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March 31, 2006
April Guests: Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer!
Well, good morning, Literary Chicks readers! We here at the L.C. are beyond excited to announce our guests for April: Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer!
Jennifer and Bob met almost two years ago in Maui. Answering the fateful question, "What do you write?" (the literary version of "What's your major?") Jenny said, Well, basically, in my books, people have sex and get married. To which Bob replied, In my books, people have sex and die. At that point, it was obvious they needed to collaborate. (For more on how Jenny and Bob met and collaborated, click here.)
Remember those commercials for Reese's Peanut Butter cups? "You got your chocolate in my peanut butter"? It's kinda like that, only this time the genius pairing is romance and adventure to create the enticing new genre of Romantic Adventure. What's even more amazing? They haven't killed each other yet. Some people have their money on Bob in the Conservatory with a Fork. I, however, maintain my bet - Jenny'll get him in the Library with an iMac. Either way, as long as they're both living, readers get the fruits of their labors - romantic adventures, the first of which, Don't Look Down, is in stores April 4th!
And Literary Chicks readers get even more... because we're giving away FOUR SIGNED COPIES of Don't Look Down right here!
Between now and April 21st, all you have to do is send an e-mail with your name and mailing address to giveaway@literarychicks.com with the subject line "I Want My Romantic Adventure!" and we'll put you in the running to receive free copies of Don't Look Down! So go ahead and fire up that e-mail and be sure to check us out every Saturday for a new post from Jenny and Bob!
And, uh, light a candle that they don't kill each other, because life with Reese's? Absolutely no fun!
Posted by Lani at 8:00 AM | Comments (6)
March 30, 2006
March Lit Chicks News
Since March is sooooo long, the Literary Chicks asked me to pop in and let you all know what theyre up to these days. Im Jonathan Jazz Terlicki, the Literary Chicks office manager, wardrobe coordinator, and general genius-of-all-trades. (More about me later, darlings, I know you want the dish!!!)
Right now Im sitting in the empty offices here at the LC, surrounded by confetti and empty champagne glasses from the big RITA celebration party for Lani and Alesia! Were all so proud of them both, and I SO wont go into how I always get stuck with the cleanup. Lets just say that Jazz is due for a teensy raise . . .
Okay, enough about moi. On to the FAB news of each of our brilliant and beautiful authors:
The lovely Lanis latest news is the RITA nomination for EX AND THE SINGLE GIRL, which should have been named PORTIA FALLON AND THE PENIS TEFLON, and if that doesnt get you to buy the book, nothing will. Also, Lanis really excited about the release of THE COMEBACK KISS, which is coming out in May, and is the continuation of Finns story, the hot bird thief from MAYBE BABY. Lani is way too humble to admit that her reviews have been KICKING ASS, but if you sneak a peek at her website, you can read all about it. And daisies are tres chic, nest-ce pas?
Our darling Beths news, straight from her (because Beth writes her own news and makes my life so much better. She even offered to pop over to the offices with her new Dyson and help clean up. I LOVE that girl!!!) --
FASHIONABLY LATE is waiting anxiously at a bookstore near you, just dying to be read, but my very newest release is Life As A Poser, the launch book in The 310, my new series for teens. Im publishing these under the name Beth Killian, and even though theyre marketed toward teenagers, Im confident that my grown up (ha ha, I now know you guys all have a mental age of 19) readers will die laughing. You can read an excerpt and find out more on my new website: www.bethkillian.com. Ooh, and I just heard that MTV will be running TV spots to promote the book in May, so keep your eyes peeled. (Assuming you watch MTV. Which you really should, if only to gawk at episodes of My Super Sweet Sixteen.) Ill be doing lots of signing and speaking events this spring in Arizona and Los Angeles; check out my Appearances page for details. Please drop by and say hi if youll be in the area. Please. Im begging you.
Our wonderful Whitney is off at the playground beating up the other moms (trust me, they SO deserve it check out Whitneys website for details!!) but she managed to fax me a few notes. Shes too modest to admit it, but she just made another FABULOUS book sale so the Whitney Gaskell oeuvre is on a roll!!!
TESTING KATE is coming out on Halloween -- October 31, 2006. Basically it's about a chick who goes to law school, hates it, and is in a love triangle with her ex-boyfriend and sexy neighbor. See her fabulous cover here!!
Here's the back cover copy:
No one is better than Kate Bennett at playing by the rulesbecause no one has her knack for running into bad luck. Orphaned while in college, Kate handled her loss like a trooper, graduating with honors, acquiring a secure job and a dependable boyfriend. But now, with her thirtieth birthday around the corner, Kate senses its time to shake things up. In her new incarnation as an aspiring lawyer, Kate quits her job, changes her live-in relationship to long-distance, and U-Hauls it across the country for her first year at Tulane Law School. Too bad nothing in the Big Easy is quite so easy.
Before she knows it, Kate finds her life turned upside-down by a notoriously sadistic professor, a larger-than-life new bossand a romantic indiscretion with a fellow student whos convinced shes The Oneand that shes not so sure she regrets. But can either of the men in her life really know her when shes just getting to know herself? In a year of self-discovery, the most important lesson Kate may learn is that to change your luck, sometimes you have to change your mindincluding what you thought was your dream.
Our ADORABLE Michelle the official LC European jetsetter has been flitting around London and Sheffield (made famous by the movie THE FULL MONTY; and may I just mention that some men need a little cardio work??) and basically making the rest of us green with envy!! Shes working on her new super secret project deets soon!! and wanted to let us know about the upcoming book about the rocking TV show DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES (and, seriously, Eva Longoria? The girl can shop!)
Dont miss Michelles essay, Desperately Seeking Susan, in the upcoming anthology Welcome to Wisteria Lane! It's all about the hit TV show, Desperate Housewives, and you can see previews, and an inside look at the upcoming anthology at Michelle's site!
The marvelous Eileens brilliant book, UN-BRIDALED, is rocking the bookstores!!! Eileen is far too busy with her fabulous book release parties and booksignings to send her news, so Ill let slip a little peep: another fabulous book deal here and more of La Rendahl on the way!! Were all thrilled!!
Eileens latest book, UN-BRIDALED, was released at the beginning of March and has already gone into a second printing. She will be signing it at the Let Your Imagination Take Flight Conference in Natick, MA, on April 7 where she will also be giving the workshop A Chick Lit Heros Journey or Its Not Just about the Shoes. She will also be appearing with Beth in Los Angeles at the LA Times Festival of the Book on April 29 from 4-5 at the Borders Booth. In May, Eileen will be speaking as part of a Chick Lit panel with Alesia at the Romantic Times Conference in Daytona Beach, FL. See all of Eileen's's news and appearances at her website!!
Our intrepid Alesias latest news is the RITA final for The Naked Truth about Guys, in THE NAKED TRUTH anthology. She is awed and thrilled to be in the company of such amazing authors in the novella category!! Her first mystery, BLONDES HAVE MORE FELONS, is rocking the bookstores and mystery and romance readers alike are sending letters that they LOVE December Vaughn! Alesia is going to be a traveling fool in April and May (and does she invite moi? No!
Well, enough about them. Lets dish about me. Im tall, buff, and . . . oh, crap. Thats the bell. Must be Beth and the Dyson. Well, ta ta for now!! And be sure to stay tuned for news of our ROCKING SPECIAL GUESTS FOR APRIL!!
Smooches,
Jazz
Posted by Alesia at 8:55 AM | Comments (0)
March 28, 2006
Speaking of commercials...
"I just think things should work properly"
Heres how I know Im getting old before my time: I recently ordered a new vacuum and Im really, really excited. Pathetically so. Every day I check the status of my order online and peer out the window for the UPS guy with the longing intensity once reserved for prom dates and college acceptance letters.
But its a Dyson, you guys! The special Animal model designed specifically for multiple pet owners like myself! Havent you seen the commercials? This things totally gonna rock! Goodbye dog hair, hello tile floors so clean we could serve sushi off them!
See, I told you: pathetic. And old. And it doesnt help matters that I just received an As We Change catalog in the mail yesterday. A quick flip through raised my suspicions that this catalog is geared toward the menopausal set. (Moisture-control sleepwear, "power surge" embroidered pillows, bifocal sunglasses, personal training videos to strengthen ones pelvic floor musclescall it a hunch.) Now, I have nothing against menopause and hope to keep my pelvic floor muscles in prime condition when the time comes, but frankly, Id hoped to make it to at least 30 before I needed to stock up on hot flash p.j.s.
Although. Maybe I shouldnt be so dismissive. Arizona does get pretty damn hot in the summer.
Anyway, I dont know how As We Change got my name for their mailing list. I do buy a lot of weird holistic stuff for my dogs from various online purveyorsand okay, some snooty skincare crapbut how that correlates with the change, I do not know. And their marketing team may be on to something, because when I flipped through the catalog, I did stop and check out the goodies like Footpetals and Tag Tamers.
So I was feeling old and blue, but then I called Lani to congratulate her on her RITA nomination and as soon as I mentioned the Dyson, she started squealing right along with me. (I feel sure shed buy one, too, if theyd manufacture a special pink Hello Kitty model.) Its funnyin some ways I feel so adult but most of the time, my mental age is about 19. Which reminds me (shamless promo alert!): my first book for teens just came out this month under my new alias and its high-larious, if I do say so itself. My husband beseeches you to go order one right now and get him one step closer to his ultimate dream: the golf cart.
Posted by Beth at 1:10 AM | Comments (18)
March 27, 2006
That Not So Fresh Feeling
And other commercials I have seen and loathed
What is up with modern day advertisers? I remember the days when Darren on Bewitched would struggle to come up with the perfect advertising campaign (and Samantha would try to help him out by wiggling her nose, but would inevitably just make the whole situation worse by turning the client into a turtle or something, etc., etc.).
Nowadays, we're assaulted with a never-ending barrage of yuck. These aren't commercials that make me want to buy something. Instead, they repulse me. For example:
(1) Foot Fungus. Actually, I'm pretty sure the commercial isn't trying to sell foot fungus, but rather something to cure foot fungus, but it's hard to focus on that when cartoon bugs are crawling up under a toenail. EWWWWW! I don't like feet under the best of circumstances, but add in some nasty animated fungus, and it just makes me want to barf.
(2) Victoria's Secret. First of all, the commercials are really sort of porny. Soft porn, yes, but still. And second, do you really think seeing Tyra Banks prancing around in a few slips of lycra and lace will make me want to go out and buy that lingerie so that I can stuff my baby stretched body into it and see just how un-Tyra-like I am? No thanks.
(3) Exterminators. There was a commercial on a few years ago, where a rather serious woman said, "I didn't think we had a bug problem. But then I stepped on a cockroach in the middle of the night, and the next day I called Nuclear Pest Control." Gah! I still get the heeby-jeebies just thinking about that. Thanks to that little gem, I can't get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom without turning on every single light in the bedroom.
(4) Rooms To Go. Who was the brain trust who decided to rewrite the already annoying Tomorrow song from Annie, by substituting in the lyrics: "Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Rooms To Go will deliver it tomorrow!" Every time that commercial comes on, I dive for the remote, trying to hit the mute button before it sticks in my head for the rest of the day. And, every time, Im just a few seconds too late.
So, what commercials make you want to drive a sharp pencil into your eye?
Posted by Whitney at 8:44 AM | Comments (11)
March 26, 2006
Sometimes the lonelist number is two.
Life inside the wrong relationship can be way lonelier than being alone.
I think the loneliest year of my life was the year I spent in Boston with Husband #1. (Yes. I am a multiply married Chick with two under my belt and a third one in the offing.) I had moved with him there so he could pursue a graduate degree. I knew one person besides him. That was okay. I make friends fast.
Except -- surprise, surprise -- he didn't like any of my new friends. That was an old story. For some reason, he didn't much like any of my friends although I got along fine with his. He wasn't all that crazy about my family either. Why exactly, he wanted to know, did I need to spend so much time on the phone with my sisters? Couldn't I limit it to a phone call to each of them every other week? When I started to make friends with the wives of some of his older classmates, he didn't approve and very successfully kept me from pursuing those friendships, too. These discussions were usually followed by more discussions of how fat I was, how stupid I was and how I was so very lucky that a man like him was interested in someone like me.
Looking back, I sometimes wonder how I could have been so stupid, how I couldn't see how hard he worked to keep me isolated. It was by far the loneliest year of my life. I probably didn't look lonely. I had a husband, after all. I was part of a couple. How could I possibly be lonely?
I was though. Desperately, terribly lonely and desperately, terribly sad.
In a move that may have saved my life and certainly saved my sanity, we left Boston for Wisconsin. I made friends who didn't care if he glared at them or was rude to them and had the courage to tell me that something was terribly wrong.
I left him, worrying that I would be lonely, and found just the opposite. Even when I was alone, I wasn't nearly as lonely as I was with him.
This blog was brought to you by The Lone Star Lonely Hearts Club, Susan McBrides latest Deputante Dropout Mystery!
Posted by Eileen at 7:34 PM | Comments (10)
March 25, 2006
Lonely Lovin'
I got your lonely heart right here, baby.
Wow. It's a big week here at The L.C! Alesia and I both nominated for Ritas (yay!), we had the fabulous Susan McBride here to entertain us (miss her already!) and Sweetness is turning 7 tomorrow. It's just a flurry of activity! And with all this love coming in to The L.C., I have to say, I'm having a hard time writing about lonely hearts. I keep hearing Sargent Pepper in my head, and while it does give me a very odd desire to run out and buy one of these jackets...
... it doesn't really get me anywhere, blog-wise. So what's a non-Lonely girl to do?
Talk about the Fictional Lonely Hearts I Wouldn't Mind Giving A Little Company To:
David Addison. Okay. Everyone who knows me knows my thing for David Addison. Hunky, fun, singing and drunk - just the way I like 'em. Yet, he and Maddie just couldn't seem to make it work. Possibly because the writers hosed the show, possibly because Cybill Shepherd got herself knocked up in Season Three and hosed the whole thing. I don't know what happened, but the show done got hosed, and David Addison ended up alone. Which is wrong, wrong, wrong.
House. Oh, my. Ohhhhhh, my. That Hugh Laurie? Oh, my. How an actor can make such an ever-loving a**hole (see? dig me, I'm watching the language) be sooooo sexy, I'll never understand, but I'm just glad he does it. And House is a big jerk, but there's something about his uncompromising honesty and rough exterior (and blue eyes, let's not underestimate the eyes) that makes him a lonely heart I wouldn't mind sidling up to. At least for a little while.
Eko. Okay. You know, I understand. The guy was a South African mobster. He killed people. He was kinda bad. But on Lost, he's just sexy. Walking around with that big stick, being all mysterious and spiritual, and did I mention the eyes? I've got this thing for eyes. All I'm saying is, what happens on the Freaked Out Island from Hell, stays on the Freaked Out Island from Hell.
Spike. You might surmise from the fact that this is the second murderer on my Let Me Warm That Lonely Heart list, that I have a bad boy thing, but you would be only the teensiest bit right. What I love about Spike is that, even with the whole No-chip-no-soul-I'll-kill-you-dead thing, he's still one of the most amazingly complex and sexy fictional people ever to exist. And when, even without a soul, he tries to be a good man for the sake of love? :::sigh:::
Michael Bluth. You know, I never had a thing for Jason Bateman until this show. And even though Michael is slightly selfish and highly manipulative, I can't help but think he'd be fun company, ifyaknowwhatimean.
All right. Time to run and party down with the kids. Have a lovely weekend, all!
This blog was brought to you by The Lone Star Lonely Hearts Club, Susan McBrides latest Deputante Dropout Mystery!
Posted by Lani at 10:22 AM | Comments (13)
March 24, 2006
More Breaking News!
Thanks to Whitney and everyone for the congrats! But more are due... our own Alesia Holliday has finalled in the RITAs for Best Novella for "The Naked Truth About Guys" from The Naked Truth anthology!!!
Congratulations, Alesia!!!!
Posted by Lani at 2:12 PM | Comments (11)
Breaking News
Lani's fabulous book, Ex and the Single Girl, has been nominated for a RITA award in the category of Strong Romantic Elements!
Congratulations, Lani!!!
Posted by Whitney at 1:26 PM | Comments (13)
March 23, 2006
The Anti-Lonely Hearts Club
No, I won't marry you
I''m not trying to be difficult, really I'm not. We blog about brides, and I talk about grooms. We talk about lonely hearts, and I talk about marriage proposals. :) It's just that my wonderful fellow Lit Chicks used up all the good stuff, so my mind, being the dark and devious, troll-like thing that it is . . . naturally gravitates to the BAD.
Like marriage proposals. And the ones I've received in my relatively short life. All TWELVE of them.
Not that I'm counting.
There's something about me. Some pheromone. Or the fact that I have wide hips and some primitive throwback to Neanderthal in a man's brain thinks: Grunt. Good breeder.
I don't know what it is. All I know is that I had a lot of men wanting to get hitched. My record is on the third date.
Yes, I ran screaming away from that man.
I wrote a character in my book NICE GIRLS FINISH FIRST, Kirby, who has never once been invited to a man's mother's for Sunday lunch. It was like writing science fiction for me, because I have met Moms. Tons of Moms. Once, even on a first date. Mom was -- SURPIRSE!! -- on our dinner date.
Yes, I ran screaming away from that man.
I was never one of those women who played bride dress up as a little girl. I never read a copy of BRIDE magazine. I didn't care about ever getting married - I was more interested in being an international spy or brilliantly successful jewel thief. I wanted danger, I wanted glamour, I wanted adventure and foreign lovers.
Men clearly saw me as somebody who ought to be barefoot and pregnant.
Yes, I ran screaming away from those men.
When I finally met Navy Guy, I made it pretty clear that I wasn't the marrying kind. I even turned him down the first time he asked me out. (Today is our 10th wedding anniversary, so you can see how well THAT worked out.) But I've always had my own life and my own career and my own adventures, even when I was pregnant (shoes optional).
And, being in a sometimes old-fashioned world of the military dominated by men who think women should be at home putting dinner on the table, I cherish this overheard conversation:
Military friend to my Navy Guy: I can't believe your wife works, dude. How can you stand not to have dinner ready when you come home?
Navy Guy, smiling at me: Dude, my wife just bought me a truck.
Here's another great thing about marriage: no new proposals in the past ten years. And I'm looking forward to having a hand to hold for the next ten or fifty. No Lonely Hearts here. Damn, I'm lucky. :)
hugs,
Alesia
This blog was brought to you by The Lone Star Lonely Hearts Club, Susan McBrides latest Deputante Dropout Mystery!
Posted by Alesia at 2:17 PM | Comments (16)
March 22, 2006
The Inspiration for LONELY HEARTS
...which I won't soon forget
When my publicist sent out ARCs for THE LONE STAR LONELY HEARTS CLUB, shed made up this great press release, all about how I was named a top single by St. Louis Magazine and how my own dating life (until last November) had been pretty disastrous. The thing was, none of that had anything to do with the book or what inspired it.
The true seed behind this tale of love, dating and murder (and the backdrop of LONELY HEARTS being a posh retirement village and many of the characters being well over sixty) is my grandmother.
Shes been gone ten years this month, but I think of her all the time and clearly remember something she said to me after my grandfather had died and shed started dating again.
Can you even imagine that? Dating after youd been married to the same man for fifty years? Not only married, but madly and deeply in love?
Its bad enough to have to deal with being single when youre in your twenties or thirtiesor even your forties. But how does it feel when youre in your seventies and widowed and had hoped never to have to do the mating dance ever again?
Anyway, my grandma started going out with a dude from her church that no one in the family much liked. My Paw Paw had been the greatest guy, full of life and laughter, generous to a fault, always quick with a joke (or a bad pun).
Bernie was none of these things.
I recall a cozy moment when the extended family was gathered in grandmas family room, watching A Christmas Story, chuckling like mad, and Bernie turned to Grandma and said, Is this supposed to be funny?
Well, that sealed it for me. He wasnt suitable for my grandmother, as he clearly had no sense of humor (something thats overabundant in my family).
So I asked her one day when we were alone: Why Bernie? Because I didnt get it.
She looked me straight in the eyerather sadlyand said, Sometimes you just want a hand to hold.
That hit me hard, right in the gut.
I will never forget it either.
And it made me realize how complicated our emotions can be, how persistent our drive to find another to share our daysand nights--because sometimes a heart beating in tandem is much more desirable than one heart beating alone.
So I wrote THE LONE STAR LONELY HEARTS CLUB with my grandmother's words in mind, all the feelings she was going through, her desire for affection...and I wove some of that into my third Debutante Dropout book. Which I dedicated to her, of course.
Often the best storylines are dictated to us through our real-lives, if we'd just pay attention, listen, and feel.
Speaking of emotions, I want to thank the incredible Literary Chicks for allowing me to guest blog this month. Ive enjoyed my time here so much, and I wish much happiness and success to everyone. Hugs!
Now for the winners of the five signed copies of THE LONE STAR LONELY HEARTS CLUB (drum roll, please!):
Crystal Broyles, Christy Hawkes, Sharon Herbert, Kathy Nitsch, and Gennie Bailey. Congratulations, ladiesIll be in touch!
See you at Lipstick,
Susan
This blog was brought to you by The Lone Star Lonely Hearts Club, Susan McBrides latest Deputante Dropout Mystery!
Posted by at 8:02 AM | Comments (8)
March 21, 2006
The heart is a lonely hunter
and often a lousy judge of character
I have had my fair share of horrible dates. There was the guy who stopped me outside the science library at UCLA, professed to be a medical student, and convinced me to meet him for coffee. While we sipped our lattes, I jokingly quizzed him on the 12 cranial nerves, only to discover that he didnt know most of them and that he was, in fact, a big fat liar. He wasnt a med student at all; he waswait for ita dental student. Why he would lie about such a trivial distinction, I do not know. I didnt stick around to find out.
Then there was the guy who seemed normal at first but soon started pestering me to wear really, really sexy shoes wherever we went, even the grocery store or a matinee; the guy who secretly slipped vodka into my cranberry juice when I was taking medicine and had specifically requested juice only (Im pretty sure hes still deaf in one ear from my incensed screeching); the guy who wooed me with chocolate and flowers and constant phone calls and begged me to be his date for his brothers wedding two weeks henceand then, after I had bought a smashing cocktail dress and a new lipstick for the occasion, never contacted me again (still a mysterythe theory is he may have returned to an ex); and, of course, the blind date who called me to arrange our first meeting and within thirty seconds of introducing himself, asked me my bra size (this, of course, was in Los Angeles. And no, I didnt meet up with him. Given his priorities, he would have been woefully disappointed, even if I had.)
So I was fascinated when one of my girlfriends mentioned that theres now a website that can help you pre-screen the neer-do-wells. Dont date him, girl is like a global database where women can red flag the cheaters and track them like tagged bears in the wild. Viva the internet! Viva sisterhood! And viva the 12 cranial nerves, because God only knows what else that skeevy lout was lying about.
This blog was brought to you by The Lone Star Lonely Hearts Club, Susan McBrides latest Deputante Dropout Mystery!
Posted by Beth at 1:53 AM | Comments (9)
March 19, 2006
Lonely Hearts Week
Only the lonely, Dum-dum-dum-dumdy-doo-wa
The beautiful, talented and extraordinary Susan McBride has been gracious enough to spend March hanging out with us here at the L.C.
(I keep trying to call the Literary Chicks "the L.C." -- you know, like "The O.C." -- but so far it hasn't caught on yet. No matter. Ill keep trying.)
Susan has a fantastic new book out: The Lone Star Lonely Hearts Club. Its the third in Susans Debutante Dropout mystery series, and its already racking up some fab reviews. Publishers Weekly declared that The Lone Star Lonely Hearts Club is "chatty, colorful and tres Texas, McBrides latest cozy is a pleasure."
So what are you waiting for? Go out and buy a copy! Hell, go out and buy TEN copies, and pass them out to all of your friends. Theyll love you for it!
In honor of Susan's amazing new book, we're celebrating with Lonely Hearts Week at the L.C. (See? Not giving it up.) Keep checking in all this week, as the Lit Chicks regale you with their own tales of lonely hearts and lost loves.
Posted by Whitney at 9:04 PM | Comments (3)
One More Wedding Entry
Because it was just so darn beautiful.
I know LAST week was Bride Week here with the Chicks and that this Sunday should be the kick off of, um, well, Not Bride Week, but I have to make one last bridey entry. I was privileged to attend a beautiful wedding just last night and I simply must blog about it.
I'm back in Madison, Wisconsin to attend the wedding of a young lady whom I've known since she was fifteen. I've seen her go from teenager to college student to accomplished young woman. And now, sniff, I've gotten to see her be a bride.
I cried all day. I cried as she got her hair done. I cried as she got dressed. I cried when we made her eat a sandwich so she wouldn't pass out during the ceremony. I cried when she came down the aisle. Kleenex should sponsor me. That is the quality of crying that poured out of my eyes yesterday.
It was one of those bizarre weddings where everyone behaved and no one was terribly stressed. There were no horrid altercations or temper tantrums. I have to say, they failed miserably to give me any juicy material to work with. This is the moment, however, that they did give me and that I will never forget.
The bride came down the aisle and stood next to the groom. Her eyes were filled with tears as she floated past us in her beautiful satin gown. I think I saw the groom tremble. As she took her place next to him, he took her hand. From the audience, you could see the calm that came over them the moment their hands touched. It was like I could feel the strength that he offered her and the support she offered him through their clasped hands. They didn't let go through the whole ceremony.
I hope they never let go.
Posted by Eileen at 1:38 PM | Comments (4)
March 18, 2006
Twice on Sundays
Happiness is a crap shoot where the odds get better the harder you throw the dice.
Hey, all! I've been horribly quiet lately - although some of you might see that as a good thing - because I've been in NYC all week in a FABULOUS hotel with wireless internet access that works like the Pony Express. Which means that sometimes it's unbelievably slow and sometimes it's just dead. I will try to get in my blog in this morning, God willing and the creek don't rise.
This week we're talking about brides, so I must confess. I think I am the only woman in America who, as a little girl, looked at a beautiful bride all in white with the flowing tresses and the flowing veil and the flowing EVERYTHING and thought, "Eh, I'd rather be golfing."
And don't even ask me how I feel about golf...
I'll admit. I'm a freak. And don't get me wrong. I love weddings. I love other people's weddings. I cry, I'm happy inside, I didn't have to plan anything. Not even the gift. As a guest, all I have to do is just go to the registry, point to a line and say, "Wrap it." As a matter of fact, the less I know the bride and groom, the more tentative and distant the relationship, the more I like the wedding.
Weddings are fun. As long as they aren't mine.
I had what, in my mind, is the perfect wedding.
MARCH 1998: Fish takes me to Niagara Falls, gets down on his knees, pops the question, and knocks me up. All in one night. Goooooo, Fish.
APRIL 1998: I pee on a stick. I freak out. I call Fish, who wants us to get married NOW. I quit my job. I pack my bags. I have a miscarriage. I get drunk. Fish still gets on a bus from Tucson, Arizona and rides it for three days to come get me in Syracuse, New York. He rode a greyhound for three days to come get me. To this day, the thought of that makes me all weepy with love for that man. Whatever about the household chores, that man is a one in a million.
MAY 1998: A Thursday afternoon, Tucson, Arizona. Fish turns to me. "So, I'm thinking, Vegas?" I smile. "Let's pack." Friday afternoon, we arrive in Vegas. Make some calls, play some blackjack. At 6 am on a Saturday morning, a limo arrives to take us to the Little White Wedding Chapel, where my best friend and her boyfriend meet us to be our witnesses. We exchange vows, are married before breakfast. We spend the day gambling. Fish does well in blackjack, I hit a couple nickel slot jackpots, and by the end of the weekend, our wedding is paid for. Which is not that big a deal, as the wedding was only about $500 including gas, but still. As broke as we were, that was pretty cool.
JULY 1998: I pee on another stick. Sweetness is on her way and all is well with the world.
Everytime we go to a big, elaborate, beautiful wedding with happy faces and an open bar, Fish always turns to me with a sad smile. For some reason, because he would have hated a big wedding with the white-hot passion of a thousand suns, he seems to think that the Vegas thing was all his doing. That I wanted a big to-do and he cheated me out of it because we were broke. What he doesn't realize is that, given the chance, I would do it exactly the same, every day of the week and twice on Sundays. What's important is not that every bride have a big elaborate wedding, but that every bride get exactly the wedding she wants, and my perfect wedding happened on an early May morning in 1998.
Smooches, Fish. I'll be home tonight.
This blog was brought to you by Un-Bridaled, Eileen's hilarious new novel about a commitment-phobic bride and love on the run!
Posted by Lani at 6:52 AM | Comments (6)
March 17, 2006
A Bit Of A Do
...And Why I Never Meant To Get Married...
Yes, you read that right. I never meant to get married.
Oh, not for a minute am I not romantic. I LOVE romance. In fact, I met Oh Patient One (tres romantically) on the phone and fell completely in love with him and his voice and everything about him before I met him (another story). I knew I loved him even before I knew how to pronounce his odd surname (well, do YOU know how to pronouce Cunnah, or where the name comes from, LOL?)
I love a good wedding as much as the next person, complete with huge fluffy white dress-wearing-radiant bride. And tissues...
BUT I never wanted that fluffy-white dress thing for me. I just didn't want to be in the limelight, and I just didn't want all the fuss of it. I don't know why, I just didn't.
Back way back, when Oh Patient One and I decided that we were it, we wanted to be together, we just moved in and didn't think about weddings or stuff. We thought about our future, and we thought about families...or rather, Oh Patient One thought about families.
One day, he said to me, "I really love you. You are it. I want to be with you, I want to have a family, and I want it with you."
I swooned.
He loved me and he wanted to spend his life with me and he wanted to have babies with me.
We were happy, we loved each other, I just didn't want a huge fluffy white dress and all that fuss (and yes, he asked me many a time just to make sure). And then, when I was expecting Teenager #1 we encountered some legal problems...
If I died giving birth, Oh Patient One wouldn't be the next of kin to Teenager #1 (Or Baby #1 back in those days). My parents would be her next of kin.
If Oh Patient One died, I and Baby #1 wouldn't be his next of kin back in those days. His parents would be.
So we decided to get married.
Piicture this: Marylebone Registry Office, London, marriage place to the big stars. All of our close family and friends came, we had a nice service, followed by a big party "bit of a do" at my sister-in-law's apartment close by (thank you, Julie and Richard, it was lovely), and we had a FABULOUS time! (No big white dress for me, whew).
Quite a few years later Oh Patient One and I have very fond memories to look back on (and it feels like only yesterday). But I've never once thought longingly about a fluffy big white dress...
I would LOVE to hear about your wedding stories, and how you did it, and why you did it the way you did! (And yes, if you wanted or want that big fluffy white dress, go you for it!)
Michelle
Posted by Michelle at 3:24 PM | Comments (11)
March 16, 2006
Let's not forget about Grooms
Ten years and counting
Everybody in my house is/was sick for the past two weeks, including me, so I've dragged myself home from the doctor's (cough syrup with codeine! yeehaw! NOW we're talking!) to the computer so I can talk about Brides for Eileen's release week. Or, actually, the other half. The guy part.
In praise of grooms.
Maybe I'm feeling uncharacteristically girly, but I'm seriously appreciating Navy Guy this week. This is a man who carried his cell phone in his pocket all weekend so I could telephone him from the bedroom, where I was either 1) wracked with chills, or 2) burning up with fever. He would answer the phone, walk downstairs, and make me tea. Or bring me meds. Or crackers. Or more tissues. Or, basically, whatever I needed.
This, in fact, has been the theme of our marriage. (Which may have a lot to do with why we're celebrating ten years next week.)
Husbands are great. Seriously. If you don't have one, you should rent one. They kill the spiders, change the lightbulbs, take out the trash, let you put your cold feet on them at night, hold your hand in the scary movies, mow the lawn, tell you how beautiful you are, stand by you against all obstacles (including your own children), bring you jewelry, flowers, chocolates, and flash drives when they know you're a gadget geeks. They set up the electronic equipment, put the furniture together, compliment your cooking - no matter how experiemental, give the dog her medicine, tell everyone they know you're the best writer in the world, and are always happy to oblige when you're in a romantic mood.
Or, at least, the good ones are like that. Having seen a lot of the bad ones in action, I know I'm not speaking for all husbands. But on Weddings week, I wanted to give a little shout out to all the grooms out there. We appreciate you guys!!
Please jump in and tell me one quality you love about your own groom, or if you don't have a groom, one quality that's non-negotiable in your groom requirements list. And send me cyber chicken soup. PLEASE. Then go buy Eileen's book, 'cause it's brilliant. :)
Non-contagious hugs,
Alesia
This blog was brought to you by Un-Bridaled, Eileen's hilarious new novel about a commitment-phobic bride and love on the run!
Posted by Alesia at 12:55 PM | Comments (5)
March 15, 2006
Ugly Bridesmaids' Dresses I Have Known
...which makes the bride look really good, huh?
When I heard the theme for this week was brides because of Eileens new book, UN-BRIDALED, I thought, What the heck am I gonna write about? Ive never been a bride, though thats not out of the realm of possibility one of these days. I do have a good friend whos a wedding planner (Laura Durham, author of FOR BETTER OR HEARSE), and many of my friends are married so Ive been to plenty of weddings. Have even been in a few.
Which led me to my topic of bridesmaids dressesugly bridesmaids dresses, in particular.
Are there any other kinds? Has anyone out there been in a wedding where the bridesmaids dresses were actually attractive and could be worn again for cocktail parties or elegant dinners out? If so, I want to hear about it.
The dress I wore in my friend Gigis wedding wasnt bad, so I shouldnt complain too much. It was almost 1950s inspired, with a flared skirt that required petticoats beneath (yes, we had to buy them), and the color was a soft sea-foam green (and, yes, again, we had to buy shoes and have them dyed to match). The bodice was rather lacy, if I recall, and my only real problem was that Id lost weight since the seamstress had measured me, so the dress was a smidgen large. Another of the bridesmaids had sent her measurements to the tailor, and she ended up with a dress that was too snug. So we all had our crosses to bear.
My sister had hanging in her closet until recently a bridesmaids dress borne in hell. It was made of some loud patterned fabric with puffy sleeves (note to women everywhere: puffy sleeves look attractive on NO ONE). It hung about to her calves and had a peter pan collar. All it needed was patent leather Mary Janes, and it wouldve been the perfect Easter dress for a 10-year-old.
Theres even a web site called UglyDress.com, where you can ooh and aah over icky bridesmaids dresses, often feeling thankful that yours wasnt worse.
Sometimes you have to wonder what gets into brides to make them choose such, um, unlovely attire for their so-called friends. Is it that the pressure from all the wedding plans has rendered them slightly insane and unable to tell a pretty outfit from a bug-ugly one? Is it a case of temporary color blindness that makes them choose odd hues and/or patterns that wouldnt even look good as living room curtains or tablecloths at a picnic?
But think about it: if the brides pals resemble walking wardrobe malfunctions, the bride herself is going to look phenomenal in comparison.
Whose gonna get your vote for best dressed: the parade of chicks in hot pink super-poofy skirts with puffed sleeves, or the vision in white, floating down the aisle on daddys arm?
No contest.
Cheers,
Susan
This blog was brought to you by Un-Bridaled, Eileens hilarious new novel about a commitment-phobic bride and love on the run!
Posted by at 7:32 AM | Comments (11)
March 14, 2006
Something platinum, something Prada
And don't forget the pre-nup...
I recently read a neuropsych study in which the researchers concluded that for all practical purposes, our brains make little distinction between our dearest friends and the celebs we see on the cover of Us Weekly. This is because evolution cant keep up with technology, and the facial recognition portion of the brain sends the same neural messages whether were looking at our college roommate or Lindsay Lohan. There was no TV in the Stone Age, no movies or magazines or internet sex tapes. As far as the temporal lobe is concerned, since were exposed to images of La Lohan on a regular basis, we feel as though we know her.
This would explain the ongoing interest that society has with celebrities, be it the British royals or J. Lo. Tom and Katie might as well be our next-door neighbors, from a cognitive neuroscience perspective. (And yes, Lani, Colin Firth might as well be your pool boy.) When stars deluge us with photos and press releases for all their weddings, babies, and break-ups, this adds to the temporal lobes confusion. So its no wonder that People has a sky-high circulation. Our fascination with the Ben-Jen-Angelina saga is biological hardwiring!
So now I know why I have the compulsion to sit around and watch wedding specials on E! and VH1. I love me some celebrity weddings. The designer gowns, the huge guest lists, the outrageous price tagsdid you know that Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt allegedly got matching his-n-her highlights for their Malibu ceremony? You get to see the fairy-tale results without having to slog through any of the wedding planning or springing for a gift from the registry at Tiffany or Bergdorf Goodman. You get to marvel at how perfect ones perfect day can look on paper, even if the clock is audibly ticking down to the sordid divorce. You dont have to concern yourself with whether the groom will be a good parent or partnerhe looks great in an Armani tux; case closed. And then, of course, there are the celebrity brides that you just wish you could pull aside and administer a stern, sisterly talking-to. (Run, run while you can! And dont give me that But I looove heee-im crap; the man is a walking STD in a goatee.)
So, inquiring minds want to know: Who are you rooting for in the ruthless arena of celebrity hook-ups? Who were you disappointed to see split up? I myself will confess a pathetic, lingering regret that Nick and Jessica couldnt work it out. (Hanging head in shame.) I know Im a sap and the whole thing has turned into a mud-slinging brawl, but they got married at about the same time I did and those crazy kids used to seem so in love
This blog was brought to you by Un-Bridaled, Eileens hilarious new novel about a commitment-phobic bride and love on the run!
Posted by Beth at 2:11 AM | Comments (7)
March 13, 2006
With This Ring . . .
I thee wed. Sort of.
Apropos that this is Bridal Week here at the L.C., because seven years ago today, I myself was a blushing bride.
Actually, I was a wet bride, too: it poured on our New Orleans wedding day, nixing all hopes of outdoor wedding photos.
George and I had originally planned a lovely wedding. It was going to be small and elegant, more like a dressy dinner party than a full-blown reception. We were going to get married behind the Ritz in Austin, and I was going to walk down the grassy aisle to My Baby Just Cares For Me, played by a pianist who sounded just like Nina Simone.
And then our families started to drive us crazy, and so we cancelled the whole thing and eloped instead.
I dont regret eloping, since we had a blast. We were married in a wedding chapel near the French Quarter, went on to have Jazz Brunch at Commanders Palace, and then drove out of the city to spend the night at a glamorous old B&B. It was romantic, and fun, and I had a kick ass dress.
Isn't my dress pretty?
But there was just one small hiccup in the whole weekend: Im not sure that George and I are actually legally married.
Let me back up. The wedding chapel we were married at was in one of those gorgeous old New Orleans Greek Revival homes, which had been recently restored. When wed booked our ceremony, wed explained to the proprietor of the wedding chapel, Father Vick, that we wouldnt be bringing anyone with us, so he agreed to provide the two witnesses that Louisiana Law required.
One of the two witnesses was Father Vicks mother, and she was clearly insane. I mean that literally: she had no idea where she was, who we were, or what she was signing when handed our wedding license. If Id told her I was Queen Elizabeth, and that this was my coronation, Father Vicks mother would have nodded obligingly, and said, Thats nice, dear. May I have my jello now?
So, I think were married. I mean, I assume were married. But, you know. Theres some gray area there, what with the whole incompetent witness glitch.
And to my handsome husband It's been a wonderful seven years, my love. Heres hoping for seventy more. Happy anniversary!
This blog was brought to you by Un-Bridaled, Eileen's hilarious new novel about a commitment-phobic bride and love on the run!
Posted by Whitney at 1:26 PM | Comments (7)
March 12, 2006
Dum Dum Da-Dum
It's Bride Week!
Yep. It's Bride Week here with the Literary Chicks. In honor of my new book, UN-BRIDALED, which is a runaway bride/secret baby/cowboy/reincarnation book, we will be talking about brides all week. Feel free to talk about secret babies, cowboys and reincarnation amongst yourselves.
Why write a runaway bride book? Because it's quite possible I should have been one myself.
At my first wedding -- and that should be your first clue as to how well my first marriage went -- the glass didn't break. Nope. My husband-to-be brought his foot down on the linen-wrapped goblet and it shot out of the napkin, hit a wall, bounced and rolled a few feet without even getting a crack. We all stood and stared at it. The rabbi then picked it up, re-wrapped it and husband #1 stomped it, but good.
When that marriage fell apart, I began to wonder if that unbroken glass had been an omen. Maybe I should have run. From my 20/20 hindsight vantage point now, I can tell you that at the moment the glass didn't break, I knew everything about that man and me that would eventually destroy our relationship. So, realizing that writing novels can be cheap therapy, I wrote a book about a bride who looks down at the unbroken glass, sees it for the evil portent it is, picks up her skirts and skedaddles.
Even though the plot of UN-BRIDALED revolves around runaway brides, secret babies, cowboys and reincarnation, it actually is a book about moms and the lessons -- both good and bad -- that they teach us and how we decide what to hold onto and what to cast away.
I'm a mom. In a cliche worthy of every runaway bride/secret baby/cowboy or reincarnation book ever written, I will now tell you that being a mom is the most difficult job I will ever have. I am so lucky to have had a wonderful mother myself who, though she may have made mistakes from time to time, never let me forget for a second that she loved me and would always love me no matter what. I'm trying very hard to pass that particular lesson down to my children.
All of this is why it was such a shock last summer when I was helping my mother move. I was packing her copious collections of stemware and stumbled across a little glass that didn't match any of the others. When I asked about it, she said that a friend had given it to her to be the glass my father would smash under the wedding canopy.
I asked why it was still whole.
She said she'd chosen to use a lightbulb wrapped in a napkin instead to get a good resounding smash -- a lesson she clearly had opted not to pass down.
This blog was brought to you by Un-Bridaled, Eileen's hilarious new novel about a commitment-phobic bride and love on the run!
Posted by Eileen at 12:29 PM | Comments (3)
March 11, 2006
There Oughta Be A Law
I'm a good girl, I am...
You know, it wasn't until we hit Crime and Felons week here on Literary Chicks that I realized there's a segment of my life that is missing: That rebel spirit that gives one - in one's older, calmer years - some good stories to share about one's misspent youth. Because while my youth was fairly well misspent, I've never really broken the law, with the exception of boring laws. Underage drinking, okay. Expired inspection stickers, ya got me. It's possible that Fish and I got friendly while driving cross-country in one of those states that outlaws certain sex acts, so there might be something interesting there. But real good laws? The kind that give you those fun My-Night-In-The-Clink stories? I got nothing.
I doubt I even have an FBI file. Although now that I've copped to the underage drinking, I'm sure they'll get right on that.
What I do have, however, is a laundry list of things that should be crimes, but which, sadly, are not. And I think if the FBI is listening, they should maybe take some notes.
So, here we go. Lani's List of Things That Should Be Immediately Outlawed:
Advertising drugs which cure yellow toenails but cause dry heaving, eye ticks, flaky skin, excessive flatulence, psoriasis, narcilepsy, stroke, heart attack and eleven varieties of cancer.
Saying out loud any variation on the following: See you next year! on New Year's Eve to someone you're going to see the next day/Are you really going to wear that? to someone who quite obviously, yes, was going to wear that/Working hard or hardly working? to anyone/So, when are you due? to anyone who has not physically shown you the stick with two pink lines/You know, it's so hard to find anything decent in a size 0, to anyone who is not a size 0, which is everyone, so shut the hell up and stop your whining.
(Oh. Sorry. Got carried away there. Moving on...)
Giving someone else's child (say, mine) an education on sin and the devil and then leaving it to the parent to explain what hell is and why the devil is so mean and if God is so powerful why can't he beat the devil and why are we all going to burn in hell? Yeah. Thanks for that.
Marketing any new solvent that claims it will get the baked-on grease off of my range and out of my oven when really it's just the exact same ineffective crap I bought last time, only this time in a purple bottle and costing a dollar more.
Being mean to cashiers, waitresses, and any other variety of service person just because you're the customer and the customer's always right. Newsflash: Sometimes, the customer is wrong. Sometimes, the customer is just an insipid bully. And sometimes, service people are in a room alone with your food. Just something to think about.
Manufacturing toys that beep, burp, poop, pee, talk, sing, move of their own power or have lots of small, removable pieces. Let's go back to the big wood blocks, shall we? I liked the big wood blocks.
Producing news pieces that create mass hysteria over obscure household dangers that effect .00001% of the population, then teasing them with, "It's in your house and IT CAN KILL YOU. We'll tell you what it is... at eleven."
Well, that about covers it for me. But it makes me wonder... what's on your list?
This blog was brought to you by Blondes Have More Felons, Alesia’s first December Vaughn Mystery – there’s nothing like December in Florida!
Posted by Lani at 6:06 AM | Comments (7)
March 8, 2006
I was a kindergarten hoodlum
I fought the law and the law won...
Even at the age of five, I was a high-strung, moody malcontent. Then, as now, my impulse control was not so great and emotional sophistication was not my strong suit. And so it came to pass, one bright, blustery March afternoon, that I was walking home from school (by myself—it now seems incredible that we ever lived in a world where a 5-year-old could safely walk the 3 blocks between school and home on her own, but there you go) and I was in a towering rage.
What precipitated this rage I cannot remember; all I know for sure was that I felt the world had crossed me, and vengeance would be mine. And since it was early spring, the tulips and crocus in our neighborhood were starting to bloom. One flower bed in particular caught my eye as I stormed down the street—a garden full of the ugliest flowers I had ever seen (which I now know were hyacinths).
These flowers offended me with their perkiness and their stubborn refusal to resemble any flower I’d ever seen before. How dare they not be daisies or daffodils or marigolds??? The temerity!
So I did what any bratty five-year-old would do—I kicked the hyacinths repeatedly with not one shred of respect for other people’s property. And then I continued on my merry way with my world outlook much improved.
Here’s where the story gets weird.
My little rage episode was witnessed by a neighbor of the hyacinth house. This neighbor then took it upon herself to outfit both herself and her young daughter in winter coats, follow me home, and rat me out to my mom. They completely busted me. I was a criminal and I should be punished to the fullest extent of the law.
At the time I was trampling the flowers, I’d thought I was just blowing off a little steam, just lording my mighty human power over a helpless plant. But if a grown-up had actually followed me home to tell on me…crap. This had to be bad. What had I done?
My mother listened to the neighbor with no expression whatsoever on her face, then turned to me and told me to put my boots back on, ‘cause we were going back to the hyacinth house to apologize to the owner.
I broke out in a cold sweat, but there was no getting out of this. Mom walked me back to the house, shook her head at the havoc I’d wreaked in the garden, and made me ring the doorbell.
Here’s where the story gets even weirder.
The middle-aged woman who answered the door looked pale and frail, but I held up my chin and stuttered through the confession I’d rehearsed on the walk over. As soon as I got to the part where I’d jitterbugged on her hyacinths, she burst in to tears—we’re talking full-on hysterics—and started wailing that she’d just had an operation and her marriage had fallen apart and that this was just the last straw, I had taken away the last remnant of happiness in her life.
I don’t remember much after that—my brain has mercifully blocked out the trauma. But I knew I was going to hell for sure. And that’s just what I deserved because I was a vicious, mean-spirited little wretch should be staked in a dungeon and eaten alive by rats.
Or so I came to believe after this woman had a nervous breakdown right before my eyes. My mother later called it “the perfect storm” of small town drama and misplaced angst. I still feel bad about the whole thing, I still cringe every time I think about it, and I wonder what became of the hyacinth house woman. I hope she’s okay. I also hope I don’t go to hell.
But WTF was up with the neighbor stalking me down? Am I the only one who thinks that was wildly inappropriate?
This blog was brought to you by Blondes Have More Felons, Alesia’s first December Vaughn Mystery – there’s nothing like December in Florida!
Posted by Beth at 10:44 PM | Comments (5)
Friends Are Like Elevator Buttons
and the bad ones go down to the basement
When Alesia mentioned her theme week had to do with crimes and felons, I thought, "Woo hoo, open season for moi." As a mystery writer, that's familiar turf. So I figured it would be more fun to stray a little, come up with a good angle on "bad guys," and I think I found it.
I read a quote in the society column of the Park Cities People newspaper recently (the PCP is my main research tool for what the social set is doing in Highland Park, the tres upscale area where the Debutante Dropout's mother, Cissy, lives).
"Friends are like elevator buttons," a Big D socialite commented. "Some take you up, and some bring you down."
Though, like my protagonist Andy Kendricks, I'm prone to disagreeing with most opinions stated by snooty-patooties, I have to concur with this one.
Friends are exactly like that.
Call me slow, but I've only just realized in the past year or so that there are many levels of friendships, sort of like the terror alert levels, ranging from true-blue to barely-there pink.
It's the true-blue, dyed-in-the-wool, honest-to-God pals who bring you up. Always. They're quick to congratulate when life goes well. They don't hesitate to lend a hand when you need one, even if you didn't ask. Good buddies will tell you the truth, but they don't criticize. They support you, watch your back, and back you up. If they tell a little white lie, it's only to protect you. And you never have to worry about a knife in your back.
Bad friends--what I've been told Dr. Phil calls "poisonous people"--on the other hand, will take you down as fast as a speeding Mack truck.
They're the ones who are slow to congratulate, if they ever do. They always manage to find fault, because nothing you do will ever be enough. While others applaud, they feign smiles, ever-eager to slip you a snarky remark that leaves you wondering what exactly they meant. (Note to self: what they meant is they resent you and they're mean, so let it go.)
Bad friends are often worse than enemies, because they don't come out and say, "I really ain't all that crazy about you, girl." Their methods of sabotage are far more subtle. They crave the chance to make you look bad in front of others, cut you down when you least expect it, whisper innuendo behind your back.
You'd think it would be easy to separate the two, right? That it would be a simple thing to compartmentalize, putting the "good" people in this box and the "bad" people over there.
Except it's not (at least, for me).
If you're a trusting human being, you often don't see that the elevator button you're pushing is taking you down until it's too late. You want to believe, to cling to whatever goodness you saw in the first place. You ignore all the warning signs, even if other people are practically screaming, "Danger, danger, Will Robinson!"
In the end, the bad ones sear your soul like burned rubber and leave you questioning yourself and your judgment. Why didn't I see that coming? How could I have missed the signals? What's wrong with me that I placed my trust in this person?
Life is too short to waste on those who make us feel bad about ourselves, who beat us up when we only try to help, who are precisely like the elevator button taking us down to the basement.
One true-blue friend who makes you smile, who gives you a boost when you need it, who lifts you up and realizes relationships aren't competitions--that's pure gold. I treasure my soul sisters, and I hope they feel the same about me. I hope I'm that kind of friend.
It's too bad people don't come with labels. I wouldn't mind knowing upfront who my enemies are. Even a polite, "I hope you fall on your ass," would be helpful. It's a lot worse when you have to find out the hard way.
Here's toasting those elevator buttons that take us to the top floor! (And here's toasting Alesia's BLONDES HAVE MORE FELONS, which is murderously good fun!)
Cheers!
Susan
This blog was brought to you by Blondes Have More Felons, Alesia's first December Vaughn Mystery--there's nothing like December in Florida!
Posted by at 7:18 AM | Comments (10)
March 7, 2006
Me and the FBI
Because all a girl needs is a good pair of shoes and an FBI file
To celebrate crime and felons week, and especially TODAY, which is the ACTUAL RELEASE DAY for BLONDES HAVE MORE FELONS!!!! [Yes, feel free to stand up from your computer right now and head to your nearest bookstore, or click over to your friendly online retailer, ‘cause it’s looking like Science Boy and Princess are going to have to go to college some day, since they’ve survived my parenting skills thus far], I thought I’d talk about the dossier of my life which is on file with the FBI.
What? You ask. Why would a mild-mannered writer have a file at the FBI? Well, technically, the FBI DOESN’T have a file on me.
They have FOUR.
This is actual fact, not some weird Oliver-Stone-like conspiracy theory raging rampant in my post-deadline brain. Or a pitiful attempt to make you feel sorry for me and rush out and BUY THE BOOK. [Subliminal advertising, anyone?]
As a trial lawyer – you knew I had to have SOME basis for writing a book about a trial lawyer, right? I didn’t make that stuff up!! Although, this begs the question of my upcoming ATLANTIS series . . .Erm. Okay. My official FBI blog-reader, Henry The Fed, is probably fairly confused right now, so this is where we can talk about how sad those dark blue suits are.
Oops. Rambling. Back to my FBI files. As an attorney, I had to undergo a three-day series of torture otherwise known as the bar exam. But even if you pass the bar exam, you cannot necessarily be licensed to practice law. No, first you must pass the FBI BACKGROUND CHECK. This is the hideous insult to privacy you endure where you fill out a FIFTY-PAGE form, listing everyone you’ve ever known, every job you’ve ever held, and every place you’ve ever lived. Seriously. They even fill in line one for you:
1. MY (ALLEGED) MOTHER’S WOMB
Naturally, being a creative type, my brain extrapolated all of the myriad and insane ways in which the background check could keep me from practicing law, even after 3 years and 3 kazillion dollars' worth of law school. For example, I stole a bar of soap when I was 4. Walked right out of the grocery store with it in my pocket. My mother made me take it back and apologize.
The thing that fascinates me about this is that it was SOAP. What kind of freakish child steals SOAP?? Why not CANDY?? Or GUM?? Or a toy??? No, soap. Maybe my germ phobia had already started . . .
Then, skipping quickly through the next 15 years of life, there were the toga parties at Ohio State. Which I may or may not have organized. Which may or may not have included puregrain alcohol and fruit punch. Which may or may not have rotted significant numbers of my brain cells.
Allegedly.
Still, you’re asking, why FOUR files? Well, it’s simple. While NORMAL people are free to resume their lives of debauchery and soap stealing after surviving the bar app, FBI background check, and INTERVIEW that is part of the process, I had to marry NAVY GUY. Who dragged me from state to state to state. So I had to repeat the process in FLORIDA. And WASHINGTON STATE. And WASHINGTON DC.
Now that I’m a full-time writer, with no more bar exams or FBI background checks in my future, life is much more fun. Cause MAKING STUFF UP is what I do for a living. And soap? I can BUY MY OWN. All I want.
[Note to Henry The Fed: here’s a TV interview with me and my new RWA chapter, the fabulously warm and welcoming Chesapeake Romance Writers - . Just in case you’re getting lonely for me. And the part where I said I just moved FROM instead of TO Virginia, or my name is spelled wrong? Well, I’ve gotta keep you on your toes, Henry. But, seriously, about those blue suits . . .]
Happy March 7th!!!
Alesia
P.S. For an excerpt, a FABULOUSLY COOL MOVIE-STYLE BOOK TRAILER, and more, please come visit me online. And, Henry? Quit entering the contests. It’s against those pesky FBI rules. And I'm already in enough trouble, now that you know about the soap.
This blog was brought to you by Blondes Have More Felons, Alesia’s first December Vaughn Mystery – there’s nothing like December in Florida!
Posted by Alesia at 11:15 AM | Comments (10)
March 6, 2006
Guilty Of Being A Bad Mom
That's right, I confess . . .
My house has been a bachlorette pad for the past four days. George took our son to visit his family in San Antonio for the weekend, and so I've been on my own.
I can't even remember the last time I was alone. I mean really alone, with my days to do with as I please. It's been years, maybe more than a decade. The idea scared me at first . . . what would I do with all of that free time? No diapers to change . . . no meals to cook . . . . no middle-of-the-night wake-ups . . .
Then I got over that.
I've spent the last four days shopping, eating out at cute little lunch cafes, and spending hours in the local coffee shop, downing lattes and working on some new book proposals. And although I miss my guys, and am looking forward to their return this evening, I've enjoyed every minute of my solitude.
People have had weird reactions to my choosing not to accompany the guys to San Antonio.
"You mean, you're letting your husband take your son? Without you?" they keep asking me.
I'm not sure if they're surprised I'd trust George to take Sam without me, or if they think I'm a Bad Mother for not insisting on going with them. Probably the latter. I don't know what the big deal is. I've done it before -- struggling to get on a plane with a baby, stroller, bulging diaper bag and all of the various baby paraphernalia -- and no one was ever shocked that George didn't go along with us.
On one of my solo trips, Sam screamed the entire way through a three-hour flight. He was still nursing at the time, and I was so overwhelmed, I had both boobs out, all modesty forgotten, desperately trying to get him to latch on to something, anything, while the woman next to me kept saying helpful things like, "His ears are probably popping, maybe you should have him drink something."
When the stewardess asked if there was anything she could do to help, I looked at her and said, deadly serious, "Please get me a vodka on the rocks."
She laughed, and moved on, while I called after her, "No! I�m serious! Vodka!"
But Sam's screams drowned out my pleas, and I never did get that drink. Damn her.
Anyway, from what I hear, this trip has been going much more smoothly, so I'm thinking that maybe we should do this more often. A visit to the grandparents for them . . . and a visit to the spa for me!
This blog was brought to you by Blondes Have More Felons, Alesia’s first December Vaughn Mystery – there’s nothing like December in Florida!
Posted by Whitney at 10:31 AM | Comments (7)
March 5, 2006
And now for something completely different!
Crimes and Felons Theme Week!
It is finally here! Alesia's new series has started. The first December Vaughn Mystery -- BLONDES HAVE MORE FELONS -- is in a bookstore near you. I'm excited to read it because I like everything Alesia writes and I love mysteries so this should be a double treat.
In honor of this auspicious occasion, the Chicks here at the L.C. are having a Crimes and Felons Theme Week. Yay!! I was all excited when Lani sent us all the e-mail reminding us about it. Then I started to worry. My problem? There's not much crime or felonious activity in my life to write about.
I live in a sweet little University town in northern California. My kids ride their bikes to and from school and to friends' houses. I once accidentally left one of the sliding doors to my minivan standing wide open with a small TV set sitting on the back seat while I went into the grocery store. (I know. I know. Idiotic. It was the end of a long car trip with the kids and we needed milk before we went home. The single mom thing can totally fry your brain after a while.) The TV was still there when I came out.
This is not to say that there are not occasional skirmishes with the law around here. Just a month or two ago, two women were arrested for roughing up a couple of nine-year-olds at a cheerleading competition in a scuffle over seating. But the moms were from another town and people reported them and came to the childrens' aid. My town was still okay. There's been a bit of a kerfuffle over the age of a kid who played on a baseball team. Several Little League board members have resigned. Still, the kid was only two weeks over the age cut-off. Yeah, it was wrong, but people are stepping up to the plate and taking responsibility for their actions. We all make mistakes. They're doing the right thing by owning up to it. My town isn't perfect, but it's okay.
Then a week or so ago, a group of young men, some not much older than Thing One, attacked a man and his girlfriend as they walked out of their home and beat them severely. They cracked the man's skull. The people had done nothing to antagonize them and neither race nor robbery was apparently not the motive. This all took place distressingly close to where one of my kids goes to school and where he routinely meets friends for a pick-up football game followed by a walk to Dairy Queen for a treat.
I was shaken. The neighborhood where the attack occurred banded together and helped the police find the culprits. My community responded in just the way you'd want your community to respond -- judiciously, but thoroughly. A clear message was sent: this behavior will not be tolerated.
It occured to me that this is exactly why I like mysteries. Underneath even the most idyllic circumstances, evil can still lurk. It will rear its ugly head from time to time. In mysteries, evil always gets punished. I don't think that always happen in real life. It does, however, seem to be happening in my little town. So while I am still a bit shaken that my child -- whom I love more than life itself even when I want to strangle him over whether or not his homework is done -- could have so easily walked across the path of violence and been hurt, I am so glad I live in a community that is so much like a good mystery story.
This blog was brought to you by Blondes Have More Felons, Alesia’s first December Vaughn Mystery – there’s nothing like December in Florida!
Posted by Eileen at 1:00 PM | Comments (6)
March 4, 2006
Beuhler?
How many skeletons can you fit in one closet, anyway?
Okay. I'll admit. This is my third cheater blog in a row. I'm a loser. But, I'm revising the WIP (official title: THE QUILT READER, releasing February 2007 from NAL, first chapter coming soon!) this weekend to go to my editor on Monday and once I do that, I'm all YOURS, Literary Chick Readers. It's gonna be all about YOU. I promise.
But for now, I'm cheating. I'm poaching what turned out to be a very popular blog I wrote some three years ago. I'm posting it here because I think many of our readers can relate (except maybe Beth, who can substitute with "Dog-Mom of the Yeeaaaarrrrrrrrrrr...") and because I'd like to hear all your Mother of the Yeeeaaaaarrrrrrrrrr stories. Come on, you know you have one.
So, without further ado...
Originally posted on March 27th, 2003, on Time Out, Lani's old blog, now-defunct because Literary Chicks is so much better:
Note: Some names have been changed to reflect the current pseudonym structure, but other than that, this is exactly as I wrote it back then.
Last September, my best friend Tracy came for a visit. We spent every day, dawn till dusk and well into the night, talking, eating, talking, drinking, talking, smoking... I believe I've set the scene. On one particular day, it was about 2 o'clock, both the kids were napping, and I didn't think it would be too awful for me to pour a couple of G&T's, sneak out to the porch with Tracy, and have a cigarette. I mean, kids were sleeping, what's the harm?
So we're out there, smoking, drinking, taking a brief fantasy detour into believing we were 21 again, having an afternoon break. I get two sips down and a couple of drags on the cigarette, and I see the blinds moving behind me. I look, and there's Sweetness, who had apparently woken from her nap. She climbed up on the back of the couch and had shoved the hanging blinds aside to press her face to the window and see Mommy. I put the drink down and dumped the cigarette and waved back at her, saying to Tracy, "I'm Mother of the Yeeeeaaarrrrrrrr!!!"
It's quickly become an inside joke. Every time I screw up, or do something badly, or am just stupid, I finalize my failure with a big grin and a declaration of myself as Mother of the Yeeeeaaarrrrrrrr. So let me tell you about Sweetness's birthday yesterday...
I'd asked Fish the night before to run out to the store and get cake pans and cake mix. Which he did. But instead of getting regular rinky dink cake pans, he got big, serious, spring-loaded cake pans. Me, being culinarily challenged, didn't realize that bigger means you have to put more mix in, so I only made one box worth of mix, divided it between the two cake pans and put them in the oven on two different racks.
About thirty minutes later, when I realized I'd forgotten to turn on the timer for 26 minutes, I rush out and pull the pans out of the oven. The top one is done. The bottom one, however, is burned on one side about 2/3 of the way in, and then, predominantly uncooked for the rest. It is a crescent-shaped abnormality, reflecting perfectly the position of the cake pan above it. I consulted a friend about this, and she says that even though I had both cake pans in at the same time (which I assumed was my mistake) they should have both cooked okay. I eyed the crescent shaped deformity and begged to differ, but, since it didn't matter, put it back in to further burn/cook for another five minutes.
After an hour or so, I went to the cooled cake and tried to pop it out of the spring-loaded, nonstick cake pans, which I'd covered with non-stick spray. Funny thing, they stuck. They both stuck. It's possible that the naive combination of nonstick pans with non-stick spray actually creates adhesive. You know, like two negatives making a positive. I don't really know, though, because as I said, I'm culinarily challenged.
Now, a little sticking wouldn't be a big problem if it wasn't for the fact that each cake, at their highest point, was maybe a half-inch thick, and maybe a couple of centimeters on the burnt edges. There was no filling in with icing. These cakes were, quite literally, toast.
I spent the afternoon grabbing unburnt chunks of cake, spreading frosting on them like butter, and cheating on the whole cake thing with Sweetness. I took one big chunk, lathered it up, used the decorative icing to draw a "4" on it, and stuck four candles in. It was pathetic. So of course, being the scrapbooker that I am - or intend to be, I take a thousand pictures for scrapbooks and about twelve of them have actually made it into a book - I start taking pictures. Pictures of the pathetic cake bits, lying on a plate in despondent chunks. Pictures of the sad pseudo-salvage candle cake, which definitely serves the purpose of giving us a place to stick the candles. Snap, snap, snap the pictures, done with the roll, Sarah's waiting for her candles so she can open her presents, Adam gets the presents, I'm still looking for my store of film, Sarah oohs and ahhs over the pooh-bear wrapping paper, I'm still looking for the film.... which I was sure I had.... stored here somewhere.... rolls and rolls and rolls of it....
So, I now have a roll full up with pictures of my pathetic cake and none of Sweetness opening presents on her 4th birthday. Luckily, this weekend, we'll be down at my in-laws' for another celebration. I'm tempted to futz with the burned-in date on my camera so that, when I'm old and senile enough, I can look back on those scrapbooks (which I will make someday) and possibly forget that I am Mother of the Yeeeeaaarrrrrrrr....
So. What's your Mother of the Yeeaaaaarrrrrrrr story? Let's hear 'em! I can't be alone, right?
Right?
Anyone?
Beuhler?
Posted by Lani at 7:20 AM | Comments (6)
March 3, 2006
Gone Phishing!
...and I don't mean the slippery things with gills that live in water kind of phis
Of course, I'm referring to Internet phishing where a Horrible, Bad, Criminal deviously imitates a well-respected company's website in a bid to squeeze passwords and account numbers and other sensitive data from unsuspecting innocent customers.
I regularly get emails from phisers, and it drives me crazy - it's right up there with spam offering to enlarge my penis (I don't have a penis), or help my performance with viagra (I don't have a penis), or to sell me a fake rolex watch (I don't wear any watch if it costs more than ten bucks because I break them). But phising is far more dangerous.
This is what the Horrible, Bad, Criminals do - they send you a fake email that looks like it came from the real company. You are then invited to click a link, and clicking the link takes you to the fake site, which looks a lot like the real site. You are then asked to divulge very secret security information about yourself. And then the Horrible, Bad, Criminal phishers are in - they have your information and can steal your money and identity!
Every day I also receive Nigerian Scam letters but not just from Nigeria - from everywhere - you know - the ones where someone has been hard done to, and they have inherited millions or similar scenario, but "someone" (the government, the police, insert relevant similar option) is preventing them or their client from leaving the country, or similar situation involving terrible accidents, or similar involving them being made an orphan due to a terrible accident, and you, at the other end of their email, are their ONLY hope. If only you will just divulge your bank details and/or meet with them and give them a bit of ready cash up front, and what not, they will transfer their millions to you and YOU GET MILLIONS AS A REWARD.
You know, there's no such thing as a free lunch, so just don't do it.
And just like our darling Alesia, every day I open email and discover that I've won millions in a lottery that I know for a fact I have not entered, and if only I will click a certain link and give my private information, I will receive millions! Lucky me.
Yeah, I'm a little cranky, today.
Latest new scam that I am seeing is "make your girl happy with meds." Gah!
There's just so little time, and so much junk mail to delete unopened...
Go on, tell me what your pet hate scam is. Make My Day ;-)
Michelle
Posted by Michelle at 3:29 PM | Comments (7)
March 2, 2006
Love Is A Battlefield
or at the very least, a putting green...
Some men are obsessed with fantasy football, others with real football, and still others with exotic European sports cars that can go 0 to 60 in 5.8 seconds and are guaranteed to get hot chicks and astonishingly poor gas mileage.
Mr. Tall? Hes obsessed with golf carts.
Yes, you read that correctly. While I agree that this is kind of a bizarre obsession to have, I should say, in his defense, that golf carts are all the rage out here in Arizona. And not to drive around the golf course. Please. Thats so banal. The thing to do is to fit them up with headlights and seat belts and certify them as street legal. Then you tool around your neighborhood, maybe speed down to the library if you really want to live on the edge. Take the corner on two wheels. Its sort of Wisteria Lane meets The Brady Bunch.
Some of our friends (should you ask Mr. Tall, he will claim ALL of our friends) have golf carts of their very own, and he is consumed with envy. Whenever I ask him what he wants for Christmases, birthdays, anniversaries, the answer is invariably, a golf cart. Pointing out that we have two actual automobiles cuts no ice. The peer pressure is crippling.
And heres the kicker: he doesnt want a tricked-out, brand new 2006 golf cart. He wants a vintage model from the 70s thats three bolts away from scrap metal.
Me (peering over his shoulder at the latest golf cart listing on eBay): But thats a junky piece of crap. Look, it doesnt even have a fender anymore.
Mr. Tall: But I could fix it! Itd be fun.
Me: You didnt seem to think that fixing the pool filter was very fun.
Mr. Tall: That was different.
I dont understand, but I love him. And God knows I have a few frothy-mouthed obsessions of my own (dogs, anyone?) So I promised him that if I ever hit the New York Times bestseller list, my first order of business will be to buy him a golf cart. A really thrashed, rusty one.
Ah. True love. Try to hold back the tears.
So what freaky obsessions do you all have? Dont be shy! Fess up!
Posted by Beth at 12:58 AM | Comments (9)
March 1, 2006
Falling In Love Is So Hard On The Knees
Let's Talk Love and Murder, Shall We?
Okay, so Im stealing that line about falling in love from an Aerosmith song, but it's pretty dead-on. Ive been there, done that as far as the whole dating scene, and whats out there can be downright painful. As Alesia mentioned, I was selected as one of the top twenty singles in the city last fall by St. Louis Magazine, which ran a feature with photos in the November issue. Up until then, Id pretty much figured my romantic life was hopeless. I hadnt felt anything close to love in a long time, even ducked out of the dating whirl entirely for awhile to concentrate on my books. I mean, much easier to write about relationships than to actually go through the emotional wringer of being in them, right?
Only I realized at the start of 2005 that my life was missing something. Not that I needed anyone to complete me, as I felt pretty fulfilled all on my lonesome. I've always had a great family and lots of amazing friends, and the publishing biz kept me busy, busy, busy. Then I found myself back on the romance roller-coaster, though it wasnt of my choosing. Maybe it was the fact that Id slimmed down after going on a low-fat diet to get healthy--my cholesterol had been through the roof--or my new hairdo and funkier clothes that accompanied my post-birthday "go for it!" attitude.
Whatever it was, I seemed to be attracting guys like fliesum, the wrong guys. Several married dudes decided I was hot stuff, as did a fellow I thought was faboo until I learned he was a total commitment phobe ("I don't like to expend the energy it takes to develop an intimate relationship with a woman"--that's verbatim, no kidding). Who lets these men out? They need to be caged under lock and key and kept away from the general population, or at least from unsuspecting females.
Then the top singles thing came along, and my luck turned solid gold. At the very first party sponsored by the magazine at the Contemporary Art Museum, I was introduced to Ed, the friend of another top single. The next week, he invited me to my first-ever hockey game. We had a blast, and it just snowballed from there. Strangely enough, hockey's become my favorite sport, and I had a heckuva time finishing the fourth Deb Dropout book because it's awfully hard to keep your butt in the chair when you're floating on Cloud 9. Sigh. (Y'all are rolling your eyes, aren't you? Feeling vaguely nauseous? Dont the Literary Chicks provide chic little barf bags for sappy moments?)
When I look back on all the creeps, I can't consider it wasted time. I just chalk it up to research, baby. Every heartbreaking dating disaster was fodder for THE LONE STAR LONELY HEARTS CLUB, which came out in February and deals with dating, love and murderthat crazy trifecta that makes the Bermuda Triangle look like a walk in the park. Well, I honestly consider writing to be therapy, and what better way to get back at all the losers than to kill them off in a novel?
See you next Wednesday!
Cheers,
Susan
Posted by at 4:46 PM | Comments (14)
