Happy birthday to me!

The spread

My Honey threw me a lovely little party. Ava made her glorious cupcakes. Peach and Bourbon with peach buttercream and chocolate chip with chocolate mint buttercream. Are you jealous?

The most important thing I have to report about my birthday is that I still have no idea what the hell the package is coming from England. I’m willing to pay a reward to whomever will find this out and report back to me. I just can’t bring myself to torture my boy into breaking–but I’m totally okay with you doing it.

The Sisters have decided to retire early. Unfortunately, their social security applications were rejected. Something about not being old enough.  Ava pointed out that Amy is now 45 and what the F? But age should have nothing to do with retiring.  It should be when you’re TIRED.  The word “tired” is right in there. The social security folks were not amused when we pointed that out and threatened to call the CIA/FBI/President on us. Oh well, even

These are the goats we want

though the social security people don’t have a sense of humor, we do. Laugh along with us over the following:

1. We want half now and half on delivery. We learned of the news that the fellow who offered Bill Clinton 40 goats and 20 cows to marry Chelsea Clinton has been killed by an elephant. That’s sad, but back to the important part of the story. Are they telling us in this sadly uninformative news snippet that we could get goats and cows for our daughters? Ava and I would seriously like some goats. Cows would be ok, but if we could trade all 20 of the cows for a lion, we’d be in. Here we thought we were going to have to have a yard sale in order to start-up the dowry fund and all this time we could have been getting goats. This right here is what’s wrong with America.

2. It’s always the quiet ones. Another giant tortoise has broken out of his home and was “arrested” as he was lumbering down a busy street–this time in Los Angeles. This dude was 150 pounds and it took two police officers to heft him into the patrol car. He’s now in police custody and they’re looking for his owner. Does anyone else think this is odd? You know how they say animals can detect an earthquake and stuff before it’s there? Maybe tortoises know when stuff is coming only they know like three months in advance so they can get a head start on the fleeing process. We bet they’re super frustrated that we keep capturing them and taking them back home.

3. This is why voting feels so futile. The five-year-old boy who has been mayor of Dorset, Minnesota for the last two years has been ousted. No, not for drugs like Rob Ford. That would be ridiculous. He was outvoted by a sixteen-year-old. Casting a vote costs a dollar and the city will let you vote as many times as you want. Now don’t freak out. Apparently, this town only has a

He’s very good at parking

population of between 9 and 28 people. We have no idea the cause of the disparity in census reporting. Maybe that job costs $5 to vote for.

4. Probably drove better than a lot of people. In White Plains, NY a six-year-old boy drove his battery-powered car onto the parkway before some grown-ups rescued him. Apparently the boy had been at a park with relatives about 10 blocks away and his cousin was supposed to be watching him. Our guess is that the cousin is no longer in charge of anything. People are wondering how the kid could have gotten away for so long without being missed. Obviously, these people have never turned their back on a little kid for twenty seconds and have that kid strip off all his clothes, get through the locked front door, and out into the neighbor’s yard before. Shit happens. We’re guessing the parents were just excited about the peace and quiet for once. What we’d really like to know is where the hell his parents got the long-lasting battery for this car?

5. Birthday Weeks. Sadly, for Amylynn, her birthday week is coming to an end this Saturday. She’ll try to tell you it’s her birthday “month” but we can’t listen to her talk about her birthday for 30 days. No, ma’am, we can’t. She’s just going to have to deal with the fact that her birthday party extravaganza tomorrow night is the end of it. Someone needs to tell these Leos the world does not revolve around them – not even in August.  No, ma’am, it doesn’t.

I asked for a tattoo for my birthday. I couldn’t think of anything else.

Well, I could. But no one was buying me a puppy, an Aston Martin, or Tom Hardy.

Or Tom Hardy driving my Aston Martin with a puppy in the passenger seat.

My Honey wrote me up a really funny gift certificate.

Enlarge to read the fine print

He’s a funny guy. See why I like him?

Take for example the fine print:

By Tattoo Shop we mean an actual business, not the back shop area of a Harley Davidson repair shop, or the kitchen of a tattoo artist that just doesn’t “like the constraints of working out of a regular tattoo shop.” It may also not be redeemed at any motorcycle “Clubhouse” or at any detention facilities; ie: jail or prison.

This is pretty good too:

Please note issue of certificate can not be held responsible for any pain, discomfort, swelling, bleeding, infection, scarring, adverse or allergic reactions. In other words you asked for it. The issuer will give a customary, “I know that shit hurts!” and a “Oh, poor baby” if asked to do so. The issuer will also refrain from comments such as “Damn that thing looks infected”,  “Are you sure it’s supposed to ooze like that?” and “What the hell is that supposed to be again?”

Ava came along today for the actual tattooing. She brought her camera so she could document me crying. She was so, so certain that I would. Do you see what I have to put up with? I assure you I didn’t cry. Not during this tattooing or the other five that came before.

It’s exactly what I wanted. My princess crown and the words CALM DOWN – cause I’m a little high-strung. Remember all those stories I’ve told you about when I get my edits back?

Once a year I go see my neurologist. I have suffered from migraines since I was thirteen. This doctor has done a really good job of getting me on maintenance drugs and I do pretty well.

Then I developed some new weird symptoms. Some awful symptoms.

Hang with me here. There’s a punch line coming.

Wretched electrical sensations and what feels like a cattle prod stabbed through my eye. Lovely, no? Then this past weekend, the cattle prod was stabbed through my ear.

Seriously, the punch line is coming.

In one of those rare occasions where the timing is perfect, I saw him today and mentioned this shitty new development.

He confirms that I have trigeminal neuralgia. It’s shit. Don’t get it. So I ask him about treatments. There is some maintenance drug therapy. And there’s this other thing.

Gamma radiation.

WHAAAAAAAT?

“Like in the Hulk? That kinda Gamma radiation?” I asked, stupefied.

Like this shit is real?

It’s called Gamma knife surgery. Don’t Google it; it’ll scare the bejesus out of you.

My response was, “I’m out.”

There is no part of this that sounds good to me.  No one with as short a temper as I have should be messing around with Hulk medicine – brain disorder or no.

Besides, green is really not my color.

I had a nice, relatively quiet birthday. My daughter is really upset because she and my son ordered me something on the internet and it hasn’t arrived yet.

Apparently it’s coming from England. I have absolutely no idea what this could be, but my mind boggles.

This morning Sassy says, “If your box doesn’t come we’re going to have to get you some other extravagant present.”

Extravagant present? What the hell is in this box?

Shetland ponies in sweaters! Yes!

I asked if it was a Shetland pony. I was given the look. I’m assuming that it’s not a pony. I was hoping, because that’s pretty extravagant don’t you think?

Ava wondered how it was possible that I was going to be able to wait patiently for this box to arrive without pestering my children to tell me what it is.

“Maybe it’s proof that I’m finally growing up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

“Well, maybe it’ll be okay since I’ll get other presents that will feed the present demon and ease the pressure until that one arrives.”

“Uh huh,” she said, but she sounded skeptical.

I’ll be honest with you, it was hard. I could make that boy crack in seconds. He’s weak.

I did ask Sassy if I should be concerned that no one is feeding the box. I got the look again. I hope there are breathing holes.

God, I hope that box comes soon. I don’t know how long I can withstand this “mature person” façade.

August 5th is Amylynn’s birthday. We’re certain your calendar alerted you to that fact. No? Rectify that for next year why don’t you. Go ahead, we’ll wait.

OK – are we ready for the festivities to begin?

Amy wants everyone to be happy on her birthday – so cake for you and you and you. And best of all, here’s a little something special from us to you.

Tom Hardy with a puppy.

My favorite part is when he gives the huge sad eyes when they quit.

In case you didn’t guess, we would like a lemur. I would name this one Clyde. Or Bernice if it’s a girl. But I think it’s a boy cause no girl would ever let her armpits get that bad.

The Sisters are still on their convention “high”.  We have all sorts of plans and dreams we’ve started working on now that we’ve unpacked and gone back to work.  The laundry’s not done yet but who cares?  We’re going to be the next Stephen King! Exactly like him except not scary or fantasy or dystopian – well okay, maybe more like Julia Quinn.  There you go.  And here we go on our favorite authors from the convention.

1. Terri Brisbin. Ms. Brisbin was the poor sot who was forced to sit next to Amylynn at the RWA Literacy Signing. Keep in mind it was alphabetical so Brisbin/Bright – you can see the proximity. Still, Ms. Brisbin held her own against a pack of Sisters like a boss. Once we discovered she was from New Jersey, well, then it was a lock. Ava forgave her for being from South Jersey. We liked her. And she was funny.

2. Rose Lerner. Rose had no idea what she was getting herself into when she elected to take a seat with us at the Beau Monde ball. We’re sure she thought, “Oh, look a seat. I need a seat. These ladies in costume seem totally normal.” Rose mentioned that she wanted a little piggy. Things went downhill from there.  Ava roped her into agreeing to participate in our panda-napping scheme. We tried to convince her to get a cat. Her initial reaction was “Ew, cats are sneaky.” We disagreed and informed her they’re not sneaky, they’re stalkers, but that is what makes them fun. Every time we saw her at the convention, she never once ran away. She must have been very tired. Seriously, we love her and we’ve decided to keep her.

3. Collette Cameron. Collette has been lovely and generous and helpful and too many more adjectives to list here without running the risks of looking like a thesaurus. Up till now we’ve only known her on the internet. We got to meet her in person at the convention and it turns out she’s also beautiful and funny and friendly.

4. Marie Force. Marie’s success has become our inspiration. She has done fabulously well, but she’s still just like us. She told us about her daughter troubles and her very real fear that she’s not going to make it out of college without killing her. We totally understand because we don’t think ours will make it out of elementary school alive. We’ll all just have to think positive, won’t we.

5. Every other author at the conference. Honestly, that place is chock full of funny, brilliant, and amazing women. We can’t remember them all or list them by

The literacy signing!

name we met so many, but you couldn’t swing a saved cat without hitting one. We enjoyed each and every person we made friends especially the ones that didn’t run away from us.  Also, a shout out to all the ladies who rode the elevator with us. We appreciate you not staring as Ava pressed herself against the door in order to spring out the instant the door opened.

Winnie the Wonder Mutt wanted to go out at 2AM the other night. Of course, I was awake and working, so I let her out. While she was doing her thing, I got myself ready for bed. It was 2 o’clock after all. I went to let her back in and she allowed some sort of horrifying prehistoric insect to skitter in under the back door. I don’t know what it was but it was about 47 inches long, black and fast. It ran directly under a stack of books, some crates and other miscellaneous stuff in the office.

Winnie and I stared at the place it disappeared. It was way too late at night to be dismantling the office to find and kill a bug. Besides, I didn’t think anyone, neighbors included, would be too receptive to my constant screaming every time I saw the thing. Winnie and I switched off the light, closed the door, and went to bed. I’d tell My Honey in the morning.

The world’s most handsome mouser. Surely he can handle a 12 foot beetle.

I have never been the sort of person who becomes ‘fanlike” in the presence of a famous person.  In my youth, I knew quite a few rock stars, not in the biblical sense, and found them to be very ordinary and often annoying and not worth bothering over.  When I lived in LA and met a few movie stars, I felt the exact same way.

Ava and the incomparable Sarah MacLean

Imagine my shock when I discovered I’d swallowed FANGIRL!  This came to me late in life and happened during my first RWA conference two years ago.  I met several of my favorite authors and squealed at them and spoke incoherently.  There may have also been drooling and babbling.  It’s all a blur.  This year was no different.

Anyway, I have not added a new “favorite” author to my list in at least ten years.  That is until last year.  Last year I found Sarah MacLean at Margaret Mitchell’s house.  Fitting don’t you think?  I’d never read anything by her before and she was adorable!  I vowed right then and there to read one of her books the second I returned home.  And I did.  Then I insisted Amy take me to the book store to buy everything she’d ever written.

This year, I ended up meeting Sarah in the Starbucks at the hotel.  I squealed.  I babbled.  I insisted she write faster even though she has a seven month old baby.  I attended her master class on conflict.  It was amazing and helped Amy and me improve our writing.  At the end, I asked a question and was given a deck of cards with Sarah’s latest cover on it.

Amy actually thought we were going to play with them!  I think she’s lost her mind.  I have given Amy clear instructions on what these cards are for – she is to throw them on my funeral pyre.  One at a time while she is weeping.

It was nice to meet you Sarah!