NEW RELEASES
Jewelry and a castle. Meet the Sister’s latest patron saint.
Ava and I are in Albuquerque again for the week. This trip has actually been quite fun. My uncle took us around to
dinner and showed us more of this cute little town. I could actually totally live there.
And then I saw this.
Oh. My. God.
The instant I saw it I wanted to move it, brick by brick, home with me so I could sit in a turret and write gothic stories forever.
Isn’t this the coolest house ever? Yes, house. Gertrude Zachary built this fabulous house to put a collection of antiques she spent a lifetime gathering. There’s an elevator. She’s brought entire walls from NYC mansions, hundreds year old religious icons, and chandeliers all over the place.
It took everything in our power not to bang on her gate and beg her to let us in. What’s a little restraining order? Besides
,
classic turquoise with a great setting
she might have found us charming. Well, she might have. Don’t look so skeptical. Sometimes, when we try really hard, we can be quite charming.
Besides being a mad collector of antiques, Ms. Zachary is famous for restyling traditional indian and southwestern jewelry. Look at a couple of her outstanding pieces.
If you’re interested in seeing the inside with her treasures, I’ve linked the YouTube video.
Well, we’re due back to Albuquerque in November. Maybe we’ll get enough time to stalk Ms. Zachary properly.
Not that any of you needs to tip her off or anything.
Who is your patront saint? Who are you willing to risk a restraining order to chat up? Will you send us bail money if we set up a PayPal account? Hey, we’re just trying to plan ahead.
July 12
We’re not crazy about being on work trips. No matter how many times we try to tell ourselves that someone else making the bed for us everyday and picking up our towels is a luxury, it’s not. Work travel sucks. We miss our families and, holy cow, we miss that kitten. All kinds of fun stuff happened at home and we missed out on it and super soft sheets won’t make that alright. Fortunately, the Sisters can find stuff to amuse us just about anywhere. Here’s some of the stuff we noted.
1. The Hotel. The hotel we stayed at this time in Albuquerque was just
Amylynn wanted to stand on the skate board for a picture but we didn’t know if the expense account covered ER copays.
lovely in that the elevators moved at the speed of light and the people were very helpful and took excellent care of us. As you might imagine, we can be difficult and needy. By the time we finished checking in, Martin Munez had a deer in the headlights look about him, but still he presented us with a free dessert coupon for the artsy-fartsy hotel restaurant. Granted the dessert had some sort of freaky, orange “hair” on it but the provolone and pretzel fondue way made up for it. He also told us we could walk to the movie theater (see #4), but failed to factor in the monsoon when we were walking back. Amylynn terrified him a little when she approached him at the desk, water dripping from her hair, and asked for a comment card. You have to keep those people 
on their toes.
2. Uncle Ken. Once again Amylynn’s uncle took us out to dinner at a really cute restaurant called Indigo Crow in a fabulous pocket of Albuquerque called Corrales. We got to eat outside which is a novelty for us. One doesn’t eat outside at home in the summer unless you like your entree cooked by the sun. After the meal, he took us to the foothills of the Sandia Mountains and the Tramway. Ava, who will only do elevators when forced, wasn’t about to get on the tram but we all agreed the view across the valley at sunset was stunning. Every time we come here, we find nifty little things to be amazed by thanks to his excellent tour guiding. He sent over instructions on what to see in Santa Fe, so we’re actually looking forward to November. Who knew? Also,
next time, we’re going to require a baby bison. Ken, see what you can do.
3. Nothing Bundt Cakes. We were jonesing for cupcakes. Instead we found a revelation in this bakery. Instead of cupcakes you get wee individual bundt cakes. Ava, Amylynn and the other girl with us ordered two each – all different flavors, took them back to the hotel, and divided each three ways. We’ve been nibbling bundts for days. Just in case you were concerned that we were eating healthy while we’re away. We wonder if Bundts for dinner was what Bank of No Forks was expecting when they gave us an expense
We only went to this movie for the plot
account.
4. Magic Mike. So we’re alone in the medium-sized city. No husbands anywhere. What better time to go see Magic Mike. It’s not like we could ask our husbands to go see it with us with a straight face. We smuggled in some Swedish Fish and water bottles, bought some popcorn and prepared to giggle like school girls. The movie does have a plot, but really, who cares? Channing Tatum is adorable and can sort of act – crazy, right? We were a little disappointed that Matt Bomer and Joe Manganiello weren’t featured more, but Matthew
It looks like someone has been gnawing on the “meat cue” but that would be dumb.
McConnaughey is holding up very well. It was a total girl event (except for one man with his wife, we clapped for him) and we’re not even a little be ashamed. Slightly embarrassed, but not ashamed.
5. Boys with Skewers.We’re not boy crazy by any stretch of the imagination, but no matter who you are – unless you’re some kind of crazy vegetarian – you have to love a restaurant that brings meat on skewers directly to your table. We ate dinner at a Brazilian bbq restaurant that did just that. We had filet mignon, brisket, chicken, turkey, pulled pork – you name it. If it came off an animal we had it. Even chicken hearts. Well, to be clear, Ava didn’t try a chicken heart. That would be ridiculous. Amylynn ate one ’cause she’ll try anything. She described it as “ick” which only strengthened Ava’s anti-experimentation attitude. We haven’t been sleeping well far from home and now Amylynn is just hoping she won’t be hearing the Tell Tale Chicken Heart all night long. BWAK!
Alice in EnchantmentLand
If there is one universal truth about the Sisters besides the obvious ones about reading, writing and baked goods, it is that we are all clumsy.
Seriously clumsy.
Alarmingly clumsy.
Ava and I went to the FedEx office today. We needed some big boxes to ship stuff home from our work trip in Albuquerque. I hopped out of the car to grab them and left the other gals in the running car. I very calmly strode across the exceedingly flat, unblemished sidewalk and fell into an invisible hole.
Do you know that surreal feeling you have when you’re falling, like everything goes into slow motion and you have enough time to talk to yourself? Maybe not. Maybe that just happens to me. I don’t know. If you’re perfectly normal and have never experienced this phenomenon this is how it generally goes.
“Oh, look, I’m faaaaaaalling,” myself helpfully comments like a sadistic sports commentator. “I’ll never catch myself in time.”
BAM! You kiss the pavement. “See, I told you,” myself notes, all bitchy and smug.
Now, this next part is getting regrettably slower as I grow older, but it’s still vitally important. I must now launch myself back up into a standing position and look around to make sure no one else saw. You know how cats always look like they meant to do that when they hurt themselves? That’s me.
No matter what kind of wound I have, there could be spleen jutting from my side and my shin could be hemorrhaging, but I will insist to all witnesses that I am perfectly fine and that they should STOP LOOKING AT ME.
Another absolutely vital part of the recovery process, if there was indeed witnesses, is to inspect the ground with the vigor of Sherlock Holmes, desperately searching for something to blame.
Well, today I went down to a knee, hard. My ankle was also quite screamy, but the knee took the brunt of the assault. To make my humiliation complete, there were two people, mere paces away, that saw me go down. The only thing to blame my gracelessness on was a rather smallish and unassuming maple leaf.
I returned to the car with the boxes and no dignity.
“Yeah, too bad for that van right there,” I told Ava and gestured to a white panel van blocking the car’s view of my
Here is my fat, little leg with the world’s biggest band-aid.
communion with the invisible hole, “otherwise, you could have seen me fall down.”
Do you think my Sister or my other “friends” expressed concern? Sort of, I guess, through their guffaws and snickers.
Then we went to lunch in a little cafe by the office we’re using. There was a fire truck in the parking lot but Ava wouldn’t let me stop and ask them for a band-aid. There was also a veterinarian next to the cafe, but they wouldn’t let me go in there either.
Afterwards, we went to Target and I bought enormous, knee sized band aids, hydrogen peroxide, and a wee bottle of “Pain Relieving First Aid Antiseptic Spray”.
Do you remember the last time you fixed up one of your kid’s boo-boos? Remember how you told them the peroxide didn’t sting? You, dear Internet, were a big, fat liar. That shit is awful.
Also, recall how the antiseptic was advertised as “Pain Relieving”? Maybe it is after it sears the remaining skin from your wound like a nuclear blast. After that, dipping your wound in hot lava would feel less painful.
Every single one of my friends has a story that ends with me wounding myself. It’s not easy being the comic relief.
How steady are you on your feet? No, not after a few drinks but in general. Does there need to be a boulder for you to fall over or can it be a speck of dust like the Sisters? Do you let people help you up and then plan to sue or are you like Amylynn, popping up all mortified with a rib sticking out claiming you are just fine?
If he’s not going to wear them, someone should
Ava and I are in Albuquerque again. I had to leave My Honey with the kids, the bipolar kitten, and Winnie the Wonder Mutt who is in her first heat.
Yeah, I’m the stupid pet owner that didn’t remake her appointment after she ate that ill-timed bowl of cat food just before her earlier appointment.
So, at the risk of raising the icky factor of this blog considerably, I need to point out that she is spending much of her time outside during this unfortunate development which is awful because it’s really hot out. The alternative is following her around with a wet paper towel to clean up the droplets she leaves behind.
Ick, right? I know, but bear with me. This gets funnier.
So Sassy – who is nine years old and up to this point hasn’t been very curious about the inner workings of the woman parts – wanted to know what was going on. I firmly believe that questions should be answered with complete truth and with as little embarrassment from the me as possible. Alternately, though, I also think that often too much detail freaks out my kid who is still quite immature when it comes to this stuff – just the way I like her. She’s nine. She has a whole lifetime to deal with this crap.
So I’m trying to explain what’s happening to the dog and how that relates to all women. The Bandit is providing unnecessary sound effects. Sassy is looking more and more horrified.
I happily fled to the airport.
So My Honey is at home trying to figure out what to do with the Winnie who is not happy about staying outside. Guilt runneth over.
Then he made a brilliant move. He wrestled her into a pair of The Bandit’s Star Wars underpants. Swear to God. He won’t send me a picture. Something about dignity was mentioned.
Whatever. I can’t believe I missed this.
What brilliant solutions have you come up for these kinds of situations? What was it that prompted you to learn about birds and bees?
Maybe we’ve found our next weight loss scheme . . .
For the cheap price of only $87.00 you can enter something called “Run For Your Lives”. I know you think that’s a marathon or something and it kind of is, except, not really. I also know you’re wondering how in the world I or Amylynn know anything about an event that involves a physical activity. Generally, you’d be right and we wouldn’t be even remotely insulted, after all, the Sisters are not known for their athletic abilities or interest.
Run For You Lives is about running away from zombies. That’s right; you can pay your good hard earned money to 
RUN. At first, I thought this was stupid but then I changed my mind. Stay with me here . . . most people don’t like to run but they say if you can run a 12 minute mile you’re in excellent shape. You have to admit that running away from something, like say zombies, would be much more motivating than say running for absolutely no reason what-so-ever on the side of the road at dawn before work like an idiot? Right?
Here’s what you do: Runners wade through pools of fake blood, duck under electrified wires and try to avoid letting zombies steal their “health flags” worn on a belt around the waist (How funny is that? If we could get a belt around out waists we wouldn’t need to run from zombies.). A runner with no flags left is ruled dead—or is it undead?—and isn’t eligible for awards at the end of the five-kilometer (That sounds like a lot of kilometers, doesn’t it?) race. Crossing the finish line alive is no small feat: Only about 20% of racers make it with at least one of their three flags left.
We think, if you do all of that, it would be quite a work out. Not wanting to try this on our own, we’re no trail blazers, we want one of you to give it a shot and report back – we’ll pay the $87.00 if you send us photos of you along with your 
report on how it went. Here’s what we want to know, are the wires really electrified and are the “awards” some type of snack?
Comments by Amylynn – I am way more interested in paying the $25.00 and getting to be a zombie. The race people will do your make up with prosthetics and blood and everything. Then you only have to run if a “live” runner comes into your territory. And you get beer.
Beer.
Here’s the main point of my interest in this story. The two 20-something friends who started the company Reed Street Productions stand to make somewhere in the neighborhood of $18.8 million dollars this year organizing these races. Can you freaking believe this?
Everyday I hate Bank of No Forks that much more.
Would you participate in these races? Are you a Zombie or a Lifer?
Someone call the Vegas bookies
Did you know that there is such a thing as the International Cherry Pit Spitting Championship? Me neither, but why the hell not? There are contests for all kinds of crap we don’t know about. This particular contest is held annually in Michigan. Apparently there is a cherry-pitt-spitting dynasty in that only two different families have won the title in the last twenty years.
The Krause and Lessard families apparently have the competition sewn up. In fact this year there were three Krauses in the top five finishers. Brian “Young Gun” Krause was fifth, Rick “Pellet Gun” Krause was second and Matt Krause was third. I don’t know why Matt doesn’t get a nickname, but apparently he is not worthy. I kind of feel bad for Matt, but what do I know. Maybe he’s a complete ass.
Forget hockey, Now I’m all about the pit spitters. Not!
The thing that made this year’s competition über exciting was that a dark horse competitor entered the contest – and won. His name is conspicuously not Krause, or Lessard either for that matter. Ronn Matt entered the contest cause his wife told him to.
All smart men listen to their wives.
Mr. Matt (whom I’m assuming has no connection to the Matt with no nickname) won this year’s contest when he spit a pit 69 feet. SIXTY-NINE FEET! I thought that was pretty damn far until I read that the world record is held by “Young Gun” Krause with a pit spit of 93 feet. You realize that’s 1/3 of a football field, don’t you?
I have no intention of entering this contest, or of actually even attending the show. First of all, I can’t spit. Anytime I’ve 
ever tried to spit I’ve ended up getting crap all over my shirt. Second of all, I make it a point of avoiding places with a high volume of spit. That’s number seven in my book of policies.
The thing is though, I’m thinking of starting my own contest and I have a lock on the winner. Instead of spitting, what if the contest was for who can leave the most cherry pits around the house? Special points for creativity. Places like shoved between couch cushions and in little piles in the corner of your bedroom or under pillow cases will earn lots of points. The real kicker will be if the competitor can get the judge to step on one at 2:30 in the morning on the way to pee.
The Bandit is totally going to own that contest.
What contest would you totally rock? How about your kids? If you created a stupid contest what would it be?
Recognizing you have a problem is the first step…..or something.
I’ve mentioned before about my book buying compulsions. I have a problem. I know. My house is overrun with books.
Books I’ve read. Books I mean to read. Books I’ve adored since childhood. Books friends have written. Favorite books in which I’ve tracked down first additions. Some books I’ve read so many times they are literally falling apart. I just lovingly piece them back together and tuck them back in the shelves when I’m done with them again.
I have a first edition of Lonesome Dove that I’m going to get Larry McMurtry to sign one of these days. He lives in my same town, but I haven’t managed to locate him yet. Admittedly, I haven’t really applied myself to the search yet, but I will eventually.
I have a copy of The Princess Bride that I’d kill to have autographed by William Goldman but he lives in NYC and I understand he’s quite hard to get.
None of that is the point of this blog. Boy, I do love to ramble.
Anyway….We’ve been doing some remodeling in the house which prompted me to do a major reorganization of my primary bookshelves. Once upon a time they were all organized in an Amylynn Dewey Decimal System wherein the rules are all stored safely in my head. Since I have complete knowledge of the system, I was able to put my hand directly on the spine of any book I wanted.
That was BC. Before Children. They came along and started touching everything. Nothing has been the same since.
The “to go” pile
Still, I reorganized them with the goal of thinning out the library a bit.
I was ruthless. I got rid of almost my entire Stephen King collection, keeping only my favorites. Gone, too, went the John Grisham books and most of the Anne Rice’s. Scads and scads of books.
I was really proud of myself. It was a huge, teetering pile. Then, as I looked at my discards, I also noticed there were still full bookcases. If you didn’t see the evidence of the give-away pile on the floor, you’d still say I have too many
Packed up with the help of my new assistant
books.
It’s time to get a sponsor and join a twelve step program.
I packed up all the books in old Target bags and loaded them in the back of my SUV. Sassy and I took them to the huge used book dealer in town. Forty-five minutes later, they’d sorted through the piles and selected a piddly pile of my books. They offered me a total of 130.00 in store credit.
Which, of course, only fuels my addiction.
And now I have the rather bizarre problem of having bags and bags of rejected books I don’t want to take back into my house that I don’t know what to do with.
For me, that is almost unfathomable.
What is your favorite book? Do you have any signed by authors you’re especially fond of? What do you collect that has begun to take over your life?
July 6
The Sisters thought this was going to be a gloriously easy week, what with a holiday smack dab in the middle of it – but, as it turns out, not so much. You know why? Because a Wednesday off turns into a Thursday that masquerades quite like a Monday, that’s why. However, there was some salvation today, since it’s Friday, even though it feels like Tuesday but tomorrow is really Saturday…okay, enough of that – here’s why we laughed or rose above our ennui this week:
1. My Dog Ate My Homework.A college girl confessed that she lied to police about being abducted by three men for twenty four hours. That certainly would not be funny if it were true – but it wasn’t. What is funny about the story is why she did it
Maybe if she said she’d been kidnapped by beagles?
It seems “Miss Liar Liar Pants On Fire” had an end-of-the-year university project due that she failed to hand in. She didn’t tell the lie to gain sympathy from her professors but because she “didn’t want to upset her mother” with news of her school problems. All we can say about that is we hope Sassy and the girl who lives at Ava’s house have the same care and concern for us when they become college students by not wanting us to be upset over such academic failings by our offspring. We don’t want the
Talk about dreadful!
police involved, mind you, these are our girls and we expect something far more creative than an easily disproved kidnapping tale.
2. Dreadful.We know it’s a little crazy but we can’t seem to stop ourselves from having favorite words. One of them is dreadful, which is dreadful, isn’t it? We like to say it, we like to use it. Dreadful. We mention it because we over heard a lady use it this week – she said it about nine times in one minute but we couldn’t really hear her conversation so we have no idea what was soooooo very dreadful. But we’ll bet it was, well, dreadful.
Oooooooh!
3. The Big Bang. Poor San Diego. Sometimes, when a man is involved or a computer or both, the best laid plans go astray and that’s exactly what happened on Wednesday night in San Diego for their firework show. The twenty minutes of awe invoking fireworks turned into about twenty seconds of a re-enactment of the beginning of the world. We know all of the San Diegans were upset but the photo of the debacle is amazing – it truly looks like a new planet being born, see what you think.
4. New Orleans comes to the desert. We live in the desert and it’s hot here. Like 106 degrees of hot. We serve frozen drinks from about March to October because, did 
I mention? – It’s really hot here. One thing we’ve always wanted is frozen slushee wine. Why doesn’t someone invent that already? The Sisters love wine! Well, praise all the gods ever created! Amylynn discovered wine slurpys right in the local grocery store and for only a miniscule $1.19!!! You simply put them in your freezer, throw on your swim burkha call your sisters over and sit next to the pool! Ahhhhh, paradise.
5. One man’s goat is another man’s panda. We know that some of you go to the
We’re naming ours Nibbles
airport to board planes and travel. The sisters use the airport for that as well but we also like to be entertained while we’re there since you have to get there sixteen days in advance of your flight for security purposes. We are here to tell you that San Francisco has that covered. They have rounded up a herd of about 250 to 300 goats to eat up their dry and excess grass, there’s even a goat herder. Sadly, they’ll only be there for a few weeks as part of an annual organic weed abatement program. Dear Desert International Airport, please call the San Francisco airport people about their organic weed abatement program for instructions on how to take care of that nasty bamboo weed problem we have down here. Sincerely, the Quill Sisters AKA bear herders
Your Quill Sisters public service announcement
This new ad campaign has come to my attention. It should come to your attention, too.
You’re welcome.
Are you all about the firemen, too? Or is it any man in uniform? OR – and here’s an idea – is there some other genre of crush material? Share! The Sisters are always in the market for crush material.
Next time he gets a gift certificate to the book store
The Sisters have had trouble with our spouses and gifts, a whole range of trouble. I’m not going to go into most of it. Really, it’s obnoxious and it makes some of us a wee bit irrational.
Now mostly, I don’t have any trouble with My Honey. He’s an excellent gift giver. That’s not his problem.
I pride myself in buying perfect presents. I always put a lot of thought into what to buy for each person. I enjoy it immensely. That’s why I was flabbergasted at what has occurred over several years.
Years ago I bought My Honey two gift certificates – one to have a mobile detailer come to his work and detail his truck and the other for an executive massage at a very high-end men’s spa in town. I thought I’d made a gift coup. I managed to get him the two things he was always talking about and wishing for.
Years went by and he never used the certificates. La la la la la, then the spa shut down.
The first year I volunteered for the book festival, he gave me the gift certificate for the car detailing so I didn’t have to have bestselling authors riding around in the car my children are systematically destroying.
Then, last weekend, he hands me the spa gift certificate.
“Here,” he says, “I’ll ever use this. You can have it.”
“Oh, come on. You complain that your back hurts all the time.”
“The spa is closed,” he points out. It is true that this particular branch closed, the one specifically for men, but the main company is still around and still huge.
“Go to one of the other spas. Just call them up. Have a pretty girl rub your back.”
“Really, honey, I hate to see it go to waste.” He hands me the card, again. “Use it for your hair or whatever.”
I took the card. I’m not an idiot. There is still $100 on that card. Should I do my toes? Get a massage? Both?
As I looked at the spa website and contemplated what I would do with HIS present, he sidled up to me at the computer. He had on the puppy dog eyes.
“Will you come rub my back? It’s really tight.”
You have got to be freaking kidding me.