Vlapped!

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I’ve been vlapped! No once, but twice.

It happened this weekend. We had a family birthday party, and one of the guests, a 3 month old baby, was giving his parents a hard time. I could tell the parents were upset and tense (they are new parents and haven’t had him out after his bedtime before), so I offered to walk him a bit to calm him. I wanted to give the new parents an opportunity to enjoy the party and regain their cool.

I knew I could help, since I’d had plenty of practice with my own 4 children, nieces, nephews, neighbors, etc. I’m a pro at keeping the tension out of my body, which is key for calming irrate babies. A baby always knows if the person holding him is stressed.

Vlap! The father of the child told me that I would not be capable of helping. (Even though I’ve successfully managed to soothe multiple babies, multiple times.)

Okay, I thought. I’ll just back off. I’m sure this man who has been a father for all of three months knows loads more than I do about handling babies. I only have a mere 23 + years of experience.

The party continued, and the parents were unable to participate. After about an hour the baby was calm, but not asleep. I asked the mother if she wanted me to hold the little tike so she could socialize for a bit.

Vlap! The mother of the child told me I would not be capable of helping.

So there you have it, two vlaps in one party.

What? You have never heard the term ‘vlap’ before? It is a term I picked up from the Jupiterians–it means virtual slap. It is used all the time on Jupiter.

I like the term.

And in case you are wondering, a vlap hurts like the dickens–just like a slap.

Ouch!

Half-way done!

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Success! (Or at least, half success!)

This morning I reached the halfway mark. I am now officially halfway finished with the last rewrites I need to do of the DTA. I was beginning to feel I’d never get here.

So much for finishing them all before the end of summer.

I don’t understand what has slowed me down so much, but every time I start work the phone rings, or the dog barks, or my computer won’t work, or something else happens to keep me from progressing like I should.

Giggles? Do I hear giggles? Jupiterians, are you here?

What do you mean, you hope I liked your jokes? What jokes?

You were the ones who called me on the phone and hung up as soon as I answered? You made the dog bark? You made my computer suddenly shut down? Why?

I see. They were great jokes. I can tell you really have enjoyed the pranks you’ve pulled.

What is that? They weren’t just pranks, they were for my own good? How so?

Well I appreciate your concern, but I really don’t see how getting the manuscript finished sooner rather than later will hurt anything.

You want to make sure I don’t publish until next year? Well there is no fear of that now. But why will 2010 be a better year than 2009?

You say it is because of 20 divided by 10. And what exactly does 20 divided by 10 mean to you?

Yes, well, it is 2 for me too.

Laugh away, Jupiterians. Laugh away.

It must be a cultural thing.

Pepper-before and after

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Don’t tell Pepper, but I managed to get a picture of her. She is so camera shy. You would think I was a member of the paparazzi, and she was an over-worked movie star.

But before I show her new do, let me remind you of her old one. Note the dry grass. With her old fur cut, Pepper and dry grass were like the two connecting pieces of velcro. And just as hard to separate!
Pepper-dirt
Since Pepper’s visit to the salon I haven’t had to de-velcro her a single time.

Here is what she looks like now (otherwise known as AFTER):

Pepper-groomed

Much better, don’t you think!

A dog, a plan, and some clippers

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The price for Behold the Eye trilogy has been lowered! Thanks for the new lowered price belongs to…

Pepper, the Wonder Dog!
Why do I call her a Wonder Dog? Well, she was getting so shaggy she looked like a little brown bear, and I had begun to wonder if she was really a dog.

You see, I’ve wanted to get Pepper’s fur styled for a while, but she didn’t want it, and she is from a stubborn breed. She let me know in no uncertain terms that she liked her fur long, curly, and matted.

I can’t say I blame her. I also remember the fiasco that occurred the last time I took her for a fur cut. She left the pet salon scalped and humiliated. She looked like a naked mole-rat instead of a Schnoodle. She was embarrassed, and I was embarrassed for her.

So I had to be sneaky, which was okay since I had a plan. First I watched a few dog breed competitions on TV with Pepper, and I commented on how silly the shaggy dogs looked, and how great the groomed dogs appeared. I kept up my commentary throughout each entire show.

I noticed Pepper looking in my direction several times, which encouraged me to hope that my words were having the desired effect. (Although I must admit that due to the overgrowth of hair I was unable to read Pepper’s expression, and she might just have been irritated that I was talking during her shows.)

When I felt we had watched enough pampered pet shows I put the rest of my plan into action. I laughed loudly at one well groomed dog told Pepper that understood why she wouldn’t go in for a fur trim, that I bet she would hate to have such a stylish haircut.

Pepper just looked at me for a moment and looked away.

I asked what was wrong, and as she looked at me through her shaggy dredlocks I could tell she was ready for a change. So I told her that if she would gather up enough courage to trust someone near her with shears, I would gather the courage to go to bat with my publishers to get the price of my books lowered.

All is well that ends well.

Pepper is still camera shy, but if I get the chance I’ll post her new stylish do!

An answer to a prayer

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Today is my first day unemployed.

I once wrote a short story with the moral “be careful what you ask for because you might get it.” Maybe, just maybe, I should have listened to my own advice.

I’ve felt for a while that it was time for a change, but I was afraid. I didn’t know what kind of change I needed, what I should do to improve things. So I prayed for guidance, for a clear message that would let me know what my next step in life should be.

The next thing I knew, I was told that my position as Head Librarian in the school was being cut, and I was out of a job.

Gulp!

Message heard loud and clear: I had outlived my time at the BC school.

But what next? What kind of job should I look for? Where was I best suited.

Gulp again! I’ve applied for over 50 jobs this summer, with nary a bite. Another message heard loud and clear. I need to start my own business.

The time has come to stand on my own two feet. To be my own boss. To join the world of business owners.

Time for the next adventure.

Confusion untamed

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I’m confused.
I’m flabbergasted.
I’m, well…I’m puzzled, perplexed, mystified, befuddled, bewildered, and baffled.

I just don’t understand what is happening on the air waves today (or now that so much is digital, I probably should say cable waves). First there was the normalizing of language that makes me blush. This language has never found a place in my mouth, yet I cannot stop it from bombarding my ears. And now…

Last night I heard the following sentence: “I need to make sure the bookcases are functionalability.” ‘Functionalability’? Why the ‘ability’? Why not good old ‘functional’?

I had heard this same man use ‘functionalability’ several times before, but each time I assumed I had heard wrong. Unfortunately, I had not.

What is happening? Is it bad education, bad memory, or, or, or…

Eeeeeek!
We’re being attacked, I just know it! What better way to weaken a country than to break down communication. And what better way to break down communication than to create multiple subgroups with totally different vocabularies.

I can see it now. Within a few years, popular music afficionados will hold long conversations with each other that sound a little like: “Have you seen bleep bleep bleep bleep? Bleep ate all the Cheerios bleep bleep bleep. I need to go to the bleep store and bleep bleep bleep buy groceries.” (excuse the bleeps, I don’t say those kinds of words)

While those who take a more homey approach will say to each other: “I flipped it with functionalability and styleousness, so my houseability reached mountaineous proportions. I think it’s because of the vertacalability of my clothes.”

I cringe at the next step taken by the perpetrators of this dastardly deed. What will they do? What is in store for our national vocabulary, which is being disintegrated one misused word at a time.

We must save ourselves! Rise up citizens, protect your mouths and your minds!
Read a dictionary!

Vocabulability

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Reality TV is great, isn’t it.

It is especially great for enriching our vocabularies. Since I’ve begun to watch HGTV, TLC, BRAVO, and the Food Network, I’ve heard words the likes of which I never knew existed. Words that are so new the dictionaries don’t even recognize them as words yet.

Take for example one of my favorites verticalability – which seems to apply to fabric that creates a long, lean look by making the eye move up and down rather than side to side.

So I’ll keep watching the shows, and I’ll keep adding to my list of new words, because hey, I want to have the best vocabulability I can possibly have!

Bachelor for a season (and a reason)

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Most people can’t hide their true characters for any extended length of time—Jason Mesnick certainly couldn’t.

Oh, I’ll admit that in the beginning, he had me fooled just like everyone else. I saw in him what so many others saw, a clean-cut, successful, fun-loving, eligible bachelor. I wondered how he was holding up after the heartbreak he endured when he was rejected by DeAnna. I pitied him, having to rear his poor, motherless three year old son by himself. I wanted him to find happiness.

Again and again, I thought, “Poor man! All he wants is to find a good woman to make his family whole again. A woman who will be a loving mother to his cute little son, Ty.”

By the third episode The Bachelor had become a family event. All activity halted as we watched Jason struggle to uncover the true personalities of each of the 25 bachelorettes while maintaining a decorous distance. It was a difficult task, to keep the girls from throwing themselves at his feet, but he handled himself very well as he pruned away those he knew had no chance of becoming his own true love.

Immediately after the end of the show the phone calls would begin. “Can you believe how that girl acted?” “How can those girls be so desperate, don’t they have any pride?” “Poor Jason, having to put up with that kind of behavior!”

Yes, all we could think about was poor Jason. He was a man in a million, a glowing example of how we women wanted the men in our lives to act.

But as I said before, a person’s character can only remain hidden for a limited amount of time. Jason’s true colors showed as soon as Molly, Melissa, and Jillian had been given their roses, and all the other bachelorettes had been booted from the building.

I don’t know what happened. Maybe a strange wind blew in from the wrong direction bringing with it pollen from the Nasty tree. Maybe there was a full moon, and Jason decided he needed to howl.

All I knew was that suddenly, I no longer felt sorry for Jason—my pity had transferred to the girls. Or maybe I was just embarrassed for them.

What kind of respectable man made out with multiple girls on national TV, one right after the other? He said that he wanted to marry one of these girls, yet he viewed each with equal lustfulness.

Had he no shame? Did he not know the meaning of respect?

I began to wonder about his ex-wife. What exactly had broken up their marriage? Was he really only concerned about his son, as he said?

By the last show, I really wasn’t surprised when Jason dumped Melissa for Molly. I now viewed Jason with disgust; and his actions validated my belief that he was the type of guy who would ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’.

I was, however, momentarily surprised that Molly would take him back. Until I remembered that this seemingly sweet, confident girl had subjected herself to the humiliation of dating on national television.

Come to think of it—they were the perfect couple. They deserved each other.

Chapter 7 woes

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I was working on my rewrites this morning when I discovered that I had somehow neglected to ‘really’ write Chapter 7.

Not that there are no words, there are plenty of words. It is evident what happens. But it is just raw dialog with no details, no frills, no…anything! How could I have overlooked an entire chapter?

Well…to be honest, I know how I neglected an entire chapter. I originally wrote Chapter 7 before I had decided exactly how I was going to handle my character’s time in the future. Chapter 7 is the character’s first run-in with time travel.

I wish I was able to buckle down and spend some quality time, but life keeps getting in the way. But I will finish by the end of summer. I will! I will!

It’s a heat wave!

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It’s 102 degrees outside. It’s a heat wave! Love it!

Inside my house is pleasant, but I must admit that outside is rather hot. So hot that my usually outdoorsy dog, Pepper, won’t set a foot outside unless it is absolutely necessary.

If anyone is brave enough to open the front door Pepper’s natural curiosity makes her get up to investigate. But she doesn’t get any further than sticking her nose out of the door. I guess her curiosity is like coconut butter–it just melts away in the heat.

She is spending her day moving from cool spot of floor to cool spot of floor. I can’t say I blame her. She is, after all, covered from head to foot with thick black fur.

My husband, on the other hand, I don’t understand. He began to complain of the heat early in the day, while I still felt a tad chilled. What will he do if he needs to go outside for some reason?

Anyway, it is nice to not be cold for a change. I think I’ll enjoy the heat wave while I can. From inside the house, of course. Where it is bearable!