Secret Confesions III

Just in case you missed them:
Secret Confessions I
Secret Confessions II

This one's kind of girlie. Be forewarned. I don't usually indulge in a lot of girliness, unless you count the rainbow farting unicorns in my happy place.

So here it is. The secret confession. I am infatuated with Joe Nichols' mouth. Really. There's just something about it that mesmerizes me. I think it's the under bite. I just can't take my eyes off it. It's crazy.



My brain knows that practiced cocky grin is all part of the show, but that knowledge doesn't keep my panties from bursting into flames every time he flashes it.

Here's his latest song, that rationally, I know panders to women, but for some reason I can't help myself from liking it. I used to be much more savvy. I must be slipping in my old age.



So there it is. Whew. Boy, I feel better already. Any thing you'd like to get off your chest? Feel free. The comments are all yours.

Things I Should've Known

but forgot.

1. When put together, fuzzy pajamas and flannel sheets act like Velcro.

2. When lifting heavy items (like three feet of snow with a shovel) one should bend at the knees.

3. Throwing a snowball that accidentally smacks the recipient in the kisser after said recipient spent the entire afternoon snowblowing three feet of snow is not a good idea.

4. Fleeing for one's life in hip deep snow is very slow going. If the drag doesn't get you, the fear will.

5. Snow shoved down your back to drench your underthings is not a pleasant sensation.

Oh How My Mind Can Wander

I want to bring pith helmets into fashion. I want to make calling someone a "hep cat" a cool thing to do once again. I wanna say some guy is "the bee's knees" and slip in a "Right, daddy-o!" and have it catch on.

I want to walk around in a sequined sombrero and platform shoes and give everyone I pass "the wink and the gun".

But I don't want to write on Shifting.

Oh how my mind can wander and create useless things to think about when I procrastinate and avoid. See, this is where the rainbow farting unicorns came from. Right here in this procrastination place. A dangerous place for me to be. Soon the shiny new ideas will come to call, tempting me to write them down.

A dangerous place for me to be today. A dangerous place indeed.

Writing and Snowing and Aging-Oh My!

Well, there's sixteen inches of snow on the ground and it's still falling. Suffice it to say I will not be riding my motorcycle any time soon.

I will also not be going to our monthly writer's meeting. It was canceled last night. And rightly so, but I really could have used the writing boost. I didn't make my monthly goal, but what needed to be done on the wip changed from when I made the goal as the month progressed. I did make progress. (Yay I got the synopsis finished!) So this month I need to up my word count. We'll see if I get it done.

And finally, I must be getting old because this somehow spoke to me.

Motorcycles Are To Anti-Aging Creams As . . .

It snowed last night. It snowed and dashed all my hopes of getting out on my motorcycle. I blame the damn groundhog and its six more weeks of winter. I've been needing to get out on my motorcycle like a druggie needs a fix.

Psychological. It's all in my head. And my head is telling me I'm old. It's telling me that I should cut my hair and get a responsible 'do. It's telling me that I should stop wearing my watch that has the picture of Grover from Sesame Street on it. It's telling me it is now undignified to make up specific victory dances for when I get a spare versus a strike during Wii bowling.

And so I need the ride. I need it to remind myself that all this is temporary and to grab the experiences by the throat and never let go. I need the ride to remind me that I would hate to have that responsible 'do in my coffin. And I need the ride to remind me that the world doesn't only exist of anatomically impossible cartoon girls and sickeningly sweet dinosaurs. There really are other things beyond these walls. If only I could get on my motorcycle and find them.

So I have to wait until spring to get out from under the winter doldrums and onto my Ninja. Hopefully Disney won't completely take over the country by then, covering it in a carpet of big eyed princesses that reek of pasty political correctness.

If only I could go for a ride.

Because if I don't soon, I have a feeling I'll do something like this.

Tell Me Which You Would - The Bad or the Good?

How did it get to be Friday already? I'm having trouble getting that little factoid into my brain. I finished my dreaded synopsis of Shifting Her World. Thank you for all your help Misty and Natalie! You know I've had a pretty good writing week if there aren't many posts. Anywho, check out this video. It got me to a-wonderin'.



I loved this commercial when it came out back in the day, mainly for the Van Halen. Yet it was funny, too, and G.I. Joe completely out-cooled Ken.

But here's what I wondered. The Bad Boy. Do you prefer the Bad Boy Hero or the Good Boy Hero? I'm split. I write both. I enjoy reading both if they're well rounded. But deep down I think if I was held over a pit of bubbling tar and told to choose, I would go with the good guy. But only if placed under some such duress. (Molten lava would get me to sing on this topic as well.)

So which type of hero would be your favorite as you dangle precariously over the pit? And, remember, this is for posterity, so be honest.

I Need Skills

Why can't I have cool skills like this?



My secret talent holds no true value in the real world. I couldn't even somehow work it into my supervillain plans.

So, any mad skills you want to share? They've got to be better than my secret weapon!

Okay - Two More

Because the teeny tiny OCD part of me couldn't leave the list from the other day incomplete, here are two more things about me.

9. When I was sixteen, I worked in a Fotomat booth, and yes I looked at all the pictures. What else is there to do in a Fotomat booth?

10. I also worked as a sales associate in a Fredericks of Hollywood store at a large mall when I was nineteen. Back then they were a bit trashy in what they sold. I specifically remember a novelty pair of men's silky underwear called the peacock. Yes it was in the form of a peacock - neck and head housed what you think; feathers on the butt completed the look. There was one shaped like an elephant too. At the end of the trunk (yes that's where it went) there was a push button sound-making-thing that would trumpet like a real elephant. Classy!

Of those two jobs, the Fotomat booth tuned out to be scarier. One day, sitting there, minding my own business, (ok, I was looking at pictures) two men in an old Monte Carlo started circling the booth and yelling suggestive things at me from their open car windows. Freaked me the hell out. I couldn't get out to get away because they were there circling at a high rate of speed. I almost called the police, though this was pre 911 days. Plus I figured they'd be gone by the time the police came anyway.

The worst thing that would happen at Fredericks would be the guys who would ask me if I would model the lingerie. (I was in very good shape back then.) Or on a dare ask me embarrassing questions about the edible underwear.

I remember this guy who came in one day. He was missing teeth and was very scruffy. Behind him was a silent equally unkempt woman holding the hands of two little urchins with eyes the size of dinner plates. They looked quite out of place with all the feathers, fur and silk. He walked straight up to me with a dog-eared, well worn Fredericks catalog clutched in his hand, and asks, "Do you guys have this?" He flashes me a creased and (dare I say?) stained page featuring all the cupless/peek-a-boo lingerie.

Now you have to imagine. The woman with him was pretty squat. The couple reminded me of a Deliverance version of Jack Sprat and his wife. There's no way she's fitting into any of it, and just visualizing anything involving them and lingerie made me want to poke sticks through my ear canal to my brain and scrape the images out. So I spewed out the company line that we didn't stock anything in the store that they could get in the catalog and backed away quickly.

Ahh. Good times.

So there you have it. Two more things about me. And don't they explain a lot? Anywho. Any interesting summer jobs you'd like to share? You know you want to!

Lovely Blog Award

Author of great fantasy books, Susan Gourley, awarded me the One Lovely Blog award over at her blog Susan Says . Which was very nice of her, but I'm not sure if Tongue in Cheek qualifies as lovely. Remember these posts?


Sea Monkey Status
Can You Believe It?
Just Can't Be Serious Today

But that's beside the point, I guess. I am now to pass the award on to others.
And the winners are . . .

Victoria Smith who is funny and a great writer. I check out her blog almost every day.
Carla Kempert who writes from the heart with humor and honesty.

Go over and check them out. Leave a comment and tell them I sent you, they'll treat you right.

Now on to the hard part. The second half of getting the award is to tell ten things about yourself. I'm not sure I'll have ten to tell. We'll see where we end up.

1. I designed my own engagement and wedding rings.
2. I don't like coffee or tea. If I want caffeine I drink diet Pepsi with cherry.
3. I have an unhealthy obsession with sea monkeys. (though you probably already figured that out)
4. I used a rotary dial phone well into the nineties.
5. I didn't know how to do laundry when I went to college because I grew up with an antique open cylinder washer with attached wringer that would give you a good zap every time you plugged it in.
6. I had my youngest urchin in my kitchen. (no it was not planned that way)
7. I've owned three motorcycles: 2 pocket rockets and 1 cruiser.
8. I collect vintage/antique cookie jars.

That seems like more than enough about me. So since I shared, tell me something about you. Secret talents, middle names, pin numbers, you know, the usual.

Dear Best Selling Author

Here's a little advice. In your bio, don't tell me that you travel to exotic international locales several times a year. It only makes me not want to give you my money. I will turn around and buy your books from an Ebay seller who, I'm sure, needs the money more than you do. Just sayin'.