My Night

Thursday, March 29, 2007

So! I'm sitting in the bookstore tonight, having done a great deal of work. I have half an hour to kill before I close, so I'm kicked back, reading a Terry Pratchett novel.

This gaggle of teenage girls comes running into the store, giggling like teenage girls, and they fall all over themselves and my counter. Scaring the crap out of complacement me in the process.

"DO you LIKE have ANY books for LIKE a DOLLAR???" one of them asks.

"I really don't," I reply, which is true.

Quick whispering in their midst.

The girl leans on the counter toward me and says, "WILL you SELL us that PEN for a QUARTER???"

Pen? Oh yes. Because there's a pen behind my ear. Where a pen seems to live.

What the hell. It's a slow night.

"Sure," I say.

"And we need to to write a receipt."

"Why not," I say. And I write a receipt that says "This pen is worth one quarter." and I sign my

"You're the BEST!" she giggles, and they run out of the store.

Scavenger hunt.

I chuckle, terribly amused. I leave my boss a note that says I sold a store pen for a quarter. I will sell our carpeting tomorrow night.

I tape the quarter to the paper.

Then I go back to reading my Terry Pratchett book. I put my feet up. I settle in.

I have a heart attack when someone puts a hand on my shoulder.

It's another girl, much calmer than the first one. She says to me, in a quiet voice, "Do you have any books for a dollar...?"

"I really don't," I say, which is true.

"Oh. Look, can I like give you a quarter for one of your book marks or something?"

"Sure!" I say. Because I'm easily amused.

"Okay, I'll be right back, I have to grab my friends," and she leaves quietly, calmly. She squeezes my shoulder on the way out. Which was odd.

Presumably, yeah.

Thirty seconds later, she returns with HER gaggle of girls, and they are ALL giggling and hyper now. Most of them are moms, this time.

The bookmark doesn't work. It's not pink. It's not rough. They need one or the other.

Desperate, they look around the store.

"I know!!!" One of them exclaims, the light of inspiration in her eyes.

"Can we buy that red pen from you, mister? For, like, a quarter???"

"Sure...!" I say, and I hand them the pen and take the quarter. And I add, "Do you need me to write a receipt?"

"Yeah, and if you could put your name on-- Wait, how did you know that?" the first girl asks.

"Another group was in here and bought something already. Er. My other pen, actually."

"DAMN IT! THEY DID NOT!" The girls are agog. Then they settle. "Oh well, ours is PINK!"

I give them a receipt, they leave, I close the store. I turn off the lights. I go to leave, walking through an empty mall where the lights are off.

I am just nearly to the exit doors, when....

"EXCUSE me, SIR??"

I turn. Two more girls are running at me. If this were the bronx, I'd be macing people.

One breathless girl says, "Can we TAKE our PICTURE wiht YOU???"

Pete says, ".....sure. Um. Why?"

The other girl stands next to me, the first girl stands on my other side and holds out the camera. One of them says, "Well, red is like pink, isn't it? You have great hair."

"Thanks." I say.

And then, bemused and with a flash spot in front of my eyes, I head out into the rainy night and go home, and reflect that sometimes, real life is profoundly more weird than fiction.


Yes. Boobs. Just for you, RT, I'm going to talk about boobs.

People who yak on their cell phones while standing at the counter to order their freaking sub at Subway, and hold up their finger like "just a minute" to the girl at the counter. With fifteen people in freaking line.

People who drive 7 MPH. Unless you're in a buggy, drawn by a horse, that's just lame. (I live in Amish country. Lots of buggies... and they go faster than some of the idiots around here.)

On the flip side, people who drive 85 MPH down a residential street.

People who chew loudly in public places. *barf*

People who think their screaming children should be "enjoyed" by everyone because he or she is "so cute." Um, no. Rattlesnakes and scorpions are cute. Screaming children are not.

People who actually think their thong sticking out of their pants is attractive. Not to be repetitive, but *barf*.

The guy at Lowe's who thinks it's so cute when a "little woman" wants to buy a kick-ass drill. Yes, it's for me. No, my husband won't be allowed to touch it. Yes, you're a jerk.

People who say they'll do one thing and then wait until you're settled into complacency and then they yank the rug out from under you and leave you completely screwed and then get pissed off when you figure out a way to make things work without their sorry asses being involved at all.

Those are all the boobs I can think of for now. *grin*

A Movie All Writers Should See!

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Writer's Block - a movie that is apparently all about ways to overcome writer's block - something all writers need help with from time to time, don't you agree?

Here's the fascinating blurb: Deadlines ... what a bitch! Apparently Jack, a highly successful erotic novelist, is under pressure from his gorgeous editor to complete his latest work, which is already overdue. Jack needs a little carnal inspiration to get the creative juices flowing. A steamy threesome gets him tapping at the typewriter in no time! It's amazing how a little - or in this case, how a lot - of sex can relieve all that tension, not to mention unleash those imaginative sparks. So if you've got writer's block and you're staring at a blank piece of paper, take a tip ... things'll start looking up.

Do not click this link if you are under 18. I haven't seen it (yet), but it's high on my list! (Right after Captain Hooker and Peter Porn and The XXXorcist.)

Doing "it"

Saturday, March 17, 2007

You're all filthy, because of course, I meant writing.

Carrie (the other person who writes on this blog, obviously, do try to keep up) and I were discussing the AbsoluteWrite Writer's Retreat that's happening next year, and what we're actually going to write during the whole stay.

I made the comment that the thing about writer's retreats is, it's the only place where two people can come out of a darkened room looking messy and exhausted and very happy and people whoop and cheer and catcall...because they assumed they finished a book.

Carrie, who is wiser than I, pointed out that it's much more likely that they would believe it was sex, pure sex, regardless of if we brought out three hundred pages of manuscript and were stained with ink. She's right, of course.

TSUKI: Whoa! The bare-backed tango!

PETE: The what...?

RLLGTHUNDER: You got it on!

CARRIE: Yeah! On paper! Finally!

SPOOKY: Neat! How did it feel!

PETE: Great! It was like a big release! It was good to finally get it out!

HAGGIS: You dog! You DOG! Way to go!

CARRIE: It was longer than I expected!

PETE: Me too!

TSUKI: .....what?

PETE: But we got it where it needed to go, in the end!

HAGGIS: That tends to happen!


CARRIE: Now we just gotta figure out who else wants it.


HAGGIS: Um. Er. Um. What?

CARRIE: Silly. We can't keep it all to ourselves. It's too good for that.

TSUKI: Neat!

PETE: I know! Now we just have to find a publisher!


SPOOKY: Well, I mean, Hugh Hefner might know some...

PETE: Yeah! They put out a magazine after all!


TSUKI: That magazine is hot!


PETE: So anyway, who wants to get their hands on it first! You guys got first crack!

CARRIE: I'm just glad to be done writing!


August Sixth

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

August sixth, two thousand and seven, will be a normal, average day for most folks. They'll be getting up and going to work...

But not me!

I just got back from the travel agency a little bit ago, after booking our CRUISE!


I'm so excited. My husband, my offspring and myself will be taking a Royal Caribbean cruise to the Bahamas. It's a nice five day, four night trip, and I. Can't. Wait.

We've never taken a *real* vacation as a family. Unless you count the nightmare of a trip we took to Myrtle Beach, SC - if I had to relive that trip, I'd snack on arsenic and wash it down with Drain-O. It was that bad.

Long weekends are as fancy as it gets. Hubby & I took a cruise in 2002 and we've been itching to take another one. So now's the time.

I'm really looking forward to a nice relaxing week on the cruise.

Of course, I expect a huge hurricane that ruins all our plans. Or a typhoon. Or some freak crosswinds that blow us into Bermuda, where we vanish.

I wanna go NOW, dammit, not 5 months from now. *whine*

We even sprung for the Jr. Suite so we'll have our own little balcony. Last time we went, I spent every evening on the balcony writing in my journal. I can't wait. It's gonna rock. :oD

Dear America

Thursday, March 8, 2007

Hi, America.

I'm over here.

You probably can't quite tell, since it's difficult to see with underpants on your head. But it's okay. I'm sure that's an acceptable look for you, and I won't even suggest you try and take them off without assistance.

Hey, you know that American Idol show thingie that you, America, mash phone buttons to vote on?

How about you...I don't the right people off, or something. Seriously. You voted off Sundance Head in favor of Sanjaya "I'm so pretty" Malakar. I mean, maybe you did really enjoy the strange songs in favor of a great version of "Mustang Sally," but who am I to judge?

(I mean, you should have kept him around because his name is Sundance Head! You don't get any cooler than that outside of the porn industry!)

No, it's okay, I just had to say something. You can go back to stumbling around with tighty whities on your head.

Here's my phone number, for you mash on your phone at. I bet I know someone who's certified to teach you baseball.

I Dream of PeeDee

Sunday, March 4, 2007

No, he wasn't dressed like Barbara Eden. Nor was I.

I knew it was inevitable, that sooner or later he'd show up in my dreams. And last night, he did.

For some reason, I was standing on my front porch and Pete pulls up in a pickup truck. (Flashbacks from Variety Hour, perhaps?) He jumps out and is wearing a flannel shirt (gee, where'd that come from?) and jeans. (Even in my dreams, I can't allow my brain to imagine the stretchy pants. ROFL)

(I'm also thinking he's probably not as muscular IRL as he was in my dream, *grin* but that's okay.)

So I was all excited because I'm finally meeting Pete IRL for the first time! Yay! He gives me a massive hug and we jump in the truck and go to the bookstore, where we proceed to walk around, pointing out our favorite books, then we wander into the erotica section and point out passages to each other, giggling like a couple of junior high school kids. We were shushed by some snot-nosed teenager who was the freaking MANAGER. Whatever.

At some point, we ended up in front of the Terry Pratchett books, where Pete tried to convince me that MOST of the books were actually GOOD, unlike the one I had picked up. So I bought one. (I can't remember which one, though...) Then we went around pointing out books we knew were by fellow AWers. I convinced Pete to buy a book by Jacquie D'Alessandro. LOL

After all this excitement, we went into a restaurant that was apparently attached to the book store, where we ate and talked and laughed for quite a long time. I was just thinking that we should get together more often when I woke up.

Sorry, thrill seekers, that really was it. ROFL I'd imagine it was pretty close to what would happen, should we actually ever end up meeting. Except for the pickup truck. And possibly the flannel shirt.

Oh. And the muscles. BUWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Nanook of the North

Thursday, March 1, 2007

So, I got to the used bookstore today in time to be handed a Memo from the mall office, declaring the mall closed. Everything was closed, not because of the snow we've gotten, but because of the impending storm.

So, happy and puzzled, I closed up the store and got a ride home with the girl I would have been taking over for. In the time I got there until the time I got home (maybe twenty minutes) an inch of snow had fallen. By the time I'm done with this blog post, another two will probably be down on the ground.

I cannot see across the street. I just see a wall of fast-moving snow mixed with ice that turns everything into an impenetrable wall when it hits.

The grocery stores are closing, the banks are closing, the mall has closed.

The city and county have run out of snow plows and snow plow drivers. The shift they have going now has been going since four this morning. They have no choice but to stand down and go home. They have no one else to send out. The roads and streets are therefore (as of four o'clock) completely unplowed until tomorrow, when this same shift comes back to work.


I adore this kind of bad weather. I love bad weather in general. When thunderstorms turn the skies strange shades of green and yellow and silver, when the thunder is something you feel in your feet and the lights flicker in time with the lightning, I'm happy as anything and prowling the house. Or I'm out walking in it, if I can get away with it.

With blizzards, I would bundle up and go out, but blizzards like this one would white things out enough that I'm not confident enough to be roaming the country-side. I like the bad weather, but I'm not stupid. I have no desire to get turned around and freeze to death.

Still, I'm happy as anything.

We have over a foot and a half of snow on the ground. We're predicted to get another twelve inches, but the prediction keeps rising. The Doppler radar shows a long and mostly verticle strip that's passing up, straight through us. And it's swirling too, so it'll come get us before too long again.


I'll report further, unless the ice kills the power. In which case, I'll get my notebook and my fountain pen and get a ton of writing done instead. There's no downside here.