Dakota's Moving !!!!!!

Thanks to her good friend Ter... (That's ME)

Dakota has a new blog !!

You can visit her new blog at : http://carnomedy.dakotacassidy.net/

Run on over and let us know what you think.

Heeyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

'K, so the ongoing battle to get over my shyness with the nice Borders people continues. I so know you can't believe I'm shy, but dude's, this is faaa-reea-kin' me out. I have never in my life been so nervous--like not even when I thought I'd lost the Miss Dobson Dodge crown to that cheap MaryBeth Whateverhernamewas who's hair was bigger than mine.

No, I'm kidding. Not about the nervous, but definitely about MaryBeth. She was lovely :)

Anyway, I strive to overcome my pathetic-ness. And I have just one thing to say before I go any further. This is HARD work. I seriously had no clue authors did this. I can't ever remember seeing a book with one of those gold stickers on it that says "Signed by Author" -- like nevah. Either that or I just didn't pay close enough attention. I was hip to the book signing thing, but this -- this -- well, this I was totally out of the loop on. I truly didn't now a whole lot about NY publishing on the whole to begin with, but WHO KNEW? And don't get me wrong, I'm all about showing my appreciation. I'd just really like to pay someone to show it for me because I'm a wreck.

Yet, I persevere.

Tonight I decided I REALLY need me some Dean Koontz and he does have that new hardcover out. I didn't buy it last week because I was still recovering from my bout with the lovely Borders cashier and the stupidity only I can create.

However, it would seem I made an impression.

Tonight I was back at the mall to meet my man for some viddles and Dean called to me. Yeah, it's hardcover, but if I were in hardcover I'd want Dean to buy me. Just sayin'. Not that he would, but if he could feel my love, he might reconsider. Or label me stalker.

Anyhoodles, I slink back into the Borders and zip behind a rack because I've made an utter ass outta myself once -- there's no need to hit replay.

and then
out of the blue
I hear...

"Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, Dakota! How's it rockin'?"

Okay, so I have two options--make like the Borders guy (who, if you'll recall, really works at Starbucks) is talking to the voices in his head -- or pretend I'm deaf.

However, the lovely Borders guy is truly an angel and I opt to wave and smile. Because I'm a tard and I have nothing to say. Like my throat is constricting. Really...

But out of the corner of my eye I DO see a book with the autographed by the author thing on it IN the romance section and I decide that my friend Michele Bardsley isn't just in this "stock signing" thing for the free meals and product I so lovingly supply my friends with when guesting at Casa Cassidy.

It really DOES happen. Other authors really DO sign stock. I'm now motivated to do this thang.

Until I get to the counter to pay, that is...

I go to purchase Dean and the very pretty girl asks if I have a Borders card. Can you even believe my world is SO small that I don't? But this is a perfect opener for me to intro myself, no?

Using my amazing superpower for witty convo, I say, "Why, no. No, I don't. However, I should because I is a writer and I have a book coming out in Feb." For which the lovely Borders employee gives me the "gasp" look, but refrains from calling me a dumb ass and says I'll get ten percent off Dean if I fill out a card AND, how exciting that I wrote a book.

So I meekly ask if she's the manager. IN fact, I crossed my fingers and toes that she was.
And she says no.

You know, crap if I can get this right. Could I maybe just catch a break so as not to further humiliate myself? But she says the manager is right in the back, and she'll grab her for me. To which I silently scream (I think. It's vague), nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

But I compose myself and get yon shit together and say, "No, no. Really. She's probably busy. I'll be back in again and I'll find her then."

And she nods her head and I leave with 10% off Dean -- who so rocks -- and the NAME of the manager. Don't ever let anyone tell you I can't work under pressure. Snort.

By God, by the time this book comes out I'll have maybe, sorta, in some roundabout, osmosis-ish kinda way have actually INTRODUCED myself to her.

OY.

Dakota :)

Wherein Dakota shouldn't be allowed to go out in public without aide of a keeper

So yeah, it's been a while. I used to blog on a reg basis, but it seems lately, I just can't keep up. I remember once thinking when the kids got older things would be easier. Ya know, they'd be self-sufficient and doing their own thing. Which meant I'd have more time for me.

Uh, no. As they get older they want to go more places, do more things, stay up later, go out with their friends and in general always need SOMETHING. Food, a ride, money, food, food, food. At least when they were little they went to bed at 8.

So lately, if it hasn't been one thing it's been another. Football, ROTC, dances, homecoming, parties blah, blah, blah. Add to that my work which, there but for the grace of God, I've managed to keep up with, and I'm shot.

However, my work is what led me to finally blog again. Today I'm going to talk about the secret, underground, untold story of a book release from a perspective I didn't know existed. The NY one. Decidedly different from the e-book one.

Now I love me some e-books which is where I come from. I love 'em because they're linear. In and out, baby. Written, edited, proofed, line-edited, pubbed in sometimes just under a couple of months if you're on the schedule. Easy-cheesy.

A NY book is much diff. it begins waaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy back in ancient times when you get "the deal"--like a year and a couple of months prior to publication. So you get the deal, you write the book for like three months because it's longer than your typical e-book (well, longer than the typical e-books I've written), you send it in, you get some edits, you do the edits, you get the copy-edits, you send them back, you get one last shot to tweak, send it back again and then you get your ARC's. Still, you're like three months before publication.

Now, in these three months you need to be out introducing yourself to the nice folk who run places like Borders and the like. All lovely people, I'm sure. Though after they've seen me skulking in the romance section of the bookstore, hiding under my purse, trying to work up the courage to say hello, I'm not so sure they'll return the sentiment.

Anyway, this is called PROMO. And we all know how good I am at that. At first this was a dark mysterious path I wasn't walking because it freaked me out. With an e-book you post to your newsletter and your Yahoo group and go eat a box of Ring-Dings or something. Not so much with a NY book.

So in the time since I've written the first book and am now actually just returning the edits on the second, I'm learning all these things I need to do to promote my book. All of which are like having bamboo shoved under my nails and using cheap product. Snort.

I learn from my good friends Michele Bardsley, Diane Whiteside and my publicist Jessica that I must go to my local book stores and introduce myself prior to release, so that on release day I can offer to sign STOCK. Thus, if someone buys my book they'll have an autographed copy.

Now for those who know me, you know I love people. I love to chat. I love--end of. I love it when we can talk about YOU--or your lawn--or your personal grooming habits. I don't love the my book thing so much.

Knowing me as my friends do, they've kindly offered to fly and drive from all parts of the country to come hang out with me on release day and "help" me do this stock signing thing. It'll be a blast, Michele Bardsley says. We're going to have soooooooo much fun, my friend Renee George says. I'll drive, Ter offered.

Coo. I'm all in. I'm stoked to see my friends. I have some of the bestest friends evah. I then begin to hatch a plan. These nice people at Borders have NO CLUE what I look like, right? So why can't one of my friends do this for me and I'll wait in the car? LOLLOL. Seriously, how do these book people know I'm not some crazy person with a disease that compels me to sign other peoples books? My pic isn't in the back of the book--so they won't be the wiser, right?

Nooooooo, oh, no. I need to stop being the sissy-Mary I am and work it, my friends say.

Hookay. So in light of working it I'm losing sleep over this. Hair too. I'm getting wrinkles. but I'm determined to play and play well. I'm grateful to anyone who buys a copy--you don't even have to read it, if you opt out. Really. I'm just grateful.

So as a sort of stick my toes in the shallow end of the pool where the non-swimmers sit on the steps and watch the pros with envy, I dip my feet in. Just the other day in fact. I was uber-proud of me.

For at least a twenty seconds...

I'm all at the mall with my honeybunny R. He's getting one of those massages in those crazy chairs while I struggle to walk to my Borders Express. I say struggle because I'd just gone five rounds with some guy on Discovery Health who has an accent and does a workout that would leave a Navy Seal crying. I'm in AGONY. My eyelashes hurt. However, a girl does want to look good for this signing of the stock, yes?

I wander in, I hover by the romance aisle. I see many of my friends books on the shelf and wonder if they too have fallen for this "stock signing" gig. Then I wonder if they've just been yankin' my crank and there really is NO SUCH THING. But alas, I press onward.

I'm there, and I'm in. Suddenly, an employee saunters up to me and asks how I am and if I need help.

Sweet mutha.

So here's my opener, yes? It's like when the cute guy at school finally talks to you and you have the chance to wow him with yer prowess. Or not.

Dakota--I stick my hand out and say, "No, I don't need any help, but I'd like to introduce myself. I'malocalareaauthorandIhaveabookcomingoutinFebruary.
Justwantedtointroducemyself." Yes, I said it without commas, breaks in sentence and or periods. What-ev. Don't judge. Snort.

Nice bookstore boy--"Very cool. What do you write?"

Dakota--Duh. "Books..."

Nice bookstore boy--"Yeah, but what kind?"

Dakota--The kind you read... "Er, paranormal romances--comedy."

Nice bookstore boy. "Cool. When's it coming out?"

Dakota--"February."

Nice bookstore boy--"Suh-weet."

Dakota--nervous, anxious, wishes floor would swallow her up. "Uh, yeah. Suh-weet. So anyway, I just wanted to say hello and introduce myself and I hope to see you in February." Or never again if the Gods are kind and don't want me to humiliate myself further.

Nice bookstore boy--"Well, just so you know. I'm not here permanently. My REAL job is at Starbucks at the Stonebriar Mall. I'm just here for the extra cash for Xmas... I'm working the register, but sometimes I help on the floor. So I won't be here in February. You should talk to the MANAGER, but good luck, anyway."

Bahd-dump-bump.

So here's a tip from me to you. If you have a book coming out and you go do this precursor to the stock signing thing--which I'm not entirely sure truly exists because it would be just like my friends to snark me, point and laugh--CHECK to be SURE you're talking to the right person. Like the MANAGER of the bookstore.

Not the guy who has a better gig at Starbucks, but who was lovely and ultra helpful nonetheless.

Off to conquer more cashiers :)

Dakota :)

Knight Agency Blog Winner is...

Patti!!!!!!!
Wooooooo hooooooooo, darlin'! You got yerself an ARC of The Accidental Werewolf!

Email me and I'll hook ya up.

And sorry, guys, for not posting in such a long time, but it's been caaa-razy these days with deadlines, kids, my mother and LIFE. LOL

I'll be back soon.

Hugs to all,
Dakota :)

Accidentally Dead

Big Squeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! LOL

Okay, when I put this up it's purple, but on my MAC it's a red background. I have no clue what I've done wrong--but I'm sure it's me and not blogger. Anyhoodles--this is basically what it looks like and I'm SO happy. Love, love, love it. Even if it's really red :)



Dakota :)



Edit - I fixed it !!!! Ter

Bird killa!

So today I come home from food shopping and there's a Pop Tart box on my desk. Now I don't eat Pop Tarts and the kids are at school (amen blessed peace). no clue how it got there. So I look at the box and there's a note attached.

What, Dakota, you ask. What did the note say?

This is what the note said...

There's a parakeet in the box--it's a long story. Dad's on his way with a cage. Will see you after I'm done babysitting. Mom has a part time gig with the neighborhood kids. She earns some cash and she's not here trying to shove tuna and rye down my throat all day long. So we're coo :)

So I ring-a-ling mom up and I go WTF??? Well, not the fuck part. Just the hell? because I try not to swear around my mother. She tells me this woeful story about how she was going into the county courthouse to get something (what now escapes me), and when she opened the door a parakeet, friendly as could be, landed on her foot.

So being the kind, help out a bird in distress kinda woman she is, she asks the lady at the desk in the courthouse to get her a box. I was happy to know my tax dollars are hard at work buying Pop Tarts for the Murphy courthouse employees.

Frosted Blueberry, if you must know :)

Soooooooooo--I'm not sure I'm buyin' this story because mom's been wanting another bird for a couple of years. I've been very hesitant because of the two cats and IF she leaves her door open in the en suite, or the boys do if they go to grab her phone--well, DEAD bird, right?

However, this bird sorta happened by accident (hmmmm), and I love animals--so I figure, okay. Dad brings the cage, plunks it down on the countertop and says, "So, Princess, ya got a bird."

No, Daddy, MOM has a bird. Dakota has everything else.

So we get the cage set up, we take the bird out of the Pop Tart box and it really is just too sweet. it's yellow, which as you all know, I don't recommend ANYONE wear. However, she's very fetching. It's very tame, hops on my finger, eats, chirps has a grand time. Now my mother has had birds before and I gotta tell ya, it takes a long time to train a parakeet to be as sweet as this one was. So I figure she probably wasn't fibbing about finding it out of nowhere. Someone spent some time with this bird and either dumped it, or lost it.

So we let the bird sleep because it's been through a trauma. My son Cam goes to check on it and he says, "Wow, he's REALLY tired. He's sleeping on the bottom of the cage with his feet in the air..."

Go ahead--laugh. It's okay. Really. I won't hold it against you.

I run assholes and elbows into the bathroom to find it is indeed "sleeping". I take it out and it's barely breathing, but I'm determined to save it if possible. My mother poo-poos such efforts. She's all of a sudden the bird lady and "knows" birds. She's convinced it will die. Well, fine, but in the meantime would it hurt to find out for sure?

Much calling vets who could be bothered after hours ensued and we finally find some bird lady who works for the Autobahn (sp?) society and mom takes it there.

Okay, so it died.

And I was sad cuz it was a cute little bugger and really sweet.

She was right--it died of hypothermia from the storm we had this morning.

However, this bird lady has promised mom another bird from her freakin' sanctuary (crazy bitch), and I'm not happy. See here's the thing--it's one thing to save a poor bird who needs a home. Completely another when you want to bring some helpless bird here and literally OFFER it up for sacrifice to my cats. That's willful intent, if you ask me. But whatevah.

My mom forgets a lot lately. She always forgets to shut her door and her dog (snuggles) always knocks down the gate on the stairs, thus letting poor, blind Wenzday UPSTAIRS. The dog is BLIND--if she falls--it's ovah. Not to mention the time she had my debit card for two weeks and swore I never gave it to her. AFTER I got a new one she found it in the pocket of her skirt...

Yeah, it's like that. So my fear she'll forget and leave the door open, I won't know and the cats will commit bird-icide is VERY real. Plus, she'll blame it on my kids. yeah, she's done that a time or two when SHE forgot to put the gate back up and I know she did because the kids were at school... Now typically, I wouldn't bring this up, but tonight--she took the cake. I know she's getting older and that sucks and it totally sucks to forget all the time--but she won't admit she forgets and we all end up in deep kimchee because of it. Oddly, she NEVAH forgets what she claims we did, when it was her who really did it. Tee hee :)

Now that's not to say the boys haven't forgotten to shut her door--they have, but I'd hate for them to screw up and end up killing her bird. Granted, they should be responsible, and I'm all for it, it's just one more thing I don't need to worry about. Which was sorta my piint in the below conversation.

Soooooooo--this is how it went down.

Me--I really don't think this is a good idea, mom. I have so much on my plate and if one of the kids left your door open and the cats ate the bird, I'd feel like crap.

Mom--I'll lock the door.

Me--Yeah. Like you did the last time Travis kept taking your phone and you were going to show him. Who had the phone two days later?

Mom--well, he got the key.

Me--Um, no. You were the ONLY one with the key. You LOST the key and you forgot you were locking the door, I come home and he has the PHONE. I ask you why and you tell me because he asked and you told him to go get it. Um, we were teaching him a lesson about putting things back--I hate to telly ya, grasshopper, but it didn't exactly work out when you forget you took the phone away to begin with.

Mom (with sad face and totally ignoring the point)--so are you saying I can't have the bird? I'm going to be all alone someday when you live with Rob. I can't live in your pocket, now can I? I'll have nothing and no one.

Me--dumbfounded by the drama, but only for a moment--because then I remember my teenaged years and I'm back in the saddle again-- Then wait until I move in with Rob to get a bird.

Mom (really sad face)--I can't believe you'd deny me something to keep me company.

Me--still dumbfounded, but recovering quite nicely. You have TWO dogs. That's not company enough?

mom--it's not like a bird.

Me--That's because it's a dog.

Mom--sad, sad, sad face.

me--totally guilted out. Look, it's not like this new bird you want needs a home. The other dead bird did. I feel like we're just inviting trouble.

Mom--If we don't give it a home, who will?

Me--the crazy bird lady who has it NOW!

Mom--but I spent sixty bucks on a cage.

Me--Take it back.

mom--I can't.

Me--Then I will.

Mom--You can't.

Me--Says who?

Mom changes tactics because when cornered, she either hurls buttloads of guilt at Dakota or avoids, avoids, avoids.

She opted guilt...

Mom (with accusatory face)--plus, you put it in your bathroom and the A/C was what killed it.

me--ASTONISHED--you did NOT just say that to me. I took the fricken' thing from a Pop Tart BOX--helllooooooooooo. A Pop Tart box you didn't even friggin' put HOLES in and just dumped on my desk. Not to mention the fact that you didn't even close my office door--Bailey or Kta, had that bird not been petrified in the box, could have knocked it off my desk and EATEN it. And you told me the bird lady said it was hypothermia from the storm. Now I'm a bird killer????

mom--shrugs, gives me the sad face and watery eyes. I didn't say anything when you brought Milo home...

Me--again, aghast. Um, mom--Milo's a DOG. he can fend for himself against Wenzday who's blind, Mike who couldn't run if there were a field of Milk Bones at the end of the rainbow, Gomez who's overweight, Mindy who's a neurotic mess and hides if you look at her sideways! A dog is much different than a helpless bird who's stuck in a cage and easy prey when you LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN! All I'm saying is, I can't take the guilt if my cat snarfs up your bird. I'll feel like crap and the way things have been going lately, you'll swear you SHUT the door and it was one of the boys who left it open. Then I'll have to buy you a new bird and thus, the vicious cycle will continue.

Mom--sad, sad, sad face. So are you saying I can't have the bird?

Me--big, deep, cleansing breath. No, Mom. I'd never say that. I'm saying I have a full plate these days. If Bailey or Kota eat the bird and you say ONE word to me, I'm divorcing you.

Mom--sulks, pouts, goes upstairs.

me--feels guilty as all hell, but glad I spoke my piece. I know how this'll go down if the bird dies. it'll be on me or the kids because as much as I love my mom--she kinda sucks at admitting she's wrong. Like my debit card just hopped into her pocket and stayed there because it was warm, yanno? I love her, but know your enemies weapons. LOLLOL

Couple of hours later....

R and I are in my office watching some TV. Travis comes home and he asks my mother when she's getting the new bird. Smart ass.

She looks both R and I in the eye--sad face in place and says, "It makes your mother unhappy. So I don't know if I will."

R as my witness, that's what she said.

I'm going to go slit my wrists now because I have to believe it'll be easier than getting the poor bird, coming home to the carnage after the cats eat it whole and feeling like shit. LOL

OYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

And the winner is...

Dudes, y'all rock! Thanks for coming out to play with us.

Okay, here we go--the winner of the Amazon gift cert is--nece

The summer's end prize pack is--minime

and the e-book of mine Michelle Hoppe offered--tami!

E-mail me, ladies at Dakota@dakotacassidy.com to get yer stuff :)

Thanks again for playing!

DC :)

Hi - Jacking for Michelle Hoppe

Okay, I realize I'm late to the party, however I must set the record straight:

1. Yes I do snore. I have never denied it, but Ter is correct, that cat is wayyyyyyyyyy LOUD!

2. The only reason we were out buying my booze, leaving Rob to clean up the mess is because ya’ll done forgot to get it the day before or some such excuse, therefore requiring poor Franc to find a liquor store in the middle of friggin nowhere, which delayed our arrival home by about an hour. If you had purchased said booze in advance of my arrival as planned, you and Ter would have been home in time to assist poor Rob in the clean up.

3. I was not a wimp – did I not swim? YES, yes I did. Not only did I swim, I invited my sister to visit with us and demanded that she bring her swim suit to assist in Dakota’s campaign to ‘get her monies worth’. My sister, trooper that she is, donned said bathing suit before the required one hour had elapsed after eating and took the plunge. Well her toes did anyway -- so it counts! As for Ter using the pool more often – she arrived two or three days before me (at least one) therefore she had more time to use the pool.

4. I put the friggin sun screen on damn it, so stop bitchin! I returned to Washington tanless thanks to all the damn sunscreen I slathered on.

5. Dakota is right about not having to ‘walk the dogs’. There is a big backyard, however it’s a little more complex than simply opening the door and letting them out. Wait did I say a little? Let me explain and you all be the judge:

a. Take diapers off Milo and Mike
b. Open door and wait for all dogs to exit while keeping foot in place to prevent cat from escaping. Once dogs have exited, quickly pull foot out of the way while praying cat doesn’t get past you and Wensday, poor blind baby hasn’t fallen in the pool yet.
c. As each dog goes to their own area of the yard (which is L shaped), pace in front of pool to prevent any accidental dips by said dogs.
d. While attempting to keep on eye on several areas at once, leave post by pool to open door for dog number one, who has finished its business and is now demanding to be let back inside where it is cool. (Why didn’t she spend a few extra bucks and get a doggie pool installed?)
e. Rush back to post at pool-side, scanning waters surface for possible ripples, while attempting to locate all the other dogs who have now hidden behind (pick one) flower pot, bushes, tall grass in the corner, that little tree with the yellow flowers.
f. Continue moving between back door and pool until all dogs have returned to the house.
g. Wait fifteen minutes - repeat again and again and again and again, well you get the picture.

On my next visit I want a lifeguard t-shirt and whistle.

6. I cooked twice, thank you very much.

7. While Dakota insists the sun is only two feet up and it’s an illusion that it is further away, it’s not true. I have done the research and the distance from Tex-ASS to the sun is 37 feet 6 inches. Next time I’m using less sunscreen damn it. I want a tan!

8. Ter is correct on the bathroom sharing. I’m the one who didn’t have to share. It’s because she loves me best ~smiles~.

9. The truth is Dakota likes to cook, but you didn’t hear that from me ~shhhhhh~.

10. I learned long ago to pack large quantities of tissue for the eventual departure from Casa Cassidy. While I’ll admit to tears of my own, they are a small stream in comparison to the Nile my dear friend Dakota gushes when time forces me to return home.

11. I can not confirm or deny the existence of excessive hamburger helper as the pantry is a vast waste land that I avoid ~smiles~.

Since Dakota has allowed me to hi-jack her blog to set the record straight, I’ll kick in something for the contest. Anyone who posts a note telling Dakota to get me a lifeguard t-shirt and whistle before my next visit will be entered to win a download of any Dakota Cassidy book ~wink~! Lets see how long it takes her to catch this LMAO!

Michelle Hoppe aka Double L

The Great Blog Hi-Jacking...

I have decided since Dakota does not post enough on her Blog someone MUST keep the fans entertained :) So here is my list of.....

10 Things you MUST know if you are staying at Casa De Cassidy

1. Her cat (Bailey) HOWLS in the middle of the night and she was MUCH louder than Michelle Hoppe’s snoring. If this will disturb you be sure to bring ear plugs or you can put a pillow over your head and hum, this will drown out the cat.

2. Dakota spent a lot of money (she will tell you 2000 times how much) on her gorgeous pool; therefore she must get her moneys worth. Bring a bathing suit as you will be swimming even if it is 20 degrees and snowing.

3. Make sure to be up on your dog walking skills if you want to be a good guest as there are a million dogs at Dakota’s and someone always has to go out. I walked more dogs, cleaned up more pee, and put on more diapers then I have in my entire life combined.

4. If you are driving Dakota somewhere make sure NOT to be late. Not even 5 minutes you will NEVER hear the end of it. TRUST me. Oh and by the way be careful of the bumps as she has sensitive Ovaries and might lose one if you hit a bump too hard she must have been born with like 10 as she lost at least 3 while I was in Tex-ASS.
5. Dakota does not like to cook so if she does cook for you she will constantly tell you what a needy guest you are. Although she does make an AWESOME Lasagna. Oh and if she should happen to make you toast don’t let her son know or he will be PISSED. Bacon and eggs are fine, but the toast really pushes him over the edge.
6. Tex-ASS is REALLY hot and as Dakota likes to say “It is an Illusion; we are two feet from the sun LOOK!” Make sure to put on sun screen or she is libel to tackle you down and slather you in sun tan lotion so you don’t get burned. That or she will yell at you till you get off your ass and apply the sun screen yourself.
7. Dakota has LOTS of munchies in the house so if you are on a diet STAY somewhere else. She also has like 5000 boxes of Hamburger Helper… maybe those are for when she is patiently awaiting a check from her publisher.
8. DO NOT walk in her office with your shoes on. If looks could kill I am sure I would have died 1000 horrible deaths. I did it at least 3 times (Sorry Dakota) just not used to having to take my shoes off in the house. Of course when little Milo pees on the carpet he does not get the evil eye. I wonder what would have happened if I peed on the carpet…. Maybe I will try it on my next visit just to see what happens.
9. If you are the last one out the door leading to the garage make sure to close it all the way or the dogs will get in there and tear apart the garbage and POOR Rob will get stuck cleaning it up. (Sorry Rob – It was ALL my fault)
10. Dakota WILL cry like a BABY when you leave. If this kind of thing bothers you I would get up REALLY EARLY and RUN before she can slobber all over you that she will MISS you.

OK so as Dakota said we are giving away prizes so Post a Comment and you will automatically be entered in the drawing. We will be giving away a Summer Prize Package which includes a signed book, chocolate, margarita mix, and Yankee Candles and an Amazon Gift Certificate for $ 25.00 The two winners will be chosen on Wednesday September 5th and will be posted here on Dakota's Blog. Make sure to check back to see if you win.

I will be Hi-Jacking Dakota's Blog again, maybe in a few weeks so check back to see what kinda fun I can have NEXT time.

Ter

It's good to be king...

So Milo had ze grooming today and when I picked him up, I giggled my ass off. He's a boy, so I was surprised by this, but because he was sooooooo good--he got himself a little something I'd kill for. Even if it is just a barrette. LMAO

Do you thnk they groom humans? Snort

DC :)

BUILDING THE PERFECT NEST

Hello everyone! ~R here.

I thought it was time for another guest post. The twist here is that, she doesn't know this is coming. She'll just be reading it like the rest of you. :) Sorry Bun. :) :)

So, we all know about the lovely Dakota's love of the "I am woman, hear me roar" lifestyle. She is absolutely determined to stand on her own two feet, and damn any MAN who tries to change that! I honestly think she once said "To know me, is to fear me.". Okay, maybe I made that up. But that wouldn't be a stretch. But let's just say that even though she has learned to accept that we are going to be together, like, for-eva, she still can't say it. When speaking of the future, she says things like, "You know Honey, when we... (long pause).. co-habitate..", or "When we... (long pause)... do that thing where you live together and stuff...". To even consider entering into any sort of situation where, oh, someone may end up taking all of someone else's stuff because someone did something they shouldn't have, is just completely unthinkable.

But, lately there's been a change in the wind. It's subtle. VERY subtle. But, in Bunnyville, these subtle little "slips" are starting to add up to a whole pile of "I'm Totally The Champ". I offer you, the following evidence:

exhibit A) Ter is my witness on this one. While Bun was on the landline with Ter, I had called her on my cell phone. She actually said to me "So, when are you going to be home, Honey?". What could be wrong with that, you ask? Read that again. I'll wait. Okay, let me point it out. She asked me, while standing in HER living room, when I was going to be HOME... to HER house. I know, I know. In a normal world, not a big deal. But, right after she said it, she realized it and was unable to speak. I called the local 911. It was dicey for a few minutes, but a couple jolts with the paddles, and she's all good. Depressed. But good.

exhibit B) It was just another Saturday, and I'd had a tough week. So, I decided I was going to sleep in a bit, at her place. She came in to wake me up, and in a moment of what can only be called "weakness" she muttered "Oh, I didn't pick your clothes up off the floor this morning. I'm sorry." Do I need to wait for you to re-read that, or are you catching on?? Since when does she need to worry about my laundry?? As she has declared MANY times, she is NOT my wife. But, there she was... feeling bad about my dirty clothes that had been on the floor for about 12 hours. ::sigh:: Sad. CUTE. But, sad.

exhibit C) Another little fact about my Bunny, is that while she is a spectacular cook, she hates it. She does it because she believes her sons deserve good food. But, she grinds her teeth the whole time she's doing it. Well, last month the boys were away visiting their father, so she was free from this chore for a whole month. Or so we thought. She actually turned to me one night and said "You want me to cook you something for dinner tomorrow night?". It literally made me pause Scrubs on the TiVo. Seeing the confusion in my eyes, she said it again. I got in the car and ran up to the local CVS and got one of those home drug testing kits. It came back negative, but I'm not so sure she didn't smuggle in a zip-loc bag of clean pee. I'm easily distracted when she plays cute. Anyway, I told her there was no way she was going to cook for me, if she didn't have to. But the fact that she willingly WANTED to cook for me I think screams something. Hmmm... what could that be...

The bottom line? She's NESTING. That's right. She's all in, whether she likes it or not. As much as her conscious mind is saying "maybe", her sub-conscious is saying "Hell yeah!". She was once the unwavering, etched in stone, vision of the empowered single woman, who didn't need ANYONE, particularly a MAN, to make her life complete. But now, for all the flapping her arms, stomping in circles, and carrying on like a clucking chicken, she has realized that maybe, just maybe, she might be happy to be committed to a relationship for the next 50 years or so. :)

It's okay Honey. You nest away. It's very cute, and I'm all in too.
You're simply da best.

~R - Totally the Champ

Thursday 13--a tribute :)

13 things I love about R

Okay, so today (July 26th) is da big day. It's our 2 year anniversary and well, who knew R wouldn't end up in the nuthouse after this much time with me? LOL. So this is for you, honey. Yer totally da best and I love you like a buttload :)

1. He loves animals. R gets right on the floor, even after repeated warnings of hairball hell, and plays with ALL of the puppies everyday.
2. He's an awesome kisser.
3. He has magical, mystical UNO powers. Snort.
4. He keeps me on task at conventions etc. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't even know I really do have to go to the bathroom. Seriously.
5. He doesn't care that I look like a bag lady when I'm in the writing zone, or if he does, he shuts his yap :)
6. He has magical, mystical UNO powers. Really, I can't say that enough. Word.
7. He does the best impression of David Caruso from CSI Miami.
8. He never complains about my reality TV obsession.
9. He still spends every night on the phone with me so we can watch TV if we can't physically be together.
10. He is the MASTER of a killa title.
11. Even after two years, he still makes me secretly smile when I'm alone
12. He doesn't get mad at me because I so don't get the TIVO
13. He knows I like pretty, shiny things and when I get distracted by them, he follows behind me, then offers to prop my mouth closed :)

Happy Anniversary, honey!!

Dakota :)

FREAKS

Yanno, there's SPAM and then there's SPAM...

So here's the story. My mother (71 and sometimes a little over the top), comes running down the stairs tonight with the speed of Flo-Jo, pops into my office and hands me a printed out sheet of paper.

Now typically, my mom can be a little paranoid. She won't bank online because she's sure the mob will infiltrate her accounts and tie cement blocks to her feet, then dump her in the drink to keep her mouth shut about it. She won't do a lot of stuff because as you get older, I think you just naturally become more cautious. Shit's happened to you in your life and you know where to draw the line.

However, when she handed me this--I near blew a gasket. It enraged me that people can even get away with this kind of shit, let alone send it to someone who's a senior citizen. it's fine if you want to enlarge my penis, offer me Cialis, tell me I won some damned lottery, solicit my money in many variations thereof and offer to blow me from Russia all in one day. That's one thing.

This--well, this is another and it just isn't fucking funny. Like I've always said, you can say whatever you want about me, do whatever you want to me, but ya can't fuck with my mother or my kids. not even with SPAM!

Whoever the hell is sending shit like this out is the equivalent of those freaks who prey on senior citizens via phone to get them to send money to their orgs so Oral Roberts (or whoever) won't hit the Highway to Heaven. Or the ones who get them to donate to their non-existent charities.

And this here is what my mother brought me--This is the only way I could contact you for now,I want you to be very
careful about this and keep this secret with you for now. You have no
need of knowing who I am or where I am from.I know this may sound very
surprising to you but it's the situation.I have been paid some ransom
in
advance to terminate you with some reasons listed to me by my
employer.It's someone I beleive you call a friend. Do not contact the
police or
try to send a copy of this to them for now
Now listen,I'll give you the vidoe tape of our conversation but before
that, I need $6000.I repeat,do not arrange for the cops for now.
Payment details will be provided for you to make a part payment of
$3000 first,which will serve as gurantee that you are ready to
co-orperate,I will give you a copy of the tape (I tape
recorded our conversation),which will be enough evidence for you to
take any legal action against him before he employs another person for
the
job.
You will pay the balance of $3000 once you receive the tape.
You do not have much time,so get back to me immediately


I e-mailed the address this freaky crap came from to find out what I suspected anyway, and naturally, if you want to save your life, you'd better find a way to do it by osmosis (sp?) because you can't do it via the assholes that thunk this up.

I've never seen SPAM like this before. It's always harmless bullshit. Now--not so much. This freaked my poor mother out and made me want to hunt the motherfuckers who think they're so funny down and bleed their balls dry. While I'm sure their targets probably aren't just the elderly, sending this to ANYONE just ain't copacetic.

So if anyone gets something like this--gimme a shout. I'd love to know if anyone's taken this a step further than just bitching about it. I'd have to guess this could have legal reprecussions if whomever is doing this can be hunted down. In fact, they did catch that one guy overseas for setting his e-mail to send SPAM continuously. If I remember correctly, he's wearing orange and is currently someone's bitch in the pokey--or is that just wishful thinking on my part?

Clearly these Jack asses need a whoopin'.

Dakota

The Accidental Werewolf cover has arrived......

So since Dakota is way to busy tending to her needy guests to give you all the scoop I will !

Dakota got the cover for The Accidental Werewolf and it is FABULOUS !!! (As you can see)

And here is the Blurb......

Color me bitten…

Marty Andrews is having a bad week. First, she’s bitten by a mangy mutt while walking her teacup poodle. As a result, her salon-perfect blonde hair begins darkening by the day to something that’s sooo not in her color wheel. Her mood swings have turned her into The Hormonal Hulk. Worse yet, the hair on her legs is growing at a rate even a body slam into an entire vat of wax can’t cure. Last, and most important, her dream job as a sales rep for Bobbie-Sue Cosmetics is going to hell in a hand basket …

The only high point is Keegan Flaherty, the droolworthy man who shows up at her door. Of course, he’s clearly insane. Keegan claims that he accidentally bit Marty, and since he’s a werewolf, she is now, too. Red meat cravings aside, Marty refuses to believe a word, until a kidnapping makes her realize there’s more at stake than her highlights. And she must put her out-of-control life in the hands of man who makes her blood run wild in more ways than one…

OK My job here is done now.... back to your regularly scheduled Program.

Ter

Wherein Dakota is a SUCKER...

This is my last post before I hit the road for MI for a week with little or no Internet access--so do indulge in yet another tale of "Dakota is a tard."

Okay, so R calls me and tells me he's at a stoplight where right next to him, a guy has a truck full of puppies. All sorts of puppies. Malteses', English bull dogs, and Yorkshire Terriers.

Argh.

Now I've always wanted a Yorkie, but I'm resisting because I have two babies already and one, Wenzday, a pug, is diabetic and going blind in her right eye. The other, my Chi, is like a retro version of the 60's mindset. Gomez's philosophy is love the one yer with. he loves all the ladies in the house and will sleep like a whore with whomever will give him a bed.

I also have two cats. One who yarks if you simply think the word. He's the Amazing Creskin.

Add in my mother's dogs she brought with her when she moved in with me, a Cockapoo (snuggles) and a long haired Dachshund (truly scrumptious) and we have a houseful.

Now add in Mike and Mindy, Rob's dogs. Two more dachshunds. Mike who's older and experiencing bladder difficulties much like me and needs to wear the pee-pee pants because he has accidents. Mindy is just a ball of sunshine and was once abused by some fuckhead. Rob got her from a Dachshund rescue. They visit occasionally and spend the night with me because I'm sickly attached to them since the time Rob moved and they had to be with me for a few months until he got the farm in order.

So--get yer fingers out--when everyone is here, that makes 6 dogs and two cats.

yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

Thank God I live in Graceland.

Anyhoodles--like I was saying, Rob knew I wanted a Yorkie, but I figured when the time came that my Wenzday skipped off into the next realm of endless Milk Bones and Steak Tar-Tar, I'd go looking. I lurve animals. All of them--especially the ones that have no potential for adoption. I hate people who abuse them. I despise people who take them and then just dump 'em.

Soooooooooooo, when Rob tells me this I say, OMG! How could you tell me something like this! you KNOW how I am. My son Cam (of the my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard fame) overhears me and says, oh, let's just go look. I'm like no fricken' way.

yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

I finally figure, what's the harm, right? I've walked away before and besides, Yorkies are ridiculously priced. But, loser, easily manipulated mother that I am, we go.

to just look...

Yeahhhhhhhhhh...

Oddly, it was at the same intersection, where on a convertible ride, Rob told me he loved me :)

We get there and it's late and there are no more Yorkies. Alas... however, they do have a really cute Griffon something or other. He looked like Chewie from Star Wars--and he was on some kind of crazy crack. He was a bundle of yippy and skippy.

So now we've looked, the Yorkies are gone and I'm cool. I'm not paying 475 for a dog who more than likely someone else will adopt and lurve to pieces and he's not a Yorkie... he's a brussell-griffon something or other.

yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..

However, there's an English bull dog and I just gotta see--he's absolutely the most sluggish, laid back dude evah--and 1800 greenbacks.

Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....

Suddenly, I hear talk between the two men who are selling the puppies that there are Shi tzu's. Awwwwww, my mom had one and he was a riot. His name was Fugji and we loved him to death. So I just wanna peek--and then I hear there's one (a male) who has one eye smaller than the other and he might be meeting his maker if he can't be sold.

And I think--My left boob is smaller than my right, but Rob adopted me... and now I MUST see the puppy because these heathens are going to rid themselves of defective merchandise and this pisses me off. it's all I can do not to haul off and slug the numnuts in the chops. Yet, I am always a lady and I refrain...

Everyone else is sold in the Shi Tzu dept, but this little guy.

yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

So I hold him. I look at his right eye which is indeed smaller than the left.

I care not.

I want.

So here's my Milo. I figure he and my Wenzday, between the two anyway, have one good pair of eyes. We're going to velcro the wee one to Wenzday's head and make them a perfect pair of 20/20's :)

Ter said they were probably full of shite and had no intention of knocking the little bugger off--she's probably right.

but just loooooooooooookkkkkkkkk! LOL

Dakota :)

For Shiloh and Erin

So they'll get off MY BACK. LOLLOL

Hookay, so it's been like forevah and a day since I blogged, but life has a way of grabbing me by my foot and dragging me down the road to participation and here I am. So I've been busy with the house and the book and the group etc. I did some blog interviews (one with Jaynie. Yeah, she's back and cooler than ever), and trying to write this book before I have to leave for MI the end of this month. Then there's RWA from the 10th-16th and my friends are coming to hang at Casa Cassidy and we're going to crash the bar at the hotel. I, like the good author I am, am sooooooo looking forward to slapping a face to a name. Quietly, of course. I'm merely an observer. Snort.

So here's what's new...

Not a lot... LOLLOL

Actually, that's not entirely true.

Texas is HAWT and lately, rainy. So now it's steamy, gloomy and HAWT.

Onto more pressing matters.

First I'm going to make brief mention here about Triskelion. I've gotten an e-mail or two about this and I'm just going to say a couple of things. My book Sexylips66 was with Triskelion. I also had an anthology I was in and my title was Mac to the Future. I have no intention of changing them making it a little different and selling it to another e-pub (???). I hadn't been out and about much on the web except for to a couple of blogs, so that tidbit was new to me. I was paid in a timely fashion for my work. I took into consideration many discussions/suggestions from many sources and I tried to make the best, professionally based choice about what to do upon asking for reversion of my rights--time will tell if it was right. I wish everyone--authors, editors, and the staff of Triskelion the very best. I was sad to see its passing. Nuff said.

It's HAWT in Texas AND I found a stretch mark on my boob...

My son Cameron has suddenly developed a sense of ha-ha--Like I totally thought his genes were going to all be about his dad (sigh). However, as of late, he's like the snark-meister. The other day he was complaining he might be getting man-boobs from too much comp-time. So later in the week I asked him how his man-boobs were and he looked at me, grabbed said boobs like any experienced greased pole engineer, and sang, "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard!" To which I nearly peed in my big-girl panties. I'm very, very proud to have passed on the gift of self-deprecating humor :)

And it's HAWT in Texas.

My oldest is still sans license. God only knows what I'll have to do to figure this out. Right now it's just me trying to figure out the best avenue to go when I file this mysterious paperwork so if I'm possibly missing something they claim they need (because we have a billion diff answers), and decide I'm not worthy because I didn't research it well enough, I won't lose anywhere from 250-545 bucks. Yeah, they can take yer cash and not give you a damned thing for it. Swell way to say thanks for your patronage, eh?

And it's HAWT in friggin' Texas, I have a stretch mark on my boob AND a killer forearm ache that won't go away.

I have new carpet in my office and bedroom. Yee and haw. What a fricken' day that was. First--I had no idea they couldn't move my electronics and naturally, my office and bedroom have the most shit this side of Kingdom Come. See me and my 71 year old mother moving my flat screens. But there was redemption for the mess. The one installer thought I was my oldest spawns SISTER. Well, it HAS been rainy in TX and it WAS gloomy that day--low lighting and all :)

It's HAWT in Texas.

I believe I have rosacea. I only have two million new afflictions since hitting 40, but this new one--well, this one makes me look like I have a mustache. Here's the deal. I tan really easily. I use sunscreen and reapply liberally, but living in Texas, like 2 feet from the sun, means it's frickin' HOT and SUNNY (not a lot lately, but when it is--look out). I do a lot of yard work because SOMEONE has to. Anyhoodles, I'm in my bathroom one day and I note my cheeks have dark spots. As I work more in the yard, I notice, over the course of the week, that I have this darkening on my upper lip. My eyesight sucks and I think, OMG--I need to start waxing... it stands to reason--I am over forty and hair happens on us over forty chicks. I'm not too freaked, but I'm not happy either. I'm not very hairy, but it's a rite of estrogen passage, yadda, yadda, yadda.

So I go to my fave salon and they go, um, why are you going to pay for a wax when you have nothing there. I'm like HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO--do you not see this? Yeah, my nice wax lady says and then she says, but it's not hair. Your skin is discolored... We get out the magnifying mirror (what did I do before I tried one of these?)--which might have left me relieved--except, it's still lookin' like a mustache. She says, I think it's rosacea. I'm not doctor, but you should go check it out. For God's sake--ENOUGH already. Isn't it enough that my bladder is swollen and ready to explode? I only use the facilities 9000 times a day. Isn't it enough that my hair is falling out and my joints feel like peanut brittle? Isn't it enough that I have EDEMA? My face swells up and to add to that fabulously attractive feature, I now have a MUSTACHE! And I have a mustache that isn't even really a pre-menopausal symptom--thus, excluding me from the PM club. I can't go on...

And it's HAWT in Texas.

I found a stretch mark on my boob. Due to the fact that I tan so easily, I caught it because well, it's white and I'm not so much anymore. Christ, I went through nine months of pregnancy and not a single issue. Now my boobs decide they're southern gals and don't want to go back to the north east and because they protest this with such vehemence, I have a stretch mark. Fine.

And most importantly--The title to my second book--The Accidental VAMPIRE happens to be someone else's. I mean, I don't want to be petty, cuz it's UBER unattractive in an author, but for God's sake, Jim--can I get a break here? LOLLOL. Actually, the nice lady who has it is Lynsay Sands and if I knew her personally, I'd snark her (lovingly and merely joking), but I don't and well, you know how some things can get out of hand--rumors fly--people talk. So I'll just say this--KNOCK IT OFF already. LOLLOL. My editor said we should come up with a new title. I say, er, yeah--she's a NYT bestseller and I'm one in my mind. She wins. Anyway, I think we're going with The Accidental Immortal, but no confirmation as of yet... and I'm not grudgin'. Besides, who could grudge when her cover for the book is FAB?

And last, but certainly NOT least. I'm in big like with Cindy Cruciger. Yep, she cracks me up. Didn't know who she was until RT when she said mean stuff about me, but i DO NOW. Sometimes I have NO clue what she's talking about, but it makes me laugh that I don't. I shall commence stalking accordingly :)

Dakota :)

HOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWLLLLL!

The Accidental Werewolf...
Is this not a total hoot???? Okay, so my bud Juanita who I met on Michele Bardsley's group drew this up for me and it cracked me UP. It's her impression of my book (insert PROMO here. Snort) of The Accidental Werewolf (available in Feb 08--Berkley Sensation Trade paperback). In the book, my heroine isn't a beauty queen (this was da Juan cracking on me--note the Miss Paranormal banner. LOLLOL), however, my heroine, Marty, has a poodle named Muffin and Marty sells multi-level cosmetics. Kinda like Mary Kay--only I called it Bobbie-Sue. Marty's biggest ambition in life is to become the color lavender on her way up the ladder to the big finale of sky blue. Each color on the rung of success to Bobbie-sue Stardom represents how far you've gotten in the mega cosmetic comapny. If you make it to the top tier, ya get a sky blue convertible.

Marty's just achieved lavender status and proudly wears her new suit and heels when she's accidentally bitten by a werewolf while walking her teacup poodle Muffin one night. So note Juanita's take on Muffin... she's purple and sitting on a Muffin. LMAO

Anyhoodles--I thought I'd post this because I lurve Jaunita for thinking enough of me to take the time to draw this. Hell, I'd use it as a cover if I could, I love it so much.

Oh, and check out my shoes, would ya? Gawd, they're fab, huh? LOL

Many, many thanks, Juanita!!

Dakota :)

My Illegal Alien :)

Okay, so my kid's gonna be 17 in June, right? I finally consent to let him have his driver's license. Not something I'm thrilled about--considering Vicodin as a way to get through it.

However, it must be done. So here in the fine state of TX one must either certify to teach your kid to drive or send him off to driving school. Guess which one this lazzy assed mom picked. LMAO

I take him into the drivins school--a gig that's gonna cost me 355 bucks so he can get his permit and full driver's license. I bring the appropriate stuff--SS card birth certificate and GREENBACKS.

I sit down, I hand this all to the lady at the desk--she looks at it and informs me that because he has a foreign birth cert, he can't have a drivers license.

Hmmmmmmm, I say. Well, I said more, but it wasn't nice...

Now here's the deal. We adopted my oldest in Romania when that whole crush of adoptions was taking place in the 90's because the country was in a huge uproar after they whacked the leader of said country.

I spent five bloody weeks in hell over there, living like they did/possibly still do. Never before was I so thankful to be an American than I was after I left Romania. The mess the whacking of said leader left in its wake was horrifying. Buttloads of kids were abandonned in orphanages. Reason being, the leader of the country had outlawed birth control, demanding that women have children so he could create some kind of super race (loon). He also ordered blood transfusions for many of the women who were preggers because he thought it would strengthen their constitution. Yeah, it was like dat.

Um, you can only imagine what ran rampant after THAT. Aids. Everywhere. In fact, we didn't just go to adopt one child--we went for two. We were approved by immigration for TWO. However, the one little girl I fell in love with tested positive for AIDS and well, after that, I just couldn't go on. The American Embassy wasn't going to let her out of the country, 'fo 'sho. I had to go home after that. I couldn't take the idea she'd die alone in an orphanage, but my travel visa was only approved for six weeks. Luckily, a couple who did some work for humanitarian efforts took her and many other children in the same predicament. They lived in Romania for several years, caring for such children. She died clean, cuddled and fed and it's my only solace when I close my eyes at night.

But this isn't about what happened while I was there. It was probably one of the most tumultuous times of my life. Exciting, uplifting, horrendous on so many levels, frightening--a multitude of emotions that I remember as clearly as if it just happened yesterday. THIS is about my kid, who I legally and with the permission of INS (after home studies and paperwork like no other) adopted, brought to this country, spent two hours in customs getting his alien resident card after a 14 hour flight, raised, loved for 16 1/2 years now, trying to get a friggin' license.

So, anyhoodles, the wench at the driving school takes one look at his birth cert and says, "Oooooohhhhh, no. That's not legal. he needs an American b/c." I'm like, huh? How can he have an American one if he wasn't born here, you tard? it was made very clear to us when we returned via INS that we didn't have to re-adopt him here in the states. Everything, as far as we knew, was taken care of.

Now, I won't get into the whole scene with her. Suffice it to say, I could barely get a word in edgewise and if she called me darlin' or sweetheart one more condescending time, I was going to poke her beady eyes out with my keys :) I left her with a bit of my wisdom--nuff said.

So what does this all mean for the little bugger who thinks driving is his right? First, back in the year 2000, when he was 10 and we were getting close to having to naturalize him, a law was passed, stating all children adopted via US citizens (that's me, me, me) were automatically considered citizens too. When you adopt via another country, it used to be you had to naturalize your kid before they were 12. It's just filing papers and making a trip to my then state capitol, Albany. I remember saying to the ex--thank God we don't have to do that with a 10 year old and a 6 year old in tow.

So anyway, his resident alien card didn't expire until 2001. I figured because he's just considered a legal citizen, we don't need to renew. Which is true, for the most part anyway.

After our debacle at the driving school, where I almost showed my kid what "mom's gone wild" is all about, I get back home. Dig out the translated adoption papers from the American Embassy and start calling INS.

Holy fucksticks! First of all, these people have a diff story, depending on who you talk to and what hour of the day it is. I think after lunch isn't a good time for them. Their still getting over their tuna sandwich high and can't be bothered to be helpful. They pawned me off to the passport people. Who, according to them, if I can prove I'm a legal resident, will let me get my kid a passport and that will enable him to drive. No prob. I've got everything you people need and more.

Oh, a rare treat indeed these passport people! Apparently, the US Passport people are overwhelmed. Boo hoo. Lots of people want passports and they've hired extra folk to work round the clock to help you. Well, everyone except ME. After listening to a voice mail by a guy who sounds about as interested as I am in watching ketchup drip, I'm presented with a menu of options. A plethora of options, none of which apply to my kids situation. So I wait for the option to talk to a customer service rep. Never happens. I finally press ANY button--this bored voice tells me to hold for a customer service rep--two seconds later--they tell me to have a nice day and hang the frig up! I did that three times, people, before I finally lost it.

I think I clenched the phone and jumped up and down. It's vague because I ended up, via gritted teeth and a tenuous hold on my temper, calling back INS.

I get another lady, who I believe probably got laid during lunch because she was most helpful. She sent me to an ADOPTION SPECIALIST in OK city. I had to e-mail this unknown person and they're supposed to get back to me in two working days. I await this with the kind of anticipation one awaits a colonoscopy :)

So here are the facts--I adopted my son at 6 months old in December of 1990. I spent five weeks with a bunch of people who, while very hospitable, just wanted my money and in the condition that country was in, it's understandable. I paid an interpretor to shuffle us around and help me translate some very murky waters in Romanian orphanages. I've seen some things that would make your head spin on your shoulders. Things I wish didn't exist, but do. Things that made me see the bigger picture and left everything petty by the wayside. It grounded me. It humbled me.

I found my son in an orphanage. He was placed there because his mother couldn't provide for him. I met his bilogical mother. We chatted as best we could and we cried because she was losing a child she could in no way care for, and I was gaining one. It's a bittersweet gig, no doubt. She gave me her blessing. I have signed, necessary INS papers that say as much. I have his finalized adoption papers, AIDS test, and I think one of my lungs notarized, blessed, stamped and sealed from the American Embassy in Bucharest. I have his foreign B/C. I have his SS card that I applied for when he was two. I don't suppose I could've gotten one of those without proving I was his MOTHER by legal means. yes?

But the kid can't have a license until these people figure out what organ I should donate to them--or someone gets their story straight. Know what I find utterly ironic about this? There are loads of illegal's out there driving around WITH a license issued by the TX DMV. Maybe, instead of trying to do things the right way, I should've found one of those illegal's and asked him to forge me a b/c, eh? It tweaks me no end that the people who do it the right way kinda get screwed. I'm not going to debate the illegal alien issue. I only know my kid is a LEGAL ALIEN. he can't ever run for president (everyone say amen with me now. LOLLOL), but he's legal because I'm legal and the double whammy is--his father's legal TOO.

Know what else tweaks me? My kid works at the local grocery store. Our fine government gave him an SS card, let him work and happily take taxes from his paycheck every week. But he's not legal, even if INS says he is because I am. So he can fork over a good portion of his paycheck to the government that apparently isn't recognizing him, but he can't DRIVE????

I think I'm going to go practice removing my ovaries on the off chance that's what that driving school and this adoption specialist will want in return for his license.

Snort.

DC :)

Hey, lady...

Wanna be my friend?

yes, from the peace and quiet of my backyard, where I go to hang out in my jammies and watch my waterfall in my pool, I have an unwanted guest.

So about a week ago I'm all out in my backyard hanging out. My hair is ratty, I'm sick as a dog with bronchitis and I have my jammies on.

I note the neighbors behind us have very unwisely put up a treehouse type slide and swingset for their curly-haired angel.

Yay.

Unfortunately for me, the top of the treehouse overlooks my pool and backyard.

Not so yay for me.

So I'm dying here--feel like shit, can barely breathe and I hear, "Hey, lady, wanna be my friend?"

Okay, so lemme preface this by saying, I like kids--love 'em--just not in my bronchial state and in my jammies. I'd like some privacy in my backyard, thank you and I don't want to chat when I go out there. So I say, "Not today, darling. Maybe tomorrow."

He giggles and keeps peering over the treehouse to see what I'm doing. I get fed up and go back to bed.

Couple days later... "Hey, lady, wanna be my friend today?"

"Not today, darling. I have enough friends for today. maybe tomorrow."
"Do you wanna know my name?"
"Not today because you're not my friend yet and thus, I don't need to know your name."
He giggles and says I'm funny.

Har-har-har.

Next day--same deal.
Me-same deal.
Him--"I'll check tomorrow, 'k?"
Grumble, grumble. "Yeah, okay."

Couple days later. I think I've escaped the little beast because all is quiet. I sit down at my patio table and prepare to vege before I go attack this proposal due June 1.

"Hey, lady? TODAY do you want to be my friend?"

"I still have too many friends. Maybe check back with me next week..."

"Hey, lady! Does your tummy hang over your pants. My mommy says hers does because she eats too much food."

"Yeah, me too. Wanna know why mine does?"

"Why?"

"Because I eat A LOT of little boys " :)

LOLLOLLOLLOL

Ya think I've scarred him yet--or have I more work to do? I think I have more work. he digs me and thinks I'm funny.

Methinks no nude sunbathing, yes?

DC :)

The Big "Bangs" Theory

Okay, so if you didn't think I was loser enough already--wait until you hear my stalker, fangirl tale.

Truly, there aren't many people I get crazy over. Bary Manilow, John Cusack and that's about it. Now the exception to the rule are two authors. Authors who have crazy premises and a wild sense of humor.

I can remember first reading them after a sabbatical from romance and thinking, "Wow, romance novels have changed. No more nannies falling in love with their employers ect." Thank God :)

This would be when I found Nina Bangs and Sandra Hill. Nina wrote a book called Night Games and I'd found it on Alibris while I was looking for used books. I liked the cover. It was about a guy from the future who played not the typical Monday Night Football, but Monday Night Sex.

I rolled around on the floor over that concept and bought the book. When I was done with it, I bought anything else she had too. Like The Pleasure Master ect. Her ideas were so unique and quite honestly, when I'd read other romance novels, I'd change the story in my head to some whacky premise if I was bored. Her stories fit the bill for my vivid imagination.

Now remember, I'd never planned to write a word until it just happened, but thinking back on when I wrote a narcoleptic vamp, I remember thinking about Nina Bangs when I thought the concept was going to make everyone go, huh? And it paid off for me. Yeah, people still thought I was nuts, but in a good way. LOLLOL. With all the dark vamps going around in e-books at the time, I thought I'd be raked over the coals. However, the e-community has a HUGE sense of humor and for that and for the inspiration Nina gave me, I'll be forever grateful.

it set me on the path of "what if" a werewolf, who essentially looks like a dog, was locked up in the pound and needed adopting? That led to where I am now with Berkley. Writers like Nina and Sandra and MJD sorta paved the way for the crazier folk like me. Tee hee :)

So every time I'd come up with some new, nutty idea, I'd always refer to Nina and Sandra who had the guts to walk out on a very shaky limb with some pretty hilarious, far out ideas.

Just recently I found out that Nina is a part of Berkley and that meant we were now collegues. Totally blew my mind. Totally. I kept thinking, how fricken' strange is life that me, an ex BQ and housewife from Jersey, could be in the same realm as someone I'd admired for several years? Truly life is stranger than fiction.

Then I found out she was going to be at RT in Houston too... I was giddy. Yet, I'd promised myself and R, I wouldn't behave like a tard. R said, "Just say, I'm a big fan of your work when you meet her and walk away with some class."

Yeah, that's exactly how it went down.

Or NOT. LOLLOL

So all my buds know I'm sorta over the top excited about Nina being there and one day in particular, when she was doing panels, my friend Ter had had many "Nina sightings". I was just never in the right place at the right time to catch her. Ter would call me on the phone and I was on my way to a booksellers get together ect, ect.

But I figure it's okay--I'll see her at the book fair and stalk her, er talk to her there. However, as luck would have it, we're in the bar (where we spent a good portion of our time) and Ter nudges me and says, "There's Nina."

I'm verklempt, speechless (I know, me????), torn as to whether I should tackle her or just look on in reverant admiration. Ter says, "C'mon, let's go see her." I follow because I'm atwitter and I can't think straight.

So we're all skulking up behind her and the entire time I'm saying to Ter in a hushed whisper, "Be subtle", then nearly screeching, "OMG, it's Nina Bangs!" And I can't seem to get up the courage to stop her as she's walking toward valet parking. This is sooooooo not me, people. I'm a take the bull by the horns kinda girl, yes? But I see the end of my road is coming because she's all leaving if I don't catch her. So I finally just do it.

I tap her on the shoulder and say, "Miss Bangs?" After that it's a blur of "OMG--I love you and I write for Berkely now too and OMG, I'm rambling right?" More blurry stuff, pictures taken, me sobbing and squealing like a pig and more, "OMG--I'm rambling, right?" I remember meeting her very nice crit partner Gerry Bartlett (hope I spelled that right) who wrote Real Vampires Have Curves Too. I remember trying to maintain my composure while I stuck my hand out and introduced myself to her because, after all, I was accosting her friend.

I was the picture of refined.
All class.
Behaved like a reaaaallll lady.
OY.

However, Miss Bangs was definitely everything I was NOT. She took my crying, screaming, freaked-out-ed-ness like a champ. She hugged me. She took pictures with me. I think at one point she even gracefully untangled me from her hair or something. Because I got clingy--whatever... LOLLOL

Either way, she's a class act and when I saw her the next day at the book fair, she didn't even cringe. In fact, she mentioned meeting me in her newsletter and invited me to be her friend on MySpace. Ter grabbed her newest book for me and had her sign it. She signed it, "To my new favorite person Dakota." Do note, she left crazy OFF the person part. LOL

Like I said, one classy lady.

I have to say, aside from meeting my online friends in person, THIS was the highlight of my RT. To finally meet and behave like a blithering idiot in front of Nina Bangs was a huge thrill for me.

And now I'm going to drop her a note and offer to pay for her therapy :)

Dakota :)

I heart Jessica :)

and Ter
and Jaynie
and Renee
and Renee George
and Robin
and Michele Bardsley
and Jose
and Sheri
and Kate Douglas
and Angela Knight and her hunky hubba-hubba man
and the Nanchez (or Nancy with a Y)
and Tricia
and always, R

LOLLOLLOL

Hookay, so, RT 2007--First, We had a friggin' blast. I dunno if I've ever laughed as much as I did this year. Everything was centrally located, so we didn't have to travel far and wide like we did in Daytona. The food wasn't half bad at the hotel and the staff was pretty on top of stuff.

Okay, so I FINALLY meet Jaynie R. and Ter and her hubby Jose, who, without them, I probably would have left a lung behind somewhere in the bar because I distract easily. I was so excited to meet Jaynie, who's like one of my best buds online and Ter, who I only met a couple of months ago, but feel like I've known her forever.

We hung out, we laughed our asses off, they ran after me because I'm a total tard and wouldn't know what was what if not for them.

Oh, and did I ever make a coup!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This coup explains Jessica...

K, so we're in the bar (go figure) and I'm sitting with Ter and Michele Bardsley (go read her BOOK), and this wee, whirling dervish spins on in and plunks down next to Ter. She's perky and bubbly and cute as a blonde button. Now I knew she was a publicist for MJD because Ter had told me the day before. She's very friendly with everyone and seems to closely know all of the folks who are on MJD's fan group. She clearly can take a joke, cuz I was snarkin' Michele Bardsley whom I adore, but can be VERY EASY PREY. LOLLOLLOLLOL.

Soooooooooooo, I'm crackin' wise at Michele Bardsley because well, like I said, she's an easy crack (LOLLOL), and she whispers to me that she's just hired Jessica to do all her junk for her-- like mailing ARC's and getting stuff together and in general, running her life so she can do nothing but write.

I mouth to Michele, "HOW MUCH?" as in, do I have an extra kidney I can donate because I could REALLY use some help here. I'm new to this whole print thing and I have no clue what's expected of me. I need someone to take my hand and say "Go here." Michele gives me a smug look and says, "Ask her yourself." Sorta neener, neener, neener-like, ya know? LOLLOL

Now I'm all kinda nervous because I mean, she does work for MJD, not to mention they've been best buds since she was like 14 or something. She's probably very busy and really doesn't need some loser newbie sucking up her life-force. However, I figure, what can it hurt to ask? She can only mock me publicly, right? I can take that. I do it all the time to other's-- it's only fair I extend her the opportunity to do the same.

So I ask--got room for a pathetic newbie who needs help like Michael Jackson needs therapy? LOLLOL. No, I didn't say that, but I bounced some stuff off her and got a feel for what she does. Gawd, I don't know when she sleeps for all the stuff she does. However, I'm beyond impressed and I'm ALL IN. I want her. I want her like a new pair of shoes. No, wait, I want her like I want a new TIARA...

I didn't know how much I'd need her until the next day...

So Jessica is hired just on first impressions alone, but she saved my ASS at the book signing. I stroll on up to the ballroom to do my thang at exactly 10 sharp. Now, my CP editor called me because she'd had an asthma attack and she was going home, but that's okay because she checked after they'd told her I wasn't even listed for the book signing and made sure I'd have a space.

Er, NO. No space, no placard for my name, no nothin'. Now I'd said to Jaynie the night before, whaddya wanna bet I have no card with my name on it (this has happened before). So, Jaynie and Renee took it upon themselves to hand make me one. 'Twas divine and I think I shed a tear when I saw it :) it's going in my scrapbook.

Anyhoodles, I hear tell my books are in the cast off section of the ballroom, but it's cool, cuz I can work a corner. I have plenty of experience. LOLLOLLOL. I go to find them and again, NOTHIN'. Hookay, so I can just wander and meet some of my fav authors. No sweat, right?

Wellllllll, Ter finds me and has two of my books with her. I'm all like WTF? Where'd ya get those? She goes to find my, ahem, PUBLICIST, Jessica and tell her of my woes.

Like ten minutes later, I have my own TABLE, pens in every color of the rainbow, not one, but TWO placards and water. Bam--just like that. My books have been retreived from where ever the hell they went to and I'm sittin' pretty. bada-bing, bada-boom, baby!

All I gotta say is this--I heart Jessica like Batman loves Robin, cuz she RULES. I say, if you need a publicist who can do everything and do it with the speed of an Indy car, the grace of a gazelle all while she smiles that pretty smile...

HIRE JESSICA GROWETTE at JAG Promotions. She's the best kept secret in the romance writing industry.

So, all in all, I'd say I had a fantastic RT. I met loads of new people like The Nanchez, Tricia, and Jessica. Hung out with Ter who, if she doesn't pop in every twenty minutes and stand near me, I stop breathing without. Her husband, Jose or THE HOSE, who buys and supports authors without the blink of an eye. Michele Bardsley who turned me onto the charms of Jessica and is totally like the best to hangout with. Renee George, who needs a tarp to drink, but is just the sweetest thing evah and Jaynie, Renee and Robin who stuck closely to me and made sure I didn't have my underwear on outside my pants. LOLLOL

You chica's and one guy rule the planet!

DC :)

Thurday 13 #2

Again--the same disclaimer. I got nuthin'. I also don't know how to add to the URL thingy--but here I am. LMAO

13 Organs and or Limbs that have failed me now that age 40 has led a full on attack

1. My eyes--see last weeks bifocals. Sigh

.

2. My knees--once conduits for back flips and cartwheels to amaze and wow you, now crack and squeak every time I bend them.

3. My neck--God, it hurts all the bloody time--especially the right side of it--Ben Gay is my perfume of choice :)

4. My right elbow--I guess it's from leaning on the arm of my office chair, but it's often numb.

5. My toes--yeah, both big toes are ingrown and it sucks big, fat, man titties because it hurts to wear shoes that are not open toed :(

6. My bladder--I did say it had issues, yes? Well, I'm saying it again because this medication also sucks the above and I may not be hitting the bathroom as much, but I look like I should be because my tummy looks six months along. LOL

7. My left hip--is that an organ or limb? Either way, it's stiff a lot lately and I'm pretty flexible, but lately when I stretch to do those stupid Pilates, if I go too far--OY--I pay.

8. My fingers. They cramp and lock up on me. I'm like the claw. Snort.

9. My back. It hurts a lot lastely even when I just think about it hurting.

10. My boobs--yes, I know I'm lingering and bitter, but they ARE so organs. organs that once played a high note and now just hit a flat and out of tune C. What-the-hell-ever. LOL

11. My wrists--they get numb and sore from typing.

12. My ankles--they swell due to edema. So do my wrists and my face. I feel pretty.

13. My brain--once sharp as a razors edge, now can't even remember the name of my dogs food...

I'm too sexy

Snort.

yeah, that's what I was thinking tonight when R says, "Hey, Bun, wanna have a sleepover tomorrow night?" Meaning he'll come spend the night at my pad. Something we don't often do because I have sons who are clearly old enough to know we, ahem, ya know--but really need not to have the stereotypical "Mom's got a man" thrown in their faces.

Anyhoodles, I'm all like, snerk. I wiggle my eyebrows, bat my lashes coyly and say, "Somebody is in the mooooood. I could tell the moment you walked in tonight and gave me that extra long kiss and press of ze groin, riiiiiiigghhhhhht?" Insert girly giggle here.

R says, "Er actually, Mikey has to go to the vet Thursday really early (Mike is here with me until R gets his backyard taken care of so no bad animals come and snatch him up)--I thought it would be easier."

I
Am
A
Vixen
Yes?

LOLLOLLOLLOL

DC :)

Deal or no Deal

K, so R and I have been watching this in between the times when our stupid shows decide they need like a vacay after but two new espisodes.

For instance--Gray's Anatomy. Um, HELLO, people. What the hell is up with throwing me this chicken bone every three weeks or so because you actors need to slough your dead skin at some snazzy spa and can't possibly ACT this week? This damned show has been on hiatus more than it's been on this year. Who the frig said you could have a fall break? What about you and your nine-hundred bazillion dollars per episode doesn't make you want to show up every bloody day--even if you lose a limb? I can tell you, if it were me, and they were paying me what they pay you--I wouldn't hold my breath thinking Dakota can't do a one man show--cuz she'd do it for a lot less than you will.

The Ghost Whisperer--WTF???? you're all here in January, gone until the end of March. Don't dead people ALWAYS need your help? Could you just not find the right outfit to talk to the dead people? Do you think these people can wait until your eyebrows are plucked to find the "light"? Crimeny!

I just love when they advertise they're going to gift us with a new episode like somebody just passed out a lung. OY

I could go on and on... However, it just makes me insane--so I won't. I don't know what happened to the shows that used to work harder. Hawaii Five-O just offered their first season on DVD and it has TWENTY-EIGHT episodes. You could all take a hint from Book 'em, Dano!

So anyway, we've been catching this Deal or No Deal on and off to fill in while we wait for everyone with a hangnail to fix their boo-boo's and get the hell back to work. I'm not a lot bitter either. LOLLOL

So guess what? They're having auditons for it right here in Dallas. Guess who's going to try out?

Yep--me and R.

Wish us luck--cuz we're kinda not the best gamblers. In Vegas we did okay, but not quite what Jackpot Jim did. We kept joking it was a good thing we're lucky in lurve. LOLLOL

So I'm going to put on something cute and practice screaming and bouncing and being unique.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

DC :)

Thursday 13 #1

Yeah, I'm gonna give this a shot for lack of anything else to blog about. I got nuthin' these days that isn't work related and BOOOORING.

So with that in mind, and remembering I have no clue how to put the thingy in here for people to add their URL's saying they did Thursday 13 too--Here we go :)

13 Places I Sag On My Body

1. My eyelids--yeah, when I slap my eyeshadow on them it kinda gets stuck mid-eyelid and wrinkles. Crap.

2. My butt. It once was a pretty hot butt. Tight, pert, worthy of an occasional oogle--now it's flat and will soon be by the backs of my knees.

3. My right boob--hold on, I have two.

4. My left boob. Yes, indeedy. Gone are the days of going braless and Hooter-mania. They need TWO Vic Secret Embrace bras to achieve only HALF of the effect I had at say, 20. What-ever.

5. My abdomen--once a soft swell of flat surface you could chase a hockey puck over is now kinda a lump made worse by my bladder issues. See #6 for full explanation.

6. My bladder. yeah. I turned forty and hit the shit runnin'. I saw the doc, cuz if I don't hit the facilities at LEAST 25 times a day, I just don't feel whole. He gave me Detrol LA because my bladder is having sagging issues and has grown weak. The Detrol LA has a side effect better known as swelling. If I push my stomach out, I really can make it look like I'm a good six months along. Pretty--very, very pretty.

7. My thighs. Once a force to be reckoned with--able to crack small children's heads in a single Full Nelson are now experiencing the jigglies. Argh.

8. My hair. It just doesn't have the same kinda bounce it once had...

9. My eyeballs. I have bi-focals because I have seeing trouble near AND far. They're a thing of beauty--really.

10. My knees. I noticed a wrinkle the other day whilst busting my saggy ass gardening.

11. My arms. It won't be long before I can take off with a good, stiff breeze if I just click them twice...

12. My waist. It really was once between my hips and boobs. Now? Not so much :)

13. My hips. Indeed, I've found they should be right above your hoo-hah and attached somewhere around your abdomen. Fancy that.

DC :)

Jaci Burton's Wild, Wicked and Wanton :)

After much hostage negotiation, wherein I promised to show my ARC if she showed me hers, I nabbed an ARC of Wild Wicked and Wanton by Ms. Burton.

Yay me!

I don't often blog about anyones books because I don't get the chance to read as much as I'd like anymore with two teenage sons, a house the size of an amusement park, and a writing gig that's sucking up my eyeball's. LOL. However, when I saw Jaci was having an ARC contest I was all put out. I checked my e-mail and I checked it again...

Surely she'd just made a minor faux pas by not sending me the ARC, yes? I mean, how could she forget ME???

Well, she did. Forget me, that is. Like I never even existed... Nice, huh? LOLLOL

Anyhoodles, let me preface this by saying I told Jaci if I didn't like it I wouldn't blog about it, but I'd tell her privately.

Kudos to Jaci for telling me she could take it if I didn't like it and to blog anyway. I'd have done the same. In fact, when she reads my ARC, she can do the same.

So--my review.

Jesus effin'--this was REALLY hot. I mean like the kinda hot I was grateful to have a man for hot. Asbestos glove hot, even.

It's three naughty, fun stories about a bet between three girlfriends, in one big ol' package of well--naughty. My favorite was Blair's story. Her hero Rand was smokin'-licious. I had shivers a couple of times :) And that's all I'm tellin' ya. The rest you'll have to find out for yourself when you go BUY A COPY. It's available in May from Berkley.

Now, as an aside--I asked Jaci if my mother (71 year old erotic book reading 'ho) could read it too. The standard practice for my mom is this--if she reads a book from one of my friends, she dictates an e-mail to me for the author. Mom isn't terribly Internet savvy, though she'll read an e-book if we print it out. She sucks at e-mail and hates everything about it. However, she's done this with Kate Douglas and Angela Knight and several others on numerous occasions after sweating her Depends off upstairs in her room. Tee hee-I'm kidding, she doesn't wear Depends.

Jaci said sure and mom read it too. She'd already read Surviving Demon Island and loved it. Jaci was worried my mom might not take well to the erotic nature of ze book.

Silly, silly, silly. I had to explain that mom's an erotic book slut. She loves 'em all and doesn't bat an eyeball at the naughty words.

Mom's verdict?

She lurved it too and now has added Jaci to her auto-buy or auto-beg as I call it, because she begs me to let her see any ARC's I happen to come across. She always buys the book when it officially comes out, cuz she's just loyal like that. She even has a a list on a calendar so she won't forget.

Ahhhh, if only they could clone my mother, eh?

Anyway--go buy this book when it comes out next month. It was fun, fresh, and naughty, naughty, naughty. Weeeeeeeeeeee doggie!

DC :)

Dear youth of America,

QUIT VOTING FOR SANJAY!

Yes, he's cute in a fourteen year old kinda way. Yes, he's so sweet he's like Gummi bears stuck to your fillings. Yes, he reminds me of Mr. I've never felt the scalpel of a surgeon Jackson--and that's all well and good. I'm sure that's part of his appeal.

BUT...

The boy can't sang! Not well enough to keep up with the other people. Stop dialing with your hormones front and center, eh? Y'all are delusional if you think he stands a chance of winning against Melinda or Lakisha. personally, I think everyone should just GO HOME and let them duke it out.

So scurry on off to bed now. Stop playing with the phone, running up mom and dads phone bill and whatever you do--don't make Auntie Kota come and get you, cuz I'm tired, okay?

If I get up tomorrow and gear up to watch Idol, only to find you little heathens have voted for him again--there'll be hell to pay!

Don't make me ground you until Idol is over. LOLLOLLOLLOL

Grease coulda been your word

cuz we might have used it to lube you out of those jeans, honey. LOLLOL

Oh, that was soooooo mean, but--let me explain.

So tonight my kid had a chorus concert. Now, he participates UNWILLINGLY in this because in 6th grade he has no choice but to.

Me? I lurve it because most times I know all the songs he's singing and I'm ready to hit that. I also lurve that he hates it. Dude, we all gotta do what we don't want to do, I tell him. I feed you, don't I? Isn't that me out there making some kick-ass dinners for you and the beast you call brother? Er, yeah. I HATE to cook, but I do it. You hate to sing, but it's REQUIRED. Thus, a life lesson has ensued, right?

Anyhoodles--my kid's concert tonight was a HOOT. They sang, of all things, Grease songs. Ohhhhh, when I found out those were the songs--I put them on my I-pod and sang them while I cooked those life lesson dinners every night for a month.

Sooooooooo--tonight's the big night and I'm pumped, stoked, ready to do the wave. I was not ready for what happened next.

I sit behind this woman and at first, I have no clue what the people around me are giggling maniacally about.

And then, I drop my program and come face-to-face with the whitest, biggest piece o butt crack evah! Seriously, she rivaled any Draino engineer. Now, really, wouldn't you want to know if your ass was hanging out and everyone was making fun of you? I think sometimes, we tend to forget our age and I'm all about viv la difference--to each his own. HOWEVER, if you couldn't feel the draft of that--you were NUMB. LOL.

Everyone is laughing and I feel bad. I make a snap decision...

Soooooooooooo--I lean forward (after a Tic-Tac, mind you) and whisper to her--you might want to give that sweater, which, btw is TOTALLY IN your color wheel, a tug DOWNWARD. Because I can see your hiney and I know if it were me, I'd want someone to tell me. She turns many shades of crimson and thanks me, but I get the feeling she isn't really grateful. However, if she knew how everyone was laughing--she send me tiaras for a year.

So--they sing and I gotta say, my kid don't screw around. he's an A+ student and grades mean everything to him--if, by God, there's an A to be had, he wants it. When he got up there, in the last row cuz he's tall for his age, he greased anything he could touch like John Travolta had possessed him. LOLLOL

He was SO into you're the one that I want, I thought we might have to offer him a hankie to wipe his brow. LMAO

Oddly, today I got a note in the mail from his chorus teacher. She says he shows great promise and musical talent and she wants him back next year. Now, I look at this thing and think--you ain't talkin about MY kid. I don't want to Simon Cowell him, but he couldn't hold a note if you put it in his lunch bag.

Seriously--he's THAT bad and I'm a firm believer in being honest about it. I don't want him headin' off to like American Idol and having him come back after they've wiped the floor with him and saying--why didn't you tell me?

Kid can't sing--period. LOLLOLLOLLOL.

So I figure they need to keep kids in the program to keep the program. Some schools want to cut music altogether--which I think sucks, but I also don't think we should LIE to them and make them think they have a shot at singing when they CAN'T sing.

And my kid CAN'T sing. he gets a big fat A for effort and doing the Hand Jive like a pro--but he CAN'T sing. So I tell him about the note and he snorts. I snort too. I ask if he wants to go on to next year and he says, yeah--it's an easy A and I don't really sing anyway. I mouth the words and do AWESOME hand gestures.

ROFLMAO

DC :)