Maybe it's because I've yet to have coffee, but today's Doonesbury tickled me no end.

I'm sorry that suricattus had a crappy phone call that put her in a vile mood, but I'm so glad she was cheered by this and better still, that she posted it for the rest of us.

I'm not sure who amuses me more- Animal or Beaker.

gaelbrady & ladystarblade make sure you watch this!

Cracks me up every. single. time.



(Also now can't help but think of logophilos encounters with American squirrels during her travels.)

Week and a half, really.

Last Monday we found out our offer on the house we really, really, really wanted in Seattle was accepted. Tuesday I learned that Stars was going to committee, Wednesday, I learned St. Martin's wanted it, by Thursday, it was a done deal.

Yesterday I got some other potentially fabulous news, but I have to wait on that until it's a certainty. But I can be patient.

Y'know, thing is, I think the whole thing started the Saturday before. It was that morning that we had put in the initial bid on the house. More importantly, however, was what happened Saturday night. I finally, finally got to see Robin Williams in concert. When I say "finally" it has two different meanings. One is, that we were originally scheduled to see him back in March, but it was literally the show before ours where he fell ill and needed heart surgery. A big thing, since heart disease runs in his family. I was devastated, of course, but mostly because I really wanted him to recover. I have followed the man's career since the Mork & Mindy days. (Earlier, really, because I saw his first appearances on Happy Days.) I love a great deal of his film work (Dead Again= Best Cameo EVAR) even though, like any other actor, he's done some clunkers. I have multiple copies of Live on Broadway and Live at the Met. Hell, I even listened to Live at the Met when I was in labor with both of my children. Hey, y'know, the drugs can only do so much... laughter, on the other hand, makes all manner of pain disappear. Besides, it was a great way to freak the hell out of the doctors and nurses.

He, to me, is simply one of the funniest, most brilliant observers of human nature out there. It's so funny to watch him pick apart the world's weaknesses because he's so ruthless about picking apart his own. To say I adore this man's mind would be putting it mildly. (The Hub has often said that he could really only see me leaving him for one of two men: Jon Stewart or Robin Williams. What can I say? Brilliant and funny trumps all. Luckily, I have brilliant and funny at home, so no worries there, dear heart.)

So seeing him in concert wasn't just about finally seeing him since he'd rescheduled the show-- it was also about finally seeing him after close to thirty years. And because The Hub is a prince among men, when he bought these tickets for me as my Christmas gift last year, he bought the Super Delux-o Meet & Greet Package. Where we'd get to actually meet the man!

Okay, y'all who know me, know I simply do not get star struck. I don't do autographs. I can carry on a conversation with almost anyone, but in this case, may I just let loose with a hearty,

SQQQQUUUUUUUUUUUUUUEEEEEEE!!!!!

*ahem*

I will say, I was able to have a nice conversation with him. And I was even able to tell him, without stuttering or stammering, that I'd listened to Live at the Met during both my labors. To which he responded with "Fuck me!"

Hee!

But here's the thing. It was after that wonderful, fabulous Saturday where I got to meet a childhood idol and found him absolutely lovely and unassuming and truly grateful to meet his audience. Where I laughed and laughed and laughed like I haven't in quite some time, that everything finally fell into place. Because it was after that Saturday that we got our house and I got my book deal and all manner of lovely things fell into place. Coincidence? Sure. But I'm also going to look at it as a turning point.

And I have a lovely memento from it. (I look like death, but that's because it was my first night out after a minor surgical procedure ten days before. Don't care. I think my smile's about to split my face wide open. Also, don't care. It was WONDERFUL. (I do need to lose weight again. Maybe that'll be next...)




Now if I could only sing with the GLEE cast, life would pretty much be complete.

Okay, so it's Monday and normally, I'd be doing Cabana Boys *pauses to giggle at unintentional double entendre* but I think I'll save them until tomorrow when there are more people about.

Anyhoo, I'm going to be working today, but tonight, the college football season kicks off and wouldn't you know it, my Seminoles have to open the season against freakin' Miami.

Unlike Florida, who opened their season against perennial powerhouse, Charleston Southern. *inserts crowbar, removes tongue from cheek*

A few years back, I was asked to write a novella for an anthology that ultimately fell through. I can't see really doing anything with it and given that the Noles and the Canes start their seasons tonight, it seemed like the time to set it free into the world.

So I give to you guys, Mixed Marriage: A Novella of Family, Football, & How Love Conquers All.

(That's a PDF/web version, for a plainer web version, try here, although the formatting is a little wonky.)

Warning, there are some explicit scenes! This is an adult story, not a YA and it's a romance-- or at least, as close to it as I get.

It's very light, very silly, (completely different in tone from my usual drama-laden stories) and designed to be nothing but pure, ridiculous fun with very sexy overtones. And if the situations seem unrealistic, then you don't live in the south and/or have never been around college football season. I've been to wedding receptions where near-riots broke out based around rivalries.

It's funny, too, going back and looking at it, how my writing has evolved. Best way, I've discovered to track the evolution of style-- go back and read something you haven't looked at in ages. Part of me wants to hide it under the bed, but at the same time, I can recognize some good elements in there and most importantly, I still like the story and the characters.

So, please, read and hopefully enjoy.

Oh, and ETA: While I'm still completely on the fence leaning on the "not sure I like it" side of things, I do have a Twitter account. I started it as an experiment in the wake of the panel on social networking that I was on at RWA National. For the first couple of months I had a handle comprised of my initials and birthday and was curious to see how many people I knew might find me. (Not many, which was actually quite freeing, truthfully.) Gradually, I started "coming out," posting replies to people I know and then, last week, I took the step of changing my handle to my name. So if you want-- I'm @barbferrer. I promise, there will be no cross-posting of tweets to my blog. That still remains one of my pet peeves.

Apparently, the cat objects to my packing preparations as they disturb his... whatever.



Gambit vs. Elvis Stitch: Battle of the Sneers!



Why yes, I'm a bit crazed, trying to get ready for D.C. trip and making sure everyone's got clean skivvies. Your point?

Today marks twenty freakin' years since I met the Hub. A blind date that was so blind, neither of us knew we were going on it. He was visiting old high school band friends in Tallahassee, I was in Marching Chiefs and good friends with said friends. They had mentioned something about "meeting a nice guy visiting from Pensacola-- he's smart as hell, goes to Vandy," I said, "Oh hell no," because I was in a serious anti-dating phase that had been going on for close to a year after the previous boyfriend had dumped me by leaving a note on my coffee table and I didn't care how smart this guy was. My only close relationships at that point were with my cat and giant bags of M&Ms and I liked it that way, dammit.

(You can see that the M&M fixation goes back a long way.)

But these friends, the sneaky wankers, tricked me. They said they were going to Buffalo's Wings & Rings *pauses for a moment of reverential silence*. They knew I couldn't resist Buff's. Bastards.

So I went and I met this guy who was adorably cute. Which pissed me off because I so don't do cute. But I couldn't help it. And he was funny. And he liked pretentious prog rock as much as I did. (King Crimson for him. YES for me.) And I was fascinated by his savant-like ability to memorize Weird Al lyrics after one listen of any song. (Of course, he's come near death a few times by singing the Weird Al lyrics over the originals and Making Me Crazy!) But it was the funny and the smarts that got me. I'm such a sucker for the funny and the smarts. And for some strange reason, he liked me, even though I dribbled wing sauce down the front of my shirt.

Three years later...



And now (or two years ago, actually, but it's the last decent picture I have of the two of us together) twenty years, two kids, and several four-legged critters later...




And people wonder why I'm a sucker for a good love story.

I am such a gigantic dweeb.

There I am, writing along, and I throw in an offhand reference to Revlon's Cherries in the Snow lipstick. Which leads to me googling to doublecheck, because I'm almost certain that Cherries in the Snow was around in 1964, but I want to make absolutely sure and I knew that Fire and Ice had been around, so I could always use that, but I really, really wanted to use Cherries in the Snow.

Which led to reading about how Dorian Leigh was the model for both ad campaigns and was indeed, considered the first supermodel, only eclipsed by her little sister, Suzy Parker, who became the face of Coco Chanel and downloading pictures of both because they're so striking and very evocative of Natalie and Eva, my female leads. Oh, and how Charles Revson really, really freakin' hated Estee Lauder.

And... two hours later, I have ascertained that yes, Cherries in the Snow was available in 1964.

I iz dorktastic.

::facepalms::

Oh, and for those who might be wondering...

Dorian/Natalie



Suzy/Eva

Is the moon in a phase of ca-ca or something? I mean, I know Mercury's retrograde, the little bastard, but it seems as if there's a lot going haywire in the pop-culture world lately.

Lemme 'splain. No, there is too much. Lemme sum up.

So Miss California gets to keep her crown as decided by The Donald, who's the half owner of the Miss USA/Miss Universe juggernaut. He's placing the focus on the fact that she's allowed her own views on marriage and the topless photos weren't that bad. Honestly? They aren't all that bad and she can think whatever the hell she wants-- as long as she stays within the terms of the contract and disclosure agreements that she signed in order to become Miss California in the first place. You're supposed to 'fess up to any potentially racy photos. And when you accept the role of Miss California, you're supposed to go to the scheduled events, all the ribbon cuttings at hardware stores and speaking to the kiddies at rural middle schools, but hey, when you've got non-pageant handlers booking you on national conservative radio and television talk shows and Big Ass Churches (TM) so you can spew the rhetoric that got Sarah Palin's fanbase behind you, a ribbon cutting ain't all that appealing.

So Donald, once again, you proved that it's publicity that counts, not integrity. Way to go.

ETA: The more I read about this girl, the more I find her one of the most distasteful individuals to have popped up on the pop-culture radar in a while. And that's saying something.

Jon & Kate + 8. I don't get it. So they popped out multiple sprogs. Woot for fertility drugs. And now their fifteen minutes seems to be getting the best of them. I've never seen the show, but from what I've read/heard, this Kate woman is a real harridan. She apparently constantly berates Jon and scolds him for everything from holding a microphone wrong to, you know, breathing. Okay, not much respect for spineless dudes, but all things considered, I'm not sure I can really blame him for stepping out. He's also not real bright, really, if he's stepping out near his own hometown where everyone knows who he is. Methinks homeboy wanted to get caught. And in the completely catty category, did she do this to her hair on purpose? I mean, what a way to make yourself look like a prison matron.



Octo-Mom doesn't need a tummy tuck. Stop the presses. That Kate woman may have been reduced to accepting a free tummy tuck, but Octo-Mom apparently has the Wonder Skin and Muscles of Resilience. She's always been able to bounce back to a size 2 within weeks-- after the octuplets, it's a been more difficult, she's only at a 5 or 6, but she'll get there. After all, "I like to be small because I have extraordinary energy."

Yeah, I don't really understand what one has to do with the other either. Whatev.

Let's see... Speidi. Uh... yeah, don't care that much. They're idiots.

Sarah Palin finally scored her book deal with Harper Collins. Details of the advance amount have not been released. Makes me think that it's not as much as originally anticipated. Still ain't gonna be chump change, but somehow, I'm not thinking it's the 11 mil that was being bandied about last fall.

"In fairness to my family, this is going be a good opportunity for them, too, because there have been so many misperceptions out there about who we are and what we believe in, and I'm excited to get to put my journalism degree to work and tell my story as it relates to my family," Palin said.

Oh... there's just so much there.

Vanessa Hudgens would strip for an "amazing" moving role. She already stripped and just for some self-portraits to send to a would-be boyfriend. Bored now.

Keifer Sutherland headbutted some guy. Dude. Method acting has to stop somewhere, you know?

There's more stuff, but I think I'll stop there. I'm contemplating a post on e-publishing and e-books and why they're not quite the threat to traditional publishing that some e-devotees would like to believe. Not that I don't think they're a powerful force, but there are some things that need to happen before they can be considered an equal, much less, superior, force to traditional books.

But that's for another day. When I'm up to being called a snob.

Me: So, what'd you do at school today?

The Diva: We watched the puberty video.

Me: And?

TD: My first real horror movie.

It's just so deliciously awful.

A fan-made trailer for a Jeffster* movie.







*Source of the best quote ever: "Why are you letting Sam Kinison and an Indian lesbian ruin your wedding?"

Yep, you read that right. For the first time since my grad school years, lo, so long ago, I am going to review a book. Or at least blather at length.

The book? Beyond Heaving Bosoms: The Smart Bitches' Guide to Romance Novels. coming to you, straight from Hot Pink Bitchery HQ braintrust of Sarah Wendell and Candy Tan.



Okay, let's get some pesky formalities out of the way. I know and consider Sarah to be a friend. We've shared meals and drinks and snarky emails on what's bordering on too many times to count. And Candy, while a continent *sob* away and a ridiculously busy law student, is one of the funniest, brightest, most creatively foul-mouthed individuals I've ever met. That puts her way up on the Happy Scale for me. And because I know both of them, I can hear them, on every page of this book. Reading this book is like chatting with friends. Friends I can debate with, even disagree with, but at the end of the day, you respect the hell out of them.

(I also realized that the reason I've had so much trouble with my adult books is that I'm Doin' Everything Wrong. *snerk* Heroines who enjoy sex, beta heroes-- oy! It all makes such sense now!)

( Okay, that's out of the way. Let's get on to the good stuff )

So, you ask, where the hell are the cabana boys?

Keep yer knickers on, y'all. They come to us this week courtesy of Ms. Sarah Wendell herself, in this quick and dirty interview I procured with her. Hit it:

Barb: Okay, let's have it. Your best "let's get it on" playlist.

Sarah:

"Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport," by Rolf Harris
"Gabriel's Message" by Sting
"Theme from Monday Night Football"
"Theme from Riverdance"
"Gin & Juice" by the Gourds
"9 to 5" by Dolly Parton
"Taba naba" by the Wiggles
"Come Clean" by Hilary Duff
"MMMbop" by Hanson

Barb: Ah, the Parents of Toddlers Let's Sneak Off and Get Some playlist. Well do I remember those days.


Barb: A Cabana boy or three of choice

Sarah: Hottest guys? The ones who smolder: Colin Firth, Daniel Craig, Matthew
Macfadyen. Rwor.



Barb: I'm sensing a Darcyish theme here. And British. Not that there's a damned thing wrong with that, right? Right. Oh, what the hell-- one more Firth, in Mark Darcy mode, for good measure.



Barb: What would a romance hero need to do in order to seduce you?

Sarah: Have one: that'd be my husband. He cooks us dinner on weeknights when
I'm busy, he helps me prioritize so I don't get overwhelmed by
everything I have to do, and he unquestionably supports me and
believes I can do pretty much anything. And he's been known to tell me
to take a nap. that alone is seductive.

Barb: Awww... we loves us those kinds of heroes, we do.

Barb: Okay, being a self-serving bitca, I do have one semi-serious question: How do you see the importance of YA with respect to the romance genre?

Sarah: I think that there is a space and a need for YA romances within the
romance genre, particularly because YA romance deals with similar
issues as adult romance but addresses them from a unique perspective.
The hero and heroine's search for self-actualization, autonomy, sexual
agency and self-determination are completely different when seen
through the lens of a YA narrative. The meaning of those terms, and of
concepts like innocence, rebellion, and conflict, is underscored in a
completely different way when the age of the heroine and hero is
younger.

Okay, y'see why I love these people? Thank you Sarah and Candy for such a wonderful read and thanks Sarah for answering my somewhat silly questions.

Oh, and psst... almost forgot. If you comment, I'll do a blind drawing and the winner gets their very own copy of the Guide. Maybe, just maybe, I can even get Sarah to do her best John Hancock. (And again with the dirty-- it's a sickness, I tell you!)

He found this card and insisted we needed to buy it for his dad.*




( Cut for extreme irreverence. Don't say you haven't been warned. )

Wonder where he gets it from?

*bats eyes innocently*


*no offense meant to those who celebrate the holy aspect of the season-- hope it's a peaceful and blessed one for you

Gakked from kerryallen

Make your own super hero!

Ain't I cute? (In a delicate "Come near me and I'll cut you" sort of way?)

Aside from the incredibly lovely people and setting *waves madly at attendees of the Smokey Mountain Romance Writers Retreat '09*

The wondrous Juli Heaton found this in the gift shop we were perusing along with the weekend's third major partner in crime, Alyssa Day.

Tell me this doesn't fit me to a "T"?





We nearly wet ourselves laughing.

The Hub says I need an icon. I may be doing some creative photography later.

*snerk*

You think you know what you're about to see, but really, I don't think you do.



No really, all thanks should be sent to him. I'm merely sharing the joy because if I don't, I may just go all 'splodey.

Joe Conat, AKA fabulous husband of the Empress, AKA aimeejmc has had an article published on Cracked.com.

Title: 5 Most Ridiculous Lies Ever Published as Non-Fiction.

OMG, y'all, you must go read. (Warning: NSFW language) The segment on James Frey alone is worth the price of admission.

And of course he takes on some of our other faves, Misha DeFonseca, Margaret B. Jones, and Herman Rosenblat.

Go. Read. I'll be here re-reading and chuckling.

What do we think? (Other than I look like hell from fighting illness)




I think I need an animated icon of this pic that reads "Tell us what you really think."

And thanks to my darling Serena Robar for the Stake-O-Matic.

Yes, I know it's mean. I'm embracing my Not Nice side.

This is work safe in terms of language.

In terms of laughing your ass off or snorting beverages up your nose? NSM.



LOVE ROBIN!

And I'm going to be seeing him in concert in March!!

Remember Los Vivancos? The seven highly virile brothers from Spain who danced the weird amalgam of flamenco (but not really) and ballet (but not really) and hip hop (but not really) and a few other seriously nelly movements that have no origins in any identifiable dance styles? And that the New York Times mocked in one of the funniest reviews I've read in a lonnnnnnng time?

“As you see, as you hear, we Vivancos play musical instruments and we mix flamenco with tap, ballet, break dancing, acrobatics. O.K., we do not do any of these things with true refinement, but admit it! We are men! This is dance as rock concert, yes, but so much more artistic. Does not our intense artistry drive you wild with desire?"

Remember?

They were on the results show for Dancing With the Stars last night and OMG, it was even more howlingly funny than before! First off-- the costumes! It was like Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat: The Big Gay Flamenco Bullfighting Edition!

Then they took their rhythmically-challenged asses to the floor and OMG, the BAD! It burns! As SB Sarah said as we were emailing back and forth: "It's like Riverdance, only bad."

Of course I had to go see if they had it up on You Tube. Of course it was already up.

This is pure, comedy gold, y'all. Make sure you look at the one guy who keeps looking down at his feet as if mystified by what he's supposed to doing with them. The nipple caresses and exhortations to the gods are also pretty snort-inducing moments. The only pity is that the vid doesn't go quite long enough to see the judges' pained expressions as they had to applaud the performance.