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Saturday, July 31, 2010

Time Waster

I am sooooo nice, I waited until the weekend to post this total time waster.  Don't say I didn't warn you.

I've outsmarted the cat, but it took a lot of work and a little luck!

Random Question:  
(because I spent too much time playing that game up above, we're keeping this short and sweet)
What brand of toothpaste do you use?  
(And if for some reason you don't brush your teeth, PLEASE lie to me.  k?)
Mostly Crest at our house, but that might just be a pricing thing.  I have no great allegiance to the brand.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Crackpot Confessional - Shoplifting

Welcome to another episode of Crackpot Confessions!  As I write this, I am sitting at a picnic table in the park not that far from my office.  I just finished a pulled pork sandwich from Subway (LOVE it), and am sipping on an icy cold Diet Coke.  It is a sunny, balmy 77 degrees.  Ahhhhh, utter perfection.  Well, except for the fact that this picnic table is slanting downhill so I feel like the laptop and I are about to go sliding.

Today, we're going to talk about shoplifting.  Again, this is NOT me, I'm making this up as I go along. If you have something you'd like me to confess to for next week, put it in the comments!   

Your narrator for today is Robyn.


I am so not a crook, okay?  Get that thought right out of your head. Do I look like a crook to you?  

*stares you down waiting appropriate response*.  

Yes, I have taken things that technically didn't belong to me, but I have a very good reason:  My sister, Eve.

Eve is 4 years older, but frankly, she's not that bright.  My parents really ought to have named her Naive.  Seriously, it's that bad.  She looks like an angel with those big blue lie-to-me eyes, but is about as sharp as a cotton ball.  Don't get me wrong, I love my sister.  She's the sweetest thing, and would never ever hurt a soul. In fact, she's always first in line when someone needs help.  Of course, she's been swindled out of a huge chunk of change in the process, and had her heart broken more times than I can count. If I could find the bastards that hurt her, you better believe I'd even the score.

Enter Joey.  Joey owns a sports memorabilia shop over on 47th.  I guess he used to play in the Majors.  Just good enough to get there, not good enough to stay or be memorable.  Ahhh, the irony that the forgotten now sells memorabilia.  Those who can, do.  Those who can't (and are bitter about it) screw the rest of us over to make themselves feel better. 

Joey is the Ultimate Urban Italian stereotype.  Loud, obnoxious, and vain.  I've been to Italy.  Real Italians are warm and generous.  Joey is not a Real Italian.  Joey is, however, drop dead gorgeous.  I can see how my sister was snared.  That thick, black hair and eyes the color of malted milk balls.  Who wouldn't fall in love with him?  He's 40 years old but doesn't look a day over 24.  (I don't think he ever told Eve how old he was.)

Anyway, Joey hired my sister to work in his shop.  Eve doesn't know the first thing about sports.  I mean she's lucky if she can identify which sports score touchdowns and homeruns.  What business does she have working in a sports shop?  Ahhh, but Joey hires nothing but beautiful women to lure men into the shop.  I think he overcharges too, but I'm not going to waste my time with an investigation that will probably just prove me right in the end.

Okay, so he has a right to hire who he wants.  But he treats them like crap.  He's always flying off the handle at someone over nothing.  For a long time Eve was immune.  Eve he was super nice to.  Flirtatious.  I saw it coming a mile away, but Eve thought it was love.  Again.  She was completely smitten by the time she figured out he was married.  Yeah.  With kids.  He strung her a long for awhile, then when she (at my urging, I might add) started asking him tough questions like, "are you ever leaving your wife?" or "you're just using me aren't you?" he broke it off and started giving her shit at the shop, too.


It wasn't long before he'd hired someone new, a fiery red head with so many curves, even experienced NASCAR drivers would spin out of control.

Then he fired Eve and refused to pay her what he owed her.  Said she stole merchandise.  Eve just gave in.  But finally! I knew how to find one of the ass wipes who broke her heart.  And I wasn't going to let him get away with it.

So periodically, I visit his little shop.  Usually in the afternoons when I can be sure he's off seducing the redhead.  The girls on duty don't usually see me because they're busy flirting with the male clients--of which there are many.  The men don't see me because I'm just your average jane, err Robyn, and these other gorgeous women are purring in front of them.  

The first time I took a baseball card in a hard plastic case...don't ask me who it was, I don't know or care.  Sold it on ebay and made $1,000.  I paid my sister (told her Joey had a change of heart) and gave the rest to a women's shelter.  Figure sooner or later, one of Joey's women are going to end up there, and I'd like them to be well-cared for. 

So, you tell me.  Do I sound like a crook to you? 

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Awards Ceremony


Blogger ate my post!  ATE it!  GONE!  It was here last night, but gone tonight.  OOOOHHH, the pain!  The suffering!

Let's try this again. 



THANK YOU for sharing these awards with me.  I smile every time I look at them.  You're fabulous, all of you.

Lurkers...if you are looking for some great blogs to follow click any of the links above.  You won't be disappointed!

Originally, I was going to use a random number generator to pick followers at random (ie total cop out), but because I've lost feeling in my fingers, I'm going to totally wuss out and once again invite y'all to take whatever award you want.  I know, I know...I'll find a way to make it up to you.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Directionally Challenged

If you should know anything about me, it might be that I have NO sense of direction at all.  





I ETERNALLY want to turn left when I should turn right.  

Everything looks familiar, so forget finding milestones to mark the route. 

Remember, if you're traveling with me by car or by foot, you want to be the one navigating.

Case in point:

We moved a bit when I was growing up.  We averaged a major move every 4 years.  And by major I mean, completely out of town and often out of state.

So, it seemed as soon as I started to figure out how to get around in one place I had to start breaking a new one in.  

I learned to strut around as if I knew EXACTLY where I was going, when in fact I was clueless and always on the verge of being lost.  I even had a teacher comment on it once when he was advising us to "fake it until we make it".  He said something to the effect, "Just watch Vicki.  She looks like she knows where she's going, but she'll walk past the room three times before she comes in."  

(And yeah, I probably did).

So anyway, during Thanksgiving break in 8th grade, we moved from small town (250 people) to a larger one of about 7,500. 

Greaaaaaaaaaaaaat, (please note heavy sarcasm) another new school to figure out.

My old school had several floors, but us underlings were confined to one floor while the upper classmen used the rest.  My new school had three floors, and I had classes on all of them.  Like most students, I lived in fear of not making it to my next class before the bell rang.  Now having three floors to navigate, the fear intensified.

I don't know about you, but when I am stressed, I don't think straight.  Hell, I don't think at all.  

One day early on, I exited my classroom and needed to go to the third floor for my next class.

But I could not find the stairs going up.  I walked from one end of the school to the other, but only found stairs going down.  I was confused, weren't the stairs going up right beside the others before?  

Finally, freaked beyond all rational thought, I asked someone where the stairs were to the third floor.

and she told me I was ON the third floor.

I coulda died.  What a bonehead.

Go's okay to laugh.


To win a copy of Kate Kaynak's Minder, (and an extra surprise) do the following: 
  1. Go to Kate's blog at the Disgruntled Bear 
  2. Become a follower and 
  3. Write "I KNOW what you're thinking" in her comments
Contest is open until July 31st

YAAAY!  She's over 100 followers now!  You guys rock.


Tuesday, July 27, 2010

The Early Writer

I saw my sister this weekend and picked up those old letters she read to me awhile back.  I am alternating between laughing out loud and wanting to DIE of embarrassment that I ever wrote such things much less SENT them.  They're too long to post in their entirety, so I'll have to pick and choose snippets to share. 

TODAY, I'm going to share a picture of me that ran in the local paper.  I was almost 5 here...

And then I thought I'd share a thank you letter I wrote to my grandparents.  I cannot BELIEVE how many errors there are.  I had JUST turned 8, which isn't really an excuse because my daughter who is 9 hasn't made those mistakes in forever.

(I think if you click on the letter it'll get bigger so you can read easier)

I should add that this letter is special to me because I remember writing it.  I remember NOT wanting to write it, but Mom insisted.  I remember sitting at the desk and my sister (Dana) being in the kitchen advising me on what to write next.   The family coming and going I don't recall, but I feel like giving the younger me a hug.

Contest Reminder:

To win a copy of Kate Kaynak's Minder,do the following: 
  1. Go to Kate's blog at the Disgruntled Bear 
  2. Become a follower and 
  3. Write "I KNOW what you're thinking" in her comments
Contest is open until July 31st.  Enter every day to increase your chances!

Kate had 98 followers the last time I checked.  Can we get her over 100 before Friday?


Monday, July 26, 2010

What Happened to Horny?

Since so many of you have asked what happened to Horny, I thought I'd add an update.  The reason I didn't add it to the post was partly because it was already long, and partly because I don't remember.  ;)

My suspicion is he dropped out.  Not because we humiliated him or anything.  He missed a lot of school before the bus incident.  I guess perfecting the latest skateboarding maneuvers was just too grueling and interfered with his education.  And who needs a diploma when you're going to strike it rich on the professional boarding circuit? Pity I didn't know his name...I'd look him up!

Mock Me Monday - On the Radio

There are several chapters of my life that fall under the heading, "I shoulda known better".  I know hindsight is 20/20 and wisdom comes with age and experience, but even when these things happened, I should have known it wasn't going to end well.

Let's take another trip back to high school, shall we?  I was shy back then.  The last thing I ever wanted to do was call attention to myself.  I was happy as a fringe observer, and in Vegas it was easy to be one.  So many students in my school, most of us just blended in.

I had to ride the bus to and from school.  I was indifferent to it.  Sure, I would have loved a ride, but I didn't hate the bus.  So many of my friends rode the bus, we actually had FUN sometimes. 

My type, if I have one, has generally been the clean-cut, all American boy next door sort.  I prefer dark hair and eyes, but have  been known to veer from that standard on more than one occasion (ahem, like Brian).

There came a time when for no particular reason I found myself drawn to a somewhat punky/skater guy.  Soooo not my type.  But you really can't help who you are attracted to, can you?  Not sure what the attraction was.  I'd never talked to him, I only ever saw him when he passed by on the bus.  I think it was his big chocolate brown eyes.  So dark you could hardly see the pupil.  

Anyway, his head was mostly shaved except for two little lines along the top.  Those were spiked into a curl about an inch long.  The result, if you looked at him straight on, you'd think he had two horns sticking out the top of his head. (See lovely illustration).

My friend and I called him Horny because we didn't know his name.

My friend was a good deal more outgoing than I was.  Normally this was a good thing for me...helped to pull me out of my shell and all.  But sometimes it backfired bigtime.

You like it when things backfire on me, don't you?

This particular day, she began shouting to Horny who sat waaaaaaaaay at the back of the bus.  I don't remember exactly what she said, just that it was tremendously embarrassing.  Like shrink down in your seat and wish you were dead embarrassing.  I'm pretty sure she incorporated the word "horny" as often as she could.

And oh yeah...the bus was packed so everyone got to hear.  But that's not the worst part.  Ohhh no.

I should pause to note here that my BFF and I were on friendly terms with several of the local radio dee jays.  We'd call to request songs, and we'd call back to say thank you (which apparently no one ever does) so they were predisposed to like us.  We got on the air all the time.  We hung out at the station on several occasions.  Sometimes we would record blurbs you hear between songs for them. They would tell us what to say, "98.6 plays the BEST music" or whatever.  My friend even dated one of the dee jays for awhile, but that's another story for another day. 

After I got home, I called up one of my favorites to request a song.  I thought if I mentioned I'd had a rough day, it'd speed up the time it took to play my song.  I had no intention of sharing the details, Jay asked about it, and before you know it, he'd prodded me into a full-blown rant.  I spilled it all.  About the time I was done, he put me on hold (a common occurrence as they switch songs or take other calls).  Two minutes later I hear myself on the radio going on and on and ON about the bus incident in gory detail.

I could've killed him, and damn near did.  It wasn't bad enough 60 kids on a bus witnessed my humiliation. Oh, no.  I had to go blab to a dee jay and get myself broadcast to THOUSANDS.


And so it is I learned that it is better NOT to over share with radio personalities whilst they are on duty.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Contest Reminder & New Question

To win a copy of Kate Kaynak's Minder, (and an extra surprise I picked up yesterday) do the following: 
  1. Go to Kate's blog at the Disgruntled Bear 
  2. Become a follower and 
  3. Write "I KNOW what you're thinking" in her comments
Contest is open until July 31st.  Enter every day to increase your chances!

Kate is hovering in the 90's for followers.  I'd love to push her over 100, and if she hits 100 before the 31st, I will add an additional surprise to the winning package. 

Today's question: 

What genre do you have trouble reading?  
I'm mostly women's fiction and classics.  I like my reading light but engaging.  YA is great for this as a general rule.  But that wasn't my question, was it?  (try to stay focused, Vic)
I used to LOVE thrillers.  Paranormal, crime, psychological. Then I had children and I just couldn't handle them anymore.  Too intense. 

I think the one genre I RARELY touch is non-fiction.  Blech.  I know this is totally unwarranted, but in my head non-fiction = Booooring.  Please don't defend it to me, I KNOW I'm being judgmental and narrow minded.  And with so much other stuff out there to read, convincing me to change my mind is gonna be hard.

So, how about you?  What genre do you just have zero interest in?

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Contest Reminder & Question

To win a copy of Kate Kaynak's Minder, (and an extra surprise that I will be purchasing TODAY) do the following: 
  1. Go to Kate's blog at the Disgruntled Bear 
  2. Become a follower and 
  3. Write "I KNOW what you're thinking" in her comments
Contest is open until July 31st

Kate is hovering in the 90's for followers.  I would LOVE it if we could push her over 100.  I'll throw in something EXTRA (besides the mystery thing I'm purchasing today) if she makes it over 100 before the 31st.


As a follow-up to last week's diary questions, have you ever (accidentally or on purpose) read someone else's diary?

What did you learn? 

Friday, July 23, 2010

Crackpot Confessional

I thought it would be fun (because I have a warped sense of humor) to write a series of 'confessions' to socially unacceptable behavior in an attempt to win the reader's empathy, forgiveness, and/or understanding by the end.(But I'll settle for a laugh)

Just so you know I am presenting these in first person, but I am NOT admitting to anything!!!

If you have children, know people with children, have been in public places with children or used to be a child yourself, chances are you have dealt with the nose picking issue.  Let's take a stab at earning your forgiveness for this sin:


Years ago, there was an episode of St. Elsewhere where an old man was in the hospital complaining of nosebleeds.  One of the doctors asked him, "Do you pick your nose?"  And the old man replied, "Only enough to keep it respectable."  I was in love. Not with the old man, but his response.  I couldn't believe someone admitted to picking their nose on national TV.  Okay, so he was an actor reciting lines from a script, but STILL! 

Every kid learns long before school starts that you mustn't ever put fingers in your nose.  If you don't learn that before school, your classmates will brand you as a nose picker and your social standing is screwed for at least the next 5 years.  So when I was in junior high, I had a really bad cold.  It was near the end where the mucus (vibrant green) starts to thicken up  and makes it even harder to breathe.

I was in math class.  I desperately needed to blow my nose but there is no way I was going to blow it in front of 25 of society's harshest critics.  I'm not a dainty nose-blower like Julie. Everything that pint-sized homecoming-queen-in-training did (including sneezing) was adorable.  No, I'm more of a honker than a blower so there is no way I was going to let anyone hear me do that.  So I sat.  And sniffled.  A lot.

By the end of first period the mucus had thickened enough that it's no longer threatening to drip down my face.  Ahhh, relief.  It was short-lived though.  By the end of second period, the mucus had begun to harden and pulled on my nose hairs uncomfortably.  An hour after that, the blockage was growing.  I had an uncomfortable booger up there but I couldn't do anything about it.  If I'm not going to honk my schnoz in front of my class, I'm sure as heck not going to pick my nose in front of them. 

It was wrong.  It was gross.  It was just NOT an option.

It grew throughout the day.  First a booger, then a pebble.  By the end of the day I had a marble growing in my left nostril.  I kept casually rubbing at my nose - pretending it itched - just to make sure it wasn't actually protruding. The horror if it was visible!  I desperately wanted to remove the offensive thing, but what could I do?  There wasn't enough time between classes to get to the restroom, if you weren't the first one there you were going to wait in line.  I was never the first one there.

I fantasized about removal all afternoon.  But by the end of the day it was so large it was going to take serious excavation to get it out of there.  I could NOT do something so ewww at school with a thousand eyes watching me.  This thing was growing to epic proportions like a tumor and yet I could not take action.  

Imagine you are walking through the park and you find yourself with a tiny pebble in your shoe.  It's irritating, so you'll stop and shake it out, right?  Well imagine you couldn't get it out, but you still had miles left to walk.  Uncomfortable yet?  Well, now imagine that that tiny pebble is GROWING as you walk, so that with each mile, it becomes more and more noticeable, but you are forbidden from doing anything until you have reached your destination.  Feel it bruising the heel of your foot?  Feel yourself limping along to avoid putting any pressure on it?  Are you dying to take your shoes off?  Now you know where I'm coming from.  Only the offensive object  was lodged in my nose, not my shoe.


I got home finally! and locked myself in the restroom where I could be assured of some privacy.  It was touch and go, but I finally got the offensive boulder out of my nostril.  It was the largest thing I'd ever seen.  It looked a bit like a cratered green planet, in miniature.

But the relief!  Ahhhh, I could breathe unobstructed!  I tossed the green monster into the trash can where it hit the bottom with a loud ting.  From that day on, I could no longer stand ANY blockages in my nostrils.  It drives me stark raving mad...and forgive me, but it feels so good when they're gone and the airway is unrestricted.  So yes, I pick my nose.  Discreetly, and only enough to keep it respectable.


Laughing?  So, in this instance, do you forgive the picker her social faux pas?  Vote Yay or Nay below.  (Before you vote, bear in mind I was thoughtful enough to refrain from adding any pictures!)

What socially unacceptable behavior would you like to see tackled in next Crackpot Confessional?

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Bathroom etiquette

To win a copy of Minder by Kate Kaynak, all you have to do is:
  1. Go to Kate's blog at the Disgruntled Bear 
  2. Become a follower and 
  3. Write "I KNOW what you're thinking" in her comments
Contest is open until July 31st.   Enter every day to increase your chances!

Speaking of contests, I seem to have overlooked a couple on my list Monday.  Shame, shame on me.  For a chance to win ARCs of really cool books go to any of these blogs to enter (separate contests, enter them all!):

Carolina Valdez Miller

Now, down to business...

When my kids were small I used the handicapped stall because, let's face it, having kids handicaps you in a unique way. There was more room in there, so I could roll the stroller right in. Often, that's where the baby changing station was anyway so I didn't feel guilty about it when I had kids.  But they're grown now, so I don't really have an excuse.

Nice girl that I am, I try to be understanding, and bathrooms are no exception. When a mom enters with a child doing the Potty Dance, I let them cut in front of me.  Heck, I've done that for adults who seem to be in more desperate need than me! I've let moms with babies take the bigger stall knowing they needed the extra room.

Awhile back I was waiting in line in a ladies room with 6-8 stalls.  You ladies know how long this can take, right?  So when the handicapped stall opened up, I took it.  No one in line behind me appeared to be disabled, infirm, or with baby, so I was safe.  When I exited, there was a lady in line in a wheel chair  giving me the stink eye for using 'her' stall.

So, was I wrong?  What's the etiquette here?  Is this the equivalent of a handicapped parking spot?  Is it strictly off limits?  If there is a disabled person 2 or 3 spots behind me, should I let them cut in line?  If so, how far back in line does this cutting privilege go?

YES, I know I'm over thinking this...but if I'm wrong I want to correct my behavior before any more stink eye is flung my way!

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

WIN A BOOK - It's easy!

During a recent road trip, I devoured Kate Kaynak's Minder.  Here's the blurb from the back:

I KNOW what you're thinking.  

Sixteen year old Maddie Dunn needs to learn how to use her special abilities before somebody else gets hurt.  Ganzfield is a secret training facility full of people like her, but it's not exactly a nurturing place.

Every social interaction carries the threat of mind-control.

A stray thought can burn a building to the ground.

And people's nightmares don't always stay in their own heads.

But it's still better than New Jersey, especially once she meets the man of her dreams...


I loved it.  I'm a sucker for characters with paranormal talents and this one is chock full of them!  

Maddie can read minds, but she also has another power (I won't tell you what it is, but it's the first scene in the book, so you won't have to wait long to figure it out).  You don't wanna mess with her, that's for sure!

Maddie's love interest can move things with his mind (telekinesis...I'm sooo jealous).  Trevor uses his talent during a lunch scene that made me laugh out loud.  

You'll hate Michael for what he does with his powers (though if you consider an adolescent boy with that ability, I'm surprised there weren't more experimenting with it).

Above all, you wanna know what happened in the library. 

Yes, I realize I'm being cryptic because I want you to read this book, k?

I ordered this book online, but then I won a signed copy.  Obviously, I don't need TWO copies, so I'm going to give away the one I ordered (sorry, I covet autographs).  There will also be an additional surprise in the box (haven't decided yet, but you'll get a new copy of MINDER and something else fun).

Winning is going to be EASY PEASY!  All you have to do is:
  1. Go to Kate's blog at the Disgruntled Bear 
  2. Become a follower and 
  3. Write "I KNOW what you're thinking" in her comments
Don't worry, I've cleared the blog hijacking with her already, she's cool with it because she's just as sweet as can be, even if she is from New Jersey (hahaha! Sorry, Kate!  If it helps hubs was born in Hackensack).  

You don't have to be a follower of mine or do anything for ME at all.  The contest is open until July 31st so comment everyday to increase your chances.  While you're there, have a chat with Kate.  I'll pick the winner at random and post it on Monday August 2nd.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010 wonder

I may just be figuring something out that is old news for the rest of you....but I'll share anyway.  I use Google Reader to keep up with everything and I just clicked on "trends" in the top left hand corner of the Google Reader home page.  Here's what it told me:

From your 248 subscriptions, over the last 30 days you read 2,243 items, starred 12 items, shared 0 items, and emailed 0 items.

Whoa.  No wonder I feel overwhelmed sometimes.  It also has some handy dandy graphs and stats, but they're not quite accurate, but it was still fun to browse through.


Okay, so curiosity got the better of me yesterday and I did a search to see if I could find a pic of Brian now.  This was the first result I found.  It's NOT him, but check out the note I circled.

I just thought it was too ironic not to share!  Michael Jackson, the King of soft girly voices.

Ahem.  Back to business.  I'm keeping it short and sweet today folks!  Just a few of the contests I've stumbled across in my travels.  Check them out!  

Come back tomorrow because I'm giving away an extra copy of a book and winning it will be EASY!

Mary McDonald's Indie Reader Appreciation Contest

Jen's Book Give Away

If you have a few minutes, tell me what have you won recently?

Monday, July 19, 2010

Mock Me Monday - The Crush II

One of the greatest advantages of moving from an Iowa town of about 7,000 to Las Vegas (population at the time about 200,000) was, to put it simply: the men.  

Now moving from a town of 250 to 7,000 a few years before was a huge improvement, but this was a whole new level. Guys in my new school dressed up.  Not shirts and ties or anything, (as if!) but they wore what would equate today to office casual.  Dockers or designer jeans, nice button down shirts, sweaters, etc.  Back home?  Faded jeans and tshirts...with the odd flannel here and there. 

I was in girl Heaven.  These guys were better looking, better groomed, more worldly and sophisticated.  My first day of school I was overwhelmed with the variety.  Ahhhhh....I was going to love school!

First week of school (junior year) we were sent to the cafeteria to take some literacy tests.  State law said we had to pass them to graduate.  And since illiteracy was a problem, they started testing junior year to identify problem students to give them the extra help they needed.

Being a product of a good Iowa education, these tests were a breeze. So while waiting for time on oneof the tests to expire, I surveyed the room.  So much eye candy in one room.  I still wasn't used to this visual overload.

Then I saw him.  Across the room.  The most exquisite specimen of manliness I'd ever seen.  Six foot three, (yeah, he was sitting down at the time, but I could tell he was tall and I later confirmed in the hallways). Sandy blonde hair, slightly wavy with perfect highlights which may or may not have come from a bottle.  (Normally I prefer dark haired men, but I made an exception for this specimen.  I couldn't see his eyes from across the room, but I later discovered they were hazel.  


I learned his name was Brian. He was a senior, and his locker wasn't far from mine. I learned half the girls in the school were in love with him.  I learned he came from a family with lotsa money.  He drove a BMW to school, impressive for me at the time, but in Vegas, it wasn't that unusual.

So, I watched. 

He seemed shy.  He didn't talk much to anyone.  I was shy!  He could talk to ME!

I pined.

Oh, to have him stopping by my locker and smiling at me, walking me to class even though it meant he'd be late for his.

I fantasized.

About everything.  Dropping secret admirer notes in his locker.  (I wrote them, just never dropped them!)
About going to a football game with him. 
About ... well, everything.
I knew we'd be perfect together, we just needed a chance to meet and talk.


My girlfriend worked in the Dean's office.

One day, when she was left alone, she pulled his file (completely her idea!)

She gave me his phone number.

It burned in my hand.  I was scared to death, but I had it really bad.  

So I rehearsed.  I wrote out every possible conversation angle. 

One night, after two weeks of procrastination preparation, I took a deep breath and called.

I asked for Brian.

I thought I would pass out waiting for him to pick up the phone.  Sweaty palms, speeding heart, dry mouth.

And happened!  He picked up.



Yes, this big beefy trophy to masculinity had a girl's voice.

I hung up.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry!  

A day or so later, I tried again.  It couldn't have been that bad, surely.  And maybe it was his sister coming to tell me he wasn't home or something.  

So I psyched myself up again.  Dialed the number.  Asked for Brian.

I waited.

And waited.

And that same damn pre-pubescent girl voice picked up the phone.

I just couldn't do it.

I mean NONE of my fantasies involved a girl voice whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

So, I hung up again.

And never called back.

I moved on to Mark.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Question #2

***Was out of town Friday and Saturday, bear with me while I catch up***

My brother used to read my diary all the time.  Mom didn't do anything about it, which drove me crazy. I stopped keeping a diary for years because of it.  I tried again when I moved out of the house but then my husband read it.

It's not that I have anything to hide.  My life isn't THAT interesting.  It's just, I value my privacy more than others.  I found myself censoring entries just in case a strange pair of eyes should come across it. But it's not really an outlet when your censoring yourself, is it?  So, my question to you is:

  Have you let others read your old journals and diaries?

I don't mean sharing a snippet, have you ever handed over the book/notebook/computer file to someone else and let them read anything they wanted?


Come back tomorrow I tell you what happened with one of my high school crushes.  hahaha...that's all I'm going to say!!!

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Question #1

The other day when I talked about my sister reading my letters from 1989 (ack), I was surprised by how many of you still have diaries/journals around the house.  So let's take an informal poll.

How many volumes of old diaries/journals do you have?
How far back do they go?

Me?  I mentioned the other day that I trashed all of mine.  I also trashed all of my stories I wrote as a teen.  Many reasons for this.  I hated the clutter, I was embarrassed by the content, and their very existence seemed to be a magnet for snoopers.  So I've got nothing except what I've been writing this year.  I wish I had some of the stories I wrote when I was in elementary school, but I don't miss any of the other work.  

Friday, July 16, 2010

My Archenemy -- Sorta

When I lived in Vegas, I worked in a law office as receptionist/legal assistant for a couple of attorneys who had just opened their own personal injury practice.  One of our clients was a self-proclaimed author.  He was very particular about his name, and would always, always spell it even though it was a no-brainer (five letters TOTAL for first and last name). He was a bit of arrogant ass if you want to know the truth.  I always wondered whether he was legitimate or not.  Or if he just said he was a writer because he thought it made him cool.

Awhile back, I was preparing a mailing to our clients (a chore where my mind is free to roam). His name came to me out of the blue.  I think it's a testament to how irritating he was that his voice would still reverberate with me 20 years later?

So, I did what any self-respecting curious gal would do.

I Googled him.

(What on earth did I do before computers and Google? )

Funny thing was he had JUST published his first book.  Like only weeks before. I found pictures of his launch party and ummmmmm....only in Vegas is all I have to say.

On the one hand, I'm GLEEFUL that the arse had to wait nearly 20 years to get published.  Serves him right for being such a horse's patootie.  He was exactly the sort to reply to a form rejection with a colorful tirade.

On the other hand, I'd always sorta assumed he was a big fraud and now I can't think that, can I? I've also got  a ticking long as it takes me LESS than 20 years to get published, I'll be happy because I'll have beat him! hahahaha.

So, do you have anyone you're secretly in competition with?  I know, we're not SUPPOSED to compare ourselves with anyone else. Our journey is our own.  I believe all that, I do.  But I know human nature, and I know we do it anyway.  If Joe Schmoe got 2 offers of representation, then I want three.  Or...if Brainy Janey finished her book in 6 months you're aiming for 5 months, 3 weeks and 6 days.

Don't name your nemesis--I don't wanna start anything!  Just tell me if you've used someone else's experience to set your goals.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

How to Kill A Spider - or Other Creepy Crawlies

It's no secret that I hate creepy crawlies.  You wanna see me wig out?  Put a bug within eye-shot. Dictator that I am, I have declared my home a Bug Free Zone.  Unfortunately, some of the critters haven't gotten the memo.  On occasion, they even have the gall to enter the same room I'm in.  And if I spot them, they must die.

Sorry to put it so bluntly, folks.  You are more than welcome to come over and catch the little beasties and toss them outside.

Not me.  If I let them live, they might try to get back in.  And we can't have that.  Oh no we cannot.

So, for you like-minded murderers out there, I present to you my should-be-patented bug killing methodology.  Ready?

1.  First and foremost, verify that subject is indeed an unwanted, uninvited, multi-legged critter.  This may seem like a "no duh" moment, but you'd be surprised how many times I've mistaken a shadow or a fuzzball for a bug.  Remember the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf?  You don't wanna be the Girl Who Screeched Spider.  If it is indeed a bug, proceed to step 2.

2.  Okay, so you have spotted a bug.  Is it alive?  Men are highly amused when you ask them to kill something that's already dead. They will mock you.  You don't need to be mocked.  YOU are the victim here.  This is breaking and entering.  This is stalking.  This is harassment.  It doesn't matter that you are 10,000 times bigger.  This is YOUR home, you're allowed to decide who (and what) can visit.

My favored method of confirming life, is first to observe.  Does it move?  If still unsure, I will blow gently in it's direction.  This usually makes them move...IF they're alive.  Be careful, though!  Sometimes this will make them run off into some nook or cranny where you can't get at them.

If it is a bug, and LIVING, go to step 3.

3.  SCREAM. That's right, if there is someone else in the vicinity, who might reasonably be expected to come to your rescue, open your mouth and scream loud enough for them to come running.  Make sure you get the pitch shrill enough to be irritating and panicked enough to be worrisome to anyone within earshot.

EXCEPTION:  If the bug is ON you when you notice it, skip steps 1 and 2 and start with the screaming immediately.

4.  WAIT.  This is the hard part.  Do NOT take your eye off the invader.  You must be able to point to him the minute the cavalry arrives.

     4A.  If help arrives, look terrified (easy).  And when they dispose of the unwanted guest, be sure to show your enthusiastic appreciation. You cannot overdo the appreciation part...they'll be more likely to come to your rescue next time if you thank them appropriately this time. Proceed to #10.

5.  There's a chance that no one is around to help, or that they just aren't going to come help.  In that case you're going to have to deal with this yourself.  Sigh loudly (just in case someone is slow responding to #3).

6.  I don't squish unless absolutely necessary.  My first option is to find a jar or box or something I can trap the monster in.  Then I plop them into the toilet and flush them away. 

7.  Second murdering method is to spray him with something.  I do have a can of Raid, but I don't carry it around in a holster or anything.  (yet).  Fortunately, there are MANY household substances that are toxic to creepies.  Perfume is GREAT.  So is Windex, Formula 409, hair spray, most air fresheners.  You name it, I've used it.

8. If trapping and poisoning don't work, I'm afraid it's time to get physical.  Squishing is not desirable because sometimes their innards will stain your wall/carpet/whatever.  And who wants to be reminded about the grisly murder they've committed?

When selecting the murder weapon, (shoe, book, etc.) always select an object that belongs to someone ELSE.  You don't want blood and guts on the bottom of YOUR cute pumps, do you?  I recommend using your husband's/boyfriend's shoe.  Serves them right for not being there when you needed them, right?

9.  That brings us to disposal.  All assassins know you MUST dispose of the carcass.  Still, you don't wanna TOUCH it, so I find if you don't have a piece of paper or cardboard to scoop up the remains, then a squirt of hairspray on a wadded up tissue (use plenty!  you don't want to feel him through the layers) will make him 'stick' so you can flush him know just in case you didn't REALLY kill him all the way dead.

10.  Breathe a sign of relief.  But just to be sure, look in your sheets before crawling in. Shake out shoes and towels and anything else that sits unattended for more than a few minutes and is put in close proximity to your personage.

There you go!  Sheer brilliance, eh?