Look at what the bookstore drug in

I've always written, and always wanted to be an author. Well not always. When I was nine I wanted to be a jockey and when I was ten I wanted to marry Steve Sax, the short stop for the Los Angeles Dodgers. It was when I grew older that I really wanted to write. But I digress.

Yesterday or should I say this morning around 1:30 I opened my email to find out my first book has been released to the public. Not the great fan fair I had always dreamed of, but it's still awesome! I'm still in shock, very excited and completely stunned.

I didn't know how much work went into being an author. I thought you get published, people buy your books, you go on Oprah, movie deals start coming in.

Yeah, right.

Turns out I have a lot more to do besides write another book. Publishing companies, it seems no longer have the large marking/advertising funds they used to sell their authors. Now the tide seems to be the author for the most part is left to promote themselves.

Yikes!

I have to talk to people? Schmooze and hobnob?

I don't like people, that's why I write. People scare me. I could be introduced to someone and the entire time they're talking, I'm panicking over what I'm going to say when they're done. Once they're done speaking and their eyes focus back to me, I'm like a deer in headlights. gulp.
I try to remember what they were taking about in hopes of adding some clever quip or some witty remarks that makes the person glad they sought me out. But all that happens is a mantra begins playing in my head- Just don't burp, just don't burp, thank God I cut my toenails...

If I wanted to do meet and greets, I'd have become a public speaker for God sakes!

I'm going to be alright. It's going to be fine. I'll smile and be myself and the crowds will go nuts.

Now I'll I have to do is sell a copy.

Do eyebrows grow back?

Somethings I just let go. I know I shouldn't, but I do. Getting my hair cut is one of them. I finally make an appointment and go in. It's not like I have a long way to travel. It's down the freakin block. Jeesh. Anyway, I go in and the place is deserted. It's almost 5:30, so it's understandable. "The Woman" leads me back to the chair, this small talk tone to her voice that says "damn, I was hoping you wouldn't show up." At that moment, the overly long hairs on the back of my neck stood up and screamed.

She washes my hair, asking me how I've been. I can tell she doesn't have a clue who I am either. Normally I love this part because it's relaxing. Nope. Her ring got stuck in my hair and she yanked it out. She goes on talking, not hearing my tiny yelp or the noticing the tears in my eyes. Now it's time to make the way over to her station. She walks behind me or shuffles rather. I actually turned and looked down because it sounded like she was wearing old lady house slippers.

I sit down and she begins to comb it. "How do you want it?"

"It needs to be trimmed, so take about two inches off the bottom and trim up the layers."

I'm okay with silence. It doesn't bother me to sit and not say anything. I'm in there to be kind of pampered so I want it to be relaxing. Apparently she doesn't like silence.
Any vacations this summer?

I answered no. I asked her the same.

"Yes, we just came back from Vegas. I lost, don't ask. But it's not as bad as the last time I went to Vegas. Nothing can be that bad."

Okay, that's like a book blurb on the back jacket. I'll bite. "Why, what happened?"

She's begins cutting. "We were in a horrible car accident and my mom died."

Oh jeesh... So much for relaxing. She proceeds to tell me every detail right down to her sisters arm hanging by a tendon. What is it about me that attracts stories like this?

After she pauses, I ask her. Wow, when did this happen? I'm thinking last year from the way she's talking.

"Five years ago."

Okay, maybe it was the anniversary of the accident that prompted her to bring it up, but talk about a downer. I don't have a rash on my butt right now, but would you like to hear about when I did?

She continues, cutting my hair with that sissor slide thing. I made the mistake by telling her I work for a pain doctor. Oh man, she's got pain! Leg pain, arm pain, knee and elbow pain. And every once in a while she gets a shooting pain that goes from her right big toe to her pelvis. What's all that about, she asks.

"I don't know, maybe you should go to the doctor?"

She turns on the blow dryer and shouts over it. "And I'm so depressed! I have strange thoughts about things....people."

Oh god! Why did I have to ask for a brow waxing.

So, I lay on the table in the back room and she gets out the hot wax. Now, I've had my brows done for years, I know the protocol. First one eye. Rip! Maybe quick more little spots around the nose and then the tweeze clean up.
Nope.

She does the other eye Rip. And then heads for the door.

"Ah, can I see?"

Oh yeah. She hands me the mirror. Both brows are a half moon over my eyes, this pink skinned arch of question. I ask her to straightened them out, make them more thin on the ends. She looks at me like she's never had that request before. The attitude, is okay, whatever! She does one and hands me the mirror. Not wanting to be a bitch and hoping eye brows grow back, I hand her back the mirror. "Nice, thank you."

She starts to leave toward the door.

I ask, Can I have the other one to match?"

"Oh, you want the other one too? I was wondering why you were just laying there."

Don't eye brows come in a pair and don't most people want them to match? Now I remembered why I forgot to make my hair appointment!

God hates me

I've always heard that God has a sense of humor. He has to right, I mean, look at the Aardvark, the Ant Eater, Nancy Polosi. But my husband and I have noticed as of late that our lives are filled with little 'gag gifts' from up above. Any extra money we get and plan to save. Nope. The refridgerator suddenly dies, or the toilet blows up with me on it. And let me tell you, to remove porcelin from your butt is no small medical bill.

My husband's favorite saying is "God hates me." I try to be positive by not agreeing, pointing out why He might feel our carpet needed to be flooded with outside sewer water. And trying to smile as I say "and wasn't it wonderful that the exact amount of money in our Europe fund will cover to replace it!"

Now, once again God cracked a joke. Oh, I hope he's laughing, because I'm not.
Our 13th wedding anniversary was planned out right down to the slinkly little outfit that I was going to wear. We had our dinner, movie, our dance music, everything planned in anticipation. And then BAM without prewarning boob aches or those nasty back pains, I got my period THAT morning. Not only was it "Ha, you're screwed for any sexual enjoyment tonight, but it was a bad one. Four motrin and it hadn't Begin to cut it bad.

Maybe my husband's right. Maybe the year had something to do with it. 13th. Or maybe God likes a good joke and I'm his favorite buddy! Which ever one, pass the damn chocolate!

Questionable Meat

My hubby just bbq'd me a cheese burger with meat that was on the edge. His clever use of sauces made me forget the meat was questionable and could leave me clenching my butt cheeks not to mention moaning the night away.

We stood in the kitchen staring at the two last patties from our get together where we had friends come over to enjoy our tiny but fun patio (Last friday.) trying to decide if it was okay. First he smelled it, shrugged, then I smelled it. Then we looked at each other. It still had some pink through it so I tossed causion to the wind and said "What the hell," and grabbed a couple of buns.

As with all his grilling, the patty turned out perfect.

The day was a good one. The air conditioner in the office was fixed and now I had to deal with people complaining that the air was blasting down on them. "Can you turn the air down? I'm freezing."

I didn't want to say anything, but I thought it felt like a meat locker too.

Oh no...the stomach is girgling! So much for our bold adventure.

Some people!

I'm not particularly a patient person. Someone at any given time is usually on my last nerve. As I get older though and have suffered the loss of family and friends, I think I'm starting to mellow and as they say, I'm stopping to smell the roses.

Well, actually today the fragrance was more like B.O. The air conditioning broke in our building so the whole left side of this medical office was stagnate and hot. We're on the second floor with no windows and two doors that open up the hallway. And a full day of elderly patients.

The day started out fine. I'm thinking, okay, it's not bad, I can handle this. But by 10:00 I was done. By noon the doc was an hour behind. Odd thing was, the patients were okay. They waved magazines and told stories to each other about the hottest day they could remember. Topping each other with the greatest heat wave. "This is nothing! I remember one time..."
I tried not to be grim though my computer was slow, the phones busy and lines of sweat trickled down my back and down my butt crack.

It didn't take me long to realize that the patients came out from seeing the doctor with the same cheerfulness, thanking us and sending good wishes our way that the air came on soon. Despite their pain, they were thinking of us having to stay all day. Okay, they were probably happy that they would soon be out of the humid office and into that nice dry So Cal heat. But still! We started to smile and joke with the patients.

And then She came in.

This old lady is sarcastic, bitter, complaining, ugly and has a twitching hairless wart on her snarling upper lip. Every time she comes in she's bitching about something. Widow my ass. Her husband isn't dead, he's in hiding! And this time, oh joy, she brought her daughter! Man, if I were this girl, I would have been pissed that I didn't looked like the mail man.

The offspring had the same odd colored mole, hair the color of a badly rusting bumper of a 72 Ford Pinto and low and behold the same wonderful disposition. She knows the air is out in the building and she complains about how long it's taking, why is it so hot? Why don't they offer us something to drink? Why didn't they call us to cancel...blah blah blah. I hear her and call her up to the front desk. I'm blotting the perspiration from the back of my neck as I ask her if she would like to change her appt. She looks at me like I just leaned over and licked her face.

"Why would I do that?"

I tell her I can hear that she's unhappy. The woman looks at me and tries to give me this innocent look and says she doesn't know what I'm talking about. Whatever!

The day, despite what we've had to deal with, has been a good one for the most part. The doctor hasn't given us any trouble, which is rare.

That is... until he sees Her.

It isn't long before I get a pop up message on my computer from the doctor, with her file name complaining about the schedule and I must have scheduled wrong because he's so behind. A half an hour phone chat with another doctor and a twenty meeting with a rep had nothing to do with it. No, this lady is back there complaining about the heat and why don't we do something about it. I wanted to rip her bufont wig off and fan her with it!

Why is it some people are just unhappy? How do they get through life living only to rain on someone elses parade?

Who am I?

Well, I'm not that interesting to be honest, but the people I love are. So, I've decided to watch, learn and laugh.

Humor has always been important to me. Growing up the youngest girl with two older practical joke playing brothers would have been a nightmare had I not learned very early on to laugh at myself. It's not always easy, but occasionally I'll catch myself in mid temper tantrum and realize I look and sound like an idiot. It's okay for me to laugh, but God help the moran who attempts to point out how stupid I sound.

As I said before, I'm the youngest. Though I live several hundred miles away from my parents, I try to visit them as often as possible. The main reason is they're really cool to be around, but mostly because they're both in the mid 80's and they need help. My father, who I affectionately call Poops, is deaf and my mother is almost blind. Interesting huh? They've been married 63 years.

I'm computer illiterate, but thank God I was smart enough to marry a geek. I love my geek! He's my best friend and someone I admire greatly. But that's another story. I love to write, hense this sight. I've written fiction all of my life but too scared to send it out. I've published a few short stories and have several novels in the works. After several years of bitching about it, I realize that I really do like my job. I'm a medical secretary for a Pain Doctor. That doesn't keep me from bitching though to everyone who will listen.

Fireworks

Was I sleeping when the patriotism went out of the 4th of July? I know it's red, white and blue and all the flags come out but isn't this the day when we're suppose to watch fireworks and celebrate our country and what it is to be an American?

Why then do they play songs from Miley Cyrus when the fireworks start? Whatever happen to George M Cohan songs? I've asked people this question and no one seems to notice the change. I went to a Padre game for the 4th last year and kicked back and watched the blazing sky light up to such tear jerking tunes as Summer Loving from Grease.

We're at war, our soldiers are dying for the very day we're celebrating. Would it hurt the politically correct Gods of Fireworks to play God Bless America? Oh, that's right, we can't say God. Okay, I'd settle for Your A Grand Old Flag. But no. Instead they blast some country song about a back front porch swing.

I was so annoyed by this that this year I watched the Boston Pops celebration on T.V. I thought for sure they would do some big fife and drum presentation. I mean, this is Boston Mass. one of the original 13 colonies! I was wrong. But I shouldn't complain, I mean after all they did squeeze in a few minutes of the hour show to give us old folks a patriotic medley.