You Never Know What Can Happen

Entering into another summer, Pampers and Pinot will be on hiatus this time around.  You see, I am supposed to be writing myself out of a job, people, and it just hasn't been happening while I work, blog, mother, clean, cook, drink wine, and generally save the universe.

I am going to have to try and give myself a blogging break to see what kind of momentous things can happen.

Like this.


Google images


Or, this.

Google images

You never know what can happen.

I do so love the blogging experience, and I know I'm really good at helping you all laugh along the way, so I'm sure I will be back, perhaps when the leaves start to fall...

I Always Knew There was Something Wrong with People who Hate Cats

On Bethenny Ever After, Bethenny said, "Humor trumps professionalism."

I totally agree.

I have been known to play jokes at work. It is just too much fun. For me.

You would never guess I'm such a menace.

But I am. There is a glimmer in the eye, you see?



Years ago, I decided to play a joke on a previous supervisor on MY birthday. I had heard whispers that people were planning to prank me for my birthday. So, I thought, I'll strike first! Bwa, ha, ha!

Anyone who knows me should know that this is a compliment if I will spend time to play a joke on you. I thought my old boss knew that.

He was quite the family guy with pictures all over his office of his gorgeous little ones - twins! - and his wife.

He hated cats.

On his birthday, I waited around until he was gone to break into his office.

I had printed some really, really great pictures of cats off the Internet with a color printer. Pictures like these:


























I am not a total menace. I CAREFULLY removed his family pictures - every last one - out of the frames and CAREFULLY placed them in a ziploc bag and CAREFULLY placed the bag in my desk.

Then, I put the cat pictures in all of his frames around his office.

I came into work the next morning, giddy, excited for the absurd hilarity to cause loud laughing and guffaws from everyone, including my boss.

The front secretary was near tears. "Kristy, he's looking for you. He is so upset. I didn't even want him to know that I knew about it!"

"What?! Are you kidding me?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No! He's pissed!"

I was incredulous, and I felt bad that I had involved our poor, dear secretary in the heinous act.

I went to my office, still not believing anything had gone wrong. Who wouldn't think that filling a cat-hater's picture frames with ridiculous pictures of cats wasn't funny?!

He was there to talk to me. He shut the door.

He explained how precious his family pictures were to him. "Of course I know that! Look!" I exclaimed as I got out the CAREFULLY saved pictures and explained just how careful I had been. It didn't help.

He said he felt that someone was intending to be a menace to him. Someone was "threatening him." Giving him the what-for, if you will.

To that, I exclaimed, "No, no, no! Don't you think it's funny that I put CATS in your picture frames? You hate cats! Ha, ha..." I trailed off, as he was not softening and did not laugh along.

Wow, the dude was TOTALLY serious.

In spite of myself, I went on, "Don't you realize what today is?"

He looked at me blankly.

"It's my birthday!" I said.

He looked at me blankly.

"I thought you guys were planning to prank me on my birthday, and I thought I would do this before you had a chance to do anything to me! That's all!" I said.

He seemed to soften his demeanor at that a little. I apologized profusely. He managed to say, "It's ok." I CAREFULLY replaced the pictures.

But I kept the pictures of the cats. I'd take them out every once in a while and have a good fucking laugh.

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This week's RemembeRED memoir prompt at Write on Edge was to recall a prank that did not have the results you intended.



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To my bloggy friends who noticed my absence as of late, I was on Spring Break. But, I'm back. And doing the best I can.

Peep Show

Here is the next "peep show" at my novel. I'm getting ready to link up with Write on Edge and their Red Writing Hood prompt tomorrow:

Dante, via Write on Edge

Kate was wary of a couple of the dancers. She was wary of Brandy. She was nice to her because she gave her crystal here and there. Kate and Marisa preferred coke but would take crystal when coke wasn’t around. Brandy was intense. She was young and cute, but there was an edge to her, like she was moments away from snapping. She was hyper. She was sweaty. If she would take another shower, reapply her make-up, and calm down a little, she’d be a whole hell of a lot sexier, Kate would think. Brandy did well with tips because she was athletic and could do all kinds of tricks and spins with the pole.

The look in Brandy’s eyes scared Kate. Empty and desperate. Brandy would openly stare at other dancers, the Amazons. You could just tell that she was jealous. Or something. It made Kate wonder what was going through Brandy’s head.

Kate was adamant that she not become like Brandy. Kate knew that she was no saint. She took any drug that came her way, but she still felt like she had things in control. She felt like she didn’t look like she did any drug that came her way. But, Brandy made Kate wonder. What kind of line was there to be crossed? How many more drugs before I look like her? How many more months in this place? Then Kate would reassure herself. I do not look like Brandy. I will not look like Brandy. Everything is fine.

Marisa liked to tell herself the same thing.

Marisa, who could not be found sometimes, and then would show up. I’m fine! I’m fucking fine. Let’s do this.

Marisa would saunter off in heels that looked as if the point could cut glass, and she would kill it. She would get on stage and move like the world was in her hands. Like she could squeeze the money from any sucker off the street. Then, darkly, through her hair, she would look around a room full of desire and need, and all she could see was darkness.

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If you'd like to read more on Kate and Marisa:

Who Do You Think You Are?

What if God was One of Us?

A Night With No Limits

Who Do You Think You Are?

I am linking up with Write on Edge for the Red Writing Hood prompt this week. The focus is on conflict, inspired by this quote:

"It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of nonviolence to cover impotence."
Mahatma Gandhi (1869 – 1948)

I am bravely sharing an excerpt from my novel. You can read more about Kate and Marisa here, here, and here.

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Kate locked eyes with one of the men on the couch. Sure enough, he motioned for her to come over. Coke was lined up on the table. She kneeled at the coffee table, took a straw, and snorted a line. She sat back to drink, to wash the drug down her throat. She lit a cigarette because it was a drug’s best companion. Now she just wanted to get the hell out of there.

She did not know these men. She did not need to know these men. She hated them. They were friends of her boss. Her boss, who was in the other room with Marisa. Her boss was a disgusting man. He was short and fat with thinning dark hair. He was mean. The only time she ever heard him was when he was yelling at the girls. “Get on the floor, you lazy bitches! Let’s go!” Otherwise, he stood in the corners and watched. Sometimes he spoke with other men.

Kate and Marisa did their motherfucking jobs and hoped to have no interaction with the man.

Which was why Kate could not understand, even through the haze of her thoughts, why Marisa went to a bedroom with him. Probably, fear took Marisa to the bedroom with him, and fear kept Kate right where she was.

She dared not ask any questions and instead watched the smoke swirl through the fluorescent lights of the kitchen. The music was loud, drowning out the conversation of the men around her. She never seemed privy to the conversation of men around her.

Kate started to hear sounds coming from the hallway. Her body instantly perked up, on alert.

“Get the fuck out of here! You fucking slut!”

Kate licked her finger, reached over and dipped into the coke on the table, sucked it off and rubbed her gums in a split second. She jumped up, ready to go. Before she could see anything, she heard scuffling in the hallway, then a thud. Kate rushed over and saw Marisa face down on the carpet, but she was quickly getting herself up.

Without saying a word, Marisa looked up at Kate with a face that said, Let’s get the fuck out of here. Her lip was bleeding.

Down the hall, Kate could only see the shadow of him. “You’re fucking fired! I never want to see your skinny ass again!”

Without ever saying a word, they both walked out of the house. On their way through the kitchen, Marisa grabbed the half empty bottle of whiskey.

Kate never asked what happened in that bedroom. From the look on Marisa’s face, the topic was off-limits. She only drove them away as swiftly as she could, away from a situation that could have been a whole hell of a lot worse.

(I deeply apologize for going over the word limit for the prompt this week.)

Who Do You Love, Baby?

This week's Write on Edge Red Writing Hood prompt is to tell a story with this picture as a prompt:



I am revisiting my fictional character, Kate and Marisa. You can read more about them here and here.

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“Yes, I absolutely want real mayonnaise. It wouldn’t be a BLT without it,” Kate said.

“Just checking,” the waitress said, giving a smile and collecting the menus off the table.

“Mayonnaise is gross,” said Marisa, giving Kate a face.

“I was waiting for you to say that,” Kate said. “The fact you don’t eat mayonnaise or bacon is downright prissy and stuck-up.”

“No, it’s healthy. And you’re a bitch.”

“Smoke much?” Kate asked Marisa.

“Bitch,” answered Marisa.

“Well, maybe I’ll feel a little better once I hear from fuck face.”

“I always know you’re really into someone when you use terms of endearments like ‘fuck face,’” Marisa said. “Is he the reason we’re here anyway, stuffing ourselves with fried food and Long Island Ice Teas?”

“You can thank him later,” Kate said.

“I thought so.” Marisa looked at her friend for a moment, considering how to choose her words. “Kate, when are you going to figure out that this guy really is a…fuck face and move on? I want Kate back! You know, the free spirited girl who doesn’t care what anybody thinks of her, much less a total idiot who can’t see the fucking hot, amazing woman in front of him.”

Kate only stared blankly back at Marisa.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. Right now, I only love mayonnaise. And bacon,” Kate said.

Marisa sighed. “I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette.”

Kate took the opportunity to text Fuck Face.

Hey, Marisa’s talking bad about you. Like you always say she does. I think I agree with her. Fuck off.

The waitress approached the table. “Your food is almost ready. Do you need anything while you wait?”

“Yes, we’ll take another round, thanks.”

Kate went outside to share the cigarette with Marisa.

What if God was one of us?

“You still seem so…numb.”

“Well, maybe it’s the medication, doc. I don’t really understand how I’m supposed to ‘fix’ my head when I’m taking all the shit you give out here.”

“Excellent, a little hostility. Perhaps we’re starting to feel something?”

“Isn’t it a little unproductive to use sarcasm with your patient, doctor?”

They sat there looking at each other with polite smiles.

“Listen, Kate. I’m not trying to bullshit you. I’m just saying that you’re here for a reason. Let’s not waste our time.”

“Fine, then. I’ll try to be a little more exciting. For the sake of progress.”

The doctor only gestured. Begin, her hand invited.

Kate sighed. “Well, if you can't tell, I’m a little angry. I don’t see the point in anything. I fucking trust no one, and when I’m really at my worst? I think, I should be dead, and Marisa should be here. As if it couldn’t get any worse, I remember, why would I want Marisa to suffer through any more shit? Maybe I should just join her.”

The doctor held Kate’s eyes for a moment. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve gone through. I simply want you to have hope that hope exists. I don’t expect you to have that right now. I expect you to believe that others have that hope for you. That is all. And I hope it is enough.”

Kate had been ready to retort, to build one more layer of brick through the wall of anger she had created, but something about the words the doctor had chosen caused her to pause.

What was it that Marisa had always said? We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. Kate thought of that then.

The doctor smiled, seeing the shift on Kate’s face. “I think I’d like you to think about that for today.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kate.”

“See ya, doc.”

Kate walked out into the hall toward the common area, unsure of what she wanted to do, unsure of what she felt. Then a soft melody coming from the TV pierced straight through her and unleashed a torrent of memories.

A female singer was plainly singing to the screen, soulful and pure. What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us? Just a stranger all of us trying to make our way home.

Kate walked quickly to her room, shut the door and stood on the other side. The sobs came fast and hard. The bricks fell fast and hard. The wall she so carefully kept was crumbling all around her as she slid to the floor and gave in to the grief.

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The Red Writing Hood prompt at Write on Edge this week was to write a story in which your character is inspired by music.

I have chosen to write a new scene for my book and share it here. I have written of Kate and Marisa previously here.

Teaser Tuesday

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:

• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page
• Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
• BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

Anyone who knows me knows that I love Tom Robbins and the way he plays with words. He is one I can read and re-read. I have been enjoying (again) his Still Life with Woodpecker. It's on my Kindle, and here is the first sentence of the book in his prologue:

"If this typewriter can't do it, then fuck it, it can't be done."

If that doesn't draw you in, then I don't know what would. Because I cannot "randomly" open a page on my Kindle, I have selected one of my highlights from the book to give you more (yes, it is more than a sentence, dammit):

"Leigh-Cheri sent that message to Bernard through his attorney. The message continued, 'I'm not quite twenty, but, thanks to you, I've learned something that many women these days never learn: Prince Charming really is a toad. And the Beautiful Princess has halitosis. The bottom line is that (a) people are never perfect, but love can be, (b) that is the one and only way that the mediocre and the vile can be transformed and e doing that makes it that. Loving makes love. Loving makes itself. We waste time looking for the perfect lover instead of creating the perfect love. Wouldn't that be the way to make love stay?'

The next day, Bernard's attorney delivered to her this reply:

'Love is the ultimate outlaw. It just won't adhere to any rules. The most any of us can do is to sign on as its accomplice. Instead of vowing to honor and obey, maybe we should swear to aid and abet. That would mean that security is out of the question. The words, "make" and "stay" become inappropriate. My love for you has not strings attached. I love you for free.'

Leigh-Cheri went out in the blackberries and wept. 'I'll follow him to the ends of the earth,' she sobbed.

Yes, darling. But the earth doesn't have any ends. Columbus fixed that."

credit

Some outstanding Tom Robbins titles - he's not just known for Even Cowgirls Get the Blues - but you could read that too.