Boys

I live with three boys.  Now, boys are great.  They are very handy to have around when opening pickle jars, getting mixing bowls down from very high shelves, and figuring out what that weird noise coming from your car is.   I love boys, my boys in particular.

But boys suck at cleaning.

Ever since we moved in to our new place, somehow I have become the default housekeeper.  Mostly because I am the only one that sees dirt.  Seriously, I think the Y chromosome somehow fogs male eyes so they cannot actually see dirt.  In the four months since we’ve lived here, a boy has cleaned a bathroom a total of 1 times - and that’s only because I forced him to.

So, five weeks ago, I went on strike.  I was not cleaning anymore!  I would use seat protectors and wear flip flops in the shower before I cleaned another bathroom.  It was someone else’s turn, and I could wait them out.

Obviously, no one cleaned that week.

So, four weeks ago I wrote in red pen on the big whiteboard in our kitchen: Sunday cleaning day!

Sunday came… and went.  Guess who ended up cleaning the bathrooms again? Yeah, turns out I couldn't wait them out.  I have a low ick threshold.  Way lower than a boy's.

The next week, I took a slightly less subtle approach to getting someone else to clean.  I wrote on the white board:

I’m not in a terrible rush
But it would be nice to flush
A toilet that’s clean
If you know what I mean
So who’s gonna pick up a brush?

Despite my cleverness, nothing was cleaned.  No one appreciated my poetry.  Uncultured slobs. (Can you tell I was getting a little peeved at this point?)

The next week, I stepped it up a notch.  Shakespeare:

 
To be cleaned or not to be cleaned
That is the question
Whether tis nobler in the bathroom to suffer
The mold and mildew of a thousand showers
Or to take up Tilex against a sea of grime
And by scrubbing end them?
To sparkle, perchance to smell fresh
Ay, there’s the scrub
For in that cleanliness of tile what showers may come
When we have showered off our mortal soil.


I thought this would at least get a comment.  A smile.  A confused look from my ten year old… nope.  Nothing. (Okay, I might have gotten a ten-year-old eye roll, but nothing got cleaned.)

But..

The next day, guess what appeared in the bathroom?  No, not sparkling countertops and a mildew free shower.  This showed up on the bathroom counter:

In answer to my pleas for cleaning help, The Man had bought an automatic shower cleaner.  I laughed so hard I almost cried. 

The sad part?  I still don’t think anyone’s pushed the button yet. 


~Trigger Happy Halliday

Floods, flowers, and not-so-funny business

It's spring. It's June. That must mean I should have had my ark built by now. Oops. Alas. Noah was a much wiser soul than me. However, I fought the flooding once again--and lived to tell about it. Here's the scene. Saturday morning. Way early. I hear the pummeling sound of heavy rain beat against my window. Lightning flashed. Thunder roared. I jumed out of bed and ran to the top of the stairs leading to the basement, held my breath, and turned on the light. I took a peek. Sigh of relief. The basement was dry. Whoo. Dodged that bullet, baby.

With the rain coming down in heavy, sideways sheets, I decide to go down and check the floor drains to be sure. One. Two. Three. Dry. Dry. Dry. I move into the room where the triplets' college stuff is stored for the summer and notice a small wet area along the wall. No big deal. I get the Shop-Vac out and start to suck the water up. I'm getting it cleaned up when my sleepy-eyed son comes down to investigate the noise. I tell him it's fine, just a little water from the window well. No big deal.

Several seconds later I hear those infamous words: "Mom. You better see this."

Not the kind of words that promote peace of mind or serene contemplation.

I follow him into the downstairs bathroom and discover water pouring in from the shower drain. As I stare at the rising water, I hear a weird sound and turn to see a mini geyser shooting out of the bolt that is supposed to secure the toilet to the floor. My son runs to check the other floor drains at opposite ends of the basement. Water. Water. And more water.

I grab the sump pump, shove it into the shower, attach the hose, and with the kid's help, get it pumping water out the hose down the front driveway. Meanwhile, the water is up to our ankles. I call around to get a second sump pump, run and pick it up, purchase a 16 gallon Shop Vac to go with my 12 gallon one and run back home, set the second pump up, and begin sucking water up with the Shop Vac. Water kept coming into the basement through the floor drains and toilet base until four-thirty Saturday night. You can imagine what my Sunday was like.

And all because of a 4-inch rain that came in less than two hours. Since June 1st we've had close to 10 inches of rain.

The basement is drying out.

Today the insurance claim's adjuster came. Nice guy. Like law enforcement officers, I imagine he doesn't get to see people at their best.

The downside of the flood? That's obvious by now. But what about an up-side?

All this precip is great for my vegetable and flower gardens. Here are a couple pics of my 'greenery'. One of my tiny zucchini blooms, itty-bitty Roma tomaters and a flower bed.





I guess I must acknowledge the truth in the idea if you look hard enough--you'll find a positive in most negatives.


However, I'm still looking for positives in my agent search as I await responses from agents who requested material. My mantra has become 'patience is a virtue'. At the same time, I'm getting ready to widen my net.


Hoping your weather is boring and uneventful and that you all have a fabulous Father's Day this coming Sunday. Happy Father's Day to my very own, 'Daddy Buck' who celebrated his 83rd birthday last Sunday. Luv ya!



~Bullet Hole~

I Just Called...To Say...Where's My Stuff, Mom?

This picture was taken by my friend, Todd Welvaert at the local Menards at Xmas time. Some employee there has a sense of humor - which is awesome. It has nothing to do with today's blog.

My mom used to complain, back in the '70's and then '80's, that my sister and I called her too much at work. I remember thinking A) we are her children and our voices bring rainbows and unicorns to her oppressive day, and B) Jenny started it.

I finally get it. Oh, the folks at my day job may not realize it because technology has evolved beyond the landline to texting on the cell. But my kids text me CONSTANTLY. My co-workers hear me swearing violently in the next room and probably think I'm having trouble with Photoshop or finding the right euphemism for "elder abuse." But they would be wrong, because A) my children's endless messages are not inspirational texts of love and joy, and B) Jack started it.

Here is an example of yesterday afternoon's texting:

Jack: Wheres my cell charger?

Me: I don't know. I'm at work. Look for it.

Jack: Where did u see it last?

Me: I didn't use it last. Seriously, I'm working here. Ask Dad.

Jack: This is Meg. My phone is dead so I'm using Jacks. Dad said he was busy.

Me: So am I. I'm at work.

Jack: Where do u think it is? It charges both phones.

Me: I think it's within 30 feet of you somewhere. Look for it and stop texting me.

Jack: If u were looking for it, where would u look?

Me: (not answering in hopes they'll go away and I can finish this damned newsletter)

Jack: Mom?

Jack: Mom?

Jack: Mom?

Jack: Mom?

Jack: Hello?

Jack: This is Meg. Helloooooo?

Me: Really?

Jack: Wheres my charger?

Me: I'm 2 miles away and can't see from here. Now stop it and leave me alone or I'll think of something really bad to do to you when I get home.

Jack: My phone's gonna die!

Me: You're gonna die if you don't stop texting me.

Jack: U r our mom. Ur sposed to be worried 4 our safety.

Me: No, I'm "sposed" to be working...bringing home a paycheck so you can have a nice birthday next week...a birthday you won't enjoy so much IF YOU ARE DEAD.

(Insert 10 minute pause here)

Jack: I'll just ask dad again. Bye.


The Assassin

If You Can't Say Something Nice . . .

Another contest! Pop over to http://wildwickedwacky.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Shut Up an Kiss Me or a copy of Wild, Wicked & Wanton: 101 Way to Love Like You are In a Romance Novel. Contest doesn't end until June 17th.

Winner! And Winners! (Because it was such a big showing of people I'm giving away five second places.)
THE WINNER OF THE BASKET IS LAURIE SMITH. THE FIVE SECOND PLACE WINNERS: Susanhatler, tetewa, crystalGB, Scorpio, Baileythebookworm. YOU CAN CHOOSE ANY DORCHESTER BOOK FROM MY BACK LIST, OR AN ARC OF WILD, WICKED & WANTON: 101 WAYS TO LOVE LIKE YOU ARE IN A ROMANCE NOVEL. PLEASE EMAIL ME AT Christie ( at) Christie-Craig.com with your snail mail addresses and your choices of books.

***Please join me today at:

BookEnds to read my article, Five Pieces of Writing Advice that I'm Glad I Didn't Take and Romance Writers Revenge. to read my article on The Ins and Outs, and Pros and Cons, of Writing Secondary Characters who aren't so Secondary where one commenter will receive an autographed copy of Shut Up and Kiss Me***

I heard it a lot growing up. It was my grandmother’s motto. “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nuttn’ at all.” And I’ll be honest with you, Grandma’s advice and bits of wisdom were usually right on. I took her counsel to heart. So I spent a lot of my early years, not saying much, biting my lips, burying the truth behind a sweet smile, and by golly, I wouldn’t be caught dead complaining or whining.

If my steak was tough, I’d choke it down anyway. If Aunt Evelyn asked if that orange fall-fashion dress made her look like Two Ton Sally, I’d deny it. Not that it was an out and out lie. That dress made her look like a three-ton Sally wearing a Halloween tablecloth. The pumpkin literally winked at you as it got caught in her hindquarters as she walked. Then it happened. The world changed. And no, it really didn’t have anything to do with Aunt Evelyn or her hindquarters.

Suddenly, it was viewed unhealthy not to speak up, not to unload your stresses and tell people the honest to goodness truth. The hell with the consequences, getting things off your chest was heart healthy. Oh, and whining was not considered a bad thing, it was like vegetables, everybody needed to learn to like it.

And I’ll admit I was all into keeping my heart healthy. So, I pissed off Aunt Evelyn, got my share of free half-eaten steak dinners that could bounce off the wall. And I wasn’t shy about sharing my negative feelings with others. Then it happened.

I got sick and tired of living on the negative side of life. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I’d had it with all that whining, too. Oh, it wasn’t my own whining that bothered me, but everyone else’s. In their defense, they had a right to keep their hearts healthy, too, right? Well, maybe not. What was it grandma said? If you can’t say something nice . . .

Then again, I wasn’t altogether ready to go back to spending two hours trying to swallow a piece of beef that could have qualified as shoe leather. Aunt Evelyn’s wardrobe choices were much easier on the eyes, now that she’d retired several of her tablecloths. That’s when I decided Grandma’s counsel just needed a little alteration to work in my life.

If you can’t say something nice . . . and this next part is what I altered, …at least make it funny! That’s right, humor goes a long way. If someone asks me if those jeans make their butt look big, I just might answer, “Oh, you mean that wasn’t the look you were going for?” If I get that uneatable steak, I just politely ask the waitress “Can you check with the cook and see if the steak comes in a size 5 ½ because since I can’t swallow it, and I’m paying for it, I should at least be able to wear it.” The humor in the truth always softens the blow. People like humor even when you are telling them that their ass is too big or that their steaks could choke a mean horse with a new set of choppers.

As for how I dealt with the whining. Well, it goes like this. Not only do I work really hard to see the humor in all situations, and make my whines entertaining…Hey, you guys have laughed at my whines…but I limit the amount of energy and time I put into whining. And I expect my family and friends to do the same. My non-fiction writing partner and I whom I talk to every day made a pact. We can only whine on Wednesday. Now, mini humor-laced whines can be interjected occasionally during the other six days of the week. Seriously, by Tuesday, you have to let go of a few of them or you just might explode, but for the most part, you have to store those puppies up for Wednesday. And the more humor you can throw in into your Wednesday bitch session, the more whining time you’ll get.

Yeah, it might sound harsh, but it’s not a bad thing, it’s even good for you. Humor is better for the heart than whining. Laughing, even when it’s about something slightly painful, is a good way to deal with the stress of whine-worthy situations.

So today, I’ve come up with a perfect prize for this blog. It’s a “You Gotta Laugh” basket. I actually found a cup with my new approach to Grandma’s rule. (See it and the prizes in the picture below.) And because this is still release month, I’m adding a very special item to the basket. A skunk. That’s right. Because I think one of the funniest scenes in Shut Up and Kiss Me deals with the little stinker of an animal, I picked up one to give away. And because I’m all into the value of laughter, I have one more Oops A-Daisy Super Pocket Pooper that I’m adding to the basket. Yes, when you press on this little pocket size cow’s legs, it will crap you out some little balls of chocolate. And because chocolate is another great way to deal with stress, and because I’m not into eating crappy chocolate, I’m throwing in some better chocolate, too.

All you have to do to get your name in the hat is to leave me a comment, you can even whine . . . if you can make it funny. Hey…it’s not Wednesday. The winner will be picked randomly by hubby. And make sure you come back tomorrow to see the winner’s name posted on the top of the blog.

CC

Television Heaven

It's television heaven time for me, which means I'm more rushed than ever trying to get it all done so I can watch my shows. Granted, I record everything so I can skip commercials, but still, look at the lineup: America's Got Talent, Hell's Kitchen and So You Think You Can Dance. This is my busiest tv time of the year.

I've already got a favorite for AGT. This guy sounds like a raspy Roy Orbison. VERY pure voice!



And so far, I'm liking the Howie Mandel as a judge. Kinda glad to see the drunken "Hoff" gone. But I still have this enormous problem. The name of the show is America's Got TALENT. The judges put through some stuff that is just plain stupid. The show is not America's got interesting people or people I like, etc. It decreases the credibility for me, big time. And I don't see the point of sending people into failure, but whatever.

So what about you? Are you watching? Any favorites?

Deadly DeLeon

Reading Between the Lines

Please welcome a special guest blogger today, Maria Grazia Swan...

 I’ve been divorced for a very long time. Here is proof: It happened before e-mail, and way before internet dating. Yes, that long.   


Back then we had singles magazines, the paper and ink kind and we posted personals. With or without a photo. You paid according to the number of lines. The challenge was to write a beguiling ad in only a few words—not an easy task. The photo was extra. However, like now, a photo would get you more attention. Or, as the cliché goes, a picture is worth a thousands words.   


Some of the necessary words had standard abbreviations like M=male, F=female, D=divorced. You get the idea. 


The process could take up to two weeks from the time you read the ad, wrote the letter, and waited for an answer Two weeks! 


In today’s dating scene, two weeks is the length of a relationship. Or by Hollywood standards, the length of a marriage?


This may sound like an oxymoron, but in my humble opinion, life was simpler then.


Oh, the excitement of turning the key to unlock the rented P.O.Box. No real address used—you never know! I shared my POB with a girlfriend who was as broke as I was. The real fun began when we both received a letter from the same man with the exact  same wording.  My friend was a pro. She had been playing the personals for years and could tell a fake from a real by reading between the lines. 


We would separate her letters from mine, make little piles according to the handwriting. Yes, you read correctly, handwriting. And yes, that was the equivalent of a first impression. Next, it would be, picture or no picture, and so on.


Did I find true love? No. I did, however meet some pretty interesting men, dated a few and, in a sense, that was my rediscovering-romance training period. I learned a lot. Most importantly I learned to read between the lines. Even though I gave up on online dating a few years ago, the read-between-the-lines still works today. People still fib and embellish what they post about themselves. It’s human nature.  


Here are the most common lies I’ve found;


Men lie about their height and their income.


Women lie about their weight and their age.


This is a general statement. Don’t go accusing someone of lying because Maria Grazia Swan said so...I don’t have a virtual POB and would like to keep it that way.


~Maria Grazia Swan

Maria Grazia Swan is an author and motivational speaker who shares relationship advice and guidance for women re-entering the social/dating scene. Maria empowers and encourages single women to be bold, fearless, and sexy in their pursuit of life and love after age 45. An award recipient from the Women’s National Book Association, Swan is the author of Boomer Babes: True Tales of Love and Lust in the Later Years (Leisure Books). Visit
http://www.mariagrazia.tv





P.S.
My workshop, HOW TO BE A CONTEST DIVA starts on Monday!  If you're interested, I'm giving a 20% discount to all blog readers.  If you're interested in taking advantage, email me at: gemmahalliday at gmail dot com.  Here are the deets:

How to be a Contest Diva: tips and trick for writing contests

In this one week online workshop we’ll be going over some practical tips to becoming a contest diva! I’ll be focusing on all aspects of entering contests, from polishing your entry to turning that final and request into a sale. I’ll be specifically focusing on RWA chapter contests, and some of the the things we’ll be going over are:

- How to pick the contest for you
- Small contests versus big ones
- Polishing your entry
- How to make the most of a final and turn it into a sale!


June 14 - 18 Cost $20
For more information or to register for class, please go to:
http://www.gemmahalliday.com/classes/

Instructor Bio:
Gemma Halliday is the author of the highly acclaimed High Heels Mysteries, and the Hollywood Headlines series, as well as two new series debuting soon, including a teen mystery series and a hardcover adult fiction series. Gemma’s books have won a multitude of awards, including a Golden Heart, a National Reader’s Choice award and three RITA nominations. Her books have sold to both the foreign market and to Hollywood for production as a TV series. She is currently published with Dorchester Publishing, Harper Collins, and St. Martin’s Press.

Oh, those Yo-Yo Weeks...

Now that I have your attention...

Another yo-yo week. Up. Down. Up. Down.

Up: I received another agent request for material!

Down: I received a rejection from an agent query. Since this one didn't even ask for material, I tell myself, 'If they'd seen my stuff, they'd be clamoring for more.' Hey. Whatever gets you through the day, right?

Up: Finished another chapter on my new work-in-progress!

Down: It took me a week to do it.

Up: Thought of an awesome title for my wip!

Down: Googled it and found a release coming out in July with the same title.

Up: Settled for my second choice as a working title!

Down: Still holding an admittedly unreasonable grudge against the guy who beat me to the perfect title.

Up: Applied the second round of Creeping Charlie Annihilator on my grass!

Down: It doesn't appear to be working.

Up: Ate fresh fruit for lunch the last two weeks, walked and biked and lost five pounds!

Down: I still have blankety-blank pounds to go.

So. You see. I totally deserve to sit and stare at Gerard Butler's bare chest.

Okay. Your turn. No. Not to stare at Gerard's chest! To share your ups, your downs, or both. I could really use some cheering up. After all, I can't stare at Gerard and his manly chest all day.

Or can I?

~Bullet Hole~