Wee wee wee, all the way home

I'm back on the east coast, and, given my familiarity with bathrooms all over the world, I thought that was an appropriate title for tonight's post.

There was a time when I thought I'd write a pocket potty guidebook for world travellers like myself. People with weak bladders needed a handy dandy guide to tell them where to find the creme de la creme of crappers across the globe.

It was going to be an international bestseller.

I planned on rating the toilets using a "roll" system, with 5 rolls being the best rating except for the elite potties that made it into the Honor Roll. As you can see, I decided to write erotic romantic comedy instead.

Not as much of a stretch as you might think.

Uses the same plumbing, after all.

And since you can plainly see where my mind wanders off to after a weary day of air travel, I'll bid you goodnight until the morrow.

Kayukking it up on Lake Union

It's not my usual bag, but my mother has an eighty-seven year old paramour who has a son who loves the outdoors. Today he took me and the fam out for a fun-filled hour of kayaking.

Earlier in the week, I'd been bemoaning my lack of upper body strength and had vowed to do more than lifting a pint and typing to improve the situation. Paddling in Lake Union wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Especially about the time we reached the opposite end and had to turn around and go back.

I like to think I know my limits. My teenaged daughter, who was in the front seat, certainly knows hers. By that time she was draping herself across the bow and re-enacting many of the drama scenes I've lately come to know and love. Unfortunately for both our limits, at that particular moment a seaplane decided to take off.

It didn't take me long to realize we'd have to paddle pretty darn hard and fast to get off the "runway". Everyone knows that maritime rules dictate the bigger guy has the right of way. Since our heads were at the general level of the nose-cone prop, I tended to agree.

Are you on the edge of your seat yet?

Well, back your butt up.

We cleared the runway, dodged a few more cabin cruisers and arrived at the dock where my jellied arms then had to steer the boat into a slender slip and haul my ass out. Almost impossible, but I did it and when my other daughter joined me at the top of the dock, we flexed our muscles to a general agreement that our work was done.

In the aftermath, I discovered a preferable way to achieve upper body strength.

From now on, I'll lift quarts.

Alcohorrorscope

But tell me, who could resist this Alcohoroscope?

Capricorns are usually described as practical, steadfast, money-hungry and status-thirsty -- no wonder you get left off the astrological cocktail-party list. But this is the sign of David Bowie and Annie Lennox, not to mention Elvis. You are the true rock star.

Independent, powerful and seriously charismatic, you're not too eager to please. And if you make money being yourself, who is anyone to quibble? But just like most rock stars, you're either totally on or totally off...And you generally need a little social lubricant to loosen up and enjoy the after party, especially if you can hook up with a cute groupie.

*looks around*

Where are my groupies?

Well?

I'm waiting...

http://www.blogthings.com/

Shore Losers

Because of my crazy schedule and two jobs this year there's been little or no time to enjoy a day at the beach. All that was supposed to change today - the alleged first day of the rest of my life.

Unfortunately, Irene had a different plan for us. Bitch.

As T.S.Garp wrote, the Undertoad loomed large today. Before we arrived, it'd taken a total of five lifeguards to pull one little boy out of its sucking mouth. The red flags were being planted as we hiked across the sand, boogie boards in hand. And as we stood calf-deep in the pounding surf, the Undertoad lapped at my ankles, pulling my feet out from under me, upending my children and filling us with the profound respect you can get when you look out at the majesty of the ocean.

Several times today the wall of white water hitting the reef reminded me of the pictures of the Tsunami. At least three lifeguards approached us and reminded us not to go in deeper than a couple of inches. They were frightened, too, and after the morning's events, who could blame them?

So, with a "make dilemmanade" attitude we splashed around in the shallows like toddlers - until the incoming tide burped past us and vomitted all over our beach gear. Our stuff was pretty far up the shore and everyone else in line with us had escaped the wet. This was not the best omen.

However, we decided it was a freak wave and proceeded to dig a moat and a build a seawall around our little campground.

The Undertoad merely laughed. Then pummeled us twice more.

Ah well. At least the drive home was peaceful.

Except for the bladder incident....

Ode to the Service Drive

Ahem.
Lalalalalalala
*sung to the tune of My Favorite Things*

Grease on the counter and pens that go missing,
Edspections, Jimissions, incessant dissing,
"I’m back didja miss me?" and “I love my job.”
Phones ringing un-til I’m ready to sob…

“Take off this coupon!” “Don’t send me more calls!”
“Let’s have a date.” “Did Pretty Boy just fall?”
Wild men who fly off the handle and scream,
Don’t ask me it’s just a service drive thing…

Gold Team dog bites.
Blue Team shake-ups.
Red Team writer leaves (yay!)
One year in the life of a harried cashier -

Bud's jokes give me baaad dry heaves.

*instrumental interlude*

Irate consumers, the phone calls come faster.
Man shirts with gray pants - a fashion disaster!
Ferrets with dildos, the fun never ends.
A handful of bad boys, some unlikely friends…

"Where are my writers?" The farts and the pranks.
"Parts needs some money." Those ten o'clock smokebreaks.
"Annie I'm busy!" A fight with an ex,
"Detail on line three." Hot Grease Monkey Sex!

When life blew chunks!

When my car crashed!

When my heart went flat.

The service drive antics were what kept me sane...

Stop looking at meeee like that!

True Romance?

I've had this conversation before with fellow romance writers. It begins with the question, "What's your all time favorite romantic movie?"

I recall the results: Casablanca, Roman Holiday, Brief Encounter (my personal fav of this sort), The Bridges of Madison County (yuck), Wuthering Heights, Rebecca...

All old movies, and, interestingly enough there's another common theme (except for Rebecca).

All of them end unhappily.

The couple does not stay together.

Yet these "romances" live in our hearts forever as some of the greatest love stories ever told. The passion in them breaks our hearts. Even as we wish for that last minute script change, we know that Ilsa and Rick will spend the rest of their lives loving each other, but not with each other, and we feel satisfied.

How fucked up is that?

I, for one, am so glad the romance book world is different. Because personally, I wouldn't want to invest so much of myself in another person only to be told I don't amount to a hill of beans in this world. I'm glad as hell I wasn't born a princess who had to choose between the love of my life and my country and I don't want to love a man I can't have until death allows us to wander the moors as ghosts for all eternity.

Where's the fun in that?

Give me Nick and Nora Charles anyday. Now there's a fine example of a sassy, sexy, eccentric romance. And guess what? They get to stay alive. Together. 4eva.

Who's your favorite movie couple?