The Problem with Perfume...

By Robin 'Red Hot' Kaye


I have a problem with perfume—several problems actually. The first is, I’m desperately allergic to most of them. I avoid the fragrance aisles in department stores, I think those people who walk around with perfume spritzers are the devil incarnate, and I can’t shop at Hollister or even walk past Bed Bath & Beyond without a few puffs of my inhaler.

I was at a conference a few years ago where they asked the attendees not to wear perfume because there are people in the world, like me, who start wheezing and coughing when exposed to those who bathe in noxious scents. I sat two rows behind a woman who obviously had not gotten the memo and reeked of Ew d’ Putrescent. My throat closed, my bronchi constricted, and I began wheezing and coughing. I had to leave the workshop before it began, but even that didn’t help. The pungent perfume clung to my clothes and forced me back to my room for a quick wardrobe change. Two days later, my clothes still held that foul scent.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore perfume—well, the few I’ve found that I love and can wear without requiring a trip to the emergency room. When I find one, I covet it. I keep the beautiful bottles on the mirrored tray on my dresser, pull the cap off and take a sniff, and sigh in contentment. But I don’t wear them. Sure, if I go out for a special occasion, I’ll put it on, but how many special occasions do I get? Not enough. I’ve always thought that wearing perfume on a daily basis was a waste of money. The stuff certainly isn’t cheep.

There was one perfume that for some reason, I wore often: Trish McEvoy, 9, Blackberry and Vanilla Musk. I couldn’t help myself, I loved it that much. It was light and dark, decadent and soft. I bought a small bottle and used it all up, and for the past three years, I’ve saved the empty bottle—wanting to buy more, afraid I’d forget the name, the number, and heck, if I took the top off and sniffed really hard, I could still smell the scent. But with a family of five including three expensive teenagers and the turn in the economy, it was difficult to see the necessity of perfume. The empty bottle sat on my dresser.

Last Monday, on the way to drop my mother off at the airport after a wonderful weekend visit, we stopped at the mall to grab a bite to eat and ended up at Nordstrom’s Café. Now going into a mall with my mother is dangerous. If shopping were an art, my mom would be Monet. If she’s not working, she’s shopping—it’s been her life-long hobby. Over the years, she’s dragged me through every mall on the Eastern Seaboard and made me hate shopping. While at Nordstrom, I took a swing past the Trish McEvoy counter for a spritz of my favorite perfume, I asked the price and found they had a special on a gift box with a big bottle of 9, and a small bottle of 9 Sexy for the same price as one big bottle—what a bargain. I made a decision at that moment, that when I received my advance for my NAL contract, I would run back to Nordstrom and buy that gift set. It would be my one atta’ girl present to myself. It killed me to walk away without purchasing it–I was strong. But then, I was also with my mother. On our way out of Nordstrom, she purchased a sweater, turned to me and said, “I’ve got a present, so now you need one. Come on, let’s go back and get you that perfume.” I was floored and elated.

The next day I was getting dressed, looking at the beautiful bottles on my mirrored tray and thought, no, I won’t wear it because I don’t want to waste it and then I thought, how stupid is that? What good is having perfume if you don’t wear it? It’s like banking all your money and never spending it on anything but bills, never enjoying it. Not wearing make-up unless you’re going out-on-the-town. Not buying flowers unless you’re having company. I’ve decided that I’m going to literally and figuratively wear perfume every day, no matter what. I’ll do it for me. How can it be wasteful if I enjoy it? I just realized, after all these years, I’m worth it.

Preparing for the Florida Coup

If you read Leslie's post last week, then you may have already called ahead to St. Pete's Beach and let them know we're coming. This Wednesday, Leslie and I will land in Florida to attend our first ever NINC conference. We're hoping they'll allow us back again after this one.

And let me tell you, after this week, I need a vacation. WTH is going on with pre-empting X Factor with stupid baseball? Baseball? Seriously? I think all sports should be required to be hosted on individual channels and not interfere with what the rest of the sane public wants to watch. Jeez. But I digress.

Besides being the absolute best organization for professional novelists, NINC does several things right when it comes to conferences.

First off, they hold conferences in cool places in the off season. That means, it's not hot, expensive or dripping with screaming kids and angry tourists. So for a ridiculously low price, Leslie and I get a tropical suite complete with cabana and cabana boy. No lie.

Second, it's entirely casual. It's the beach, people! No fancy dinners that require me to go sans underwear (panty lines ahoy), duct tape my boobs and stuff myself into a dress so tight that I'll be limited to a single salad tomato and a sip of water to keep all of me inside the dress the rest of the night. And did I mention that I'd have to eat standing? Seriously, if the fabric isn't stretchy, it's not going to NINC conference. My getting-ready laundry consisted of 100 pair of yoga pants, T-shirt and a single pair of denim capris (for if we want to dress up one night). My collection of FitFlops will be going along with the yoga pants.

Third, they have a lineup of the best speakers and the most important topics to published authors today. But the conference fee is only $285. You simply can't beat it!

So Leslie and I will be attending workshops, tending bar for ourselves in our cabana, and generally enjoying everything the beach has to offer for two women who haven't had a vacation in years. I will be tweeting pics and anything interesting during conference, so if you're not following me, add me to your twitter feed: JanaDeLeon. If you are not a twit and don't wish to become one, don't despair; my twitter feeds to my Facebook, so if we're friends, then you'll still see my ramblings complete with blackmail worthy photos.

This is a pic of our plans for Sunday - and this is an actual photo from the hotel:





So wish us well and pray for St. Pete's Beach.

Deadly (Dyin' for a Vacation) DeLeon

Do you live in the DC area?

I'm one of the panelists at the Teen Early Reads kick-off party tonight at the Rockville Memorial Library, located at 21 Maryland Avenue, Rockville, MD. YA authors Diana Peterfreund, Stephanie Dray, and Alethea Kontis will also be there.

If you're in the DC area, come stop by and say hi! There will be food, books, and fun!

NPR: A Source of News Lullabies & Unintended Giggles

Confession time: I love NPR's news shows. I don't find it to be the Mouthpiece of Radical Liberalism that some politicians/pundits claim that it is. I actually think they're pretty balanced in their reporting and they delve deeper into stories than most other news outlets.

But that's not why I like them. I like NPR news (Morning Edition, All Things Considered and so on) because they report the news in such calm, soothing voices that no matter how horrible the events their reporting on are, we the listeners never feel the panic. It's like someone's singing you a lullaby but instead of Mommy buying you a mockingbird the economy is bringing you a double dip recession. Dramatically different lyrics but same relaxing rhythm and tune. It makes it all so much easier to stomach. And when you need to sleep NPR news is great! How many times have I woken up too early (say 5 am) and not been able to get back to sleep? No more of that! Now when I wake up mistakenly at 5 I just turn on my radio and let Morning Edition lull me back to slumber with quiet tales of corporate corruption and dysfunctional governments. It works every single time! To quote my son, "Morning Edition reminds me of why I love to sleep in."

But yesterday afternoon, when they were reporting on Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, aka, the underwear bomber...well that's when my love of NPR news reached a new height.

 The female reporter was detailing the exact events as they occurred on the day of the foiled Christmas day attack.  "(Abdulmutallab) took a long bathroom break when the plane was about an hour outside of Detroit," the female reporter said, her voice quiet, sophisticated, calming and portraying little to no emotion so as not to influence the listener's view of the facts. "...when he returned to his seat, he covered himself with a blanket and injected the explosives with an accelerant that was supposed to set them off. His seatmate was so surprised when the flames started shooting out from Abdulmutallab's pants that he said to him, dude, your pants are on fire."


Now as serious as this situation is (thank GOD the bomber was the only one hurt) it would be hard not to smile at that last sentence. But when that last sentence is delivered with total professionalism, without even a hint that the narrator might be aware of the humor, well then that sentence becomes hilarious. 

And then you realize that NPR has actually done a great job of "making you think," because at that moment I was thinking, "How could anyone want to harm America? Without Americans who would say things like "Dude, your pants are on fire" to the guy who has sparks flying out of his lap? The Saudis? The French? The Chinese? I think not! Americans make the world a more entertaining place! 


And NPR is part of that entertainment...or at least that's what they do when they're not keeping me informed or graciously putting me to sleep.


Kyra "Fashionista Fatale" Davis

Awake at Dawn!!!!

The day has finally arrived--the release of Awake at Dawn!!! I have been going crazy anticipating its release! Now, at last, Awake at Dawn is available to my readers!

Readers will know: What was in Lucas's letter. You finally get to see Kylie make it to the falls. Is someone in there? Can you guess who it will be? Kylie had more dreams, and now she's suspicious that these aren't just regular dreams. Miranda gets kissed. Ahh, but it's not by Perry. Poor Perry isn't happy. Then of course, there's Kylie discovering more powers. What is that girl gonna do? So many things are happening.

I hope you'll enjoy reading it and learning more about Kylie and all her friends.

In Born at Midnight, Lucas gave Kylie a black and white kitten named Socks. (Isn't she adorable?!?!) In Awake at Dawn, Socks goes through some changes, but, of course, Kylie's love for her never wavers. I'm sure many of you have pets that you love, too. I know I do, and, as you recall, I have talked about them in past blogs. Sometimes they drive me crazy, but then I see them do something cute and I can't help but grab my camera. So, in celebration of the release of Awake at Dawn, I thought I'd share a few of my favorite photos of my pets.

Photo 1 Photo 2

Photo 3 Photo 4

Photo 3 Photo 4

Contest Alert!!!

Now, you get the opportunity to win a cool basket of Awake at Dawn prizes. We're talking a book. A Shadow Falls necklace I had designed and made. Some Chocolate and more. It's a really cool basket guys. All you have to do is look at the photos of my pets and think up some funny captions and post them. The cutest/funniest one will win. Check back in two weeks to see if your caption won. The winner will have 24 hours to claim their prize.

My Tetherball Romance - by Diane Kelly

Recently, my son noted that he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be married. Of course he’s 16 with raging hormones – in other words, girl crazy. One day he’s got a crush on a petite Asian girl, the next a tall blonde. When there’s so many potential mates to choose from, each with her own unique look and personality, he can’t imagine tying himself down to just one!

But, as I tried to explain to him, one day he’ll meet a girl who he knows is THE ONE. When he does, she’ll feel like an extension of himself, part of the unit that is THEM. “That’s how I feel about Dad,” I explained. “He’s such an integral part of my life and my identity. It’s like he’s one of my limbs, like an arm or a leg. I’d have a hard time imagining life without him.”

Of course, being 16 means my son is not only girl crazy but also a smart ass. “Sometimes a person is better off cutting off a limb,” he replied. “Like if it gets gangrene.”

Such a romantic, huh?

The conversation got me thinking, though. My relationship with my husband has certainly evolved over the years. When we first met, we had a lot of fun together, but we were independent and enjoyed time with our friends, too. Once we got married and had kids, we spent more time together, though our dates often consisted of sitting side by side in front of the dryer and folding laundry on a Friday night.

Now? I guess the best simile for our relationship is to say it’s like a game of tether ball. My husband is the pole – solid, rooted, doesn’t need to go anywhere to enjoy himself. Yep, he’s a bit of a homebody, happy to sit in front of the TV watching ESPN and munching chips and salsa. I’m like the ball, constantly on the move, flying first one direction, then the other as I go about the busy game of my life. But I’m firmly tied to the pole by a taut rope and at times am wrapped firmly around it, taking a short breather between games.

I’ve found that when I write the romantic parts of my books, I tend to give my characters a very similar type of relationship. The hero and heroine share an undeniable bond, yet they function fairly independently as they go about their days. Still, they are there for each other at the critical times.

Every relationship is different, of course, and what works for each couple is as unique as the couple themselves. How would you describe your relationship with your spouse or significant other? How has it evolved over the years?

Diane Kelly is the author of the Death & Taxes romantic mystery series. Her debut novel, Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure, will be released November 1st. Post a comment today and you could win a copy of Diane's debut novel! The winner will be posted around 9:00 pm central time. Visit her site, www.dianekelly.com, from October 21 - October 31 for more chances to win prizes in her countdown contest!

DEADLY COOL

I’m counting down the days until my very first young adult release, DEADLY COOL, hits bookstore shelves on October 11^th.  Only 4 days left!  I’m excited, nervous, and then a little more excited again.  :)  And I have a ton of fun release-countdown stuff planned this week, including…

Harper Teen is hosting a Deadly Cool Scandal Search on their Facebook page today.  Search for clues to fill in a mad-libs style puzzle and be entered to win a prize pack of Harper Teen book, including DEADLY COOL.  http://www.facebook.com/harperteen

I’m giving away an advanced reader copy of DEADLY COOL on my Facebook page.  Just comment before Monday, Oct.10^th to be entered to win.  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Gemma-Halliday/285144192552

 

I’m visiting a whole crap-ton of blogs during my Deadly Cool Blog Tour and giving away a set of DEADLY COOL trading cards at several stops.  Check my website for a full list stops.  www.gemmahalliday.com

And, just to wet your appetite for more on Oct. 11^th, here’s an excerpt from DEADLY COOL:

Chapter One:

There are three things you never want to find in your boyfriend's locker: a sweaty jock strap, a D-minus on last week's history test, and an empty condom wrapper.

Lucky me, I'd hit the trifecta. 

I pushed past the near-failing grade and underwear, honing in on the ripped foil packet.  I grasped it between my thumb and forefinger, actually feeling my jaw drop open like some cartoon character as I leaned against the locker for support.

"No way," my best friend, Sam, said as she peered over my shoulder.  "Hartley, is that…?" 

"I think so," I croaked out. 

"Holy effing crap, that sucks!"

I turned to her.  "Effing?"

Sam shrugged.  "What?"

"We're censoring now?"

"Kyle says I have a mouth like a trucker."

"You do have a mouth like a trucker.  It's one of the things I love best about you."

"Kyle says it's not very feminine."

I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling.  "Yeah, I'd be taking femininity tips from a guy who lives in his football jersey."

Sam put her hands on her hips and threw me a pointed look.  "Yeah?  Well, at least my boyfriend's not effing the president of the chastity club."

I looked down at the Trojan wrapper in my hand.  She had a point.

"God, this cannot be happening," I moaned.

Which is exactly what I'd been saying ever since Ashley Stannic texted me during first period English that someone had seen my boyfriend, Josh DuPont, feeling up Courtney Cline after Cross Country practice yesterday.  At first, I'd dismissed it.  Because A) Courtney Cline was the staying-a-virgin queen, putting up "Earn your right to wear white!" posters all over the cafeteria and even urging students to sign an abstinence pledge the first day of school, and B) Josh and I had been dating for, like, ever.  Our relationship had even survived going long distance for two whole months this summer - one while I went to Ohio to visit my grandmother and another when Josh went to football camp in Sacramento.  Each one had felt like an eternity, but once he got home again, we spent the entire week before school started glued to each other's sides, only letting go when one of us had to sleep or pee.  We were solid.  I knew there was no way he would step out on me.  Ashley must have been mistaken.

Only, by second period both Jessica Hanson and Chris Fret were mistaken, too,  texting me to ask if the rumors of Josh hitting second base with Courtney were true.  By lunch, half the school was mistaken, and I was the recipient of sidelong glances and barely concealed snickers over trays of pizza sticks and applesauce.

And I was questioning that solidity.

So, I did what any good girlfriend would do.  I broke into Josh's locker.  Would the more mature thing have been to confront him directly with the rumors?  Possibly.  Would it have been as effective? 

I looked at the shiny gold, foil square in my hand.

Doubtful. 

No matter how much I may love - scratch that, loved, past tense - Josh, I was no dummy.  Everyone knows the Y chromosome carries with it the instinctive urge to lie under pressure. 

Which, incidentally, was what Josh was going to be under when I found him.  Serious pressure. 

On his larynx.

I balled the wrapper in my fist.  "Where is he?" I demanded of the world at large.  "Where is that cheating piece of -"

But I didn't get any further.  The bell sounded above me, echoing off the halls of Herbert Hoover High.  Immediately conversations around us stopped, lockers slammed shut, and hundreds of shoes squeaked against the over-waxed floors as people scattered to fifth period. 

"Look, maybe there's a good reason for it being there?" Sam offered, shrugging her backpack onto her shoulder. 

"Such as?"  I shoved the wrapper into my plaid bookbag, slammed Josh's locker shut and followed Sam down the hall.

"Well, maybe it's for sex ed class?"

"I don't know about you, but the last time I had sex ed was in eighth grade."

"Good point.  Okay, maybe it's for some science project about, um, reproduction?"

"You're totally grasping."

"Fine.  But maybe it's just one he used with you, and the wrapper got stuck in his backpack or something.  That could happen, right?"

I bit my lip.  No, it couldn't.  Because my dirty little secret that I couldn't even share with my best friend?  Unlike the president of the Chastity Club, I was an actual virgin.

Okay, I hadn't signed any pledge or made any promises to save myself for some hyped up Mr. Right to propose.  It just… well… it hadn't really happened for me yet.  I'd tried.  Once.  During freshman year when it seemed like everyone was doing it, and I thought I was destined to be the only virgin left in the entire Silicon Valley.  I'd been going out with Cole Perkins for a couple months at the time, so when he wanted me to come over to his place one Friday after water polo practice, I agreed. 

His room had smelled like stale pizza, gym socks, and the Glade air freshener his mom used.  He'd docked his iPod and played some horrible list of Christine Aguilara songs that I guess were supposed to put me in the mood but really just made me question what I was doing getting naked with a guy who downloaded Christina Aguilara songs.  Cole swore he'd done this lots of times before, but I'd bet money that was his Y chromosome talking because it had been awkward, kinda painful, and, in the end, he'd squirted all over his bedsheets before we could even really do it. 

After that one experience, I figured I probably wasn't missing out on much after all and gave up on the idea.

Until Josh.  I'd always assumed that I'd do it someday with Josh.  You know, when the timing was right. 

Apparently the timing had been right with Courtney Cline first.

"Look, we'll track him down after school," Sam promised, pausing outside her lit class.  "Don't worry, Hart, I'm sure this is all some big misunderstanding."

She gave my arm a quick squeeze before disappearing into the classroom.  I stared after her, vaguely hearing the tardy bell fill the hallway with its ugly warning.

Right.  Misunderstanding. 

Josh better pray that's all this was.  Otherwise, I was gonna effing kill him. 

~Trigger Happy Halliday