A Trek To The Unholy Land Of Hideous Muumuus

I had a crazy camping meltdown back in July. Shocking, but true. Two weeks in a pop up camper without tv or internet will do that to a girl.

We were in Maine, having a grand old time. Only problem? The bathhouse was waaaaay far away from the camper. And I was getting weirded out walking there in my pjs due to some of the cro magnon tent campers who opened their beer bottles and cans of corned beef hash with their teeth as they eyed us wimmin folk (me and my two young daughters) on our way to the bathhouse.
 
So my fevered camping brain decided my best defense was a truly hideous muumuu. Because, really, what other defense is there? Nothing trumps hideous muumuu.

The man, reading the crazy in my eye, correctly chose to take me looking for one. Five stores and three hours later, the family tromped into Walmart. Now, I'm desperate beyond all comprehension if I'm willing to walk into a Walmart in the first place. On principle I refuse to shop there and contribute to the decline of Western civilization.

The Urchins are about to become unglued, The Man has that determined manly "I-will-fix-this-if-it-kills-me" crazed glint in his eyes, and I, who despises shopping, am ready for the loony bin.

Then, I see them. And, they're indescribably hideous.

The horror!!

Look at the varied selection behind these two winners.

This one has a zipper opening for easy on and off. Umm, off, please.

I mean, Mrs. Roper's muumuus had nothing on these. Faced with their hideousness, I just...couldn't pull the trigger. I couldn't buy, let alone wear, any of them. So, disgruntled and defeated, we trudged out of the evil store, into the dark night and back to the campground.

Where--we found that the insane, monkey-toed, inbred, knuckle-dragging, banjo-dueling, tent campers had vacated the premises. Leaving behind scary remnants of their encampment for future archaeologists to puzzle over.

So we were all winners in the end. The Man earned good-husband points for attempting to fix my crazy. The Urchins learned that power-shopping doesn't pay, and I could walk un-ogled to the bathhouse.

Moral of the story? Muumuus trump inbred evilness by proximity alone.

Until next time, Citizens!

A Craziness Level Update and Other Stuff

I won't be offended if you skip to the fun part. But for now...

Craziness Update:
I'm almost over my stomach bug I picked up last week.
It still didn't stop me from taking the Urchins to their all-day corn maze Girl Scout event in the rain yesterday.
Tonight, they're in the Halloween parade with the Girl Scouts, and I'm picking up my mom at the airport. We will then be driving straight to the parade.
Tomorrow, dropping Mom off at the train station before work.
And I'm still trying to pack and get ready for the NJRW conference on Thursday.

Speaking of the conference, that's the other stuff.

I will be leaving early Thursday afternoon. (The chimney sweep had better be here and gone before that time on Thursday.)

I will be having either an agent or editor appointment. So I need advice on how not to blurt out any of my crazy conspiracy theories in the ten minutes I get to talk to one of them.

What? You, Ava? Conspiracy theories? Never!

Ahem. As such.

Bratz Dolls as the precursor to the alien invasion.

The inherent and obvious dangers of polka music.

The contagious properties of redneck.

Do I need to go on?

I also have the Lloyd Dobler nervous talking thing. You know, Say Anything?




Except my verbal diarrhea would probably include, but not be limited to, polkappocalypses, carny folk, my 'Possum Queen reign, sea monkey warfare, the many uses of taxidermied squirrels, and the high number of people in history who have been shanghaied by Sasquatches.

So I now have to figure out how to shove my crazy down and act normally. Hmmm. Should be a challenge. Wish me luck!

Slacker or Burnout?

So, hello everyone. (chirp-chirp-chirp)

Okay, yes, I deserved that, I guess. I've been a slacker. But not completely.

I'm burnt out. On so many things, that I haven't had much joy or even energy to do anything that isn't absolutely necessary. I run my Urchins to their thousand things. I work with the three-year-olds from the Black Lagoon.  I take care of the house. I participate on the committees. I work on trying to schedule those crazy outdoor educational days that I plan, create, organize and run for my daughters' two schools. I toil for the blue-haired-old ladies.

Monday afternoon I went into Youngest Urchin's second grade class and crushed soda cans with air pressure and forced hard boiled eggs into jars using nothing but air. Taught about the water cycle in cool and innovative ways. But it felt like a chore. And I LOVE science. Especially when I get to teach it to young 'uns.

I'm crispy.

My writing is stalling, though part of that is due to waiting for feedback from two crit partners, but I know I should be plotting the next book and jumping on the edits I already received back. But, I'm tired and fatigued with the story and I have to take the Urchins to their next stop and...and...and...

I haven't even finished blogging about my camping vacation from back in July. And I promise you, more happened than just goat-reeking devil phone poles. There was the terrible journey to the unholy land of hideous mumus. Not to mention the sadistic torture of marshmallow Peeps. But do you see the name up there? Tongue in Cheek. I just haven't been able to find the fun, let alone channel it. So I haven't blogged.

I've had some good news. I got nice feedback from an editor at Harlequin on the first 500 words of my book. I'm headed to the NJRW conference next week and will be pitching it to either an agent or editor. But I'm not nervous or even excited about that prospect.

I've been doing a bunch of taking care of others, but not myself. Which is my M.O.

So instead of bringing you along with me to that unholy land I mentioned earlier, I'll leave you with an excerpt from the end of chapter 4 in A Shot At Forever. The hero, Ethan, just broke up an ugly situation at the pool table where Sheridan's marks figured out she was hustling them. Instead of running her out of town like she expects, he asks her to dinner.

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            She froze. He could tell that wasn’t what she’d expected him to say as she slowly turned to face him. Even with her eyes narrowed in distrust, he couldn’t stop thinking how pretty she was. Tapping her hat against her leg, she regarded him for a moment. He held his breath and hoped like hell he passed muster. Her gaze drifted down his entire frame before leisurely traveling back up and Ethan felt the pass of her eyes clear to his bones.

“Sorry, but I never mix business with pleasure.” She settled the hat on her head and turned to go.

            “But what about last night?”

She stopped but didn’t turn fully toward him. “Last night I didn’t know you were a lawman.”

Certain he’d never see her again if she walked out that door, he heaved in a deep breath and laid his cards on the table. “Look, yes, I’m the sheriff. But I wouldn’t be taking you out as the sheriff. I’d be taking you out because as a man, I recognize you’re the best thing that’s walked in here in more years than I can count, and after having you in my arms I can’t imagine never getting to do that again.”

He winced when he heard how that sounded. Tugging off his cowboy hat, he dragged his fingers through his hair before moving to face her head on. “I think you’re a helluva woman, Sheridan, and I’d be honored if you’d let me take you to dinner.” He looked steadily into her hazel eyes and silently willed her to see the earnest plea he knew resounded in his own.

            As her sharp assessing gaze took the measure of him, he stood stock still, gripping his hat with bloodless fingers. Confusion and what looked like hope flashed briefly over her features before they went blank and stony again.

            “Sorry Sheriff, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

            Ethan clasped her hand in his. “Please, Sheridan. At least let me buy you a drink to show you the whole town isn’t like that bunch of jackasses you played pool with tonight.”

            She bit her lip as she turned and looked at the exit, then back down to where their hands were connected. Her gaze slowly traveled up the length of his arm, finally reaching his face. As she stood there looking up at him through her lashes, a surge of emotions he thought long dead crashed through his body.

            Gently, Sheridan pulled her hand away, and it was all he could do not to snatch it back. Still biting her lip, she regarded him with a hopeful expression, but it didn’t last. A deep sadness fell over her face, weighing down her shoulders, and then that blank mask was back. Ethan’s heart sank as she pulled her cowboy hat down over her forehead, shadowing her eyes from his view.

            “Thanks, but no thanks…Ethan.” Her last word was softer than the others, but it hit him like a hammer blow. Before he could respond, she disappeared into the crowd.

Hope you guys are taking better care of yourself than I am. Until next time, Citizens where we venture into truly unholy lands.