Wisdom of MY Words

Random Musings & Book Reviews

18 October
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I DESPISE Typos

I have to go look for a recipe, because my books are all clean living and nothing fattening. I am directing. What I do best. My husband is notating. His notations now say:

Fat bacon
Big scallops

Not my emphasis.

Anyway. I have me a Southern craving. I blame Texas, hell I could blame my Southern mum. Reality is I google a recipe and in the first sentence I see a typo:

“Texans have a unique way of rating restaurants that serve CFS. The restaurants are rated by the number of pickup trucks that is parked out in front.”

We have two problems. First of all, we have a mathematical problem and that is: singular means one, plural means more than one.

Additionally, it’s an English problem for the same reasons above.

Therefore, I don’t know if I can trust this recipe. Damn that irks me. But here it is for your perusal: http://whatscookingamerica.net/Beef/ChickenFriedSteak.htm

I still want my Chicken Friend Steak, but for right now I’m just going to window shop and drool a bit.

That looks like sausage gravy! And a biscuit! Oh. My. Goodness. Delicious!

03 July
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Good Writers Come from Fucked Up Families

I was reading this blog post: http://woxo.blogspot.com/2012/01/are-you-fed-up-of-reviews.html, and then I went to see Roney’s bio for his book Dermaphobes on Amazon. Which HAS NO REVIEWS, BTW!!!

His bio states: “Sean F. Roney was born in Monterey County, California in 1979. California’s central coast region was a great place to grow up for Sean. Living almost halfway between Los Angeles and San Francisco placed him in a wonderland of agriculture, forests and Pacific Ocean rocky beaches. The area sparked a lifetime of creative thinking, which carries on to this day in the form of stories.”

You have got to be kidding me! All my friends who are excellent fiction writers all grew up being fucked up, fucked around, and had to deal with the nuttiest sets of families. IMO, that is what makes a great writer: self-deprecating humour, a massively fucked up family (my Uncle, for example, has an entire War bedroom with zillions of guns, live grenades, and often, half-blind, pulls out a gun to kill a bird in a tree, because while he can’t see very well, he can hit his target); and the ability to analyze those circumstances are the things ALONG with *possibly* an interesting environment (I grew up on Lake Michigan) that creates excellent story tellers. Not some wack job born in 1979, who writes about Zombies, how bloody cliche!

Travel the world, be more than a journalist, listen in on private conversations at the pub, and then write.

15 February
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Destination… Not in Sight

Yesterday I cleaned out Son Number Two’s room. We trimmed down to only one dresser. 52 donatable items, with another 11 to school for uniform clothes resale. I now have 12 items to list on eBay from his room including Oilily jeans, Wes and Willy and Mini Boden shirts and the dresser needs to go on Craigslist. We had a huge fire with twigs that are in the garage and a zillion shoe boxes from goodness knows how many pairs of shoes the kid has trashed. There are still more shoe boxes in his closet.

Essentially that is three full rooms that are done now. That leaves the other office because mine is beyond the pale, filled with eBay. That office needs a seam in the plaster fixed in the ceiling, all furniture moved out and a thorough cleaning and then a new paint colour.

My daughter’s bedroom is not even on the docket, but her office is getting ready for my sticky fingers to sell everything. She said yesterday that her room is the colour of shit. That’s what I get for going neutral Pottery Barn colours. But she has two great chairs from Room & Board and I just know I’m going to take a huge financial hit on the, They are super contemporary and adorable. The same furniture design, but not the patterns, is premiered in a new Parisian hotel in the 2nd A. They are great chairs, but they are more for a guy than a girl.

In moments I will start paperwork filing. It amazes me the amount of paper that ends up in this house.

This is also a plug for my book.

My book can be found for Kindle-only, here:

05 December
2Comments

No Governor On My Mouth

I’m reading John Elder Robison’s book, “Look Me In the Eye…” and I’ve realized that perhaps I really have a gentle, innocuous form of Apsbergers. Not only do I randomly cuss out people I can’t stand, like clerks at stores, but I have absolutely no governor on my mouth when it comes to things I should. I say shit and fuck in public. What’s the big deal? If I had a better word than shit or fuck, I’d substitute it for that. But sometimes the best word is a generalist word like shit. As in, “You pre-date your items for sale? That’s wack and I don’t need you to explain your shitty system to me because it doesn’t make any sense.”

I should wear a button that says:

fuck.jpg

Which in Minnesota gets you kicked out of a store. Even if it’s a second hand store and there goes their sale. But it was 03 December 2007 and the item was marked 05 December 2007 and my logical brain goes, “WHOA, it’s not 05 December 2007 yet, was this mismarked and they meant 03 December 2006?”

Frankly I didn’t fucking care what the owners lackey’s excuse was about why she pre-dates items. I mean when I walked into the store she was talking to a woman about her vagina. She said vagina and a customer heard it. I figured she could handle the word shitty. But no, she told me, my husband and son to GET OUT. Well, fine, I don’t want your stupid pre-dated green silk pillows then! Even if they are cool and inexpensive by silk throw pillow standards. I’ll just have the pea run in and get the half-priced pink silk ones instead, with cash, no paper trail. And never GO BACK THERE AGAIN.

Instead of telling her she was a bitch when I was leaving the store, I should have told her she was the biggest douche in the universe. But those epiphanies always occur AFTER the fact.

So, I’m reading Robison’s book and it’s obvious I have no governor on my mouth, I like to make up weird names for my family and friends (although Unit 2 for Jack would be just wrong, and god only knows when I’d get laid again if I called him Unit 2), I have to have several generous Strongbows or Diet Cokes in my system to deal with people. Too much Diet Coke is like being on coke, it helps me function. My god if I was a drug addict I’d bankrupt us. But no, I can go to a pub and drink eight Diet Cokes in thirty minutes and act completely normal in the eyes of the people at the pub.

I also can spill ridiculous details about things like Hitler, WWII, France, The Tudors (longest reigning monarchy in England), and various other things I read about. I prefer books and movies to people, any day. But yet, I’m seen as a complete extrovert. Yet, when I have to deal with people in person I’m just exhausted after it. I want to sleep for a month. People wear me out. They are so boring and bloody self-absorbed and rarely can impart interesting details about things like I can. Should I hold other people up to my high standards of intelligence and hysterical knowledge? Well, yes, I think I should, Hol and M&M seem to be fine with it and they always have their own stories that are so bitchy and critical you can’t help but love them. Lala always tells me I have a big mouth, but that’s because, yup, you’ve got it, I have no governor on it, since I must have some form of Asperbergers. Shit.

Actually I think the problem is summed up by this fortune:

fortune.png

And NONE of those are my lucky numbers.

24 November
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Good Living Writing SPAM?

I’m intrigued by SPAM, how do people come up with this content? For example:

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I could so get a job writing that content! This one is great:

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And if I get one more SPAM about penis size, ejaculatory volume and erections I’m going to scream!

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Or how about breasts?

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And this one I get all the time, it sounds definitely attractive. I think they mean cervix, but who am I to know what they hell they want to say?

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Well fabulous is definitely not what I’d call some fuckhead driving his cock into my cervix, I’d call that damn painful. Unless I was getting paid for it. Wait, strike that. I should never have said that.