Thursday, March 30, 2006
Please be advised. Certain parties that read this blog with alarming frequency have a terrible aversion to cats. That being said, don't whine about how I didn't warn you both with this little missive and the title. Yes, Glamazon, I do mean you, Ms. Whiney!!
So, they've mowed the pasture next to my oh so rural home (yep, its the stix, keep up) When this happens, I always get a mouse or two. I mean mice, in that they're tiny, not rats, but field mice. Stupid little things. You'd think they'd have memos and all about my house being like the Bermuda Triangle for rodents, lizards and other small fluttery type things.
In the above picture, the owl represents my cat, Mr. Bean, Monsieur LeGuime, The Evil Feline Overlord. Are you getting the picture? He's badass. Case in point, I come home like I do every day. I go to the door, unlock it, chuck my keys into my huge purse (Bermuda Triangle for whatever the hell I'm looking for btw) so I don't lose the damn things. Well, lose em where I can't without a modicum of bitching, growling, snarling and dumping out embarrassing feminine products, cell phone, etc find them.
I go to open the door and as my hand gets a scant inch from the knob, it is yanked open from the inside. GACK! I freak, thinking zombies first, robbers second, a sure sign of a sick mind, yes, I know lets move on!!! However, it's only the cat. ONLY you say? ONLY the evil feline of lore and legend, inspiration for countless shenanigans on Loops of Legendary Forgotten Lore? Urm, yep, LOS, Meymey is bad, but Bean's badder.
He jerks the door open and I swear I heard the feline version of SEEE!!! LOOKIT! DAMMIT!LOOK YOU STUPID HUME! So, I look and *gulps* right in the middle of the floor, where my dainty *snorts* foot would have fallen, is a tiny, potential mouse zombie.
Ew. Gross. Ew. Gross +Infinity+1.
I step over it and shudder and squeal my way into the bathroom. I'm old, I've had a kid, I am NOT bending over to get that mouse til I've visited the loo, thanks ever so.
On my way back into the living room, barely avoiding the assassination attemps by said EFO (Evil Feline Overlord) who likes to wind his fat ass between my feet as I walk, I stop short to see the mouse is in the kitchen. *blinks* Oh hoooolllyy shit, it IS a damn zombie! It's moving when I ain't watchin it! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH! Bloody Rodent INVASION AACK ACK SOUND THE ALARMS!!!
I look closer at the dead mouse on the floor and notice, it aint as large as I remember. I wrinkle my nose and step over the fat feline to peer around into the living room. There are not one but two lil potiential zombies in my home. Two? Are they Dumb and Dumber of the rodent set? Did they set out on this path to certain doom? OMG! What if they are like Frodo and Sam from LOTR? My dang cat's either Sauraman or *swallows hard* Shelob, the big bitch queen of spiders(a small aside, yes, yall, this DOES mean I've been forced to watch those movies wayyy too many times) I look at the cat, he flops over onto his back. Theme music begins to play in my head. I'm sure he put it there, the little git.
It goes a lil something like this..
They call me cat bomb
They call me cat bomb
I'm the finest
I'm the felinest
cause, I'm the cat bomb.
*evil feline grin*
Yes, it is a Tom Jonesian tune, but you have to remember, the cats been exposed to my hubby's strange musical proclivities as well as my severe phobias about creatures in my house. I don't fear mice, just dead ones. I know that little bastard laughed at me while he did his wiggly dance on the floor. I heard him say
*blinks* Well, ok, I guess he is MY cat too. *evil redneck grin*
Saturday, March 25, 2006
is for Glamazon!!
What is a glamazon you ask? As well you should. You won't find this word in the dictionary as it is unique like the woman who holds this title.
She has many names. Some would call them aliases, however, that is a different story involving car chases, machine guns, kewl boots and fast cars. Nothing you'd wish to hear about right?
No, today we talk about the Glamazon the Fashion Diva, Princess of Prada, Daughter of Divinity and all in all Goddess of Style. Yes, it is Karen's birthday. To celebrate, go and put on your favorite shoes, your most luxurious sweater or, like me, eat some rich ass chocy while you type.
I love this woman, simply because she is so unlike me. She likes to dress in clothes without elastic; shoes that you may have to buckle or zip up to the thigh; put lotion on her skin without having a man put you in a pit first; and many other things either I don't have time for, or in my own silly way don't think is neccessary for my happiness. I'm sure my wrinkles will thank me for the last one soon. LOL
What I am saying is, she brings class into any room, cyber or otherwise just by walking in the door. She isn't materialistic, (erm.. a little) or petty (ermm a bit, but way funny with it) or ever snooty (well, not in the ways that matter *grins*) What she is, and has become is simply, a friend. One who will bitch and moan and groan with you, and defend you to the end. She's sly, cunning, spiteful, wicked and mean. But, in the best way possible. Loyal to a fault, smart, funny, sweet, (she tries to hide it but I see it) and basically, insane. However, the Bovinas Locas wouldn't be the same without the Gucci Grazer in the herd.
Happy Birthday Glamazon! I hope today is wonderful for you. May you eat five slices of chocolate cake and get on the scale to find you've lost ten pounds!!! *holds up glass to her* Happy Birthday and many many more..
Love you Ms. Q!!!!!!
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Today, we came home to discover our beloved cocker spaniel, Zoe had passed away. He always looked up at me with adoration in his coal black eyes, and wagged his little stub of a tail in greeting, no matter if it was rain or shine.
He was my baby, my protector; sweet, loyal, funny, brave and kind hearted and true to the end. In short, he was a dog. All dogs go to heaven isn't just a movie title. I believe it in my heart so, in the words of Will Rogers, who surely said it better than I could ever hope to..
"If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went..."
Died March 22, 2006
Lives forever in my heart
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Come on, people. Get with it. You will allow some drunken idiot the right to take a loaded rifle in the woods to shoot a damn deer, and yet you won't let a lonely woman (the one the drunk and probably flaccid hunter left home alone btw) buy a dildo to fill her.. well.. lonely spaces?
Kids take guns to school and shoot people. I'm not for gun control by the government, just so you know. I'm way to freakin southern for that bit of blasphemy, however, I am for gun control by the private citizen. In other words, keep the guns away from the kids and the idiots. Your cousin Fred with the seven toes on each foot, would be an idiot, that's a piece of advice.
I think on it like this. Horny people are bitchy. Bitchy people make other people cranky. Cranky people drive home on the freeway, get way big pissed. You combine horny, bitchy, and cranky all in one person and you've got a hostage situation just waiting to happen. Choco-therapy only helps so much.
Would you rather the person bought a massager that plugs into the wall for this sort of thing? That's a safety hazard. Electricity and moisture.. mm, NO! If a person got their er.. privates fried by the massager because they couldn't in the words of the Rollin Stones "get no satisfaction" otherwise, could said person not sue your ass and move to a more tolerant state so they could get their jollies with the high dollar dildos? Mmm?
Look, you hickish, redneck and yeah, paranoidly jealous freaks; deal with it, your old lady wants some good vibrations. Maybe if you stayed home and stopped hunting and fishing and oooh yeah, visiting your MISTRESS, she'd probably lay off the Battery Operated Boyfriend.
Let's hear ya Louisiana Losers!! And do NOT get me started on the Lone Star State. If you really DID grow em bigger there, the sale of sex toys wouldn't have surpassed the sale of fricking guns. Or, maybe if the sale of guns hadn't surpassed the sale of flowers, or chocolate, or hey, just a little time spent with her..
Give it a try, honey. Until then, leave them girls alone..
Can you hear this? *bbzzzzz bzzzzz* That seems to be coming from the State Senator's house..
Looks like Mrs. Senator's wife has her a battery operated intern.. *grins*
Sunday, March 19, 2006
So, why do I not need the pictured cosmetic when my mother mentions my upcoming books to friends and relatives? *blushes*
She makes me squirm in my chair and I feel myself doing something I, the evil and wicked, never do. I blush. I'm not a modest person, or shy, not with them. I'm loud. With them, you have to be or you don't eat.
But, she did it to me today, brought it up in front of my aunt. Who asked again, when it was coming out. I explained the Braless in the Buick comes out in June of this year.
Then my daughter opens her even larger mouth and informs them that I have another called High Chairs and High Stakes coming out in the summer as well. My aunt was puzzled until I explained that it was about a single vamp dad and his little girl and the nanny that is hired to take care of her. Then she burst into laughter about the play on the word stake.
Thank God she got it. Of course, I shouldn't be surprised. I do get my humor from this gaggle of gregarious geese. Not to mention my big brown eyes *flutters lashes* I will admit that Devil Daddy did contribute to my humor quotient. Especially in light of the fact that mother couldn't tell a joke correctly to save her life.
*** segue into my next topic---oooh so smooth***
Genetics is a strange and heartless beast, you know. I mean it. My mother is tiny, petite even. She wears a size 7 shoe to my big 10. Her legs are bony, her butt is even bonier, and she's just little. I got her eyes, her smile, her chin, but, did I get the tiny buttness factor? Hell no!
I am my father from the neck down. Ok, with pertinent parts different, as I am a woman. But, I'm built on the same sturdy lines. Our legs are identical, our feet too, down to the longer 2nd toes and the almost non-existent pinky toes with the funky nails (curling up toes) Let's move on from my mutated feet please! *blushes* I have the same color skin (reddish bronze, N.A. Melting Pot Girl I am) the same hair type (oily and prone to waves), the same fuller lips, and high cheekbones that make my eyes disappear when I smile. I say this to take blame away from the fat.. *coughs* But, hell, I'm still short, unlike him. I could have been tall, but nooo dumpy short lil thing with large bosoms. (Happy hubby, sad back)
He's a humorous man, funny, witty, and fast with his mouth. Smartass southern is the branch we come from. The heck with the slow talking, dullwitted inbreds that are shown on the television. Honey, you only wish. We can talk our way out of a papersack. Why do you think so many politicians are from the south? Yeah, you think about it. Double speak is our second language. He can remember a joke from 20 years ago, tell it again and put a twist on it to make it even better. He's a born comedian, a big old bullshitter, and I do love him despite our differences over the years.
I can't deny he's my daddy, I don't want to deny it. I refuse to do so, but hey, this lil apple has fallen far from that rotted old tree and I aint' lookin back. I'll take what he gave me, a knack for storytelling, good spelling ability, wicked imagination, big smartass mouth and combine it with my mother's family's penchant for sharp cutting remarks, fighting ability and sheer meanness. They are the pygmies from hell. All of them short and pissed about it. The Napoleon Complex aint' got nothin on these lil banty roosters of the redneck set.
My father's family is all tall. Someone asked me once, why are all your heroes so tall? I went, they aren't' but like 6'1" - 6'3" and after a silence, I was told that was above average. Is it? Wow, we are some long tall rednecks then. My father's brothers are all above 6ft. My own daughter is 6ft tall. My grandmother (his mother) was almost 6ft, this was in an age when women were not that tall, mind you. So, hey, go with what you know. LOL.
By the way, the real reason my heroes are all tall is simply this, my hubby is 6'4" I'm 5'5" and my head fits under his chin when we hug. It's nice, I like that, all cuddly. Great romance for life and for a book.
Tomorrow is Monday, another day in the life of me, the secretary in the hellish environment that is my workplace. Here's to one day being just a writer, or at least, a writer fulltime and going to a job parttime. Wohoo!
Jenn, The Drudge,
PS!! MY NOVELLA WAS ACCEPTED AT MIDNIGHT SHOWCASE!! THANKS JEWEL AND MAE!!! (HUGS) High Chairs and High Stakes!! A paranormal romantic comedy.. coming soon!
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Today is humpday, all is downhill from here. Hope to have more news soon on the writer front. For now, just reviewing books, doing contest stuff, and some interview questions. All in all, a slow and lovely week.
Chats tho, lots of chats with Coffee Time and Midnight Showcase. So, stop by either place to check them out.
Monday, March 13, 2006
So, my daughter gets her permit. *chokes*
Hubby lets her drive to Monroe, a large, and crappily laid out city, on the interstate, through all the dang idiotic traffic lights, etc. *blink blink*
After the screaming and stomping of the imaginary brake on my hubby's side of the car, we arrive at ... DUN DUN DUNNNNN! The HELLMOUTH! *insert assorted screams of torment here*
After my hubby finally uncurls himself from the fetal position, hollers at me that I SHALL be buying him a large beer for when/if we make it home.
Anyhoodlie doodlie, I'd called my mother and she was meeting us at said Hellmouth to tell us hello on her way to her Mecca, Stein-torment.. *coughs* She is there, at the front of the store when we get in, I see her right away, which is a miracle in itself. *ponders the irony of a miracle in the Hellmouth*
We yak a few minutes, hubby has run off to the baseball cards section of the store to drool. Mother takes my daughter to the dogfood with her while I run over to grab some shampoo and meet her there. All is going well.. until..
I catch up with my mother and she has this LOOK on her face. The one that states someone will be hurting in a bad way very very very soon.
Note: I say I am in Hellmouth, yet, I say it jokingly. At no time did I expect that Devil Daddy would be there with his Crazed Concubine. I mean, they live over 35 miles away, why not go to the nearer grocery store and Hellmouth in that Parish? Why would your insane in the membrane ass come to this store knowing that we go there as well? Is Devil Daddy stalking me? If so, he screwed up cause Tiny Terror aka My MOTHER was there as well.
Imagine the scenario if you would, please, step inside THE REDNECK ZONE:
Let me remind you that you have entered a place where reality is not the norm. A place that sometimes, oooh sometimes, is frickin scary indeed. This is the place where EVERYBODY not only knows your name, but more than likely shares if not your maiden name, then your married one. (Think Cheers sans the beer as we're all Baptists and *don't* drink *snorts*) Yes, I am speaking of those lovely outlaws know as your inlaws.
Can you say, "wellllll shit!!!" You can't? It's ok, I did it for ya! *smiles*
In the Redneck Zone it is possible to walk up one aisle, see your uncle, walk down another, see a 3rd cousin twice removed. ad infinitum ad nauseum ad pukitupitus
It's also possible, plausible, you know, more than likely going to happen that your divorced parents could and would duke it out in the Hellmouth. If this highly likely event should occur, please, place your head between your knees and kiss your ass goodbye! My mother's hair stood up on the top of her head, she looked like an angry little dandelion. Her lips were pressed into such a tight line, I doubt I could have hammered a dime between them.
She uttered the words, "Your f**kin father is IN this store." and sucked in her breath. I swear she pulled four bags of chips off the shelf with that one suck of air.
Please be advised: We don't speak to the man, or his wife for reasons that I will not go into. However, they are good reasons, and we've been sticking by them for about 3 years now.
My worst nightmare is running into him in public place where he or his insane assed wife could make a scene. Imagine my surprise when Redneck Reality was even worse with the addition of my mother, the one that shall NOT be pissed off without dire consequences being paid.
Oh yes, just what I wanted: my picture in the Redneck Hall of Shame:
Here is Jenn; her parents engaged in a battle in the aisles of the Hellmouth, the mother was of course the victor (well, dur!) she took out his right kidney with a melon baller she appropriated from the kitchen gadget section. During this impromptu organ removal she was heard to yell in a loud and carrying voice: TAKE THAT YOU BIG SMELLY BASTARD, AND DON'T YOU GO NOWHERE CRAZY BITCH CAUSE YOU'RE NEXT! I'M GIVING YOU A LOBOTOMY! MOOHAHAHAHA MOOHAHAHAHA MOOOOOOAHAAHAHAH!
And then, you'd see my picture. Maybe I'd get a little plaque, I wonder if I could draw disability too? Mmm..
Redneck Reality TV.. come on down but beware, more than prices are falling at
PS: That cat is soo my mama. *sighs*
Oh, not the author gig, that's going great! However, I have a new job as the technical advisor/publicist/secretary/etc to the great(and if he doesn't watch it, late) J. Morgan, also an author.
How did I luck out and get this highly sought after position you ask? Well, I signed a contract with this great personage about 8 years ago and it's now coming to fruition that the above jobs are also entailed wherein, hidden until such time that I could be guilted into doing them.
Am I angry? Let me clue you in, if I use large words, that in no way portray my origins, roots, or regional dialect, you can bet your sweet ass I am. *blinks* Oopsie!
Yeah, I married the man, now where in the crap in our non-existent prenup does it state that I have to do all his publication work for him? In no paragraph, line, addendum, or even written in magic marker on the back of the marriage contract do I see this. I know, as I looked. I'm quite tempted to shake it in his face before I do other things with it much more violent and bloody and yes, illegal.
No doubt he appreciates it as he tells me so, with that look on his face. Big blue green eyes shining at me as he sincerely tells me that I am the most wonderful person in the world to do email this, or join that. It doesn't stop me from gnashing my teeth, however, it does prevent me from gnawing on one of his appendages in ways he would NOT enjoy.
I want to know why, where, when and how the hell I got elected to do this. I want to know how come he can't learn to do this for himself. I learned it, he is smart, a genius if you must know. HE can do it, or I shall know the reason why.
Death.. by... marriage AUGH!
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Guess what? I'm gonna be at the platform waiting! Friday!!! Wohooo! Weekend means freedom to write, read, dream, and all in my jammies! Yippie Skippy!!!
So to all my fellow Friday Lovers, here comes the train, get ready.. let's go..
Monday, March 06, 2006
Got a reply back on the submission to Triskelion! Woohoo!! Yes, yes, yes!!! Ok, ahem. Yippe skipee! Yehaw!! Be sure to look for it soon, Michelangelo Blues! I love it!!!! Wooot! This is but a pen name for one of the most wonderful people in the world! I'm so psyched!! No, it aint me but, close enough *winks*
So, shout out to the author known as J. Morgan! May this be only the beginning of a long and illustrious career as a writer. (hugs and kisses!)