Wednesday, November 30, 2011

It Is Finished

51, 893 words in 30 days.  I completed NaNoWriMo with four hours to spare.  A full report is coming soon. Or possibly later. I've been up for 27 hours, writing for the last 19.  Normal twatting, blog reading and regularly scheduled programming of awesome sausage blog posting will return shortly, but first I must collapse.

Congrats to all fellow winners!

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

A Watched Turkey Doesn't Thaw

The Day of Thanks is fast approaching and I was all prepared to write a post about all the things I'm thankful for, but then I had a panic attack so now you get this.

I have no idea what "this" will be but I'm pretty sure at the end you will either feel drunk, confused or want to bash your head into a wall.

Good luck.

Why exactly did I have a panic attack?  No good reason other than my brain hates me.

And also?

I lost my list.

The list that had every detail of Thanksgiving Day planned to the very second.

11:00 a.m. chop apples
11:04 a.m. wonder if apples are all the same size
11:07 a.m. panic cuz one apple slice is slightly smaller than the others
11:08 a.m. eat the smaller slice, glancing around nervously hoping that no one will notice.

Okay, so it wasn't exactly like that, but it was my guide to the Best Thanksgiving Evah!!

I prepared it over a month of ago.  Had my menu planned.  My shopping list ready, items listed by category and order of navigation through grocery store.  There was my "A" shopping list and my "B" shopping list.  And my recipes and the order of cooking each dish.  And for how long and in which pan the dish would be cooked.  And in which pan the dish would be served.

On any given day there are 27 dishes in my sink, 14 pairs of shoes scattered throughout the house, bras hanging from the banister and the ceiling fan and the chandeliers, laundry ev-ery-where, but when it comes to a party? I organize the shit out of it.  There is a plan.  A carefully constructed plan and NO ONE CAN DEVIATE FROM IT!

But then I lost the f*cking list and all hell broke lose in my mind.

Also?  For the last day or so I've been all, "hey I should thaw the turkey. i think it's time to start thawing the turkey. look! the turkey's frozen, I'm going to thaw it."  But then?  I just didn't.

So on top of my brain telling me I was a total f*ck up who should just do everyone a favor and throw herself over the balcony, the f*cking turkey is still f*cking frozen.  Like a lot.

You probably expect that that literally sent me over the edge of a cliff, but honestly?  The same thing happened last year and everything was fiiiiiine. 

You know what else happened last year?  I got to experience the joy of yanking a turkey's neck out its ass.

I'm sure you're all saying yeah yeah, we all do that.  big deal.

Yes, but as you were yanking and pulling and twisting and yanking and turning because the turkey's rectal cavity or chest cavity or whatever cavity was still kinda frozen making the neck stuck to the roof of said cavity, think that just maybe you weren't yanking on the turkey's neck, but'm not really sure how to say this so I'm just going to say it really fast  IfeltlikeIwastuggingontheturkey'swiener.  Honestly you guys, I don't know what's more traumatic, yanking a turkey's neck out its ass or a turkey that has a 12 inch wiener.

The husband stood by providing moral support while I screamed "I FEEL LIKE I'M TUGGING ON HIS WIENER!  I FEEL LIKE I'M TUGGING ON HIS WIENER!" and did this weird hoppy squirmy dance thing and my hand literally started to freeze because I WOULD NOT let go of the wiener.  I mean neck.  When I finally pulled it free I wanted to do a victory dance, cry, and throw up all at the same time.

It was not the best of times ya'll.  And guess what?  I'm only hours from doing that again.  Only this time, the husband won't be there.  Which means, TWITTER, that when I started twatting about 12 inch frozen turkey wieners in a slightly hysterical tone, you better f*cking be there.

I apologize if you are offended by the obsessive use of the f*ck word in this post, but before you judge me, you try spending five minutes inside my brain in the throes of a panic attack and tell me if "shuckydarn" will cut it.  I assure you, it won't.

I did manage to find my list tonight and have spent the last three hours forcing my heart to return to a normal steady beat.  The tablecloth and napkins have been ironed.  The table has been set.  The fridge is organized.  The baking dishes and pots are arranged in order of use, the serving plates have been assigned, the kitchen is ready for a flurry of cooking activity and the turkey. is still. frozen.

What's your favorite Thanksgiving dish?  Mine's a bottle of Xanax and a glass of wine.  Gobble Gobble!


Monday, November 21, 2011

Failure is Definitely An Option

I know I’m a little late to the party announcing this (as my friend Just Jennifer pointed out), but I’m doing NaNoWriMo.  I’m sure you are all well aware of what this is by now, but in case this is your first time hearing about it – hello, how was life under that rock? – NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month.  It’s where a bunch of us completely deranged, over-caffeinated, sleep-deprived individuals think it’d be a good idea to write a novel in one month.

50,000 words to be exact.  During the month of November.

For those that didn't catch it the first time, that's 50,000 words in thirty days.  Well technically, it’s 30 days, but really it’s more like 29 due to the stuff-your-face-full-of-turkey-until-you-pass-out day, that we in the States refer to as Thanksgiving.  Honestly, who has time to write on Thanksgiving?

Speaking of turkey.  Does anyone actually eat it?  I shove my face so full of mashed potatoes, creamed corn, green bean casserole, buttery rolls – OMG THE ROLLS! – that by the time I get to the turkey I’m all “meh.”

I suspect I’m not the only one who does this.  In fact, I know I’m not, as many people have told me they do the same.  Which means the turkey is more of a decoration, a garnish, much like parsley or those edible flowers which are totally safe to eat but no one actually does.

I’m sure all the turkeys would be delighted to know, right before their heads are lopped off and shoved up their asses for some poor unsuspecting girl, *ahem* me, to retrieve at a later date, that they are giving up their lives to be Table Art.

I believe I have digressed.

I blame NaNoWriMo.

When you’re under the gun to write 50,000 words in a month, you tend to ramble.  It’s diarrhea of the keyboard at its finest.  You’re likely to type any and every word that pops into your semi-lucid mind, not caring whether it makes one iota of sense, advances the story line, or more than likely, digs you deeper into a shit-storm of car chases and alien robots and flame-throwing monkeys and OH. MAH. GAH. WHAT THE HELL DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH TWO PEOPLE WHO ARE INCAPBABLE OF HAVING A CONVERSATION TO TELL EACH OTHER THAT THEY REALLY DO LOVE EACH OTHER! NO REALLY!  THEY DO!

I suppose it’s a good thing my main characters are completely and utterly inept of saying how they really feel or I’d have a 200 word story and fail miserably at my first NaNoWriMo attempt.

(Has anyone counted the superfluous words in the blog post?  We’re 420+ words in and I’d wager that  more than 200 are completely and totally, absolutely without a doubt, unnecessary.  Much like this parenthetical statement.  Wow, if this were part of NaNoWriMo I’d be kicking ass.)

When I boarded the train to Crazy Town, I, like many NoNoWriMo-ers, was afraid I’d never reach 50,000.  I got off to a ridiculous start, writing all through the night, pausing for lunch, writing two more hours and collapsing some time after the 9,000 word mark.  That was all on November 1st.

According to the NaNoWriMo stat counter I was on track to finish in, like, six days.  But I knew better.  I was headed for burn-out.  For staring out the window, and wearing a track in my carpet (if I had carpet) as I lapped the couch, and lighting candles and drinking coffee and then tea and then hey-let’s-try-coffee-again-surely-this-time-it-will-inspire-me.

I plowed through the writer’s block, my fingers banging away at the keys despite having no idea what to write.  It wasn’t that I didn’t know what the next scene was going to be, or the one after that, and after that.  It was that I couldn’t write it.  I had the whole darn story written in my head but when it came to transferring those words onto the screen? Fuhgetaboutit. 

To be totally clichĂ©, pulling the story from my characters has been, at times, like pulling teeth.  At one point, the dialogue I was writing so was terrible I said to the husband, “If I overheard these two people having this conversation I’d punch them both in the face.”

I’ve literally thrown crap on the screen to keep this story moving.  If Beverly Diehl is reading this, she is cringing at my incorrect use of “literally,” but I assure you Beverly, there is actual crap on the screen.  It’s just in the form of poorly constructed sentences and throat-punching inducing dialogue.

I could go on and on about this but I’m sure you all have more interesting things to do like flossing your teeth and cleaning the crumbs from between your couch cushions.  I wrote this post so I have it on record that I am participating in NaNoWriMo.  There’s no backing out now.  Public humiliation is a powerful tool to keep one motivated- I believe it was @AFoggyMama who told me that in the days before NaNoWriMO as we geared up for the What-The-Hell-Were-We-Thinking event.

I suggest you all pre-order your very own copy of my NaNoWriMo novel, which is currently titled 50,000 Words of Unadulterated Garbage.  (That's my title, don't you even think about stealing it.)  Crap like this only comes around once in a lifetime and you don’t want to be left out on the cold bleary streets of Chicago, darkness rapidly approaching with nary a dime to your name.  You best start looking for a bench to spend the night, hopefully one with a roof. And overhead light.  You bend your head and trudge forward against the unrelenting wind.  Yeah, light would be good.  Although likely to prevent you from getting a good night’s sleep, hopefully it will discourage the rapists and thieves.  A good night’s sleep.  Your sardonic laugh is drowned out by the howling wind.  You’re spending the night on the streets of Chicago, like a good night’s sleep is actually a possi…

The hell?  Chicago? My main character’s supposed to be in New York.  When the freak did she get to Chicago?  I didn’t even know she bought a plane ticket!!!

So yeah.  That’s how NaNoWriMo’s going.  More than 35,000 words in and only nine days to finish, my fear now is that I will reach 50,000 words and my MC’s will still be giving each other one-word answers and sucking down coffee to swallow away the words they really want to say.

Are you participating in NaNoWriMo?  How’s it going?

Friday, November 18, 2011

I Did Me Some Learnin

Since I quit my job last month to be a full time writer I've learned many things about myself and life in general.  And what better way to share those things than to link up with Rach at Life Ever Since for Life Lessons!

Let's get started, shall we?

I have learned:

1. That if I don't have to get up and go somewhere every morning I can go days without showering.

2. Just because I have time to do laundry, doesn't mean I will.

3. I can eat an obscene amount of Oreos in one sitting.

4. Without real things to worry about, simple tasks like brushing my teeth seem very overwhelming.

5. Although most of my day consists of going from the bed to the couch to the coffee maker and back to couch, I manage to make a YUGE mess.

6. We do not, in fact, have cleaning fairies who make my mess disappear when I'm not looking. (this lesson was especially heartbreaking to learn.)

7. I have no shame in shuffling down my street at 3 pm in my pajamas to take my dogs out to pee.

8. If I have one meeting a week, I whine about how busy I am.

9. Valerie, from 90210, is a total bitch.

10. Lingo is the worst game show ever invented.

11.  We should totally bring back the $25,000 Pyramid.

12. Pants without an elastic waistband should be illegal.

13. Bras are overrated.

14. The only true worry I have is whether Amy will stay with her fiancĂ© or return to the love of her life in my current WIP. 

15. Life. Is. Good.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

The Tragedy of All Tragedies

Many of you probably know that I was the victim of a very terrible tragedy.  My blog was recently infected with a virus.

Well technically, my blog wasn't.  But a blog I had linked on my sidebar was flagged for malware and I was guilty by association.


I was alerted to this very terrible thing by @chemgirljaime and then @jenannhall and I immediately called the husband and had a nervous breakdown.

He was all, "don't worry, it'll be fine.  let's go to lunch."


He picked me up and drove us to a very fine dining establishment called Ruby Tuesday's and I proceeded to have to lose my shit the entire way.

Me: I'm supposed to find Webmaster Tools.  Webmaster Tools.  Where is it??  Great!  I don't have it!  My blog will be infected FOREVER!!!

We were shown to our table and the husband was all, "let's have a nice lunch and worry about it later.  i'm sure we can fix it."

Me: Nooooooooooo.  We have to fix it NOOOOOOOOOOW.  Find Webmaster Tools.

The husband (taking my phone): here it is.

Me: Gimme!

I followed the steps to find out if I was diagnosed with malware.  And guess what? I wasn't.

Happy day, right?  WRONG!  Google chrome was still telling my followers that I was infected.

Me: What am I going to do!!!  What if I'm infected forever?  I will lose all my followers!  I'll have to start blogging all over again.  No one will ever trust me ever again!  My life will be over!  OVER!

The husband: I'm sure we'll fix it.  Don't worry about things that haven't happened yet.

Me: You say that now, but what if the virus travels to your computer?  To your files?  Last night I backed up my blog to the hard drive.  WHAT IF THE WHOLE HARD DRIVE IS INFECTED?!! AAAAAAA!!!

The husband: I'll worry about that when, if, that happens.  And then I'll deal with it.

Me: You won't be so calm when all your stuff is gone.  FOR-EV-ER!!!!

The husband:  You see this?  How you're acting and how I'm acting?  This is the perfect example of two ways to deal with a potentially bad situation.  You can freak out before you really know anything has happened, or you can remain calm until you know the entire situation.


The husband: Put your phone away and let's try to enjoy lunch.

Me: We're going to end up homeless!!

The husband: Eat your salad.

Me: We'll be digging through dumpsters for food!!

The husband: Eat your salad.


The husband: Eat your...

Me: Fine.

For those of you who like visuals, here's what "enjoying our lunch" looked like.

We then proceeded to have a "discussion" about mayonnaise.  The husband likes to dip his french fries in it, which makes me want to vomit all over the place.

Me: Mayonnaise is a spread, not a dip.

The husband: It's both.

Me: No, ketchup is both.

The husband: Nope, you're wrong again.

Me: Being wrong again implies I was wrong a first time.  Which I wasn't. I'm never wrong.

The husband: Nope.  Wrong again.


The husband: Wow, you really know how to shut down a conversation, don't you?


This went on for quite some time.  We got home and the husband calmly backed up his files and then ran away from me.

I turned to the twitter.


Twats: We are here to help!

And they were.  Not one, not two, not just three of them.  But many amazing twats walked me through this terrible tragedy.   I would no doubt be eating my hair and rocking myself in the corner right now if it weren't for them so I'd just like to talk a moment and acknowledge each one of them.

@chemgirljaime, @jenannhall, @mommy2cents, @blogginglily, @mytimeasmom, @supermomboots, @JessCJared, @troublesometots, @SingleishMom, @analogyqueen, @Thypolar, @onechunkymama, @nearnormalcy, @notbagels

I think that's everyone, but if I missed someone please feel free to yell at me.

As for the rest of you, follow these twats!  They are amazing and are there for you in times of tragedy.  And what can be more tragic than an infected blog?  Absolutely nothing.

Although this blog is one of sarcasm and should not be taken seriously AT ALL, I would like to point out, especially since this is the season of thanks, that I am EXTREMELY BLESSED and there are very real tragedies in this world happening to people every day, and if this is the worst thing that ever happens to me, I will consider myself a very fortunate girl.

Oh, and if anyone is wondering, all I had to do was remove the link that had been flagged with malware from my blog and the problem was solved. 

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Just Plain Awesome

Twitter is a strange, but fabulous place.  Sometimes you form a rock band - #VaginaShenanigans ! - sometimes you have very stimulating conversations about Disney princesses - love you Belle - and sometimes you challenge a fellow twat to a guest post using a combination of the most exciting words in the English language - which is exactly what happened with the lovely, the talented, the awesome Just Jennifer.

I recently challenged her to write a guest post for me including the words vagina, bacon and legwarmers.  I received regular updates from her via the twatter while she was writing it, and at one point she said she removed part of the vagina and I was all, what??!!! you removed part of your vagina!  that's a little drastic, don't you think?  I mean, I appreciate your commitment to guest posting, but that's really not necessary.

Turns out, she only removed words about vagina, not her actual vagina.

So without further ado, let's welcome Just Jennifer.  Please show her some love.  I've put her through a lot.
(Since she wrote this in a conversational way, I've added commentary in blue).

Hello Sarcasm Goddess fans!  I’m a fan too.  Love that lady!  My blog is called Just Jennifer, but SG likes to call me Just Plain Awesome and I kind of love it.

Although I’m not sure why she thinks I’m Just Plain Awesome.  (Cuz you are, duh.)  Yes, she and I have lots of things in common.  We’re both only children, she’s Italian and I’m ¼ Italian, our husbands have the same name and we’ve never had the chicken pox (no lollipops, please).  But I’m just a 37 year old married mom.  Sure, I can be funny sometimes, but nothing like The Sarcasm Goddess.  And while I like to think I’m a decent writer, SG is a REAL writer.

Anyway!  I’ll take it.  I do love praise.

Awhile ago on Twitter SG challenged me to write her a guest post using 3 words: vagina, bacon and legwarmers.

There, I just used them.  That’s it for me.  Thank you very much for reading.

* * * * *

Uh oh.  I think I hear SG having a panic attack.

Yeah, I just threw my computer, I was so pissed.

It’s OK, it’s OK, I’ll write more!

Oops.  Is this why people say I'm dramatic?  Whatever. You owe me a computer.

So when I first discovered For the Love of Writing there was a lot of vagina talk.  At first I was all, seriously?  Vaginas?  Really not a fan of the word.

I mean, check this out:
“The word ‘vagina’ is a Latin word meaning ‘a sheath or scabbard‘, a scabbard into which one might slide and sheath a sword. The ‘sword’ in the case of the anatomic vagina was the penis. Love and war, it would seem, have been connected in the minds of people for millennia.”


Yeah, nice.  I am officially traumatized.  No one is sticking a sword in my vagina!

But hey, it’s cool.  I mean I have a vagina (or a puddy or vajayjay like we tend to say around here).  And I’ve used it…for…you know…things.  Oh!  Like having babies.  I’ve popped 2 babies out of mine and lived to tell the tale!

The next post I saw here was all about bacon.  Well, what’s not to love about bacon?  Except for that pesky little artery-clogging detail.  My children like bacon so much they have dubbed themselves “baconaholics”.  Crazy Aunt SG would be so proud!

My heart is swelling with pride.  Or maybe my arteries are just clogged.  Seriously, though, love your little baconaholics!

Bacon really does make everything better.

Don’t argue!  It does.  I can’t say anything bad about bacon.  Except, again, that it’s really not good for you.  I’d venture to add that I actually like turkey bacon, but I’m afraid SG would come through the screen and slap me.

My last assigned topic is legwarmers.  Why have I seen SG tweeting about legwarmers lately?

Uh, cuz they're awesome sausage.

I think it was @SarcasmGoddess @chicktuition and @therobotmommy I saw tweeting about legwarmers one lovely evening.  And I think the conversation turned to bacon and vaginas…..which is probably how I got this guest post assignment.

It’s becoming so clear now.

I grew up in the ‘80s so I know about legwarmers.  They, um, warm the legs.  Yeah, and they are mostly worn by dancers and those doing aerobics.  Neither of which was me.

I’m picturing Olivia Newton John in the “Let’s Get Physical” video.

Loved that video!  So stylish!

Ah videos.  Another ‘80s phenomenon.  Legwarmers and music videos go together!

You know what doesn’t go together?  Legwarmers and the year 2011.

I’m no fashionista (shared that!), but why, why, WHY must these things come back around?  I can handle the leggings and chunky bracelets.  But I’ve never understood the reason for legwarmers and therefore can’t see why they’re making a comeback.  Please feel free to enlighten me.

You know what?  I'm not sure why they're making a comeback either, Just Jennifer.  But, I think you should find out for us.  For your next challenge, you must wear legwarmers for one week, go to five different places and write about your experience.

Alrighty then!  I feel I have successfully completed my task.

Mrs. Goddess?  Do I get an A+?

You, my dear, get an A+ 100 smiley face gold star.  I am so happy to have your Just Plain Awesomeness on my blog.  We all eagerly await your report from your next assignment.

Now everyone go check out Just Jennifer's blog and continue to tell her how awesome she is!  And don't forget to participate in her weekly linky Terrific, Grateful, Important Friday.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

The Truth About Zombies

Is there any hotter topic right now than zombies?  I can barely check the twatter, read a blog post or walk down the street without hearing about the zombie apocalypse.  We all know it’s coming.  And we all know it’s going to be bad.  Very bad.

The best way to prepare for the zombie apocalypse is to stock up on guns and flamethrowers.  And ice.  I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna be hella pissed if chaos ensues and blood and brains are everywhere and I can’t get a cold drink.  Everyone knows you can’t fight zombies with a parched pallet, and tepid water just will not do.

Perhaps the absolute most important thing you can do to prepare for the zombie apocalypse is to blog about it.  Obviously.  Blogging is the answer to everything.  Which is why my friend Danielle at MotherhoodTruth  created Zombie Tuesday.    Because we all know when this shit goes down, it’s starting on a Tuesday.

This is first time I’m linking up with Danielle, because honestly?  I’m not a zombie expert.

Shhh.  Don’t tell anyone.  It’s kind of embarrassing.

The only thing I do know is that zombies have big asses, an annoying voice and view marriage as a giant publicity stunt.

Oh wait.  That’s Kim Kardashian.  It’s amazing how easily I get the two confused.  (No disrespect to zombies, of course.)

Perhaps I should do some research.  Be back in a sec…

Okay, so according to the Google these are some things you should know about zombies and the impending apocalypse:
  • Zombies want to eat you
  • Stay in densely populated areas
  • Stock up on food
  • Sacrifice your friends whenever possible
  • Remove a zombie's head from it's body to destroy it
Now this is all very well and good.  But I was shocked that nowhere in my researching did I find reference to the most very dangerous thing about zombies.  I suspect it is because of the great Fear of Retribution should one merely utter their most despicable sin.  But have no fear, Sarcasm Goddess is here!

Truthfully, though?  You should have fear.  Lots of it.

Because the truth is, zombies are all around you.  There is probably a zombie in your home.  Yep.  They can move right in without you even knowing it.  The scariest part is you won’t even recognize it as a zombie.  In fact, it will look a lot like you - if the two of you stand in front of a mirror, you won't even know who's who - and it will sound just like you.

That’s right, no low moaning braaaaiiiiins.

In fact, its favorite thing to moan is Orrrrrrrreooooos.

And you’ll be like, “No zombie, I just had 37 Oreos.  I cannot eat any more.”

And they’ll be like, “Moooooorrreee.”

You’ll try to ignore it.  I’m going to do laundry, you decide.  But the zombie, who sounds so much like you it’s eerie, suggests that you sit on the couch.  Maybe check the twitter.  For just a minute or two.  Or possibly an hour.  Or twelve.

And you’re like, “No zombie, I must do the laundry.”

And the zombie’s like, “Twiiiiiiiittterrrr.”

And so you give in.

Five minutes hours later, you decide you should change out of your pajamas and put some real clothes on. Maybe even some makeup.  You look at the zombie and suggest that maybe she should also put on some real clothes and makeup.

But the zombie tells you no.

You try to argue that’s is three in the afternoon, but she's all, “pajaaaaaaaaaamaaaaaas.”

You agree to stay in your pajamas but tell the zombie you’re at least going to clean the house.

“Noooooooo,” she says.

“But it's November 8th and the Halloween decorations are still up,” you argue.

Somehow the zombie convinces you to NOT put away the Halloween decorations and eat a pound of bacon instead, some of which was left on the counter over-night.  You decide that it’s probably not a good idea to eat it.  Because you are smart.

But the zombie tries to tell you to eat it and you’re like, “Ever heard of food poisoning?”



And so you eat some.  But just a little.  And then you consult the internets to see how long you have until your ass explodes from dysentery or e coli or something equally sexy.

The zombie, in that voice that sounds just like yours, tries to convince you it’s not a big deal.  Tries to get you to eat more until you finally muster up the courage to throw it away, run from the room and hide under the covers…Which is exactly where the zombie wanted you to end up.

“Take a naaaaaaaaaap.  Watch a moooooovie.  Grocery shopping?  Who caaaaarrrres.”

Do you see how dangerous the zombie is?  Before you realize it your house is a mess, you’re smelling your dirty laundry to find something semi-clean to wear, your ass has grown six sizes from Oreo consumption and you’re digging through the trash for rotten bacon.

Wait, what?  Okay maybe not that last one. 

But the rest?  Completely true.  Zombies make you lazy.  Zombies make you fat.  Zombies make you smelly.  Zombies make you completely, totally, utterly unproductive.

The truth is, the zombie apocalypse has already started.

So, how many of you have a zombie living in your house?

Thursday, November 3, 2011

And Then!... I Don't Know What Happens Next. I Have Writer's Block.

Have you guys met my friend Elise aka @NoBagels?  She blogs at Things That Are Not Bagels.  She's hilarious, and I suspect a spy, even though she claims otherwise, because her name is not really Elise.  Anyway, if you don't know her you should.  Because she saved my life once.

True story.  I was about to be eaten my an alligator and she twatted me, which is to say she sent me a tweet.  How exactly did that save my life?  Well you see I was dreaming about being eaten my an alligator.  Now you may argue she didn't save my life because it was only a dream.  But not so.  See alligators are just like Freddy Krueger.  If they kill you in your sleep, they kill you in real life.  This is basic science.

She's also the smartest person in the history of persons.

Why?  Well...

I sent a tweet to @jenannhall of Just Jennifer saying I had writer's block and wondered if she had any advice.  She responded by asking whether I'd had anything remotely healthy in the last several days.  I struggled to make the connection, but she's a mom and they worry about things like that.

Well @notbagels jumped in and said that in order to cure writer's block I should do the following:

1. Listen to 4 "story" country songs
2. Write 1500 words about one of them
3. Drink wine
4. Return to work

I was dubious about the 1500 words, because HELLO I can't even manage to write one, but she did save my life, so I figured she knew what she was talking about.  So I took her advice.  However, I combined steps one and three.  I figure the sooner wine is involved (no matter what the situation) the better.

The first song I listened to was You and Tequila Make Me Crazy by Kenny Chesney featuring Grace Potter.

At first I was super confused.  I was all, "the husband?  I didn't know you wrote songs."

You want to know what phrase, besides "I love you" the husband says to me most often?

"You drive me crazy."

Aww, thanks honey.  You make me crazy too.

While I found this song to be super sweet - it was a love song from the husband to me, after all - it wasn't exactly a "story" song as @notbagels instructed.

I knew just the song I needed: Don't Take the Girl by Tim McGraw.

Not only is it a good story song, it is the song that made people think I was a lesbian.

Perhaps I should explain.

Which I will do.

But first let's listen to the song.

Johhny's daddy was taking him fishing
When he was eight years old
A little girl came through the front gate
holding a fishing pole.

His dad looked down and smiled
said we can't leave her behind
Son I know you don't want her to go
But some day you'll change your mind

No Dad!  Don't do it!  Leave her behind!  Trust me on this.  This is only going to end badly.

And Johnny said
Take Jimmy Johnson

The racecar driver? Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's not going to go, but nice try Johnny.

Take Tommy Thompson

Yes! Great idea Johnny.  Take him.  Even though he's a little jerk who puts frogs in Mrs. Gillicutty's desk drawer.

Take my best friend Bo.

He's not that great of a friend Johnny, but yes!  Take him!  Anyone's better than that blonde haired blue eyed Sally with the tough exterior and the sweet heart.  She's only eight but wow can she cook a mean apple pie.  And her skin is so soft.  Not that you should be touching her.  You're eight years old, Johnny.  For crying out loud child, get your act together.

I wanted to say " get your shit together" but it seems wrong, somehow, to curse at an eight year old.  Good call, me.

Take anybody that you want, as long as she don't go.
Take any boy in the world, Daddy please...
Don't take the girl

If only your father had listened to you Johnny.
You know that saying, father knows best?
Not true, Johnny.  Not true.

Same old boy, same sweet girl
Ten years down the road
He held her tight and kissed her lips
in front of the picture show

Stranger came and pulled a gun
Grabbed her by the arm
Said if you do what I tell you to
There won't be any harm

Run Johnny run!  Leave the bitch behind!

And Johnny said,
Take my money, take my wallet
Take my credit card

Really Johnny?  Is she worth that twenty-seven fifty you have in your wallet?  I highly doubt it.

Here's the watch that my Grandpa gave me.

No Johnny!  Not the watch! Your Grandpa gave it to your Grandma when he left to fight the Nazi's.  It was his promise to her that he'd come back.  She'd lay awake at night listening to the tick of the hands.  As long as it ticked, she knew his heart was still beating.

Keep the watch Johnny!  Give up the girl!

Here's the key to my car.
Mister give it a whirl, but please...
don't take the girl

Seriously?  It's a 1957 corvette.  You don't know it now, but one day that will be a classic.  Honestly, have you seen the red leather interior?  Men today would give up their left testicle for that car and you're willing to give it up for some broad with a nice rack?

Priorities Johnny!

Same old boy, same sweet girl
Five years down the road
There's going to be a little one
And she says it's time to go.

Way to knock her up there, champ.

Doctor says the baby's fine
But you'll have to leave
Cause his momma's fading fast

What kind of jerk doctor doesn't let you stay to say goodbye?  She's the love of his life, doctor!

Sheesh.  Some people just don't understand love.

And Johnny hit his knees and then he prayed
Take the very breath you gave me
Take the heart from my chest
I'll gladly take her place if you let me
Make this my last request
Take me out of this world
God please...
Don't take the girl.

Great.  Are you happy Johnny?  I'm freaking crying over here.  Tears.  Streaming down my face.  You're lucky I'm not wearing mascara.

Johnny's daddy was taking him fishing
When he was eight years old.

Yeah yeah.  We know how that ends.  Thanks, Johnny's dad.  Thanks a whole freaking lot.

So why did this story make people think I was a lesbian?

Well in college, my friend A and I were listening to it while lying in her small twin bed and when the song was over we turned and just looked at each other.  We were devastated!  But it was at that moment one of her hallmates came in.  To see us gazing at each other.  She slowly backed out of the room.

Rumors started to swirl after that.

But we showed them!  We dragged every girl into my friend's dorm room and made them listen to this song.  There were tears everywhere.

College was fun.

I'm not sure if I've reached 1500 words yet, but I'm definitely drunk.  And sorta sad... which is exactly the emotion of my main character in my current work in progress.

Off to go write!

Thanks Elise aka @notbagels.  You've saved me again!

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Terror Has A New Face

See this face?
This is the face of evil.

Do not let the wide eyes fool you into believing he’s innocent.  And the gray beard does not mean he is old and feeble.

Quite the contrary.  He is agile and spry.  And quite the conniving little bastard. 

I mean that in the nicest was possible, even though I shouldn’t since the little shit is constantly plotting the demise of me and the husband.

The Guinness Book of World Records may call the honey badger the most fearless animal in all the animal kingdom, but that’s only because they haven’t met The Cody.

Talk about not giving a shit.

Oh, you’re lying on the couch trying to watch a movie?  The Cody doesn’t give a shit.  He’s going to jump directly on your face.

Oh, you just put a fresh pillow case on your pillow?  The Cody doesn’t give a shit.  He’s going to sit his ass directly where your eye will be when you snuggle down into your sheets.  It’s called pink eye, bitch!

Not convinced he’s that evil?

Look what he did to the husband awhile back.

And that was when The Cody was excited to see him.

Recently, The Cody managed to neutralize both the husband and me in a matter of seconds.  We were taking him and my other dog, Sweet Riley out for a walk – that’s right, The Cody doesn’t give a shit about biting the hand that feeds him and takes him out to pee.  But then, if you had the power to obliterate someone four to seven times your body weight by simply walking, would you give a shit?  Probably not.

The sun was shining, but there was a breeze, finally making the temperature cooler than stroke inducing.  The birds were chirping, the butterflies were dancing, the tree branches swayed happily, and a whole bunch of other stuff that sounds lovely but didn’t actually happen.

We had gotten about three steps from our door and were standing in the middle of the road.  The husband was holding the dogs, Sweet Riley in his left hand, The Cody in his right.  I was standing on the husband’s right side.  The Cody had lagged behind us to pee on an exposed electrical wire, or something.

Suddenly he comes dashing forward, flying in front of us.

I immediately panic.  Leash burn.  We have those retractable leashes, and if you’ve ever had any experience with one of those slicing across your skin while the animal at the other end of the leash runs at breakneck speed, you know it hurts like a mother.

In college, the leash sliced across the back of my knee – you know, where your leg bends? – and I vowed NEVER AGAIN! would I fall victim to The Leash.

So The Cody is flying forward, running diagonally which means the leash is in direct position rip into my outer thigh.  I immediately drop down, squatting in the middle of the road.  The husband does the same seconds later, which I assume is because he too fears The Leash.

The Cody decides his reign of terror is not yet complete and decides to dart forward again, causing the husband’s arm to lurch forward.  His arms are above my head and when his arm jerks so does his hand (duh) holding the leash, causing it to smack directly into my face, right above the eye.

I shoot up, my hand flying to my eye, which I’m confident has been split open.  I’m waiting for warm blood to start running between my fingers. 

I start toward the house.  “Are you okay?” the husband calls out.

“No!  I got hit in the face!”

Now, had I not been in the throes of my own pain, I might have heard the agony in the husband’s voice.  I might have turned around and seen him bent over, hobbling toward the house.

I go inside and look in the mirror. Shockingly there is no cut, no blood, no shattered bone.  I glance out of the corner of my eye and I swear I see a look of disappointment flash across The Cody’s face before returning to its normal “who me?” expression.

“Do you know what happened?” the husband asked, back inside the house too.

“Uh, yeah. I got hit in the face with the leash.”

“Yeah, but do you know why?”

I looked at The Cody.  “Because that dog is a jerk and is trying to kill me.”

As it turns out, The Cody’s plan was even more devious that I thought.  You see, as I fell to me knees trying to escape The Leash, my arm swung backward – as The Cody knew it would do – and made direct contact with the husband’s balls.  Which was why he had also dropped to his knees.

So there the two of us were, bent over in the middle of the street with looks of agony on our faces.  (And I wonder why my neighbors think we’re strange.)

Do you believe me now?  The Cody is pure evil.  The husband and I have no doubt that if we ever became incapacitated and are lying helplessly on the floor of our house, The Cody wouldn’t wait for us to die before ripping the flesh from our skin, helping himself to a tasty little snack.

 Who me?

Please note that I love my pups very very much, like an insane amount -yes even evil Cody - so please refrain from posting any animal hating comments...or I will have The Cody cut you with his talons.  Just kidding.  Kind of.