VEILED PASSIONS

I  just heard:

VEILED PASSIONS got a great review in Romantic Times Magazine, 4 1/2 stars, along with a Top Pick and the K.I.S.S. award.

Huzzah!

When The German ISN’T Perfect

An actual conversation that occured five minutes ago:

Setting:  TMac is at her desk, drinking coffee and fixing a scene in her latest masterpiece.  The German breezes by the doorway.

German:  I was going to make breakfast.

Me:  Okay.  If you make it, will you also clean it up?  (In my defense, we’re leaving in an hour to go golfing for the day.)

German:  I didn’t want to clean it up, no.

(He gets a bonus point here for honesty.)

Me:  So you want to make a big mess and you want me to clean it up, or you want to leave it for the day so I can clean it up later.  This is what you’re saying.

German:  Why are you making a big deal out of this?

Me:  (Sighs and glances at the clock.  I guess I’m done my morning edits.)  I’d just like to know what I have to get done before we go.

He walks away and goes into our bedroom, angry.  When he returns, he says the following.

German:  Maybe it’s time you start using that progesterone cream again.

Dear readers, this cream he speaks of is for PMS.  So what the German is in fact saying, is that unless I am willing to clean up after him without comment, I must be a seething, raging case of hormones.

Because I am, in fact, NOT a seething, raging case of hormones, I declined to respond or further engage.  I find that when a man is accusing a woman of being hormonal, they’ve reached the final threshold that leads to either a full-on fight or a discussion that will end badly.  There is nothing a woman can say when a man takes this stand that will not seem combative, emotional, or unreasonable.

He walked on, and is now happily banging away with pots and pans in the kitchen and singing to the radio.

I guess I’m cleaning it up.

THE END

Word Count:  126,226

Current Status:  Fried

Mood:  Grateful

Will blog more when the words come back.  Right now, they’re all used up.   I’m off to open a bottle of really, really excellent scotch that I’ve been saving for this occasion.

The World’s Worst Blogger.

I almost typed The World’s Worst Booger.  Which I would probably be, as I detest snot and therefore would be forced to hate myself.

Today I got an email from Beth. 

Subject: Hey. 

Content: Where the hell have you been?

Where’ve I been?  What happened to June and July and half of August?  Allow me to elucidate (it’s my blog, so I get to use words like elucidate, because when I use those words in Real Life, people wrinkle their noses at me and become annoyed at my profligate (my blog) use of the English language, and while I would like to point out that it’s our mother tongue and as such should be easily understood when we are conversing, I become flustered at their nose wrinkling and refrain):

Behold TMac, cruising along in the back of Paige and Tim’s Land Cruiser (don’t judge them – they have many children and require a vast amount of space in which to transport them and their french fries).   TMac has no idea that her appendix has become irritated and is in fact, growing irate.

So there I am, bouncing along through my life with a book simmering away.  Life, she was good.  I had a WHOLE summer ahead of me!  I was SO HAPPY.

 

Alas, life wasn’t complicated enough, and my German, saddened my his loss of The Fat Bastard, also known as Chester, began to contemplate acquiring a kitten.  So we did.

This is Matilda, my computer, and my peonies.  Note: This kitten is NO HELP AT ALL with the novel I’m writing.

 

Alas alas, one kitten isn’t complication enough – so we got two!  Sisters!

Cute, no?  The black tuxedo is Chloe.

One wouldn’t suspect these two babies in crimes against plants, but don’t let their “innocent” faces fool you!

These two are very bad babies who have zero compunction or remorse.  They are dangerous, armed (clawed), and will attack (anything beneath the blankets) with no provocation.  Do not underestimate their vicious nature.  These are badass bad babies.

But remember TMac and her pissed off appendix?  Right, well, there it was, fermenting in its own vileness until one day it could take it no more.  This appendix had had enough of TMac and her generously sized abdomen.  One day in early June, it decided to blow that joint and make a break, only to be thwarted by the good Doctor Shearborne and his mighty scalpel. 

I am now in possession of a three inch scar, and I am here to tell you that sadly, an appendix does NOT weigh five pounds as I’d so desperately hoped, and also?  Doctor Shearborne does NOT have the ‘while we’re at it’ kind of attitude that I most prefer in a surgeon.  You know, such as, “Well, she’s already unconscious, so while we’re at it, let’s go ahead and do some liposuction on this tummy, sculpt this waist, and hey, I’ll bet she wouldn’t mind if I removed that unsightly wart.”

I know for a FACT he’s not a team player in this regard, because as he wheeled me into surgery, I sweetly asked if there were any way possible he could hook me up, to which he replied, “Not a chance.”

!

AND THEN, after the surgery which, in my opinion, was rather ill-timed, as I would much rather have spent weeks recovering in FEBRUARY when who cares about being outside?  Instead, I had to give up golf, riding my bicycle, and various other athletic pursuits that I lamented the loss of only until I was cleared to resume, at which time I reverted back to my normal indifference, because hello?  I have a book to write.

On a happier note, my German and I are coming up on our 20th wedding anniversary (I know, I look so young!), and we decided to commemorate this blessed event with something that will grow and endure (and also we really just wanted one) and so we installed a pond.

Here it is just after installation, before I’d added any plants.

Water lillies!  Yay!

WARNING: COMPLAINTS AHEAD

To summarize the rest of my summer: It Has Sucked.

END OF COMPLAINTS

So I’m reallythisclose to finishing the novel, and I’m hoping to squeeze an entire summer of fun into the remaining two weeks I’ll have left.  And then I have to (cue whining) get a job.

What are the rest of you doing?