Does Size Matter?

For those of you new to the site, welcome! Freaky Friday is the designated day for sex talk on my blog.

***IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER*** This is sexually explicit material and may not be suitable for younger members of our blogging audience.

My most recent birthday gift was from my friend who sells Passion Parties products. That’s right folks…it’s a vibrator. But not just any old vibrator. This one has “personality!” It’s very lifelike complete with all the curves, lines and veins, mushrooming to a well-rounded tip. I really don’t know why they went to so much trouble to get the thing anatomically correct, because then they got the bright idea to make it purple. I could understand perhaps fluorescent green so you could find it easily in the dark. But purple? I suppose that’s the “signature” color for Passion Parties, Inc. My friend has affectionately named this particular model Barney.

Oh, and did I mention it’s big?

Let’s discuss size for a moment. I’m not really one to be judging size because I only slept with one guy (high school sweetheart) before I married my husband and they are both what I would consider average. But then how would I really know? I mean, I haven’t made it my life’s work to compare. I also don’t live in a vacuum. I’ve seen some porn and I’m guessing those guys in the magazines and videos are in that line of work because of their EXTRAordinary assets. And I’m sure there are some men who are smaller than what I’ve experienced all the way to downright miniscule. So for the sake of argument, this post is only discussing the difference between average and big.

Really big.

Anyway, back to Barney. I kinda wished my friend hadn’t given it that name because it’s hard to get turned on by a purple dinosaur who talks funny. Not that my Barney talks. No, he just kinda buzzes. One other thing of note is that this vibrator is made out of a lifelike silicone product that is somewhat pliable. Although I’ve never used a vibrator before, the ones I’ve seen were hard plastic, which I would imagine to be cold and way too slick.

So, okay, when my friend gave it to me I told her I would field test it and bring back the results. But that meant finding a time “alone” with Barney. Since last Saturday I realized that I am RARELY alone. I can barely find time to use the restroom without an audience or talk on the phone without being interrupted, much less test out a vibrator. But as chance would have it my husband had to work late one night and the kids were out of the house. So I decided to put Barney to the test and once and for all we would learn IF SIZE MATTERS.

Here are my findings. First of all, length is WAY overrated. I'm reminded of all those gazillion e-mails I've deleted promising extra inches. Longer doesn’t seem to help at all! Frankly, I think each woman has a certain carrying capacity and mine is only about two-thirds of the way on Barney. So the unused part is simply wasted silicone.

Now let’s talk about width. I think a woman’s body is purposely flexible…so flexible that it can accommodate a human head. Now Barney is not as wide as a human head, but wider than average, the definition of which we discussed earlier (determined by the size of the two men I’ve slept with.) And…okay…extra girth can be nice, but only because of the expandable-ness down there (and perhaps because it’s been stretched by 2 human heads). But width is not necessarily needed for enjoyment, again because of the accordian-like expanding and contracting qualities of a woman. (Whew! Did I get through this without using any bad words?)

Side bar: I really don’t understand the vibrating part of a vibrator. For one thing, it’s kind of noisy and I felt like I was carving a turkey with the electric knife. It doesn’t feel like "the real thing” at all unless you are used to having sex with a really large humming bird. I don’t know. Maybe it’s an acquired taste, but then I don’t like wine either.

So there you have it. Length doesn’t matter. Width…well, there are pros and cons. It’s a great asset for a vibrator. But in person, it could be a problem. Like the dentist told me last month. I have a really small mouth.

Another Tired Baby

The Jump Rope Murder, Installment Four

This is the fourth installment for Short Story Wednesday. If you missed the first three you might want to catch up by going
here.
***

Later that day the sheriff knocked at the parsonage door and the portly Reverend Burns opened the screen.

“Evenin’, Sheriff. Come right on in.”

The reverend, holding a big glass of iced tea in one hand, ushered Sam into the parlor.

“Still hot, even in September,” the reverend chatted.

“Yes, this is strange weather. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat.”

“Where’re you from?” The reverend sat on a gaudy floral sofa.

Sam sat across from him in a velvet side chair. “I’ve lived all over, but mostly Colorado Springs.”

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

“Well, as you probably know, I’m investigating Father Pendleton’s murder.”

“So, it was murder, eh?”

“Strangled with a jump rope.”

The Reverend took a gulp of his drink. “Would you like some tea? Sister,” he called toward the kitchen. “Sister, get the sheriff an iced tea.”

“Who’s Sister?”

“Oh, my sister Margaret lives with me. I’ve called her that since childhood.”

Margaret, a plump, gray-haired woman with the scent of baby powder shuffled in and handed the sheriff a cold glass. Then she shuffled dutifully out.

“Anyway, as I’ve asked questions around town, the subject keeps coming up about your argument in the square on Sunday.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it an argument, exactly--just a friendly rivalry.”

“I heard you told Father Pendleton God would take care of him, or something like that.”

The reverend’s normally ruddy face went pale. After a heavy sigh, he spoke. “I guess I’ll eventually have to let you in on our little secret anyway. When I first came to this church the paltry congregation was the most apathetic group of so-called Christians I’d ever seen. St. Michael’s was the same way. Father Pendleton and I got to talking one day during a town council meeting and decided we needed to spice up this community."

He shifted his rotund body on the sofa and continued. "So we devised a plan to pit the Catholic Church against mine in a sort of competition."

His face became more animated as he talked. "We formed baseball teams, conflicting membership drives, simultaneous socials, etcetera. It worked like a charm! Soon everyone in town and the neighboring counties was going to either one church or the other. When membership would start to lag, the Father and I would cook up another little competition.”

Exasperated, Sam asked, “You mean the fiasco Sunday afternoon was a set up?”

The reverend sheepishly nodded. “But, you don’t have to tell anybody, do you? If they find out it’ll mean my job!”

“For God's sake, man, the Catholics think you killed him!”

“Well, I didn’t!” The reverend stood up and set his glass on the mantel.

“Where were you at 11 p.m. on Sunday?”

“In bed asleep like I am every night. Sister can vouch for that.”

Sam shot him another question. “Do you know anyone who would want Father Pendleton dead?”

The reverend thought for a moment. “If I were you, I’d look for the owner of that rope.”

Go HERE for the NEXT INSTALLMENT OF
The Jump Rope Murder.

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Just when I thought the birthmonth celebration was truly over I got another gift this weekend. You're NOT going to believe what it is. Remember the friend who thought my suggestion to be in sales for Passion Parties was a good idea? Well, she gave me a...uh...

Well, I guess I can't really tell you now. That's something that will DEFINITELY have to wait until Friday.

But I'll give you a hint. It's big...and purple...and battery operated. She had to give it to me in private so we didn't offend anyone.

I guess you can consider this post a little teaser for the topic on Friday:

Does Size Matter?

Dun Dun Dun Dun... (theme from Jaws)

Okay, first let me clarify that I'm not joking about this. A 14 year old girl has just died from a shark attack in Destin, Florida so there's nothing funny about it. My heart goes out to her family.

Did anyone happen to see "Open Water" last year? It was one of the most disturbing movies I've ever seen. Since then I haven't had the opportunity to swim in the ocean, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to enjoy the warm salty waves with the same innocence. The world can be a brutal place and part of its brutality is its wildlife.

You can't really hold it against the 8 ft. long bull-shark, though. He's just eating. In this case, according to the surfer who tried to save the girl, it was lunch. So that makes the shark no less of a "criminal" than anyone who eats a steak, or fried chicken, or escargot. Right?

According to the article I read it was the first shark attack of any kind recorded in that county. What exactly does that mean? Do sharks adhere to certain county lines in the ocean? Isn't it all just one big watery place to them?

Everyone in the gulf during the attack was ordered out of the water. During the attack? Well, uh, no duh! You certainly wouldn't have to tell me twice.

Authorities closed about 20 miles of beaches to swimming shortly after the attack. It's the height of the summer tourism season along the coast and the beaches were packed with people.

George Burgess, curator of the International Shark Attack File said, "It's not a renegade shark looking for humans." How does he know what the shark is looking for? "Probably it was a one shot deal and it's not likely to attack again." Most certainly it will get hungry again...I'm thinking around dinner time.

Haven't we already seen this movie?

A Lawyer With A Conscience?

I want to thank everyone for their support through this ordeal with my son. To catch you up he was arrested last weekend for driving under the influence (of alcohol) and open container. I thought it was minor in possession but I was mis-informed.

Anyway, one of the pieces of advice I received was that I MUST get a lawyer. Having never had the need for a lawyer I wasn't sure how to go about this. So, being the Internet savvy person that I am, I googled one. Now you might think this to be a risky way to search, but since my friends and family didn't seem to have ever needed a lawyer either (what a law-abiding bunch we all are) I had no other choice.

Within mere moments I had a list of attorneys in our area who specialized in DUI/DWI. I made my decision on location...his office is halfway between here and the suburb where my son was arrested. And he had a nice face. I must admit I was very nervous about retaining an attorney, mainly because I've heard they charge like a thousand dollars a minute for their counsel. I'm wondering if the meter is running while I'm on the phone with his receptionist making the appointment.

It turns out that the initial visit is free. I really like the sound of free. So I scheduled the appointment (on Friday, my son's only good "day" day since he works nights) took a couple of hours of PTO from work and off we went.

And you're not going to believe what the attorney advised us!

After explaining that these two charges, while they sounded quite horrible, were really just minor offenses, very similar to other traffic violations, and that my son was very lucky...he then explained to him that if this happens again, when he's over 21, he wouldn't be so lucky.

Then he said the most amazing thing. He recommended that we didn't need him. That he could not in good conscience charge us $500 for what we could do ourselves.

All we have to do is ask for deferred-adjudication (I'm writing this down as he's saying it like we should know what it is), which would mean my son paying fines, attending classes and doing community service. When I told my husband this, he wanted to make sure I was going to the hearing because he couldn't remember deferred watchamacalit, much less say it. This made me laugh.

Anyway, I thought this was a MONUMENTAL finding...a "good" lawyer story! His name is Jonathan Bailey and he's in the Lewsiville TX area. If you're ever in need, just google him!

FREAKY FRIDAY NOT HOT ENOUGH?

I've had a complaint from John over at
Romantic Ramblings that Freaky Friday this week was too tame. While I do promise my Freaky Friday posts to be about sex (I think sexual abuse counts) I never claimed that it would have any certain sizzle-level. Perhaps I will image google flames and give each post from one up to 5 flames like they use stars for movies.

So moved was The Duke by my weak attempt at what he claims is the only reason for getting out of bed on Friday, that he wrote a poem (Iambic Heptameter) about it. Check it out!

Runaway Brides

I was watching the news interview of Jennifer Wilbanks and her fiance, John Mason, the other night. This was the Georgia woman who faked her own kidnapping three days before her wedding.

Something that the couple said at the very beginning of the interview struck me as odd. As born again Christains they had both decided when they first met to wait until their wedding night for sex. Not that I think waiting till your wedding night for sex is strange (although since they are both in their early thirties Guiness Book might want to check it out). But the fact did set off some red flags.

What exactly would make this sweet, emotional, seemingly caring woman run from the wedding and man of her dreams, piss off her 17 bridesmaids and worry her mom and dad to death? I don't think she was running from the wedding...or the lifelong committment it symbolizes.

I think...(and as my dad says, my opinion and 25 cents wouldn't buy you a cup of coffee)...that she wasn't running from the wedding.

This remind me of that game called Clue...you know...Miss Scarlet did it in the dining room with the lead pipe. Anyway...

She wasn't running from the wedding. She was running from the wedding NIGHT, perhaps due to some kind of sexual abuse as a child that she has yet to deal with.

Anyway, a lot of people are still extremely mad at her, and I guess what I'm trying to say is who are we to judge? Even if we did know all of the facts, which we may never know, the girl is obviously troubled. I think everyone needs to give her a break.



TOM AND KATIE GETTING MARRIED

I thought he was gay??? If you saw the Oprah interview where Tom Cruise is jumping on the furniture over how ECSTATIC he is to be marrying Katie Holmes, you'll agree he was just a TAD bit too happy.

Tom, methinks you doth profess your love too much!

And when he dragged Katie Holmes on stage by her arm she had a strained smile on her face that read: "Someone help me, please!"

Another tired baby pic...

This looks like a nice...place...to...zzzzzzzz

The Jump Rope Murder, Installment Three

This is the third installment for Short Story Wednesday. If you missed the first two you might want to catch up by going
here.
***

Sam jogged into his office just in time to answer the phone. The coroner’s preliminary report stated the cause of death as strangulation by jump rope around 11 p.m. Sunday. No other marks were found.

Shortly after that Mrs. Whitington entered the station, her purse held tightly against her body, as though Sam might snatch it away from her.

“I’ll just take a few notes.” Sam settled into his leather desk chair and motioned Mrs. Whitington to the guest chair.

“Well, the Catholic Church—that’s my church—and the Baptists were holding their fall bazaars during the same weekend. Mrs. Feeney at City Hall forgot to write down our reservation for the square. So you can imagine everyone’s surprise when we both started to set up our booths yesterday afternoon. Father Pendleton was already at the podium to begin the opening prayer when Reverend Burns of First Baptist went up the steps to talk to the Father.

She tugged on her skirt, which was already well below her knees, and continued.

“At first you couldn’t hear what they were saying. But you could tell by the way their arms were flying, they were very angry—especially Brother Burns. Then they started shouting. Brother Burns said he was tired of the Catholics always trying to out-do the Baptists and that God knew where the Father’s heart really was. He said God would see he got what was coming to him!”

Sam stopped his note-taking and looked up. Mrs. Whitington appeared indignant.

“So you’re saying God killed the Father?”

“Well, of course not! I’m saying Brother Burns killed him.”

“Oh, come on now…”

“You don’t understand, Sheriff, this is a vicious rivalry that goes way back. Yesterday afternoon was just the…the last straw!”

Sam closed his notebook. “Well, I appreciate you coming in.”

“Aren’t you going to haul him in? I don’t think you should go easy on him just because he’s a man of the cloth. After all, we’re talking about murder…”

Mrs. Whitington got up to leave, but Sam stopped her. “Where were you at 11 p.m.?”

“I was at the church.” Her voice was unsteady. “I wanted to talk to Father Pendleton.”

“And did you find him?”

“No, he wasn’t in his room.”

“Why so late?”

“I wanted to talk to him before Sister Mary Ellen did.” Her voice cracked. “She was going to tell him I forgot to reserve the Gazebo and that’s simply not true!”

“Did you see anything,” Sam hesitated, “out of the ordinary?”

“No. I did think it was strange the Father wasn’t there.”

“Okay, you can go now,” said Sam. “Oh wait. Can I have the lipstick you’re wearing?”

“Why?” Her question rang with fear. She rummaged for the tube in her purse and handed it to him. “You don’t think I killed the Father, do you?

“At this point everyone’s a suspect.”

As Sam ushered her out, Mrs. Whitington and Sister Mary Ellen passed each other coldly on the station steps.

“Sister, please take a seat.”

“Oh, Sheriff, can you believe this horrible tragedy?" Sister Mary Ellen dabbed a tissue at her dainty nose. "I’m sorry to bother you, Sheriff. I know you must be terribly busy, but I’m told you have the school’s mascot.”

At first Sam was confused. “Oh, you mean the parrot?”

“I’d like to take him home, if that’s okay.”

“I’m afraid we have to keep the bird--evidence, you understand.”

“Oh.” The sister sounded disappointed.

“But, I'm glad you came,” Sam added. " I need to ask some routine questions.”

"Well, alright." The sister sat primly in the guest chair adjusting her frock.

"Did you hear the discussion between the Father and Reverend Burns on Sunday?’

“No, but I’ve never seen Father Pendleton so upset!”

“Did he say anything to you after the bazaar?”

“Yes. He told me to pray for the Baptists.”

“Where were you around 11 p.m. on Sunday?”

“I’m in bed by 10:00 every night.”

“Is there any reason why the Father would put the parrot in the car?”

“On warm nights he kept him there, otherwise St. Petey’s squawking would keep him awake.”

“And one final question. Do you know anyone who would want to kill Father Pendleton?”

“Other than Brother Burns and the Baptists, he was beloved by everyone.”

The parrot began to screech from the supply room, “Sister! Sister!”

Go HERE for the NEXT INSTALLMENT OF
The Jump Rope Murder.

Double Cousins? Sounds illegal...

With all the wonderful and heart-felt blogs about their fathers, I was "influenced" in the decision to drive my Dad and Mom to their reunion in west Texas (5 hour drive, monotonous scenery) fourth of July weekend this year. It used to be a fun reunion, but now everyone is old (including me) and the young people seem to have better things to do (I don't blame them.) Anyway, here's a "song" I wrote about our family history and the annual gathering.

SAN ANGELO REUNION
(Sung to the tune of the "Beverly Hillbillies")

Listen to my story 'bout the Wagners and McCleerys
When you hear the tale, it's really kinda eerie
It happened in a town they call San Angelo
Where the wind was blowin' dry
And mesquites were growin' low
Kind of a bush
Not quite a tree

Well, the two men settled on the flat prairie
William was from Ireland and Frederick--Germany
They both took a bride and raised a family
And they were all as busy as a bumblin' bee
Grit in your eyes
Tumbleweeds

Well the first thing you know, Will's son met Fred's girl
They both fell in love and married in a whirl
But then, you know, one thing led to another
Rob's sister fell in love with Vickie's younger brother
It's legal, ya know
I hear it's quite common

So they started raisin' families...kids by the dozens
They all looked alike 'cause they were double cousins
And with that mixture it was quite a recipe
If you look around I'm sure you will agree
Big ears
Bald heads

The Wagners loaded up the truck and moved to Big D
McCleerys stayed in Angelo to carry on the tree
And you know the rest is considered history
We get together every Fourth for the family..
Reunion, that is
Barbecue
Swimmin' pool.

Dog Tired

Found this over at Brain Bubbles and just HAD to post it here. Ahhh to be THIS relaxed...



Anyway, hope you're having a FABULOUS Monday (is that an oxymoron?)

No Nap Today

I've blogged before about my 20 year old son, but to remind you, he works (and plays) nights and sleeps days. So while our paths don't cross much I do feel comfort when I get up in the morning to find his door shut and hear his fan. I say a little thank-you prayer that he's home in bed asleep and all is right with the world.

Well, this morning I got up to head to my home office (to check the ol' blog for comments.) When I passed his room, I was stopped in my tracks by one of the sights and sounds I fear most.

Door open...no fan noise.

A view out front was minus his car. My first thought was that he had "partied" too much at a friends house and decided to spend the night. Or perhaps he was still at this girl's house he dates in Ft. Worth. I immediately checked all the phones for messages. Nothing. I called his phone. It went straight to voice mail.

It must be out of batteries.

I can't remember a time he's stayed out all night. He likes his own bed, his own pillow, his fan. And he KNOWS I would be worried if he didn't call. So this worries me. A LOT.

But, I'm the type of person who doesn't like to borrow trouble and I STRONGLY believe that worry accomplishes nothing. So I try to go about my day as normal, well, except for the constant checking of all the voice mails and a few visions of him pinned in his car where he had careened off of an overpass, or lying in a hospital bed with amnesia.

This afternoon, still no word from my son, my daughter and I went shopping for father's day gifts. While I was waiting outside the dressing room for her to try on an outfit (we had to buy something for us, too, right?) I tried my son's phone again. Voicemail. So I called my husband to discuss the amount of hours you have to wait before filing a missing person's report. He had no idea, but began telling me about his guilty feelings for yelling at our son for using his tools and not putting them back. I got teary eyed.

As my daughter was twirling around in front of me in one of her potentially new outfits I called my son again...and he answered!!! The conversation went like this:

Me: Where are you??? Why didn't you call me???

Him: I'm in jail.

Me: You're kidding...

Him: Uh, no...

Me: Seriously...

Him: I'm in jail, Mom.

Me: Why?

Him: At midnight last night I was arrested for minor in posession of alcohol. I need you to call the bail bondsman...I need you to co-sign.

Me: Why didn't you call me sooner???

Now, at this point I should be FURIOUS with my son. Lecture him. Something! But I was so freakin' glad he was alive, I couldn't conjure up any anger. NONE whatsoever. Then, the real kicker? He tells me he didn't call because I always told him if he ever got arrested for drinking to not even bother calling me. So he spent all day trying to figure out how to get out of jail without calling home. By about 3 o'clock he realized he couldn't.

So that's what we spent naptime doing today--getting our son out of jail, feeling like heels, and being thankful he's alive.

"Who Let the Blogs Out?"

Thanks to all of my dedicated readers who made this day possible.
All I can say is KEEP ON HITTIN'!!!

The Naked Woman's Lament

For those of you new to the site, welcome! Freaky Friday is the designated day for sex talk on my blog.

***IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER*** This is sexually explicit material and may not be suitable for younger members of our blogging audience.

The Naked Woman's Lament

kissing me, my first thought goes to
if I should have flossed
leading me to bed I’m anxious
how the clothes are tossed

undressing me, I’m wondering
if my behind’s too wide
completely nude I thwart the urge
to cover up and hide

touching me, I ponder
if my flesh is feeling fat
caressing me, I worry that
my tummy is not flat

nibbling, I wish I’d scrubbed
a bit behind my ear
laying me upon my back
my boobies disappear!

licking me, I’m wishing that
i was a tastier dish
breathing in my essence
i am hoping it’s not fish

spreading me, I cringe to think
how huge my thighs must look
entering, I’m remembering
if birth control I took

loving me, I wonder if
it’s all that you had wished
or if you’ve noticed all the things
i’m checking off my list

laying in your arms
i try to finally relax
but so hung-up it seems I’ve missed
entirely my climax

***

Oh, and for those of you keeping up, NAP stands for Naughty Adult Pleasure, although I thought John's suggestion of "Not A Prayer" was cute. Obviously he's had some disappointing naps.

The Jump Rope Murder, Installment Two

This is the second installment for Short Story Wednesday. If you missed the first one you might want to catch up by going
here.
***
Sam searched the back seat carefully and came across a red stain just below the headrest.

“What do you make of this, Bob?”

“It looks like lipstick to me. Red lipstick.”

Bob went back to prying Father Pendleton’s fingers off the steering wheel when Mother bullied her rotund-ness through the onlookers.

“Can we get this show on the road? You’re ruining the appetites of my breakfast crowd!”

The woman was disgusting to look at with a few wiry hairs growing out of her double chin. Her gray hair was filthy and her glasses were splattered with a week’s worth of grease.

“I’m sorry, Mrs…uh…”

“Just call me Mother. Everyone else does.

“Okay…uh…Mother,” Sam agreed impatiently. “Someone, it appears, has been murdered here. That makes this a crime scene, you know, with evidence, suspects and stuff like that?”

She started to interrupt but seemed to think better of it as his anger escalated.

“So, I’m very sorry to inconvenience you, but I’m afraid the answer is NO. We can’t hurry!”

Mother turned around and stomped off in a huff.

“Don’t go far,” Sam yelled. “I still need to get a statement from you.”

As Mother pushed her way out of the crowd Mrs. Whittington, the bank president’s wife, excused her way politely but firmly through to the sheriff.

“Excuse me, Sheriff Westin, I need to talk to you.”

Behind them Bob was pulling the father’s body out. The car started to roll forward and Sam jumped in to put on the brakes. The car was still in drive.

The Father’s body was solemnly placed into the Medical Examiner’s wagon. Sam called, “Let me know about the autopsy,” as Bob pulled out of the parking lot.

“Now, Mrs. Whittington, you were saying?” Sam asked with irritation.

“Shouldn’t we go down to the station?” She whispered, “I need to talk to you privately.”

“I need to finish up here, first. I’ll meet you at my office at 2.”

As she walked away Sam made a mental note of her bright red lipstick.

“Okay,” Sam called out to the crowd. “You can all go home, now. If you have any information about Father Pendleton’s death, contact me at the station.”

After everyone left, Sam surveyed the parking lot for any other evidence. Then he stepped inside Mother’s for a cup of coffee while he waited on the tow truck. Sam stirred his coffee as Mother rubbed mechanically on the counter with a rag.

“What time did you get here this morning?”

“5:45—same as every day.”

“But you didn’t call me till 6?”

“I know. I walked across the alley from my house and come in the back. I didn’t notice his car till I seen him through the front window while I was fillin’ shakers. At first I thought he was waitin’ for me to open, but when I unlocked around 6 he didn’t come in.”

Mother tugged on the sides of her bra and wiped her upper lip with the back of her hand. “Finally I waved at him from the front door. Imagine! Me waving at a corpse! Boy, did I feel like a fool. When he didn’t move I went out to his car. I could see he was dead.

“How could you be so sure?”

“I know dead when I see it! I seen my husband Harry stretched out on the bed, cold and gray-lookin’ and stiff as a day-old waffle.”

“Did you check the Father’s pulse?”

“I ain’t ig-no-rant! I watch TV! You ain’t supposed to touch nothing at the scene!”

Go HERE for the NEXT INSTALLMENT OF
The Jump Rope Murder.

If I Were A Song Title...

...What Song Would I Be?

John over at Romantic Ramblings described me as "Wild Thing". While I was flattered by this, the people who know me would probably laugh. But, since very few people who know me READ MY BLOG!!!! I can be "Wild Thing" if I want to.

Tonight, I'm so tired I'd have to say my song title is the new Toby Keith song: "I'm not as good as I once was, but I'm as good ONCE as I ever was."

I also wouldn't mind being "Paperback Writer" but John already gave that one to Brenda.

John's post limited it to 60s and 70s music but I'm opening this up to any era you choose.

If you were a song title, what would you be?

Michael's Free!

When asked for comment Michael Jackson climbed into this fortune teller booth at a local arcade. He told one of his adoring fans she would marry Damon Bradley and then tried to hide his face with his hair for the camera. He refused to speak after that unless we put another quarter in the machine.

It's The Circle of Life

I was coming out of the bathroom the other night when I was stopped dead in my tracks by what looked like a baby snake on the floor. I tried to look as closely as possible without getting too close. Maybe it was just a piece of a shoe string? Not willing to risk stepping over the snake-like shoestring and being somewhat trapped in the bathroom I yelled for my husband. Detecting the sheer terror in my voice he came quickly. Upon further inspection he went to the garage for a push broom and dustpan. We both concluded whatever it was, it was dead.

He began to try sweeping the thing into the dustpan. Had it continued it's Oscar winning performance as a dead snake, it might still be alive today. But NOOOOOO...it had to start slithering REALLY FAST toward ME! And I had no place to go. Uncontrollable screams erupted from me, echoing against the bath tile. But, alas, my knight with shining dust pan killed the snake and I was left with tiger-fighting adrenaline coursing through my veins and feeling squeamishly shivery.

Of course, my first thought after that was how did a snake get in the house. And...if there's a baby in the house...where's the mama? And how big is the mama? All quite discomforting thoughts, I assure you. Especially right before bedtime.

Anyway, since then I've been thinking about geckos.
What do geckos have to do with snakes? Well, about five years ago we started seeing geckos around the house. They're kinda cute and for the most part they keep to themselves. And once we had the geckos we didn't see ANY other bugs, no spiders, no crickets...nothing! It was great. And there didn't seem to be any downside to the geckos except when they happened to be hanging on to the front door when it got slammed. Ewwwww!

But this spring I noticed...alas...no geckos. And no other bugs either...hmmmm...

You know it's all a "circle of life" kinda thing going on...but in the back of my mind I've been thinking...what eats geckos? I think I have my answer now.

Wonder what eats snakes?

The Birthmonth Continues

Yesterday my division at work gave me a birthday breakfast with lots of homemade baked goods and yummy treats and my boss gave me this cool-looking pink scarf that she crocheted with confetti yarn.

But today is the ACTUAL day. I am (she covers her mouth to muffle the sound of her age) years old. Gee time flies when you're blogging. I don't really care for odd years. They just SOUND older, don't you think?

Having had my party last weekend we decided to commemorate today with lunch at
...home of the best dessert EVER. If you ever have a chance, order the apple walnut cobbler with cinnamon ice cream, but plan to split it. You could probably eat the whole thing, but then they would have to fly you to Houston for immediate quadruple bypass, because this thing is not ashamed of it's most popular ingredient... real butter. My mom and I split the club salad with grilled chicken (instead of fried) so maybe just an extra baby aspirin will help keep the old veins flowing tonight.

I took a separate car because I had my monthly writer's critique group (as opposed to my weekly Wednesday critique group) at 2 at one of the critiquer's homes. That's always fun. They hadn't heard about the contest finaling (can you believe they don't read my blog???) and were appropriately impressed, encouraging me to go to Reno. And I had another chapter for them to critique. 7 pages of the 18 were written last night and this morning. (I work well under pressure.)

Then after that Torsoman and I took a nap. Now, I know this isn't Freaky Friday, so remind me next Friday to tell you what NAP stands for. Until then, feel free to guess.

So here I am now...blogging on my birthday. Birthmonth continues tomorrow with Torsoman's mom and aunt celebrating at where they have EXCELLENT bleu cheese dressing...mmmm...

Instant Message from an Angel?

I Feel Pretty And Witty And Gay...

For those of you new to the site, welcome! Freaky Friday is the designated day for sex talk on my blog.

***IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER*** This is sexually explicit material and may not be suitable for younger members of our blogging audience.

Before we start let me just say that some of my most respected colleagues, loved family members and cherished friends are gay. And having known them over a long period of time, I've come to the conclusion that none of them had a choice in their sexual orientation, any more than I did.

Back when I was in school I didn't know what gay meant, much less entertain having a same sex relationship (well, okay, maybe once with my best friend across the street, but we were 11 and taking turns being the Prince of Donegal). I just knew there were a couple of boys in the school who didn't like sports...we called them sissies. And one of the female twins in my neighborhood could beat up everybody on the block, including the linebacker. We called her a tomboy.

That having been said, I've noticed things have changed A LOT since then. I know you're saying "no duh" right? But I can't help but think that things have gone too far. I'll give you a couple of examples.

Example number one: 7 years ago when my daughter was in high school they had to ban public displays of affection in the hallways, not because of the boys kissing the girls...but the boys kissing the boys, etc.

Example number two: Around that same time one of her best friends who was in a bit rougher school district said it was commonplace to get "felt up" by acquaintances walking down the hallway. What was more shocking than the fact that the students were doing it, was that she didn't think it was that big of a deal.

Example number three: Just the other day my best friend's niece said that three/fourths of the kids at her middle school are in gay relationships. Now I'm not sure about the ratio of heterosexuality to homosexuality, but I'm pretty sure it's not 25%:75%. When exactly did it become not only acceptable, but COOL to be gay? I'm sorry, but I missed that memo. I mean, I'm happy that the kids are much more accepting of the diversity all around us, but there's a difference between accepting it and embracing it, literally, in the hallways...under the bleachers...at the prom.

Example number four: And what is this stuff about the kids going around in big groups instead of dating as a couple? At first I thought it was just immaturity and resistance to intimacy until I learned about the lovely phrase "bed buddies." This is where friends "take care" of each other's sexual needs without the bothersome emotions and attachments.

Example number five: And then there are the girls who are saving themselves for their wedding night while they satisfy their boyfriends with oral and anal sex. Once again we can thank Bill and Monica for defining what sex is...and isn't.

Now, I do not consider myself part of the religious right. I pride myself on having an open mind. But I remember my teenage years as dates to the movies, hours of intimate conversation on the phone with my boyfriend, mums, kisses at the door and a promise ring. Yes we had sex, but it was meaningful. We were emotionally attached.

What will the youth of today have to look back on? I shudder to think.

The Jump Rope Murder, Installment One

Announcing

This Wednesday begins the first installment of the Jump Rope Murder. This was a finalist in the "Murder, You Write" short story contest sponsored by Family Circle magazine. The contestants were given a list of "clues" (a jump rope, a map, a surgical mask, a parrot, a pine scent, a Bruce Springsteen CD, a weather forecast, a tennis racquet, lipstick, a hearing aid, a fireplace poker, a license plate) and I had to include three of them in my story. The Jump Rope Murder was selected by editors of the magazine as one of the top 10 stories and went on to the final judging by Mary Higgins Clark. Hope you enjoy it!

THE JUMP ROPE MURDER

Sam Westin had been the sheriff of Carlton, Texas for over a month. He replaced Jud Rawlings after his stroke. Jud was respected in the town, so his shoes were going to be hard to fill.

Carlton was a quiet community for 1968. They still held holiday events and festivals in the town square. Mayor Jenkins gave rousing speeches from the white gazebo right in the middle. There was one school, one bank, one grocery store, one beauty parlor, one ice cream parlor, one pizza parlor and one dry cleaners. The only thing they didn't have one of was a church. They had two of them: The Baptist Church and the Catholic Church. They faced each other on the square like opposing teams on a football field, the gazebo acting as referee.

What had been the gas station years ago was now Mother's Kitchen, the only diner in town. It was owned by Mother, a woman made mean and hard by spending years in front of a deep fat fryer. Everyone called her Mother but it wasn't meant in a maternal way.

It was 6 a.m. when Sam got the call from Mother to come at once. When he arrived, a small crowd had gathered around a new-looking white Buick station wagon in the parking lot. The priest from the Catholic Church, Father Pendleton, was in the driver's seat. His hands were gripping the steering wheel and his eyes were closed. Tied tightly around his neck and around the headrest was a child's jump rope with red wooden handles on the ends.

Sam ran to his car to call Carlton Community Hospital for the coroner. Feeling the adrenalin from investigating a murder he thought, "Finally, something to do other than round up a cow on the highway or ticket the new home builders for dumping trash."

He jogged back to check the body for any other visible marks. One thing out of the ordinary was Father Pendleton's bare feet. Also, a brightly colored parrot in an antique-looking cage sat in the passenger seat. As the sheriff approached, the bird flapped his wings frantically, spreading feathers and bird seed everywhere.

"Sister," squawked the bird. "Sister! Sister!"

The crowd grew bigger and as they recognized who the victim was the cries grew louder. About that time Bob Bilkley, the coroner, pulled up. When Bob realized it was Father Pendleton he wept openly. He removed the rope from around the priest's neck and handed it to Sam.

"That's my jump rope, Mister," said a scrawny 6-year-old with blonde, stringy hair hanging in her face. "But I didn't kill the Father."

She looked up at Sam, her blue innocent eyes shining despite the smudges on her face. Hand extended, she waited for the sheriff to give her the rope.

"Of course you didn't." Sam squatted next to her and put his arm on her shoulder. "I'll have to keep this, though. It's what we call evidence. But I'll take real good care of it. I promise."

Sam realized the girl had make-up on--eye shadow, blush, lipstick. And she was wearing a grown-up's fancy dress and plastic toy high-heels.

"Sissy! You get over here NOW!" shouted a man on the porch of the house next door.

The little girl clomped across the parking lot, holding her dress up to keep from tripping on it.

"I'm comin', Daddy."

"Sister," screeched the parrot.

GO HERE for INSTALLMENT II OF
The Jump Rope Murder

Honesty: One of the Reasons I Married Him

My husband (who now has his own blog Schizo's Memos) was called to jury duty last week. He was selected to be a juror, but was through with the trial by noon. So he called me at work. This is how the conversation went:

Him: I'm already through. Should I go to work?
Me: I wouldn't if I were you! I'd go get in the pool and then take a nap.
Him: I know, but the paper I have to turn into work says what time I was dismissed from the courthouse.
Me: Oh, well, if we're going to lose money over it...go to work!
Him: But I don't want to go back to work.
Me: Well, then don't.
Him: But they'll dock my pay.
Me: Well then do...

You can see how this conversation could go on forever. Finally I tell him to just tell me what he wants me to say. He says he thinks he'll go on in to work.

The next thing I know he's calling again. It went like this:

Him: Well, I'm home.
Me: What happened?
Him: Somebody was already doing the job I was supposed to do, so I went to the foreman and asked him what he wanted me to do.
Me: And what did he say?
Him: He said, "I don't know. Nobody's ever come back to work after jury duty."
Me: (laughing hysterically) You mean, nobody in the history of the company (catching breath from laughter) has EVER come back from jury duty...except YOU? (More laughter.)
Him: I guess so...
Me: So, then what did you do?
Him: I punched out and came home.
Me: (More hysterical laughter.)

Jupiter Aligned With Mars Sooner Than I Thought

As promised, here's Mom in her shower hat...

She's actually pretty cute for a woman in her 70s. She's so young-looking we accuse her of being a vampire. But as you can see...she was caught (on camera) in broad daylight here.

The occasion for the pool party was my birthday. It's really next Saturday but my best friend (here with her husband) had to work next weekend so we celebrated it a week early. That's okay with me. I try to stretch the festivities out as much as possible. Mine is usually more of a birthmonth.

Here's the birthmonth girl and her hubby

who now has his own blog Schizo's Memos

Oh, and here's another nice view of the stainless grill.

I'm A Contest Finalist!

OMG! I'm just reading my 200 plus e-mails, practically falling asleep at the keyboard, when I see this subject line "Fire and Ice Contest Finalists" and my heart stops. I entered the contest back in April with the first three chapters of Spoiled Rotten, but we weren't supposed to get results until the end of June.

Anyway, I scroll down...AND...there I am. I'm a finalist! I've never been a finalist before!!!

I'm completely stunned. And I may have to rethink going to Reno...is it too late??? (I love chocolate and champagne). Oh...and congrats to the other finalists. : )

Here are portions of the E-mail announcing the results:

CHICK LIT FINALISTS

Going Topless by Rene Hagar
Falling Uphill by Wendy Tokunaga
Spoiled Rotten by Karyn Lyndon

All finalists are invited to a Chicago-North sponsored "Chocolate
and Champagne Reception" Friday evening at Romance Writers of America National Conference in Reno, NV where the winners will be announced.

Sex In The News

For those of you new to the site, welcome! Freaky Friday is the designated day for sex talk on my blog.

***IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER*** This is sexually explicit material and may not be suitable for younger members of our blogging audience.

VIAGRA CAUSES BLINDNESS???

Well, I can’t really let this one go by without some kind of comment, now can I? Are they sure they didn’t get Viagra mixed up with masturbation? I’ve heard of THAT causing blindness all my life. Does it cause hair to grow on your palms, too? Or maybe people are using Viagra to masturbate with.

Gee, it does seem like a waste of a perfectly good, rock solid dong on a hand that could care less! I don’t know. I guess I can’t blame Rosie Palm and Her Five Sister if they prefer rigid over flaccid. But THEY don’t have to worry about going blind, now do they?

I bet there are men out there who would rather go blind than give up their little blue miracle pill. I know I decided I was willing to risk brain cancer for my cell phone, so I can’t really throw stones.

If they could just figure out how masturbating could grow hair on your head (not that one, silly) instead of all over Rosie, now that would be an important breakthrough. Life isn’t fair, is it?

COP GETS JOB AND LOSES JOB ALL IN ONE DAY
or
HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A MAN SCORNED

There’s a TV station here in Dallas who has acquired the BEST FILM FOOTAGE EVER of a Ft. Worth Police Officer (allegedly) getting head in his squad car by his married girlfriend. Okay, she could have been looking for something in his lap for ten minutes, but I don’t think finding a missing contact would make him smile that way.

Did I mention the officer was on duty and their cars were parked side by side at a public park in broad daylight? But, then again, Clinton was on duty while Monica was polishing his knob—and he didn’t get fired. It’s a precedent that may save this cop’s job!

Anyway, the offending footage was taken by a private investigator hired by the woman’s estranged husband. Besides confronting his wife with the footage, he also gave it to the police AND that local TV station to broadcast OVER and OVER and OVER again. (Look honey, I TIVOed it for you!)

The officer had no comment (no duh!) and is suspended until further investigation. The woman said, “It wasn’t me.”

Reminds me of that song by the same name AND my Mom’s sage advice: Don’t do anything in a public park in broad daylight you wouldn’t do standing on the pulpit--or something like that.

Endless Summer

What happened to those good ol' days?
Summers seemed to go for miles
Mine were filled with endless play
Freckled friends with toothless smiles

Each day dripped like sweet snow cones
Slowly savoring each new hour
Underneath the Sycamore shade
Peering up through lush green bower

Barefoot summer afternoons
Deep blue sky like a precious jewel
Shimmy down to our swimming suits
Dead man float in the public pool

Climb the ladder up the trunk
To see what daddy built for me
A real tree-house among the fragrant
blooms of the old Mimosa tree

Languid, rainy afternoons
As hot drops dripped down window panes
Playing house beneath card tables
Entertained by old board games

Grab the checkered picnic basket
Bologna sandwiches in the park
Soaring like the kite we guided
Catching fireflies after dark

Do you think the grown-ups then
Felt this wistful as we played...
Wonder if they ever pondered
What happened to THEIR good ol' days?

Summers now are so much shorter
Paid Time Off is how mine's spent
But sometimes memories can take me
Back to summers without end.