NEW RELEASES
He cooks to the tunes of Frank Sinatra…I did pork chops MYYYYYYY WAAAAAAYYYYYY
So my husband is a musician. The current band he’s in plays very heavy metal. I describe it as loud and angry. However, at home we listen to a massive array of music. Our CD wall is extensive. We have everything in there from classical (I have a special leaning towards Baroque, but also the dramatic stuff like Rachmaninoff) to Country, 80’s hair bands to big band. If you’re looking for a genre, I certain we have representation in the wall.
Then there’s the iPods and iPhones.
Last night when I got home from work, I found My Honey and The Bandit sprawled across my bed. The boy was doing his
Back in the hay day
“Whatcha doin?” I asked the one staring at the iPhone.
“Looking at iTunes.”
“Ah. Whatcha lookin for?”
He shrugged. “Just stuff. I had no idea Neil Diamond had so many songs. I don’t even know half these.”
Neil Diamond? OK. “Like which ones?” I asked.
He started listing off titles. I sang several of their opening lines.
I’m sure he was wondering what I was doing knowing all those Neil Diamond lyrics for the same reason I was wondering why he was shopping the Neil Diamond catalog.
“I can’t believe you know all those songs.”
“Apparently, you don’t listen to the ’70’s station at work,” I replied.
I wonder how much of his street cred he’s gonna lose if his band mates get ahold of his play list.
Oh dear…how do we love a bakery?
It was that kind of day that begs for a flour and sugar based item with frosting. Ava sent me and the receptionist to the store with $20. We were expected to come back with baked goods.
That wasn’t a problem, of course. The problem was just deciding how to best spend our $20.
All of that reminds me of this:
Me swimming was even more terrifying than my kitchen…
When I received an email from a reporter from the local newspaper requesting an interview I was certain it was in regards to the Tucson Festival of Books. Why wouldn’t it be? I’d invited the paper to speak to the Romance Writers when they did a really flattering write-up of a mystery writers group several months ago. At that time they declined the opportunity. Ah well, I thought.
So this email was exciting. Ava and I met the young lady at a local coffee shop and chatted for an hour in the heat. The reporter was really young. I’m thinking somewhere in the neighborhood of twelve. Actually she was freshly graduated from the University and was very excited about the article. We will say she was remarkably prepared and had really great questions. I was nervous so I talk a lot. A lot a lot. A LOT! That’s what happens when I’m nervous.
I talked up romance writing like you wouldn’t believe. I gave her two names of some fabulous writer friends who have had impressive careers and referred her to the Romance Writers of America website to get statistics and such. Yet she kept asking me questions about me.
Then she wanted to take my picture. WHAT? What the hell for? Writers are typically shy people. I know anytime I have to have my picture taken I’m practically besieged by my lack of self-confidence. I don’t photograph well. It’s a family trait. My grandmother was a gorgeous woman and it was never really proven in photographs. I wouldn’t go that far with myself, but there are very, very pictures of myself that don’t make me feel like simultaneously crying and throwing up.
At first they mentioned showing me writing. I was OK with that. I figured I could be hiding behind a coffee cup and a lap top.
Next they decided they wanted me with my kids and husband – doing family stuff like we normally do. They wanted pictures of me yelling at my kids? Why the hell would they want that? Like I need Child Protective Services getting involved with my writing interview. I mentioned this new scenario to My Honey and he said, “They want a picture of the kids playing video games, you on your computer and me asleep in front of the tv?” Right? Why?
They were hoping to take pictures of the dog I wrote into my first book. I informed them that would be better for Halloween time since sadly, that dog is dead. And no, they couldn’t come over to my house. There’s no way I’m letting a staff photographer into my crap-hole of a house. It was bad enough that they wanted pictures of my kids. I had a lot of trepidation about that. I make a concerted effort to keep my kid’s and husband’s name out of this blog because I dont’ think it’s fair to them. Ava brought me around to their point of view so I suggested the park. We could ride bikes or walk my current dogs.
“Do you ride bikes at the park a lot?” the reporter asked me.
No, but who the hell knows that? They didn’t like the idea of the park and brought up my house again. That was a clear and definite “NO.” I suggested my Mom-in-law’s house for pics of the kids swimming. That finally made them happy. I spent the next two days driving Ava insane with my fears and random freaking out. I don’t know why I bother having a break down over it. I know exactly how it’s going to work out. Why stress over it? Why? Because who wants to look like a yeti on the local newspaper? Sigh.
The staff photographer wanted to know why I wasn’t swimming while the kids and My Honey were splashing around in the pool. Clearly that woman was insane. The fact that I didn’t hire some model to come in and pretend to be me was a huge success, I thought. But in a swimsuit? Stupid skinny photographers.
The whole thing turned out better than expected. The article was lovely and very well written. The picture was atrocious but, honestly, I didn’t expect anything better.
Pretend it’s not obnoxious
This is so funny it made tea come out my nose
Of course he’s Italian
Ava and I went to the Costco to order a cake. And maybe get some wine. Or rather drink wine. We’d drink all the wine if we could get away with it.
Anyway – I got off on a tangent.
While we were at the Costco we found the same fellow I’d seen several weeks ago. Ava snatched him up and headed down the aisle towards the check-out. She’s very impulsive and I do absolutely nothing to deter her.
So here is Ava holding our new office mate.
We decided his name is Carlo, because he’s Italian.
Ava and our receptionist are going to learn to crochet so they can make him an argyle sweater.
That’s what happens when you use all the good words
They always give you a lazy look before they say, “Do you want a bag with that?”
I’ll admit, often I don’t want a bag. Like if I’m at a book store. I’m just going to shove whatever book I bought into my purse. However, if I’m at the grocery store, I’m gonna want a bag for my 15 items.
At what point did customer service get so lazy? How much work is involved in putting my purchases in a bag? Hardly any.
I thought it was part of the covenant that we make with the store when we agree to buy their merchandise. I give them money and they give me a bag to put the item in.
Unless I expressly say I don’t want a bag.
I tried that argument on the bonehead at the CVS the other day. All I got was a blank stare.
Ava said I lost him at “covenant”.
Sigh.
August 16
The Five Favorite Things is brought to you by the letters C, A, and T. We’re not sure what’s wrong with us exactly, but one day this week we went to a Humane Society store front at the mall. We thought we could handle it. We couldn’t have been more wrong. There was a whole passel of kittens racing around. Now we’ve spent the rest of the week pining for little gray tabbies who bat at your fingers with their giant paddle sized feet, and lazy black ones who peep at you with their little kitten voices when you make kissing noises at the glass. Mark our words, this will not end well. Here are five funny things about cats that kept us giggling and
doesn’t he look thrilled?
1. Deep sea kitties. The engine of a tuna boat exploded near Portland, OR sending the owners into the ocean. Fortunately, there was another boat nearby. Unfortunately, they jumped into the ocean leaving their two cats on the boat. We’re trying really hard not to think too unkindly about these people. After all it was a life for death situation, and we’re sure everyone was quite frantic, and it was difficult to think clearly. Still, we’d like it noted it’s not OK to leave your animal on a sinking boat. Things do end well, so don’t call PETA just yet. Once in the safety of the rescue boat, the owners saw both their cats, Topaz and Jasper, on the bow of the boat. We’re sure they wore matching expression that said in a distinctly feline way, “What the f**k?” Both cats jumped into the ocean and 
successfully swam the hundred yards to the rescue vessel. Once safely on shore, we suspect there was shunning from those cats no matter how many apologies were offered. Cats are epic grudge holders.
2. “New” kitty. There’s a new animal out there. Well, actually, it’s not a new animal just a smaller version of the one that was already out there. Meet the olinguito. It’s a smaller version of the olingo. There was one in the zoo here in the US and the poor thing was shuttled all over the place to other zoos where they were trying to get her knocked up. She refused. As it turns out, she wasn’t discerning, she simply prefered animals of her own species. Seems fair. Heck, she could have been a total tramp if you got her in there with a hot little olinguito of the male persuasion. They are described as, “a fuzz ball…kind of a cross between a teddy bear and a house cat.”
You see where we’re going with this, don’t you? As soon as we get back from South America we’ll introduce you to our new “cat.”
3. Cat scientists. Those fabulous Brits have a database of British Felines. For the first time in history, cat hair helped convict a criminal. We knew there had to be a use for the stuff. Just like human hair the DNA of cat hair can be traced back to a very specific animal. The moral we’re taking away from this is not to molest the 
cat or nuzzle his belly just before you head of to manslaughter someone.
4. Kitties who can eat you. There’s been another mountain lion sighting in our area. Amylynn always gets super excited when ones of these shy kitties wanders out into the public. She’s never been lucky enough to see one herself, but if you ever meet My Honey you should ask him about his encounter. In this latest incident some hikers got totally freaked out when they felt like a mountain lion was threatening them. We think the kitty was just curious.
We’d really like to touch a mountain lion, but the odds of us hiking in order to find one are slim to none. Shame really.
5. Glow in the dark. They make glow in the dark bunnies. They do this by combining rabbit DNA with jelly fish. We’ve seen enough bad sci fi movies that we know this could have gone horribly, horribly wrong. If those scientists have any brain at all they had to have been extremely nervous they first time they tried that scheme. Now that there are not in fact bunnies with too many legs or fuzzy jelly fish, we’d really like to try that with a kitty. How cute would a flourescent kitten be? Off the cute scale, that’s how cute. You could use them as night lights when you get up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. They never let you go to the bathroom alone anyway.
Maybe it’s the Spoon Full of Sugar that’s causing all these troubles
I need a new bathroom scale. That really irritates me because I just bought one. Actually I looked back in the archives and discovered I bought the current scale August 2010. How long is a scale supposed to last? I would have thought three years isn’t long enough, but then nothing is built to last these days.
Especially if you have a seal that routinely bathes in your bathroom. I hardly ever have to mop in there since every single time the boy takes a shower I have an inch of water on my floor. I have no idea what he’s doing in there. It’s outrageous.
So either the stupid scale has committed suicide because repeatedly screamed at it and called it a liar, or the Bandit
fuzzy scale might make you feel better about the whole thing
I went online to see how much this was going to set me back. Grrrrrr.
There are a lot of different models out there. Some of them seem really…excessive.
There are the $75,000 touted by America’s Biggest Loser and Weight Watchers that tell you your body fat index, your body/water index, your muscle and bone mass, the phone number for the paper boy and when the milk in your refrigerator is going to expire.
There’s the “550 pound projection scale”. Apparently, it projects your weight in giant red letters on your wall. What the hell? How demoralizing. I don’t know about you but I don’t need that bullshit burned into my retinas every morning.
Speaking of which, who the hell needs a scale that talks to them? What voice does it use? I might consider spending the money on such a thing if you could change the voices. Like maybe a Marine Sergeant for your first day on your new diet. A kindergarten teacher for those days when you don’t do very well, someone to give encouragement. A super nice grandma voice to offer you a cookie if you’re down a couple of pounds.
OOooooooh! Maybe a British accent – like Mary Poppins. Now you’re talking.
The Maiming 2 – the sequel
We were standing over a spot in the livingroom carpet having a discussion.
“What is that?” My Honey asked me.
I stared at it with a wrinkled nose. “Maybe soy sauce?” Don’t ask me why it would be reasonable for there to be a soy sauce stain on my living room carpet. It’s not reasonable. It’s not ok. It is, sadly, possible.
“I think it’s blood.” said the Informer, my eldest child, the girl, the one who knows everything and feels it’s her duty to share her knowledge.
“Me too,” her father corroborated.
Let me remind you as a reasonable explanation of the events of yesterday. There was a maiming of the youngest child, The Bandit, the boy, the one who causes the trouble the Informer is so delighted to share.
When I asked him to tell me again the story of how the dog knocked him into a rock and tore open his knee, he explained how he walked home from around the corner after the incident and didn’t even realize that there was a cut that was pouring down his leg. I find this plausible because he is, after all, my child and there have been more than one occasion that I didn’t even realize I was wounded until it was brought to my attention. He told how he went to the bathroom and discovered the blood. That, apparently, was when the grand freaking-out occurred. It also explains how 
there was blood in the living room. I was assured by a wide-eyed husband that he’d already cleaned up copious amounts of blood.
“It looked like a slaughter,” he told me. He shook his head like the survivor of a horror movie.
Still, I’ve found blood in the kitchen. I’ve got the shower curtain and the bathroom rug in the washing machine.
“Jesus, did he open a vein?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” My Honey shook his head. “It was everywhere.”
Seriously, there was three stitches. I can’t even imagine how bad it could have been. I can’t stop envisioning a scene from Carrie.