Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Fireworks Month in the Lair

    by Nancy

    July is a big month in the lair with lots of fabulous guests. We're excited to have so many authors visiting to liven up the summer doldrums. We're also celebrating the launch of RITA-nominated Christine Wells's third book.





    Tomorrow, July 2, the fabulous Stacey Kayne will be here to discuss her latest release, Mountain Wild, book 3 in her Wild series!

















    On Friday, 3rd July, debut Berkley author Kandy Shepherd visits the lair as Anna Campbell's guest to talk about her hilarious and romantic contemporary romance LOVE IS A FOUR-LEGGED WORD. Isn't that the greatest title? You'll love meeting Kandy and joining in the conversation about romance books, dogs, her road to publication and chocolate brownies.














    On 6 July, DeAnna Cameron will swing by the lair to chat with Christine Wells about her debut novel from Berkley, THE BELLY DANCER.








    The next day, on 7 July, we celebrate the release of Christine Wells's WICKED LITTLE GAME.














    Christine Wells has joined with Jennifer Haymore, author of A Hint of Wicked, to offer a wicked prize pack to one lucky reader. See Christine's website http://www.christine-wells.com/contact-christine-wells.html for details.






    On July 8, Kirsten will have the fabulous New York Times Bestselling Author ALYSSA DAY in the Lair to discuss not one but two of her steamy Warriors of Poseidon books -- Atlantis Unleashed and Atlantis Unmasked.







    Kimberly Raye visits with Tawny on July 12 about sex scenes (like the wildest place you've ever done it).











    July 13 brings Love Inspired author Renee Ryan back to The Lair as Joan's guest to talk about twins and her new title “Hannah’s Beau.”







    We have a mid-month lull in visitors, with many of the banditas traveling to or from Washington, D.C., for RWA National. We will be blogging as usual, though, so do stop in and see what we’re up to! On July 19, I'm giving away a surprise package (to me, too, since I don't have them yet) of books from the RWA conference.

    Marie Force joins Aunty Cindy on July 27.








    On July 29, Jo will be hosting return guest and NY Times best-selling novelist Brenda Novak who will be talking about time management and giving away a copy of her latest book. THE PERFECT COUPLE, the fourth book in the Last Stand series. The Perfect Couple releases on July 28!
















    Erotic romance writer Delilah Dawson will visit the Lair on July 30, as Jo's guest. Be sure to drop by the visit with this naughty writer, who'll be giving away one of her latest books to a lucky commenter.


    Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/06/
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The Old Card Trick


    It's the same thing, over and over again.

    I go into FEGS WHATTHE- FUCK and sit down, eat my breakfast in the classroom as we sign in. Then I read my AM New York and the New York Metro. I'm bored. At 10:30 I'm still churning air, and we take our first break, ending with us returning to room 4F to go to the lab. I sit behind my favorite PC and work on reading my emails, which do not last for long. Then, I'm churning air. Churning baby, churning. I'm fucking pissed. My life has settled down to this stupid time wasting process. I can't believe that they actually pay people to waste your time. What's the purpose of this? I can't understand this. Why do I have to sit in a room and putz away on a computer when I could stay home and do the same thing?

    And they are paying people a full time salary just to watch over me. It's a prison and they are our Corrections Officers. I take my long walk at lunchtime and I find that my range in a half hour is a third farther than when I started. I'm getting stronger all the way around with everything that I'm doing, from sit ups to push ups to walking. I am very pleased when I get back to the lab, although on time I am too late to find a seat behind a computer. Someone has already sat his lousy ass in my favorite seat. I stand up like a manikin with five others, waiting for the Facilitator to walk in and give us another lab or two to go to. It's fine by me. I have only an hour and a half to go to with the day anyway.

    The Facilitator, Marilyn, walks in and takes her seat at the desk in the front, regards her screen and then sits back, calling into the air: "Hobobob!" Yeah. "You're wanted upstairs on the seventh floor to sign your IPE."

    Fuck. I KNEW they would do it today. They just want to fuck everything in my life up for the next week. I just KNEW it. I head upstairs, boiling, because I know that they area going to give me a list of ultimatums in signing the IPE. Ultimatums that I'm not in the mood to deal with today. I sharpen my teeth, I'm going to eat my Case Worker's ass out today. They have me wait an hour in another waiting room on the seventh floor. Oh, that's not good, because it only gives me more to bottle up when I explode. It's nearly time for me to be gone for the rest of the day. I look at the clock. Fuck this. When it hits Three O'clock, I'm walking out of the door. They can FTC me for all the shit I care.

    Of course they would show up for me five minutes to Three.

    Here is what I was faced with. Two people, a man and a woman, their backs to me at the counter. The man calls my name and turns to me. On his approach he whispers: Your Case Worker is not in today, so we are going to process your IPE today." That's cool. Who's ass do I cut into surgically now, yours? "I'm just a trainee, your case worker for today is...." He motions with his hand to the woman who finally turns around from the counter and I swear to god, she looks like Bib Fortuna from Return of the Jedi. My heart sinks in my chest. She has extra flesh bulging out from her neck, wrapping around her collar...she looked just like Bib Fortuna I tell you. I shit you not. I do a doubletake, she extends her hand and I shake it.

    "Hello," she says in a breathless, phlegm filled voice. "I'm your Case Worker for today, Bib Fortuna, and this is my trainee, numbnutz." She motions to the man. "Pleawse phollow me." I follow. We pass through a door and into the rat warren that a cubicle world, out of control, makes. After several twists and turns that only a fellow rat would know, we end up in Bib Fortuna's cubicle. I take a seat and Numbnutz drags a chair into the already cramped space. Bib Fortuna then goes into reading to me my IPE, which is a simple document outlining, in very professional terms, my strengths and weaknesses and if I agreed with them. I did. I signed. Then I was told about the training that they give in computer sciences, and that I can do training in that instead of coming to their classes and my WEP assignment.

    Hmmmm, Interesting. Lastly they brought up the WEP assign- ment, in a Community Center on Broadway, just north of my apartment several blocks, about thirty. Hmmmm, walkable. Bib Fortuna coughs up heavy phlegm but it doesn't clear her voice in the least. It still comes out breathless, low and froggy. I work up a smile. I am to report to my WEP assignment where I will work as a clerk for Mondays and Tuesdays, and on Wednesday through Friday, I will report back to the Roach Motel for classes in retail. That retail is not what I signed up for, I point out. Well, it's next to clerical, so it was assigned to you for your short range goal. I shake my head. I want to know about the training. She prints me out a print out of the certification classes. Nice. If I elect these classes, I don't have to do their retail classes or my WEP assignment.

    I am intrigued. It's over just like that. The IPE was signed and I sold my soul to the Devil. I shook hands, was given a present, a porcelain piggy bank in the shape of a New York City taxicab. I took my ill-gotten gain with me out of the office, and into the elevator.

    Shit. The bastids got me.

    I walked to the Meat Packing District, stunned and dismayed with myself that I would allow a deformity to fuck up my harshness. I was ready to fight until Bib Fortuna turned around and addressed me. My heart went out to her. I was both shaken and stunned. I lost this one hands down. I headed to the High Line.

    I still had magazine work to do.

    HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/06/
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OUR WEDNESDAY POST

Minnesota Zoo Events


    As many of you may know, the Minnesota Zoo hosts several outdoor concerts each year and is a great venue to see a show at! The concert ticket even includes admission to the zoo after 4pm. Here are some of the events that are taking place during the next couple months! Be sure to visit Ticket King's homepage to buy the tickets online or just give us a call at 612-341-4131.
    • July 2 - Soul Asylum
    • July 3 - Toots & the Maytals
    • July 15 - Gov't Mule
    • July 17 - Keb Mo
    • July 18 - Dave Koz
    • July 25 - Tina & the B-sides
    • July 29 - Kevin Costner
    • July 31 - Solid Gold
    • August 1 - Gear Daddies
    • August 3 - Paolo Nutini
    • August 8 - Alejandro Escovedo
    • August 11 - Reel Big Fish
    • August 15 - Yonder Mountain String Band
    • August 16 - Joe Bonamassa
    • August 18 - Pat Green
    • August 19 - Chris Knight
    • August 21 - Dar Williams
    • August 28 - Gaelic Storm
    Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/06/
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Monday, June 29, 2009

The Golden Rooster Family Reunion








    Ah! What’s this? A postmark from St. Poulet? A missive from my sainted maman, no doubt. The poor chicken. She worries so. I am the only of her chicks to pursue life on such a—how shall we say?—grand scale. Dancing along the knife edge of danger is not for everyone, oui? But it must come as a particular shock when held against the lives chosen by that clutch of spectacular dullards with whom I was hatched. So, alors, I shall read her little letter then compose a reply which shall put her pretty head at ease.

    My dearest son,

    Ah, you see? Dearest? I am her favorite still!

    I hope this note finds you well.

    If you consider lying in wait on the decks of a private yacht anchored near St. Tropez well, then yes, I am. Indeed.

    I know that you are very busy in your international business.

    Business which I shall endeavor to wrap up as soon as a certain wily adversary shows himself above deck. Any minute, I expect. Any minute….

    Oh yes, yes. I know there are many roads to cross to be as successful as you are but it is a mother’s hope that you will spare some time for your maman and…many of your other relatives.

    Ah, my quarry appears! I crouch and….I spring! And karate CHOP and jujitsu KICK and a slash-slash-slash of the…

    Un moment. Relatives?

    Yes my boy, it is that time once more. Time for our family reunion.

    Sacred bleu!

    Cousin Delta is hosting it at the old family homestead in St. Poulet, LA. Ah my, the flock has spread far from the coop but all are making an extraordinary effort to attend.

    But of course. My ne’er-do-well relations would sooner surrender to the Colonel himself than forsake the chance to importune me for favors, money, liquor and women.

    I know you will not disappoint, ma petite.

    I shall not, maman! Though it shall try my patience exceedingly to rub feathers with my déclassé brood-mates for even that short time.

    It will be June 30th well before the celebration of Independence when all poultry of worth seclude themselves away from the dangers of deep fryers.

    You will attend and make this mother proud.

    With all my love, my little hatchling,

    Maman

    And so I begin the long journey back to the broken shell of my youth. To St. Poulet.

    Two weeks later…..

    A lone vehicle maneuvers its way down SunnySide Up lane, past rows of rice fields to a dilapidated brick mansion.
    Bypassing the house, the driver steers down a dirt road to the rear of the property.

    Oh, these cursed country two-tracks with their paint-eating gravel! What it is doing to my new coupe!

    Aghast, I look at the rusted wire fence beneath spreading oak trees. The din is already more than my nerves can stand.
    “Yoohoo! Cousin!”

    The squawk makes me cringe. With the fortitude for which I am renowned I step out of the vehicle and (dear Lord) am enveloped in the wings of Cousin Delta.

    Normally I have not the slightest objection to being seized to a woman’s breast but merde, ma cousine, a little air? A minor application of pressure at the wing-joint and, ah, sweet oxygen!

    “Bonjour, Delta. You have not changed a bit, my dear.” A most unfortunate circumstance, that.

    Why mess with perfection?” she laughs, with a saucy twitch of her considerable tail feathers.

    “Why, indeed?”

    “You ain’t changed much, either, cuz.” She jabs a wing tip into my chest. “No more meat on your breastbone than when you left.”

    “Yes, well, an excellent diet and a dedication to the martial arts—“

    “And your coxcomb still does that weird thing. Har! Har!”

    My wings fly up to my head and….sacred bleu! Ah, this accursed humidity! I have not suffered this particular indignity since my late and unlamented youth here on the family compound. I have done well to shake the dust of this place from my feed scratchers years ago. Perhaps my impressive physique and accomplishments will distract the flock from this most unfortunate nod to history? A rooster can hope, can he not?

    But duty first. “Delta, my beauty. Where is Maman?”

    “Oh! Your sister’s here. Yoohoo! Junebug! Over here!”

    Ahhh, my sister. Elder by two eggs. The pecking order always took on a new meaning when she was around. “Bonjour, Junebug.”

    "Oh, sweetie, I'm so glad you came! When Mama said you might, I almost busted a gut, I was so excited. I can't wait for you to tell me about your world travels.”

    “Vraiment? Shall I begin with Paris or Prague?”

    “I always dreamed of getting out of this stuffy old coop.”

    “Budapest is lovely this time of year.”

    But...well.. .you know, along came Spur.”

    Spur? That bow-legged, self-styled, one-rooster Elvis tribute? She married him?

    “Now I have Cogburn and Auspice and Augustus (you remember, the twins?) and Octavia, Sebastian and Putt Putt to chase around."

    Good heavens.

    *sigh* "I don't suppose I'll ever get off the farm now..." *sniff*

    Zut alors! Not to be uncharitable but have you considered keeping your drumsticks together once in a while? I pat her wing sympathetically and scan the yard for the nearest exit. Or at least something shiny. Junebug’s attention span is not her most formidable trait.

    Suddenly a long silver limo pulls up outside the hen house. The driver, complete in uniform hurries around to open the door, and who should step out, but cousin Delilah, the madame of the best little henhouse in Texas, dressed in her Coco Channel suit, dark glasses and big hat, she kisses her driver and joins us.

    "Hey, y'all, it's been ages since I've been back to see y'all! Hey Junebug, how're all those little chicks? And Delta, lovely as evah!"

    Delilah lifts one brow, shakes her tail feathers and saunters toward me...

    "Well, well, well, I do declare, if it isn't the Golden One himself.”

    I incline my coxcomb graciously. I have a small fondness for Delilah as her hen house is the site of some of the—how to put it delicately—more memorable incidents in an otherwise unremarkable youth. “In the flesh, madame.”

    “So, what have you been up to these days, ya old fake frenchie you!"

    Fake frenchie, indeed! It seems my original plan—doing my familial duty with as much haste as decent manners allow—is a sound one. But as the finest tail feathers in the entire parish fall under Delilah’s purview, I muster the strength to do the pretty. “Nothing of note,” I say. “But I feel certain you’ve been leading life a merry chase.” She brays out that rough, two-packs-a-day laugh of hers.

    “Ain’t I just! I got this new girl—prime bit of thigh-meat, see? Lord, she’s a pistol…”

    I lean in, intrigued for the first time all day, but then a dilapidated yellow bus rolls into the yard. It sputters to a stop, belching exhaust fumes from its rear. The antiquated bus driver down the steps and holds out a hand to an elderly hen.

    "Git yer cotton-pickin' paw offen me, you smarmy fella," she snarls, leaping to the ground with surprising grace for one so ancient.

    I freeze. I am terrified of Great Granny Henster, and rooster enough to admit it. GG is tiny, fierce and extraordinarily rude. She has been, in the lamentable past, particularly cruel about my coxcomb situation. I remain still and pray her eyesight has faded with time.

    Immediately GG whirls around and opens the luggage facility beneath the bus.

    "Where's my stuff," she demands. "I need my Depends, dammit! I need 'em right now!"

    Oh. Mon Dieu.

    A sporty Italian roadster roars up the drive to the lair, pulling in behind the school bus. A svelte hen steps out, unwrapping the Hermes scarf and tips down her elegant designer sunglasses.

    "Where is that reprobate brother of mine?" Dominique D'Or drawls. "I've flown in from Paris for this, he better have done what he SAID he was going to do."

    Pardone? I implied I would perform some…service? For my poseur of a soeur? Ridicule!

    She scans the various family members scattered about.

    "Interesting digs big brother's found, and such an interesting group of people to attach himself too. Oh, Lord, he invited GG. How does she get around in that bus?"

    Dominique thinks I called this meeting? Heavens. She’s delusional. Either that or she’s been drinking breakfast again.

    One of the hired cockerels hurries over and asks after her luggage.

    "Well, aren't you johnny on the spot," she says, with a throaty laugh. "Of course you can carry my bags. You can polish my eggs too, rrrrrrrrowwww!"

    Rrrrrrowwww? Perhaps lunch was of the liquid variety as well.
    Leaving the roosterling staring after her, she struts up to the front of the coop and calls, "GOLDIE! Come say hello!"

    Seeing no better choice, I trudge after her. S’il vous plait, I pray to whatever diety will have me. Please let it be brief. And if it cannot be brief, at least let it be amusing. I march forward to meet my fate, whatever—or whomever—it may entail….Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/06/
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TUXY TUESDAY: DOMINO FROM HER NOSE TO HER TOES!






















































































    Tuesday -- time to celebrate the tuxedo kitties in our lives! As always, my little Domino is a good example of tuxiness. Witness her white muzzle which comes to a muted point above her eyes to merge gradually with the black atop her head. The diminutive snout is capped with the sweetest little pink nose and both are framed quite symmetrically with more of the obsidian darkness that strikes such a contrast to the pristine white.

    To quote the late, great Michael Jackson, it may not "matter if you're black or white", but what about when you are both black and white! To me, this is testament that tuxies have a symbiotic relationship with not only themselves, but the rest of the world, as well. They have merged two polar opposites into a harmonious, appealing and intriguing blend. Now, if only humankind could do as much!

    However, I digress (as usual)! Back to Domino and her tuxy toes which so ably support her in her quest to sip from the magic bath of bird. Normally Domino has a problem with reaching this goal because she's kind of short, but on this occasion the water level was high enough so that she could dip her delicate pink tongue into the pool of cool.

    I focussed in on the tuxy toes because I think they are worthy of purrticular note, whether they be tippytoes straining for height, or relaxed toes just hanging out all nice and easy. In both cases, again the pinkness of the paw pads is best accentuated by the white stockings and gloves that this little female tuxy wears in purrpetuity.

    Domino is always dressed in her tuxy best! No less!Source URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/06/
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