I’ve told you these pages before that My Honey is a musician.  He’s very serious about it, too.

Here he is at some gig or another playing his bass and grinning. 

Well the kids across the street have formed a “band”. 

There are two things I’d like to bring to your attention about that sentence: “the kids across the street have formed a “band”.

1) I am appalled that I have called them kids.  Good lord, when did I get this old?  But they are kids – all of them 16 or 17.  I sincerely hope I’m not “that old lady” that lives across the street.

2) I have also referred to them as a “band”.  This is using the term “band” and that they play “music” in the loosest possible interpretation of those words.  It’s not for a lack of trying that their music is bad, nay terrible.  Those boys are out there every damn night but there has been no improvement.  God help us all – the God of earplugs and sound ordinances.

We were sitting down for dinner tonight and I opened the blind over the dining table because I like to watch the neighborhood while we eat.  The weirdos from my neighborhood are a far sight less disturbing than watching my children eat.  So as I ate the delicious orange chicken that my husband prepared, I begin to see the band members start to arrive.  About the time the garage door opened across the street, I notice that My Honey has a very surly expression on his face.

“What’s with you?” I ask

“I just don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to put up with that,” he replies.

I look at the children.  I assume that it’s some new obnoxious behavior from Sassy and The Bandit to which he is referring.    It was true that neither child was sitting in their chair.  It was also true that they were both singing with half masticated food in their mouths.  I suspect that Sassy wasn’t using a fork either, but I couldn’t understand why all of a sudden this appalling behavior was too much to bear.

“What?” I ask.

He gestures out the window.  “That.  I can’t take it.”  His face is deadly serious.  He means it.

So I shifted my attention back to the growing crowd across the street.  “Do you mean them?”

“YES!”

“Why?  Is it because there is so many of them over there?  They’re not doing anything bad.”  He just glares at me and all of a sudden it dawns on me.  “Oh! It’s because they’re so awful isn’t it?”

“OH MY GOD!  They’re horrible.”  He is startlingly serious.

“Oh come on.  At least they’re not coming over here to ask you for advice.  And really, it wasn’t that long ago when you were in awful teenage band.”

He’s not moving from his implacable opinion.  I myself, the admitted hater of other people, surprisingly don’t have a problem with the band.

What I will have a problem with is the teenage groupies, the girls with too much makeup on and too tight pants, that will inevitably show up.

At that point, I’ll grab the garden hose.

I realize that the boy has been lampooned because of it, but seriously, if I could knock down Shaun White and take away his gorgeous auburn hair, I would do it without a thought.  He even has a beautiful hair cut.

Look at that gorgeous layering. 

I was so gypped.

Finished book 9.  It was my day off today and since Ava stood me up for lunch (entirely not her fault by the way) I got a lot of reading done.  So I’ll start book 10 tonight or tomorrow.  That’s 2,831 pages read.

ALSO, just to keep you from worrying too much, I also tell you that I wrote 7 new pages yesterday.  That pleases me immensely.  I hate to be in a rut.

First some business and then some whining…..

I posted another article on Examiner.com.  Go on and read it.  I dare you.

Second, the whining (this is my favorite part).

I texted the Sisters last night and told them I was due for a little sisterly butt-kicking.  I sent the text much too late for either of them to respond last night.  For God’s sake (the God who invented clocks and early bed times) I sent the text at 8:58.  Isabella had probably been in bed since 6:30 (I’m not kidding – she’s building a human so I’ll cut her some slack), and Ava probably turned in around 8ish simply because she’s a wimp.  But, both of my sisters called this morning to find out what my problem was and to issue the appropriate amount of a$$ whooping.

My problem is that I’ve not written a real word on It’s Clearly Love’s revision for probably three weeks.  THREE WEEKS!! That’s appalling.  I go and stare at the computer and then I open the Internet and all is lost.  My Honey assumed that all that time spent in the office was due to some outrageous word output, but no.  He just wrinkled his eyebrows and looked at me when I confessed.

I told My Honey and the sisters to make me be accountable for some serious work tonight.  All three are supposed to make me tell them what I accomplished in the morning, and they’ll all know if I’m lying.

But the Olympics are ooooooooooon.  Deep sigh.

Finished with book 8.  That’s 2,520 pages.  It was alright but it frustrated me a bit.  The story ended with a real eye roller which I guess isn’t the best, most glowing endorsement.

On to book 9 – it needs to be read in 10.67 days.  I think I can handle that.

We went to the grocery store today.  This was hanging on the front of the meat section.  Clearly written by an employee – I suspect even by a butcher to advertise for the holiday.

It was every thing I could do to just take a picture and not get out my red pen.

The picture above is of me this morning.  I’m just so weary of all the young men bringing me presents every day.  I had to have my maid turn them away.

My Honey, the dear man that he is, brought me the traditional Godiva chocolate for Valentine’s Day.  And this made me wonder about the history of  Valentine gifts – especially candy.

During the 1800’s, doctors commonly suggested that their lovelorn patients eat lots of chocolate to soothe their nerves and calm their emotions.

As an elixir for love, chocolate has been believed throughout history to bring smiles to the broken-hearted and to prompt amorous feelings in both    men and women. It is believed that Madame Du Barry served it to all her suitors; Casanova consumed chocolate instead of champagne to induce

Casanova

romance; and Montezuma, the king of the ancient Aztecs, believed chocolate would make him virile.

I saw it suggested that some people in other parts of the world celebrate Valentine’s day with gifts of fruit.

I’m here to tell you right now, that’s not going to work out for me.

I just posted the 2nd part of the Sherrill Quinn interview.  Pop over and take a look.

Tucson Romance Novel Examiner

We went out to grab some dinner tonight.  You people should be very happy we do that.  I get more blog post ideas out of dinner out than almost anything else. 

We went to our favorite Mexican restaurant tonight for some comfort food.  I worked a very loooooooong day, and My Honey was brain dead from studying, and the children were ornery so no matter where we went, they would complain. 

The waitress brought the children lemonades and, because she’s served us many, many times before, she brought the cups with lids.  Of course, the lids didn’t help when The Bandit dropped his entire 24oz cup on the floor about 30 seconds after she brought it.

She very sweetly mopped up the contents and wrangled all the loose ice cubes.  She’s a pretty unflappable waitress, and we always tip her well.  At least she was unflappable until The Bandit toppled out of his chair.

I’m telling you people, it continues to be the funniest damn thing I’ve ever seen.  One second he’s there and the next all you see are flailing arms and legs and two eyes round with surprise.  The entire dining room watched and gasped in unison.  The waitresses hands flew to her face as she watched in horror.  Of course, I was laughing hysterically.  I’m such a wonderful mother.

The Bandit crawled back into his chair with a sheepish grin, “It’s very wet down there,” he said gesturing to the floor.

When we left the restaurant, the kids both asked where we were going that was fun.  That’s how they word it, “What are we going to do that’s fun?”

Not skipping a beat, My Honey answered, “Where going to find a gypsy camp to see if we can trade you two in on tambourines.”

I’d rather see if they’d trade for a gong.  I’d really like a gong.  Or at the very least, a tambourine and a triangle.  I can’t imagine what we’d do with two tambourines.  Unless we decide to become a tribute band for The Byrds.

I have been accepted as the new Tucson Romance Novel Examinerfor Examiner.com. You’re likely aware of my passion on this subject, and now I have a forum to share that passion with the hundreds of thousands of people who are perusing Examiner.com’s content on a daily basis.

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Oh my goodness, I’m officially a professional.