Get set… GO!

Let's do it.

I'm officially down to the wire.

In a last ditch attempt to refocus before the big Moonlight and Magnolia's event at the end of September, I'm taking the next two weeks to hyper-focus on finishing up Pendomus.

I've entered the final stages… the last 6 chapters. There's a bit of reworking that has to happen, but I can do it. Especially now that my son's 6 year old birthday party mayhem has passed. (And I survived! Thank goodness!)

Anyhoo...

Unfortunately, it means tossing out my Goddamn Deadline and trading it in for an additional week. (In all honesty, it doesn't seem so bad. I'm gonna consider it a one week extension. HA!)

So… if I go into hiding during the daylight hours, this is why. I'm sure I'll still be chattin' on Twitter in the wee daylight hours or evenings, once my brain is fried.

No more tiptoeing around this sucker. I'm letting go of my fear to finish this and moving forward.

"The way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing."  

                                                                                       ~Walt Disney 

Here I go…

Embarrass Me[me] - Take FOUR (Tequila Fan)

Dear god… I'm only on number four?? I coulda swore I was done with these by now. Yeesh. 

*shrugs*

Okay… For the sake of my sanity (and quite possibly yours)… this is gonna be the last Embarrass Me[me]. No one remembers where this started anyway… so… there! What? Besides… I have this thing… at the end of September… that's sorta… ACK!!!


And now… for the final installment:

4. Tequila Fan

The first thing I need to impress upon you, my lovely reader… Is this: I am not much of a drinker. Like… ever.

Very typically, alcoholic beverages last in my fridge for weeks or in my liquor cabinet for… years. (Alcohol can't go bad, right??) 


For one thing, I have too many balls to juggle (Uh...Does that sound bad to anyone else?) and I need my wits about me. 

However… for some bizarre reason, I've hosted an annual New Year's Eve party since I moved out of my parent's house. Things never got too wild… We're a bunch of geeks getting together and being a bunch of... drunk geeks.

∞∞∞∞∞∞ § ∞∞∞∞∞∞

On this fateful particular night… we wanted to mix things up. This party had to rock! 


It was, after all New Years Eve, 1999. 

Party like it's 1999!

TIME TO BUST OUT THE BIG GUNS: Star Wars Trivial Pursuit. ------> 


As some of you may recall, 1999 was the year the new Star Wars movies were being released. (Episode 1 had just dropped back in May or some goofy thing. For the love, WHY do I remember these things??) 


Upon revealing the pretty trivial pursuit box, Sherry (aka Beta-Reader-Extraordinaire) dropped a little bomb on us:


She'd never seen Star Wars. As in… any of them.


Whaaaaaa? There was someone from my generation who could watch the movies in their "technical" chronological sequence?? 


This wasn't right… 


There must be a tear in the space time continuum. -------> More importantly, how did I not know this??

Nice perm, yo. Who the hell took this picture?? 

In order to not have a HUGE advantage against Ms. Naïve, there was a brilliant suggestion: 


<------------TEQUILA!


(Though, how this was going to help Sherry, I wasn't sure.)

This was a new experience (at least for me) and as you can tell from the picture, tequila tastes GROSS!

So, naturally… 4 shots of tequila later…


We were ready to rock and roll. The group was loopy. I couldn't see straight, so this was… good? Right?

Truth be told… I don't remember much of the game.

Here's what I DO remember: Sherry wiped the floor on Star War Trivial Pursuit.

Don't ask me how… I think it was through some weird brain-meld-osmosis thing.

Or quite possibly, because the 3 Star Wars nerds men geeks in the group kept giving her points when she shouted out answers like:

"CHIMICHANGA!" (aka Chewbacca)

or

"WD40!" (R2D2)

*shakes head*

After the embarrassing butt-whoopin' to a girl who'd never watched Star Wars, we celebrated the countdown in the usual style… we turned on the TV and yelled at the screen. (At least, I think we did…)

Then, for whatever reason, Sherry and I wound up on my bed. (It's not like that, you pervs!)

My mother had called and I needed moral support to talk to her and sound… undrunk. (See, I had just turned 21 and while, I was "technically" legal… I didn't want her to know… you know?)


The problem was, I couldn't stop the world from spinning… And Sherry couldn't stop giggling at a different kind of spinning-------->

Which in turn… started a giggle-fest.

The upside, as it turned out: Mom was as schnockered as we were!

Why did we change clothes?
And why couldn't I be the one in the leather pants?
Well, at least WD40 there could save me. ;)

So after hanging up the phone, and {I'm told} a good half hour of laughing at the fan, both of us were passing a garbage can back and forth…

Yeah, good times.

But at least for a while, we felt no pain.


Moral of the story: Get drunk and be a pretty blonde. You can talk your way through anything.








Technically, I'm supposed to tag more people to continue on the humility… but shhhhhhhh. I think I forgot. ;)

Embarrass Me[me] - Take THREE

So… in continuing with the humility… I give you:


3. Too much of Gramma is not a good thing


When I was younger, my Dad's family had a cabin on one of the abundant lakes in our area (hello, Minnesota!) and we'd frequent it often (aka whenever my Mom finally got sick of our never ending barrage of, "Mooooooooom, Mom, Mom, Mom…. Can we go to the cabin? Huh, huhhuhuhuh? Can we? Can we? Canweeeee?").

Around the ripe old age of nine, I was opted to spend a week there with my Great-Gramma in lieu of incessant trips "up north" (by all of 20 minutes, psh.).

You see, I am the "original" grandchild… (First born on both sides)

Looking back, I think this really meant guinea pig. 

Now, my Great-Gramma and I were never really all that close. She was a crotchety old bitty and I didn't know how well I would survive a week alone with her. She was, after all, the soul-sucking lady who wouldn't let me play with the shiny legos I'd acquired in my five-year-old Christmas Eve plunder four years earlier (not that I held a grudge, mind you…).

Was this worth it? I'm still not sure.

Anyhoo… as I stated, I was nine.
Matured a bit since that…um... tear filled night.

*sigh*

But a week at the cabin----> away from my two brothers<---- sounded like heaven. Even if I had to endure the crotchety old gal.

Besides, this was my view----------------------->

How bad could it be, right?

Surprisingly, the week flew by. I helped her clean up the yard, weed her gardens, swam from sun up to sun down and even got to pick strawberries at the U-Pick-Berry Farm down the road.

No problems.

It was blissfully uneventful.

In fact, I was surprised how much I enjoyed being there. Then, the last night before heading back home, things took a turn. We'd eaten supper and Gramma had turned in for the night. (She had this weird habit of going to bed at 7:30pm and getting up at 5am… Who does that?)

But I was packing… There were books and things… clothes needed to be folded and put in my suitcase. For the life of me, I could not find my swimsuit. I'd looked outside. I searched the outdoor shower thingy… Missing.

Where the heck did it go?

Since it was only 7:39pm, I decided to ask Gramma. She'd know. She knew everything. And no way was she asleep yet.

So, I walked down the hallway and knocked just outside her door.

There was a scuffle behind the curtain (Yes, curtain… Where was I, the Wizard of Oz?) and out emerged Gramma. Her hair was rolled up tight in curlers on the top of her head and she had a wild, crazy look in her eyes.

All of that would have been fine.

But that's not where my eyes went.

Instead, from the waist up, my old bitty Gramma was completely buckass nekkid and because of the step up to her room, I was right at… um… their level.

My eyes!

Great-Gramma BOOBIES!

As soon as my brain registered the horror, I diverted my eyes to the wall, trying to blink away the last five seconds of my life. (It didn't help.)

"Whatcha need?" Gramma muttered, not even making an attempt to move. (Didn't she know her boobs were touching her--- bloomers? HELLO!)

"I… er… uh… " What the heck was it again? Dang, I'd lost all train of thought-- what with my eyes on fire, and all.

"Spit it out, I ain't got all night." She put a hand on her hip (at least, I think that's what it was…) and I decided to abandon ship.

"I…er… nevermind." I spun around and bolted back to the guest bedroom, latching the door behind me.

You know, come to think of it, I never did find my swimsuit.

Instead, I carried home a memory that, to this day, is still burned behind my eyelids.

It's honestly not right.

Please, for the love, give me horny gramma! Wait… what?

I'd much rather have been privy to THIS---------->


Moral of the story: Things you never meant to witness will haunt you forever. Poke your eyes out now and save yourself.

• Up next Friday...

4. Tequila fan

Refocus

After last week's crazy vanity escapades, a few new things have come to light…

First: My Mom ended up having emergency surgery this weekend on her right eye. Turns out, her retina detached and if she didn't get it fixed as soon as possible, it would lead to permanent blindness. As I've stated before, she's a visual artist (with her specialty in acrylic painting) and the whole thing has been frightening. So far, the surgery sounds like it was a success, though her eye needs to be monitored for the next few weeks. It could, however, take up to 6 months for her vision to be completely normal. We're all hoping for a speedy and successful recovery for her. Love you, Mom!

Second: While I didn't like the way the subject of my networking usage was broached last week, I've done a lot of thinking and feel it's time to regroup. My Goddamn Deadline is looming just a few weeks away and I'm only entering Chapter 21 (of 32). The ending of Pendomus still has to be reworked (which, to be honest, I am looking forward to) and it needs to be top priority.

Third: There's only a month and a half to pull myself together before heading to Georgia for the Moonlight and Magnolias Conference. (Hey, CRITS gals!) And that alone is enough to send me into a tail spin.

So, with all this in mind, if you don't see me on Twitter or blogging much for the next 6 weeks… Assume this is why. I will be back. Yes, I may even continue the Embarrass Me[me]'s. LOL!

But for now...

The universe has sent a clear message: Time to refocus.

Embarrass Me[me] - Take TWO

Oh, dammit. I guess it's that time again… 


As promised last week, I have another installment of Embarrass Me[me]. All thanks to the insanely talented Ms. Midnight. Can you go poke her for me? Hard. 


RECAP: Lynn tagged me to do this Embarrass Meme thing… Long story short, I talk too much and turned it into a weekly thing until I have all seven done. Sound good? Sure. Why not? This week has sucked so royally, laughing at myself might just be a good thing. ;)

Back to...

2. Cutting my hair long

Yes, you read that right.

Now, as a child… this was one of those humiliating things I did that lingered well into my teenage years. For some reason it's had a death grip that could make prying Leonardo DiCaprio off Kate Winslet seem like melted buttaaahhh.

The first thing you have to understand… In my defense, I have always been an analytical person. ALWAYS. You must make sense to me or I will blow you off.

Webster FTW.

Picture it: I was a scrawny little four year old with blonde hair and an intense desire to leave it right where it was. On my head. I was trying to grow my hair out and I didn't see how cutting it fit into that plan. Smart, right?

So the setting takes place on a sunny Saturday morning... I was peacefully minding my own business (aka, not torturing my younger brother) and watching my favorite show at the time: Webster. --------->

My mother musta caught a whiff of unguarded whimsy and pounced.

"Carissa," she cooed, "I know you don't want to cut your hair short. But did you know, when you cut your hair, it makes it grow faster."

"Mmmmmhmmmm. Okay, Mom." I nodded. Webster had just gone behind the neat-o grandfather clock thingy that was a secret passage. It was soooo cool. (Man, I still want one of those.)

"Excellent!" she exclaimed.

I lowered my eyebrows and turned to face her. "Wait… what you say?"

"You agreed to get your hair trimmed." she smiled.

A look of panic replaced my whimsy and I started doing flashy jazz hands out in front of me. "No… no…"

"Really, your hair will grow faster if we cut it. We'll just do a little bit… just a trim and you'll see."

"Just a little?" (I was curious now. Mistake number one.)

Yes, because of the promise my hair would grow longer faster, I allowed the heinous act to take place.

The next morning… while lying in bed scheming out my day... my wheels started turning.

Analytical, overachiever, four-year-old me thought:

If trimming your hair makes it grow faster… Then CUTTING your hair will make it grow faster yet!

BRILLIANT!

Of course I knew where the scissors were. My parents had placed them in the tiny nook above the highest cupboard because of the last time I tried to cut my brother's hair.

The sun had just risen… Lucky for me, I was a morning person. And a climber. ;)

Wouldn't my parents be surprised when they saw how loooooong my hair was?

Thirty-five seconds later: After flinging back the cupboard doors and scaling Mt. McSuperHighCupboard, I had my beloved prize.

★˙˚★★My magic scissors of hair growth.★★˚˙★

How had I not known about this before?? I will be Rapunzel in no time, now!

I pulled out the chair into the middle of the kitchen, as my mother had done it the day before. (I needed to be all professional-like, you know.) Needless to say, my brilliant idea ended with my parents walking in on me with the scissors held high and my (longish) hair all over the floor.

I believe the first words out of my mother's mouth were: "What the [expletive deleted] are you doing!?" (You have to forgive her, she's not a morning person.)

My dad snickered.

So, here's the fun part… turned out: It was Easter Morning. 


The push to trim my hair was really so I looked presentable and not like the ferrel tomboy I was. (That worked out well.)

My mother, now with a look of death in her eye (it was twitching), promptly snatched my magical instrument and whipped the hair sheers out. Then, much to my dismay, she buzzed my entire head.

Evidently, she didn't like my snazzy tuft-o-stylage.

This now meant going to my family's Catholic Church, in my frilly Easter gown with a big-ass bonnet on my head to cover up the fact I had no hair.

It didn't help. I was still teased for being a boy in a girl's dress.

To a little girl. It sucked. 

To a teenager who's heard the story umpteen-million times…

It made you want to burn photos.

Moral of the story: Information is dangerous in the minds of a child. Use it with caution.

Shut up. Pixie hair is awesome.
(At least I didn't have to wear a bonnet.)

• Up next Friday...

3. Too much of Gramma is not a good thing

I'm so vain...

I probably think this post is about me…

This has been a stellar week…

It's all about me

Backstory: I was blindsided by family members accusing me of spending too much time on the internet since launching my author platform. They think I've become a complete narcissist, caring only about what "people I don't know" think.

Logically, I know this is not the case… I did my research on author platforms (I like how Steve Umstead explains it---> here.), and in all honesty, I don't care about twitter numbers or blog followers. If you like me, fantastic. If you don't, no harm done. I don't even have a blog schedule for crying out loud. (I just post when something comes to mind).

BUT, I will be the first to admit it, I enjoy people. I enjoy connecting to all of you. I'm the extrovert in a family of introverts… Does it really make me vain?


In my family, we actually have people who are affected by narcissistic personality disorder. So to be slapped with this kind of label is more than upsetting. It means something. It's the highest form of insult.


I can usually let stuff roll off me… take what I need, let go of the rest. I bounce back.

This has not been one of those weeks.

I try very hard to keep balance. Evidently, I'm not balanced enough for their liking. Their reasoning? I can't go more than an hour without having to check Twitter. I can multitask by making supper, cleaning, changing diapers and twittering all at the same time. (In fact, I live for the challenge of it.)

Everyone has good and bad days with balance, I suppose. I know I'm no different. But my kids are fed. They are clothed and we do fun things. My house isn't in complete shambles (dust bunnies may be running amok, shhh…).

None of them understand Twitter or blogging. (It's just to stroke my own ego, right?) Hell, I didn't understand them until this past February. So I get it. Doesn't mean their words hurt any less.

Twitter, in specific, has been an eye opening and lovely surprise. I've met amazing people and you (yes, you) make my day rich because of it. Yes, it's true--->I can honestly say I look forward to chatting with my fellow miscreants. It's like the water cooler for the virtual job on my computer screen and in my head.

In my "real life" jobs… I work with family members or I work alone. As I said earlier, I'm the ONLY extrovert of the family. Dealing with just family members every day doesn't cut it for me. THAT is when I start to go insane. Additionally, in their eyes because my job as a writer isn't paid, it doesn't matter as much, I guess. I shouldn't take it as seriously, or something. Even though it is what I love to do.

*scratches head*

I'm sorta befuddled.

What are your thoughts? Does interacting on Twitter and writing a blog (with stories about ME) make me a complete narcissist? Am I insane for thinking I was heading in the right direction?

Embarrass Me[me] - Take ONE

Oh, god. I can't look.

I don't know why I do this to myself.
I must be a glutton for punishment. Yep, that's it.

So… here's the thing; Ms.Crazypants 
tagged me in another blog.

Something 'bout being on fire. ------>
(What's up with that?)

Now I'm supposed to come up with 7 embarrassing moments from my past.

Not quite sure how those two correlate or how I came about it… I think maybe Lyn was consuming a little too much alcohol at those belly-dancing Bulgarian night clubs she was chatting about.

As for me and MY embarrassing situations… 

I've either suppressed them OR I'm incredibly forgetful. Maybe both. (Was it the concussion?)

This is how bad it is, I had to inquire, NAY---> DEMAND stories from my friends and family, trying to jar my memory on stupid things I've done. After much prodding, I finally managed to compile my list of 7. Come to find out, my friends all seem to think I am either impervious to embarrassment or just really good at embarrassing them. HA! I guess that's not a bad place to be…

(You hear that CRIT gals… look out come Sept 29th. Eh-hem.)

Unfortunately… (or perhaps fortunately, I don't know) I'm too wordy for my own good. I've decided that since a human's attention span is approximately 3 minutes (thorough scientific research, you know), I'm gonna make this a weekly thing until I've got all 7… um, expunged from my memory banks permanently.

Here's numero uno on my damn list.

1. Boyfriend arrangement

True love on a bus.

So picture it… there I was, a timid little 8th grader sitting on the school bus, ready to get out of the hell-hole known as junior high. Despite popular opinion, I wasn't always the sexy, self-assured creature you have come to know and love. Alas, I was a geeky girl with a propensity for angsty poetry and drawing people who's eyes were far too big for their faces. (What, don't judge. I like eyes, okay? Psh.)

As the story has been replayed back to me; I had been flirting (albeit horribly) to a fellow geeky 8th grader of the opposite sex. (Eureka!). Now, at 13, or whatever god-awful age this was, I was floundering. Evidently, so was he.

 To my horror, A blonde beauty (with the cool permed hair I would have killed for back then) was seated in front of us and noticed the poor interplay. As if it wasn't bad enough to be an uber-geek, a complete stranger had to detect it. Oh, god. 

Crazy curly turned around and eyed the two of us mischievously with her wicked, multicolored eyes.
(Yes, they are TWO different colors, for realz.)

"Are you two going together?" She asked.

*Blank stares*

*swallow*

"Um, no." We both mumbled.

"Well, you are now." Curly declared. A scrawny finger was thrust through the air like a javelin at wide-eyed 8th grade boy. "Sit with her, already, would you?"

*blink*

*blink*

A smirk spread across her face and Curly sat back down.

You know what? It freakin' worked!

Once the crimson had faded from our cheeks, 8th-grade-deer-in-the-headlights-boy fumbled around for his backpack and moved over to my seat. It was love.

For all of three weeks. 

Love ya, curly girly!

Meh, it was 8th grade. What did you expect? That was long-term, man.

Ironical side note---> Crazy Curly turned out to be Beta-Reader-Extraordinaire. Huh.

Lesson learned: Love pops up unexpectedly.

~Occasionally in the form of nosy, curly-haired girls----------------->

• Up next Friday...

2. Cutting my hair long

(Yes, you read that right. I have the pics to prove it.)

Biting the bullet

Oh dear gawd.

So, after carefully considering the advice from my family, friends, twitter fiends and blog followers…

I bit the bullet.

Tickets are bought. Flight, hotel and car all booked. Looks like I'm going to Georgia in two months.

Heaven help me, this is one of the craziest things I've done in… well, a long time.

Oh, well! 

Wish me luck… or at the very least, pray that I don't end up the crazy girl in the corner eating her hair.



UPDATE: If you are confused, feel free to check out the previous post; Terror Stricken for more info. LOL!