Monthly Archives: August 2010

Hello It’s Me

*waves* Y’all remember me, right? Danica Avet. Good to see ya!

I’ve been kind of…gone from social networking lately. I’ve kept up with my Tweets and Facebook updates, but I haven’t really had a chance to keep in touch with y’all lately. I’ve also been a horrible critique partner lately. So sorry! All I can say is, the real world grabbed hold of me and wouldn’t let go.

First there’s work. This is a good thing because it means I’m earning money, but really, there’s only so much whining and tattle-tailing I can take. No, I’m not an elementary school teacher. It would make sense if I were. No, I’m talking about the grown men who point the finger at their co-workers when I pin them down for doing something wrong.

Me: Why, why, why are there paint cans just sitting on the ground out here?

Foreman: I don’t know. They aren’t mine. Those belong to Harry. He left them there. Or, it might’ve been the painters from MC. Yeah, they left that there.

Me: And?

Foreman: I’ve been busy making money for the company!

Me: You’re gonna end up costing the company money if you don’t pick that paint up and put it where it belongs.

Silence.

And that’s just one instance. Le sigh. That’s been going on since I started in this position, but it was worse over the last three days because I was out in the yard with these guys for that long. Complaining, bitching, and moaning. And men say that’s all women do. *snort*

Then the personal life intruded. I’m not gonna go into the very ill-advised drinking I did Saturday night, but suffice it to say that I’m never ever drinking three bottles of Chardonnay by myself again. *shudder* I was too brain dead and hung over to talk with my interweb friends. I couldn’t even hold a simple conversation with my dog this weekend, much less keep up with the witticisms of my peeps.

Hopefully though, hopefully, things will calm down again. I do like being busy, but really, there’s a limit to how much I can take. I haven’t written in several days, just now sent off a critique I was supposed to have looked at this weekend, and still have three chapters to look at for someone else. These are important things for me to do! So yeah, kind of hoping someone doesn’t pop in my office and say, “Hey, can we talk about that comment you made on that audit you did because I’m almost positive it wasn’t my fault?”

Oy vey.

Can’t wait to catch up with y’all again!

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A Rose By Any Other Name…

This weekend was spent attending a Scentsy party for my sister-in-law followed by her housewarming/birthday party, then a whole day of recovering from too much wine. I’m still in pain today, though I can actually move and think as opposed to sitting like a painful bump on a log.

The Scentsy party was given by my 16-year-old cousin. It was her first time and she was justifiably nervous, even though she knew everyone attending. You’re probably asking where I’m going with this. Well, see, my cousin’s name is Angela but she hates her name. She hates it so much that she goes by Lynn, which is her middle name. You think I’m joking? Her mom went to open house last year at school and the teacher went on and on about Lynn. Yes, the child has her teachers calling her Lynn instead of Angela.

I had to think about this because I hated my name, too. As most of you already know, my real name is Stephanie. My mom is quite put out that I’ve decided to go with a pseudonym. In fact, I’d even go so far as to say she’s mildly insulted. But should she be? Probably not. I’ve had issues with my name since I was 5.

There’s one story in the family that goes something like: I came home from school crying. When asked what was wrong, I told my mom that I wish my name was Amy because it only had THREE letters. Stephanie has NINE. Of course, she thought that was so cute. It was just the beginning. I also had a lisp. I couldn’t even say my own name! Oh sure, I bet it was just so adorable. (It was me after all.)

So when I went with the pseudonym, I had to find something that wasn’t too long, was easy to pronounce (not because I have a lisp now, mind you), and looked/sounded professional. I chose Danica because I liked the name, the meaning, and it was easy for me to write. Avet was actually the last name of one of the first boys I had a crush on, but I only realized that after I’d chosen it. Maybe part of me was still in puppy love with him? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now though. I like it. Danica Avet.

Because of this, I suppose I have no right to torment my cousin about disliking her name, but I am her older cousin, which means that’s what I’m required to do. I’m pretty sure it’s in the contract I signed.

So how about you? Do you like your name? Do you wish you had been named something else?

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Fantasy Man Friday

Ah, the end of another week. Yay, hoorah, and all that mess. I’m tired, people. T-I-R-E-D.

I think I need a new mattress because I have aches in my neck, shoulders, and hips. Either that, or someone’s having fun with me while I’m sleeping. *ponders* That would be interesting if he were a Fantasy Man. No non-Fantasy Men need apply.

Seriously though, sleep is such an important part of our lives (or my life at least). I think I proved that sleep was more important than partying at Nationals. Who was the wet blanket who went to bed at midnight or earlier every night? *raises her hand* I can’t help it. I’m an early riser because of work. 5 a.m. every morning, I’m awake and guzzling coffee. Even on the weekends I can’t sleep any later than 6:30. This is…unnatural. But as soon as the sun sets, my brain is already calculating just how long I have until I can get back in bed.

Of course, now it’s time for the Fantasy Man. Drum roll please!

I bet you thought I was going with a guy in bed. Ha! Fooled you. Of course…I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating powdered jelly doughnuts. There’s a lot you can do with jelly in bed. I mean, you can play tic-tac-toe on the sheets! Dirty minded people. Bwahaha. Gotta love a man who can er pull off printed underwear. And I’d definitely love to pull those off. *cue Eartha Kitt growl*

Happy weekend all. Hope you all get a lot of rest for next week!

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Torture Part Deux

Found out yesterday that Mom’s surgery has been rescheduled for September 9th. Oh Lord…

This time around, I know what to expect for the drive there and home. See, I’m the driver. I’m okay with that because I do love being behind the wheel of a car. I like the power and being in control of things. If I could fly a plane, I’d fly myself rather than take commercial flights.

See, I’ll have my mom (of course) and my sister with me. It’s about a 2 hour trip from home to Baton Rouge, though I usually make it in an hour and 15 minutes or so depending on traffic. The drive isn’t my worry. It’s my passengers. Oh yes. I’ll hear an hour and some odd minutes of this:

Mom: So which way are you taking? If you go through College Drive, we’ll avoid traffic.

Me: I can’t remember where College Drive is.

Mom: It’s where Bubba used to live, remember?

Me: I was thirteen the last time they lived there. I can’t remember that far back.

Mom: God! Just take it.

Sister: If she doesn’t want to take it, she doesn’t have to. I mean, I don’t want to get lost in Baton Rouge at 4 o’clock in the morning.

Mom: Gah! Just do what I tell you, okay? Get on the exit, get in the far right lane immediately. Immediately!

-later after I’ve followed her directions into a bad part of town, I start to wonder if she’s trying to get rid of me and my sister to collect some money we don’t know about-

Mom: Okay, now this is a bad part of town (DUH! I can see the bullet holes in the buildings!) Are your doors locked? Oh God, watch out for that taxi!

Sister laughing like a loon.

We’ll get to the hospital and do the surgery thing and then on the drive home it’ll start all over again.

Mom: Which way are you going? If you go this way we’ll avoid all the traffic.

Sister:  I want to take I-10.

Mom: What, are you crazy? We’ll be stuck in traffic! Take Hwy 1 all the way home.

Sister: I don’t want to ride down Hwy 1 for hours. It’s a long road!

Mom: Just do what I say!

And we will because I have to live with her. I’m okay with going either way. It’s like exploring which suits my personality, but my sister will start to tense in the passenger seat. Know why? Because we have to cross a bridge. Did I mention she doesn’t like bridges? They scare her. Which really sucks because the only way to get in and out of our area is via bridge. This is why she doesn’t leave her house. She even admitted it to me.

So we’ll get on this bridge and because the turn is at the foot of the other side of the bridge, I’ll have no choice but to get in the right-hand land which puts her side of the car against the guard rail.

Sister: I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Me: Who me? It isn’t my fault.

Sister: No, it’s Mom’s fault. I’m genetically unable to cross bridges.

Mom: Haha, I don’t know why she’s such a scaredy-cat. I remember when we were driving on the Huey P. Long (Hello, it has to be one of the scariest bridges in Louisiana!) and she was in the backseat. Your dad was driving and he turned to look at me to say something. She grabbed the sides of his head and forced him to look at the road. Hahaha.

You did wonder where I got my sick sense of humor from, right?

Now, the only thing that would put the return trip down in the books as the Road Trip from Hell would be for my mother to be looped up on drugs. She’ll mutter about not being treated with respect by the hospital staff: “They were kicking me out of the hospital, weren’t they? Those bastards.” She’ll whine that she’s thirsty: “I won’t make it if I don’t have something.”

I wonder if I started taking Prozac now if I’d have enough time for it to be in my system before this excursion?

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Guilty Conscience, or Paranoia?

Yesterday morning, I logged onto Facebook and saw I had twenty-two notifications. My first thought (before opening them) was, “Holy cow, people love me!” Then when I opened the notifications, I saw that 21 of these people had “commented on a video of you”. My heart stopped. What? When did I make a video? What had I done? ZOMG!

I winced and clicked on the link. Please, don’t let someone have discovered my secret identity as an exotic dancer (exotic because I have moves that’d make anyone look twice…from disbelief that I’d actually dance in public).

The video came up. I held my breath. I swear I’ll never ever pretend I’m driving on the Autobahn again. *peeks through her eyes* Phew. I was tagged in a video (book trailer for Tonya Kappes’ novel) which was excellent, by the way. Can’t wait to interview you for the blog! But the fear that someone had a video of me and posted it on the interwebz stuck. And because I like to ponder, I have to wonder if I have a guilty conscience, or if I’m just paranoid.

Let’s look at the facts: I don’t party anymore, but there have been a couple of times when I got a little tipsy and danced. No, I didn’t take off my clothes or anything, but I really, really don’t want someone to have a video of me doing my version of dancing. I mean, I know I can’t dance worth a damn, which is why I generally wait to do it when I’ve had a few drinks in me. Regardless of my claims to the contrary, the only people who will want to watch me dance are those who want to piss themselves laughing. Paranoia, check.

Fact: I am a goober. Yes, yes, when I was in college I didn’t party for the first few years. I was a band nerd. After practice, I was too tired to go dancing. So what did my friends and I do for fun? We’d head to the 24-hour grocery store, browse the aisle and act like asses. Case in point, the day we decided to have a heel-clicking contest. I lost. Okay, I can’t click my heels. Happy now? My feet got tangled up together and I fell in the cookie display. I’m sure there’s a security tape out there somewhere with this mishap playing in slow-mo. Paranoia, plain and simple.

Okay, so the more I think about this, the more I realize that I’m just paranoid. I can’t think of anything I’ve done that I’d have to be guilty about…unless someone got a video of me ogling men, but that’s nothing to be ashamed of…is it?

My other thought, was that someone (because this was under my pseudonym) got a video of me doing something stupid at Nationals. What comes to mind? Me running into a glass wall at the hotel. I didn’t like…run smack into it. It was part of the revolving doors and I thought we’d reached the lobby when I started to step forward only to meet the wall. Sayde Grace had a good laugh at that, but that’s not too bad, right? Or maybe someone had a camera on during the man-eating deer workshop and they panned on my face when I realized Bambi is a killer. Still not too bad.

Phew, I’m so glad I got this off my chest. I’m paranoid, y’all. How about you?

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It’s KC Day!

Yay!! Is everyone ready? Do you have your fangs and pointy ears on? No? What the hell…

You do know that today is Kresley Cole Day, right? As in today is the release of Demon from the Dark, right? It’s a big deal. Well, it is for me. I haven’t had a new Kresley Cole book to read in forever (like February)! That’s too long between books. I’ve been a good girl in preparation for Kresley Cole Day. I haven’t read any of the excerpts because I want to be surprised when I turn my Kindle on with that lovely, much-wanted story waiting for me. I want to open it up and hear a choir of angels singing.

Do I anticipate disappointment? Never. I’ve been reading Kresley Cole’s books since A Hunger Like No Other (hello, re-read it this weekend!) and I have yet to put one of her books down with the thought that it wasn’t as good as I expected. If anything, her books get better and better. It’s the Ascension, you know, it makes everyone crazy and I’m no exception to the rule.

What is it about her books that I love so much? Well, Nix plays a big part in it. From the beginning, I felt an instant kinship with the ancient Valkyrie. Um, no, I can’t tell you the future (but I did know the Saints would go to the Superbowl and WIN…eventually). Add to the antics of Nix and Regin and the witches, Kresley Cole has some of the hottest immortal men ever. *waggles her fingers at Cadeon with his Sith African accent* Hubba hubba!

I had the chance to meet her, you know, Kresley Cole, not Nix although that would’ve been awesome! My heart pounded and the ladies in line behind me had a host of questions they wanted to ask her about the series. Maybe I’m weird. I want to know who’s getting a story, but I don’t want to know the details. I want to discover them for myself when I read the book. It makes it so exciting for me!

Anyway, there she was! Kresley C-O-L-E! I think I babbled something about being from south Louisiana and her books inspiring me and some other crap like that. She smiled because she’s a nice lady.

I looked behind me and saw the two ladies I’d been talking to making these “go on and ask motions”. I blanked out.

Me: You can’t ask me to remember questions when I’m talking to Kresley Cole!

They laughed and did the asking themselves. Thank God. I was too starry-eyed to do much other than suggest Kresley Cole could butt heads with me if she wanted. Yeah, I did it. But she is one of my heroes. I have a whole list of them, so it’s probably a good thing she didn’t take me up on my head-butting offer, I might’ve forgot someone.

So in honor of Kresley Cole’s latest release, Demon from the Dark (did you know that Lush has a soap called Demon in the Dark? It’s minty and leaves er…sensitive parts of your body tingling), I’m naming today Kresley Cole Day!

What’s your favorite Kresley Cole book? Who’s your favorite IAD character? And if you can remember one phrase from any of the IAD books off the top of your head, what is it?

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Make Yourself at Home

To do a quick recap of the hospital fiasco and the weekend craziness…my mom didn’t have surgery. After a five hour wait, we were told they wanted to run more tests on her. About five hours after that announcement, we left the hospital. No, no one was happy about the wasted time, though we’re all relieved mom wasn’t in a drugged stupor on the drive home (although that might’ve helped ease the griping between her and my sister).

Saturday morning, I checked my work e-mail and lo and behold…I had a request from an agent for a full. Of my first manuscript. Wha-Wha-What?! I only ever had one request for a full for that manuscript and someone (not saying who, but they’re on my agent A-list) wants it? Cue the panic. I spent the rest of the weekend frantically editing with the help of my CP Daisy Harris. I still have some work left to do before I can send it on its merry way, but I feel a little better after having someone else look at it.

So on to the topic of today’s post. My brother moved out a couple of months ago, after he got married. He didn’t go far. No, he lives next door now. Not a big deal really. It isn’t like he’s bringing his laundry to the house or anything, but I have a suspicion he’ll sneak in at midnight for a snack. See, he’s a midnight grazer. You know, the person who wakes up in the middle of the night, goes to the fridge and stares into it as though the mysteries of the universe are waiting to be discovered on the shelves.

When he lived with us, it was a routine for him: go to bed early, wake up about midnight, drink some milk, snack on something, then go back to bed. Now the things he snacked on weren’t “normal” snack foods. No, he likes food food. You know, leftovers. He’ll eat fried chicken, fries, cold Chinese food, whatever is at hand and that’s his snack. Yesterday, my mom made fried shrimp and gumbo. We invited my brother (he wasn’t going to stay away even if we had a restraining order) and his wife to join us for lunch.

About five hours later, I was sitting outside taking a break from editing when I saw my brother trying to covertly sneak over. His aim? You got it! He was after some more shrimp. It wasn’t midnight, but I told him I wouldn’t be surprised to wake up in the middle of the night with him at the kitchen table chowing down. He just laughed because he was thinking it!

Everyone treats our house like their own. My brother, obviously, because he lived at home for so long. It’s second nature for him to come in, go to the fridge and help himself. But he isn’t the only one. My cousin, Jenny, used to raid our fridge every chance she got. If we had homemade soup, she fixed herself a bowl. It’s normal for her to scrounge around our leftovers. My aunt (her mother)? Same thing. They instantly peek in the fridge to see what my mom cooked.

My nephews take it a little further. Their scrounging isn’t limited to the fridge. No, they hit the freezer and all the cabinets looking for food. We don’t begrudge a single one of them food. It’s…well, it’s just normal for us. Even my friends when I was in college would peek in the fridge and then be ashamed of themselves because you just don’t do that in someone else’s house. Unless it’s ours.

Why am I telling y’all this? Well, if you find yourself poking around south Louisiana and happen to be in the neighborhood, you know you’re welcome to make yourself at home. We have leftovers!

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