I'd Like to Thank the Academy...

This is the last day of the last month of the last year I will not have a book out in print!

Layover will hit bookstores in December and right now, I'm too excited to think of anything else to blog about.

E-books are terrific, but to have a book that I've written and can hold in my hands and sniff - and even taste if I want to dammit - will be just too cool for words. And EC puts out such fabulous books with sensuos heft and nice, thick pages to fondle. Oooooo, stop me! I'm getting hot!

Stay tuned. The minute I get the email that it's available, I'll be shouting in here!

The Bat in the Belfry

You can find me here today.

Small Things can be So Big

I have a friend who used to live nearby, moved to England for three years, then moved back into my neighborhood. Among the English things she brought back with her were these kitchen sponges called Moppits. One day when I went to her house for a party, I picked one up to swipe her sink and fell in love.

Stop laughing.

Moppits are the sponge all other sponges envy. They're slender, but wide and feel good in your hand. When you wipe them along the counter, they clean a large swath, thus eliminating an extra stroke or two. They're graceful, and, of course, different from regular American sponges.

I coveted those Moppits.

Every few months my friend had someone in England ship her a boxload. She'd just gotten a fresh supply. After much whining, begging, and perhaps a threat or two on my part, she threw a twin pack at me and told me to shut up and go home.

I made those two sponges last an entire year. I took care of them, cherished them, and secretly became so dependent on them I couldn't stand the thought of going without.

Eventually, as you can guess, they simply fell apart in my hands. I was bereft. The fat, squat American sponge replacement sitting on my sink made me cranky. So I cruised the Internet looking for Moppits. Hours and hours wasted. For there were none to be found that didn't cost the earth in shipping fees.

Then, wonder of wonders, I sold my first book, and my friend handed me a small package to celebrate the sale.

It was a twin pack of Moppits.

My heart sang. She knew exactly what I wanted. Nothing would've made me happier. Not diamonds, not feather-boas, not even chocolate.

Now, whenever I sell a book, she brings me Moppits. It's a sacrifice for her, to give me these things from far away, because it means she might run short before her next shipment. But she does it out of love, and because she knows how much they mean to me.

I'm sure by now you're thinking I'm one sick perro. And maybe I am. But in this Christmas season I have my own little Magi. And she lives right down the street.

It's not the sponges. It's the sacrifice!

Okay. Maybe it's the sponges. Stupid little things like that make me so freakin' happy.

The Eyes of Romance

I've been cruising the 'net on my favorite website, Ebay, in my favorite section: Airline memorabilia. Vintage, that is.

I collect usable items from the airlines. Namely blankets, silverware (yes, it was real and it was silver-plated at one time) and carry-on bags. Over the years, I've amassed quite a collection, and like most collectors, never seem to get enough. There's always that rare, elusive piece you can't seem to get. Or you come close, only to lose it to someone who bid a penny higher in the last nanosecond of the auction. Bastards. Those are the worst.

My favorite, by far, is the carry-on bags. I use them when I travel. My girls use them as overnight bags. And they're as many and varied as you please. Some with colorful graphics of old-fashioned planes.

Tonight I got to wondering why I loved them so much.

One of the reasons is that the airlines used to give them away for free. And that certainly appeals to this cheapskate. Another is that I always used one as a bookbag for school.

But the biggest reason I love them is because when I look at them, I imagine packing for a journey. An overnight flight to Europe or Asia. Going places I've never been. Awakening to the smell of in-flight breakfast, with hot washcloths for your face.

People in the cabin stir after the long transatlatic flight. Window shades go up. The bright sun of a different world fills the aircraft and expectation and excitement perfumes the pressurized air.

In my mind I hear the changing sounds of the engine as we descend. I feel the thunk of the landing gear locking. I see the flaps raise and feel the plane slow. And I wait, breath hitched, for the touchdown on a foreign landscape.

Airline travel used to be a grand affair. I'm among the last of a generation who'll ever know that. We dressed up. Meals were served on real china with real silverware and we had thick, heavy wool blankets to keep out the stratosphere's chill.

When I was very young, we traveled in propellor planes. It took thirteen hours to get to New Mexico. When we stopped to refuel in Kansas, a big rolling staircase was pushed up to the plane and we went out on the tarmac in the fierce, hot midwestern wind.

Many hours of my life were spent in airports waiting to see if we'd get on the plane because we flew on free, employee passes. Back then you almost always got on - frequent flyer miles didn't exist.

Flying is an unbearably pleasurable thing for me. Almost as wonderful as sex. The smell of jet fuel, of cabin upholstery, of pressurized air, nighttime and the sky is orgasmic.

No matter how horrific airline travel has become, it'll always be romantic to me. It began that way in my young eyes. And those are the eyes through which I still view it.

So, what about you? What do you collect? Why? Is it because of romance? And will you ever get enough?

Giving Thanks

Well, it's almost Thanksgiving and time to list the things I'm thankful for. Here's my top ten in no particular order:

1) My sister, who has always been my champion even when life got in our way.

2) My mother, who taught me to be silly amongst the myriad other things she did.

3) My critique partners, who got me published.

4) My editor, who had faith in me.

5) My children, who get me out of bed everyday and who keep me young and give me purpose.

6)My new blog friends who entertain and enlighten me.

7) My dog, who worships the ground I walk on.

8) Myself, for finding the tools to survive.

9) My friends. Just because.

10) My WonderBra. For making me beeoootiful again.

What are you thankful for?

My Monster Name

Those nuns gotta watch out for us erotic authors.

Hating the Process

Gah! I'm processing again and I HATE it. I've whined about it before but you all are just going to have to listen again.

The last two weeks have been hell. Dry. Boring. Chewing-off-a-paw with the need to write but having nothing worthy to say because I'm in the mental stage.

I always feel self-indulgent when I'm in it. Like I should just shut up and write. And sometimes I do. But I know that most of the time it's better to wait it out because I've been tapped and need to regenerate.

Don't know if I ever explained my process to ya'll. Stop yawning! I listen to you so you can just sit yourself down and return the favor. If I don't justify myself I'm going to do something I'll regret. Like write a crappy story.

It takes me maybe three months to write or revise a book. Only about a month of that is the actual writing. Often, much of it is editing. But most of it by far is simple thinking. And when I'm done, I'm done.

In this way, I write final drafts the first time out. When I pen the last sentence it goes to Bree the very next day.

Most, if not all, authors can't work this way. They write a first draft and then edit the whole thing. Sometimes several times. It probably takes them about the same amount of time but as a result of the way they process, they don't have the chunks of apparent downtime I have.

It's hard for me to reconcile that part of myself.

I feel guilty. Unproductive. Leach-like. And I can't blame my family for thinking I do nothing all day, because that's what it looks like.

*casts eyes downward*

Hmmm. What's this?

Cleavage?

*perk*

Hey, I might be useless, but at least my breasts look good in the WonderBra!

And that is something to be thankful for. But I still hate my process.

Let's Hear it for Dee!

They're dropping like guano! The Belfry Collective might be the most successful critique group of it's kind because yet another bat has SOLD!
Give it up for Dee Tenorio, our newest published Belfrite!

S'wonder-full

I went bra shopping the other day. If you're female, and you're reading this, you know the particular area of hell I journeyed into, so nothing further needs elaborating there.

The difference in this grand adventure was that I wanted a push-up bra. My first. Yes, I'm a push-up virgin. I'm rather well endowed in that arena and never felt the need to accentuate anything more positive than what I had already. All that changed with middle age. Because now what I have is still there, but it's alot further south than it once was.

So, I was inexorably drawn to the WonderBra, which happened to be on sale at the time.

I'm wearing it as we speak. I can take a break and rest my chin on my cleavage. Something I haven't been able to do since I was twenty-two. I mean, I actually have a butt-crack there now. And I'm still filled with wonder at the miracle.

Whoever designed this thing deserves a Nobel Prize. Do they have one for that? They should. Because anyone who cares to attain my amplitude can do so with a simple trip to the department store, thus eliminating the need for expensive cosmetic surgery with its inherent risk of absenteeism from work and the slow destruction of the American Capitalist economy.

People have noticed, too. When I walk into a room wearing this world-shattering gizmo people I've known for years sit up straighter and get rather uncomfortable. I know they're thinking I've gotten implants because as well endowed as I am, for some reason it never showed up in clothes. So they don't know quite what to say.

"Why, Ann. What big breasts you have."

"The better to smother you with."

heeheehee

Anyway, I'm sold. I'll never buy a different bra again. This is it for the rest of my life.

With my luck it'll be discontinued tomorrow. It never fails to happen to me. So, if you haven't invested in one (or five) yet, please do. We owe it to ourselves as women and patriots to keep this company afloat.

Miss Behavior

 
 

Is this not a HOT cover? Bouncing here. All the White Hot Holidays Quickies have the same cover. Mine will be out December 30th. Here's the blurb:

Lorna Merryfield lives for her job so completely she plans a work-related celebration on New Year’s Eve. Unfortunately, the small plane carrying her there breaks down. And the near-death-rush of the emergency landing has an unexpectedly fiery effect--she wants to get down and dirty with her sexy pilot.

When a blizzard leaves them stranded, she seizes the opportunity to live the fantasy of raw, hungry sex. For both parties to give it everything they’ve got. Just for one, spectacular night. Then she’ll carry on, business as usual.

Gage Archer has had the hots for Lorna for years and is more than happy to make her dream come true. Although he owns and operates the air taxi service, he believes in working to live, not living to work. Throughout the long, blistering night he resolves to give her not only the carnal fireworks she desires, but to launch her into a new year and a new life. With him.

And plenty of misbehavior.

Short Men Have No Reason To... Be in Romance Novels?

I'm coming out.

Tonight!

Laying bare my soul, and shouting from on high.

I LOVE SHORT MEN!

Now, before you go and sneer, consider how many Hollywood leading men are tall?

Um. None.

Okay, Jim Carrey is. And not only is he a top box-office draw, he's the king of my heart. The secret one. The one I don't admit openly because if he called me on the phone and said he sorta kinda liked me, I'd divorce my husband and abandon my children.

And that would Just. Not. Do.

But I digress.

Let's hear it for the short men and the women who love them! Me included.

Have you ever really looked at one? The way they move, the way they've mastered the display of personality to make up for their shortness, the way they love tall women (like me). Or just the way they don't take up space?

OMG.

I'm breathless.

Martin Sheen in Badlands. Bruce Springsteen's ass on the cover of Born In The USA. Marlon Brando, Paul Neuman, Robert Redford, Al Pacino--the list is endless. Even Harrison Ford is short.

You think it's an accident we all pant over them?

It's in the way they move. The way they act. The way they appear to us. And the way they let us know that if we were the woman in front of them, we'd be mighty glad to be there.

It translates well to screen from good genes, but more so from the power of personality.

Because we're captive, we're captivated. We paid good money to get to know these men and goddammit, we're not going to waste another Friday night.

But what does that really say? Physical attributes aside, when we get to know someone, when we've invested (money, time or hope) we're more likely to look beyond what we think we're attracted to and discover what we are attracted to.

Call me a dreamer, but that's the best fantasy of all.

See what Charlie Horse and Karen Scott have to say.

Living on The Edge

Today I did something wholly out of character and, in fact, quite dangerous. You might think me crazy. You might think me irresponsible. You might think I should never be left alone, online, with a credit card number. Think what you will. For today, November 18th, the anniversary of my first sale...

*drumroll*

I ordered my groceries online.

But wait. It gets worse...

I even ordered produce.

*dodges tomatoes*

Now I'm not normally one to take such a risk - to put the responsibility of crisp apples, yellow bananas and unblemished grapes into the hands of another. I'm aware that nothing less than the health and well-being of myself and my loved ones is at stake here.

So why did I do it?

Why??

Because yesterday was child number one's birthday and it was also market day and it's normally her chore. Because I foolishly said I'd do it this time so she wouldn't have to. And, because I'd rather sit here and pluck out my eyelashes one by one than spend even ten minutes in a grocery store.

So yes. Tomorrow I might very well be standing at the customer service desk with a bag of inferior fruit, fuming and spitting. But it was a gamble I was willing to take.

After all, last year at this time, five years of gambling paid off. Who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky again.

If not, you'll hear a voice crying in the wilderness: Prepare ye to pay for this fraud.

You Bear it Well

Okay, ya'll. You've suffered through blog-design puberty with me, now we can all sit back and breathe a sigh of relief. I think I've reached maturity here (don't quote me). Thanks for all the encouragement about the colors! They show up differently on regular monitors (I'm on an LCD) but that can't be helped. What I see is a soft, peachy orange. I've collected a vast army of vintage travel posters and will be changing those from time to time. But for the most part, the design should stay stable now.

If my blood, sweat and tears can help anyone else, let me know and I'll be happy to share what I've learned about HTML.

Back to work on book #4!

Let's hear it for Rae!!!

She's worked it off, cried and moaned it off, now she can scream her ass off for joy! Never has there been a writer more deserving.


Heather Rae Scott is our newest published Belfrite!! *stomps and whistles*

Dying to discover your color?

Too bad there's not another way to get this information.


Wayne Gilbert, a Houston artist, got one of his best ideas while humming along the highway. One day in the late '90s, there he was surrounded by people in cars, going absolutely nowhere, when an idea hit him like a thunderbolt.

"I was trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between what is human about art and what art is about humans," Gilbert said. "And it hit me that I could show that by using human remains (ashes) in my paintings."

Sound like a macabre episode out of Six Feet Under? Not quite, although Gilbert admits that many people find the idea a little off-putting.

"The vast majority start out saying, `Oooh'," he said. "Then they open up to it."

He tells visitors to his 5,000-square-foot home and studio in the Heights that the ashes he uses are all unclaimed from funeral homes -- several as long as 25 years.

"I got the feeling that some of them might have ended up in the trash," he said. "It took me six months of asking, working and phone calls before people would listen to the idea, because I was very up front. I don't feel disrespectful about it; quite the opposite, I feel very respectful."

Gilbert has produced about 50 pieces using human remains. At first the ashes were mixed with color, but now he mixes them with a high-quality resin gel that he refers to as his palette. Everyone, he says, is a different color.

About The Artist

Physician heel thyself

Went to my new job today for a refresher on how to answer phones and take people's money. Afterwards I had to go to the company doctor and submit to a pee test. Guess you never know when middle-aged housewives/romance authors might become junkies. These past two months, left to my own devices, have been touch and go after all.

Anyway, the doctor asked me what I did *before* I got hired as a part time cashier. I proudly told him that not only had I held the esteemed position of full time cashier, I was also a romance author.

This is where it gets hilarious.

First he asked me what my numbers were. I resisted asking him what his were, and gave him a ballpark idea. He asked me how long it took me to write a book. I told him. Then he noticed my book cover purse.

I explained how I'd made it and he smiled, nodded and shot me with his sensitive doctor finger. "That," he said, "is what you should be doing."

I dunno, at that point my jaw must've dropped and he took to the argument like a dog to a bone. He went on and on about all the grannies out there who'd love a purse with their grandkids pic on it. How I'd rake in the dinero. Blah, blah. All the time I'm thinking yeah right, asshole. I'm going to give up authordom to open my own sweatshop. Finally I said, "Why don't you do it? I know you docs need the extra income."

The door nearly hit my ass as I was packed up and shooed out.

But, you know? I'll keep his sage advice in mind.

*eye roll*

Doctors are so smart, after all.

PS - Oh man. To top off my day guess what just came free in the mail? A menopause test! Sh*t! What, do they have a mailing list for hormonal women? How the hell did I get on that?

All I want for Christmas is a kick-ass blurb

Got the first round of edits handed in, now it's blurb time! Can you see me jumping for joy? The only thing worse than a synopsis, which has to sell your book to one editor, is the blurb. Which only has to sell your book to a billion readers.

Gahhhhhhh!

You know, I don't need fancy chemicals to exfoliate my face. My fingernails will do the job quite nicely.

Editing Cave

Got my edits for Miss Behavior and there's a time crunch so I won't be out to play this weekend. Guess we'll have to scrap the Friday Feature Presentation too, since I haven't found a worthy time waster for you.

You'd think with all the crap out there on the 'net, and my propensity to step in it, this wouldn't be a problem.

Oh well. See youse later!

New book, new job, new face!

Can't get much better than that for one week! I just love how life takes these sharp turns on ya. Keeps things fresh and alive.

Just got a call from the-guy-I-remembered-but-who-didn't-remember-me and he said I was his top candidate for the part time service drive job. To those of you seeking part time work, you can't beat this type of position. First of all, you're surrounded by techs. Second of all, you're surrounded by techs! Techs of all ages, shapes and sizes. Oooo la la!

The new book you already know about.

Now *drumroll* the new face. It didn't turn brown and flake off. Sorry to disappoint you, but it has started to shed like a lizard and that slight, middle-aged jowliness is firming up nicely.

Here's a good source.
Gives all the info you'd want on this procedure. Prices are excellent too.

Looks like it'll take a few more peels to achieve the look I want, but you know what? It's way cheaper than plastic surgery and I'm suitable to be seen in public as long as I keep my skin moisturized.

The next thing I'm gonna try is Hylauronic acid - or whatever the f*ck it's called. Supposedly it's another of those things you have naturally in your body that dissipates with age. It's responsible for helping skin retain moisture thus keeping it plump and firm.

You know, sometimes I think I ought to be talking about writing on this blog. But you can read all about writing almost everywhere else. Where else are you going to get the skinny on skin?

The Bat in the Belfry

You can find today's blather here.

For fun-n-games with limericks, head on over to Shannon's place.

The Woman Without a Face: more beauty news

I've been using glycolic acids on my face for years. They're safe, effective and wonderful exfoliators. If you're forty and you haven't started exfoliating yet, shame on you. One of the reasons men stay wrinkle free is because they shave (read:exfoliate) every day.

Recently I investigated something new. A TCA 12% peel. It's an acid that moves a little deeper than glycolics and also has the added feature of tightening mild laxity of the skin.

I am so there!

Except it's a little more dangerous. And noticeable. For instance, if you apply too much your skin will turn brown and flake off in humongous dead sheets. If you smile too hard and crack your brown, dead skin before it flakes off, you can scar yourself for life. Additionally, if you try to peel the dead sin off instead of letting it fall off naturally by itself, well, can you say horror show?

Still, I'm in. Although by now my knees are knocking.

About a month ago I did a test run on the back of my left hand. I figured if I screwed up I could pull a Michael Jackson. I applied one layer and left it on three minutes. Nothing happened for a full week and I thought "Well there's ninety bucks down the toilet". But then I noticed my hand had taken on the look and consistency of a crocodile purse. After another couple of days it'd peeled off and looked okay but not any different from the cheaper, safer glycolic results.

I took another look the other day. Held both hands up side by side. Lo and behold the skin on my left hand was much tighter. I mean MUCH. Even child number one saw the difference. I can't pinch the skin up and make it stay in a crepey mountain anymore.

So, Sunday I did my face.

I applied one layer for three minutes. Then got bold and applied a second layer. It stung to holy hell so I neutralized it all after another minute. My skin has been tight, and dry enough to soak up whatever oils I put on it. But it hasn't started to peel yet.

I'll let you know.

R U sElf Ac2aLiz'd?

I'm not one for hip buzzwords, but this one caught my attention. Popular author Jennifer Weiner was asked this question by a fan. It made me wonder.

According to Maslow, self-actualized people are characterized by:

1) being problem-focused.
2) incorporating an ongoing freshness of appreciation of life.
3) a concern about personal growth.
4) the ability to have peak experiences.

Let's see how I measure up in my quest for transcendence:

1) I prefer to say I'm more solution focused. Especially cold solutions. Ice cold and hops flavored. Does that count?
2) I regularly refresh my appreciation of life. Mainly through my mouth. With a hearty quaff of cold solution.
3) When one solutes too much, this can be a problem to focus on. Thus, I weigh myself every morning.
4) Only my vibrator knows for sure.

WuT AbOuT U?

Two Truths and a Lie: Sunday challenge

Bronwyn Parry: My grandfather fought in the Battle of Jutland; my great-great-grandfather was a convict; my grandmother had an affair with an Earl.

Lyn Cash: I’ve had an out of body experience, been to Italy, & worked with the FBI. (You didn’t specify what order, right?)

This!Christine: I've appeared on TV. Starred in a major Musical. Sung live on the Radio.

Ann Wesley Hardin: I wrote a syndicated newspaper column. I was a radio weather girl. I dated a TV personality.

Kris Starr: I played the flute in Costa Rica, I wrote and directed a film, I took off my clothes for money

Your mission should you choose to accept it: Which one is the lie?

Go with your gut.

Friday Feature Presentation: Teaser from Miss Behavior

***WARNING*** dirty words ahead!

Lorna licked her lips and his warm gaze followed the movement. “So we’re stranded.”

“In no-where-land and I’m the nowhere man. No one will worry if I’m late.” His chiseled features had softened with expectation.

“Me either.” Not tonight, anyway. Suddenly she wished she did have someone besides her parents and brother who’d worry. She and Gage could freeze to death tonight and they’d be the only ones who’d miss her.

Wait a minute.

Freeze. To. Death.

Rescue was nowhere in sight. Sub-zero temperatures were moving in.

Had she survived a quick and painless end only to perish slowly and tortuously? “Could we die here?” she asked sharply.

“Unlikely but possible.”

She recalled reading a pithy quote somewhere, about being on one's deathbed and what one's regrets might be. The regrets never had anything to do with career advancement. “I've devoted my whole life to work,” she told Gage in a far away voice. “Built a solid reputation and an impressive portfolio, pleased my parents, and am now set to climb even higher in my profession.”

“Sounds great.”

She tilted to face him. “And For what? To die in the snow with a stranger?” Until this minute she'd always thought of her life in positive terms–of what she had or would soon have. Now, what she might miss yawned into a hungry void. “To have never known what it was like to be…”

He reached out and massaged the nape of her neck. “To be what?” he asked gently.

“To be everything to someone. Just once.” Like you are to me at this moment. “To make love with raw desperation.”

The pressure from his fingertips increased and a pleasure-pain shot through her tense shoulders straight into her crotch.

“Is that your ultimate fantasy?” His voice had grown thick.

She nodded. “Do you have–” she cleared her throat. “Do you have a last wish? Something you've never done that you would like to do before…before you go?”

“How optimistic.”

“I read the papers. People get stranded and die every winter in storms. Do you think we're somehow immune?”

“No,” he said grimly. “I'm well aware I might not survive into next year. Dwelling on it isn't my bag though.”

“What would you do if you knew you were going to die tonight?”

He raked her up and down until the heat from his eyes made her sweater smoke. “I’d fuck you with raw desperation.”

What a feeling redux

***Update*** the title of the book is Miss Behavior (3 out of 3 - so far I've kept all my own titles) and it's about a very proper etiquette columnist who engages in most improper behavior with an air taxi pilot after an emergency landing.

Stay tuned for a racy excerpt!

What a feeling!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

I just sold my THIRD BOOK!!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!

Will update this blog as soon as I get title approval.

Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!

That feeling NEVER goes away. *happydancehappydancehappydance*

Long term memory loss

Which is worse, when you see someone and remember them from a previous meeting but they don't remember you? Or when they remember you but you wouldn't know them from a heifer's butt?

Today I went in for an interview for a part-time service drive cashiering position (same company I worked at before, different dealership). The manager was someone I'd been in a class with about a year ago. I immediately mentioned the class and how much fun I'd had in his group. He looked at me like I'd morphed into a two-headed turtle.

Nice way to start an interview.

Even though I lead an insular life, I'm very much a people person. The driving force behind my writing is the need to communicate with them on the most profound level of all, in the way I do it best. But way down deep I have to suspect there's a need for immortality too. After all, isn't that what all humans seek?

So it tends to take you down a peg when you discover you're less than memorable.

Not remembering someone else can be embarrassing. But being forgotten yourself is a bitch.

Which one is worse for you?

PS - Take a look at my updated website! New front page, new Teasers, reviews of Coffee, Tea or Lea? and a new pic of me! Winter Digital rules!!

Meme, a name I call myself

Three screen names that you've had: HouseSprite, The Bat Dame, Coatochrome

Three things you like about yourself: I’m a good listener, funny and a good mom.

Three things you don't like about yourself: I’m a vain, occasionally cold-hearted social misfit.

Three parts of your heritage: The French part is hot, the German part is cold, and the Scottish part hates panties under skirts.

Three things that scare you: violence, fanatics, clitorectomies

Three of your everyday essentials: cigarettes, good foundation garments, coffee

Three things you are wearing right now: pink hoody, blue sweats, pink VS bra

Three of your favorite songs: Another Brick in The Wall, More Than This, Talk To The Animals

Three things you want in a relationship: Laughter, interest, playful sex.

Two truths and a lie: I wrote a syndicated newspaper column. I was a radio weather girl. I dated a TV personality.

Three things you can't live without: My brain cells.

Three places you want to go on vacation: Queensland, Prague, Brussels

Three things you just can't do: go a week without a nap, achieve clear skin and find an illicit lover.

Three kids names: What. The. Fuck?

Three things you want to do before you die: live abroad, have one of my books made into a movie, be alive when they find a preventative for hangovers.

Three celeb crushes: Anderson Cooper (if he wasn’t gay) John Cusack, Stuart Townsend

Three of your favorite musicians: Pink Floyd, Billy Joel on piano, Green Day.

Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeals to you: Eyes, good posture, appreciation of me

Three of your favorite hobbies: napping, collecting airline stuff, learning html on my blog.

Three things you really want to do badly right now: Fly to Luzerne, ride my Vespa to the lake and have a beer.

Three careers you're considering/you've considered: airline pilot, veterinarian, archeologist.

Three ways that you are stereotypically a boy: I fall asleep after sex, guard my emotions and hate girl talk

Three ways that you are stereotypically a girl: skincare, nice clothes, hair pride.

Three people that I would like to see post this meme: Me, myself and I