It's all cosmetic

You're the stylist. You realize that, right?

You decide what the character wears. From the shade of his/her skin to hair to make-up to clothing to body style and shape.

EVERYTHING!

No pressure, right?

*grins*

This can be a tricky proposition. Do you make your hero/heroine physically foils for each other? Do you match them? How about the builds? Him slight? Her curvy?

You have a million options!!!

One caveat, in my opinion. Do NOT make caricature characters. The ditzy blond with big boobs and no IQ. The jock with more muscles than sense.

Just ewww.

Each character is unique such as each person is unique. Strive to be different yet true to your character's voice. Physical appearance is often extremely telling in the story. And that can be a lot of fun.

Okay my lovelies...my example for the day: Ewan McGregor

Study the two pictures at the top of my blog.

The one on the left is hot. I gotta go with that. The one of the right is certainly not. I think he was attractive in the Star Wars flicks but watched Deception, hope that's the right name, the other night, and he looked like a pre-Spiderman Peter Parker. ugh

Same guy.

Different hair and threads.

Amazing, huh?

I was going to post Hugh Jackman as Wolverine and then Leo in Kate and Leopold. But I was afraid I'd be too distracted to post.

lmao

Grins*

Secondary Characters

I like secondary characters. They're a nice cushion to the story for me. The only problem with a secondary character lies in ego. When he/she gets altogether too big for his/her literary britches, there must be a "Come to Jesus meeting."

Most secondary characters realize their importance in your story. They are content to listen to hero/heroine bitching-whining-moaning-sexual exploits. It's fun. Kinda like therapy. They do their thankless job and then mosey on back to whatever it is they do besides occupy a story.
But not ALL of them.
Every once in awhile, you have a secondary character that stands up and gives his/her version of the "I Have a Dream Speech."
*ahem*
"When you took on the responsibility to write a book, you were signing a promissary note to all characters herein. This note was a promise to all characters that we would be given certain unalienable rights such as life, liberty, and the pursuit of our own story arc. I have a dream that all characters are created equal. And I live in hope for the day that you finally find me Mr./Mrs. Right with a modicum of headaches."
Now.
If this character waits until my other story is almost finished or, I WISH, completely finished, then said character and I will sit down together and discuss business. If this character interrupts every scene I attempt to write by showboating and upstaging my main character(s), then there are issues.
What to do. What to do.
*whistling*
This can be tricky territory for a beginning writer. Or a writer with a series.
A beginning writer will spazz smooth out most times because...My God! Not only do you have one story to write, you now possibly have two. Simmer, JohnBoy. A beginning writer writes one story at a time. Start multi-tasking when everything else is smooth.
Series writers have a delicate operation to perform. Put secondary character(s) in the flow of the story without disrupting the main storyline. Tricky, my friends, tricky.
If you feel like you've veered off the main path and are now skipping down another trail holding hands with a secondary character while they bend your ear...GO BACK!!! Cease and desist. Shake free and RUN back to the main road.
You're the author. You don't get to meander.
Once again...LISTEN. It is honestly the best advice I can give any writer.
If Mr. SnappyPants continually butts into your writing flow and whines about his own story, set him straight. If he's really an annoying ass, jot down basics but do NOT push your main story aside.
Characters are pushy.
Sometimes ya gotta break out the whip and the chair.
Of course, with some of my books, they kinda like it.
Grins*

I'm not a jackass. The author wrote me that way.

Uh.
Huh.

I know we've all read characters that we would love to bitch slap. Myself included. They're infuriating. Arrogant. Conceited. Sorry pieces of work.
But can they change?
That's a bit of a loaded question now, isn't it?

I don't redeem a Too Stupid To Live character. *grins* Because I don't put any in my books. If you want fluff, go pick up a kitty from the pound. And if you want a vapid idiot with a blank look 0n her face, watch a Macy's ad with Jessica Simpson. (That was for you, Tori. *grins*)
Eye candy is great. Eye candy with an IQ less than his shoe size with a personality that's completely below his belt is just fucked up.
READ THIS: CHARACTERS WITH THESE TYPES OF PROBLEMS ARE A WASTE OF YOUR TIME AND ENERGY. PERIOD.
Moving on.

However, if you have a "wounded" hero, or an emotionally stunted hero (and I'm so not going there right now)...then you have possibilities. If you can engage a reader deep enough into this character's psyche and thought process, you've won. If you can wring a laugh or tear from a reader with this character, you've won. But if you only scratch the surface of this villainistic (is that a word?) character, then you've done the character and the reader a disservice.
Readers are voyeuristic.
I don't need to know that Mr. Emotionally Stunted man wears blue boxer briefs. But I do want to know what has made him into the person he is today. What happened to him? Sit him down on the mental couch in your therapist office cranium and let him speak. Will he open up to you?
This is big.
If you can open up this character and listen while he tells you of past tragedies and scars that he has, you've found a winner. If the arrogant prick simply looks at you and suggests making better use of your office table, move on.
It takes all kinds. Remember that.

If you place the sorriest piece of shit character in your book, you've lost. Keep in mind I'm talking about Romance here. I believe that these asshat characters are alive and well and living the high life in other genres.
The main story of any romance is love. Simply love. If I want to take an ice pick to a character's fictional heart, there's a problem. If every time I see the character, my blood pressure rises and not in a good way, there's a problem.

Look at the character. If he/she adds something to the story, keep him/her. If, however, you're wondering what in the hell possessed you...get rid of the character! My GOD! You're the AUTHOR. Don't ever forget it.
Next up:
I know you're the author. Now write me my own damn story.
Secondary characters with ego issues.
Grins*

Progress and possibilities

First things first. I edited Earth Goddess this weekend. *grins* YAY!
I also wrote 6000 or thereabouts on WATS. That's puts me a little over half way. Love that.

But I have other things on my mind today. Mostly characters.
What makes a good character? How do characters fit together? What happens when you have an obnoxious ass of a character and then you must redeem him/her? What happens when a secondary character fairly screams for a book of his/her own?

Let's start with this basic fundamental idea: A good character is a REAL character. Not someone who is completely good or bad. Not some stupid caricature of what you think a character should be. The character must be as real to you as your own friends. Because, in fact, he or she certainly is or will soon be extremely important to you.
You two must talk one-on-one. You must cut through the bullshit with a blowtorch and find what makes that character tick. You and your character may hate the process. Too damn bad. Do it anyway. Be the therapist. Listen to what the characters says. Even the unspoken.
How do you picture the character? Freeze that image in your mind. What do you notice? What stands out to you? Take that. All of it. And remember it.

Throw two characters in a scene together and let the good times roll. Or the furniture fly. Either way. It's been said by many that if your hero is a fireman, let your heroine be an arsonist or varying variations on that. I say pft. And you can quote me.
That may make for some interesting conversations. And probably some dynamic external conflict, but let's face it. Is that all ya got?
Characters come in every flavor under the sun. You can have the Alpha. Which, holy shit, the Alpha Hero is HAWT. *fanning self* But he can also come off as an asshole. The Alpha Heroine is bold. That can translate into "bitch" fairly easy. Then you have the Betta Hero. He's the "get along-go along" type guy. Laid back and all that.
And I've read that there is a Gamma Hero which nicely combines the two.
Eh.
This ties into my whole black/white theory. PEOPLE are complex!!! Alpha men do not drag their collective knuckles on the ground and gnaw on a turkey leg. Okay. Some might. But you know what I mean.
A man and a woman thrown together in any given situation will have his/her own opinions, actions, and feelings. The fun part is watching it unfold.
Two Alphas would be like watching Maddy Hayes and David Addison (God, I loved Moonlighting. Remember the spin-off from Taming of the Shrew?) right before they (finally) got horizontal. She slapped him. He slapped her. Then they got to rolling around on the ground. And it was hot. Because there was so much verbal foreplay and tension built up between the two of them.
Throw your two main characters into a lovely locked room in your head. I know you have a couple empty rooms open. All writers do. Then watch from the two-way mirror. What happens? Does she scuff her toe while he paces? Or do they work together to figure out what's going on? WATCH THEM. Take it all in. And then use that. If they don't fit, then let them go. Or sequester them in a different place until you can find his/her better half. Don't force a coupling simply because you think they would be "perfect."
That's exactly my point.
Perfect doesn't exist.
Not here. And it shouldn't exist there, either.
Next blog: Asshole Characters. Kill them or redeem them?
Grins*

It started again.

Yes. It.
The creativity which flows from my poor tired cranium.

Let me explain something about my lovely self. The first thing, the VERY first thing, I have for my book is the title. Then I fill in the details.
*blinking*
Is that laughter I hear out there???
Told you I was backwards. lmao

So I'm at work pondering the nature of the cosmos and what grenadine really is when it hits me.
Four new titles. In a series.
*considering doing harmful things to myself with the nearest paper clip*
I swore when I finished the Elemental Guardian series that I would never NEVER do that again.
What?
More laughter?
You sadistic buttheads.

It's messed up. Seriously. That's all I'm saying. But here I am editing Earth Goddess (Book 4), and I LOVE that book. My editor loves that book. Can you see the sunshine and hear the birds sing? I'm not KIDDING!!!
*sigh*

I'm likening this to childbirth.
After I had the Oldest Chicken (all 8 lbs and 12 ozs of her)...I looked up at her dad and said, "We're only having one."
Yeah. Two more daughters later...
Because you forget!

Sure it hurt like hell. You don't think you're ever going to be done. There are no drugs good enough for this, I swear. But in fact...Baby Chicken's water didn't break. And I was in labor. So about 11 minutes after the doc broke my water (after two days, I shit you not)...out came BC. And no. The answer to your question would be...the fucking stadiol had NOT kicked in yet. But she was only 6 lbs 5 ozs.

Wow. Went off on a Mama tangent there, didn't I?

So to sum up:
I have another idea for a four book series.
I obviously have issues about childbirth and lack of good drugs.
I cannot freaking BELIEVE that I did this to myself.

Carry on.
Grins*

Crossing genres and pissing readers off

Sometimes these two items walk hand in hand. The cause-and-effect can leave a nasty little taste in the readers' mouths.

When a reader picks up a romance...they want happily-ever-after.
When a reader picks up a thriller...they want a nice game of cat-and-mouse.
When a reader picks up a horror...they want nightmares.

A reader will know what they want when they pick up the book. Books that cross genres are subject to being tossed at the wall and generally defamed and defiled on Amazon.com discussions--IF the reader does not receive what he/she expected when he/she picked the book up.
There is much of a fuss about J.R. Ward's books. Some, okay many, say that she's gone the way of dark, urban thriller type. Some readers don't care for the graphic sex (and sometimes a little bdsm) that goes with the story. And I will readily admit that her HEA's are a bit iffy.
SPOILERS!!!
RUN...DO NOT WALK...SCROLL DOWN UNTIL AFTER THE CAPS...YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!
I'm picking on J.R. for one reason. I read her books. In fact, my dearest one gave me the entire set for Christmas. heh
Okay. I'm simply saying that a ghost/vampire relationship can be a bit iffy. I can understand Rhage's story because Mary can't have kids. It was sort of a trade-off for the Scribe Virgin.
No problem.
I loved Butch and Marissa's story. Even with the homosexual overtones from V. *shrug* No big deal. Then we have Phury and his multitude of Chosen Ones at his house. Lord love the man. Or pity him. Too bad he gave up the red smoke, huh?
Now.
To Rhev. And the Princess. And all the sick, twisted shit she makes him do to get off. The scenes are graphic. But I know it's not about love/sex. It's about control. They fight for it. And it can be pretty fucking ugly.
Sometimes I wonder if J.R. has let the romance go a bit in order to go darker with the BDB's stories. I've hung so far because I have time invested in the Brothers. They are as real to me as my own characters. I haven't quite reached that point where I will call it quits and look for someone else to appease my Paranormal Romance wants.
Not. Quite. Yet.
BACK TO THE GENERIC STUFF...
Stephen King writes horror. Though I wager some would be surprised at the romance in his books. Yeah, I said it. ROMANCE in a Stephen King book. But that's extra. I read his books to savor the magnificence of his storytelling. I don't look for a HEA. In fact...get this...he LOVES to kill off at least ONE major character. He does it all the time. But I take that with a grain of salt because I know I'm not reading his book for warm fuzzies.
So I offer up a bit of a warning here. Be careful if you try to cross genres. It's kind of like Ghostbusters (Yeah. I'm pulling an eighties movie out of my mind vault. So when you find yourself humming the theme to "Ghostbusters" and craving marshamallows later...don't blame me.). If you cross the stream...you don't know what you're going to get.
Please...for the love of GOD...do NOT tell me it's a romance if it's not. Don't lead your readers to your book with promises that you can't or won't keep. There's truth in advertising. Believe me.
Your readers will thank you for it.
Grins*
ADDENDUM: I don't want to come off like I'm saying that crossing genres is bad necessarily. But it's when you deviate from your original genre and spiral toward another...you can keep your balance, or you can forsake what brought readers to you in the first place. It's a consideration.

Quack *ahem* Quack

I had no idea

Over a decade ago, I gave birth to three lovely girls. A year apart. Every October.
I didn't have a clue. I had not thought ahead to when the three babies would be thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen. I had not thought ahead to the advent of said children absolutely dying for a cell phone. Or a car. Or college.
Oh no. Not me. Didn't give it a second thought.
But think about this...I carried a diaper bag around for five years. I was pregnant 1993, 1994, and 1995. During the summer. I had two children in diapers for four years in row. It was a love/hate relationship with Luvs. You get the picture.

I thought life was good when I gave up the diaper bag. I bought a little bitty purse that would barely hold a pack of cigarettes. Not that I smoked at the time. I didn't. But it was so nice to downsize into something I couldn't fit a small child into.

Baby Chicken will turn thirteen in 3 weeks. Oldest Chicken will turn sixteen next October. Middle Chicken is all over me about getting her a cell phone.
Me? I'm just trying to keep us in feminine products.
Just saying.

And not only are there BIG items that I just didn't have a clue or chose to ignore...there are small items.
The television for example. When the girls were young, I would watch Barney six times a day. This is NOT an exaggeration. I even took them to go see the big purple guy when he was at the State Fairgrounds doing a show. I have watched a two hour VHS tape of Gumby. My brain cells fought the good fight but eventually gave up the ghost and died. It was one of the most mindnumbing experiences of my life.
My point? I made SACRIFICES!
That's what we Moms do.

But now the girls are more than happy to try and impose their television watching will on me.
Color me displeased.
As I was bitching to Tori about the other day...I didn't watch 90210 the first time around. Why in the hell would I want to watch The Next Generation??? Middle Chicken likes Gossip Girl. They watched Privileged last night.
ACK!!!
I am DYING here!
Wasn't it enough that I gave til it hurt with Barney and Gumby?
Apparently not.

The only trade-off being...it's football season.
Guess who has control of the tv on Sundays?
heh
You better believe it.
Are you ready for some football?
And you Chickens...ready or not-here it comes.
Grins*

It's that time again...

I can't stay away from my bag of candy corn!!!
Look at all that waxy sugar in fall colors! Who could refuse all that??? lmao

So tell me. What's your Halloween weakness? God knows the stores already have the candy lining the shelves.
OC loves snickers. MC loves anything sour. Warheads will do. And BC love Reese's.
I'm usually not that into the sugar, but you wouldn't be able to tell today.
Grins*

Different but the same

I'm a different type of woman. I enjoy ballet, opera, and the UFC. It's all poetry in motion to me.
So I was saddened to hear about Evan Tanner passing. He was only 37. That's a hell of a short life.
One year older than I am.
Ok. Five months older. *smile* If you want to nitpick.

It simply goes to show that nothing is guaranteed. There is no money-back clause anywhere. He or She who dies with the most toys doesn't win. It just leaves those left behind something to fight about.

And that brings me to something else I've been pondering over lately. I have taken up poetry again. I usually only pick it up when my emotions are chaotic, and I look to sort things through. But I've found that I enjoy the self-expression that poetry affords me.
Romance writing comes from my heart.
Poetry comes from my soul.

So rest assured my lovely blog readers. I'm still the same prolific and snarky chick as always. The introspection doesn't change me. It simply lets you see another side.

Grins*

Not a day wasted

sometimes I see the clouds
sometimes I see the sun

sometimes I hold it all together
sometimes I come undone

sometimes I cry to my depth
sometimes I laugh with all my soul

sometimes I clench it tightly to me
sometimes I simply let it go

sometimes I know the reason
sometimes it's so unclear

sometimes I stand unwavering
sometimes I'm simply lost in fear

sometimes I think I'm getting it right
sometimes I fear that all is wrong

sometimes I'm weak with thoughts of worry
sometimes I realize that I am strong

sometimes I wonder with days that pass
fragile as snowflakes
sharp as glass

then I take a deep breath and let it go
each day I live
is a day I grow
*****
Crystal*

What did I do this Labor Day weekend?

I wrote.

Now most of you are nodding your collective heads and thinking...of COURSE you did.
But here's the stunner: I wrote 10,000 words each Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.
And why in the world would I do that?

Because I'm a procrastinating goober.

I've known that I had to get my rear in gear for Earth Goddess. I didn't have to struggle with the story like I did Wind Goddess. That wasn't it. But all the outside influences of my life, and they are NUMEROUS, totally shut down the creative juices.
Write while my ulcer flares and burns? Eh. No.
Write while I ponder how in the hell I'm going to pay my electric AND put propane in the tank? Not so much.
Write while dodging calls from school administration informing me that Middle Chicken has gotten into hot water? I was seeing red. How was I supposed to write?
Write while dealing with two exes? Are you SHITTING me???

So.
*ahem*
I postponed and put off. Watched the calendar tick day after day away. It was slightly terrifying.
So that prompted my writing marathon. And can I say that I wrote over a thousand words an hour?
The story was more as if I were transcribing than putting it together.
It was fantastic.
WHO KNEW???
I laughed. I cried. I LOVE this story!!!
The girls played a new PS2 game all weekend. I would look up from my writing business and root them on or give them hell...whichever the time called for.

This Labor Day weekend I wrote. I wrote 30,000 words and finished Earth Goddess with a smile a mile wide and pumping fists.

Now.
If I can bottle that goodness for WATS.
Grins*

The ONLY way to order a Sonic Fried Ice Cream Blast

Yeah. I did it.
Grins*

Every once in awhile

Every once in awhile I want to be built up for who I am
instead of torn down for who I'm not

Every once in awhile I want to hear the whisper
instead of cringing from the shout

Every once in awhile I want to be heard for what I've said and how I said it
instead of being told that I didn't listen even though I was

Every once in awhile I want the sun to shine upon my countenance
instead of the darkness filling in my vision

Every once in a damn while I want to be still
to ponder
to think
to gather
to unfold
to dream
in my own time
*****

Every Woman is a Goddess

That is the premise for my Elemental Guardian Series. There are four books in the series: Fire Goddess, Water Goddess, Wind Goddess, and Earth Goddess.

I turn in the final for Earth Goddess September 2ND. She will be available October 15th.

I've spent a lot of time with these ladies.

Wilda, the Fire Goddess, represents her element well. A legendary temper and fiery red hair. Her mortal, Kelly, has some great laugh aloud lines in the book.

Kendra, the Water Goddess, is the youngest. She is the gentlest of the four. In her story, she comes up against mortal evil which forever alters her and her mortal, Erin. This story still touches me deeply.

Tempest, the Wind Goddess, is an ebony-haired Amazon. I rolled the dice and put three dynamic Alpha characters in one story. Sylvia and Tristan waver between being each other's soul mates and each other's worst enemies. I was more a referee than a writer in that one.

Eden, the Earth Goddess, is the embodiment (in my mind) of every woman. She is the nurturer. The protector. The oldest of the four sisters. The one they look to. But it is a rule she broke many years ago that brings her to her mortal, May.

Without further ado:

May Fairchild was a child actor until a tragic accident cut her dreams, and almost her life, short. She limped away from acting and began a new life for herself. Childish dreams were tucked away, and a new foundation was built. May is set in her ways and believes herself to be in the twilight of her years with no time for romantic nonsense.
When Chandler Hughes moves in next door, May’s world alters. Her young neighbor sees May in a new light. Chandler won’t back down. May won’t give in.
Eden is the Earth Goddess who has already helped May come out of the dark once when all was lost. Can she show her the light again?

And...shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Here's the cover. *grins*

Keep it under your hat.

Some of my favorite searches that brought YOU here

hot young women behaving badly pictures
(these are in my private collection. better luck next time)

what's romantic life of Michael Phelps
(you tell me, and we'll both know.)

dominatrix whip
*whistling*

blue collar females with big breasts
(and your point would be?)

Drama

1. an episode that is turbulent or highly emotional

I won't lie. I stay away from Drama. I absolutely loathe its existence. Why would I put myself in a situation where my blood pressure rises, my ulcer spews acid, and I develop a migraine?
Answer: I don't.

But for some unknown reason, Drama likes me. Drama wants to be my buddy. You know, hang around. Make its presence known. All that bullshit.
Color me highly displeased.

I only have two major exes. Just two. There's not a long line of past relationships. TWO. K?
One is going to be living next door to me. *massaging temple*
The other has his gf/wife whoever the hell she is...contacting me. This is my ex-husband who left when BC was three months old. Yeah. Almost thirteen years ago. But he would be so "BLESSED" if the girls would contact him.
I'm sure he would.
The girls are fantastic. They're intelligent and beautiful. Can't go wrong there. But my memories of the ex-husband are a lot less pretty. The gf/wife says he's "changed." *massaging temple again*

I wonder if I can get Drama surgically removed from my weary ass.
*****

Shoulda known better

We were watching the Olympics again last night. Rooting on the magnificent Mr. Phelps. Watching interviews with the Ladies' All-Around Winners-Nastia and Shawn. Things of that nature.
Then the commercials rolled.
KFC has been hyping the hell out of their grilled chicken. And every time (Yes! EVERY TIME) the damn commercials come on, Oldest Chicken says, "I want that." I make a mental note. We rock on.
And then Sonic has been showing the Fried Ice Cream Blast commercials. Yeah. FRIED ICE CREAM. The nutritional value is more than likely negligible while the fat content riseth. But I digress.
Every time THAT commercial comes on, Middle Chicken scoots up REAL close to the television and expresses her burning need to have one of those.
Now let me back up.
Sonic started in Shawnee Oklahoma. So I honestly don't know how many of you out there even know what one is. But you can google them. And hey! They have a MySpace. *eye roll*
Nonetheless, they have some of the funniest commercials I have ever watched on television. There are two male friends. A married couple. And two female friends recently have hyped the Fried Ice Cream Blast.
The commercial with the girls (I looked everywhere on the web and couldn't find a link to show y'all) shows both ladies sucking down these blasts and then one says...I want another. Her friend grins and says...so do I. Then they both look guilty and discuss the fact they'll have to change to another lane to order and disguise their voices.
The driver deepens her voice and drawls out..."I want a Fried Ice Cream Blast." Then she puts her finger over her lip (like a moustache) and repeats that to her friend. The passenger smiles and says...Yeah. The moustache works for you. Keep this all in mind. *GRINS*

So KFC pops on another grilled commercial. Once again...I get OC bemoaning the fact that her lips have never touched said grilled chicken. So I gather my purse and keys and look at the girls. I tell them I'm going to KFC. You could've heard a pin drop.
Then the silence was broken by my herd of children scooting to the van so fast I think they broke the sound barrier.
While I was treating them, I told them I would stop by Sonic to get them dessert. Whatever they wanted. MC obviously voted for the Fried Ice Cream Blast. BC likes the strawberry sundaes. OC drinks the Java Chillers. *sigh*
So we pull in, and I'm asking for orders. And then one of the girls--OC or MC--says...I dare you to order like that girl does on the commercials.
Excuse me?
*BIG GRIN*
You dare me? Oh really???
So I lean over, push the red button, hold my finger over my top lip and drawl my order for the Fried Ice Cream Blast. The girls are ROLLING!!! And SQUEALING!!! And MC says...I didn't think you'd really do it.
*snickering*
Shoulda known better.
By the way...I didn't indulge in either KFC or Sonic. And I've lost another 14 pounds.
heh
Grins*

Michael Phelps, Panda Porn, and Falling Down

I'll readily admit it. I don't watch the Olympics religiously every four years. I'm a hit and miss type viewer. However, this year, my chickens were interested, so we gave it a go.
And it's been jaw dropping to say the least.
The girls especially enjoy synchronized swimming and gymnastics. But we've even sat through volleyball, which Oldest Chicken deems "the boringest sport ever." Sorry Kerri and Misty!
We watched Michael Phelps and crew make the French swimmers eat their words. We cheered until we were hoarse when Lezak brought it home. We watched the unflappable Mr. Phelps pile up gold medal after gold medal. And it's simply amazing.
Bob Costas, host extraordinaire, breaks up all the events with little vignettes and pieces about the athletes and the home country. There's a woman who travels about and brings the stories back. Her name is Mary. Nope. Can't think of the last name. Too lazy to google it. You'll just have to take my word for it.
Her last little clip was about the Panda Bears. Aren't they one of the damn cutest bears you've ever seen in your life??? I always wanna pull an Elmira and hug them tight and squeeze them. But these poor creatures were endangered once upon a time, so the Chinese have sanctuaries and breeding grounds. There is a studmuffin bear, Lu Lu (spelling?). He, apparently, gets around the grounds. And if he just so happens to NOT be in the mood, they have panda porn.
Ok.
They didn't call it that. But seriously. What do you call it when a male "meets" a female, it's taped, and then shown to another male?
I rest my case.
Onto other species being flexible...gymnastics.
I watched the women last night and was a bit disappointed. There was a major fall from the balance beam. It probably cost our team the gold. And that moment shook the entire team up a bit. I will say that Shawn Johnson rocked the hell out of the balance beam, and Nastia did the same on the uneven bars. Ladies, you were magnificent. Bridget only competed in one team event final-the vault. I like her. She reminds me of my girls. So I was seriously rooting her on.
There's still individual medals for the athletes, but the USA brought home the silver team medal. Mishaps and all. Something for us all to be proud of.
Speaking of proud...(See! I'm so much smoother now)...chickens went back to school today. Oldest Chicken is in high school.
*gasp* *wheeze*
It's a late night for me, but when I get home, I'm sure I'll hear all about it.
Wouldn't want it any other way.
Grins*

WTF?

I've been a good girl lately. (For the most part.)
I don't kick animals. I'm kind to the elderly and the young. I haven't smothered my children in their sleep. There have been EFFORTS, I'm telling ya.

So. Could someone, ANYONE, explain to me why I deserve to have my ex move in next door to me?
I simply don't understand.

The ex was supposed to be moving 8 miles away. Down another highway. That "fell through."
So the ex bought a trailer. And of all the freakin' land in my rural school district, the ex rents a spot on the other side of my pond.
The other side. Of my fucking pond. I can see the damn driveway.
Get the picture?

So. My new neighbor? Oh yeah. The person I used to love who screwed me over as hard as possible.
I really don't think there will be a housewarming gift.
Crystal*