This is another of my favorite blogs. I share these other sites with you sometimes because they are brilliant or funny or whatever. Consider it a public service this Sister does for her vigilant readers.

I’m just looking out for you.

You’re welcome.

This particular post is the exact reason why I so often refuse to have my picture taken. Not only are the flashbulbs exquisitely painful to me due to my migraines, but I am always, always, ALWAYS appalled at how I look in them. I gasp at the picture and wonder, “Dear God in Heaven (the God of photoshop) is that what I really look like?” I can’t possibly be so troll like as that. Maybe I’m that friend everyone keeps around so they will look better in comparison.

Whatever the reason, this blogger has nailed the experience for me.

Behold. This is you standing with your friend. This is how you feel when the picture is taken:

Then you see the picture and this is the cruel reality:

Right? She’s nailed it hasn’t she?

Go to her blog, This is Not That Blog, and check out the entire funny post. You won’t be sorry. She’s brilliant.

You’re welcome.

In case you’re interested, these are the books I’ve reviewed lately.

Click on the covers to jump to my reviews.

Happy reading….

This is the world largest indoor photo. It was amassed from 3,000 photos combined into 1 single image. Believe it or not, the zoom allows you to zero in on individual book titles. I’m sharing it with you because it’s a library! Welcome to the 18th-century library of Prague’s Strahov Monastery. This photo is so clear you can almost feel the leather book spines and smell the pages.

Last evening the Bright combined families went to the theater. We got the tickets for all the Mothers as a combined Mother’s Day present. I don’t want you to think that we all got dressed up and went off to see a Shakespeare or Chekov production or anything. No, we put on clean t-shirts and went to see a melodrama. You know the kind - where the audience does a lot of participation with the actors in the form of cheering for the hero and booing for the villain. The current show, The Curse of the Pirate Gold, was everything you’d expect by way of general goofiness.

We sat right up front, or as my sister-in-law called it, the “spit zone.” I easily spent as much time watching my children watching the play as I did the actors on the stage. Sassy was captivated by the costumes and The Bandit wide-eyed over the silliness of the pirates and their goofy songs. One of the pirates even reached down and grabbed some of Bandit’s popcorn and threw it at him.

Much to the kid’s delight, at one point, one of the pretty actresses came down and sang a torch song to My Honey and rubbed his head. They giggled about that memory all morning. However, Sassy did express some concern that the actors kept giggling during their lines. She didn’t find the professionalism all that impressive.

I think my kid needs to lighten up.

Although, I don’t think the answer is to be more like her brother. His answer to everything is nudity.

The kids have spent this week between when school ended and camp begins at their Grandmother’s house. Much of their days are spent swimming. They were a little sunburned yesterday, so this morning I suggested they not swim to give their skin a break. At lunch, Sassy phoned and begged me to bring a swim shirt so the swimming could continue anyway.

When I knocked on Grandma’s door, no one answered. I knocked again and finally heard someone wrestling with the knob from the inside. The giant front door swung open and a stark-naked Bandit, face covered in pizza, smiled from the other side.

“Oh my God, what are you doing?” I screeched.

“Going to the bathroom,” he answered like nothing was amiss.

“Honey, we put on pants when we open the door!” That’s item #76 to add to the Things I Never Thought I’d Have to Say Out Loud list. “Where is your grandmother?”

“Outside.” He snatched his sister’s shirt and sprinted for the back yard, willie flapping along.

Indeed, his sister and grandmother were outside eating lunch. Of course Grandma’s immediate reaction was to say, “Go put your pants on!”

Chris Rock says you’re a success as a parent if you can keep your daughter off the pole. I don’t think that’s going to be a problem with Sassy (are you listening, Universe?), but I sincerely fear my son will be on the nightly news as The Streaker!

And just think, you’ll be able to say you knew him when…

Once a month the Sisters attend a meeting of our local chapter of Romance Writers of America. It’s great fun and we’ve learned so much about the craft of writing and getting agents and talking to editors. We love these meetings and look forward to them with great anticipation. It’s the only time I get to be something other than an employee, a wife or someone’s mom.

This month my cell phone kept ringing like crazy. It was on vibrate and I ignored the calls from my mom and dad, but when the first call came from home I answered it. My Honey wouldn’t bother me unless it was important.

I excused myself from the meeting and answered the phone in the hallway. It was Sassy.

“When are you coming home?” she asked, whining.

“Later, why?” There was nothing gentle in my tone.

“Daddy’s being mean and yelling at us,” she told me.

“I’m certain there is a good reason. What did you do?” I asked her, anxious to get back.

“He says we’re screwing around and not doing our chores.”

I tell her very sternly that I’ll be home in a couple of hours and she needs to listen to her father.

God help me, but the phone rang again about an hour later. This time it came from My Honey’s cell phone. I don’t know what possessed me, but I answered it again.

This time it was The Bandit and I had a very similar conversation with him.

Call number three – again from the cell phone – and I answered it fully planning to verbally slay the person on the other end.

It was Sassy. “When are you coming home? We miss you and we’re worried about you.”

I didn’t believe this crap even for a minute. “Trust me, you don’t want me to come home right now.”

“Oh, we do, Mommy, we do.”

I told her I’d be home in a matter of minutes and they would be sorry.

When I burst through the front door and threw my stuff on the table, I found My Honey, sitting in his chair and nonchalantly playing video games. The children were nowhere to be seen.

“Why did you let the kids call me three times today?” I demanded, hands on hips, eyes narrowed in fury.

“What?” He genuinely looked confused. “I didn’t call you today.”

“Well the kids did,” I insisted, “from the house phone and twice from your cell phone.”

“I’ve had my cell phone in my pocket all day,” he swore like the ex-Boy Scout he is and patted a pocket of his cargo shorts. Suddenly, his face showed an epiphany. “Oh… wait. That explains all the hugging.”

“Are you trying to tell me our children pick-pocketed you for your cell phone?” I say this with a great deal of you’ve-got-to-be-shitting-me evident in my voice.

“Yeah, I am.” My Honey is dead serious. As his luck would have it, Sassy wandered in at that very moment. When her father confronted her with the charges against her, she did her absolute best to lie but she really sucks at it.

I honestly can’t believe my children even knew how to pickpocket. Sassy tried to lay it on her brother and that I can believe. I’m certain she came up with the idea and her brother knew how to implement it. That still doesn’t explain how they knew my cell phone number to call from the house phone.

There had always been those rumors of pickpocket schools in places like Brazil or somewhere, but I didn’t think they’d opened a satellite campus at the private school my kids attend. I have no idea when they have the time to practice either, but they’re clearly pretty good at it. It’s very sad that now their displays of love are completely suspect.

So now, if you stop by my house and my children run to hug you and show a great deal of affection, I would check your wallet if I was you.

The kids wandered in while I was folding laundry and watching King Kong on our big HD TV. It was the 2005 version directed by Peter Jackson with the absolutely gorgeous special effects. Its a film full of truly outstanding visual delights.

Anyway, I was enjoying the film and trouble in the name of questions wandered in.

“Who is that?” Sassy asked.

“King Kong,” I answered and added underwear to a folded pile.

“Why are the people all screaming like that?” She blinks at the television.

“Because he’s a giant gorilla.” Duh.

“Oh.” She says. Seconds tick by. I fold three shirts before her next question. “Why are they all running away?”

“Because he’s a giant gorilla.”

Silence. Shorts and pajamas. “Well, why does he seem so angry?”

“BECAUSE he’s a giant gorilla.” Sigh. Another shirt.

“Why does he want to eat her?”

“BECAUSE HE’S A GIANT GORILLA.” Holy shit!

“But I don’t get why she keeps running and screaming like that.”

“BECAUSE. HE. IS. A. GIANT. GORILLA.”

“Oh.” She seems placated, for now.

Now My Honey appears from the kitchen. “What is that guy’s problem?” He’s smirking.

“What guy?” I ask.

“That one.” He gestures to the television. “Is it because he’s a giant gorilla?” He returns to the kitchen, cackling. Jerk.

“Alright, I get that she’s afraid, but why are the other people all running and screaming.”

I throw the mostly folded pants from my hand into the laundry basket in a snit. “Forget it, I’m turning it off.”

I am so totally instituting Ava’s new Questions Policy.

I have an annoying tendency to answer the questions that other people ask me. You might think that is what’s expected when you are asked a question but it’s not - it really depends on who is doing the asking and what they really want to know.

Here’s an example we all know requires only one answer:

Does this outfit make my butt look big?

It doesn’t matter who you ask this of or where you are when you ask or whether you think you want the truth - the answers is always NO. (For you men out there, I have just provided you with all you need to know to have a successful relationship with a woman. No need to read any books. You’re welcome.)

Because I am frequently asked questions by people who don’t really want a truthful answer or who are looking for a specific answer - I now charge $5.00 (cash) to answer any and all questions. And, since I fully admit I am missing a senstivity gene, I will refund a $1.00 (check) if I don’t give you the answer you really wanted and I should have known it or if I hurt your feelings - which, in my case, is usually the same as the first - and than you get $2.00 back. This is really a ploy on my part to stop answering dumb, annoying questions.

Today, someone asked me if I thought an outfit they had selected for a job interview was appropriate. I explained my new rule and requested the $5.00. I received a blank stare. I assured them that I was not kidding. $5.00 was not forth coming and neither was an answer. I did receive a text later saying that I was nuts.

Next!

The girl who lives at my house - “Why don’t you like snakes?”

(Background - we have a snake visiting for the summer. I call it “The Accessory” because it would make a beautiful belt, wallet, or pair of shoes. This annoys the boy that lives at my house. He insists that I call it by it’s name. I never do . . .)

Me - “I’ll need $5.00.”

Her - “Why? I’m not giving you $5.00″

Me - “I no longer answer questions for free.”

Her - “You’re nuts.”

Me - “That’s already been pointed out to me today.”

Her - “Here!”

To my astonishment, she handed me a roll of nickels. Maybe charging was going to work out after all. Visions of riches danced through my head. I saw vacation villas, yachts and . . . an annoying voice breaking into my thoughts.

Her - “Well.”

Me - “I just don’t like them. Most people don’t.”

Her - “I paid $5.00 for that? That’s your answer? That’s it?”

This wasn’t going well. It seems that when you charge for something some people believe they should get their monies worth. clearly, the girl who lives at my house wasn’t feeling that way.

Me - “I could give you your money back.”

Her - “You’d better or I’m calling the better business bureau and turn you in!”

Me - “Maybe you should be more careful about what you spend your money on.”

At this point, she took her nickels back and started to walk away. “I’m going to tell Dad on you.”

“Tell him if he has any questions, the answers are $5.00.”

I heard her from down the hall - “Your wife is nuts, you’ll never believe what she is up to now.”

I feel confident that my question answering days are about to end.

For those of you living outside of normal society where people watch the news and read the paper - or at least an online version of the newspaper - may be unaware that the Rapture has been predicted for Saturday, May 21 by Harold Egbert (!) Camping. In conjunction with the Rapture, a zombie apocalypse has been predicted. It’s all over

Twitter and the Internet.

The number one story at the Washington Post right now is an interview with one of my favorite bloggers, Thebloggess.com. She has been forecasting the zombies for months now and people just haven’t been paying attention.

The zombie’s thing has so taken off that the website for the CDC (Center for Disease Control) even has a great tongue-in-cheek blog post with advice for creating a zombie preparedness kit. They suggest, among other things, you have one gallon of water for each person per day. They predict there will be refugee centers popping up fairly soon afterwards so you needn’t gather months worth of water.

I mentioned the kits to Kelli and she pointed out that the refugee centers haven’t worked out all that well in Stephen King books. There might be something to that - we should probably pay attention to Armageddon style books there may be more wisdom there than we initially thought. I told Ava and Kelli to head to my mom-in-law’s house since she has three refrigerator/freezers plus a giant pantry full of food.

My Honey asked how to kill zombies. I was like, “Duh, by chopping off their heads” but he was not convinced. He thought it possible the body would still go even without a head. He has a good point since it’s all be speculation up to this point anyway since we haven’t had any zombies to experiment on. He thinks we should try a couple of things out on Larry King, that way if it works on him we’ll have a decent idea of what will work on zombies.

I have been thinking about this all day and I’ve formulated a plan.

* I’m actually looking forward to this Rapture thing. There are going to be A LOT less annoying people around. As a matter of fact, I’ve started pointing out people I hope the zombies take out right away.

*Consider that there will be hardly any lines at the movie theaters on Sunday when you want to go see the new Pirates of the Caribbean coming out this weekend.

*I don’ t see any reason why I shouldn’t run right out and charge up our credit cards to the limit. If I’m only going to enjoy these things for like two and a half more days then I really need to get on this. In fact, I’m a little angry at myself for having waited this long.

*I’m going to be able to release a bunch of aggression taking out the zombies. Thebloggess recommends a samurai sword as her weapon of choice as they don’t require ammunition. I don’t have a sword in the house but My Honey tells me there are several sharp implements in the shed out back so I’m not too concerned about it.

*Ava thinks we’re going on a diet tomorrow. That woman is completely high if she thinks I’m going to do that before the apocolypse. I’ll get plenty of exercise come Sunday - I’m sure I’ll slim right down and gain fat-burning lean muscle with all that running and zombie exterminating.

* Best reason of all? Beyond a doubt it’s NO WORK ON MONDAY!

All I have to say, when it comes right down to it, besides a few minor inconveniences, I really only see an upside to this whole thing.

Embrace the Zombies! Well maybe not embrace, but you get the idea.

I couldn’t decide how to start this post. I wrote the first sentence five times and erased each one because I couldn’t decide how to launch into the topic. I guess that’s the answer – just launch.

The Bandit wears me out. His father and I can’t use being tired from work as an excuse to sit and relax or doze on the couch before dinner. You must remain vigilant whenever our son is awake.

Tonight I was sitting on the couch before dinner watching Tampa Bay have their ass handed to them in Round Three of the Stanley Cup playoffs when I noticed the shadow of the refrigerator door open and close. There was no noise involved at all – just the moving shadow. I jumped up and ran the opposite way to the kitchen in an attempt to catch him. I knew it was The Bandit. The entire escapade was done too quietly to have been anyone who wasn’t attempting to be sneaky. I rounded the doorway to the family room and saw him with a cupcake in each hand. As soon as he saw me coming, he attempted to shove both of them in his mouth at once. He looked like a bad wedding photo of a groom gone insane. There was frosting everywhere.

About an hour later I passed by the hall bathroom. The door was ajar and I could see the light on. I swung open the door to find the room empty, but clear evidence The Bandit had been there. He had taken eight panty liners, peeled the back off each one, and stuck them across the toilet seat effectively taping the toilet closed.

Why? Why? I don’t have any idea. I can’t imagine why we’d want the toilet taped shut. I just don’t know.