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Archive for the ‘love’ Category


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Some people never grow up and I’m glad I’m one of them. My top 10 list of things I said during Christmas.

10. I don’t know who brought the whoopee cushion, but yes, I did use it.

9. You are not allowed to use my <deodorant, shampoo, eye shadow, moisturizer> without asking because you forgot yours or it smells SO good.

8. My sweater will not be the same after your chest has been in it.

7. Yes, I brought heated sheets and no, they are not for us to share.

6. To my “vegan” sister: We all know you’re a vegan. However, lobster is an animal and it does so count. I don’t care what you read. And I still think serving you the turkey neck was funny and so do our brothers.

5. Leaving my door unlocked was not an invitation for you all to take over my bed and drink my chocolate wine. And I’m the only one who gets to drink out of the bottle.

4. Reading my journal is not an attempt to bring us closer. It was not lying open on the bed. It was hidden in the chest of drawers.

3. I don’t think waving the turkey carcass, butt first in my face brought back nostalgic memories from our childhood.

2. I don’t know who put the ice packs in your beds. To one of my brothers: Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Good one.

1. Sorry the kittens shredded the toilet paper, again. I have a 20 pack hidden in my trunk.

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246

Are we playing following the leader or Simon Says?

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113 (2)

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I have been known to nod off in long meetings in which the topic has little to nothing to do with me. I’ve invented a game to stay awake, the one line game. Here’s a few from yesterday:

I new insanity was pervasive here, I just didn’t realize it was contagious.

Blue reminds me of the ocean, crystal clear skies, calm summer days. I hate blue.

I had under estimated the creature I hunted and Paulo had paid for it with his life.

Moments like this are why I don’t keep chocolate in my desk.

The edge of anything is always a bad place to be.

And one for you to finish –

Somewhere an old brain cell must have fired up again when I remembered <fill in the blank>.

Until the next boring meeting.

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Picture it, a dark, smoke filled bar. I hiked myself up on a black leather stool. The bartender slid a glass of soda water with lime in front of me. (I gave up alcohol two weeks ago and can’t for the life of me remember why.)

I recognized a frail, elderly lady from a writer’s group at the end of the bar. She looked like the typical Grandmother: petite, prim and proper. She reminded me of Estelle Getty as Sofia on the Golden Girls. Let’s call her Gert.

I decided to join her trying to tap in to the wisdom a seasoned writer might impart.

“I’m taking it up the ass on ebooks,” Gert said as she down the last of her drink. She motioned to the bartender. “Give me another whiskey and make it the cheap stuff this time.” She sucked deeply on the cigarette she had in one hand. If I thought it was for show, she then blew so much smoke out of her nose I wondered at her lung capacity.

“Really?” I was curious now.

“Oh yea, Honey. I’ve been writing a long time. There wasn’t e-publishing back then.”

“I guess things were different.”

“Hells bells, I wrote my first manuscripts on a manual typewriter. It’s not like I saw it coming,” she continued, lighting another cigarette. “Bartender.” She motioned to her glass. “Give me another and no ice this time.” She launched into a coughing fit that I, as none smoker I was trying hard not to join.

This tiny, old lady continued discussing the good old days using expletives that would rival sailors and slamming whiskey straight up. My idea about Grandmas were completely shattered by this point.

Finally, I asked, “What genre do you write?”

“Erotica and none of this light hearted crap. I write hard core. The kind of stuff that use to come wrapped in brown paper.”

That’s when I almost choked on a peanut. Exercise caution when talking to whiskey slamming, chain smoking, foul mouthed Grandmas who writes hard core erotica.

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