Wednesday, February 29, 2012

It's Like the Oscars, But Better

Guess what?  Somebody likes me.  That someone happens to be Mommy2Cents.  Have you read her post about the night she had a dream her husband cheated on her and what followed?  You should.  Seriously.

This hilarious lady has given me an award.  Wooty woot woot!

As usual, awards come with rules, so here they are:

~ Share 7 things about yourself;
~ Pass the award along to 15 bloggers you love reading;
~ Contact your cho­sen bloggers to let them know about the award!

1. If I could have a dinner party with three famous people, those people would be Emma Stone, Meryl Streep and Oprah. 

I pick Emma because I have a crazy stupid obsession with her; Meryl because she is beautiful and one of the most – if not the most- talented actresses of all time; Oprah because I think she’s really inspiring and I could learn a lot from her.

I think I’d also add Lindsay Lohan cuz that girl needs a good hug from someone who isn’t crazy.  Which is why I’d have the husband hug her because we all know I’m not exactly the picture of sanity.

Oh!  And I’d have to invite Joan Rivers too.  That bitch be crazy!  She is so totally out of control and I love it.

So, I guess if I had a dinner party would three famous people, it’d actually be five.  Meh.  Numbers.

2. Why does Chelsea Handler always look so tired?  Also, what is up with the current Bachelor?  He looks the like Captain of the Douche Squad.

3. I went to the grocery store last night and the contents of my cart were: ice cream, hot dogs, oreos, potato salad, Ruffles and French Onion dip.  I have never been more ashamed in my life. 

4. I ordered a pizza the other night.  I went to pick it up, handed over my credit card, signed the receipt and headed for the door.  Without my pizza.

5. I have an aversion to ketchup. I mean, I like it.  Just in moderation. This stems from a friend I had when I was five.  She squirted a bunch of it on the picnic table bench in my back yard.  After rubbing it into the wood, she licked it.  Did you guys catch that? She licked ketchup off a dirty, dried-fingerpaint-and-bird-poop picnic table bench. *Vomit*

I think I’ve told this story before.

6.  I think there’s a man in the toilet who talks to me.  But only when I flush.  I know that sounds totally crazy but instead of judging me maybe you should go rescue him.  I think he’s probably drowning.

7.

And this is why we're soulmates.
Also, you should probably expect these for awhile.  I can't get enough of them.

And now, possibly the most exciting part about getting an award - passing it on!  I know it's not possible for you guys to check out all of these bloggers (who will drink all that wine while you do?) but I hope you check out at least one, because these people are the bomb blog diggity.

Write, Rinse, Repeat
Multitasking Mumma
Jen Has A Pen
Just A Lil Blog
Dads Who Change Diapers
Coffee Lovin' Mom
Pish Posh
blogdramedy
TheBLogMuSe
Fox in the City
the dabels divulge
Rubber Chicken Madness
bitches in the burbs
motherhood: truth
Just Jennifer
Chicktuition

It's possible I gave this award to sixteen people.  Meh. I think I've already expressed how I feel about numbers.

Don't forget to check out my poll on the sidebar!

Word of the Day
matriculate: to enroll in a college or university as a candidate for a degree.   

Quote of the Day
And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise.  The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.  ~Sylvia Plath  

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

You Googled What? - Anal Probe Edition

It's time for another installment of Things People Googled That Led Them to My Blog.

Warning: You might need wine after this.  Or brain bleach.  Probably Both.

Anal Probe
I would ask why this was googled, but I probably don't want to know.

Loser
Yeah well, you're rubber and whatever you say bounces...I'm glue and you...no, wait...You're glue...oh what-ever! YOU'RE the loser.

I'm Gonna Be Somebody Someday
I hope it's not a loser who gets an anal probe.

All Things Crappy
I think that's what happens after you get an anal probe.

Before I die I want to sarcasm
Listen, we all WANT to sarcasm, but that doesn't mean we all GET to sarcasm.  Sarcasm takes work.  And commitment.  And, apparently, an anal probe.  

I love sex hidden messages
Hiding messages during sex!  Don't you have more important things to be doing?  And just WHERE are you planning on hiding these messages?  Hmmm? 

Hmm-

Oh crap, this is totally going to involve an anal probe, isn't it?

I love a velociraptor.
Oh me too.  I love to go to the movies with one.  And to yoga.  And to go line dancing with.  The possibilities for fun are endless when a velociraptor is involved.

Typed penis as my password said it was too long.
That's what she said!

That'swhatshesaid, that'swhatshesaid, that'swhatshesaid!

Oh, and by the way, I have no idea which site it was that you were on, but I can assure you, the password police were just being nice. It's really not that long. 

Why do thongs go up?
The answer probably has something to do with physics and inertia and the tilt of the earth on its axis but I'm just going to go with anal probe.  It seems to be the answer for everything.  

I'm a virgin
Um, okay.  So, did you have a question?  Are you looking for an award?  Just what exactly were you hoping to get out of googling this?

I'm a hooker
Hey, that's great!  You should meet up with the person who googled 'I'm a virgin.'  I think she has some questions for you. 

 

 
   

Monday, February 27, 2012

What I Like About...Me?

 What I like about you, you hold me tight
Tell me I'm the only one, wanna come over tonight, yeah
You're whispering in my ear
Tell me all the things that I wanna hear 'cause that's true
That's what I like about you

As soon as I sat down to write this list, the above song came to me.  But today's task is not to write what I like about you (you smell pretty, you have nice hair, you're a good dancer).  I'm linking up with Just. Be. Enough. to write what I like about ME.

Yikes.

I believe this may be the hardest post I've ever had to write.  So many of us  - especially young girls - are taught not to like ourselves.  Like that scene in Mean Girls where the plastics are talking about what they hate about themselves and then they turn to Lindsey Lohan's character waiting expectantly for her to chime in about her own flaws.

If we don't point our something we dislike about ourselves we appear narcissistic, or stuck-up, or full of ourselves.  But the more we say negative things about ourselves the more we believe them.

I am completely guilty of this.  It's so much harder to say good things about myself than bad.  And when the depression kicks in...fugetaboutit.

But today is not about depression.  It's about celebrating me!  So here it is; a list of things I like about myself.

1. I like that I have discovered my life's passion and am pursuing it with my whole heart.

2. I like that I am passionate.  Whatever emotion I am feeling, I feel it wholeheartedly. 

3. I am loyal.

4. I am funny.  Not everyone may agree with this, but I crack myself up on the daily and since I have to be around myself 24/7 it's a good thing I find myself amusing.

5. I like that I can laugh at myself.  This is the greatest thing my dad ever taught me.

6. I am very empathetic.

7. I like my hair.

8. I like my eyes and eyelashes.

9. I like that I speak my mind.

10. I like that I can hold my tongue for the sake of other's feelings.

11. I like that I am Irish & Italian.  Although I had no control over this, I am proud of my roots.

12. I like that I try to make others happy.

13. I like that I am searching to find what's best for me.

14. I like that I made this list even though it was way outside my comfort zone!

And now I have this song in my head:

 She likes me for me,
not because i look like tyson bedford,
with the charm of robert redford,
oozing out my ears,

Hmmm...are there any songs about liking yourself?

Link up with Just. Be. Enough. and tell us what you like about you!

P.S. I now have a button, thanks to Just Jennifer!  Since I know how much you guys like me too, it's a picture of my face!  Go ahead and grab it...you know ya wanna.


Friday, February 24, 2012

Kentucky Fried Dysfunction

The husband and I are an advertiser's wet dream.  Whether direct marketing, subliminal messages or product placement, if they promote it, we'll buy it.

At least when it comes to food.

A few nights ago the husband and I were watching a show where everyone starts eating fried chicken.  The kind that comes in a bucket.

Without saying a word to each other, we both know that the other really wants fried chicken.

When the show is over the husband says, "Want to go to KFC?"

Me: Yep.

I say this even though I know it will not be good.  I have an idea in my mind of what I want the fried chicken to taste like (good, so very very good) and what it will actually taste like (fat and grease and so very very gross).

Don't get me wrong, I love me some fried chicken.  From Publix.  From Hurricane Wings.  From Buffalo Wild Wings.  Not from KFC.  But it was late and the husband wasn't wearing a hat and I hadn't shaved in a week so neither of us was getting out of the car.

It'd been years since we'd been to KFC so we weren't even sure if it was still in business but I guess even in a down economy people still need their fried poultry because as we turned the corner, the light of the grease fire sign guided us like a lamb to the slaughter. 

We pulled into the drive-thru:

KFC lady: Are you ready to order?

Me: No.  I need a minute.

Unfortunately for this lady and the car behind us, a minute = for-f*cking-ever.

With the window down in full range of the speaker the husband and I had the following conversation.

Me: How does this work?  What do you order from KFC?

The husband: Uh, fried chicken.

Me: Yeah, but what kind?  What are you getting?

The husband: An eight piece.

Me: An eight piece!  You can't eat all that.

The husband: I'll have some for tomorrow.

Me: Oh good, you can clog your arteries two days in a row.

The husband: I want the eight piece dark meat with two sides of macaroni.  Original.

Me: Original.  What does that mean?

The husband: It's how they cook it.  You can get crispy or original.

Me: Ooh crispy sounds better.  Why don't you get that?

The husband: Cuz I want original.  It's better.  Trust me.

Me: Well I don't know what to get.  Can't I just have some of yours?

The husband: Yes.

Me: Great!... The eight piece is twenty-one dollars!

The husband: No it's not.  It's fifteen.

Me: No.  It's twenty-one!

The husband: No.  It's fifteen.

Me: Where do you see that?

The husband: Right there.  In the middle.

Allow me to introduce a visual.  When I looked at the big menu sign, this is all I saw:

We all agree that this says 8 piece $21.00, yes?

 Me: I don't see it.

The husband: In the middle!

My eyes then went to the right side of the sign, because duh.



Me: I don't see where it says fifteen dollars.

The husband: IT'S RIGHT THERE IN THE MIDDLE!

Me: Thanks for shouting.  When you talk louder it helps me see better.

This same principle applies to conversations between people speaking two different languages.  If I talk LOUDER and slooowwweerrr the person I am speaking to will suddenly be fluent in a language that thirty seconds ago she couldn’t understand.

But I digress.

I finally looked at the center of the menu and saw this:


Me: Oh.  They really should make that more obvious.

The husband: *facepalm*

KFC lady: Are you ready to order yet?

Me: Yes.

I placed our order and pulled through to the window.  When we get there the KFC lady tells us they don't have 8 pieces of original dark meat and would we like the rest to be crispy?

The husband: Well, how many pieces of the original do you have?

KFC lady: Hold on...

Me: Does it make a difference how many they have?

The husband: Yes, because...

And then he launches into a original vs. crispy fried chicken dissertation.  I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure that's when the KFC lady started stabbing herself in the ears with a pencil.

Finally, it was time for us to get our food.

Now, there is something you should know about the driver-side window in my car.  It takes about four hours to get it to roll down all the way.  I started the roll-down process as soon as we left the house, but by the time I pulled up to the drive-through window it was only rolled down a little more than half-way.  Which means when the KFC lady handed me our order she had to push and I had to pull and pull and pull to get the 87 lb four gallon bag of fried chicken into the car all while the husband is saying, "Just open the door!"  But I am nothing if not determined and got that bitch through.

We left KFC and pulled out onto the road and stopped at the red light.  It also takes four hours to get the window to roll back up.  Which means everyone in the surrounding cars was privy to our conversation.

The husband: For $400 we could get that fixed.

Me: $400!  That's a lot of money.  This is an old car.  It's not worth it.

The husband: Yeah.  You're right.

Me:  That window is going to be the reason I die in this car some day.  I'm going to need to roll it down to escape and I'll be trapped.

The husband: WELL NOW WE HAVE TO GET IT FIXED!

The guy on the motorcycle in front of us turned around at the husband's shouting and inched forward.

Me: OH YEAH RIGHT LIKE WE'RE REALLY GOING TO GET IT FIXED!!

The husband: MORE YELLING BLAH BLAH BLAH

Me: LOUDER YELLING

The husband: EVEN LOUDER YELLING

The light turned green and we made a left turn.  As soon as we got through the intersection the guy on the motorcycle pulled off the road and just stopped...kinda like he was trying to get away from us.

Me and the husband: HAHAHAHAHAHA.  We scared him.

I'm pretty sure we scared a lot of people that night.  But it was worth it to eat fried chicken and drip grease from our pores for six days.  Okay, no it wasn't.  It was disgusting just like I knew it would be. 

But I think we all learned a valuable lesson: The husband and I should never be allowed out of the house unsupervised.  Ever.*

*Tune in next week when I detail our adventure of scouring the K-Mart parking lot for pennies at 9:00 at night!

Let's BEE Friends 


Wednesday, February 22, 2012

They're Taking Over the World

When I was six or seven years old my mom and I lived in an apartment for six months.  It was a crazy place.  Lot's of really weird stuff happened there and every night I dreamed that someone was trying to kidnap me.  The kidnapper would come to the door, politely knock and say, "I'm here to kidnap you."

I would beg and plead for him to come back tomorrow.

"I promise, you can kidnap me tomorrow," I would say.

And he would say, "Okay," and the next day he'd be back and I'd beg him to come back tomorrow.  This happened over and over and he never took me.

He was the dumbest kidnapper ever.

I had a friend who was evil.  One day we were playing outside and she ran inside my apartment and locked me out.

We had a gerbil, a cat and a dog as pets.  One day the gerbil got out of its cage.  The cat chased the gerbil, the dog chased the cat and my mom chased them all.  I sat on the couch and laughed.

The girl that lived above us had black hair on one side of her hair and white on the other side.  She was either a drug dealer or a prostitute.  Probably both.

Yeah, a lot of weird things happened there, but the weirdest was the night of a thousand cats.

My mom and I left one day to go somewhere fabulous.  I don't remember where but I'm sure it had puppies and unicorns and lots of glitter.  When we returned home hours later our front door was open.  Inside, were tons of cats.  Everywhere.


Most of them left as soon as we stepped inside.  But two of them, Siamese cats, hung out with my cat under my bed for hours.  Is suspect they were trying to recruit her because days later she ran away and never came back.

When I was six I all, "Yay, kitties!"  But I was also like, "This is kinda weird."

But now that I'm an adult, I'm all, "That is totally freaking nutballs bizarre.  Seriously, where the eff did all the cats come from?  How did they get in our apartment?  Did they have a key?  Did someone put them there?  Who the hell would do that?  Do cats have superpowers?"

To be honest, I'm not sure which is more terrifying: someone putting them in our apartment (apparently herding cats is not as hard as it sounds) or a posse of pussies traveling around the neighborhood breaking into people's apartments.



I have always loved cats; growing up, I had three of them.  I will never own a cat again because the husband is allergic.  However, I sincerely hope they remember the day I allowed them unadulterated access to my room to aide in furthering their plans for world domination.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Hey Girl

I know I'm a little late to the party with the Ryan Gosling Hey Girl meme, but I don't care because I am completely obsessed with him I'm his biggest fan I think he's kinda cool.  And I'm pretty sure if he met me, he'd feel the same way.


If Ryan and I were BFF's I imagine the things he would say to me would go a little something like this:












*click image for source of original photo

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Winners Announced!

Okay, I know it totally looks like I flaked and forgot to post the winners for free copies of The Fairy Tale Trap by Emily Casey on Friday, but I have an excuse.  No, my dog didn't eat my computer.  It was my eyes.  They were freaking out.  Apparently I had been spending too much time writing and blogging and tweeting and my eyes had had enough.

They hurt to look at a computer screen or my phone.  They actually hurt any time they were open.  Which meant I had a whole lot of fun just lying around with my eyes closed.  It was torture not being able to reach for my phone every five seconds and check what was going on in the bloggy world.  I can't even imagine how many great blogs I missed.

Then, to make my pathetic, woe-is-me state even better, I had a YUGE anxiety attack.  No sleep for me.  But lots and lots and lots of cleaning.  I cleaned baseboards and behind the t.v. and under the bed (wow, this is the most exciting blog post in the history of ever) and I have come to the conclusion that there are dust fairies living in my house.  All they do all day every day is sprinkle dust.  Everywhere.  That is the only way to explain all the dust I cleaned.

Are you guys sufficiently bored yet or should I  talk about organizing my...

Huh?  What happened?  I just fell asleep.

Okay, let's get to the fun, shall we?

I used one of those random number generator thingies to determine our two winners.  I excluded Emily's comment and my comments and that left fourteen comments.  Our winners are...


Congrats to Lost.In.Idaho and Just Jennifer for winning a copy of The Fairy Tale Trap!  Email me at kawilliams082 (at) yahoo (dot) com and I'll give you the download code.

Thanks to all who commented and thanks again to Emily for a fantastic interview!

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Where's Mine!

I should have anticipated you guys would react that way.  But I didn't.  And now I'm freaking out.  Sorta.  I'm trying to be normal about it.  But who am I kidding?  I'm insane.

Remember the post where I said I wrote a book and I might need some of you guys to read it to give me honest feedback?  Well, your response was amazing and supportive and encouraging and I really really should have expected you guys to react that way cuz you are the most awesome sausage bunch of twats there is but...

It totally freaked me out!  I thought you guys would be all Meh. Whatever.  But you weren't and then I was all OMG I wrote a book.  And people are actually going to read it.  And they're going to hate it!  And then I will diiieeeeee.

And then I was all, "how will I choose who should be a beta reader? will people be sad if I don't pick them? will they hate me?  will we stop being bloggy bffs?  what have I done!!!!"

And then I was all, "i really should have reminded people how extremely paranoid I am. if I send someone my book I'll expect them to sign a confidentiality agreement. IN BLOOD.  and I will hold all their bacon hostage.  because even though the book totally sucks, it totally rocks, and everyone will want to claim it as their own."

Okay, not really.  Basically what I'm trying to say is thank you so much for your support and enthusiasm.  I was overwhelmed by it and I loved it more than bacon.  I probably just should have said that instead of all that other crazy stuff.

Now for something fun!  I was given an award by Laura from Spotts in the Valley of the Sun.  Isn't that a fantastic blog name?  According to the fabulous Ms. L I am a Kreativ Blogger!

Just as there is no such thing as a free lunch, I don't get this award without a little work (which I will get to in a minute).  But the BEST part about an award is that I get to pass it on to others.  So stay tuned, you just might be the next Kreativ Blogger.

So, here are the rules:
1. Thank & link back to the person who gave you the award.
2. Answer the form questions below.
3. Share ten random facts / thoughts about yourself.
4. Nominate (at least) 7 other blogs for the Kreativ Blogger Award.

Here we go:
Favorite song:
    This is impossible to answer.  However, right now Country Girl by Luke Bryan makes me lose my damn mind.  No matter where I am, no matter what I am doing, if that song comes on I lose my shit.  I dance and shake and gallop about.  It is not pretty.
Favorite dessert:
    Why does there have to be a favorite?  Can't I just love them all?
What ticks me off:
    How much time do you have?
When I’m upset, I:
    EAT ALL THE BACON!  And stab things.
Favorite pet(s):
    The husband.  What?  Who said that?  The answer is Evil Cody and Sweet Riley, of course
Black or white:
    Blue! 
Biggest fear:
    Oh heeeeell no.  I'm  not telling you that.
Everyday attitude:
    Oh you know, being awesome.
What is perfection?
    Well according to Pink, I am F*cking Perfect and she seems like a really wise gal, so I'm going to trust her.
My guilty pleasure:
    That feeling when you've had to pee for a really really really long time.  Like a REALLY long time.  And you finally get to.  It's not exactly a guilty pleasure, but it does feel so good to finally pee that I feel kinda guilty about it.

Okay, now 10 random facts about me:
1. Sharing random facts about myself really stresses me out.

2. Can't I just tell you about the time I peed my pants in public?

3. What?  I've already talked about that?  A lot?

4. Crap.

5. Oh! I know.  When I was little, I used to bite kids.  On the face.

6. When I was three I was the only girl in my babysitting group.  One day, me and all the little boys were changing into our bathing suits to splash in the kiddy pool.  I looked down at them, then at myself, noticed they all had a certain appendage that I did not and cried, "Where's mine?!"

7. My fifth birthday was at McDonalds.  My friends and I were playing on the playground when, "CAKE TIME!" was announced.  We all headed to the door, I was pushed to the ground and trampled by all my friends.  I can still feel their little rubber soles pressing into my head.

8. I hate eating in the car if I'm stopped at a red light.  It makes me feel self-conscious.  Especially if I'm eating a banana.

9. Do not talk to me for at least three hours after I wake up.  I hate everything in the morning.

10. I should probably conclude this list by saying that whole, "I'm upset I don't have a penis" thing was just a phase.  I'm totally cool with it now. 

Now I get to pass on the Kreativ Blogger love to:
Sweaty Writes
The Bearded Iris
Time Out For Mom
Chosen Chaos
Chicken Noodle Gravy
Momalog
Just Jennifer
Chicktuition

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Meh. Valentine's Day.

I am not one of Valentine's Day's biggest fans.  In fact, I walk a very fine line between indifference and dislike. I'm not sure if this is because it is the first major holiday following the most amazing of all holidays: Christmas.  No sooner have I consumed ALL THE COOKIES and ALL THE PIE than the stores are ripping the magical Santas and snowmen from the shelves and replacing them with stupid un-magical hearts and flowers and chocolate.

Did someone say chocolate?

Okay, the chocolate is fine.  The fact that men buy it at the last minute in hopes of some fun time between the sheets?  Not fine.  And pretty pathetic.  However, I suppose what other people do in their relationships is none of my business.

I think the reason I really sing the boos goes back to my school days, where if you didn't have a boyfriend on Valentine's Day you were a big, fat, depressed loser. Or, if you had a boyfriend like mine, who broke up with you before Valentine's Day or just plain didn't care enough to get you anything, you were a big, fat even more depressed loser.

To make it even worse, our school sold love grams or lollipop grams or whatever they were called and from the moment you woke up on that blessed day, you started praying, "please tell me someone bought me a lollipop love gram.  i hope i get a lollipop love gram.  i don't even care if it's from the creepy janitor who lives in the locker room showers, just please let me get a lollipop love gram today. OMG I'M GOING TO BE THE ONLY ONE WITHOUT A LOLLIPOP LOVE GRAM!"

By the time you get to school you are a blubbering snotty mess wondering why, why doesn't anyone love me?



There's just too much damn pressure and impossibly high-set expectations associated with that day.

Which is why the husband, who was the boyfriend at the time, and I put an end to that shit right away. 

I spent two hours getting ready (refer to pressure and high expectations mentioned above).  I don't know what the hell I did during those two hours.  I did nothing special with my hair or makeup and I wore a plain tan long-sleeved shirt and black-look-how-good-my-butt-looks-in-these-pants pants.  If had to guess, I probably spent the better part of two hours checking out my ass.

We had grand plans to go to a fancy shmancy restaurant.  Halfway there we were like, "fancy restaurants blow."  We changed directions and went to Scholtzsky's Deli.  We were the only two people there, save one lonely depressed employee who mopped the floors over and over.  I suspect she was mopping up her tears.

The husband asked me something that night that confirmed what I already knew - I am going to marry that man some day.  I can't tell you what he said (I know, I know, so unfair of me to even bring it up, but trust me, if I did tell you, you'd wish I hadn't), but it was hilarious and inappropriate and indicative of a lifetime of irreverent conversations. 

You wanna know what he got me?  A blanket.  More specifically, a blankie.  It was the perfect gift.

Growing up, I had a blankie.  Its name was Blankie.  I also had Puppy and Woah Woah.  In case you can't tell by his name, Puppy was a puppy.  Woah Woah was a frog.  Obviously.  He also happened to be a frog without eyes and a tongue.  Cuz I bit them off.  I was a special child.

When I was three, we went on a trip to Bermuda.  I brought Puppy, Woah Woah and Blankie with me.  I packed them in my red suitcase and checked my bags.  My three beloveds made it to Bermuda, but they didn't make it home.  My luggage got lost and I was dev-a-stat-ed.

There is absolutely no consoling a three year old who's lost her Puppy, Woah Woah and Blankie.  I imagine it was a very long three days for my parents until my luggage was located.

Puppy, Woah Woah, and Blankie
This is what Woah Woah looked like before I ate his face.  Once my parents realized how deeply I was attached to Woah Woah, they went out and bought this guy.  Just in case something happened to Woah Woah.  But deep down, they knew there was no replacing him.  Being a parent must be really stressful.
Yes, we were eventually reunited, but after that, I never brought them with me when I traveled.  I still had them when it was time to go to college.  My mom was like, "you are totally going to get made fun of if you bring them with you."  Turns out, lots of girls brought their blankies to college.  I kept mine under the bed.  I didn't need to sleep with my precious trio any more, I just liked knowing they were there.  One girl I met, who became a good friend, kept her's on her bed.  One day, someone made a joke about her blankie.  My friend very quickly fashioned a shiv and threatened to cut a bitch if she made fun of blankie ever again.  Her exact words were, "no one messes with blankie."

I've digressed.

I told the husband about my lost luggage and on Valentine's Day he bought me another blankie, one that I could take on trips with me so I wouldn't have to worry about losing The Blankie.  It didn't matter that I didn't travel with or sleep with Blankie anymore.  He had listened to my story; he remembered it; he cared; and he bought me the most thoughtful original gift ever.

And everyone says, "Awwww."

Blankie from the husband.  I love the thought of him going into a store and purchasing this.
 Thoughtful gifts like that mean so much more to me than grand gestures and ostentatious plans.  Anyone can plan a special day or buy a really nice gift once a year, but daily thoughtfulness takes continuous threats of bodily harm much more effort.

I'm not sure if that type of thinking means I hate Valentine's Day or actually expect every day to be Valentine's Day.  In fact, I'm not even sure what I'm saying anymore.  My head feels foggy and I can't think straight and I have visions of diamonds dancing in my head.

Damn you, Valentine's Day!

This year, the husband and I will celebrate like we have for the last five years: order Sushi to-go, eat it in front of the t.v. and then have sex for four hours.

I'm sorry, did I say have sex for four hours?  I meant, rent a movie and fall asleep within the first fifteen minutes.

Aw, Valentine's Day.  It's the best day!

Happy Valentine's Day, twats!
Oh, and husband, I'm not totally opposed to flowers and diamonds and chocolate.  And bacon!  You know, just in case you get the urge.  I'm not hinting that you should buy them or anything, it's just...in case. And hey, you never know.  It just might get you some action between the sheets.  And by "action": I mean that thing we do where you scream and twist and turn away from me as I try to press my freezing hands and feet against you in an effort to suck up your warmth. 

Sunday, February 12, 2012

It's Like Interview With a Vampire, But With Fewer Vampires

Squee! Guess what I'm doing today? I'm interviewing a real life writer!

Drum roll please...

Welcome to Interview With A Writer!  It’s exactly like Interview With A Vampire, except with fewer vampires.  Unless my guest today is a vampire, in which case you guys should probably read this while wearing a scarf made of garlic.  Or something.  I’m not very well versed on vampires.  Which is why I’m interviewing one.

Maybe.

How about we just find out so we can either breathe a little easier or run and hide?

Emily Casey
Today’s guest is Emily Casey.  Welcome, Emily!  I know I speak for all of my readers when I say we are so glad to have you here.  Before we get started, there is one thing everyone is dying to know… Are you a vampire?

Emily: Like you, I don’t know much about vampires. I wouldn’t know how to check. But now I’m paranoid.

You and me both.  I think I'll wear my garlic scarf just in case.

Let's continue on to a proper, professional interview, shall we?  Proper and professional - me? Hahahaha!  I feel I should probably apologize for what’s about to happen, Emily.  I’m not guaranteeing this interview will be a disaster (I’m truly hoping for a smooth ride) but in case of an emergency, life vests are located under your seat.  If, at any time, you want to exit this interview, doors are located at the rear and middle of this blog.

I recommend that everyone fasten their seatbelts and get ready to meet writer Emily Casey!

SG: You recently wrote a book called The Fairy Tale Trap.  What six words best describe this story?

Emily: Sarcastic teenager gets stuck in fairytale. Like how I left out a space to make it one word? I’m a writer. I make my own rules.

SG: I did like how you did that.  And I love a girl who plays by her own rules.  Okay, now using flowcharts and toothpicks and hand-puppets, tell us a little about the story.  Or you could just use sentences.  That’d probably be better.

Emily: Ivy’s a military brat who’s scared of mirrors. (I’m not kidding.) Turns out, mirrors are scary and one of them sucks her into a fairy tale (Beauty and the Beast) She has to make it through the fairy tale to get back home.

SG: A new twist on an old favorite.  I love it.  How did you come up with the idea for The Fairy Tale Trap?

Emily: I read this story called Beauty and the Beast. It sounded familiar, but I totally ripped it off. Ivy is my inner child and I just stuck the two together.

SG: Your main character, Ivy is quite spunky and tenacious.  Is she based on anybody you know?

Emily: She’s just one of the voices that lives in my head. Nothing too exciting about that.

SG: How long did it take you to write The Fairy Tale Trap?  Did you have people read it and give you feedback before publishing it?  If so, how do you deal with constructive criticism – did it ever make you want to sit in the corner and eat your hair?  Did you make any major changes based on the feedback you received?

Emily: It took about a year. I got lots of feedback and I chose to keep the good suggestions. The bad ones I sorta just ignored. ;) Someone recommended I kill either Beauty or Beast. (I didn’t.) But it gave me an idea that changed the course of the story. When Ivy breaks the fountain? Yeah. That’s where the story branches off from the first draft. I’m not kidding.

I’m not a big fan of human hair, so I just pulled it out and made a nest out of it for the birds that live in my back yard.

SG: Make a nest for the birds!  That is genius.  And much better than birds actually living in your hair, which happens to me far too often.

What is the best writing advice you’ve ever received?

Emily: Write a crappy first draft, then revise. You’d be surprised how helpful that is. Go ahead. Try it. I’ll wait.
 

SG:Write crappy? That's all I have to do?  I'm great at that!

Moving on.  Why is my hair so shiny?...You don’t have to answer that.  My dogs kept begging me to ask that question and I told them it wasn’t appropriate but they just Would. Not. Stop.  Speaking of dogs, when I walk down the stairs, Evil Cody bats my ankles with his paws like he’s trying to trip me.  Do you think he’s just having fun or trying to kill me?

Emily: Maybe he’s trying to see who’s more dominant. (Dogs do that.) Dominant dogs never trip or poop. I think the appropriate response is to pee all over him. That’s what I would do.

SG: Pee on him.  Of course!  Why didn't I think of that?  I have a feeling you have just changed my life forever.

I should probably get back on topic...

Which fairy tale would you hate to be trapped in?

Emily: Cinderella. How would you like to choose between a life of slavery or being married to someone who couldn’t remember what you looked like? He had to find you based on your SHOE SIZE?! Come on.

SG:  I never thought about it like that before. That prince is such a dolt! 

Tell me, which fairy tale character would you most like to have lunch with?

Emily: I think Snow White would be the best cook. Wasn’t she always making pies? I like pie.

SG: What is your favorite thing about writing?

Emily: My kids don’t know what I’m doing. It’s like my secret hideout.

SG: What do you like the least about writing?

Emily: I don’t like the way it makes my brain feel like mush. It can take hours to get it to gel afterward.

SG: What are your three favorite words?

Emily: prism, penultimate, phantasmagorical. I don’t know why they all start with “p”.

SG: Hold on while I get a dictionary to look those last two up...

What inspires you?

Emily: Lately, it’s been music. Sometimes the right song paints a scene in my head.

SG: Have you seen my boots?  They’re the hot pink ones with the gold trim.  The last time I remembering seeing them, I was trapped in an elevator with a monkey and a… Never mind, I just remembered where they are.  I think I’ll leave them there.

Emily: Good. Cause if I got to them first, I... never mind.

SG: Hmm, what makes me think I won't get them back?

How do you deal with the dreaded writer’s block?

Emily: Chop the block into tinder and burn, baby, burn! (Fortunately, my blocks are made of wood.)

SG: You e-published The Fairy Tale Trap to Smashwords.  What advice do you have for other writers who are planning to publish to Smashwords?  

Emily: Read the style guide!

SG: Your book is also available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.  Did you have to publish separately to each one?  

Emily: Just Amazon and Smashwords. Smashwords sends it to B&N, iTunes, and a bunch of other places. It’s pretty much my slave.

SG: Who is your favorite author?

Emily: Gail Carriger. No... Patricia Briggs, I think. I have a few.

SG: In a fight between a unicorn and a velociraptor, who do you think would win?
 

Emily: I know how to pronounce unicorn, so I’ll go with that.

SG: Good choice.  What are you working on now and how long do I have to wait to read your next book?
 

Emily: Cinderella and Zombies is with beta readers. I’m starting draft 2 of The Fairy Tale Twist. I’m guessing it’ll be done it August. It takes a loooong time to revise.

SG: Indeed it does!

Well folks, we’ve arrived at our destination.  There was some turbulence but nobody had to use a life vest so I think we can call this interview a success.  A special thanks to Emily for being here.  She is obviously one cool chick to put up with my shenanigans.

I had so much fun reading The Fairy Tale Trap!  Beauty and the Beast is my favorite fairy tale of all time and I so enjoyed this fresh twist on a classic story.

You guys wanna hear something really exciting? Emily has generously offered two free copies to my readers!!!  Leave me a comment telling me your favorite fairy tale and I will randomly pick two winners and announce them on Friday!  Other acceptable comments include telling me why my hair is so shiny, or if you’d be willing to go get my hot pink boots.  I decided I really do want them after all (although it sounds like you might have to fight Emily for them).  And of course mentioning bacon is always acceptable.

For those who don’t win, you can purchase The Fairy Tale Trap for just $2.99!  And don’t worry, you don’t have to have a Nook or Kindle to read it.  You can download it to your computer or phone (assuming, of course, you have a phone that connects to the Interwebs); it only takes seconds!

You can stalk Emily on twitter at @EmilyCaseysMuse or on her website Emily Casey.

Thank you again, Emily, for being here.  I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.  Can’t wait to read the next one!

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Do You Smell That?

I have a fear.  That I smell.  As in stink.

I’m not sure why I have this fear.  No one has ever told me that I stink.  No one has ever acted like I stink.

They’ve never walked up to me and started dry-heaving, or buried their nose in the crook of their arm, or sprayed perfume in my general direction.

I have never caught of whiff of something rank and been like, “Oh that is awful.  Oh wait…it’s me.”

And yet, I still fear.

I frequently lift up my arm, thrust my armpit into the husband’s face and say, “Do I smell?”

The husband: No.

Me: Okay, stand right there and sniff as I walk by.

The husband: I don’t smell anything.

Me: What if I walk by really fast. Anything linger after me?

The husband: No.

Me: Oh, what do you know?  We’ve been together for ten years.  You’re probably used to the smell.  You probably like it.

That’s the way it works, doesn’t it?  Have you ever walked by two people, one of whom smells awful, and thought, how does the person they’re with stand it?

But they probably don’t just ‘stand’ it.  They probably love it. They probably breathe deep and burrow down deep into the folds of their lover’s ass rot.

Are you guys gagging yet?

I have to believe if I did stink, someone would tell me.  If not the husband, one of my friends then.  I’ve known many of them for a really really long time.  We’re pretty honest with each other.  Surely one of them would tell me.

But then again, maybe not.  I know this woman.  We’re not friends, hardly acquaintances, but I see her occasionally.  And I talk to her.  Unfortunately.  She has the worst breath in the history of ever.  Like her teeth are rotting.  In fact, every time I talk to her I expect to see her teeth start falling from her mouth.

It would be totally inappropriate for me to say, “hey your mouth smells like rotting elephant ass,” but surely someone in her life – a friend, her sister, the pool guy – can tell her (a little more delicately, of course.)

Most of you who read this blog, I have never met.  But one day, I hope I will (as I'm sure you do, after reading this).  When that day comes, and you get your first objective whiff of me, promise me this: you'll tell me if I stink.

I’ll probably call you a bitch and never speak to you again, but I will finally know the truth and deep down I’ll thank you.

Let's BEE Friends

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

What's In the Box!

The last time someone asked that question, it was Brad Pitt's wife's head in the box.  No, not Angelina.  As much as I'm not a fan of her, that would be really morbid.

It's from a movie.  I won't tell you which one in case some of you want to see it.  However, I should warn you, there's a scene where someone's head ends up in a box.  I haven't seen it because movies like that sound traumatic.  And I have enough traumatic scenarios going on in my head without the help of Brad Pitt, however yumilicious mildly attractive he may be.

Also, it's entirely possible it wasn't Brad Pitt's wife's character who met an unfortunate demise.  I don't know.  I haven't seen the movie.  Didn't we already cover this?

"What's in the box?" is the question many of you asked yesterday even though I'm pretty sure I already told you.  It's a bomb. 

I'm mildly concerned by how many of you refused to accept this answer (although incredibly proud of how many of you freak out when someone comes to your door).  Bombs aren't a joke, people.  They kill.  And you should take them seriously.

Even the husband, who looked at me like I was a lunatic when I told him about the bomb, believes there's a bomb in the boxes.  Why else would they still be unopened?

Don't believe me?  Here's a picture.


Every day he's like, "I'm getting those boxes out of here."

And every day, for three weeks, they've stayed put.  Cuz he's scurred.

He claims those boxes, and their contents, are for his clients, but if his clients are going to start having bombs delivered to our house, he needs to get some new ones.

I can't tell if this whole thing is better or worse than the time someone mailed us Anthrax.  True story.

Kind of.

One day I got a package in the mail addressed to me.  It wasn't large enough to contain shoes, so I was immediately suspicious.  And then I looked at the return address label.

Me: Do we know anyone in Fairfield, Ohio?

The husband: No.

Me: OMG! Do you think someone mailed us anthrax?

The husband: That'd be the biggest waste of anthrax ever.

Many of you also told me the shoe fairy hasn't visited you either.  Which is an outrage.  Because I have it on good authority that all of you are very deserving shoe whores.  I bet she's keeping all the shoes for herself.  Bitch.

And now, someone who's NOT a bitch...

I've been tagged by Ado of the Momalog to answer some questions.  She's awesome sausage and you should read her blog.

If you met your favorite movie star and could say whatever you wanted to him or her in 140 characters or less, what would it be? (And who is the movie star?)
Hey Marky Mark. Remember when you used to take pictures of yourself in your underwear?  Me too.  You should do that again. 

The movie star is Mark Walhberg.  Obviously.

What’s your dream?
Well last night I dreamt about buying wine and cannolis.  I also dreamt someone broke into our house and tried to kill us.  So I guess if I ever gave a "I have a dream speech" it would go something like "I have a dream I will one day live a world where people don't try to kill me and I have an endless supply of wine and cannolis."

Ever had a scary parenting moment?
Yes, the time I read the pregnancy test wrong.  Two lines = pregnant, not one!  I think.  Maybe it's the other way around.  Pregnancy tests are hard.

Something besides your children that you are proud of.
Woah woah woah.  I have children?  Someone should probably feed them, or something.

What’s your favorite book? Why?
The one I'm writing.  Shameless book plug!  Boom!

What’s in your fridge?
Not bacon.  Which is a freaking tragedy.

Do you make your bed every day? Is this a trick question?
Do your kids make theirs? Why/why not?  My kids are still in the egg and sperm stage.  I'm guessing that's probably why they don't make their beds.

What’s your best kid’s riddle or joke?
The one where I say to the husband, "Guess what! We're pregnant."  And then he turns white and has to lie down.  It's hilarious.  For one of us.

Epidural or au naturel?
How about we just all agree I'm not squeezing anything out my vagina?  However, if anyone ever cuts me open to extract another human being, there better be drugs involved.

Ask your kids what they like about you and what bugs them about you and write it verbatim here.
Me: Hey dogs, come here.  What do you like about me and what about me bugs you?
Evil Cody: Shut up and give me a treat.
Sweet Riley: I have to poop.

Do you have any advice for Snooki?
Snooki sounds like something that happens when Chewbacca goes to the bathroom.  I refuse to comment on the bathroom habits of Star Wars creatures.

Now I get to tag 11 others and ask them 11 questions.  I'm going to attempt to tag people who haven't already been tagged, but the blogging community is a little incestuous, so um yeah...

Before we get to the questions and the tagged, here are the rules: 
  • You must post these rules.
  • Each person must post 11 things about herself on their blog.
  • Answer the questions the “tagger” listed for you in her post, and create 11 new questions for the people you tag to answer.
  • Choose 11 people to tag and link to them in the post.
  • Let each blogger know that you have tagged them.
 I am tagging:

MommaKiss
Life Ever Since
Just Jennifer
Bees With Honey
The Robot Mommy
Mayor Gia
Coffee Lovin' Mom
Fox in the City
it's so Fuzzy!!!!
Motherhood: Truth
Mommy 2Cents

My questions are:
1. What reality show would you most hate to be on?

2. Would you rather have your spouse/significant other forget your birthday or buy you a dress that's three sizes too big?  Show your work.

3. Where do unicorns get their magic?

4. What dessert best describes you?

5. Where do you fall on the paranoia scale: One being totally not paranoid, and Ten being they're out to get me!  Explain.

6. Salty or sweet?  I'm talking food, obviously.  But I suppose you can answer that any way you see fit.

7. If a train leaves Boston at 6 a.m. going 100 miles per hour and another train leaves Chicago at 11:00 a.m. going 250 miles per hour at what time will the bacon be most delicious?

8. What modern convenience would cause you so sit in the corner and eat your hair if you had to go without it for the rest of your life?

9. What is your least favorite word?

10. Which is creepier, a teletubby or a furby?

11. What makes your blog awesome sausage?

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

The UPS Man is Trying to Kill Me

I don't know what I did to piss him off, but he has it out for me.

I was sitting at my kitchen table blogging checking facebook tweeting working on my novel when I noticed him walking up to my front door.

My first thought was, "AAAA! A man has come to rape and pillage me!"  Because honestly, why else to people come to your front door uninvited?

Then I noticed the big brown boxes in his hand and thought, "maybe he is bringing me shoes!"  I didn't order shoes, but I cling tightly to the belief that there is a shoe fairy somewhere out there granting cute boots and sexy stilettos to the most deserving of shoe whores.  One day it will be my turn to receive them; I just know it!

After that my hands immediately flew to my boobs. 

Did I put on a bra today?

Shockingly, I had.

And people say I don't have my shit together.  Psh.

The UPS man walked up the steps to my door and I ran to the bathroom to check myself out in the mirror.  I wasn't hoping to look like a super model but ever since I quit my job to be a full-time writer, my days are spent at home. Alone.  In my pajamas.  Eating cookies.  And ice cream.  And ranch dressing.  I can go days without putting on real clothes and interacting with other human beings (except the husband, of course, who I'm beginning to suspect may be a robot).

There's a very good chance that when I look in the mirror, I'll look like this:


Oh, don't even act like you don't have birds nesting in your hair.

And all I'm really hoping for is this:
Much better, yes?

I wiped the drool and chocolate from my face, brushed off the crumbs, smoothed down my hair and stood at the door, waiting for the knock.

*waiting*

*waiting*

*waiting*

What the hell is he doing out there?

Suddenly I hear his truck start up.  I run to the window to see him driving away.  I glance at the front door.  There are two packages.

He just left them there.  And I didn't have to sign for them.

Fear begins to snake through my veins.

UPS always makes you sign.  ALWAYS.  I used to get packages every day.  And every day I had to sign.  EVERY DAY!  You sign your name and then he asks you your last name and then you give him a fake name so he doesn't steal your identity.

This is how it works.  Every time.

Unless...

OMG!

Suddenly, I realized it.  There is only one logical explanation as to why the UPS guy would deliver packages and not have me sign for them...

.............
.............

He delivered a bomb.

AAAAAAAAA!!!!!

Why would he do that?  WHYYYYYYY!!!!

I told this to the husband recently and he got a really worried expression on his face and said it'd probably be a good idea if I left the house more often and interacted with other people.

Oh good idea, husband.  Leave the safety of my house and make it easier for people to kill me. That's exactly the type of ridiculous answer a robot would give.

If anyone needs me, I'll be hiding under the bed.



I'm linking up with Yeah Write and a new linky, Did You Know hosted by Just Jennifer and Motherhood: Truth I bet you guys didn't know that if you piss off the UPS man, he'll try to kill you.  You've been warned.  You're welcome.

Monday, February 6, 2012

"Those who danced were thought to be quite insane..."

 "...by those who could not hear the music."***

Passion.  If there is one word that describes an Italian, passion is it.  We SPEAK LOUDLY and talk with our hands (honestly, is there any other way to do it?).  Because we don't just live life, we live it with passion.  Which can sometimes get us into trouble...

Hopefully I won't get into any as I assemble this week's Listicles topic brought to us by Jackie of Not Wifezilla.  Jackie asked us to tell her our passions.  Here we go.

I Am Passionate About...

1. Writing!  Which is probably a good thing since I am a writer.  Then again, I'm probably a writer because I'm passionate about writing.  Who knows, really.  It'll probably forever be one of life's greatest mysteries, just like that whole chicken, egg thing.

If I go too long without writing, I get cranky.  If I go way too long without writing, my head spins around and I start throwing things.

2. Travel.  This passion was ignited by my senior class trip to Europe.  Until then, I never imagined how diverse the world is.  You mean, not everywhere is flat country with a 10 minute drive to the beach?

The mountains in Switzerland, the castle in Austria, the Colesseum in Rome, the canals in Venice are a far cry from sand dunes and rolling ocean waves.  Ever since that trip, I want to see it all!  The whole world!  Okay, maybe not the whole world, but a super duper lot of it.

I recently sat down to make a list of all the places I want to visit (either for relaxation/vacation purposes or cultural enrichment) and soon realized it was completely pointless because I want to SEE ALL THE PLACES!

However, if I have to pick, the top five on my list (in no particular order) are:

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The Maldives.  I think this might be what heaven looks like.

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Inca Ruins

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Ireland

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New Zealand

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Italy.  Amalfi Coast is pictured here, but I want to see ALL OF IT.

3. History.  If you were to give a me a quiz on important dates, events, times and places in history I would totally fail it.  But I LOVE learning about history.  Unfortunately I don't use it, so I lose it.  I wanted to major in history in college, but I had no idea what I'd do with a history degree...and so I majored in marketing.  Let's not discuss how that turned out.

4. People.  I love that there are all different types of people that make up our world.  The town I live in seriously lacks diversity, and after awhile...it gets a little annoying.  Give me a girl with purple hair!  A saxophonist on the corner!  An obnoxious guy from Brooklyn ordering salami at the deli!

If anyone from my city reads my blog, they might argue that there is diversity here.  But if they don't admit that a certain walk, a certain talk, a certain dress, a certain decorum is expected here, they are living in denial.

5. Reading.  Few things are better than getting lost in a good book.

6. Being the change I want to see in the world.  If I want to see us all be a little kinder, a little more compassionate, a little less ass-hatish, then I cannot just sit by and wait for it to happen. I have to be an active participant in eliciting change.  Isn't there a saying that goes something like, "I wondered why somebody wasn't doing something and then I realized I am somebody?"

7. Being a good wife, mom (to my pups), daughter, friend.

8. Eating.  I love food, people.  Seriously.

9. Laughing.  One of the things I love most about the husband is that he makes me laugh.

10. Passion.  Life without passion isn't life.

***This quote seems to be attributed to Angela Monet; however upon researching who she was (and finding very little information about her) it seems the correct source of the quote is Madame de Stael's "Germany".