Archive for July 2011
Dear Lord I hate mornings.
No, I mean with a visceral, bone-deep, resentment that goes beyond having to just wake from a perfectly good sleep. Mornings for me are the time when I pull open one eyelid and all the things that are wrong with the week/day/month/year seem to crash in on me like a typhoon. Don’t worry, I’m not depressed or anything, or at least, no more than usual. By necessity I must “hit the ground running” as they say, with kids, spouse, dogs, coffee duties that include but are not limited to: food prep, water bowl filling, bean grinding, dishwasher and laundry change-over, and the occasional blow job. So the “Oh God my life is crap” feelings dissipate fairly quickly, as my brain fills with all the tasks to be fulfilled in the day ahead.
But this week has been especially delightful, as the Karmic Monkey has shoved me up against the wall of fate and stuck hot pokers in my eyes (and no, I am not into that so keep those particular comments to yourselves.) Here is the thing. My spouse has a bad habit. No, not cocaine or prostitutes, but nearly as expensive. He likes to bid on cars on ebay. Not sports cars. Old Volvos. Yep. You heard me. Whereby he came this obsession I have not idea but we now own two of them. The last one he flew to Florida to retrieve on Wednesday and as he was driving back to Michigan he hit a deer.
He is officially banned from ebay. Or no more blow jobs.
This only 24 hours after my 16 year old teenmonster bent the hell out of the “control arm” of HER Old Volvo her dear old dad bestowed upon her by curbing a round about.
And tuition is due for my oldest’s second year of college.
In a movie full of excellent lines, one from Ocean’s Eleven speaks to me like no other. Linus, the under-appreciated, obsessive-compulsive pick pocket is reminding Rusty, Brad Pitt with an oral fixation (seriously the guy is ALWAYS EATING in this movie) that perhaps knocking over Terry Benedict’s casino’s is not such a good idea. And because I need a hot guy fix in this damn blog:
I am staring My Karma Monkey deep in the eye and saying ENOUGH!!! Bring on the good stuff..or at least bring me a beer. Guess it could be worse. I could have THIS guy’s job….no thanks.
hope you kids have a great weekend!
Yeah, that. Apparently there is a “heat bubble” nicely positioned over America’s Great Middle West, encompassing the East coast, down to the southern tier of states –which as I recall should be USED to this crap by now. I know, I grew up in it. You moved quickly from your air conditioned house to air conditioned car to air conditioned store/office/school/friend’s house/restaurant/bar/nooner.
But here, we like our mornings cool, pleasant, the kind you can sit out on the patio and drink the requisite amount of caffeine for functioning and our evenings perfect for a small fire, or a sweatshirt.
We are, in a word, hot weather WIMPS. (ok, 3 words) Here in Ann Arbor 99+ degree heat and relentless sun means two things: Art Fair, wherein a bazillion tourists descend on downtown–which has closed down for all us regular folks–and buy crappy crafts (and then come drink beer in my bar so I’m good with it.) AND
Summer Beer Fest wherein about 10k beer drinkers pay $35 for about 4 hours of “sampling” all that the Great Beer State Has to Offer them…which is a lot. And everybody gets fall down drunk, then all we brewers de-camp to an air conditioned bar (mine on Saturday) and get fall down drunk, grope each other in back hallways and whatnot. Well, they wish they could anyways.
It’s a good weekend and it will be F$#@ing Hot which means—everybody’s thirstier! Wish me luck.
My big news this week relative to Breathless Press was pretty damn huge:
cheers to Victoria for a job well done….
Stay cool peeps….or at least drink a craft beer while you sweat.
Prompted in no small part by this amazing story, wherein a REALLY pissed off wife not only chopped the guy’s junk off, she ran it down the garbage disposal, just in case he got any ideas about stapling that sucker back on (He must be a Very Bad Dude–or she is Really Bat Shit Crazy–or both–I mean, you can’t WRITE this stuff, eh kids?) we are gonna chat about the male anatomy.
That is to say, the penis, scrotum and testicles…those sort of awkward looking bits that cause so much mayhem and thrill to those of us ever seeking new words to describe them. Yes, we can also discuss the vagina, but why?
We are all obsessed with “little Elvis.” From the moment a little boy is born his hands are all over himself and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked my own 19-year-old son, “Do you even realize you’re grabbing that all the time?”
Keeping with our theme, as a soccer (player torso) fanatic, I’m a big fan of “Short Tent” spotting…you know, it’s just “out there” isn’t it!
Now that I spend a significant portion of time and energy every day devoted to writing about it, and the men attached to it, I just thought we’d spend a few moments pondering our nomenclature.
Ah The Old cock ‘n balls (my dream name for an British pub) has been known by many endearments.
Wiener (Anthony or no)
Member (with its own jacket)
Baby Arm (ick)
Heat seeking love missle
oh yes, we could go on….
But really, when writing about the thing, I typically stick to what I like think of as The Big Two: Cock/Dick. Penis sometimes gets thrown in but it’s kind of a silly word, makes people giggle. Prick seems pejorative to me, like “cunt” on the other side. My heroes have been known to sport wood, and have throbbing rods, and pulsing shafts too. But that’s about as far as I go.
So, it’s Friday. Let’s talk Tallywhackers!
But so help me do NOT name the thing….that is just creepy. And I’ll keep all references to “Veronica Jane” to myself. deal?
This is a blatant promotion. Any and all attempts to declare it otherwise negate the purpose. But you REALLY should know what I’m working on here at my Breathless Computer! Anticipating first edits any day for The Tap Room. A Choose your Romance format novella based on my Brewing Passion series already published.
Let me catch you up:
The Tap Room is the story of Erin Brady, a woman who owns Winter Street Brewing, located in a small midwestern college town. Her 2 male business partners–one an old friend with benefits who is the finance/legal side, the other a popular high school English teacher and brewer turned business owner–and she are building the hottest new thing in craft brewing, using exotic ingredients and non-traditional, category busting recipes to create a massive cult following, thanks in no small part to her marketing and sales expertise.
But Erin has a problem. Her alpha male banker husband doesn’t like it that she has found a life outside their home, and has found solace in another woman’s bed. At this point in her life, Erin has no time nor interest in his high maintenance needs after nearly 20 years of coddling him, and attempts to bury her hurt in 100 hour work weeks, driven to prove that the success of her business was worth her marriage, which has crumbled before her eyes.
Not realizing how much her husband’s betrayal has ripped at her soul, she plunges into an ill-advised and extraordinarily hot relationship with a young man they have hired to be their new brewer. In her logical brain, she knows she’s making a mistake–but her need to feel loved overcomes her logic, until a knock down drag out fight with the one business partner who harbors a secret desire to be more than just her business partner brings her to her senses.
She is soon on a plane to the west coast, putting geography between her and the object of her lustful affection, not knowing that destiny awaits at the beer writers’ conference in the form of a “rock star” former brewery owner turned consultant who has been following her business’ successful trajectory (and her) for years. This man seems perfect to soothe her shattered psyche. But reality intervenes and she must return to her midwest home, and is plunged right back into a near catastrophe at her own brewery in the form of a distributor horse-trade in a major market. Her brand has been traded to a larger, macro-style distributor in exchange for another brand and the ensuing crisis nearly tears their small, formerly close-knit partnership apart. And once that crisis is averted, they become a victim of their own success when a buy out offer from a larger, wealthier brewery hits their collective desk. How they answer, as a group, will define Erin forever.
She is torn in so many directions and still has a brewery and pub to market. One man sees her broken heart and shattered self and is determined to bring her to her senses and into his arms….but WHO IS HE?????
Trent (The Rookie) the former friend with benefits who brought her into the business? Tall, dark, handsome, suave and nurturing a familiar desire for his red-headed old friend. Will his new squeeze, Lisa take his mind off his inevitable and long-standing desire for Erin?
Jeff (Jockey Box) The hottest brewer on the market, who has chosen to hitch his rising star to Winter Street Brewing’s quirky and controversial style. After their first encounter at an off-site beer festival he can’t keep eyes, hands, or anything else off his new boss lady. Erin has never felt so desired in her life, and their encounters in and around the brewery are more and more brazen–but she just can’t stop herself, as she erases the sour taste of spousal betrayal with a healthy dose of eroticism via the young man who is seemingly insatiable.
Landon (The Consultant) A real success story in the beer business, he has been waiting for years to meet Erin, and when he does, serious sparks fly. He’s a bit of a cypher to her: incredibly passionate, tender and caring–and full of excellent advice about her company but with a tendency to disappear and be hard to reach once their ways part. Is he protecting his own heart from further abuse after having lost his wife of 20 years to rancorous divorce? Or should she consider him a plaything, someone she can turn to on occasion but not rely on as a true soul mate?
Owen (The Brewer Partner) who has desired Erin from the moment Trent introduced them, but is unable to act on it–torn by Trent’s confidence with her, and Jeff’s sexual hold on her he watches as she buffets from one man to another, from one crisis to the next and she slowly unravels before his eyes. His every attempt to reach out and show her how much he cares is seemingly thwarted by fate.
Bradley Jefferson III (The Husband) who in the middle of all this suddenly realized what an idiot he was for leaving Erin–and tries in his very convincing way, to win her back.
Whew, so many great options, we’ve decided to let the READER choose what path Erin takes….we will have lots more details VERY SOON…watch this space!
Projected Release Date: September 30, 2011
Blatant Promo Moment OVER–and back to you, dear Breathless Readers and Writers!
We all know the drill. Just getting through the day takes so much energy…up early, kids out the door, work, other work, cleaning, laundry, pets, writing, editing, blogging, more dishes. Who has the energy to do more than brush teeth and fall into bed, asleep nearly before head hits pillow?
However, speaking from hard core experience, one neglects the marriage bed at one’s own peril.
We all have needs, and one of them is a need for physical satisfaction. Denying it denies the essential nature of humanity. Yes, we are programmed for it. It’s how we propagate the species after all. And men especially are physically needy–”taking the edge off” is a real phenomenon that only the truly naive can deny. Women are programmed to be more emotionally needy but the physical satisfaction that comes with a healthy and robust sex life should not be discounted.
I would never have become a published author of erotic romance without having first read some amazingly hot fiction….and I would not have read these sultry stories had my husband not introduced them to me in a last ditch attempt to revive the healthy sex life we had enjoyed prior to becoming parents.
Yeah, we were “friends with benefits” before that phrase had any real pop culture meaning back in our college days. I will admit to having done my fair share of, um, partying, that is to say fucking my fair share of guys with no strings attached in college. The current Mr. though, he was different. He brought out the real sexy in me, but apparently our destiny was to reproduce–which we did with alarming efficacy from the get-go, once we were committed to living together, if not the whole hog of marriage.
So parents we were, 3 times over, and the third while becoming the future ex-patriat experts we would become. I became a bit of a drudge in the process–just trying to get through each day in yet another foreign country, while Mr. was shall we say “fully experiencing” life as a fairly wealthy, attractive man in an executive position with his fair share of attractive, single foreign women at his disposal.
I don’t begrudge him this now. I was just the woman with the kids and house and the laundry who made no real effort in the bedroom anymore.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve extracted my pound of flesh for his transgressions and we are on solid footing now. The point of this rambling post is to defend keeping the flame alive–however you must—erotic fiction (for me), pornography, strip clubs, sexy texting, naughty messaging, surprise visits to the office, role playing, even “alternative lifestyles”—as long as you remain true to each other in your hearts and souls, and acknowledging that a truly healthy sex life includes open communication about what makes you happy, and feel sexy, and includes fair play for all.
Proud to be American