my super powers is the ability to bullshit anyone into believing any nonsense I can come up with. That Hawaii crap is pretty easy to work with. But I’m super flexible. If she’s not willing to let me work from Hawaii I’m happy to fly to London or Scotland or where ever her and her new shoes happen to be.

I’m supremely suited for this job. Even though I’m half a size smaller than Liz, I’m certain I can think fat feet and make it work.

 What is your fantasy job? Shoe wearer-inner? Food taster for Paula Dean? Proof reader for JK Rowling?

Do you ever go into a store and feel like the sales staff is stalking you like a gazelle? There is a certain furniture store in town that My Honey and I cringe whenever we’re forced to go in there for something. From the minute you walk in the door, the sales staff bombard you. It doesn’t matter if you avoid eye contact or sprint or even snarl at them, they will stay just four steps behind you and try to look unthreatening all while  growling and snapping at any other sales people who dare to edge toward your vicinity. Those people do everything but pee on your leg to stake you as their claim.  

Today, Ava and I went to Dillards to find shoes – one of the Sister’s favorite things. The welcome feeling of giddiness slid over us as we saw the six or so racks of clearance shoes in the back of the department.

“Can I get you any sizes?” the voice wormed its way into our conversation.

“No, thank you. We’re just looking,” Ava told the salesman. He gave us his name which we promptly forgot.

Ava was searching for silver sandals. I think I’ve expressed this before, but when Ava goes shopping for something specific it’s a recipe for frustration. The thing she wants is a figment of her imagination. It will never be found. It’s a unicorn.

We wandered through the shoes displayed on podiums and racks all over the floor. I picked up approximately 125 shoes that met her qualifications and showed them to her. 

“Can I get you some sizes?” a new voice intruded. Just like last time, we brushed him off and he gave us his name which we promptly forgot.

 I showed Ava shoes which she poo-pooed for one reason or another. Several more sales people approached us, gave us their name and we forgot every single one.

Finally a sales woman came up and introduced herself as Ava. That is the only reason we remembered her.

We figured that the sales people must work on commission. Our theory was cinched when we couldn’t find Salesperson Ava so we let another sales person “get us a size”.  A melee ensued.

I’m not sure how much commission either salesperson is going to get for the rest of the day with those Jessica Simpson stilettos sticking out of their skulls.

 Do you have a plan for avoiding the type A salesperson? Please share cause they scare the hell out of us.