Archive for December, 2011

Writer’s Digest is running a Best Websites Contest.  I thought perhaps if you had a favorite website or blog, you might want to know how to submit a nomination.  All you need to do is

1. Send brief email to writersdigest@fwmedia.com (click now)

2. Put 101 Best Websites Nominations in subject line. (cut and paste now)

3. As an example include some kind of note like

Please consider Deidra Alexander’s Blog at www.deidraalexander.com for your list of 101 Best Website. (copy and paste optional. 🙂 )

Now, another post-Christmas blog.

Let me begin by telling you my house sits on a one acre lot with twenty trees in front and over thirty trees in the back. This will be important later.

In my family there is a giver of carefully thought out useless gifts. I in my novice attempt to out useless her, I gave her a cake stand. She lives in the mountains and baking is out of the question, high altitude and all. I was giggling to myself until I opened the gift she had for me. But first other victims.

To the person who is allergic to scents of any kind, she gave perfume and highly scented candles. Though I appreciate the hives, not cool.

To the person who has all hardwood floors, a carpet steamer. Good one, a chore.

To the guy with body hair, knit shirt. Need I say more, though I appreciate the attempt at werewolf inspiration.

To a single woman over 20, underwear and flannel pajamas. Don’t complain that she’s single if you buy her and Gramms matching gifts.

And to me, she really went all out. I got a gift, errand and a chore. She gave me a tree. One I have to pickup in a large truck, drag back to my house, get a hole dug and then plant. I learned my lesson, do not try to out gift the master.

And to my fellow suffers, there’s a bottle of tequila and a white elephant gift exchange in my room.

Hey, who brought the cake plate?


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First, I’ve released my blog for Kindle in which I will include extra humiliate of myself and family in an effort to get my furnace fixed.

First and foremost, the goals is to make those pesky onesies wish they were twosies. Here are some tried and true methods to aid in that quest.

If your singles are resistant to the process, remind them of how happy it would make their dearly departed parent, grandparent, Aunt and/or pet.

You’ll need to take special care with your females. Remember they aren’t getting any younger. Force them to cook a dish which you can push onto eligible males. Note: Have an exact duplicate ready to switch in the event hers turns out tasting like paste and well you know it will.

Counsel females on allowing their male counterparts to win all games, not singing carols with her Porky Pig voice, and using restrain when throwing snowballs, not that it will help.

You must unload your unattached relatives on every eligible member of the opposite sex, including second cousins as they are still legal in some states. Don’t forget to push your male relatives’ careers or sensitivity, which ever is more applicable. And finally if your female relative is owning property, be sure to point that out to all candidates and their Mommas. Nothing helps like a good, old-fashioned dowry.

(Picture to be added later.)

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The great thing about Christmas is you get to see relatives you rarely see the rest of the year. So it is with The Pistol and me.

I have a nephew I like to call “The Pistol”. I rarely see him so I have little influence on him, which makes his actions even more entertaining.

One of my other sisters tried to step in and be the twisted Aunt. (Don’t try this at home. I’m a trained professional.) She started calling the kid Pooter when he was a toddler.

One day she came in and he said, “Hi Aunt Pooter.”

My sister said, “I’m not Pooter, you are.”

He said, “I’m KayKay, you’re Aunt Pooter.”

And The Pistol was born.

To my sister – Out smarted by a two-year old, really?

The Pistol was bored this morning, so I opened Paint on the computer. Here’s his artwork enjoy. He’s five now.

Kid’s concept, Auntie Dee’s typing.

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One of my male relatives and I have been texting today. He’s planning on study in Italy and is saving money for the trip, so I thought I would send him a list of possible Christmas gifts he could do for me rather than buy something. He’s great at cleaning and organizing. Here’s our texts:

Me: Things you could give me for Christmas instead of a gift. Deep clean my office, organize my pantry or laundry room, build a blog site I can offer through Kindle.

Him: Things I would like for Christmas. Superpowers, a billion dollars, and my own private island. Get me mine and I’ll see about yours.

Me: Very funny, but I’m serious.

Him: So am I. I want super powers.

Me: You have super powers. You’re cleaning man.

Him: My shoe size is 9 and pants size is 30×30.

Me: You want a super hero costume?

I have a feeling he isn’t planning to use his super power for good. 😦

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Another true tale of sisterhood. Pull up a chair and put down all food and beverages. The producers of this blog are not liable for any food related injuries or deaths resulting from reading this blog.

It was some time ago, I was living in a two story house. My sisters’ wee little children were upstairs. I had just put on the twenty-four hour cartoon channel.

My sister canceled cable when she had children so cartoons were a big deal in their young lives. The cable company called asking my sister why she had canceled. I’m sure they were expecting some reply like, ‘It’s too expensive’ or maybe ‘I don’t really watch it that much’.

Did my sister say one of these canned replies? Nay, nay, she said, “I canceled cable to get the devil out of my life.”

She was serious, but that answer was actually genius. I use that one and the voices in my head told me to when any telemarketers call.

So, it was a dark winter evening, I had settled the children in front of the TV when my sister came running upstairs.

She pulled me in the restroom and asked, “Are all the kids up here?”

And of course they were.

“Then there’s someone in the kitchen,” she said.

My house had been broken into a few weeks before, so it was not beyond the realm of possibility that someone could have come back. We gathered the children and put them in one bedroom. Then my sister and I went to investigate.

You might wonder, “Why not call the police?”

The only phones were in the kitchen and the master bedroom, both downstairs. We crept down, careful to make no noise. My sister was in front of me. Imagine a tall woman with flowing auburn hair in flannel pajamas and a little short one in back wearing something less than appropriate. That was me.

I was holding tightly to the back of my sister’s pajamas. The kitchen was on the left, my bedroom the right. We got to the bottom of the stairs. The light was on. The refrigerator door was wide open.

I shoved my sister into the kitchen. Her arms were flailing and she was tripping over her feet. I ran for the bedroom, and grabbed a gun and the phone. This was years ago and my sister is still whining about the time I sacrificed her to the burglar. I figured she would distract him and I would be back in time to save her.

And by the way, she left the light on and didn’t shut the refrigerator door. There was no burglar. She always makes me walk in front now.

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I was going to relate yet another family story. Then I thought about something else and forgot my brilliant idea. Perhaps I have a smidge of ADD. Now you’ll have to settle for another bizarre dream.  It was a dream of twos.

It was a horrifying, composed of shattered images with the feeling of being hunted. Two small dogs were yiping. Followed by two bombs in beautiful red leather gift bags set by two young, brunette girls. I was given two babies, but instead of identical like everything leading up to this point, one was so large I could hardly hold it.

What made this dream so terrifying was there was plenty of the bxxxx everywhere.

What? Blood?

No, I said it was horrifying. There were blonds everywhere. Everytime I turned around one of them who had heard something, unlocked the door and was wondering down the hall in little more than her underwear.

It was like herding cats. I woke up in a cold sweat. Redrum nothing.

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My sister is mad at me … again.

My niece’s name is the source of several of our conflicts. I told her to pick a name that could not be made fun of, children and aunts can be so cruel. But my sister went with Elizabeth despite my warning.

When she was an infant, Elizabeth thought lizard gizzard the funniest thing ever.

When she was a toddler, I taught her to sing Lizzie Borden. Nothing’s creepier than hearing that sweet toddler voice sing “she gave her mother fifty whacks”.

And now, I received the softest throw for my birthday. It looked like it was made of tiny feathers. My niece asked, “It’s so soft, what’s it made of?”

My sister gave me the evil glare and said, “No.” Like I was a dog or her kid.

Answers ran through my head: the Easter Bunny, the skin of the last unicorn, or the wings of a thousand fairies. There’s the tooth fairy and that was your fairy godmother.

Instead I said, “The petals of the softest, most beautiful flowers in the world. Do you know what they’re called?”


Lizzie, they were named after you.”

Now my sister’s totally ticked. Her daughter won’t respond to Elizabeth any more. Now she’s Lizzie. Next stage, get her to nickname herself “E”, since I’m “D”. On to my niece Georgina.

Auntie’s coming G.

Addendum: I was asked if plucking the wings from fairies hurts them. I’m not sure about that, but it definitely slows them down.

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Before getting into my post, I want to ask your advice. A friend recently suggested that I might be able to make something more of this. I want to know how you guys feel about my writing longer pieces and selling them in e-reader formats. I don’t want to offend anyone and I’m not sure there’s even any interest. If you could give me your thoughts, I would appreciate it.

On to the post –

Over the holidays I was sitting at a table with my great-aunts. They’re in their 80s and 90s, sometimes we seem to come from different worlds. We went around the table telling the lastest and greatest in our lives.

Of course I wasn’t paying attention to who got married, pregnant, or had a baby. I was busy whispering to my cousin about a guy I dated a couple of years back who was blind. I had just finished saying, he could read me like a book of brail. When she snort laughed, bringing all eyes our way.

One of our Aunties said in her soft southern drawl, “What are you girls laughing about?”

I never know when to keep my mouth shut, so I blurted out, “All my men.”

My Aunt responded, “Honey, you know you can lie to your Aunt Rose?”

As the conversation continued, it came around to me. No marriages, no births, and no pregnancies.

So I said, “I bought a house.”

Stunned they all looked at me for a moment.

Aunt Rose finally said, “A single woman ownin’ property, well I never.”

Aunt Peggy gasped. “There’s nothing wrong with it I suppose.”

“I could’ve owned property before I was married.” Aunt Bessy to the rescue. “I had a job answering phones for Dr. Turner. David told me I should buy a couple acres in Duncanville. But what would I have done with it? There was nothing but trees on it.”

“My, my. I’ve never thought of such a thing. What’re you going to do with it?” Aunt Peggy asked, fanning herself like she was overcome with the idea.

“I think I’m living in it,” was my answer.

Later they were talking about cooking lobsters and of course I said, “I like my food to scream, like my men.”

They’re the ones from another world, right? Not me.


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