NEW RELEASES
July 20
What a whirlwind. Oh no, sorry, that was just a monsoon. Ava had a whale in her pool the other day and Amylynn saw a rattlesnake with a snorkel. Kelli’s on the other side of the river and we’re relegated to smoke signals. Don’t get us wrong, we love the rain. What we’re not crazy about is the hot, searing wind. That’s just too much. Why bother with makeup when your twenty-five dollar Clinique foundation is just going to melt off your face? Still, we have standards. It’s a good thing we don’t have such high ones when it comes to funny, huh? Here are five things we loved this week.
1. A Song of Ice and Fire. We love this series of books by George R. R. Martin on
Jon Snow with his dire wolf
two separate fronts. The books are filled with thrilling battles and love and betrayal and huge wolves and- holy crap – dragons. This is epic story telling in the vein of Tolkien. Who wouldn’t be sold? Martin constantly keeps you on your toes by killing off main characters. Amylynn has been a fan since before the HBO show and now there is a whole new set of fans for her to gush with. You want to know why the HBO show is so good? It’s because, despite the necessity of editing the inches thick books, the series follows Mr Martin’s work very closely. The casting is superior and the sets are awe inspiring. Do yourself a favor and get the first book – you’ll want to read more. Then tune in to the series. Start at the beginning. Peter Dinkle is Tyrion personified and Amylynn has a real soft spot for The Hound. We discovered that Mr. Martin lives very close to Albuquerque and now we’re looking into the restraining order laws in the state of New Mexico. Don’t be alarmed, Mr. Martin.
Clearly they didn’t use Woolite for delicates back then
We just have a few questions. We’re very nice. Ask Ted Nugent.
2. Antique underwear. You know how you can tell we’re girls? Besides the love of cupcakes and shoes, there is a fascination with pretty underwear. We can’t explain why some women have this affinity, but it’s there. Do you really think women shop at Victoria’s Secret for some guy’s benefit? Yeah, nope. Underwear has a long and storied history, and it just got longer and more storied. Archeologists just found 600 year old bras in a castle in Austria. The scientists who surely turned into 12-year-old boys when they found the linen undergarments, said, “Heh, heh, you said bra” and then probably talked about the boobies that had been in them last. 
3. The stolen Hoffs. You all remember David Hasselhof don’t you? You can pretend that you don’t all you want, thinking that will make you better than us or something, but we’re never going to believe you don’t know all about Bay Watch. We’ll even bet you have a bootleg copy of his album somewhere in your closet of shame. Don’t be mistaken that The Hoff is no longer relevant. Apparently, there is a crime spree centered around him involving life-sized cutouts and iced coffee. There were 570 of the things distributed at various convenience stores across the country and 550 of them have been stolen. Hoff is so thrilled, he’s even encouraging people to run out and fetch themselves one 
– along with a cup of the coffee he’s shilling. We couldn’t find one in our city and are willing to pay $20.00 or so to anyone who will send him to us – the cut out, not David. We’d pay $40.00 for David . . . with iced coffee.
4. Purple carrots. This is so real. If you were like us and under the mistaken impression that carrots only came in the options of orange and orange, you’d be mistaken. We found some mysterious purple items on our plate in Albuquerque last week. We poked at them with our forks and stared at them and tasted them first with the tips of our tongues. Were they beets? Some sort of alien vegetable? After all, we were in New Mexico and everyone knows they’re hiding aliens over in Roswell. They looked like purple carrots, we thought, but that’s ridiculous. Turns out, no. There are indeed purple carrots. We’re not talking about some limpid lavender here, we’re talking purple. PURPLE. Now all we can think about is purple carrot cake.
5. Holding a real newspaper. We’re not ignorant about the plight of the daily newspaper. We know that they are in
serious jeopardy with the ease and speed of online access, but we really still love holding the newspaper in our hands. We love reading it together and discussing our take on the stories. Amylynn reads the articles in different voices and sometimes with an accent. We find it quite entertaining. Not everyone finds as much enjoyment in the news as we do (probably because they aren’t reading it right) and to that end, the newspapers themselves are making drastic cuts. One of the ones we find the most distressing is the size of the actual paper. Have you ever noticed that, when reading most of them wide open, they’re no wider than a magazine anymore? It’s tragic. That’s one of the many reasons we love the wide, old-fashioned Wall Street Journal. That and we look smart when we buy it.
She’s going to turn me into an 8th grade volcano
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.
It ain’t rocket science
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.
And she doesn’t even wear heels. Score!
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?
A smackdown in the shoe department
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.
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?