Thursday, 28 April 2011
Author Anne Manning joins us today. I so feel her pain!
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When Marci invited me to blog here at this fabulous place, and told me that I was free to rant, I started thinking about what my topic would be. What really ticks me off? Ah, so many things, so few words....
Since I spend so much of my life on-line, my major irritations are to be found in my email inbox.
- I’m on several yahoogroups and there’s always someone who simply must respond to each and every post. Usually in a condescending way that ends up irritating everybody. That’s right, people who don’t know when to shut up tick me off. Doesn’t matter what the subject is, they know more about it than you. Blah-blah-blah... Now, I myself believe that “if I explain it long enough, often enough, and in enough detail, you will agree with me that I’m right.” But I’m in the 12-step program and doing quite well, thank you. Of course, before you can get help, you have to know you have a problem, and some people just don’t know they have a problem. I wonder if Intervention takes cases like this?
- Extremely loooooong signatures. You’ve seen ‘em. The post says “me too” and is followed by a signature that’s ten lines long. Do we really need to know your entire curriculum vitae with every single post? Do we need to read a blurb for your book and the wonderful review quotes every frickin’ time? Cut it down, for Pete’s sake! Think of how many little electrons sacrificed themselves for your shameless self-promotion.
- Spam!!! “Anne Manning...get cheap Viagra®!” Or the ones from the darling little girls from Eastern Europe who are willing to show me everything they got and how they can use it. Okay, I know these are from spambots, but can’t someone program the things to figure out that a person named “Anne” probably won’t be interested in Viagra®? Send me spam about where to get cheap chocolate...I’d probably click on the link for that!
- Chain emails, especially the ones that promise you everything you’ve ever wanted if you’ll just inflict the danged thing on ten of your best friends...and have them send it back to you. I didn’t want it the first time! Sometimes a friend will include me on one that celebrates our military service members. “If you love the troops you’ll send this to ten people!” Nobody ever explained to me exactly how sending a chain email helps the troops. I’m thinking they’d really rather get a care package with books, playing cards, baby wipes (no kidding, they love these), and letters of support.
- But what really grinds my cookies to a fine powder are chain emails that tell you a sweet story of a religious nature. In the interests of full disclosure, I am a Christian. Maybe that’s why it really galls me to read an email with said sweet story, then get to the end of the thing and see what amounts to “if you love Jesus, send this to ten of your friends. If you break this chain, God won’t love you anymore.”
Does God really monitor our email? I thought only the National Security Agency did that!
But that’s another rant.
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Anne Manning writes all kinds of romance—paranormal, historical, contemporary—from her secluded bunker in San Antonio, Texas. She also writes with the sister of her heart, Kathryn Overton, as Taylor Manning. Anne and Taylor’s books are available from New Concepts Publishing, Uncial Press, and Hard Shell Word Factory.
Anne’s favorite of her own books is still The Raven’s Lady. Rational scientist Eibhlin Fitzgerald crosses a shimmering time curtain and winds up in 11th century Ireland. She wants to go home, but an Irish warrior has other ideas. This 2000 EPPIE winner is still available in eBook and print from New Concepts Publishing. It has absolutely the best time-travel romance cover ever!
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Monday, 25 April 2011
Help us welcome James Kellogg, author of E-Force, a thriller that releases from Wild Child Publishing May 10th. While this view may not be popular to snowboarders, being an alpine skier, I can completely relate. (grin)
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Another Rocky Mountain winter is retreating under the onslaught of Spring. I've strapped on the skis, Telemark and Alpine, for the last time until November. It's been an epic season. Ripping turns through bumps, carving first tracks in powder, catching air...it all rocked! Memories will be etched in my brain long after the last patch of snow gives way to wildflowers and mountainbike trails. I recall powder-choked steeps, monster mogul fields, wind-blown cornices...and snowboarder punks.
The image of one particular crisp Colorado morning suddenly hijacks my thoughts. I see mountains draped in a blanket of snow after a big overnight blizzard. The clouds had blown out and the slopes glistened like fields of diamonds under the rising sun. Not a single cloud blemished the azure blue sky when I hopped an early chair up the mountain that day. I was en route to powder extraordinaire!
My anticipation rose as the lift climbed higher. Like an eagle, I soared closer to upper Primo. It's studded with beautiful moguls. From a distance the ski run resembles the dimpled surface of a golf ball. Gliding closer, I admired the champagne powder coating the bumps like frosting. It looked so sweet. In minutes, I would be picking a line and dropping in on my descent.
In an awful instant, my heart sank. A half-dozen twenty-somethings in baggy pants and audacious-colored jackets came into view at the top of the run. They were lounging on their butts, a universal behavioral trait of snowboarders. It had to be a mirage. I rubbed my eyes, but couldn't erase the dreaded snowboards fastened to their moon boots. No!!
I felt like I was watching a passenger train hurtling toward a bus stalled on the tracks. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I watched in horror as the snowboarder punks rose and peered down the slope. Riding a fluorescent green board and dressed in loud plaid, the first one slid off the precipice and careened into my mogul paradise.
Neglecting to take a winding line between the bumps, the snow vandal turned his gaudy board sideways like a snowplow. He plummeted straight downward. The edge of the board had the effect of a razor blade on facial stubble. "Turn through the bumps! Turn!" I hollered as they pass below my dangling skis. Flipping me his middle finger, the punk and his unskilled minions scraped downhill with uncaring abandon. It was as devastating as strip mining. The beautiful mogul run was ravaged.
Despite the disappointment, I managed to find a few unspoiled powder stashes to salvage the morning. At lunchtime I cruised back down to the lodge. Much to my dismay, it was nearly impossible to walk in the vicinity of the ski racks. The area was littered with snowboards, one of them fluorescent green. The snowboarder punks leave them at whatever spot they happen to disconnect boots from bindings. I remember eyeing the empty spaces in the ski racks. That day I had enough.
Without another thought, I grabbed an armful of boards, including the blinding green one, and trudged toward the end of the deck. Another skier nodded approval and joined me in the endeavor. We dumped the boards behind a heap of snow and gave each other knuckles. "That'll keep from tearing up terrain for a little bit," I declared to my vigilante comrade.
Not long afterward, I relaxed at one of the tables on the deck. Can't beat brown-bagging it outside in the sun. My shoulders slumped when snowboarders besieged the table next to me. Immediately my gaze fell upon the kid in the loud plaid suit. The fallout from those guys was inescapable.
While I wolfed down the last bites of a sandwich, the inane conversation of the snowboarder punks invaded my ears. Uttering tirades of four-letter words, they were like gangster rappers who couldn't rap. Stupidity is often contagious. I remember being cognizant of becoming dumber with each second I was within earshot of that clan.
I was just about to flee when a guy walked up and asked if one of these youths had lost a driver's license. Intrigued, I observed the plaid kid's blank expression. He was like a cow staring out from a stockyard.
"Is there a name on the license?" a more articulate member of the group asked.
"Oddly enough, there is a name on it," the Samaritan responded. "It's Edward."
That animated the cow-eyed, plaid kid. "My name is Ed."
"Check your pockets," I chimed in with a suggestion.
The kid patted his legs like his pants were on fire. "Oh, my God! There's a hole in my pocket!"
"Is there a birthday on it?" another punk spoke up, clearly hoping to score a fake ID.
"Of course there's a birthday on it," I scoffed. "The question is, when's Mr. Ed's birthday?"
After some thought, Ed recited the date. It didn't come easy.
"You're a winner," the Samaritan declared. "Here's your license, Ed."
"Now I've got to go find my wallet!" Poor plaid Ed looked like his head was going to twist off his neck. "We've got to get back up there."
The gang of snow vandals charged off like a bunch of keystone cops in wacky outfits. It wasn't long before the first curses drifted my way. They'd obviously discovered their haphazardly discarded boards were missing.
A smile crept across my face. Bad Karma, dudes. That sucks.
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Colt Kelley, a disillusioned employee of an environmental organization in Aspen, finds his life shifting into high gear when he stumbles into an unexpected romance with a beautiful woman with a turbid past. But the newfound bliss is obliterated by E-Force, a clandestine group of militant radicals engaged in an escalating campaign of destruction against the Colorado assets of AmeResort Corporation. A dark conspiracy lurking below the eco-terrorist facade thrusts Colt into the crosshairs of law enforcement and a lethal network of merciless thugs and corrupt cops. Pressed into a race against time and ruthless evil, Colt must stop E-Force from hurtling toward an unthinkable act of terror. The fate of the nation hangs in the balance.
Book Length: Plus Novel
Word Count: 100,000
Friday, 22 April 2011
Author Victoria Roder joins us today. She touches on a subject dear to our hearts--customer service, or lack thereof--with a sarcasm to rival us. Please give her a warm welcome.
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Is it just me, or does anyone else notice how the work ethics have changed? Do you remember a few years ago when customers where cordially greeted by the cashiers, baggers, stockers, and anyone else working in a store? Now, if you work in a store don't come unglued, there are still very efficient and helpful workers, but instead of the norm it is the exception. When I shop with my sister Tammy, if the cashier or waitress doesn't greet us, she'll say, "Hello, my name is Tammy and I'll be your customer today."
When I stand at the register, it drives me crazy when two employees working together, continue to gossip about their boss or other employees that they work with. Helloooo, I speak English and I can hear you. I want to jump on the conveyor belt and yell, "quit talking and move your lily white a..!" How can a young, exuberant person move slower than a convicted killer on their dead-man's walk to the lethal injection? Come on already, the ninety-year-old greeter at the door moved faster.
I spent many years as a waitress and I have been a manager at several different types of businesses and service industries. I am here to tell you that good help is hard to find. I've heard every excuse you can imagine for coming in late, leaving early, or missing work. One employee I supervised called in and said she'd be late because she was a little dizzy. I bit my tongue and thought, how was that different than any other day she came to work?
The most memorable excuse I ever got for a part-time person to leave work early was that she needed to wash her husband's underwear. What? Thank God I can control my sarcasm once in awhile, because, many questions raced through my head. The woman only worked three hours a day. Couldn't she get his underwear washed sometime in the other 21 hours? Does the poor man only have one pair of underwear? Does she have the time consuming task of taking his underwear to the river to beat them clean on a rock? I thought about buying her husband a few extra pair of undies, but then she'd never be at work. She'd be too busy following her husband around to find out who the hell sent him underwear.
Do you have something that drives you crazy about workers or fellow employees? Feel free to share, just don't share their name!
Victoria Roder is the author of paranormal romance The Dream House Visions and Nightmares rated BEST BOOK by The Long and Short of It Reviews. The truth can be more frightening than a nightmare. Murder, mystery and age-old revenge. Available at Amazon.
The cover for her action thriller, Bolt Action was just featured on Today.com in an article about book covers changing from bodice-rippers to butt-kicking babes. If you have time, check it out. The paperback is available at www.champagnebooks.com. Guns, Harleys, attitude, a serial killer, and sexual tension Bolt Action offers it all. Check out the butt-kicking video on YouTube.
Coming soon to Wild Child Publishing, children's chapter book The Curse of King Ramesses II and from Vinspire Publishing a picture book entitled What if a Zebra had Triangles? Please feel to drop by her website.
Thursday, 21 April 2011
Yesterday while walking home from swimming, I saw a couple who needed to get a room. These weren’t teenagers. Anymore, I almost expect teenagers to try to stick their tongues down each other’s throats. It doesn’t seem to matter where they are. Everywhere is their bedroom. o_O
So, yesterday when I first stepped out of the pool area and onto the sidewalk, I saw it.I wasn’t sure what it was. They appeared as just a blob, obviously human, but it didn’t have a face, just this curly, out of control hair. The more I looked at it, the more I realized that it had to be two people. Was it an adult and a child? And then the arms moved in a way that shouldn’t happen between a child and an adult. (Eep!)
At that point, I realized it was two adults mauling each other in a public park full of high school kids. He was on sitting with his feet under him; she was sitting on his “lap.” They were wearing about the same color (taupe). His taupe newsboy cap blended in with his bald head, which explained why I was confused about the hair and no face. The kids didn’t seem to mind, but me? Really, people! They were obviously at least in their 30s, possibly 40s. Do you need to act like teenagers in the park?
Obviously, I found this tongue-down-throat-hands-all-over-the-place to be a bit much.
I remember as a child at a local mall this couple groping each other. Well, sort of. The woman had on a pair of camel toe inducing pants. The man’s hand cupped her butt, the fingers wrapping around and venturing into her crack. Her hands cupped his butt, too, unlike this photo. They walked ahead of us. Even at ten years of age, this seemed inappropriate to me. This wasn’t something I really wanted to see then. (Nor would I want to now.)
Was I prudish? Eh, I don’t know. My parents were affectionate in front of us kids. They hugged, kissed (quick kisses), and my dad would pat Mom on the butt, but there was no full on groping, etc.
Now, my husband has a hard time even giving me a quick kiss in front of our daughter. In part because a simple kiss can turn him on. (grin) Being the evil person that I am, I like to tease him. (grin) It's fun, it's painless (for me), and I don’t want my daughter to think showing affection is a bad, uncomfortable thing. However, I want her to be a mauler either.
Holding hands, hugging, or a quick kiss doesn’t bother me. Mauling, hands in crotches, tongue kissing, lying on top of each other as if you are dry humping, etc. does. If you are doing to do any of that, get a room. I don’t want to see it, hear it, or smell it. (I’m not saying I’ve smelled it before. Well, at least not someone else’s. I mean… Okay. I’ll shut up now. Grin)
Here are some photos to test your limits. So, what do you find acceptable?
Photo 1: Acceptable? Unacceptable?
Photo 2: Acceptable? Unacceptable?
Photo 3: Acceptable? Unacceptable?
Photo 4: Acceptable? Unacceptable?
So, what's your limit?
Wednesday, 20 April 2011
Help us welcome Leigh Ellwood. An award-winning author of romance and mystery, her latest release, Silver Wings, is an anthology of homoerotic steampunk out from Phaze Books. It is available from Phaze, All Romance, and Kindle. You are welcome to visit her online at http://www.leighellwood.com or read her blog at http://leighellwood.blogspot.com.
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Friends and family sometimes take issue with the work I do during the day, sometimes accusing me of hardly working at all. "So, you sit on your butt and fool around on Facebook all day and get paid for it, right?" they accuse. I will admit, when I tell people that I work in social media management I must clarify that with a lengthier explanation of what I do. There actually is work involved, and management. You may have a Facebook profile and Twitter account, but for social media firms that handle multiple accounts for a variety of companies, the pace veers off into wild and frustrating tangents. To give you an idea of what my life is like, here's a typical day:
Day job boss likes to stand as close as possible to my desk, eclipsing the sun that filters through my window. His daily overviews of my work are not unlike a pop quiz conversation. "How's Client A? How's Client B?" The questions come rapid fire, as though he's daring me to trip up.
I answer, "They're fine," which is pretty much the standard state of business social media. "Fine" means nobody has vomited all over your Facebook wall with complaints of bad service and spam messages for generic erectile dysfunction medications. "Fine" means you manage stability after Facebook has once again changed the rules of operating your page for actual marketing.
So the rest of the exchange goes something like this:
HIM: What have you got going on today?
ME: I'll be setting up the campaign for Client A. I was thinking a nice focus on their pancakes...
HIM: Yes, that's good, but they really want to market their waffles. Everything is waffles right now. Waffles are hot, and they're on page five in Google under waffles.
(Here I might frown, considering waffles really aren't the focus of the business.)
ME: Sure, I can do something with waffles.
HIM (wandering off, muttering): Waffles...
Three days later, he comes back.
HIM: Hey, on Client A have you done anything with pancakes?
ME: Uh, no. You wanted me to concentrate on waffles.
HIM: Well, their search analytics on low on pancakes. Can you do something about that?
This is how social media works. It basically works until the rules change, and they change often.
Of course, I might exaggerate here with regards to job frustrations. My strength here is in social media writing, which I do rather well. If you need fifty articles on why you should buy a stainless steel sink, I'm your first call. If I do have a weakness with this business, it's that I have no time to utilize my skills for my important accounts - my own. When I do have the opportunity to tweet on my account, the last thing I want to do is sell my own books because I'm too tired to think of a clever pitch.
Some of you who work during the day and write/market at night - tirelessly slugging through the double life - may suffer the same shortcoming. How can one get excited about pimping books when you'd rather split one open, lay it over your face, and start snoring? There are programs and social media tools that allow you to schedule tweets and Facebook updates to release at set times, sort of like an Internet alarm clock. I usually recommend that to authors who can't afford my services. It is probably something I should do right now instead of writing this - setting up tweets to release every hour, on the hour.
Right after I've had something to eat. Waffles sound good.
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
The other day, I visited my bank to close out my accounts. The bank that supposedly would have free checking until you die or until the 405 (a well-known freeway in Los Angeles that's forever under construction) stopped having construction decided to start charging $10 a month for an account under some unrealistic amount of daily balance. Granted, the bank has since changed hands, but I was irritated when I first heard about it. At the time, I asked a bank representative about this, he said, "Oh, you have this type of an account with us, too, so you won't get charged."
Imagine my "surprise" when I discovered that, lo and behold, he was wrong. By the time I realized this, the bank had already taken $100 total out of all our accounts. Needless to say, I was, um, irate. I called the 800 number and chewed some ass, but it did me little good. On the other end, I could practically hear the guy rolling his eyes at me.
After I had my say, I asked him what would make an account fee free. The list was long, but if you've ever listened to one of those pharmaceutical commercials about their drugs and side effects, you know that you'll only escape getting one of those side effects if you're dead. Well, yeah, pretty much that. I'd have better luck being eligible for it if I'm dead.
Well, you know what? Fine. I'll just take my money elsewhere.
So, last Friday, I march in with my checkbooks ready to close all but my business accounts and my main account as I wait for the outstanding checks to clear. (They may lose those, too, as soon as I have the time to change all of that information at all of our distributors.) I go in around 1 pm. My daughter gets out of school at 3:15 pm. This should be plenty of time to do it, right? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
The teller doesn't realize what I want to do, even though I state in plain English, that I want to not just withdraw all of the money, but I want to close the accounts. When she does, I now have to see a banker. Um, why? It should be fairly easy to close the accounts, but whatever.
Of course, there's a line for the banker, but luckily, I have my iPhone, or I may have been homicidal after waiting about 15 minutes to see someone.
The banker, Jose, was very nice. He didn't even ask me why, which was fine by me. I didn't care to expound anyway. I just wanted out of there so I could deposit the money somewhere else. In a bank that actually wanted my business.
Another half hour went by (perhaps it was more). I was still sitting in the bank talking to Jose. He couldn't figure out why my personal and business accounts weren't linked, because, you know, with a business account, I got a free personal account.
Really? Why didn't the dude on the phone mention that earlier? Because he's an asshole? Because the bank is run by a bunch of greedy SOBs? Because... yeah, I can think of a variety of reason, none of them flattering.
I finally got these accounts closed, but in order to get my money, I had to go back to the teller. (rolling eyes--what a production!) I'd been in the bank over an hour now. While waiting for the teller to give me the cash, Jose walked up with some refinance information in case we wanted to bring our mortgage to them. (HAHAHAHAHAHHA Seriously?) I took the opportunity to ask him:
"So, since the accounts were linked and that was the bank's error AND I was supposed to have a free personal checking account with my business account, it would be nice if you refunded me for those fees on my main account."
"Of course, Ms. Baun."
At this point, it was 2:30 pm. I had a half hour to move my money to another bank before I had to pick up my daughter. I just managed to do it, but what a hassle! We should be able to show our IDs and close out all of our accounts without spending two friggin' hours in a bank!
At 3:10 pm, I arrived home. I was irritated, but glad to have it done.
Whatever happened to banks that care?
Monday, 18 April 2011
I’m going to rant about today’s values. I’m so sick of hearing children, teenagers, and adults whining. I’ve been taught if you want something then you work for it. At the age of fifteen, I started working full time while going to school. Ever since then I’ve worked, but do we see that today? Very seldom. We see kids and adults expecting society to just give them what they think they deserve.
“Mom, Greg has an iPhone, so will you buy me one?”
“Excuse me, do you know how much those phones cost?”
“How much money do you have? Did you get paid today?” my son asked.
“It’s none of your business if I got paid or not. You want an iPhone? Then start working and save up for it!”
“But Mom it will take too long! I want it now!”
Son stomps upstairs and slams his bedroom door.
Ha! Mom has a hammer and a screwdriver. She takes the door off the bedroom. “Now try and slam the damn door!”
I remember when all a father had to do was look at me in that stern way and I’d know I was in for it. I even see adults disrespecting their own parents! If anyone—and I mean anyone—did this to my mother, they would either be dead or limping!
Our society has become too lazy; everyone is trying to sue somebody for a quick buck. Sure it’s tough to find a job out there. Believe me, I know. It took my husband two years to find employment, but he found a job that he likes. Sure, there were times he just wanted to give up, but he didn’t.
Then I see women today having all these kids and they can’t even take care of the one or two they already have. I have two such boys that come to my home every weekend, both calling me Mom, because their mothers do nothing for their sons. One is even abusive to her boy. He cries when he has to leave my place to go home, but I can only do so much. Yes, Children Services has been called and they are aware of the situation.
However, I do think my husband should take some lessons when it comes taking care of me, his wife.
My husband and I will usually schedule doctor appointments together so we can make one trip. Well, we were both sick, so I scheduled the appointment. It turned out he had a slight cold while I had full-blown pneumonia. The doctor wanted to put me in the hospital, but with one look at my husband she knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Sure enough, the doctor gave me two breathing treatments, two shots in the ass, and then sent me home with meds and instructions to go right to bed. Once at home, I get into my PJ’s to relax, but the husband decides to go get drunk! Do you believe that! God, I was so pissed. He left me to take care of the kids alone while he went off to act like a conceited jerk. Needless to say, all hell broke loose at home that night. No sleep, of course, but boy did I get even.
I’m tired of doing everything! I cook, clean, used to work two jobs while the husband was looking for employment, and I took care of the kids, paid the bills and made sure everyone else’s needs were met before my own. But do you think if I become sick that someone would step up to help me? No! I get yelled at for lying down. Moms aren’t allowed to get sick. Excuse me, but where are the men who used to take care of the bills and their wives? Where are the modern-day heroes, who will hold her when she’s sick, defending her if someone attacks her character? Now, I’m not saying all men are like this. As a matter of fact, I’ve seen many women do the same thing, and it drives me crazy. You married him, so stick up for the guy!
If you have a man or a woman who does this for you, hang on to him or her, because such partners are rare nowadays! I hate to ask, but where are the John Waynes and June Cleavers of the past? I guess that’s why I always make my men alphas in my romance novels.
Blurb for Running in Fear: Cupid's Venom
Six years of living in a cell sure can be hell on a girl. Not to mention the fact that Cecil Windstream was only sixteen years old when her family was taken away to be experimented on. After escaping, all Cecil wanted to do was die, but unfortunately the snake DNA that had been injected into her wouldn’t let her die, and either will her mates.
Tug Brimstone was an alpha wolf by nature, but even he wasn’t as powerful as his Remi LeBlathe, their true alpha. Happy to be the new head master in their jointly owned BDSM nightclub, Tug wasn’t looking for anyone, but fate had another plan for him. In less than two days, he finds he has three mates, two who are part snake and wolf, and now he’s tempting fate by injecting snake DNA into his own body so he can mate with them.
Rory Sherwood is mate to Tug Brimstone, Clayton Glands, and Cecil Windstream. How can one tiny female who has been beaten, experimented on, and is a virgin overwhelm him to the point where he forgets his own name, let alone seriously changing his DNA, just so he can mate with her?
Clayton Glands, the muscle behind the National Council of Wolf shifters, has hidden a family secret all his life, but in less than twenty-four hours he has found his mates, exposed his secret, and gained a son.
In a one-week time span, three alpha males Tug, Rory, and Clayton must protect their female from the scientists Cecil had escaped. Not only is her life in danger, but also her son’s, and the future of every shifter around. The war against good and evil is coming to a head and their journey is just part of the story to come.
For more about Trinity's series go HERE.
Thursday, 14 April 2011
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
Monday, 11 April 2011
It's been one of those weeks. Who am I kidding?
This started about two weeks ago, although I didn't
suspect those next two weeks would basically be in
the toilet. Oh, there've been some summits that have
kept me sane, but the nadirs... Yeah, they've been
pretty good. It could be worse, of course.
So, it started with quarterly reports. I wanted to
complete them a week ago Monday, and I have this
fabulous accounting program that cuts the time down
by 7 or 8 days, maybe more. It's just that I have a
knack for finding all of the bugs in this program. It
seems every time I use it, I break it. (It's a gift, truly.) This time, I
accidentally put in a date when importing some data that made the
program crash. (See, I told you I'm good.) They knew about this bug,
but no one in the history of the program had found it until...me. (g)
I had to send my database to the programmers to fix. Luckily, they
work fast. However, this, and a few other things, put me back a day.
I suppose this should have been an omen of sorts for these next two
weeks. It wasn't. I mean, I'm used to screwing up the program. (g) It
was par for the course, and all was well until Saturday night.
That night Lily came down with a really nasty cold and a fever so high
she burned to the touch. This is particularly scary as Lily has had
seizures. For two days, sleep did not exist.
It's been up and down from there on out with too many troughs and not
enough summits that it's almost funny.
I managed to finish quarterly reports and send them all out a week ago
Tuesday, nearly a week in advance. That's a first. Yay me! But
Wednesday saw me cleaning the biohazard of a front shower as Mom and
Jan, a family friend I haven't seen for 7 years, are coming to stay
with us on Friday. If I didn't clean it, Mom would, and I'd be
embarrassed to let anyone use it.
Mind you, sleep had still eluded me even though Lily's cold had
improved to just a cough. With each successive day, I was growing more
exhausted and grumpier. They were scheduled to arrive Friday. They
did, but not until midnight. Mom had a key, but couldn't get it to
work so she called me. I was sleeping, and despite being exhausted, I
pulled my ass out of bed and sat up for another hour. I could sleep in
in the morning, right?
Um, no. Lily was so excited that Grandma was here, she was up, which meant I was up because she had to come into our bedroom first and wake _me_.
(I love her, but sometimes... ;))
My Saturday plans were shot to hell because Jan wanted to go to Malibu and spend the day on the beach. Lucky for him, we had a beautiful day. Besides seeing them, this was one of the bright spots of the past two weeks. I played with Lily, and we built a sand castle.
Saturday, 9 April 2011
Friday, 8 April 2011
I have been dying to come on Four Strong Women for some time. I crack up every time I visit because it’s so good to know I’m not alone with some of these frustrations and that certain homicidal feeling that comes when dealing with extraordinarily stoopid people. Yes, I said stoopid because for these people there is a whole other level. My rant today concerns men and dating, a common problem to be sure, but as someone who carries a lot more junk in her trunk than I should, I find that there is a unique attitude reserved especially for those us of the voluptuous variety.
Wednesday, 6 April 2011