Meghan’s Playhouse Book Four

Vegas Gambler 

We’re having a blast chronicling the antics of our delightfully Bi heroine, Meg Keenan, as she continues her self-appointed task of bringing other couples together in her uniquely up-close and personal way. Vegas Gambler, the fourth installment in our series Meghan’s Playhouse, was just released at Whiskey Creek Press Torrid this morning. 

BLURB 

Fresh with success from a recent stint in a musical on the Las Vegas Strip, Meghan Keenan takes some time off to play with her current flame Jack Hawthorne, professional poker player. She’s delighted to add her petite masseuse Tia Minh to the mix and even more thrilled when she learns Tia’s relationship with her boyfriend Tony Sanders is on the skids. It’s the perfect challenge! 

Tia has different ideas – she thinks Tony would be perfect for Meg, and she conspires to throw them together any way she can. Ever the gambler, Jack catches onto her game quickly and keeps the ruse going behind Meg’s back. Who knew his heart was up for grabs? 

EXCERPT 

Meg blinked at the familiar sight of Tia’s half smile. The sprite of a woman always seemed to know just what she needed. Tia never failed.

 “You won’t even taste me on your fingers,” Meg chided, propping herself on an elbow. “Do I tempt you that much? Aren’t you a little curious?”

“I can’t,” Tia said, quickly glancing away.

Meg moved to a sitting position and hopped to the floor to stand only inches away from her masseuse. “I’ll never understand how you can do this over and over. Bring me off so expertly and not even touch yourself. Are you into self-denial?”

“We’ve been over this too much already.” Tia turned and began to gather her things.

Meg grinned. Her masseuse tried her patience, and she’d always considered herself a very patient girl. She tried a different tack. “You look so sexy in that tank top and short skirt. Did you wear those for me?”

Tia shrugged. “I wear what is comfortable for my work.”

“At least that doesn’t include a bra. I’m pleased to know your nipples grow as taut as mine.” She reached out to graze one.

“Don’t,” Tia pled, pulling away before she could touch her.

“They look so dusky through the white material. They must be quite dark. Not as dark as your hair,” Meg said softly, running her fingers through Tia’s long coal black hair. This time Tia did not pull away; her eyes glazed in that French Vietnamese habit of hers when she tried to withdraw inward. Meg had seen that ploy several times before.

“Why do you insist on resisting me so?” Meg murmured, lazily drawing her knuckles across Tia’s cheek. Meg’s heart raced. Tia had never accepted her advances like this before. Were they finally at a turning point? Had she finally worn Tia down? Penetrated that oriental reserve?

You can find all of Chapter One HERE at the Whiskey Creek Torrid website.

once upon a time, long story short, there was a woman who was called “stupid woman” by her significant other. one day she finally realized that indeed she was stupid! the man had some kind of knack for seeing into the future maybe? anyway, the stupid woman realizes that to stop being a stupid woman, she has to leave the man she loves. how could anyone love a stupid woman, she thought to herself? it was clear to the stupid woman, that she had to leave the man. stupid is as stupid does, right? i mean, to stop being stupid, for starters, the woman had to stop being with a man who kept telling her that she was stupid. it’s some what disturbing how much power our environment has over our psyche. keep calling someone stupid and one day they will see that he/she really is stupid. if for nothing else, they are stupid, aren’t they, for sticking around someone who keeps telling them that they are stupid? ah, as for a happy ending, as for happily ever after, well, upon leaving the man who wouldn’t stop calling her stupid woman, the woman immediately started feeling opposite of stupid. she thought to herself, if she had wings, i could fly! the end

i like the ending. it’s rather upbeat and happy, don’t you think?

Hey Here is my acapella of the week… It’s ‘Happy Ending’ by Avril Lavigne!

Hope you Enjoy

xXx

A SONG ::

Vitalic – See The Sea(Red)

Success?

I was a huge Disney princess fan growing up; I had the Sleeping Beauty sleeping bag, I dressed up as Belle for Halloween…every year, and I even still know all the songs by heart. And can occasionally be heard singing them in the shower. Recently, as yet another way to procrastinate studying for my finals, my suitemates and I Netflixed the Disney version of Cinderella and spent a girls night enjoying one of the greatest classics of all time.

Much like the Golden Girls and The Simpsons, looking at one of my favorite childhood movies from a slightly more mature perspective was a completely new experience. I was alarmed by some of the things I saw. No, there weren’t any dirty jokes that once went over my head, but there were some seriously flawed messages being conveyed to the young and impressionable viewers. One, that evil people all have really big butts. The other, Disney’s very jaded, very antiquated definition of success for a woman.

At the end of any princess movie (or romantic comedy, for that matter) the girl is successful because she gets the guy. It doesn’t matter how awesome her life was before (Hello, Ariel was a princess and got to live under da sea!), she isn’t successful unless someone’s put a ring on it.

I hate the idea that success for women is defined simply by meeting the man who can make everything better. And I hate that I spent a good chunk of my life buying into that crap. As a single lady in the 21st century, I very much believe that before you can fall in love with someone else, you have to know and be confident in who you are. That’s what a healthy relationship develops from. And that confidence is what ultimately leads to a woman’ success, married or not.

So while Cinderella may not be successful until she finds the man that makes her a princess, I know that in real life there are so many more options to define success for us girls. Like dominating your university’s academics. Or making a name for yourself in student groups. Or surrounding yourself with some pretty kick-ass people. Because, yes, the people around us are important, but that doesn’t have to include some dude.

We all spend so much time getting dolled up to go out and meet guys at parties, in class and in student groups. And when we’re not primping, we’re analyzing. And talking. And sometimes stalking. But for what? If we spent half as much time trying to woo some guy, we could focus our attention on more important things. Things that truly make us successful. Things that make us feel good on our own.

Because independent success feels good.

Eventually our Prince Charming might show up, but until then, I am just fine being a successfully single Cinderella twirling at the ball with my girlfriends.

Have you ever met a pup that just melts your heart? Baxter did that for me.

One day, not quite two years ago, I was on a rescue mission in rural GA. I had taken a “personal day” from school (that’s right folks, I skipped class) and was heading down to pick up two snuggly little Catahoula pups that I had seen online who were slated to be euthanized the next day. I had adopters who were going to foster-to-adopt lined up for them and had convinced myself that I could save these pups without adding on to my ‘foster count’ at home.

I got there only to find out that one of the pups had already been adopted.

Sweet, only heading home with one, I thought to myself. With two other fosters and two of my own, God must have known not to send me home with more than I could handle.

I was so wrong.

Instead of bringing the one puppy out to me, the shelter manager convinced me that I needed walk to the back to pick her up - forcing me to walk past all of the kennels. I steeled myself for this, knowing that I would be seeing dozens of other dogs pleading at me, looking hopeful from behind their kennel bars – but with no more money in my bank account (remember: poor college student) and no more room in my apartment for dogs – I knew I could only take home the one I had come for.

I did well, all things considered, simply sending out little prayers for each tiny snout that reached up for a snuggle or a sniff. I finally arrived at the little merle girl’s kennel only to find her snuggled up against a gorgeous yellow pup. I opened her kennel door and pulled her out. She was a wild woman and started nibbling at my fingers. I handed her to the kennel worker andreached back in to rub the ears of the yellow pup. He peed everywhere; he was terrified.

“What’s his story?,” I asked the kennel staff.

“No idea. Seems scared of people. Won’t matter much longer, he’s being put to sleep tomorrow,” he replied.

“Can you get him out for me?,” I asked. “I’d like to take him into the evaluation room and see what he’s like”. 

Turns out that Baxter was a wonderful, wiggly, sweet boy who was just terrified to have ended up in the shelter. Within minutes he was rolling over for belly rubs and giving me lots of puppy kisses.

Long story short, he made his way back to Tennessee with me that day. Let me just say, Baxter was very happy to be free!

From day one, Baxter felt like a part of the family. My lab girl, Lila, loved him to pieces and they were inseparable (and looked identical!).

Baxter made the rounds with us, traveling to WV, VA to visit my family, and even made a cameo at my graduation party. He charmed everyone he met along the way.

One day, we received a wonderful email from a potential adoptive family. This family had recently lost their much loved pup, and were ready to add to their furry family. We had a meet and greet at a local dog park, but Baxter was too busy playing to spend much time visiting with them. Regardless, they loved him anyway (you see – he charmed them, too!). Just a few days later, Baxter went home to live with his forever family, The Pyle’s. And they were SO EXCITED to have him join their family. Baxter especially enjoyed checking out their huge back yard on his first day at home.

We still get updates on sweet Baxter from time to time, and they always warm my heart. But nothing makes me happier than to know that Baxter found an amazing forever family.

Who knew that the little yellow boy that I almost passed by would be the one who stole my heart?

Well, and their hearts, too.

Thank you, Pyle family, for welcoming sweet Baxter into your hearts and home. You are the perfect family for this practically-perfect boy.

It’s nice to be back at my Pulitzer readings: Selina DeJong continues to be a plucky character, and someone I find it easy to cheer for.  As the above quotation rightly notes, there is something unsinkable about her—I don’t know if it’s true to say that the ability to find beauty in simple things is sufficient insulation against the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”, but it’s an attractive thought.  Selina certainly doesn’t seem to give in to despair very easily.

And this is a woman with plenty to despair about.  Her marriage to Pervis DeJong was a mistake from the beginning—he loved her, true, and she loved him.  But neither of them knew how to show that love in ways the other would understand, and both of them seemed to think of the other as a sweet but naive person in need of “looking after”.  Love may conquer all, but not this kind of love.  We deceive ourselves too easily.

Pervis’s death is expected (the book begins, after all, with Selina alone with her son, Dirk “Sobig” DeJong), and not particularly sad.  It’s not that he’s a villain; he’s just an obstacle to the plot, and he’s cold enough outwardly that it’s hard to feel a connection to him.  I find his farm as isolating as Selina does, and I am as reluctantly relieved as she is to think that her world will become larger.

It’s a scary world, though, that she steps out into.  She has to figure out how to get goods to market and make sufficient sales to stay alive.  This is a world that doesn’t respect women in such a role, and the road to Chicago is long and dark.  No one will buy from her, and she and her son sleep out in the cold.  It’s fascinating to look at the Haymarket through her eyes–a chaotic flood of peddlers and maids dahsing about buying fresh produce.  It hasn’t struck me before how profoundly supermarkets have changed our lives, but I’m certainly thinking about it now.  This was a tough experience, though, watching Selina sink deeper into the mire and believing that there would be no way out of disaster.  A delightful and somewhat unexpected discovery, though, clutches her out of danger, at least for the moment.  I’m hopeful that the story’s taking a good turn for her and little Dirk—this is a story where I’d be really glad to get a happy, storybook ending.  We’ll see if I get it.

I’ve seen two movies in the past week. They can be considered very different films and were viewed in very different geographic contexts and with different populations of fellow movie-attendees. With one I found myself annoyed at the judgmement and parenting skills of others, and with the  other I found myself annoyed with the feeling of self-importance that others in the theater seemed to exude. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Required possible spoiler warning, which I sort of feel is silly but people tend to yell at me if I ruin endings of movies before they’ve seen them… I mean, what is that about… My feeling is that if a movie has been out for greater than two weeks and you still haven’t seen it, then that’s on you and not me. But regardless, spoiler warning spoiler warning spoiler warning. Moving on.

I saw the Fantastic Mr. Fox first, on a Friday afternoon, surrounded by a heterogenous population of twenty-something year olds, thirty-something year old mothers and their under the age of 7 children, and a miscelanous category of the over forty crowd. While waiting online to purchase tickets from the employee under glass  (because swiping my credit card in a machine to get tickets will NOT be happening) several of the parent plus young child combo were on line with me, many of them debating whether to go see Planet 51 or FMF, the thought being: Well, both are children’s films. Wrong. One is a computer animated film about how humans can be seen as aliens to aliens who have never met a human before and how judging people is wrong (or how aliens are silly… I don’t know… I didn’t see it…  I was not one of those in line who was debating which one to see).  The other is a Wes Anderson film. It doesn’t matter that it’s about talking animals in a pseudo-Watership Down type character vocabulary. It doesn’t matter that it’s made in stop motion animation like Wallace and Gromit (because that was the reference one mother gave to her child, clearly forgetting that The Corpse Bride was also done using clay figurines and a mind-numbingly slow camera capture process and is SO not a children’s movie either).

So imagine my surprise when I entered into the theater containing a relatively large number of the under 6 crowd. I took heart at the fact that the unemployed dirty hipster twenty-something crowd who was also in the theater seemed to have a greater sense of disdain towards this populace than I did. My feeling is pretty much that I don’t care if there are children in a movie theater as long as they’re socialized to acceptable public comportment (does that sound pretentious enough?). When I saw Igby Goes Down in theaters when it first came out, there was a family with their two children under the age of 10 seated in front of me in the audience. When Amanda Peet is shown topless, the male offspring shouted “Boobies!” That would be an example of unacceptable socialization. But a five year old that sleeps through a movie he doesn’t understand because it is way over his head in terms of plot and theme is allowed to stay as far as I am concerned. And it was this latter category that seemed to fill the theater.

So this is not a rant against parents bringing their children to the movies, per se. I mean, if you want to expose your child to scenes of animal brutality, theft, and marital discord all delivered in a Wes Anderson style of dark humor (more Royal Tenenbaums than Darjeeling Limited), that’s on you. It’s your call to spend the twelve dollars for the kid (or whatever a children’s ticket actually costs). But then don’t leave the theater disapprovingly muttering  “Well, that’s not what I expected at all” because it’s your job as a parent to do your research ahead of time. You theoretically have  a responsibility to monitor what you personally expose your child to. And if you’re going to have an outing to the movies on a Friday, in which both time and money will be spent, perhaps some pre-film googling might be wise. Just a suggestion.

Oh, and the movie was fantastic. And this is coming from someone who can best be described as a fair weather Wes Anderson fan. I’ve started working “cuss” into my vocabulary as frequently as possible and various stati have been marked with “You wrote a  bad song, Petey” as of late.

On to film number two of two.

I saw Precious on a Monday evening, in the suburbs, in a movie theater with, conservatively, 25 other people. The demographic of the audience was primarily caucasian, I’m going to venture solidly middle class, and the average age was about upper thirties to mid fifties. It seemed to be married date night/girlfriends out to see a movie night/Oprah and or Mr. Perry told us to see this and now it’s finally out in theaters night. Or in my case, I sort of want to see what the hype is all about and see how good this thing really is. So that means I suppose I went in with some preconceived notions about what it was about and knew about most of the spoilerish things related to the film (the incest, the two kids, one with Down Syndrome, the mother from hell thing, etc). But I was impressed with the blending of fantasy escapism with the “reality” of Precious’ life. So kudos for that Mr. Daniels. And kudos casting Mariah Carey when Hellen Mirren declined. Perhaps not the most logical second choice, but it works. Although, truthfully, all of the awards chatter around her performance is somewhat lost on me. I think people are more excited that she’s not “Mariah” but actually managed to tone down her sometimes batshit crazy self long enough to sit still in a somewhat restrained manned. But I digress.

From the first trailer run before the movie, I knew this audience was in trouble. The first film presented was for Takers, the T Pain, Matt Dillon, Hayden Christensen, Paul Walker, Chris Brown etc seemingly craptastic extravaganza that opens in a couple of months.  Immediately, audience chatter started. “Why would this be playing?” “An action movie?!” “Don’t they usually match trailers to the film?” The answer to the last is “yes” and in this case they did. Stereotype alert: Precious seemed geared from the begining to an, um, urban market first, and the Oprah housewife second (or possibly fifth). Takers seems geared towards the urban market first, the teenage boy “I want to see things get blown up” market second, and the Oprah housewife never. This was followed by the trailer for the new Tyler Perry film, with Janet Jackson in full emoting glory. This caused the housewife crowd to settle slightly. “Oh Tyler Perry. He’s that funny black man who wears a dress that Oprah likes.” Yes ma’am: that’s him. Five trailers later, the movie began.

I think it’s safe to assume that some in the audience didn’t have the premovie plot knowledge that I came armed with. Rape scene number one: cue first two walkouts. Vomit scene after she’s stolen a bucket of fried chicken: cue next set of walkouts. I guess Lady O failed to properly prepare her audience.

I think the film works, up until the end. As I said, the weaving of inner and outer realities together works. The 1980s setting never feels forced, and makes some of the plot revelations more substantial and tragic than if it were set in the present, in particular (spoiler alert… oh screw it…) Mary’s announcement to Precious that her father had AIDS and Precious’ test results. The awareness of personal mortality is brought to the fore and crystalized in a way that Mary’s threats of abortion or Precious’ own narrator-based monologues couldn’t do. And there’s a nice shout-out to always relying on the kindness of lesbians (also tinged with a very 80s and sadly also contemporary social comment).

However, the end of the film made me mad. Not mad at Precious. Not mad at her mother (about whom I think it’s best to say you feel sorrow for but never sorry for). Not mad at the fate of either one or at the social circumstances that led them to their current existence. No, I was mad at the filmmakers and author. I haven’t read “Push,” but I get the sense that the film is a fairly faithful adaptation of the text. When Precious, still attending the alternative school to pass her GED and still living with her lesbian guardian angels but now HIV positive, leaves the social worker’s office with her two children in tow, one with Down Syndrom and the other under the age of two, having declared that the social worker is not able to deal with her problems, and sets out down the street to face the world with a pseudo-smile, my only question was: WTF? Are we supposed to cheer because she has her children back and is rid of her mother. Ok, but honestly, girl is still screwed. Some woman two rows behind me said to her companion “Good for her. She’ll be ok.” And then they walked out to their minivan.  WHAT? Sorry, no.

While not a “happy ending” the movie feels like it’s goading you into leaving with a sense a promise, a curious inclusion based on the almost utter despair that runs through the rest of the film. It occurs to me that this could be the point: the realization that there are no happy endings, and that we should give her this brief moment of joy in an otherwise tragic past, present, and future existence. But somehow I can’t get over the feeling that it ended with a “We’re all going to be ok now” message, as she struts down the street (eh, she sort of struts as much as one can schlepping to little ones). So no, she’s not going to be ok, and I feel sort of cheated by the film for guiding some into this conclusion. And while it is certainly not a filmmaker’s fault that someone can take away the wrong idea from a film, in this case, it certainly seems as though the ending wants to at least send you on your way without worrying that you’ll slit your wrists at the recognition of the futility of life.  Ok, done with railing against the ending.

So what is the general point of this post? I think it might be that a certain amount of informed viewership is sometimes wise. This is not to say that it’s always a good thing to know too and that approaching something without any preconceptions is a bad thing. But sometimes a little information and personal research/accountability does in fact go a long way, particuarly if you have children with you or if your only source of information is Harpo Productions. Or not. I mean, she did select the president. So maybe challenging her is an act in futility in itself.

Watching the videocams at the Memphis Animal Shelter can be very sad at times, but when I see things like this my heart is “so happy!” At least this one will hopefully have that happy ending and Second Chance as well.

Watching the videocams at the Memphis Animal Shelter can be very sad at times, but when I see things like this my heart is “so happy!” At least this one will hopefully have that happy ending and Second Chance as well.

Ando pensando muito sobre certas obras de arte que, toda vez que revejo, mexem um monte comigo. Algumas alimentam tanto minha imaginação, que consigo visualizar um curta-metragem, para contar a história daquilo que é retratado.

Um exemplo deste processo é esse quadro aqui:

Retirado do Google Imagens

Meu quadro favorito de todos os tempos, “Feliz Aniversário”, do pintor modernista, franco-russo, Marc Chagall. Essa obra me leva loooonnngeeeee nos pensamentos, já imaginei cada teoria, cada causo, cada historieta sobre o quadro.

A minha teoria mais plausível é que a imagem nada mais é que uma vontade, um pensamento, fruto da imaginação da mulher. Algo que ela queria que acontecesse.

O contexto da cena seria o seguinte:

Ela recebe este homem em casa para jantar e tenta a noite inteira impressioná-lo com seus dotes culinários. Passou a tarde a arrumar a casa e colocou um vestido novo. De maquiagem básica, ela deixou os cabelos com suas ondas naturais, pois ele já havia elogiado não uma, mas diversas vezes, os cachinhos bagunçados. Ele leva flores, mas não como um sinal de romantismo, era uma mera cordialidade burguesa.

Eles jantam à mesa, se deliciam com um prato simples, mas delicioso, talvez uma massa com molho de tomates frescos e manjericão, por ela colhidos de manhã. Tomaram um vinho tinto, em copos altos e imponentes, riram. A música de fundo deveria ser algo muito calmo, talvez Juliette Grecco. E quando Juliette entona a bela “Je suis comme je suis”, os olhares se cruzam e ele pega ela pela mão. Levantam de sopetão e ela, depois de algumas taças de vinho, já não se equilibra com tanta facilidade, tropeça e inclina para cima dele, os dois caem na risada, gargalham deliciosamente e sentam de volta em seus lugares.

Começam então a olhar fixamente para a taça, ou para a vela que queima há horas. “Preciso ir”, diz ele com uma calma, como se aquele jantar fosse nada mais que mais uma demonstração de amizade. Ela corrige então sua postura, e faz uma cara séria, como se pensasse “claro, foi apenas um jantar, nem mais, nem menos”.

Educado que é, ele se levanta e começa a juntar os talheres e guardanapos. Ela, meio sem jeito e meio frustrada, começa a recolher as taças e tampar a terceira garrafa de vinho da noite, que ficou pela metade. Quando na cozinha, enquanto ela disfarça seu descontentamento por conta de mais um fracasso amoroso, percebe, pelo reflexo da janela em cima da pia, que ele a espreitava. Ela então fecha os olhos, com muita força, uma força digna daqueles que fazem desejos para anjos, fadas, pirilampos, seja lá o que for. E então imagina ele passando a mão em torno da sua cintura e tascando-lhe um beijo, daquele bem hollywoodiano, sabe?

The End

O primeiro contato que tive com esse quadro foi em meados de 2001, e desde então o final que imagino pra ele sempre dependeu muito do momento no qual eu estivesse passando. Acho que na atual conjuntura das coisas, dá pra imaginar um final feliz…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Vamos ver como que vai ser daqui pra frente…

Happy Ending . . . to a Marriage?

This is an awesome article about women having divorce showers and divorce parties.

http://www.milkwood.org/karla/divorce.html

Check it out.  It illuminates the ways in which divorce parties are helpful and provide a sense of closure and community.  Along with replacing some of the things “lost in the divorce.”

The neon signs flashing, “massage” are everywhere in Orange County. They mean one thing to me – “happy ending”. As a woman, if I want a massage – then I head to Burke Williams, not a massage parlor on the corner. And since we’re on the subject of “services’ – what the heck is a table shower?

More disturbing, is the evolution to Craigslist. Last summer, I read an article about The Island Hotel in Newport being at the center of a hooker bust. Girls from Santa Ana were meeting their “dates” there. All of them were charged including the ringleader. And I have a friend that is a Bartender at Tommy Bahamas in Newport – next to Gulfstream. She told me that Gulfstream had so many hookers, that they have to PAY an under cover officer to stake out the bar, or they could be fined.

Does it not matter to a man, who touches it? I mean you walk into one of these massage parlors and you get whomever, and that’s cool? At that point, is it just about sex?

11.11.09 – today have been thinking about my Grandad, who passed away a few years ago.  He was a war veteran, enlisted at 18 – and called up the day after he married my Grandmother (Mamma).  He didn’t let her know he’d been called up because he wanted their wedding day not to be marred by him going away.  He was a quite, gentle man and while growing up was, probably, the adult I could always go to.  I really, really miss him.

Even when I was a rebellious teen, he was on my side.  He’d say to ‘let me be’ and would always stand up for me.  He was also the one who used to get in trouble when he looked after me and my brother!!  When I was about 5, I ended up in the stream at the local park when he’d taken me and my brother out to play and was terrified of how much trouble he’d be in when he got home to Mamma!  On another occasion he’d taken me and my brother swimming and I ended up closing the pool because I’d slipped when getting out and my chin hit the floor – promptly chipping my tooth, with the fragment going through my lower lip.  Oh, so much blood! And the reason he was worried – well, she was a very strong woman and a fierce protector of her family (particularly me – the first grandchild) so heaven forbid anyone who got me hurt!  Best bit is, everyone (and I mean everyone) says I’m so much like her!  Most people are a little bit scared of her (even my 6ft policeman dad!) – but I used to stand up to her and tell her I could look after myself.  At the time it was scary, but when the bravado kicks in you just have to go for it and stick to your guns.  When I was older, she did actually say to me that she admired the fact that I stood up for myself – she was proud of the fact that I was such a strong, intelligent, independant and loyal person.  As did my Grandad.

Wish I was still little sometimes and be able to go and sit on his knee and he’d tell me stories about when he was young and about his partying antics.  I remember the parties they had at their house – Christmas and New Year being the main ones.  Me and my brother would be allowed to stay up late and could even have a shandy or, towards the end of the evening, we might even have a Snowball!  My Mamma and Grandad used to have their little tiffs, but that’s all they really were – they both loved each other so much and belonged together.  Which is why they were married for over 60 years – he’d found his sole mate.

And my Mamma still ‘talks’ to him every night before she goes to bed – and I get that and understand that.  His presence is still there with her and I can only imagine how much she must miss him.  And it was my Mamma who told me that in one of their conversations, he’d told her that if I really loved ‘the ex’ that I should fight for him.  And I did….but now realise that one sided love is not worth fighting for really is it?  So I’ve put myself through so much pain and heartache only to now realise that it’s never going to work.  I’ll always be the one sacrificing myself and trying to be someone I’m not, in order to hold on to someone who let me go over 11 years ago.  I’m simply the safety zone – the one putting up with all the empty promises and vacant assurances.  I think I’m finally getting a little bit stronger?

Guess, as yet, I haven’t been a lucky as my grandparents in finding my sole mate.  But the way I figure it is that even if it takes till I’m in my old age to find the one person who I should be with, then I guess I just have to wait.  I have to believe they’re out there somewhere….

Holy cow! Jack Wier was clearing some trees with a Bobcat when a cottonwood snapped back, sending a 20-foot long branch zipping under the roll-bar on the Bobcat and impaling itself into Jack’s belly! He not only survives the event, but emerged virtually unscathed, with no damage to any of his major organs or spine.

Video is here (just over 5 minutes).

via Neatorama

A Gift for Adam

Rating: Erotic Romance, Explicit (m/f) 

Five Stars from Keely at Sensual Ecata: Side-splitting hilarity mixed with volcanically hot love scenes, what more could a woman want? A Gift for Adam by Adriana Kraft is hilarious and a refreshingly new take on the old “opposites attract” formula.  I have to admit that laughing until my eyes water and then immediately squirming in my seat from the “heat” of the next scene is a new experience for me. I fear to gush too much about this delightful offering as I may give away the good surprises Ms. Kraft has in store for her readers.  I can sum this experience up with this:   Well done, Ms. Kraft; give me more, please! 

BLURB

Home and Garden assistant manager Evie Strand has painstakingly embroidered a set of seven thongs as a gag gift for her best friend—only she brought the wrong box to the store Christmas party, and now Adam Grant from Automotive is holding them up for everyone to see: Kiss my…, Tight Fit—could things get any worse? Adam may seem like a total rake, but he can tell Evie’s deeply embarrassed and he resolves to make it up to her. Who knew where a simple dinner date would lead?

 EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

Mortified, Evie Strand looked on in horror at the office Christmas party careening out of control. Her fellow employees stared at her in amazement. Some snickered. Some couldn’t remain silent.

“What a hoot,” Leslie whispered from the seat next to her. “You put old Adam in his place.”

Evie shook her head and swallowed hard, willing herself to be anywhere but in this room. Adam Grant’s dark eyes snapped, mocking her. Did he really think she’d given him that package on purpose? It was meant for Christie, her closest friend. That package wasn’t even supposed to come to the office party. Christie didn’t work for the store.

How could she be such an idiot? She’d wrapped so many Christmas presents late last night. It had never occurred to her that the two packages looked so similar on the outside.

To her dismay, she’d drawn Adam Grant’s name for the annual gift exchange. She hadn’t given it much thought once she’d decided to give him a tie.

Evie blinked as he rummaged through his gift. “No,” she muttered softly, when he held up a second thong. This one, like the last, had hand-stitched lettering.

She should know. She’d painstakingly hand-lettered seven thongs for Christie. They were supposed to be a joke. She doubted Christie would actually wear any of them, but they’d each gone out of their way during the past six seasons to surprise each other with something that was outlandishly sexy. She had to admit she might’ve gone over the top this year.

Adam held high the pink Tuesday thong. He could hardly read it aloud for breaking up with laughter. “Tuesday: Wish you were…?” The question mark below the lettering left little room for confusion about the intent—it would nestle comfortably over the wearer’s mound.

More hoots and hollers followed. The powder blue Monday thong had been more shocking, probably because it was the first one Adam had held up, or maybe because it said “Don’t Dribble” across the front.

Evie pushed her chair back from the long banquet table where she sat with her fellow Grafton Department Store employees. Leslie grabbed her wrist. “Don’t let him get the best of you. Mistakes happen. At least half the people here think you did this on purpose to get the rake’s goat. If you leave, they’ll know you screwed up.”

Evie gulped and nodded at her department manager. She drew in a deep breath. “All right.”

She glanced back at Adam in time to seem him holding up the yellow Wednesday thong: “Kiss My…” with a broken arrow pointing suggestively toward the backside.

Santa’s Boss

Rating: Four Flames: m/f,  m/f/m,  f/f,  f/m/f,  f/f/m

Four Stars from Dianna at Night Owl Romance: I found Santa’s Boss a delightful read. It was fun and easy flowing. Well written, it keeps you involved in the story and wondering just what is going to happen next. It is such a pleasure to read about a different kind of Santa, one that is not set for just children but is more towards us grownups. I wish there was more that we as adults could believe in that would allow us to be more child-like. I hope you enjoy reading Santa’s Boss as much as I did.

BLURB:

Always authentic, Assistant Mall Manager Joy Danser insists that her mall Santas must have real beards so children can believe. But even she is unprepared for the very real Santa who visits her bed invisibly this Christmas season. Is she dreaming, or has she gone mad? Joy consults Sophia Nardiz, manager of the Magical Gypsy shop at her mall. Sophia reads her palm and gives her a cryptic message: Joy is at a crossroads, and she must trust her intuition.

Owner of the Magical Gypsy chain and a true Gypsy himself, Nick Polaris is thrilled to play Joy’s Santa, in the mall and in her bed, but he knows it’s only a lark. For true love, he’ll need someone with Gypsy blood. Must he renounce the Scottish redhead he enjoys so much?

EXCERPT

Sophia pushed back dark tresses of hair from her shoulder. She smiled as if she knew a secret. “And this visitor claimed to be Santa Claus?”

“That’s right. I felt his beard and mustache.” Joy shuddered.

“I’m sure you did. You look quite pleased with the memory.”

“I must be crazy,” Joy wailed. “You must think I’m nuts for sure.”

“Don’t say that, girl.” Sophia cradled Joy’s hand and Joy experienced an immediate calm spreading over her body. “What you describe is quite plausible.” Sophia smiled thinly. “You have too many aches—pleasant aches—for this to be something only in your mind. It could be someone with pyschokinesis and telepathic powers. Rare, but not impossible. I have known persons with such powers.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy.”

“Not at all. I believe you must be very special to have received such a gift.”

“But you don’t think it was Santa?”

“Does that matter? Someone thinks very highly of you to want to nurture your belief, maybe not in Santa only, but in a world beyond that which you typically know. In my culture, we’d say you were blessed.”

“Blessed?”

“You received, and there was no expectation of return.”

“Oh.” Joy scowled. “I hope Santa—I hope he enjoyed me, too.”

Chuckling, Sophia interjected, “I’m sure he did. Who wouldn’t? May I look at your palm a moment?”

“Of course.” Joy tried not to tense. This was part of what she’d hoped for when she’d decided to seek out Sophia, but she probably wouldn’t have asked.

Sophia’s features were blank. “You do seem to be at a crossroads.”

“A crossroads,” Joy squeaked. “What kind of crossroads?”

“I’m not positive. Love and career seem mixed up. Ah,” Sophia smiled softly, “so your first love was a woman.”

Joy blinked and then shrugged. “My roommate during my sophomore year of college gave me a vibrator for my birthday and then showed me how to use it. You’re right. I was in love. Unfortunately, Mary Beth got pregnant four months later.”

“There were others?”

“One.” Joy’s mouth went dry. She hadn’t realized her knees had clamped tightly around one of Sophia’s knees. She tried to unlock her grip and then gave up trying.

Sophia grinned at her openly. “It is good to love a woman now and then. I’ve often found if I only love a man or only love a woman, I’m out of balance. How about you?”

“Just Like the Movies”
written on 9/16/06

the reel is spinning
the lights are out
the projector is playing my future life
this can’t be just a romantic movie
i need it to be more than fiction

the opening scene – “cupid’s arrow”
that stunning gaze shot right through my heart
my heart is racing, outweighs my fears
a few compliments, the embers ignite

the second act – “the seed is planted”
the butterflies have still not faded
every kiss just like the first
holding hands and uncontrollable laughter
we dance to music playing from our souls
we draw attention but we don’t care
we hold the world between our hands

the third selection – “undying affection”
the lovebirds act just like magnets
she still grabs my face, i still hold her tight
we both can’t hide our delight
she’s embedded in my soul
she says the only words i ever needed to hear

the next chapter – “still supportive”
i still comfort her every time she cries
she still cheers me up every time she doesn’t see me smile
we both know we have something most can only dream of
we profess our love and kiss through the night
and all the while still holding each other tight

the final scene – “a wedding chapel”
two new rings, one old love
two sincere vows for one unioned soul
another kiss just like our first

the encore plays – “we beat the odds”
many years from now we remain the same
holding hands and uncontrollable laughter
we still dance to music playing from our souls
we still draw attention but we don’t care
we still hold the world between our hands
and between our hands, our wedding bands

the reel is spinning
the lights are out
the projector is playing my future life
this can’t be just a romantic movie
this story will be so much more than fiction