Hi everyone! My name is Kristen. You may remember me from my Aunt Misty's blog,"Another Casualty for the Romance Genre." I'm the genius who made Hannah succumb to the charms of Sabrina Jeffries' book, The Dangerous Lord and Beware a Scot's Revenge. (Hannah, I know your shaking your head at the genius remark. Stop because you know it's true.) Since I'm a huge fan of my Aunt's blogs, I asked her when she was going write her next one. She generously offered to let me write a guest blog, and what can I say? I accepted! In the beginning, I wasn't sure what to say about myself or my life for that matter. But once I started thinking, I realized I could tell a fourteen year old girl's point of view on starting high school, trying to find your real friends, and the enigma of the teenage boy's mind. So to begin this blog, we will have to go back to the middle of June. My first boyfriend.
What is a teenage girl's top priority after you hit the thirteen age mark? Well, for most it is boys. I am in the most category. Anyway this summer, my friend, Susie, came over to spend the night. The entire night we were on Facebook talking to guys, and playing around. While we were checking out some pictures, we noticed some of our friends had gotten into an arguement on there over a guy. We jumped in trying to joke about the fight to calm everyone down, needless to say we were told quickly to keep out of it. We decided it was best to let it go, and I commented that the fight over the guy was better than watching a movie. The boy, who would eventually be my ex-boyfriend, thought that was funny, and he started chatting with me. At the time, I had no inkling of a clue that he might be interested. Of course, I got my clue when he asked me to be his girlfriend. I still haven't quite figured out why I said yes because I didn't think he was all that cute, and I'd never really liked his attitude towards people. After I said yes, the only thing going through my head was,"What did I just do?" I became more comfortable with the idea after a while, and excited even. My friend, Susie, was just happy I finally decided to get a boyfriend. From this point, we will call my boyfriend, Chubby Cheeks. We exchanged numbers the day he asked me out which was the biggest mistake of my life. Two minutes after I gave him my number, Chubby Cheeks texted me nonstop until we broke up. It drove everyone in my family insane because my phone was ringing constantly. Sometimes I would actually cut my phone off, just to have a moment of silence.
Then not even twenty-two hours since we had been going out, he told me he loved me. I wanted to faint on the spot but not from joy or any lovey-dovey feeling. I think it was terror. Hannah was like, "Kristen, he's crazy." I told Chubby Cheeks I didn't feel that way and probably never would, and he said it was okay with him. Couple of days later, I invited him to come over to my gram's to watch a movie with me, Hannah, and Susie. He brought a movie with him, and for some reason Hannah and Susie left me alone with him for like five minutes. This subject is disturbingly gross to me now, but I kissed him. It was my first kiss, and it was like kissing a horse with its mouth wide open. He slobbered on me. Yuck! I wanted to gag afterwards, and I actually never want to kiss anyone ever again.
The next day, everybody found out what happen since I'm the world's worst liar. My gram was so mad at me because she specifically said,"Don't touch each other. Don't even hold hands." My mother gagged about me kissing a boy, my Aunt Misty laughed because I told her it was nothing like the romance novel kisses, and Hannah hugged me and said,"Poor Kristen." It was horrible. Gram decided she didn't like him, and in came the nickname "Chubby Cheeks." This is where Chubby Cheeks' story ends. I broke up with him a week later because I found out he had lied about a lot of stuff. Stuff he did while he hung out with his redneck buddies. Yes, he was a redneck. *gag* I was so dissapointed with my first experience with the opposite sex. My mother explained there would probably be a long line of dissapointments to come, and I completely believe her now. Thank God for J.R. Ward which was my antidote to the whole situation. Go Black Dagger Brotherhood!
Aside from Chubby Cheeks, I love High School so far. I'm in the Air Force Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps. I basically learn military bearing, how to march, and wear a uniform. It is awesome, and I would recommend it to anybody who can take orders well and handle themselves with self-discipline. Recently, I have been attending drill practice every Tuesday and Thursday from three to five o'clock. Let's see, last Thursday, this guy came to practice, whom we shall call, Adonis. Adonis moved here from Florida this year, and even my mom when she saw him was like WOW!*eyes pop out of head* Yeah, the whole package: six-pack, blonde hair, and blue eyes. *shudder* He's positively dreamy, and of course, I told my bestie, Susie this. Thursday, during practice, we were taking turns marching. Adonis, one of my guy buddies, some girl I don't know, and I were on the wall watching. Anyways, Adonis started pacing in front of me, and of course I'm trying not to drool. He wiped the sweat from his forehead which gave me a full view of his abs.*I'm drooling right now.* My guy friend said something to me, but it was a faint echo because I was so engrossed in what I was seeing. Of course, my friend repeated himself, and I turned away from Adonis to talk to my guy friend. Before I knew it, Adonis had walked up to me, and slightly punched me on the shoulder. It wasn't a we're buddies type punch, it was a flirty punch. Trust me, there's a difference. *Insert happy scream here* I just grinned, and turned back around to my guy friend. Adonis said,"Hey, do you like me?" I'm shaking my head furiously thinking how does he know. Then I remember...Susie! He replies,"Susie told me you did at Camp Freshman." Camp Freshman is a day where Freshmen go to the High School and walk around the school to get used to it. It is also where I first saw Adonis. I said,"I didn't say that. My friend, Crazy did." We're are calling one of my girl friends, Crazy, because that is how she is acting at the moment. He smiles *swoon* and says,"No, I think she was talking about you. So you don't like me?" Quickly I answer,"I didn't say that." He then ends the conversation by saying,"So you do." It was more of a statement than a question. I feel like an idiot. *frown*
That night I told Susie about everything. She told me it was that day she was going to tell him Crazy thought he was hot. But I had argued with her over it, while he was sitting in front of us, and he thought we were talking about me liking him. Then Susie reassured me that he doesn't like Crazy because he thinks she is weird. I tell Susie to find out Friday if he likes me or not. The next morning Susie walks into class, he mouths to her that he needs to talk to her. He gets up, gives her a hug, and asked if I'm single. ME!?!*another happy scream* He interrogates Susie for five minutes trying to determine whether I like him or not. He tells Susie that he is going to talk to me Monday! Susie told me that night, and I screamed at the computer. My mom was almost excited as I was. He is so hot and dreamy! My thoughts have pretty much revolved around him this past weekend. My dad threatened to lock me in my room if I even thought about going on a date. Then he said he was going to talk to him, if I did. I'm actually not worried about daddy more, I'm worried about my mom. Need I explain further. Haha! I guess I'll just have to wait until Monday! Keeping my fingers crossed!
Thank you, Kristen, for such a TERRIFIC blog. I love it! You had me cringing at some points and laughing at others.
Now for Kristen's readers. Do you remember your first kiss? Want to share? Was it everything that you hoped it be or was it purely pathetic? What about the dreamy guy in high school with the six-pack abs? How many of you are keeping your fingers crossed for Kristen? *g*
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman On A Diet
Recently my stepdad came home and told my mother all about some co-worker who had lost 50 pounds on the low-carb diet. Mac thought that if that guy could eat low-carb and lose weight, then he could, too. My mother agreed to be a good wife and try the low-carb diet with Mac because it's difficult to diet and even more so if the people with whom you live aren't dieting as well.
Mother cleared every sweet, piece of bread, potato, and milk out of the house. The first day on the low-carb foods is tolerable. You think, "Man, this easy. I can eat all the fried foods I want, and I love salads. I can do this." But by day three or four, the withdrawals begin. The cravings for carbs hit full force. The cravings are so intense that you would eat a whole loaf of bread if given the chance. As my stepdad stated, "I never knew how much I liked bread until this diet." Even with the intense cravings, Mother and Mac remained true to their dieting, Mother making sure that Mac ate only the things he was supposed to eat by preparing all of his meals.
About two and a half weeks into the diet, Mac began bragging about the 13 pounds that he had already lost. To hear him tell it, he was practically wasting away to nothing. He needed to buy new clothes. Mother said that was all he would talk about, and he would ask her how much weight that she had lost. How dumb can a man be? Is there an epidemic of dumb males going around, or what? Everyone knows that inquiring about weight is not a good question to ask a woman, especially your wife. A man loses weight a lot quicker than a woman does. It sucks, but it's genetics.
After a few days of listening to Mac's gloating, my mother decided that she had had enough. While peeling apples at my mother's house, Mother confessed her irritation to me and my sister. She had decided that she was "going to fix his smart ass." As Tracy and I sat there, laughing and listening to her plans, I thought to myself, "Poor Mac hasn't a chance in hell." Hannibal could have used my mother's war tactics against Rome. She would have made those Romans quake in their sandals.
My mother intentionally sabotaged Mac's diet. Lucky for her that he's lazy and gullible. Without him having a clue, she replaced the low-carb milk in the low-carb container with whole milk. She gave him fruit to eat that she told him was low-carb and real Reese's peanut butter cups instead of the low-carb version. The low-carb ice cream was replaced with real ice cream, and the low-carb jelly was replaced with real jelly. Within a week Mac had gained 5 pounds back of the 13 he had lost, and he ceased to brag to Mother to her satisfaction.
Yes, my mother can be evil sometimes, but it's evil at its best. She's always coming up with fantastic ideas for paybacks. She never ceases to amaze me. I'm proud to be her daughter, and I hope to one day to aspire to her level of genius. Poor Bill. LOL!
Anyone else ever been on a diet with another person and that person rubbed it in your face that he/she was losing more rapidly than you? Or have you ever just grown fed-up with someone's bragging? Did you do anything about it?
Mother cleared every sweet, piece of bread, potato, and milk out of the house. The first day on the low-carb foods is tolerable. You think, "Man, this easy. I can eat all the fried foods I want, and I love salads. I can do this." But by day three or four, the withdrawals begin. The cravings for carbs hit full force. The cravings are so intense that you would eat a whole loaf of bread if given the chance. As my stepdad stated, "I never knew how much I liked bread until this diet." Even with the intense cravings, Mother and Mac remained true to their dieting, Mother making sure that Mac ate only the things he was supposed to eat by preparing all of his meals.
About two and a half weeks into the diet, Mac began bragging about the 13 pounds that he had already lost. To hear him tell it, he was practically wasting away to nothing. He needed to buy new clothes. Mother said that was all he would talk about, and he would ask her how much weight that she had lost. How dumb can a man be? Is there an epidemic of dumb males going around, or what? Everyone knows that inquiring about weight is not a good question to ask a woman, especially your wife. A man loses weight a lot quicker than a woman does. It sucks, but it's genetics.
After a few days of listening to Mac's gloating, my mother decided that she had had enough. While peeling apples at my mother's house, Mother confessed her irritation to me and my sister. She had decided that she was "going to fix his smart ass." As Tracy and I sat there, laughing and listening to her plans, I thought to myself, "Poor Mac hasn't a chance in hell." Hannibal could have used my mother's war tactics against Rome. She would have made those Romans quake in their sandals.
My mother intentionally sabotaged Mac's diet. Lucky for her that he's lazy and gullible. Without him having a clue, she replaced the low-carb milk in the low-carb container with whole milk. She gave him fruit to eat that she told him was low-carb and real Reese's peanut butter cups instead of the low-carb version. The low-carb ice cream was replaced with real ice cream, and the low-carb jelly was replaced with real jelly. Within a week Mac had gained 5 pounds back of the 13 he had lost, and he ceased to brag to Mother to her satisfaction.
Yes, my mother can be evil sometimes, but it's evil at its best. She's always coming up with fantastic ideas for paybacks. She never ceases to amaze me. I'm proud to be her daughter, and I hope to one day to aspire to her level of genius. Poor Bill. LOL!
Anyone else ever been on a diet with another person and that person rubbed it in your face that he/she was losing more rapidly than you? Or have you ever just grown fed-up with someone's bragging? Did you do anything about it?
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Revenge of the Skank-Ho
I’ve introduced my brother Stephen, a.k.a. Redneck Casanova, in a previous post, and he will be the subject of yet another blog from me. I can’t seem to help myself. He’s just too damn rich in material. Stephen is one those people in life that was never meant to be a marginal character. He takes center stage.
Stephen is a charmer. Where he acquired the charm, my sister and I haven’t a clue. We grew up with him in a house where there was only one bathroom. There were lots of times that my sister and I could have killed him. Charming is the not the adjective that I would use to describe Stephen. Lucky for him that some females are not picky. He can walk into a bank to make a deposit and walk away with the teller’s phone number written on his receipt. He meets women all the time in places where you would not think that a woman would enter. (The pictures with the deer antlers speak for themselves.)
As pointed out, Redneck Casanova can find a woman, but he never seems to keep her. Not that I’m saying that he should keep any of his victims. He’s only dated one person whom I would have gladly welcomed as my sister-in-law, but she was too logical and intelligent for him. His great loss. The rest are entertaining tidbits in my life, such as the Skank-Ho whose nickname shall be Butch.
Butch came to my attention last summer at my son Colin’s fourth birthday party. I had cleaned my house and invited the family to celebrate with us. Stephen showed up with a female that I wasn’t too sure was female. I had heard about Butch a few days before from my mother. At the time, Redneck Casanova was living at our mother’s house, and being unable to flee her own home, mother was introduced to numerous women in Stephen’s company. Not that he was permitted to bring a woman home for a night of debauched sex at his mother’s house. Mother would meet them the morning after when Stephen was dropped off after a night of debauched sex at the female’s house. One morning Mother walked outside to check on the dogs or something, and there was Stephen sitting in an unknown vehicle, kissing what looked to be another man. Mother immediately turned around and headed back into the house to wait on Stephen. After some time, he came in, and Mother proceeded to ask him why he had been kissing a man. LOL! I wish that I could have seen Stephen’s face. Stephen shit. He hurriedly informed Mother that he hadn’t been kissing a man, but a woman. Mother replied, “I know a woman when I see her, and THAT wasn’t a woman!” Stephen finally convinced Mother that Butch was indeed a woman, which brings us back to Colin’s birthday party.
There stood Stephen and Butch in my den, looking like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, in their mirroring attire. When I questioned Stephen later about their clothing choice, he looked embarrassed and said, “I had no clue that she was going to wear that.” Both were wearing boots, jeans, belts, navy blue and white striped polo’s, and baseball caps. No kidding. I have a picture. Now what type of sister would I be to ever allow my brother to leave without a shot to preserve his humiliation? But I haven’t figured out how to load the picture onto this blog page. As I told Ely in an e-mail, when Stephen and Butch stood side-by-side, you couldn’t tell where Stephen ended and Butch began. They were just one big stripey flow. (Is "stripey" a word?) When Stephen asked me later in the evening what I thought about Butch, what was I suppose to say?!? Lie to him. Never. Sometimes in life a sister has to be brutally honest with her dear brother, and I rose to the occasion, hysterically so.
Stephen wound up breaking Butch’s heart. Threw her battered manly-ish heart to the side with his other victims, but Butch wasn’t one to take rejection very well. She trained horses for a living, and she meant to train the Redneck Casanova, too. And she had a plan.
Stephen, being the idiot that he is, agreed to drive Butch and a group of “her girlie friends,” all of whom look and act like Butch, to Beale Street in Memphis for a fun night. I guess Stephen thought that he was really going to have a good time with just him and a group of women. How dumb can one man be? Where is his internal detection for warning signs? Wait that would take a brain. He was alone with Butch and her friends. Stephen said that he drove, and Butch rode in the back seat on the way to Memphis. During the drive, Butch kept thumping Stephen in the back of the head, which in turn pissed Stephen off. They argued, and he vowed to himself that he would not get back in a car with Butch, he would find another way home. His reasoning was that he had never been to Beale Street and not run into someone he knew. But Fate would decree otherwise.
Once on Beale Street, Stephen managed to separate himself from the Amazons, but Butch didn’t want to be separated. While Stephen was fleeing, she, being the predator mode, stalked him through the clubs. Stephen knew that she was hot on his tail because she had text messaged him the whole time, telling him that he would never get away and that she and her friends were going to take him back to her house and teach him how to treat a lady. The hunter had become the hunted.
Eventually, Butch snared her prey. Stephen’s shirt was almost ripped off him in the capture, and he was bullied into Butch’s car by the Amazon pack. At least Stephen was smart enough to be scared. He knew that he had to escape. They had to stop for gas, and the women decided to fill up the car at one of the truck stops on Hwy 78/Lamar and Winchester. While at the truck stop, Stephen managed to escape and hide himself in the maze of eighteen wheelers in the parking lot. I can just imagine Stephen running around idling eighteen wheelers, stopping periodically and squatting to look underneath the the sea of trailers for running legs. Crouching Redneck, Hidden Skank-Ho. Butch was furious. She had a plan, but she was unable to capture her prize again.
Stephen made it to the truck stop across the street and hid there until he was sure that Butch had given up. Then, he called another ex-girlfriend, waking her from sleep, and asked her to drive all the way to Memphis to get him, which she did. Is one woman's loss another woman's gain? Snag him while you can. What are these women thinking? *shaking head*
You would think that the Redneck Casanova learned his lesson, but remember that he’s not that smart. It’s been almost a year since Stephen’s escape transpired, and Mother told me a couple of days ago that she thought that Stephen had hooked-up with Butch again. What the hell? LOL! Is my brother stupid or what? I can’t wait to hear about what happens this time. That dumb ass.
What about you? Any family members who never seem to learn their lessons? Any friends who refused to see reason? Any experiences like the Redneck Casanova? What are the odds that this will lead to another revenge from the Skank-Ho?
*NOTE: My brother is not crazy. He's rather intelligent in many areas of life. He's just dumb when it comes to women, like a lot of men. I love him, and it's my hope that one day he will settle down with a wonderful woman for his happily-ever-after. Until then, he keeps me entertained.
Stephen is a charmer. Where he acquired the charm, my sister and I haven’t a clue. We grew up with him in a house where there was only one bathroom. There were lots of times that my sister and I could have killed him. Charming is the not the adjective that I would use to describe Stephen. Lucky for him that some females are not picky. He can walk into a bank to make a deposit and walk away with the teller’s phone number written on his receipt. He meets women all the time in places where you would not think that a woman would enter. (The pictures with the deer antlers speak for themselves.)
As pointed out, Redneck Casanova can find a woman, but he never seems to keep her. Not that I’m saying that he should keep any of his victims. He’s only dated one person whom I would have gladly welcomed as my sister-in-law, but she was too logical and intelligent for him. His great loss. The rest are entertaining tidbits in my life, such as the Skank-Ho whose nickname shall be Butch.
Butch came to my attention last summer at my son Colin’s fourth birthday party. I had cleaned my house and invited the family to celebrate with us. Stephen showed up with a female that I wasn’t too sure was female. I had heard about Butch a few days before from my mother. At the time, Redneck Casanova was living at our mother’s house, and being unable to flee her own home, mother was introduced to numerous women in Stephen’s company. Not that he was permitted to bring a woman home for a night of debauched sex at his mother’s house. Mother would meet them the morning after when Stephen was dropped off after a night of debauched sex at the female’s house. One morning Mother walked outside to check on the dogs or something, and there was Stephen sitting in an unknown vehicle, kissing what looked to be another man. Mother immediately turned around and headed back into the house to wait on Stephen. After some time, he came in, and Mother proceeded to ask him why he had been kissing a man. LOL! I wish that I could have seen Stephen’s face. Stephen shit. He hurriedly informed Mother that he hadn’t been kissing a man, but a woman. Mother replied, “I know a woman when I see her, and THAT wasn’t a woman!” Stephen finally convinced Mother that Butch was indeed a woman, which brings us back to Colin’s birthday party.
There stood Stephen and Butch in my den, looking like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, in their mirroring attire. When I questioned Stephen later about their clothing choice, he looked embarrassed and said, “I had no clue that she was going to wear that.” Both were wearing boots, jeans, belts, navy blue and white striped polo’s, and baseball caps. No kidding. I have a picture. Now what type of sister would I be to ever allow my brother to leave without a shot to preserve his humiliation? But I haven’t figured out how to load the picture onto this blog page. As I told Ely in an e-mail, when Stephen and Butch stood side-by-side, you couldn’t tell where Stephen ended and Butch began. They were just one big stripey flow. (Is "stripey" a word?) When Stephen asked me later in the evening what I thought about Butch, what was I suppose to say?!? Lie to him. Never. Sometimes in life a sister has to be brutally honest with her dear brother, and I rose to the occasion, hysterically so.
Stephen wound up breaking Butch’s heart. Threw her battered manly-ish heart to the side with his other victims, but Butch wasn’t one to take rejection very well. She trained horses for a living, and she meant to train the Redneck Casanova, too. And she had a plan.
Stephen, being the idiot that he is, agreed to drive Butch and a group of “her girlie friends,” all of whom look and act like Butch, to Beale Street in Memphis for a fun night. I guess Stephen thought that he was really going to have a good time with just him and a group of women. How dumb can one man be? Where is his internal detection for warning signs? Wait that would take a brain. He was alone with Butch and her friends. Stephen said that he drove, and Butch rode in the back seat on the way to Memphis. During the drive, Butch kept thumping Stephen in the back of the head, which in turn pissed Stephen off. They argued, and he vowed to himself that he would not get back in a car with Butch, he would find another way home. His reasoning was that he had never been to Beale Street and not run into someone he knew. But Fate would decree otherwise.
Once on Beale Street, Stephen managed to separate himself from the Amazons, but Butch didn’t want to be separated. While Stephen was fleeing, she, being the predator mode, stalked him through the clubs. Stephen knew that she was hot on his tail because she had text messaged him the whole time, telling him that he would never get away and that she and her friends were going to take him back to her house and teach him how to treat a lady. The hunter had become the hunted.
Eventually, Butch snared her prey. Stephen’s shirt was almost ripped off him in the capture, and he was bullied into Butch’s car by the Amazon pack. At least Stephen was smart enough to be scared. He knew that he had to escape. They had to stop for gas, and the women decided to fill up the car at one of the truck stops on Hwy 78/Lamar and Winchester. While at the truck stop, Stephen managed to escape and hide himself in the maze of eighteen wheelers in the parking lot. I can just imagine Stephen running around idling eighteen wheelers, stopping periodically and squatting to look underneath the the sea of trailers for running legs. Crouching Redneck, Hidden Skank-Ho. Butch was furious. She had a plan, but she was unable to capture her prize again.
Stephen made it to the truck stop across the street and hid there until he was sure that Butch had given up. Then, he called another ex-girlfriend, waking her from sleep, and asked her to drive all the way to Memphis to get him, which she did. Is one woman's loss another woman's gain? Snag him while you can. What are these women thinking? *shaking head*
You would think that the Redneck Casanova learned his lesson, but remember that he’s not that smart. It’s been almost a year since Stephen’s escape transpired, and Mother told me a couple of days ago that she thought that Stephen had hooked-up with Butch again. What the hell? LOL! Is my brother stupid or what? I can’t wait to hear about what happens this time. That dumb ass.
What about you? Any family members who never seem to learn their lessons? Any friends who refused to see reason? Any experiences like the Redneck Casanova? What are the odds that this will lead to another revenge from the Skank-Ho?
*NOTE: My brother is not crazy. He's rather intelligent in many areas of life. He's just dumb when it comes to women, like a lot of men. I love him, and it's my hope that one day he will settle down with a wonderful woman for his happily-ever-after. Until then, he keeps me entertained.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Snake Charmer...NOT!
Have any of the rest of you noticed the high volume of snakes this summer? The warm weather began with Bill killing two small snakes in our yard. I told him to rake the leaves last fall, lazy man.
That slaughter was in April. Since then, my cousin, Tina, has been dealing with an invasion of snakes in her yard. She’s lucky because Jake, her yellow Labrador, and his sidekick Black Betty, a canine of unknown origins, enjoy killing any snake that wonders into Tina’s yard. Black Betty finds the snakes, and Jake kills them. Unfortunately, Jake spent a few days in the vet’s hospital from a lethal dose of snake venom a few weeks ago. He survived and is back to his favorite pastime of dispelling all snakes around his home.
Besides snakes in yards, I’ve seen snakes streaking across simmering asphalt several times in the past month. Two weeks ago on a week night, Hannah and I driving through the neighborhood on our way to Books-A-Million for a caramel macchiato witnessed just two houses down from my house, a snake slither out of the brush in front of my vehicle. I screamed, and my legs flew up in the air, well, as much as the steering wheel would allow. I know. I was in the safety of my Explorer so why throw my legs up? Beats me. It’s just a natural reaction for me. Bill and Hannah have tried to rationalize with me about the absurdity of my reflex to snakes outside the vehicle, but my brain refuses to compute. This past Friday, I was driving through the local back roads to a job interview at a county school, and a snake swirled across the road into the heated knee length grass on the side of the road. Yes, my legs went air born again.
Seeing snakes on the roads cannot compete with what I witnessed this past Thursday. Tina, Chrissy, Maw, Stuart, Mary Eden, and Grant met me, my mother, and Colin at my mom’s house to follow us to my sister’s house to go swimming in her pool. (Poor Tracy was miserably sweating it out camping in Grenada, and we were relaxing in her pool. *g*) After we returned to mother’s house, Maw, my grandmother, wanted to gather some vegetables from two small gardens that my mother and stepdad have planted in their yard. My mother went to the lower garden, and my grandmother went to the garden beside the driveway.
The garden that Maw decided to visit has a small shed beside it. Unbeknownst to Maw, lurking in the small structure, was a very big, ugly, and nasty snake, which had staked a claim to the small shelter because of its appetite for mice. Stuart was the first to spot the snake, and Maw, being the country girl that she is, grabbed a hoe and began to do battle. Now, Maw is 77 years-old, but in that aged body beats the heart of a warrior. (Cue Xena battle cry.) Her sight is not as well as it used to be. However, her hearing is just fine to Hannah and Kristen’s amazement. As they say, you can’t cuss around Maw! But I digress. Sorry. Now, back the story.
Maw with her chosen weapon commenced to whack at not the snake, but at a green painted chain that was curled up next to the snake. She walked all over that snake as she pounded the chain, and she was miraculously never bitten. The snake, being the smart type, that of slithering for its life, was trying to get the hell out of there, but Maw realized that she was taking whacks at the wrong thing. She began striking blows at the snake, and the snake, knowing that retreat was futile, began fighting back. The rest of us, except for my mother who was not witnessing this battle, were frozen in mute horror watching the matriarch of our family do ferocious battle with this venomous enemy. Too bad the damn hoe was blunt and not sharpened. Poor Maw was just beating the hell out the snake instead of cutting off its head. And the snake was rising up in the air to a striking poise and exposing its fangs and tongue as Maw leaned in for each whack. If she didn't chop off its head, then at least it would be one brain damaged snake. Later on, Maw claimed that she believed that she knocked the snake out a few times, but the snake refused to stay down. Maw said that the more that it would hiss at her, the more she thought, “I’m going to kill you.”
During the fight, Tina, being the seasoned snake killer that she is, realized that Maw needed a sharper hoe. None of us volunteered to take Maw’s place. I’m not that brave. We knew that the blunt hoe would never end the struggle, and gladiator-hearted Maw was tiring. Somehow, Tina saw another hoe on the carport and yelled for me get it. We got the sharper hoe into Maw’s deadly hands, and the snake’s head was lopped off. Upon investigation, the snake was discovered to be at least several feet long and almost as big around as a 16 ounce Coke bottle. Also, the triangular head identified it as poisonous and the markings on its skin revealed it to be a Cotton Mouth, or Water Moccasin, a very deadly breed of snake that inhabits the south. *shudder*
On discovering what had transpired while she had been in the lower garden, my mother scrambled into her house and refused to go outside again. I’m scared of snakes, but my mother is terrified of snakes. I’ve seen her kill a huge Weeping Willow tree as a repercussion of shooting at a snake. I missed that tree. It was great for playing Tarzan. Even with this recent snake killing by Maw, my mother wanted to know why nobody had yelled down to the garden for her to get her gun, a 30.06 (thirty-ought-six), and scope the blasted thing. She would have blown away the small shed and anything else in the vicinity, too. Poor Mother is afraid of other snakes lurking in her yard, and she is threatening to buy a pig. Supposedly pigs kill and eat snakes. When I asked her how she was going to keep the pig in her yard and out of the road, she said that it would be easy. She has an underground wire system running around her yard to keep her Schnauzers from getting into the road. The wire has a small electrical current running to it, and the dogs wear collars that shock them when they get too close to the underground wire. My mother said that she would buy another collar for the pig. My mother and her ideas! A pig running around with a dog-shock-collar on! LOL!
It’s Sunday, and no pig has appeared at my mother’s house. But I’m not ruling out the possibility of a pig showing up in the future, especially if another snake is spotted in or near her yard. She lives within the city limits, and I highly doubt if the city would turn a blind eye to her pig or the smell.
What about you? Any snake problems, stories, or remedies to get rid of snakes? If I can keep my mom from a pig, lots of people will be grateful. I've heard that moth balls work, but then again, I've heard that they don't. I'm sick of snakes. I hate snakes, and everyone is predicting that snakes will be out in droves this year because we had such a mild winter. I guess I could always dig up my roots and move the family to Ireland. Now, that doesn't sound too bad. :-)
That slaughter was in April. Since then, my cousin, Tina, has been dealing with an invasion of snakes in her yard. She’s lucky because Jake, her yellow Labrador, and his sidekick Black Betty, a canine of unknown origins, enjoy killing any snake that wonders into Tina’s yard. Black Betty finds the snakes, and Jake kills them. Unfortunately, Jake spent a few days in the vet’s hospital from a lethal dose of snake venom a few weeks ago. He survived and is back to his favorite pastime of dispelling all snakes around his home.
Besides snakes in yards, I’ve seen snakes streaking across simmering asphalt several times in the past month. Two weeks ago on a week night, Hannah and I driving through the neighborhood on our way to Books-A-Million for a caramel macchiato witnessed just two houses down from my house, a snake slither out of the brush in front of my vehicle. I screamed, and my legs flew up in the air, well, as much as the steering wheel would allow. I know. I was in the safety of my Explorer so why throw my legs up? Beats me. It’s just a natural reaction for me. Bill and Hannah have tried to rationalize with me about the absurdity of my reflex to snakes outside the vehicle, but my brain refuses to compute. This past Friday, I was driving through the local back roads to a job interview at a county school, and a snake swirled across the road into the heated knee length grass on the side of the road. Yes, my legs went air born again.
Seeing snakes on the roads cannot compete with what I witnessed this past Thursday. Tina, Chrissy, Maw, Stuart, Mary Eden, and Grant met me, my mother, and Colin at my mom’s house to follow us to my sister’s house to go swimming in her pool. (Poor Tracy was miserably sweating it out camping in Grenada, and we were relaxing in her pool. *g*) After we returned to mother’s house, Maw, my grandmother, wanted to gather some vegetables from two small gardens that my mother and stepdad have planted in their yard. My mother went to the lower garden, and my grandmother went to the garden beside the driveway.
The garden that Maw decided to visit has a small shed beside it. Unbeknownst to Maw, lurking in the small structure, was a very big, ugly, and nasty snake, which had staked a claim to the small shelter because of its appetite for mice. Stuart was the first to spot the snake, and Maw, being the country girl that she is, grabbed a hoe and began to do battle. Now, Maw is 77 years-old, but in that aged body beats the heart of a warrior. (Cue Xena battle cry.) Her sight is not as well as it used to be. However, her hearing is just fine to Hannah and Kristen’s amazement. As they say, you can’t cuss around Maw! But I digress. Sorry. Now, back the story.
Maw with her chosen weapon commenced to whack at not the snake, but at a green painted chain that was curled up next to the snake. She walked all over that snake as she pounded the chain, and she was miraculously never bitten. The snake, being the smart type, that of slithering for its life, was trying to get the hell out of there, but Maw realized that she was taking whacks at the wrong thing. She began striking blows at the snake, and the snake, knowing that retreat was futile, began fighting back. The rest of us, except for my mother who was not witnessing this battle, were frozen in mute horror watching the matriarch of our family do ferocious battle with this venomous enemy. Too bad the damn hoe was blunt and not sharpened. Poor Maw was just beating the hell out the snake instead of cutting off its head. And the snake was rising up in the air to a striking poise and exposing its fangs and tongue as Maw leaned in for each whack. If she didn't chop off its head, then at least it would be one brain damaged snake. Later on, Maw claimed that she believed that she knocked the snake out a few times, but the snake refused to stay down. Maw said that the more that it would hiss at her, the more she thought, “I’m going to kill you.”
During the fight, Tina, being the seasoned snake killer that she is, realized that Maw needed a sharper hoe. None of us volunteered to take Maw’s place. I’m not that brave. We knew that the blunt hoe would never end the struggle, and gladiator-hearted Maw was tiring. Somehow, Tina saw another hoe on the carport and yelled for me get it. We got the sharper hoe into Maw’s deadly hands, and the snake’s head was lopped off. Upon investigation, the snake was discovered to be at least several feet long and almost as big around as a 16 ounce Coke bottle. Also, the triangular head identified it as poisonous and the markings on its skin revealed it to be a Cotton Mouth, or Water Moccasin, a very deadly breed of snake that inhabits the south. *shudder*
On discovering what had transpired while she had been in the lower garden, my mother scrambled into her house and refused to go outside again. I’m scared of snakes, but my mother is terrified of snakes. I’ve seen her kill a huge Weeping Willow tree as a repercussion of shooting at a snake. I missed that tree. It was great for playing Tarzan. Even with this recent snake killing by Maw, my mother wanted to know why nobody had yelled down to the garden for her to get her gun, a 30.06 (thirty-ought-six), and scope the blasted thing. She would have blown away the small shed and anything else in the vicinity, too. Poor Mother is afraid of other snakes lurking in her yard, and she is threatening to buy a pig. Supposedly pigs kill and eat snakes. When I asked her how she was going to keep the pig in her yard and out of the road, she said that it would be easy. She has an underground wire system running around her yard to keep her Schnauzers from getting into the road. The wire has a small electrical current running to it, and the dogs wear collars that shock them when they get too close to the underground wire. My mother said that she would buy another collar for the pig. My mother and her ideas! A pig running around with a dog-shock-collar on! LOL!
It’s Sunday, and no pig has appeared at my mother’s house. But I’m not ruling out the possibility of a pig showing up in the future, especially if another snake is spotted in or near her yard. She lives within the city limits, and I highly doubt if the city would turn a blind eye to her pig or the smell.
What about you? Any snake problems, stories, or remedies to get rid of snakes? If I can keep my mom from a pig, lots of people will be grateful. I've heard that moth balls work, but then again, I've heard that they don't. I'm sick of snakes. I hate snakes, and everyone is predicting that snakes will be out in droves this year because we had such a mild winter. I guess I could always dig up my roots and move the family to Ireland. Now, that doesn't sound too bad. :-)
Monday, May 26, 2008
Boxie -by guest blogger Bill
Misty and I have three kids. Hannah is 14 going on 23. Donovan is 11 and a Black Belt in Karate. And then there is Colin.
Colin will be 5 at the end of July. Like a lot of kids he really enjoys watching cartoons. I have gotten him hooked on MY cartoons like Animaniacs, The Simpsons, and, now, Johnny Bravo. He is also into Star Wars and had a great time watching the new Indiana Jones movie yesterday. Colin thinks he is a big kid since he is playing Tee Ball this spring.
Like most overly spoiled four year olds, Colin has way too many toys. They spill out of his room because he refuses to clean it (he takes after his sister who cleans every 4 months, period). He has a ton of stuffed animals. One of his first was a “Bear in the Big Blue House” he picked out at the Disney Store. Since then he has gotten several bears, dogs, and cats. Santa brought him Mickey, Donald, Goofy, and Pluto. His cousin got him Chip and Dale. He stole one of my Opus’s from Bloom County (yes I had 2, what of it?). Colin has dozens of Hot Wheels and almost all of the die cast “Cars”, plus a bunch of “Transformers”, Star Wars action figures, and untold hundreds of toys that will end up at a yard sale in the next couple of years.
Yesterday Colin got a new “toy.” Colin’s big brother came to visit for the next week. They were sitting on the couch watching “Space Balls” when Colin went back to his room and dragged in a small box. Donovan found a sharpie and started drawing on the box. He ended up drawing a face, arms, and a moustache. Boxie was born. Colin and Boxie have been inseparable since. They have joined together in adventures like running into town with me to run errands, watching TV, and defeating Donovan in epic light saber battles. Colin cried a little when Donovan said that Boxie was dead. For a little while they played video games together. Boxie even donned Colin’s Superman cape to become “SuperBoxie.” During the Cub’s game this afternoon, Colin and Boxie were enjoying the game from the floor. All of the sudden, wham! Colin punched Boxie in the “face.” Boxie decided he wanted to wrestle. It’s always an adventure!
In the electronic age where kids spend hours in front of a big screen TV while playing Mario on the Nintendo DS and listening to Hannah Montana on their IPods, it is refreshing to be reminded that it’s the simple things that mean so much in life.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a sharpie. I have an old refrigerator box waiting for me in the storage building.
later,
Bill
Colin will be 5 at the end of July. Like a lot of kids he really enjoys watching cartoons. I have gotten him hooked on MY cartoons like Animaniacs, The Simpsons, and, now, Johnny Bravo. He is also into Star Wars and had a great time watching the new Indiana Jones movie yesterday. Colin thinks he is a big kid since he is playing Tee Ball this spring.
Like most overly spoiled four year olds, Colin has way too many toys. They spill out of his room because he refuses to clean it (he takes after his sister who cleans every 4 months, period). He has a ton of stuffed animals. One of his first was a “Bear in the Big Blue House” he picked out at the Disney Store. Since then he has gotten several bears, dogs, and cats. Santa brought him Mickey, Donald, Goofy, and Pluto. His cousin got him Chip and Dale. He stole one of my Opus’s from Bloom County (yes I had 2, what of it?). Colin has dozens of Hot Wheels and almost all of the die cast “Cars”, plus a bunch of “Transformers”, Star Wars action figures, and untold hundreds of toys that will end up at a yard sale in the next couple of years.
Yesterday Colin got a new “toy.” Colin’s big brother came to visit for the next week. They were sitting on the couch watching “Space Balls” when Colin went back to his room and dragged in a small box. Donovan found a sharpie and started drawing on the box. He ended up drawing a face, arms, and a moustache. Boxie was born. Colin and Boxie have been inseparable since. They have joined together in adventures like running into town with me to run errands, watching TV, and defeating Donovan in epic light saber battles. Colin cried a little when Donovan said that Boxie was dead. For a little while they played video games together. Boxie even donned Colin’s Superman cape to become “SuperBoxie.” During the Cub’s game this afternoon, Colin and Boxie were enjoying the game from the floor. All of the sudden, wham! Colin punched Boxie in the “face.” Boxie decided he wanted to wrestle. It’s always an adventure!
In the electronic age where kids spend hours in front of a big screen TV while playing Mario on the Nintendo DS and listening to Hannah Montana on their IPods, it is refreshing to be reminded that it’s the simple things that mean so much in life.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a sharpie. I have an old refrigerator box waiting for me in the storage building.
later,
Bill
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Redneck Casanova
I miss the Boondocks. The weekends at the Boondocks were always interesting. Drinks flowed, and hormones raged. Budweiser worked as an aphrodisiac, and most consumers succumbed to the mating call of leaving at 2:00 a.m. with whatever he or she had been wrapped around on the dance floor. Unfortunately, my brother was no different from the other men in the bar, looking to go home with just about anything that would shake her boobs or booty at him.
Stephen’s seduction skills with easy, skank-ho women are becoming legendary amongst his friends. So much so, that I have bequeathed him the well earned title of Redneck Casanova. In order to understand the Redneck Casanova’s suave charisma, I’ll entertain you with some of his encounters with the fairer sex, and I use the term “fairer” loosely. Remember that the lights at the Boondocks were dim, and the smoky haze aided in the allusion of beauty in the bar. All that I am about to relate to you transpired over the course of one night at The Boondocks.
The evening began for Stephen when he looked at a fellow bouncer, and said, “K-Dawg, let’s go have a look around so that I can pick out what I’ll be waking up next to in the morning.” Famous last words or what?
A couple of hours later, I looked up to discover my brother was standing a few feet from my podium at the Boondocks’ entrance. Before I could greet him, a woman approached him with wrapping her arms around him and shoving her tongue down his throat. Ewwww! Gross. He is my baby brother after all. When the lip-lock finished, I yelled at the woman, “Hey! You know that he was born with a cloven hoof, don’t you?” The woman must have thought that I was bitter competition because she gave me a look of “haha…I have him and you don’t” and said with a bitchy smile, “I don’t care.” At this point, Stephen grinned and told the woman, “This is my sister.” The woman immediately changed her attitude by walking up to me with a smile and introducing herself. I refused to shake her outstretched hand. I didn't have any Germ-X with me.
Our sister was there with her ex-husband and some of their friends. When I laughingly told Tracy about the skuz that Stephen had kissed, she told me about what she had witnessed earlier in the evening. The women’s bathroom had overflowed with toilet water yet again, and Tracy had sought out Stephen to let him know. When she found him, he was talking to a girl that Tracy described as “actually pretty.” You would have to see the women at the Boondocks to appreciate my sister’s surprising description of the girl. A pretty girl at the Boondocks is a rarity. However, this pretty girl would not be a “morning-after-bed- partner” for Stephen because he screwed up in a big way. When Tracy interrupted him, he tried to play all suave and in control. He introduced the girl to Tracy by saying, “This is my sister, Tracy,” but when he was to introduce the girl to Tracy, he hesitated. Instead of stating the girl’s name, he told the girl, “I hate it when this happens. Sweetheart, what’s your name again?” The girl became huffy and walked away. The Redneck Casanova had struck again.
After the bar closed, Bill and I met Tracy and her group at a local truck stop. Not much is open at 3:00 a.m. in the morning. There’s a Waffle House, but I refuse to patronize the town’s Waffle House because of a case of police brutality that I witnessed at the establishment one long ago Saturday night. That’s a story for another time. While we chatted and waited on the cook to kill the cow out back for our burgers, Stephen walked in. On his arm was his conquest for the night, or was Stephen her conquest for the night? His victim was yet a different woman, and she seemed happy to have him. When she excused herself to the bathroom, Tracy and I, being the loving sisters that we are, kidded him without mercy. He defended himself by telling us that it was just for the night, and she didn’t have a way home. Her friends had apparently left her stranded at the Boondocks. Don’t you think she could have come up with a better line to reel him in? In Stephen’s estimation, she would do for the night. At least his legendary reputation would continue to grow with another notch on his bedpost. Wait a minute. I’m wrong. The Redneck Casanova doesn’t mark his bedpost with each conquest. Using the camera on his phone, he takes a picture of each woman the morning after while she is still in his bed. You know that it his bed because of the strategically placed deer antlers above it. The Redneck Casanova claims that those antlers are famous. *insert rolling eyes here*
I know that my brother is just enjoying his singleness after being married to a vile woman, but I worry about him. He lives with two other guys, and their place is the party pad. Every weekend after the bars close, lots of partiers migrate to their house. He’s invited me to come out, but I told him that I’m afraid that I would catch something just by walking through the door. He had the audacity to look offended and informed me, “We stock up on bleach and Lysol!”
Stephen has confessed to me that he longs to meet someone nice, but he’s not meeting anyone interesting. He needs to meet someone who is not only attractive and nice but respectable, too. I love my brother and would love to see him happy. I could always place an ad in the classifieds of the local paper.
WANTED: Attractive, nice, respectable, and mature woman to date my brother. Skank-ho’s need not apply!
I could always use some help with writing the ad that I would post in the paper on my brother's behalf. What would you say in the ad? *g*
Stephen’s seduction skills with easy, skank-ho women are becoming legendary amongst his friends. So much so, that I have bequeathed him the well earned title of Redneck Casanova. In order to understand the Redneck Casanova’s suave charisma, I’ll entertain you with some of his encounters with the fairer sex, and I use the term “fairer” loosely. Remember that the lights at the Boondocks were dim, and the smoky haze aided in the allusion of beauty in the bar. All that I am about to relate to you transpired over the course of one night at The Boondocks.
The evening began for Stephen when he looked at a fellow bouncer, and said, “K-Dawg, let’s go have a look around so that I can pick out what I’ll be waking up next to in the morning.” Famous last words or what?
A couple of hours later, I looked up to discover my brother was standing a few feet from my podium at the Boondocks’ entrance. Before I could greet him, a woman approached him with wrapping her arms around him and shoving her tongue down his throat. Ewwww! Gross. He is my baby brother after all. When the lip-lock finished, I yelled at the woman, “Hey! You know that he was born with a cloven hoof, don’t you?” The woman must have thought that I was bitter competition because she gave me a look of “haha…I have him and you don’t” and said with a bitchy smile, “I don’t care.” At this point, Stephen grinned and told the woman, “This is my sister.” The woman immediately changed her attitude by walking up to me with a smile and introducing herself. I refused to shake her outstretched hand. I didn't have any Germ-X with me.
Our sister was there with her ex-husband and some of their friends. When I laughingly told Tracy about the skuz that Stephen had kissed, she told me about what she had witnessed earlier in the evening. The women’s bathroom had overflowed with toilet water yet again, and Tracy had sought out Stephen to let him know. When she found him, he was talking to a girl that Tracy described as “actually pretty.” You would have to see the women at the Boondocks to appreciate my sister’s surprising description of the girl. A pretty girl at the Boondocks is a rarity. However, this pretty girl would not be a “morning-after-bed- partner” for Stephen because he screwed up in a big way. When Tracy interrupted him, he tried to play all suave and in control. He introduced the girl to Tracy by saying, “This is my sister, Tracy,” but when he was to introduce the girl to Tracy, he hesitated. Instead of stating the girl’s name, he told the girl, “I hate it when this happens. Sweetheart, what’s your name again?” The girl became huffy and walked away. The Redneck Casanova had struck again.
After the bar closed, Bill and I met Tracy and her group at a local truck stop. Not much is open at 3:00 a.m. in the morning. There’s a Waffle House, but I refuse to patronize the town’s Waffle House because of a case of police brutality that I witnessed at the establishment one long ago Saturday night. That’s a story for another time. While we chatted and waited on the cook to kill the cow out back for our burgers, Stephen walked in. On his arm was his conquest for the night, or was Stephen her conquest for the night? His victim was yet a different woman, and she seemed happy to have him. When she excused herself to the bathroom, Tracy and I, being the loving sisters that we are, kidded him without mercy. He defended himself by telling us that it was just for the night, and she didn’t have a way home. Her friends had apparently left her stranded at the Boondocks. Don’t you think she could have come up with a better line to reel him in? In Stephen’s estimation, she would do for the night. At least his legendary reputation would continue to grow with another notch on his bedpost. Wait a minute. I’m wrong. The Redneck Casanova doesn’t mark his bedpost with each conquest. Using the camera on his phone, he takes a picture of each woman the morning after while she is still in his bed. You know that it his bed because of the strategically placed deer antlers above it. The Redneck Casanova claims that those antlers are famous. *insert rolling eyes here*
I know that my brother is just enjoying his singleness after being married to a vile woman, but I worry about him. He lives with two other guys, and their place is the party pad. Every weekend after the bars close, lots of partiers migrate to their house. He’s invited me to come out, but I told him that I’m afraid that I would catch something just by walking through the door. He had the audacity to look offended and informed me, “We stock up on bleach and Lysol!”
Stephen has confessed to me that he longs to meet someone nice, but he’s not meeting anyone interesting. He needs to meet someone who is not only attractive and nice but respectable, too. I love my brother and would love to see him happy. I could always place an ad in the classifieds of the local paper.
WANTED: Attractive, nice, respectable, and mature woman to date my brother. Skank-ho’s need not apply!
I could always use some help with writing the ad that I would post in the paper on my brother's behalf. What would you say in the ad? *g*
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Another Casualty for the Romance Genre
Spring Break is a memory, the bruises are fading from St. Patrick’s Day, and the Easter Bunny has hopped on down the bunny trail. I’m extremely late in blogging, and my conscience, aka Hannah, will no longer allow my laziness. So, this one is for Hannah.
Last summer, Hannah begged and pleaded to read The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever by Julia Quinn. Her pleas began after she heard my laughter while I read it. I succumbed. Why not? I was the same age when I picked up my first romance novel, A Rose In Winter by Kathleen Woodiwiss. Hannah is not exactly the most respectful of other people’s things, mainly my stuff, so I could not stomach handing over my copy of Secret Diaries. I bought her a copy to read on her trip with her Gram, my mother. When Hannah gleefully showed Gram her reading material, my mother’s eyes took on the look of a deer in headlights. I reminded her that I read romance novels at Hannah’s age. My mother replied by telling Hannah, “Save all your questions for your mother. I don’t want to hear it. I mean it.” And Hannah shockingly obeyed. (Obeying of any demand is a rarity for Hannah. She’s the typical, high school teenager.)
When Hannah returned from her trip, she praised Secret Diaries and Julia Quinn. She told all her friends about the book. I overheard her tell one of her friends, “When I get ready to marry, I’m finding a man like that.” When she told me the same thing, I laughed and told her, “Good luck.” Hannah read Secret Diaries a second time and put it away, which surprised me. I thought she had been bitten and infected by the romance novel bug, but she hadn’t. Her antidote was Harry Potter.
This past Spring Break, Hannah was reintroduced to the romance genre via her cousin. Kristen is six months younger than Hannah, and she reminds my family so much of me that my sister claims that Hannah should have been her child and Kristen mine. Kristen has been reading romances for about six months now, and her praises of Sabrina Jeffries convinced Hannah that she was missing something. Kristen loaned Hannah two of Sabrina’s books, and Hannah is truly addicted this time around. In the past three weeks, Hannah has consumed eleven romance novels. I hate to think about what her new hobby is doing to her grades. After reading a few of Sabrina Jeffries’ books, she found my “keeper stash” of romances. She’s rapidly consuming Julia’s Bridgerton series, and her next target is Eloisa’s Essex Sisters. I predict another Bon Bon in the making. Kristen is enthused with my stash, too. I’ve explained to both that I’ll share, but to consider me like a lending library. Check out one, read, return, and receive another. Call me “anal.” My books are a passion. Hannah and Kristen are driving their Gram nuts with all their discussions about the heroes in these books. Call my sister and I “amused.” ;-)
Not only is Hannah reading romance, she is craving romance movies. Besides reading eleven novels in three weeks, she’s watched the BBC North & South at least three times, maybe more. She’s smitten with Richard Armitage. Who’s not?!? That man is Adonis come to life. He NEEDS to be seen in more movies. (Bill, if you read this, Richard can’t compare to you. No, I’m not lying to make you feel better. Hannah, stop laughing.)
Hannah’s two newest addictions, romance novels and Richard Armitage, have influenced her plans for the future. My sister, Kristen, and I became the entertained confidants of Hannah’s discoveries during Spring Break. Hannah intends to finish high school, graduate from college, and move to England, home of perfect men, especially Richard. Once in England, she’ll find her ideal man, preferably one with a title, maybe even a duke, but he must have money and that certain charisma. (Now, where have we heard this plan before? How many of us are guilty of this fantasy? *g* ) Hannah decided that she would be able to obtain her goal of her ideal man, or should I say, “hero,” by her special something that sets her apart from most of the female population over the age of 12. Hannah proclaimed to my sister, Kristen, and me that she is special because she is a virgin. The virgin gets her hero in the end of the novel, and if it is good enough for the heroine, then damnit, it’s good enough for her, or so she believes. Now keep in mind, my sister, Kristen, and I are all roaring with laughter at this point of the conversation, but it gets better. Hannah decides that she should create a symbol for special status. Superman has the “S” on his chest; Hannah has the “V.” No, she doesn’t wear a “V” on her chest. Instead, she makes the sign of the “V” with her two index fingers. (Thank you, Jennifer, for helping me with explaining this sign!) Put your hands and fingers together like you were going to do the church, people, and steeple thing-a-ma-jig. When you do the steeple with your index fingers, don’t connect your index fingers at the tips but spread them apart, forming a “V.” This is Hannah’s “virgin symbol.” Ingenious, huh? Yeah, specialness goes hand in hand with ingenious. Now, every time Hannah says the word virgin, she does the “V” sign. Sometimes she doesn’t even say “virgin,” she just does the “V” sign. I wonder if she thinks if that sign will lead her English duke to her in England. Hmmm...makes me think of searching for water in the desert with a stick. Can’t you imagine the headlines in the British newspapers, “Crazy American Voodoo Woman Stalks Actor Richard Armitage With Her “V-ed” Fingers.” I would be a proud mother. My baby would be famous.
I know that Hannah was entertaining us to ease my sister’s mind. Her youngest was going in for an exploratory surgery the following morning. I’m happy to report that my nephew Ryan is doing well now, but he did scare us for a few days.
My daughter is a natural comedian. She’s inherited the comical gene that runs rampant in my family. I’m finding her antics funny. Also, I’m her mother. I want her to remain focused on school and college. (Forget the boys now, Hannah. You have a level head on you shoulders. You’re smart enough to succeed with your dreams.) She plans on seeing the world, and she refuses to jeopardize her dreams with falling for some guy in a small town who drives a muddy pick-up, swaggers in a pair of cowboy boots, thinks camouflage is not only a must for any wardrobe but a decorating phenomena, too, and lacks a British accent. Whoever says that a girl looks for her daddy in her future husband is not always right. However, I’m old enough to know that dreams can always be sidetracked or changed. Love you, Pooh Bear.
What about you? How was your Spring Break? How were the holidays? Does Hannah remind you of yourself when you began reading romance? Last but not least, any advice or well wishes for Hannah?
Last summer, Hannah begged and pleaded to read The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever by Julia Quinn. Her pleas began after she heard my laughter while I read it. I succumbed. Why not? I was the same age when I picked up my first romance novel, A Rose In Winter by Kathleen Woodiwiss. Hannah is not exactly the most respectful of other people’s things, mainly my stuff, so I could not stomach handing over my copy of Secret Diaries. I bought her a copy to read on her trip with her Gram, my mother. When Hannah gleefully showed Gram her reading material, my mother’s eyes took on the look of a deer in headlights. I reminded her that I read romance novels at Hannah’s age. My mother replied by telling Hannah, “Save all your questions for your mother. I don’t want to hear it. I mean it.” And Hannah shockingly obeyed. (Obeying of any demand is a rarity for Hannah. She’s the typical, high school teenager.)
When Hannah returned from her trip, she praised Secret Diaries and Julia Quinn. She told all her friends about the book. I overheard her tell one of her friends, “When I get ready to marry, I’m finding a man like that.” When she told me the same thing, I laughed and told her, “Good luck.” Hannah read Secret Diaries a second time and put it away, which surprised me. I thought she had been bitten and infected by the romance novel bug, but she hadn’t. Her antidote was Harry Potter.
This past Spring Break, Hannah was reintroduced to the romance genre via her cousin. Kristen is six months younger than Hannah, and she reminds my family so much of me that my sister claims that Hannah should have been her child and Kristen mine. Kristen has been reading romances for about six months now, and her praises of Sabrina Jeffries convinced Hannah that she was missing something. Kristen loaned Hannah two of Sabrina’s books, and Hannah is truly addicted this time around. In the past three weeks, Hannah has consumed eleven romance novels. I hate to think about what her new hobby is doing to her grades. After reading a few of Sabrina Jeffries’ books, she found my “keeper stash” of romances. She’s rapidly consuming Julia’s Bridgerton series, and her next target is Eloisa’s Essex Sisters. I predict another Bon Bon in the making. Kristen is enthused with my stash, too. I’ve explained to both that I’ll share, but to consider me like a lending library. Check out one, read, return, and receive another. Call me “anal.” My books are a passion. Hannah and Kristen are driving their Gram nuts with all their discussions about the heroes in these books. Call my sister and I “amused.” ;-)
Not only is Hannah reading romance, she is craving romance movies. Besides reading eleven novels in three weeks, she’s watched the BBC North & South at least three times, maybe more. She’s smitten with Richard Armitage. Who’s not?!? That man is Adonis come to life. He NEEDS to be seen in more movies. (Bill, if you read this, Richard can’t compare to you. No, I’m not lying to make you feel better. Hannah, stop laughing.)
Hannah’s two newest addictions, romance novels and Richard Armitage, have influenced her plans for the future. My sister, Kristen, and I became the entertained confidants of Hannah’s discoveries during Spring Break. Hannah intends to finish high school, graduate from college, and move to England, home of perfect men, especially Richard. Once in England, she’ll find her ideal man, preferably one with a title, maybe even a duke, but he must have money and that certain charisma. (Now, where have we heard this plan before? How many of us are guilty of this fantasy? *g* ) Hannah decided that she would be able to obtain her goal of her ideal man, or should I say, “hero,” by her special something that sets her apart from most of the female population over the age of 12. Hannah proclaimed to my sister, Kristen, and me that she is special because she is a virgin. The virgin gets her hero in the end of the novel, and if it is good enough for the heroine, then damnit, it’s good enough for her, or so she believes. Now keep in mind, my sister, Kristen, and I are all roaring with laughter at this point of the conversation, but it gets better. Hannah decides that she should create a symbol for special status. Superman has the “S” on his chest; Hannah has the “V.” No, she doesn’t wear a “V” on her chest. Instead, she makes the sign of the “V” with her two index fingers. (Thank you, Jennifer, for helping me with explaining this sign!) Put your hands and fingers together like you were going to do the church, people, and steeple thing-a-ma-jig. When you do the steeple with your index fingers, don’t connect your index fingers at the tips but spread them apart, forming a “V.” This is Hannah’s “virgin symbol.” Ingenious, huh? Yeah, specialness goes hand in hand with ingenious. Now, every time Hannah says the word virgin, she does the “V” sign. Sometimes she doesn’t even say “virgin,” she just does the “V” sign. I wonder if she thinks if that sign will lead her English duke to her in England. Hmmm...makes me think of searching for water in the desert with a stick. Can’t you imagine the headlines in the British newspapers, “Crazy American Voodoo Woman Stalks Actor Richard Armitage With Her “V-ed” Fingers.” I would be a proud mother. My baby would be famous.
I know that Hannah was entertaining us to ease my sister’s mind. Her youngest was going in for an exploratory surgery the following morning. I’m happy to report that my nephew Ryan is doing well now, but he did scare us for a few days.
My daughter is a natural comedian. She’s inherited the comical gene that runs rampant in my family. I’m finding her antics funny. Also, I’m her mother. I want her to remain focused on school and college. (Forget the boys now, Hannah. You have a level head on you shoulders. You’re smart enough to succeed with your dreams.) She plans on seeing the world, and she refuses to jeopardize her dreams with falling for some guy in a small town who drives a muddy pick-up, swaggers in a pair of cowboy boots, thinks camouflage is not only a must for any wardrobe but a decorating phenomena, too, and lacks a British accent. Whoever says that a girl looks for her daddy in her future husband is not always right. However, I’m old enough to know that dreams can always be sidetracked or changed. Love you, Pooh Bear.
What about you? How was your Spring Break? How were the holidays? Does Hannah remind you of yourself when you began reading romance? Last but not least, any advice or well wishes for Hannah?
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