We’re home. We’re exhausted. Everyone is against us napping.

Jojo Kittywiggles wouldn’t even speak to me for hours. He stayed under the bed and glared with shiny, angry eyes until I pulled him out and made him cuddle.

As always, we had a fabulous time at AZ Dreamin’. We met some really fun people and reconnected with old friends. We’re always amazed that people want to talk to us.

Amylynn burned the crap out of her hand with the curling iron. So it was just like being at home.

We came home via the IKEA store because Ava needed to touch all the kitchen cabinets. The best thing was the cafeteria. We ate the Swedish Breakfast which will heretofore be referred to as the Official Quill Sister Breakfast of Champions. Two Swedish pancakes with lingonberry jam, scrambled eggs, sausage, and roasted potatoes. All of this gloriousness for 2.99. HEAVEN!!

Also, we picked up some Swedish Fish because, duh, we were in IKEA.

Anyway, back to the grind at work. And prepare ourselves for our wee jaunt to New York City in two months. Prepare to hear about some epic paper cuts forthcoming.

We’re at the fabulous readers event in Phoenix and this is what we have to say about that. It’s effing hot here. For real. This is why we’re stupid. Every year we’re surprised when summer comes. You’d think we’d be expecting it, but no. After all, we live in the desert. So now we’re running around trying to accomplish stuff and we’re moist. It’s hard to wrap your head around the fact that it’s this hot and there’s no actual fire. While we look for someone to turn

the air conditioning down to 65 degrees, you look at this:

1. Amylynn Bright, Teacher - Amy has come long way in her public speaking skills since she started writing. Writers are always being asked to speak which is odd since we spend a lot of time alone with imaginary people. The class Amy taught was about writing a series because she’s written two of them. All went well except for her not introducing herself and constantly putting her hands in her hair.

2. Watching Ava wrestle a coffee maker. We’re intelligent people. Disregard all judgments you made above when we told you we were stupid. We write books so we know we can form a sentence. However, all bets are off when you’re in a strange hotel room and you want coffee. There is some sort of machine in our room that purports to make coffee but we’ve read all the instructions (which are pictures) and nothing. We stood together and chanted at it. Nada. We don’t need coffee badly enough to dance naked or anything, but if you happen to be in the Phoenix area at the Embassy Suites and have the good fortune to figure out the coffee maker, come by our room. We could use some instruction.

3. Room service. While the rest of the hotel is off partying, the Sisters are safely in their room, clad in jammies, some of us are swaddled in blankets, and we’re eating room service. We’re eating dessert that would go excellently with some nice decaf coffee - see #2. Along with the wee chocolate Bundt cake, we ordered a hot cookie. We conned them into doing 1/2 chocolate chip and 1/2 peanut butter. We are a pain in the ass every where we go. Also we requested 10 wee half and half containers in case we figured out the coffee maker. They would only bring us 4. We don’t know if that’s because we annoyed them over the cookie or not.

4. Amylynn Bright, Author Speedmeet. Sometimes things are funny when they’re not supposed to be. Exhibit One: Amylynn Bright doing the speedmeet. Each author has 2 minutes to introduce themselves to readers at 12 tables. Just picture it - Amylynn manically waiving her arms while handing out tiny Violet stickpins and talking about her books while being expected to hustle around a crowded room every 2 minutes. Ava was certain a trip to the emergency room would become necessary and started to ask around to see who would take her there because Ava’s not going anywhere near an emergency room. As luck would have it, Amylynn survived in one piece if a bit tired. Don’t miss this spectacle next year, trust us about this.

5. Brian Kohatsu. He was a comedienne who regaled us at the dinner. He was very funny. We legitimately laughed. He had a couple of jokes we’d love to tell you but the set up is too complicated and we’re too tired to type them out. There was a good one about kids doing show and tell, and another about taking kids camping and then he read us a short “bromanace” that was really great satire. If you get the chance to see him, do. He was great.

The Sisters will be at a reader event all weekend. AZ Dreamin’ in Phoenix. It’s a great deal of fun - like a weekend long pajama party.

The reason I bring this up is that part of the event involves “book clubs” where approximately eight readers at a time get to spend about 30 minutes with an author of their choice, and there are seven of these. At these events I always hold a Regency tea. Last year I even wore my lovely Regency dress. I’m not going to do that this year, but I’m still holding the tea. I bring my grandmother’s silver tea service all polished up and gleaming and a few pieces of my great-grandmother’s Haviland Limoges china my great-grandfather brought back from France after World War I for my own use. I love these pieces and when else am I ever going to get them out of the china cabinet? This year we have petite fours to serve my guests and chamomile tea.

What I didn’t have was tea cups for my guests.

This bothered me immensely. Immensely. Ava has white china coffee cups with saucers, as do I. Those aren’t tea cups, and as I said, it bothered me.

I happened to be next to World Market this evening for something else entirely so I ran inside.

They had the perfect thing. Seriously. And for a reasonable price. My only issue was that I wanted them in a box. I have to cart them all over the place and a sturdy box made just for them would be perfect.

I rounded up a clerk. She was a pretty, young thing who didn’t deserve having to deal with me.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I need those tea cups and I need them in a box.”

She looked at the wall of open stock tea cups and made a face. “We don’t have any in boxes.”

“None in the back?” I asked helpfully. I explained what I use them for and why I want a box.

“I don’t think so. We do have these cups in box.” She directed my attention to some adorable mugs with stylized dogs on them. They were super cute.

“No. This is a Regency tea.” She looked like this information did not compute. “Like from Jane Austen time.” She nodded now like she got it. Maybe she did. I don’t know her education. “I can’t use these. Totally improper.”

“OK, then how about these?” This time she pointed out some super cute cups painted with flowers stacked in a handy silver carrier.

I grimaced. “Those are demitasse cups. Too small.” I pointed back to the open stock. “I want those. In a box.”

“Let me call in the back and see what we have.”

“I’m sorry to be a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, no!” she protested, having no real idea how much of a pain in the ass I can be. “It’s no trouble.”

“It’s alright,” I assured her. “I know I’m a pain in the ass. I own it.”

The manager came out and poked around looking for some in a box. “I’m sorry. We don’t have any. Just what’s up here on the shelf. We have lots of wine boxes. We can pack them for you.”

I sighed heavily and made my expression unhappy. “I want a perfect box. With little dividers. You know what I mean, right?”

I have a vision of a box. This box doesn’t exist. In my mind it has dividers, is made of sturdy yet lightweight cardboard, and it has a magical handle for easy toting.

“We have tote bags.” He was clearly itching to show off the lovely tote bags he would happily pack my china in.

“I want a box.” I was beginning to sound like a petulant child. Maybe one of these obnoxious ones from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

He shook his head and didn’t bother repeating the same thing about not being in possession of a perfect box.

I changed tactics. “How about those zipper boxes they make for storing china. Do you sell those?”

I took that opportunity to repeat that I understood I was a pain in the ass, that I owned that designation, and was alright with him having that impression.”

“Well, so long as you’re aware of it.”

I couldn’t believe he said that! He wasn’t rude when he did so, and I guffawed loudly. It was brilliant. No one ever calls me on this stuff. Clerks all just keep apologizing while I keep asking for things I want which they can’t supply.

“I think I love you,” I told the dumpy fiftyish-year-old manager with thinning hair and glasses. “I’ll manage with a wine box.”

Disclaimer: I have no idea why Amy thinks anyone will be interested in this, but here it is and I’m supposed to tell you it’s true.

I had to have some blood drawn this morning. As you faithful readers know, I don’t care to be involved in anything medical or medically related.

I was a very sickly child. I was so sickly, I missed more than half of my kindergarten year and used to get a vitamin shot every Friday after school. Just imagine, being a little kid and knowing once a week you’re going to get a shot. And no, the shots didn’t help.

So, as an adult, I am rarely sick. As in - almost never. The last time I was sick was over four years ago. I caught a cold in Turkey that wouldn’t go away and Amy made me go to the doctor because she thought I had pneumonia but I didn’t. I read the x-rays myself. Turkey is dead to me now.

Anyway, when I go to a medical facility I bring a plastic bag to sit on, and I don’t take any deep breaths, and I don’t touch anything in the place. When I signed in this morning I rubbed hand sanitizer all over their pen. Right next to the sign-in sheet was a box of face masks. Medical grade. I heard angels sing. I immediately put one on and sat on my plastic bag.

I texted Amy that I was the only person in the place wearing one and that everyone else would probably be dead by noon. Not only were they not wearing the mask, they were reading the magazines. How dumb are people? Those magazines have been touched by the walking dead. No one, and I mean no one, needs to read a copy of Golf Digest at home and you certainly don’t need to read one when it means your life might be in danger.

An older man got up from where he was sitting to sit next me. Before I could find out what disease he had and make him move, he asked in an English accent why I was sitting on a “rubbish” bag. I explained it to him from behind my mask and suggested he put down Golf Dysentery and go get a mask. Wisely, he did. Next a policeman arrived, he signed in, took a look at me and the English guy and put on his own face mask and sat next to us.

Things went down hill from there. I was called for my appointment and followed the worker through a door. On the door was a sign which read “Close the door behind you”. I would have had to pull the door closed by TOUCHING it. The nurse said “Close the door.” Boy was she annoyed when I refused. SICK people have touched that door! Why would she think a woman wearing a face mask and inciting a “face mask riot” in the waiting room would touch a germ infested door? What the hell is wrong with the world today? She closed it herself. She was wearing gloves.

When we got to the exam room, I made her change the gloves. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, because all of our readers are brilliant, but I had to tell her she wasn’t touching me with the gloves she used to touch the door touched by sick people.

When it was time to go I made her give me a glove so I could get out alive. She hesitated until I mentioned I’d have to spend the day with her if I couldn’t get out. She gave me a glove.

If you made it this far, I owe you a payoff so here’s some of the best advice you’ll ever get from anyone for the rest of your life: Stay out of medical offices and if you have to go, sit on plastic, don’t touch anything, and don’t breathe while you’re in there - maybe you’ll make it out alive.

Good day.

This morning I sliced my palm open. This was very annoying, not just because it hurt - which it did! - but because I did it doing something I clearly wasn’t supposed to be doing.

I’m not allowed to be eating bagels. Don’t you know bread is the devil’s food? That’s why it’s so freaking good, don’t you know. I was making it for my kids. Umhumm, that’s my story. So there I was, slicing a bagel I wasn’t allowed to be eating. I held it in my hand and used the giant-assed bread knife from our block. I proceeded to do that thing that

you’re mother told you not to do.

I sawed through that bagel like a lumberjack and only stopped when the knife met the flesh of my palm.

I can’t even really complain about it because I totally know better.

You wouldn’t know me very well if you seriously thought I didn’t complain.

Right off, I texted Ava. “I just sliced my palm open.”

Her response is so very Quill Sisters. “That will go perfectly with my 3rd degree burn from my flat iron.”

Honestly, we shouldn’t be left to our own devices. We can’t even eat or do our hair without adult supervision.

Remember to thank a soldier.

We’re sitting here on the cusp of a long weekend. It’s a nice place to be sitting. Not quite as nice as sitting by the dock of the bay, but it has some potential. Probably also less mosquitos. We’re hoping there is a bit of Mad Max in there somewhere, too. Don’t you think every weekend would be immeasurably better with more Tom Hardy and less mosquitos? Also with more days. We could really get to like these 3 days weekends. Also, think of all the sleep Amylynn could catch up on. It makes her shiver with excitement. The following things may not make you shiver with excitement, hell, we don’t know what you do when you read this blog. We’re mostly just writing our stream on consciousness and if you can follow it then you’re as crazy as we are. Back to the shivering. If you don’t shiver, you should at least be amused. Let’s give it a try, shall we?

1. We’ve seen 300 at least 300 times. We’re not really public transportation people. That is largely due to the fact that we live in the West and out here EVERYONE has a car. Also, its way too hot to be sitting at bus stops. That’s a scientific fact. We can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt, if there was any possibility that we’d witness what Londoners did this past week, we’d be riding the bus a hell of a lot more. Passengers on the London subway this week witness a flash mob of hunky men dressed as Spartans board the train. We have no idea what they were doing there or what their goal was, but who cares? We’re booking ourselves tickets to London.

2. Speaking of public transportation… Our town now has a street car. We don’t know why. We do not desire it. That had to be said. We think it’s stupid, but we’ve already told you that we’re not public transportation aficionados. We may not be the ideal people to pass judgment. Anyway, we have a streetcar. We speculated that nine people would ride it. Turns out that the one millionth rider boarded the thing

this week. She was a college kid who lived down there - probably a perfect example of the target audience - and was quite surprised when the mayor and other officials handed her balloons, a t-shirt, a year pass, and a bunch of other stuff. We bet she’d rather have a car.

3. Preposterous Pets. We have regaled you with our deep and abiding desires when it comes to animals we NEED. It turns out we can scratch anteaters off our list. Ava was watching a program that spotlights Preposterous pets. She tuned in thinking it might be a how to show. You know like How To Convince your Spouse you NEED a Quoka. Turns out

no. It was a cautionary tale about how an anteater will ruin your life. It was an eye opener for sure. Did you know they sleep in washing machines? That’s just weird. Too weird. We like our clothes clean and anteater poop free.

4. Speaking of poop… Did you know that wombats have cube shaped poop? Us neither! That seems like something we should know. We looked up on the internet why and didn’t get a satisfactory answer. We’re going with magical. Guess what. We’re bumping wombats up on our list of animals we need. It’s really a shame they live in Australia because Amylynn’s not going there. Not after she saw the spider situation over there. Oh hell no. Eventually we figure well just order one on Amazon. Amazon sells EVERYTHING.

5. Baseball games that go on forever. Our work got us all tickets to the Diamondbacks game tonight. They even rented a bus to drive everyone the two hours up there and back. Ava didn’t go. She turned up her nose, but Amylynn took her whole family, but we drove ourselves. It was a great game that never seemed to end. In fact, we finally left at the bottom of the twelfth inning because the kids were falling asleep. We walked all the way to the car and then were almost half way home before our boys finally won in the bottom of the thirteenth. It was super hero night so there were actors in costume everywhere. The Avengers were there with Batman and The Flash. Even Spiderman hung out with Wonder Woman. It was fun. Really. We had an outstanding time.

I am not impressed with my eyelashes. Not at all. I have the standard girl complaint. They’re too short. Stubby actually. Ava’s not impressed with hers either.

Grandpa used to complain that his eyelashes were too long, so long in fact that he couldn’t wear sunglasses. Imagine the look he was given.

We’ve tried every mascara in the world. They’re mostly full of promises that don’t deliver. We’ve settled on Double Extend by L’Oreal. It does a decent job and washes off beautifully without flaking. Still, we try every new kind that comes out.

That doesn’t mean we don’t still want glorious lashes without the aid of makeup.

We used Latisse. It was one of the few miracle cures that actually works. Our lashes were gloriously long and plump, but who can afford to keep up that regimen? It’s really expensive. Hey - Latisse people. We’d be happy to accept a supply of Latisse in exchange for constantly telling our extensive internet audience about the glories of your product. Call us!

So, I’ve been hearing about how lavender can do the same thing. Sorta. Naturally. We read about it on line and we’ve seen some pictures of dubious merit, but we’re willing to try.

I bought some lavender essential oil and two new tubes of the L’Oreal mascara mentioned above and dropped one drop of oil in each. Ava’s willing to give it a try, but she noted with a wry hint of pessimism, “I’m sure one of us will be allergic to it.”

Obviously, we’ll keep you posted. Either we’ll be blind or heroically lashed.

Sassy had her birthday this past weekend. After her party a few of her girlfriends came home with us to spend the night. Four of them to be exact. My Honey promptly fled the house because he’s a coward.

I want to say up front that five twelve-year-old girls make a hell of a lot less noise than three ten-year-old boys. Seriously. The boys run up and down the halls, screaming and shooting Nerf guns, then get into a fight before become best friends again five minutes later. Repeat as necessary. The girls on the other hand disappear into a bedroom and are never seen from again unless it’s to troop off to the bathroom in teams of two or to sidle out to the kitchen to squirrel food away in the bedroom. Every once in a while you’ll hear a squeal or a rapid burst of giggles, but it’s nothing compared to the nonstop screeching that went on with the boys for eight hours before they collapsed in a stinky, sweaty heap.

Also, as implied, the girls smell considerably better.

Also, the mess made by the boys was evident in every single room in my house. The girls’ mess was localized in her bedroom. Granted, it looked like a Justice store collided with a mall food court and they exploded — clothes and chip bags and soda cans e v e r y w h e r e — but the living room and kitchen were untouched.

Once the girls were in Sassy’s room with the door barricaded, the Bandit took this as a challenge. He spent the first three hours trying to perfect booby traps over her bedroom door.

“I need your help,” he told me.

I shook my head. “I can’t help you. All I can do is turn a blind eye. You have to figure out ways to torture your sister and her friends by yourself.”

He was met with frustration. Primarily this seemed to center around Jojo Kitty sabotaging the traps before the girls could be lured out to set them off.

“Make your cat stop it at least,” the Bandit begged.

“Honey, think this through,” I said. “Your primary material is string. The cat is required to kill the string. That’s just evolution. Must. Kill. String.”

I’m not sure what cartoons my kid is watching in the mornings but he kept yelling, “Curses!” and “Foiled again” when Jojo released another fine trap.

Ultimately my boy gave up and we watched Guardians of the Galaxy.

It was pretty much a perfect night.