Monthly Archives: November 2011

Brown or Blue Eyes

Today’s the last day of the brown themed songs.

I’m digging deep into my childhood for this one. Growing up, we were exposed to a lot of different music from The Beatles to Black Sabbath to Ronnie Milsap to The Andrew Sisters. It’s part of the reason why I love music, I guess. There are so many variations and moods and well, you name it.

But this song was my absolute favorite as a kid. I thought Crystal Gayle was amazingly beautiful and talented and I wanted hair down to my butt too. Mom nixed that idea. It felt like she sang this song for me…not because I knew about a broken heart or anything, but because I wanted blue eyes and I had brown (now I call them hazel, but still).

“Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue” is one of those songs that instantly takes me back to the days when I spent most of my time at the bowling alley with my dad, sitting at the bar (they didn’t mind) with an Irish bartender named Patty who made the best Roy Rogers in the world.

Thanks for following along with the brown theme this month. It’s been an interesting one. Because Christmas is in December, next month will be a red theme with red being in the title of the song, in the lyrics, in the band name, or it reminds me of red.

 

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The Family Suggests

I was sitting around with the majority of my female relatives on Thanksgiving Day afternoon. I don’t know how we got on the subject of things we’ve been witness to, but after a while, everyone started shouting suggestions for blog topics.

The majority wanted me to blog about my aunt and her misunderstanding of a certain phrase. I didn’t find out about this until summer and I was oh so tempted to tell y’all about it, but didn’t think she’d appreciate it. However, her daughters insist I share it with you so sit back and enjoy the story.

My aunt was in the store with her 17-year-old daughter. She saw a lady with a pair of cute thong sandals (you thought I was going to say panties, didn’t you?). She really liked the stranger’s sandals and said, “Nice camel toes!”

You’re dying aren’t you? Yes you are. I was dying. My sister was dying. Everyone was dying except for my mom who didn’t know what it meant either. My cousin (the teenager) said she thought her mother was going to be murdered in front of her. You see, my aunt had heard the phrase and thought it referred to a type of sandal, not…the unfortunate-looking crease a woman gets when wearing tight pants. So, yeah, my aunt complimented/insulted a complete stranger on her camel toe.

No, she isn’t allowed out in public anymore; at least not with her daughter who has told her mother she can’t use slang terms anymore.

It wasn’t until later that night that I had to explain to my mom what it was. She laughed (she isn’t about to be left out!), but had no clue what camel toe was. Poor things.

I swear, with a family like this, I don’t need to make up stories!

Have you ever had to deal with a similar problem with generation gaps?

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A Holiday Flop

I had great plans for my 4-day weekend. I was going to write to catch up on my NaNo word count, write all of my blogs for this week, and relax. Of the three, the only thing I managed to do was relax. I was lazy. Flat out lazy, not touching my laptop except to beta read for my critique partner.

And I loved it. Friday I went mattress shopping and found something I think I can live with. Of course now I have to wait about two weeks for it to come in, but I’ll hang on by the hardest. I did get a pretty sweet pillow out of the deal and I’ve been using it for the last two nights. Le sigh. It’s lovely.

Saturday I went to the movies with my sister and 20-year-old nephew. We went to see The Muppets. To quote my mother, “You’re not at least bringing one of the kids with you? Are you telling me three adults are going to see The Muppets?” sounding quite shocked and embarrassed by her daughters. It wouldn’t be the first time she rolled her eyes at us; and she wonders where we learned it from. The movie was great. Oh, sure, at the beginning all I could think was “I completely forgot their movies were musicals” and “Oh, my God, this is so goody-goody I might gag”.

Then it got good. My sister and I were in hysterics over Camella’s performance of CeLo Green’s “F- You”. Seriously, we were dying laughing, dragging my poor nephew along for the ride. I tried not to look at her, knowing I was going to lose it. I muffled my laughter, holding it deep inside. Then I made the mistake of looking over at her to see her wiping tears from her eyes. I lost it. We leaned against each other cracking up. It was so sad.

Sunday was more of a…well, it was a blah day. The weather was funky, the Saints weren’t playing, and I’d read so much over the weekend I felt like my head was stuffed. Then I remembered something I was supposed to be doing. I pulled out my laptop, opened up Daisy’s latest story, and lost myself in her world of mermen. That’s when I realized I hadn’t done anything writing wise all weekend.

Sure, I found out that my workshop Music and the Muse was accepted for the FF&P conference in March. That was exciting and I thought about what materials I’ll need for the workshop but I didn’t brainstorm, I didn’t jot down ideas, I just vegetated. And it was good. I console myself with the knowledge that before the holiday, I revised a complete manuscript, telling myself that counts for NaNo even though I cut out an entire scene. Will I hit 50k new word wise? Maybe not, but I did do stuff…you know, before the holiday, LOL

How was your weekend?

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Fantasy Man Friday

I hope everyone survived Thanksgiving! We had a lot of fun yesterday. We somehow managed to fit about twenty-five people in one room and ate together. Normally we have to eat in rotations, but things worked out well. We had just enough food for everyone as well, which is always a good thing since no one went away hungry.

And today’s Black Friday. Every year I tend to stay home and hide because shopping on a normal day is nearly overwhelming for my sanity. I have to go out into the great big world though. I’m trying not to panic. You see, I need a new mattress.

It’s beyond time for me to get a new bed, but I’ve been putting it off for…two years? Which means every morning when I roll out of bed, I ache all over. Oh, I sleep hard and all, but my body hates me for it. I’m hoping there’ll be some kind of sale at one of the furniture stores and if I luck out, it won’t cost me an arm and a leg.

Then I remembered today was Fantasy Man Friday and what better way to get in the mood for bed shopping than to imagine this guy in the mattresses I try out:

Yeah, I like that mattress…a lot. If only I could get him to throw into the package, you know?

Well, Happy Friday everyone and have a safe weekend!

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Cajun Smurf

Because it’s Thanksgiving, I won’t go into a whole lesson. Instead, I’m going to share a cute little clip my sister-in-law showed me. Someone went and made a Cajun Smurf. Yup, like we didn’t have enough smurfs already.

Anyway, I thought it was cute and would probably give y’all an idea of what a true, thick Cajun accent was like. If you have any questions about what he’s saying, ask and I shall interpret!

Happy turkey day!

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Cold Sweat

Continuing with the brown theme this month, today’s song is from the Godfather of Soul, Mr. James Brown!

I have a special love in my heart for this song. Oh, I know, I say that about nearly every song, but this time it’s because I actually played this song. I was a tuba player from my 8th grade year to three years in college. Tubas don’t have the most thrilling parts in a song. We’re the rhythm and bass and spend a lot of our time sitting in the back of the band thinking “oompa-pa-pa, ompa-pa-pa” or maybe that was just me.

In my 2nd year of college, my tiny college played a school called Southern University. If you’ve ever seen the movie Drumline, that’s the style of marching and music this school plays. They’re high-marchers with flashy cymbols and dancing drum-majors. Our drum major probably couldn’t dance to save his life. But, we had an interesting assistant band director who has a skill for teaching us conservative musicians to play like we had soul.

And he loved tubas. We were a line of eight. Six men, two women (me and my best friend). Shiny, silver tubas lined up in the back of the band surrounded by wealthy, well-dressed Southern fans at this football game. The director looked up at us and said, “Cold Sweat!” We slung our sousaphones over our shoulders. My heart pounded with a combination of fear and a tinge of awe. I’d just heard Southern’s band play something modern and cool.

Then we busted out. Just tubas with the opening riff of “Cold Sweat”, the heavy bass grinding out across the bleachers. This was a song meant for tuba players who wanted to get away from the polkas in their heads. Those fans turned and looked at us in surprise and then they began dancing. The trumpets and saxophones picked up at their part and we rocked the stadium playing dirty and raunchy, just like our director had taught us.

Man, that was fun. So here’s “Cold Sweat” for the good ole days:

 

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I’m No Hunter

I don’t know how it is elsewhere in the country, but most men wait with bated breath for Thanksgiving and it has nothing to do with frying turkeys or football games. No, they await the cool weather so they can go hunting.

The men in my family haven’t been hunting in years. It was one of my stepfather’s favorite pastimes, something he looked forward to. Not that he ever shot anything, but because it’s what he did. He wasn’t gung-ho about it either. I had an uncle who wouldn’t allow his wife to wash any of his clothes with detergent. Oh, and the sheets either. Everything had to be scent-free so the deer wouldn’t smell him.

However, I remember this week as being the preparation for hunting. Now, working in a male dominated workplace, I see it again. Most men take the whole week of Thanksgiving off to head to their leases, prepare their deer stands, and wait for the big one to come along. But it isn’t just men. I know a lot of women who hunt with their husbands, or boyfriends. I know of one man who’s taking both of his teenage daughters with him. (Not that he expects them to do anything but complain about how boring it is and OMG Daddy! You killed Bambi!)

That’s why I never went hunting. Sure, there was a point in my mid to late teens when I thought about going with the men in the family. Not that I had a great, burning desire to shoot anything, but because the woods seem so quiet and hushed and relaxing. I was also learning how to shoot at that time and I think that, more than anything, prompted my stepfather to say “not just no, but hell no” since I have a habit of shooting 3″ above my target. *cough*

I mention this because my baby boy (the college aged one) and his girlfriend have been hunting this week. No deer, just rabbits. I have no problem with eating rabbit or deer or wild pig, but killing it myself? I can’t do it. I cried when the boys had to kill a possum a few years ago. I didn’t want the poor, nasty thing to suffer. This compassion does not include snakes, by the way. Just letting you know.

So no, you won’t find me wearing camo and hiding in a tree waiting for a pretty, regal buck to walk out of the woods because I’d be more inclined to go “oooh” than “boom”. I don’t have a problem eating him, of course…I do love deer roast, but I prefer to let the boys play at hunter and bring the food home to me.

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Go Big, Or Go Home

Today I’m over at gee/k/ink talking about Star Trek and Darker Temptations, giving thanks this holiday week. Stop on by!

Last week my nephew invited me to go to the casino with him, his girlfriend, and my sister. Now I shouldn’t have to tell you I wasn’t sure I should go. I mean, first of all, I wake up at 4 a.m. every weekday, so staying out late at night just about kills me. Secondly, I had things to do…like watch Ghost Adventures and re-read all of Marjorie M. Liu’s Dirk & Steele novels. And thirdly, I hate throwing money away. It’s different if I’m buying something, like books, but to put money out there with no guarantee I’ll get it back kills me.

Lots of things kill me apparently.

But I went because what the hell. It’s only money right? It’s only the difference between buying three books and one *cough* So I went. I wasn’t allowed near the slot machines because as my nephew tells me “You’ll definitely lose”. No, he said he’d teach me how to make money.

And promptly led my sister (who’s just as wary of casinos as I am) and me to the blackjack table. I was scared. I mean…this isn’t just pulling a lever or pressing a button. I was sitting down with a real live person who was dealing actual cards I could see. I was scared spitless and with my little sixty dollars, felt like a very small fish in a big, dangerous pond. I started sweating and pretty much begged a waitress for a drink. I was going to need one if I was going to last longer than twenty minutes.

Those twenty minutes turned into two hours where I steadily increased my winnings with the input of my nephew. Once or twice, or three times, the dealer had to tell my sister to keep her hands out of the betting circle, but other than that we didn’t do too badly. Then they all left me there alone with a new dealer. All I could think was, “Oh crap” and promptly lost until I was down to a little less than half of my original stockpile of chips.

Everyone was losing and they were ready to leave. My nephew said, “put it all in, see if you can double it.” My palms start sweating and I could feel everyone staring at me. It was twenty-five dollars. If I walked away from the table, I’d have that twenty-five dollars. If I stayed, chances were I’d have twenty or less. Then the annoying boy said, “If you’re scared, go to church. But play big or go home” or something like that.

Feeling like a complete idiot, I slid all of my chips into that circle. The dealer looked at me with a sly smile. I’d been losing since he came back from his break. I tried not to dive onto the table to grab my chips, but managed to refrain, although I did take a big sip of my drink.

The first card fell: a king. The second card fell: a jack. I had twenty. The dealer had a ten showing. He could have  twenty as well and I’d end up pushing. I stood and waited. He flipped his card, showing a seven. I’d doubled my money!

I can promise you, the instant he put my winnings on the table, I jumped off my stool and ran for the cashier, still not believing I’d only lost ten dollars in two and a half hours. Do I think I’ll make a habit of visiting the casino? Hell no. However, I do know my days of sitting at the slot machines is over. I know gambling is in my blood. My real last name possibly means “the dice” if that gives you any hint as to what my family is like.

No, I’ll stay out of casinos for the most part. I’ll go once in a while, but there won’t be any heavy gambling from me. I like having money in my bank account too much for that.

How about you? Are you a gambler?

 

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Fantasy Man Friday

I can’t believe it’s already Friday! Not that I’m complaining or anything. This week has been filled with lots of ups and downs and I’m so glad it’s over.

It started out terribly with me picking up a stomach virus over the weekend. My NaNo works suffered for that little sick binge, I can tell you that. Now I’m behind on my writing which makes me feel a little frantic. I hate not completing tasks, so reaching that 50k word count is going to be my sole focus. Or it should be.

The high of the week was on Wednesday when I found out two of my books have been nominated for Best Erotic Paranormal Romance of 2011. I’m still tickled pink. I doubt I’ll win simply because I’ve read the other nominees’ work and know they’re excellent. However, it’s knowing my stuff has been included that matters most. Every time I think about it, I get this fluttery feeling in my chest and I want to go all Sally Fields and start sobbing, “You like me, you really like me!” I won’t though.

And to top all of that off, it’s Fantasy Man Friday. Le sigh. Oh, Fantasy Man, how I love thee…all of thee…is that correct usage? Probably not. Who cares? Each of my fantasy men hold a special place in my uh, heart. And adding to them each week means my uh heart overfloweth *cough* Like today’s man:

Are those leather pants?? OMG. The tattoos, the leather pants…that butt! Oh wow…I mean, wow. Just wow. I could probably have handled it better if he were wearing jeans, but putting that lickalicious body in leather? Rar! There are no words for the glory of that backside…nom nom *cough* Sorry y’all!

Happy Friday!

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Cajun French: Nerveen

I’ve been lazy about Cajun French lessons, but I’m going to fix that. Honest! The excitement from yesterday actually made me think about today’s word. The nomination for my two books made me feel a little crazed and well, this word.

Today’s lesson is pretty quick. Nerveen (may not be spelled correctly, but pronounced exactly like it’s spelled here ner-veen) means someone is fidgety or nervous. You’d say something like She’s/He’s nerveen.

See? Easy peasy! Well, unless you’re talking about my family. You see, if there’s one thing we all have in common, it’s what I’m going to call leg-shaking syndrome. Yes, leg-shaking. You know what I’m talking about. You’ll be talking to someone at a table and all of a sudden the table starts bouncing because they’re shaking their leg so much? That doesn’t happen to you?

It happens in this family. In fact, when everyone gets together (if we can find a table big enough to fit us all), you’ll feel the floor vibrate because 90% of the people at the table are bouncing their legs. Some of them, like my aunt, bounce their legs to help them go to sleep. Now I don’t go that far. I just rub the top of my foot against the sheet over and over and over…you get the idea.

This doesn’t technically mean they’re nerveen…or maybe it does. Hm. I’ll have to ask around.

How about y’all? Do fidgets run in your family?

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