Sexy Bookworm Blogger

EPIC PRANK

2012-08-22T18:50:00.002-07:00

So my brother moved in with me for what was supposed to be only a few months. This was 18 months ago. During these 18 months he has continuously pranked me. Now, on his 21st birthday, he has decided to move out and back to Phoenix from Vegas. Of course, I had to send him off with a bang!

So here's what happened, my brother packed all his stuff up in a UHaul and towed his truck back to Phoenix a week ago. He left only a few things behind including his prized performance/show/sports car with intentions of driving back up this weekend with my sister, celebrate his 21st b-day in Vegas and then drive it home.

The Car:

The Prank:
I had a few awesome customers of mine brainstorm a few prank ideas. What we decided to do was have them call my brother and claim there was a report of stolen parts on his car and the vehicle was impounded. He is in a different state than his vehicle and not expected to be in town for another day.

As if that wasn't classic enough....

"Detective McNeese" called Daniel to inform him not only was his car impounded, but they are disassembling the entire vehicle to inventory every part and are re-possessing all stolen parts. In fact, the vehicle is up on blocks in the shop now-completely dismantled.

Then our wonderful "Detective" throws him for an even bigger loop: his sister (me) and brother-in-law (my husband) have been taken into custody on suspicion of running a stolen car parts ring. Apparently, Daniel's car was part of a huge sting operation that came to their attention when he took it in for some routine maintenance a few weeks ago. We will be held in police custody until Daniel shows up with the proper paperwork including: the title, registration, birth certificate and state id, phone records, social security card, etc.

After my brother freaks out on the "Detective" and almost breaks out into tears...TWICE...it is my turn to call him from my jail cell.

I eventually got my sister in on the prank so she could set up video of the reveal and after over 2 hours of my brother back and forth trying to find a lawyer and a way to get to Vegas tonight, I let him in on it all being an elaborate prank.

Becoming a Writer

2012-06-03T21:57:00.000-07:00

Becoming a writer is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I'm not one to shy away from hard work. I simply enjoy my time more when I put off the hard work until the last possible minute. You might call me a bit of a procrastinator. But I love to read and I love to write. The problem? I can't finish what I start.

I see the beginnings of a story in my mind. A scrap of something, really. Not much of anything, but it wiggles it's way into my skull and consumes all my thoughts forcing me to work it out. The plot fits together like pieces of a broken puzzle and I'm the only one who can see the big picture. I outline and characterize and subplot my ass off until *click* it all falls into place. The story. Maybe it's a novella, maybe it's a trilogy, but I figured out what motivates my characters. I know their strengths and weaknesses. I picture the settings clearly and I see the romance and adventure unfold.

In my head these scenes play out like clips from an upcoming film. The trailer for my magnificent masterpiece. I love every bit of the world and story arc I just designed, but therein lies the problem. I write but am all out of words to say. The details and descriptions elude me. I'm stuck with this sensational story but re-telling it doesn't do it justice. It's hard work for a perfectionist like me to describe every piece of the picture I see in my head. I write and revise and edit and scratch it all out in the end.

I was so proud of myself for achieving 23k words-about 1/3rd of my planned novella penned-when boredom betrayed me. How could I make this story more interesting? By setting it up with a 2nd, 3rd, and even a 4th book. I put aside my rough draft and began planning the sequels. Stupid, huh? Once again, I figured out all the secrets of my story and continuing was no longer fun. It was just difficult.

Inspiration struck again and 3 days and 18k words later, I was 2 chapters and 3/4 outlined into a new story. Something completely different. Within two weeks, I was stuck again. I can't call it writer's block if I know what I want to say. I just don't know how to say it. How can I convey the emotions my characters make me feel? How do I describe the mundane settings as magical? How do I sustain a reader's interest if I lose interest myself after only a few weeks?

I have read a book a day for the past 9 days desperately seeking an answer. What makes it possible for one person to complete their story, but not another? It isn't for lack of ideas, it's lack of talent. Am I a writer because I write? Or should the title be bestowed on only those with completed works? At what point does a writer become an author?

One Sweet Mofo

2012-04-22T20:02:00.000-07:00

What's better than a tasty alcoholic beverage? That same adult drink in a sweet cupcake form! I bring you, the Screwdriver Cupcake!!!

For those of you unfamiliar with a Screwdriver, mix vodka with orange juice to taste. So easy a child could do it (though not recommended). So how, you ask, do you make a screwdriver cupcake? Even easier! (Not really, I am using literary embellishment-baking a cupcake from scratch is actually more difficult and time-consuming than mixing a drink.) I actually adapted the recipe from The Recipe Link. (Recipe copied below with my notes in purple). With a drink in hand and a helper in the kitchen, Daniel and I set forth to conquer the Screwdriver Cupcake.

The Cupcake:
3 eggs
1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons grated orange zest **I didn't feel like doing this, so I mixed in 2 tsp orange marmalade instead.
2 1/2 cups flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup orange juice **I used Simply Orange No Pulp-it really is the only way to go!
1/2 cup orange-flavored vodka **I used regular Smirnoff vodka because I forgot it needed to be orange-flavored at the grocery store when I bought it and my husband even asked me if it should be, we argued-he was more correct than I was.

1 cup sweetened flake coconut **I absolutely DESPISE coconut so I left this out.

1. Preheat to 350 degrees F. Line cupcake pan.

2. Beat eggs until pale and foamy. In a mixing bowl, cream butter; mix in sugar and orange zest (orange marmalade). Beat in the eggs; set aside.

3. In a bowl, combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. (I enlisted my brother, Daniel, to help with the heavy lifting).

4. In another bowl, mix together orange juice and vodka.

5. Add flour and vodka mixtures to egg mixture in three alternating additions. Fold in coconut (If you want...). Divide batter into muffin cups.

**The recipe should make 12 cupcakes. I fill my cups 3/4 full and wound up with 12 regular-sized cupcakes and enough batter leftover for 24 mini cupcakes.

6. Bake for 21-23 minutes. Let cool completely before frosting.

**I baked my large cupcakes for 20 minutes and they came out slightly harder than I like. The mini cupcakes stayed in for 10 minutes and were perfectly spongey when they emerged.

I couldn't wait to eat one. It was worth the burnt tongue!!

The Orange-Vodka Buttercream:

3/4 stick unsalted butter

2 cups confectioners' sugar

1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

3 tablespoons orange juice

1/2 cup heavy cream

3 tablespoons vodka

1. In a mixing bowl, cream butter and sugar 3-5 minutes or until light and fluffy. **My lovely assistant mixed this concoction for 5 minutes to lumpy sugar results. We nuked the mess for 10 seconds to no avail. finally, we added the vanilla in early and mixed for another 5 minutes until light and fluffy.

2. Mix in vanilla, orange juice and cream. Fold in vodka. **After we added the orange juice, the icing was way too watery. My brother, the helper, mixed on medium setting for 2-3 more minutes until it thickened, then we added the cream and mixed for another 2-3 minutes. after adding the vodka, I tried folding the icing, as instructed, but it was so runny and then the sugar began to lump. I threw it back under the blender until it thickened and was fluffy.

**I added red and yellow food coloring to give the icing an orange tint and then experimented with different piping and sprinkle for fun!

The Result:

My brother, my husband and I actually really liked this recipe! The cupcake mix, before baked, tasted a lot like a sugar cookie with a hint of orange. I suppose if I actually used the orange zest and orange-flavored vodka, like instructed, it probably would have been a lot stronger, but it was still super tasty! The icing had more orange flavor, but it wasn't over-powering. Overall, the cupcake tasted very light and was perfect for the start of summer.

Cupcakes did not actually result in underage drinking.

Facebook Ruins Lives

2012-02-28T20:23:00.000-08:00

As a writer, I place great value on my First Amendment Freedom of Speech. I hate bigots, hypocrites, racists, sexists and otherwise intolerant, ignorant idiots. And preachy Christians. Let's not forget those MF's. But damn-it-all if they don't have the right to say whatever they want (as long as it isn't in the workplace). Conversely, I have the right NOT to listen. My mom exercises her right daily. She's deaf. It's a joke. You don't have to laugh.

I have a very blunt and abrasive personality. I lack even a basic filter and "sugar-coating" is not something I excel at. Or even try to. Why waste time mincing words? Life is short and we should be open and honest. Now, I don't try to be mean, but sometimes, I don't realize what I say is mean. Feel free to take whatever I say with a grain of salt. Add a sarcastic undertone so you know only every other words is how I really feel. Or, simply, tune me out. Stop reading. Ignore everything I say.

But what happens someone who loves the First Amendment and passionately spouts off anything with a hint of feeling or reasonable logic without consent from every second cousin and their mother is a member of your family? What happens when all that dirty laundry gets aired on Facebook?

Simply put, FACEBOOK RUINS LIVES.

It's true. It's common sense nowadays that you should not put up inappropriate pictures that dictate lewd and vulgar behaviors, habits, and/or vices on to the interwebsnetulars. Last weekend's party pictures could be ground from expulsion from school for underage drinking. If you want to send a naked picture to your girlfriend, but you are a baseball coach who "friended" several parents and students and accidentally posted those pictures publicly, consider yourself out of a job. It's dangerous stuff to submit any personal information to the web. So how do people everywhere remain employed when nefarious websites like Facebook exist?

Loose example of a Facebook life-ruining post: "My family is made up of fucktards." (I would apologize for that language, but it defeats the purpose of the point I'm making). Now, a family member is upset that this post casts them in a bad light and could prevent them, from being hired.

Let's delve into their fully-legitimate concern:

1. Nobody wants to hire a fucktard. If even your family thinks you are a fucktard, that doesn't bode well with a potential employer. And if they are willing to post it on Facebook for the entire world wide web to see, they REALLY think you are fucktard and everyone should know.

Now, let's delve into why their concern is complete and utter BS designed to trample my First Amendment right to free speech and mask the fact that are just too chicken-shit to say what you really want to. You don't like me and want to make me out to be the bad guy. You really are a fucktard.

1. Fucktard is a derogatory slang comprised of "fuck" and "-tard." "Fuck" can be good or bad. If I say "Fuck you, you crazy fool," it appears I am telling you to piss off, I don't appreciate you or what you may have just said/done. However, maybe you were cute and I am joking. Really, you can only tell my true meaning by my tone and personality and our relationship. Tone is not easily derived through writing, especially in a short message like that. Remember: Only you have the power to prevent misunderstandings. However, surrounding words can provide contextual clues. "That sex was fucking good," uses "fuck" in a positive manner replacing it for "really" and "very" and emphasizing how "good" the sex was.

Now, let's examine "-tard." A "retard" refers to a slowing down or hindrance, as in a machine. It is commonly, although disparagingly used to describe people are mentally handicapped or learn something slowly. When tacked onto "fuck", a "fucktard" becomes shortened slang for "fucking retard" meaning the person who made the statement believes the subject is (negative adjective)(slow at something). This could be good or bad, but it's safe to assume it's not a nice statement. Just because it isn't nice doesn't make it any less true. And my First Amendment Right protects me to voice my opinion.

2. We have decided that "fucktard" is a nasty name that has no business being referred to family members and is damaging to their reputation. Or, is it? First of all, if the statement is accurate, anybody who knows you knows it is true. If they don't know you well enough to know it's true, they will soon find out. If they are hard-core you-supporters, it won't matter what anyone else says, it will just make them look hateful and you look the victim. "But will an employer who sees this post even give me the chance?" you ask yourself. Honestly, I don't know. But IF they do see this post, there is no reference to you. No names are given. "Family" is vague. It could include siblings, parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, second cousins, great-aunts, godparents, step's and in-laws. Since your name is not specifically "tagged," there is no way for an employer to pinpoint you are said "fucktard." Many people have disagreements with family (immediate, extended or otherwise) from time-to-time and may exaggerate their frustrations. I'm sure any reasonable employer would disregard this comment completely when doing a thorough background search on you. I'm also positive there are way worse things popping up in your background search than this dismissive comment.

Facebook, your potential employer has no way of knowing (nor would they really care to this extent) who every member of your family is and what their relationship is to you. You have full control over who you list as "family" and if someone calls you a "fucktard" and you still list them as family, you really are a fucktard.

3. Let's focus on the IF, now. You are worried IF an employer sees this. The post doesn't specifically mention you by name, therefore not tagging you, therefore, not appearing on your FB page. It may show up in your newsfeed, but not in a public view. An employer, and all your friends (who are not mutual friends with the postee) will not see this post or associate it with you. EVER. Furthermore, you unfriended the posteee months before. Worse, you BLOCKED the person. In FB terms, that person is dead to you and vice versa. There are no associations, connections, links or ties. This is how BLOCKING works.

Still unnecessarily worried that this generic post that doesn't reference you, appear on your forum, show up in public may implicate you in your stupidity during a job search? read below for the fix:

Easy-peasy, fresh and sleazy, just go to www.facebook.com. Log in. On the upper right hand side you will see your name, "home," and a tiny little arrow pointing down. Hover over that sneaky arrow and options will pop up, namely, "privacy settings." This is how you adjust EVERYTHING form pics to post to personal information on who can see what. Everyone, friends, friends of friends, acquaintances. These are your options on just about everything. That nifty little "tag" option so friends can post embarrassing photos of you? Change your privacy settings and that will never happen again.

Thank you, Mark Zuckerberg et al for realizing not everyone needs to be all up in my biz. Personally, I prefer friends of friends have the ability to private message me, photos are only seen by friends, but even acquaintances can view my posts, because they must know what I had for dinner and what I thought of that car who tailgated me on the freeway. Sidenote-Don't text FB status updates and drive.

Now that you have adjusted your privacy settings that controls not only who sees what you post, but also what others can post about you, you can rest assured your reputation will remain intact and untainted.

Now, please get the fuck out of my business, DO NOT designate what I can and cannot say on my OWN page that in no way is affiliated with you and please stop making me out to be the bad guy. You can't even confirm you were the subject for the post.

Until now.

You are totally a fucktard. I hate your guts. If you mess with me again, I WILL name names. I WILL ruin your life. The fact that you are a fucktard is no secret. I know REAL secrets. About you. About your family. MY family (until you designated me black sheep).

You can say whatever you want about me. That's your right. But you KNOW what you're saying is all lies and you're nothing but a mean, petty, spiteful, horrible human being. Say what you want, when you want to whoever you want. Because I have Facebook.

And Facebook Ruins Lives.

Random Pics of Vegas

2012-02-17T15:48:00.000-08:00

Random Pics-California edition!

Under the pier at Huntington Beach

Huntington Beach

Because I know someone named Fritz

Universal Studios Citywalk

Marilyn Monroe out of Jelly Beans

Universal Studios Citywalk

Curious George parking

Los Angeles

Bob's Big Boy

Random Pics of Vegas

2012-02-17T15:37:00.000-08:00

It's been a while, but I present Random Pics of the Las Vegas Art District-Daytime Edition. Enjoy:

Way creepier in person!

My handsome husband.

Really cool mural.

These Blues Brothers bobble heads were enormous!

Massive chairs fit for royalty. Seriously, they were as large as Renaissance thrones.

Sophie & Carter by Chelsea Fine

2012-02-03T22:17:00.000-08:00

So I was browsing Amazon's selection of books recommended for me based on my purchases and ratings. I spun down a veritable rabbit hole of "Those who purchased THIS also purchased THESE" selections and wound up at Anew: The Archers of Avalon (Book One) by Chelsea Fine. The description sounded tantalizing, but I wanted to know more so I did something I rarely do-I scrolled down to see the reader reviews. Ironic, I know, that I should review books for others but typically hate reading others reviews. It's just that, nobody ever seems to get it right. And they are always so contradicting. Several people can LOVE a book that others absolutely HATE. In the end, I might as well skip the reviews, read the damn book and judge it for myself.

Lucky for you, I'm here with the final call on what you should (and shouldn't) read.

Sophie & Carter is a MUST-READ.

So, while there weren't any reviews on the new book, the consensus was clear on Chelsea Fine's debut. Readers raved about the raw, intense, binding friendship and love that evolves between Sophie and Carter. Next-door neighbors with less-than-perfect (understatement of the year) family lives that build a friendship based on trust and understanding. As they grow closer to graduation, they grow closer to each other. However, no paperback copies existed on my beloved Amazon or at BN.com.

What was a girl to do?

I promptly downloaded Kindle for PC and bought the $2.99 e-book. It was a little pricey for 117 pages of story, but those pages captured such emotions, the book felt like it was bursting at the seams. Metaphorically, of course. It was a great, albeit short, beginning, middle and end. Everything goes as it's supposed to. Narration switches between Sophie and Carter as each chapter mirrors the next in a range of stories, emotions and struggles. Although there was enough content to satisfy, I desperately want more of these characters and really hope there's a follow up novel on the next chapter of their lives.

My ONLY pet peeve? RHETORICAL. Not redundant. If you read the book, you'll see this glaring anomaly of nonsense. Seriously beautiful writing, but please choose the correct word or it messes up the whole flow of your sentence. It breaks my concentration when I am forced to re-read, then mentally correct your ridiculous mistake.

What NOT to Say in a PC World

2012-01-25T22:27:00.000-08:00

So you have the major items that draw debate: You can no longer say "retard" because it offends the mentally challenged individuals who process information at a slower than average rate. Fine. I'll agree to take offense.

My mom is no longer "Deaf." No, she hasn't miraculously regained her hearing, but sometime around 2001 she became "hearing impaired." Maybe because she was born with the disability, she deserves this PC title, but I don't hear any old-timers getting their panties in a bunch over losing their hearing and you know, going deaf, then being offended by it. Of course, are they demanding we call them age-impaired? But you get better with age, as many folks North of 40 spout religiously, so I guess age is not a PC hot topic.

Let's discuss race, then. Pick your race then tag -American at the end. I understand "Nigger" is a derogatory term for black people. But not when you're black and you're talking to someone black and you say the word as LAZILY AS POSSIBLE (i.e. niga, nicka, ne-ya). However, I can be labeled a food (cracker, for those of you not in the know) and have to accept that nickname? I can't even "retaliate" to your white reference by calling you black. Something you clearly ARE. I have to say you are African-American. Take a look around and count the number of black people that actually came from Africa or have parents that hailed from Africa. In most cases, you will find America born-and-bred for several generations. My great grandparents were from Germany. Does that make me German-American? Maybe. Do I say that? NO. I live in America and have never visited Germany-nor have my parents. Funny thing is, coming from the Southwest we are overrun with imports from Mexico. Kids, parents, grandparents, HUGE families come to the U.S.-legally and otherwise- for this so-called "better life" (pre-recession, of course). They actually have Mexican culture and heritage. They speak Spanish. They make authentic tamales and guac! They are most deserved of the title Mexican-American as a nice PC blend of their past and present culture. But, in my experience, Mexican's are so proud of their Mexican culture that they balk at any reference to being Americans. Mexicans have the audacity to drop the -American we so graciously grant them! What a slap in the PC face?!

How about religion? There's a nice non-PC topic. America was founded by folks searching for freedom from religious persecution (among other ideals). They included the clause that there should be a separation of Church and State (meaning, religion doesn't rule the Nation). However, we Pledge our Allegiance to "One Nation, Under God." I feel like there should be some sort of Venn Diagram or Flow Chart to help map this historical mindfuck.

My faith in Humanity only goes so far.

Now, we can't just opt out of saying the Pledge of Allegiance in our classrooms like reasonable, tolerant, mature and independent-thinking citizens. We have to FIGHT to get that nasty religious reference out. Forget time-honored tradition and harmless oaths. Then again, maybe Mexico has no such country oath and that's why so many beaners invade America? Now, I grew up saying the Pledge of Allegiance every morning in class for several years. Sometime around 4th grade, I was able to rationally question what I was saying and pledging to. Because I wasn't raised in a church-going family (single mother and all-GASP!), I knew of God and religion, but not much. I asked my mom. She believes in God and took me to a few different churches of varying Christian beliefs. I realized-FOR MYSELF- that God is a mythical being created by Man to rationalize life and death; the AfterLife is the belief that there is something more powerful than what we currently perceive thus creating a reason to live morally and ethically; and the Bible is a book of Old Wives Tales and fantastical stories created to inspire, teach, and mold how we shape our morals. I went back to school and continued to say the Pledge of Allegiance-as I loved my country and was proud to swear fealty- but I intentionally left out "Under God." Agree to disagree. And I was in 4th grade.

Why do we need to fight about this? If you are religious, then there is no problem saying "Under God" or having God printed on our currency. If you are not religious, then simply omit the words, do not say the Pledge at all, and don't use the money-pay for everything on your handy-dandy credit/debit card! Same for Creation vs Evolution. Let science teach, you know, SCIENCE-that which is based on FACT with evidentiary support- and teach Creation at home. Problem solved, now let's all get along.

Now, don't go thinking I'm the Anti-Christ and all because of my non-traditional views. I respect religion of all shapes, colors and sizes for how it teaches us to interact as decent human beings, and the strength and faith belief in a Higher Power can bring. There's peace and acceptance and love in religion that is very important on a fundamental level.

religious extremist past (i.e. Branch Davidians near Waco, TX and Warren Jeffs FLDS Chruch in UT). Not everyone can be judge by the actions of everyone else in a similar group. That is called stereotyping. THAT is what is Politically Incorrect.

In fact, comedy is the only time we should make light of stereotypes and ignorance because it brings to surface real issues. It allows people to laugh at one another-and at themselves-which allows a sense of unity that we ALL possess something that makes us difference, and that is okay. You have a funny accent, my skin is a different color, people of a certain age typically behave this way. Stereotypes are OKAY when everyone understand that they ARE IN FACT STEREOTYPES and not indicative of an entire race, age, culture, religion, lifestyle, gender, etc. We only have ourselves to blame when a stereotype is created and perpetuated. It isn't laughing at a group of people who traditionally say, behave, eat, drink, or look a certain way that keeps the stereotype going. It's when a group of kids from New Jersey get a reality TV show that shows them with big hair, fake tans, hard bodies and wild accents boozing it up that creates and perpetuates the image of "Italian-Americans." It's the rap music video with drug and alcohol references, scantily-clad women dancing provocatively to lyrics making light violence, promiscuity, and illegal activities that perpetuates the stereotypical image of black teenagers who dress as if they were in that music video. It's Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie and Kim Kardashian who give bored rich girls a bad name. Stereotypes are funny because they are based on some kernal of truth. They are not PC at all, but they can give us great comedy:

And not so great comedy:

Oh, but it still isn't okay to do Black Face?

So when does a stereotype or comedic reference go too far? At what point do the civil liberties group and Advocates and varying I-Disagree-With-Everything-ers decide enough is enough and this is too offensive?

When Christian Siriano, an openly gay male has to apologize to GLAAD for for his fierce catchphrase a "hot tranny mess" and likening trannies in the gay community to white trash in the heterosexual community? Was the transgendered community really in that much of an uproar? More importantly, where were the Christian, redneck, white-trash, and heterosexual advocates outraged by being compared to trannies? The whole thing is absurd! (see: http://www.tvguide.com/news/Christian-Siriano-Offers-12020.aspx)

Short people (vertically-challenged?) should not be called midgets. It's offensive. But Willy-Wonka can have Oompa Loompas-a bunch of short, orange people, running his chocolate factory. But if you call a short person an Oompa Loompa on the street, it's offensive.

Actor Verne Troyer gained fame and notoriety by portraying "Mini-Me," the pint-sized version of Mike Meyers' character Dr. Evil. It's acceptable to call children "Mini-Me" as they are mini versions of their parents. But it's ignorant to refer to a short person as a miniature version of a full person. Even though that's EXACTLY what the movie did. And that garnered relatively low criticism from the short community.

Also, I've yet to see Christmas boycotted for the overabundant use of short elves.

Here's the latest issue to cause outrage: Stop Animation Film The Pirates! Band of Misfits offending leprosy campaigning groups. Please read this, because I cannot possibly go into more details without my head exploding from the absolute inanity of it.

My honest question is why the Pirate community isn't more offended by their portrayal in this and other movies.

Pictured: Pirate

Why stop at this family-friendly animation when there's more hard-hitting offenses out there in new cinema?Let's take a look at these new releases and why it upsets me that no one is picketing:

One For The Money starring Katherine Heigl has in it's very premise that working for a bail-bondsman is a last resort for the heroine. Member of PBUS (Professional Bail Agents of the United States) should be PISSED that this movie perpetuates the myth that bail agents are sleazy, uncouth, and unconventional jobs. If nothing else, Dog the Bounty Hunter should stand up for his chosen profession!

Bail Enforcement Agents play a vital role in the economy and should be respected as the vigilante justice keepers they are!

The Grey stars Liam Neeson as a plane crash survivor in Alaska trying to stay alive in the wild as wolves hunt his intruding group. Goodness! Where do I even begin to be offended? First of all, PETA should be involved because this portrays wild animals behaving naturally in a natural, wild setting-which is detrimental to humans and will likely cause chaos and animosity toward these wild animals in their natural setting (re: Jaws).

I'm surprised Sarah Palin hasn't spoke up to defend her great State. Travel Alaska, the State's official travel information and vacation source should be picketing against the movie's negative simulation of the Alaskan countryside. Surely, they take offense that this movie promotes Alaska as a wild and dangerous place that no one should dare travel to?

Finally, there's the multi-billion dollar plane industry that should boycotting this movie and forcing a cease and desist of release because it clearly discriminates against air travel. Why couldn't it have been a cruise ship that left the oil miners stranded in Alaska instead of a plane crash? And let's not forget, according to USA Today, "Statistically speaking, flying is far safer than driving" (Don't believe me? CLICK HERE).

This last one is a doozy. The poster and premise utilize perceived suicide as a possible option, although, it's not actually about a suicide, it's about the distraction of suicide to cover a much bigger, covert operation. Survivors of Suicide, a support group, should take offense to Man on a Ledge's chosen "distraction." Suicide is a serious problem plaguing the United States today with many youths and young adults seeing it as their only option rather than live with their everyday emotions and situation. Yet, this movie utilizes the possibility of a person killing themselves as a spectacle. I can't fathom how Leprosy Advocates can speak louder than Suicide Survivors and families affected by suicide.

Also, I'm waiting for the Business Architects Association to speak up against the unfair portrayal of ledges as being unsafe. Because, let's face it, gravity kills people more often than ledge's do.

Angel Burn by L.A. Weatherly

2012-01-07T14:29:00.000-08:00

I am a sucker for YA paranormal romance. Of course, Angel Burn by L.A. Weatherly caught my attention right away. Angel Burn is the U.S. release of Weatherly's first book Angel in the Angel Trilogy, originally released in the U.K.

The Prologue from Alex's POV immediately hooked me. This was a story about Angels, but they were the enemy, sucking the life energy out of mortals. And Alex is an AK-Angel Killer. A specially trained operative for the CIA who hunts and expertly disposes of these nasty creatures. Until he is sent to kill Willow and discovers something about her that forces him to question everything he knows.

Willow is psychic. After a reading for a popular girl, she discovers the existence of Angels-and the truth that they are not as divine as the rapidly growing Church of Angels religious following would have you believe. Trying to save her schoolmate from a bleak path, Willow quickly finds herself the target of a Church of Angels directive to exterminate her. Running for her life, Willow is rescued by the stern, but gorgeous Alex. Together, they must figure out the Angel's plans-and what it has to do with them.

The book was fast-paced with a delicate balance of action scenes, romance scenes, and everything you crave in between. It was an absolutely refreshing story with a completely different take on Angel's than I have encountered before. And I am an AVID reader. So why only a 3 star rating? Simply put, the amateur writing.

Weatherly forces the reader to navigate through multiple character's stories. We start out with Alex, then switch to Willow. Fine, I can handle a switch between the two main characters. But she frustratingly breaks a common literary rule-she switches from 1st person narrative for Willow and 3rd person limited narrative for Alex. Tsk, tsk. Just as the reader gets used to this minor inconvenience, Weatherly produces a long chapter, 3rd person limited, from the Angel Raziel's POV. This is to add background and context, but it just aggravates. Raziel's POV introduces the character of Jonah. Briefly, we follow Jonah's narrative before returning to the Willow-Alex storyline. Periodically, Jonah's POV is inserted. Sure, it added a level of suspense as the reader discovers facts about the enemy that the heroes are unaware of. But I found the practice to be lacking and LAZY. Additionally, it broke concentration and pulled focus for the reader making it more difficult to identify with the protagonists.

But that wasn't all...

The romance was over-the-top cheesy. I accept a certain level of unrealistic puppy-love with YA romances. It's what turns a dreamy crush into an all-consuming TRUE LOVE. I expect it. But Weatherly turned it more ridiculous than a Stephanie Meyers novel by taking great characters with amazing, complementing qualities and reduced their attraction to solely a physical one. Sure, Willow and Alex care about each other deeply and the reader can feel their love for one another, but it comes across as solely superficial. Instead of admiring each other's strength, bravery, loyalty, or kindness, the reader must survive on "Your silky soft hair is so beautiful" and "I love your washboard abs" (note: not actual quotes from the book). And the climax of them FINALLY professing their love was drawn out, overly boring, and well, quite anti-climactic. In the end, Willow and Alex learn more about themselves and each other, secrets are revealed, and choices must be made, but it all ends a little flat and I don't feel that the characters have grown.

Overall, I enjoyed reading the story once I learned to accept the inconsistent narrative/POV debacle and mentally developed the characters a little more instead of relying on Weatherly's bland impressions. I will read the second book in the trilogy, Angel Fire (and most likely, the third when it comes out), but I'm not going to expect much development.

U.K. Cover

U.S. Cover

14 Months

2011-12-19T10:38:00.000-08:00

I was never close to that side of the family. So when he called, it was unusual. I almost didn’t answer, it was late. But I did.

And I found out my dad was dead.

So now I answer every cal. Any call. Waiting for the same news. I’m closer to that side now. But still I answer. It’s not so unusual for one of them to call now. But I never send to voicemail. I never make a polite excuse. I claim no time as too sacred not to answer. I do steel myself for the bad news. I do sober immediately. I do hush a loud room, take a deep breath, pause. But I answer.

So when my phone rang just shy of 6am and I saw it was my grandma, I pulled from the throes of sleep. My grandma calls me now, but not this early. That’s something my dad would do. But never grandma. Something must be wrong. I answered without getting up.

“Hello?” I tentatively asked. Really wanting to know, “What’s the bad news?” Or “Who is it this time?”

“Good morning! You awake?” Too happy. So no one died while I slept.

“Yeah.” I lied. My husband rolled over, but he’s still sleeping.

“I wanted to tell you a joke.” I don’t interrupt. If grandma wants to tell a joke at 6am, you don’t questions her eccentricities. You listen and laugh when appropriate.

As she introduced Forest Gump to the Pearly Gates, I laughed. She asked if I was really awake. I guess that wasn’t the funny part. She proceeds with the joke.

Forest has to pass a test. Answer 3 questions correctly and he gets into Heaven. What are the 2 days of the week starting with T? Today and tomorrow. How many seconds are in a year? 12. Jan 2^nd, Feb 2^nd...What is God’s first name? Andy. Andy walks with me. Andy talks with me. Andy guides me. I laughed. My grandma laughed. She’s going to share the joke with my uncles and cousins later today. I was the first she told.

I once complained to my grandma that living out of state, I was last to know everything. Now she calls me first on everything. I was the first to know my grandpa’s sister passed away. I was the first to hear this joke. And grandma always points it out. “You’re the first. Out of everybody, I called you first.” That’s my grandma for you.

She reminds me it’s the 19^th. My daddy died on the 19^th. I didn’t remember. I remembered that’s when he died, you never forget that. But today is Dec. 19^th. It’s been one year and 2 months. And I forgot to remember to be sad. It wasn’t automatic. I thought about him a lot this week, but I didn’t associate the pending date. I thought ahead to Christmas and New Year’s and my little cousin’s 1^stbirthday. 14 months never flashed through my head. I guess it flashed through others. And now I am sad I forgot her grief too.

I don’t know what to say to console my grandma who called to tell me a joke at 6am before anyone else.

“”Thought you’d be getting ready for work and it sounded like some smartass answers your father would say.”

Now I really don’t know how to respond. Because it would be exactly like my father to call at an ungodly hour with a corny joke. Strike that. A LONG corny joke. Because he’s my dad and he was nothing if not annoying. And corny. And my daddy.

“Yeah,” I managed to say.

“Well, I just wanted to tell you I love you and have a good day at work. You gonna stay awake after I hang up?”

“Yeah,” I lied again. It’s still dark and I work from home. “I love you too.”

I hang up and lay back down. My husband is awake and asks if everything’s okay. “Just grandma, go to sleep.” Because how do I explain grandma calling with a Forest Gump joke? I don’t.

And at this hour with the world dark and unconscious and me half-asleep, it almost feels as if my dad was here. Telling me a stupid joke to start my day.

I'll Be There by Holly Goldberg Sloan

2011-12-16T23:20:00.000-08:00

It was a happy surprise when I ordered I'll Be There by Holly Goldberg Sloan from Amazon. You see, after my bill for books over the last two years reached an "astronomical" (my husbands word, not mine) amount of more than $2,000 (not including books purchased at Borders in a single-handed, last-ditch effort to keep them open), Bryce decided a library card would make the perfect anniversary gift back in October.

I was inclined to agree.

For a while.

Then even the library got too expensive! You see, the most accessible library for me was a tiny branch located in the mall right outside of Kohl's and downstairs from Ultra Diamonds. When I went to return books about a month ago I noticed a sign that Ultra Diamonds was letting their lease in just that location run out forcing an 80% off clearance. Well, a 4 carat Quartz ring, Garnet pendant necklace, and Rhodolite Garnet and Diamond pendant necklace with matching earrings later, it was most decidedly NOT the lesser of two evils.

Therefore, a compromise was made that I could continue to purchase my books from Amazon with an amendment that they must be used and hence, cheaper. I jumped on the bandwagon and with my savings (over last year), I immediately bought twice as many used books! Don't tell my husband.

I digress...

So, I purchased a used copy of I'll Be There and turns out, it was an advanced copy. Kind of cool to receive an oddity like that for my collection. Anyway, I devoured the book in less than 6 hours of non-stop reading. I wouldn't call the book amazing, but definitely on the cusp of thought-provoking. I never connected with the main characters of Emily Bell or Sam Smith/Border enough to identify with them or feel any real emotion over their plight. In fact, the most interesting and real character of the entire novel was Sam's younger brother, the mute Riddle. When you get an insight into his thoughts, it's both beautiful and scary.

Sam and Riddle are kidnapped and physically and emotionally abused by their mentally-ill father. They are uneducated, unsociable outcasts, but both possess amazing talents and apparently, Sam is a super-model hottie when he cleans up. They find redemption in Emily Bell and her family only to have it ripped away by their father. Finally, they barely escape their father with their lives, and they must learn to survive on their own and for a time, without each other, as they find their way back to the Bells.

The story is a roller coaster journey of Sam finding Emily only to be ripped from her and then finding her again. Except, it's so much more than that. The story is remarkable, yet predictable in the way that you know you are being set up for a happy ending, you just don't know when you'll friggin get there.

What makes this novel noteworthy is the writing technique. Most novels use first person point of view. It allows the reader to truly become the main character and live the story through their eyes. It's also very restrictive because you cannot escape the "I" and "we." Third person limited adds for more complexity to the plot as you can explore the story from other characters point of views. However, the most difficult point of view to capture, in my humble opinion, is third person omniscient. And that is exactly what Ms. Sloan has done here. I'll Be There expertly bounces from one character to the next for a full, richer understanding of each person and the intertwining role they play in each others lives. Sometimes, they know their role and sometimes, only the reader understand the significance. But it is artfully crafted and beautifully maintained.

Furthermore, Ms. Sloan weaves her tale with minimal dialogue. There is plenty of character interaction. But she prefers to delve into the human psyche and examine each individual's reaction to the situation they are in and the reasoning behind their own actions. The story bounces, sometimes mid paragraph from one characters insights to a situation rolling seamlessly into another characters perception of the same situation. You are reading everyone's minds at once. Perfectly.

This book is unassuming and simple but well worth the read. There isn't much to hook the reader beyond an appreciation for the story Ms. Sloan is trying to tell and the way she tells it. The scenes pass quickly and while emotional circumstances occur compelling the reader forward, the writing becomes stale and often lost-in-thought without the dialogue. Only the most dedicated reader will enjoy this classic. Think of this as a Grapes of Wrath type project, you know it's a great book and should mean something in the bigger picture, but most of us just read the CliffsNotes. Although, I'll Be There is less boring, less confusing and contains less pages, if someone isn't pushing you to read it, you may find it difficult to get into. I find, it doesn't fit into any of the genres I am familiar with.

Drink Slay Love by Sarah Beth Durst

2011-11-14T20:15:00.000-08:00

Pearl is an evil teen vampire with no regard to human life and deeply rooted in her Family. then a unicorn stabs her through the heart changing her world forever. Now, Pearl is an aberration. A vampire who can walk in the sunlight without burning! The Family doesn't believe in unicorns, but jumps at the chance to use her new ability to round up a feast for the centennial celebration with the King that is fast approaching. They send Pearl to school where she must find a way to get the humans to the coronation. Pearl winds up identifying more with her human friends than her vampire Family and falls in love with Evan Karkadann along the way.

Only because I just read Rampant by Diana Peterfreund did I figure out immediately that Evan is the unicorn. Apparently a Karkadann is a type of unicorn.

The story was quite typical of a Young Adult Paranormal Romance plot and the twists and turn were not unexpected. It was still an interesting read as Pearl's emotions and sense of self are constantly shaping and changing on her journey. Although predictable, the ups and downs are pretty drastic. It's a quick, simple read with minimal complexity.

The ending ties up with a pretty little bow leaving little room for a sequel. however, future novels would do well to explore Pearl's commitment to her new life and the consequences of defying her Family. I would read more in this series and from this author. Kudos, Miss Durst.

Rampant by Diana Peterfreund

2011-11-14T19:56:00.000-08:00

After 5 pages I grew rather tiresome of the obviously thesaurus-riddled text. I saw every AP English vocab word pop up in paragraphs of otherwise dull sentences. The overall vernacular lacked the sophistication to warrant the strange use of these higher-level words. With that said...

I get it!!! This is a story about unicorns! Here is the novel in a nutshell:

Astrid reads a bedtime story about unicorns to girls she's babysitting in their unicorn decorated room. Blah blah blah. She reflects on her crazy mom, obsessed with their unicorn hunting legacy. Blah blah. Astrid invites her BF over for some innocent nookie only to be interrupted by a brutal unicorn attack. Blah. Her mom saves her and BF from aforementioned attack with the last drops of an ancient Remedy. You know, from her ancestors unicorn-hunting days. Astrid's mother sends her to a special school in Rome that trains virgins to hunt and kill unicorns. Not just any virgins, but female descendants of Alexander the Great (don't ask, it's a convoluted mess that still makes no sense to me). Then the REAL unicorn talk starts. There is the briefest reprieve on page 178 when Astrid goes on a date with Giovanni. but then that ends in another unicorn attack.

I thought the story was a unique spin on the mystical puritanical unicorn. In Miss Peterfreund's version, the unicorns are vicious man-eaters. but some factions have reached an understanding and can communicate with the hunters. They were thought to be extinct, but **SPOILER ALERT** Astrid discovers her ancestor just came to a compromise where the unicorns go into hiding and the hunters leave them be.

Overall, this was a difficult read. not interesting enough to motivate me to read, but not boring enough to stop. The story-line was a jumbled mess of original-take-on-myth and I-don't-really-care-it-just-sucks. The ending has a scrap of potential for a sequel. I refuse to read any more and am glad I checked this book out from the library instead of wasting any of my money on the hardback.

Die For Me by Amy Plum

2011-10-24T11:10:00.000-07:00

At last! Something realistic to read in the Teen Fiction Paranormal Romance genre (thanks BN for that embarrassing mouthful. RIP Borders).

Ok, so the basic story of Revenants-zombie/ghost/immortal super sexy teens who repeatedly die to save lives-is far from realistic, but the whole romance aspect is refreshing. Not only does our female protagonist Kate shy away from the mysterious and potentially dangerous bad boy Vincent, when she discovers some of his secrets, she actually breaks off the relationship. For weeks! Sure, she obsesses-I mean that's what crushes are for. It doesn't matter if he's a loser who would break your heart, you're still attaching his last name to yours a million times over in your diary. But Miss Kate plays it cool. She gets the facts and adequately terrified at the supernatural future a relationship with said Revenant might bring, she walks away.

SPOILER ALERT

Kate predictably ends up with the irresistibly hawt Vincent, but not before laying ground rules. And she doesn't fall in love right away, but chooses to protect her heart and make sure the love is real-unlike some fate-tempting character who insists on figuratively and literally holding her juicy neck out to some deranged vampire who admitted to his natural desire to kill her with the simple "love conquers all" idiom (I'm speaking to you, Bella Swan).

Additionally, the Revenant background is refreshingly new. Not the typical vampire, werewolf, immortal, angel, demon, faerie (did I miss anything) scenario. Of course they come with their own set of rules and uniform regulations for survival that are quite convoluted and I feel Amy plum has barely touched the surface of possibilities. Still undecided on how I feel about that. But if there's a sequel, I'll probably read it.

the characters developed, if only somewhat. the story tried to be deep-connecting the trauma of recently orphaned Kate's views on death with a love interest who lives by dying every 3 weeks, but failed to elicit any real emotions. I actually lost a parent less than a year ago and am a prime candidate for character transference, but it was mostly a shallow read. I grazed the surface of a story and penetrated no further. Then there was the requisite fight scene between mortal enemies at the end. Although this was much more intriguing and gory than a comparable ballet studio brawl, it lacked any graphic details. The descriptions of a supremely paranormal sword fight had little conviction of suspense and left me wanting more.

And You Wonder Why?

2011-10-05T00:17:00.000-07:00

My best friend was born October 7th, 1985. He opened my eyes to the world around me and healed my broken heart. He protected me when I was too naive to know I needed protecting. I absolutely refused to fall in love with him just to spite everyone who said it was inevitable. We drifted in and out of each others lives for years growing up, but I never worried I would lose him. He was the constant that rooted me to this magnificent earth. I don't think I ever told him just how big a part of my life he was.

In high school, we went to different schools and drifted even further apart. But he showed up when it really mattered. Until the day he didn't.

My other best friend was born October 7th, 1985. It was almost as if the torch to take care of me was handed off. I was overwhelmed and confused how someone could possibly care for me so much? I was a horrible person to everyone I met-even him. But he grew on me despite my perfected concrete walls. And nearly inseparable we became. He didn't fill the hole in my heart, but made me forget it was there. His never-ending patience and understanding taught me HOW to reciprocate a friendship.

I didn't realize the difference between love and friendship until it was too late to rescind the things I said-or left unsaid. Now, 8 years after the end of high school, I cherish the memories made with one man while making new memories with another.

On October 9th, I celebrate my 3 year wedding anniversary. Born in June, he is both friend and lover. What does it say about me that neither one of my best friends showed up to give me away? My dad was there, but I was never really his to give. It was he who first broke my heart. My fragile, 9-year-old heart that was slowly pieced back together by a little boy who became my best friend.

On October 19th, 2010 my father was tragically and violently killed. Ripped from my life just as he was learning his own lessons in love and fatherhood. Exactly one month after his 49th birthday, he ceased to exist in the world as we know it. My heart-the pieces held together with sticky glue and hasty staples-once again crumbled. But in a shockingly permanent way.

I was reminded of all the things I said and didn't say. To my father.

And my friend. My love.

My grandma was born on October 7th. My father's mother. Reparations will be made in October, but will justice?

Am I happy or am I sad? Do I mourn or celebrate? Do I grieve the loss of one love when I revel in another? Do I cherish one friend while missing the first?

The walls are coming back faster than ever now. They close and lock securely in place to protect what's left of this small heart beating in my chest. It's all just motions now. Work and life and the future. Disconnected and disconcerting. Come pull the puppet strings and bring me to life. I forgot all the lessons I learned in friendship and love and I am sinking. I gasp and struggle to breathe and my heart beat is faint.

And you wonder why?

Is My Smile on Straight?

2011-09-22T22:55:00.000-07:00

Having a totally miserable week playing the role. Sometimes perfection takes its toll. I know nobody's perfect, but try convincing the people who expect ME to be of that fact. To err is to human. But being human is way too painful. I want to be robotic and work on autopilot. At least for a little while.

So forgive me for wearing a fake smile if it helps me get through the day. If I fake it long enough, who knows? Maybe it will come true and I might actually feel complete again.

Fire on Dark Water by Wendy K. Perriman

2011-09-16T23:40:00.000-07:00

The back cover describes the book as "A novel of stark survival, Fire on Dark Water is the story of a woman plunged into the depths of corruption. Within the bloodstained waters of the Caribbean, it will take both cunning and unwavering strength for her to become the woman she was always meant to be, and thrive in the golden age of piracy..."

I describe this book as "Rape-in the golden age of piracy."

Admittedly, I did not finish the book. After reading 204 pages, I literally stopped mid chapter. And ladies and gentlemen, that was that.

Let's dissect, shall we? By "A novel of stark survival," the editor means Lola, the main character, must survive after she is duped away from her gypsy family at the age of 7 to be sold as a virgin sex slave. After fighting back THE NEXT DAY, she is beaten to within an inch of her life and dropped at the doorstep of the resident Golden Age of Piracy-equivalent of a crime lord where she is promptly taught how to pickpocket and scam for money. While on a nice little illegal venture, Lola is arrested and "sentenced" to a ship bound for the New World (that's us, America!-the Land of Opportunity was once the worst kind of punishment short of death). So far, she has survived simply through no fault of her own.

When the editor writes "the story of a woman plunged into the depths of corruption" they are referring to the SEVEN-year-old girl stolen from her family. By page 200, Lola has only aged to 15. While I know the average life-span that many years ago was 36 practically making Lola middle-aged, this book is classified as YA novel and the content is ill-appropriate for today's average teenager.

At "... it will take both cunning and unwavering strength for her to become the woman she was always meant to be..." the editor is simply toying with the reader. The previous sentence implies Lola is a woman and this is her story. But, now we are backpedaling to say these events will shape her into a woman, eventually. BTW what kind of woman was she meant to be that 8 years of repeated rape and other such bad shiz is needed to mold her?

Whatever it was, the rape didn't do the trick. Lola has neither cunning or unwavering strength. In fact, she is pretty much a naive simpleton child who is raped, trusts the wrong person-which leads her to be raped again, before luck sends on her on the next leg of her journey-which leads to more rape and more trusting the wrong people (usually the one who rapes her), before circumstance sends her on her way again-which leads to more rape. Eventually, she breaks the cycle by charging for sex. This is a socially acceptable position for a 12-year-old girl in the Golden Age of Piracy, natch. At 15, Lola leaves the glamorous life of prostitution to become the wife of the infamous Pirate Captain Blackbeard (he's in his 50's, from the description). Of course, she later discovers she was lucky wife numero 13 and the marriage was not legally binding. Essentially, it boils down to her being raped by someone she trusted. It seems we have gone full circle, and that is that.

The real interesting character is Anne Bonny. At one point Lola is sold to a plantation owner as a servant. He rapes her statutorily by today's standards, but buys her nice things, essentially introducing her to the spoils of prostitution. Anne is the -brat seems too nice- cold, manipulative, BITCH daughter who makes Lola's life miserable at every given point. Lola hates Anne, but with several opportunities for revenge throughout the 204 pages I read, she shows loyalty and gets figuratively raped by the fearless and heartless Anne.

To sum: Lola gets raped, a lot. A little boy she befriends on the ship to the New World gets raped, a lot. Her friend Violet gets raped, a lot.

True Story

2011-09-16T22:20:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, I stopped by the office of a potential customer. He was busy, so I left my card. He contacts me to set up a meeting. Today we meet.

All seems normal.

Except, he surprises me with some new-found information about me, my education and probing my experience. You know, stuff NOT on my business card. I was caught completely off-guard by this sudden turn of events. Do you know how disarming it is to talk to a total stranger who possesses knowledge on your past you didn't provide.

It wasn't creepy. Really, it was more funny....in a creepy way.

After coming to the conclusion he must have Google'd me, I came home and frantically reviewed what dirty little internet bugs pop up with variations of my name. Thankfully, I recently privatized many of my accounts and removed inappropriate content (some stuff I say makes for awkward conversation later). While locking my internet profile up tighter and throwing away the key, a light bulb went off over my pretty little head.

If HE can search ME, I most certainly can search HIM. It's only less weird when done in reciprocation.

To my surprise, a quick Google search only pulls up his Twitter account, which is private. But it links to his semi-private Facebook page where I wonderfully discovered he read the Twilight Saga and The Dresden Files-which I will tease mercilessly and praise, respectfully. And that's not all...FB gives up the MySpace account which, like the rest of society, hasn't been updated in years and has all the juicy shit we posted on the internet before we knew to make our accounts private, then forgot all about.

As we say in Las Vegas: "Jackpot, Baby!"

MTV Video Music Awards 2011

2011-08-28T20:19:00.000-07:00

Seriously? Are the MTV VMA's even relevant anymore? Let's start with the fact that Music TeleVision NO LONGER shows any music videos. Neither does MTV2. It's gotten so bad even VH1, MTV's red-headed stepchild, relies heavily on quality reality programming like "La La's Full Court Life" to stay afloat. Okay, so after a quick show listing lineup search, I discovered there is a 2 hour block of music videos starting at 6am. I think my point has been made.

This awards show is absolutely redonk. That's my quirky slang for Frigging RIDICULOUS!!!! Yet, I tuned in (halfway through, of course, I'm fashionably late like that). And I have this to say:

What's up with Jessie J., an average European one-hit wonder heading up the awards show band in the tackiest nude and black skintight jumpsuit rocking a leg brace in the most boring sit-down performances of flat, off-key and awkward renditions of past and present music hits that aren't hers? Talk about WORST. COVER. BAND. EVER. I feel for the audience. At least MTV graciously pulls away for a commercial break to rest my bleeding ears.

So Britney Spears received the Michael Jackson Inspirational Award? WTF is that? Oh, I know. An excuse to bring up MJ near the anniversary of his death while simultaneously incorporating maximum BS (that's Britney Spears) into the show. What disgusts me is the BS dance tribute through her music career where the girls get younger and younger as the songs get trashier and trashier.

Beyonce is not yet 30. Who cares that she's married to a man 11 years her senior with baby on the way? I don't, she's HAWT, HOTT, HOT! So what was with the ridiculously bedazzled mom outfit? Ask Kelly Rowland for some preggers fashion advice. Well, that may not be much better. Her "Project Runway" knockoff was a huge disaster.

I guess not THAT huge, since I think I may have been one of only 7 people to have tuned in to a single episode. Still...You and Jay-Z make a shit fuck ton (I'm rounding up) of money. Surely you can afford a decent stylist.

There was a commercial for Taylor Lautner's new movie Abduction.

I'm not saying it looks particularly good, but *fingers crossed* he has a better career than Robert Pattinson. I can't stand his fake American accent. Or the fact that he's dating Kristen Stewart. I'm not jealous or anything, it's just that she can't act. At all. And she seems like a bitch. I'm just saying...
Then there's the fact that Taylor Lautner is incredibly sexy. I say this knowing full well he is my brother's age and I'm trying to ignore the creep factor. But tan, and "RRRipped Like Jesus" with a killer smile beats RPatz bedhead anyday.

Really, Sir? It's called a brush, please run one through your hair. Or a comb. Fingers will work. I'm sure there is some girl somewhere willing to run her fingers through your hair. Please accept the next offer STAT.

I must say, I'm not that shocked by Lady Gaga's cross-dressing. After the raw meat dress from last year's VMA's, I, like the rest of America, held my breath in anticipation of how she could possibly top herself.

Then she did it. Not by dressing like a 1950's greaser, but by embodying the spirit of being a man so completely that he/she actually referred to "Gaga" as a 3rd party persona. I admire her for doing her own thing. I guess. Better than BS.

Russell Brand's tribute to Amy Winehouse. It's difficult listening to Russell Brand in general. But now he's talking about a serious subject matter. In that insane British accent. Not gonna lie, I just kept repeating random sentences in my head in a British accent instead of listening to what he said. Don't lie, you know you started speaking in tongues after his speech too. Now, let's continue the rant: Alcoholism and drug addiction are NOT DISEASES. Amy Winehouse had an amazing gift-a beautiful, soulful voice. She literally sat on top of the world with a record career many can't even get the courage to dream about and she sabotaged it at every possible chance. She had the opportunity to be a role model and do something good in her life, but Amy Winehouse chose to continue on her destructive path. There is nobody to blame but herself and the more MTV glamorizes her decision, the more they are socially accepting her fate and promoting it to the next generation.

I adore Katy Perry for being herself, but she wore a cube on her head. Her music is way too bubblegum-pop and overplayed for me, but it starts out catchy so I'll give her that. She named her cat Kitty Purry. I'm still not sure how I feel about that. Although I'm annoyed by her weird 80's persona, Kathy Beth Terry, it kind of reminds me of high school pictures of my friend, Jen.

But her last outfit at the VMA's was hideous and I cannot forgive such a faux-pas. There's a cube on her head. A cube, people. The gap between her funky-retro (and not in a good way) jacket and mildly hideous skirt defied the laws of physics by displaying Katy Perry's back fat. And Katy Perry doesn't have back fat! I can deal with the quirky outfit and even swallow my distaste for the cube (?!?), but I REFUSE to overlook such chunky heels. You had how many outfits changes throughout the night and THIS is how you chose to end it? I can only imagine Katy Perry at home and in a very cheesy typical rom-com montage set to her own soundtrack trying on outfit after endless outfit for a bored Russell Brand when she emerges from the closet in this gem of an ensemble and earnestly asks her husband "How do I look?" To which he responds in a cheery British accent "Lovely, mate, as were the first 130. Now can we order some Chinese?" Because he's a GUY and doesn't CARE and is HUNGRY and now you have a CUBE on YOUR HEAD and those clunky, dare I call them heels(?) clodding on stage while you accept a well-deserved award on a live, national broadcast.

So there's my take. Believe it or not, I have more to say, but some of us are real people living in the real world who have work in the morning and need to get our beauty sleep because we don't have a team of overpaid stylists to dress us up in the most ridiculous outfits just so bloggers can unwittingly continue to promote us and extend our 15 minutes of fame. Which is why I must go to bed now instead of stay up for another 4 hours just to say everything I want to say about Nicki Minaj. Thankfully, a picture is worth a thousand words so I leave you with this:

Deadline by Chris Crutcher

2011-08-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

OhMiGod I just read the most amazingly insightful book! And that’s saying a LOT since I’ve devoured the likes of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment and Dante’s Inferno (the most uplifting of Alighieri’s Divine Comedy if we’re being sarcastic).

So Borders aka-the greatest bookstore excluding online mega-reatiler Amazon.com only because I can physically touch the inventory- is closing. Like, for good. Naturally, I grazed their dwindling stock several times this past week. About $200 and 40 books later, I have enough reading to last me through the month. You think I jest, but I made my way through 4 books in 5 days and one of those days ways Sunday in which I was busy with a nasty little stomach bug (thanks a lot Daniel) that left me mildly dizzy and wholly cranky. I ventured away from my normal YA fantasy selections because at 40% off, why not try something new? In addition to some great business books, I picked up Chris Crutcher’s Deadline.

This book is a life changer. Eighteen year old Ben Wolf just found out he has less than one year to live. He decides to live his senior year to its fullest, but as normal as possible, which means keeping the truth of his illness to himself. But life is never that easy. Although some of the situations are fantastical and sensationalized, it’s more a reminder of the situations we face in life. Irony abounds and Ben learns the truth about people in his small town while hiding his own truths.

Above all, Deadline is MORBIDLY HYSTERICAL. I laughed until it was time to cry. Notably, Ben is a smart-ass and his impending fate only gives him strength to unleash all his thoughts with no consequences. I mean, if you didn’t have to worry about a diploma and life after graduation, wouldn’t you be tempted to torment your teachers? Although his motives aren’t entirely pure, Ben is fueled by the need to educate himself with as much truth as possible, despite his big lie. It’s inherently sad and hugely thought-provoking material.

The best dialogue, by far, that make me rate this book as TOP-NOTCH are the many interactions Ben has with Hey-Soos. The philosophical Hey-Soos (who will neither confirm nor deny if he’s Jesus or just a representation of Ben’s inner conscience, though we have our suspicions) visits Ben in his dreams and grants pearls of wisdom in a comical self-evaluating way. Hey-Soos offers heavy guidance in a perfect blend of spiritual reverence and religious mockery. For example, an excerpt of a particularly poignant conversation between Hey-Soos and Ben::

“So,” (Hey-Soos) says, “you rang?”
“Did I?”
“You meant to.”
“You mean because of what Dallas said?”
“Duh”
“‘Duh?’ That’s not exactly otherworldly.”
“‘Duh’ is universal. do you know how many people she’s told?”
I say I don’t.
“Well,” he says, “as she might put it, if she tells on more that will be two.”
“No shit?”
“Are you sure that’s the way you want to talk to the likes of me?”
“No kidding?”
“No shit,” Hey-Soos says.

Bottom line is I finished this book in less than a day but the emotions incited will last a lifetime. However long that will be.

It's Not A Run On Sentence If It's Poetry

2011-08-08T22:26:00.000-07:00

Swirling, twirling butterflies in my stomach pitted against all the anger and confusion
Smothering what I feel
In a million tingling sensations pulling me in on myself
Until I'm inside out and upside down hanging by my Achilles Heel
Wondering
When will this slow burning torture be over
And the world will right itself,
But the wind never stops when you want it to,
just brings on the rain and fire bolts
Searing flashes of energy shining light on the depths or darkness
You hoped would remain covered up by the sheets over your head
Hiding from the monsters under your bed
Like a good little girl never wandering far from home or happiness but
You don't experience happiness like others
Only balls of sadness and fluff fill your life in place of true emotion
An empty soul and empty eyes
Leave a blank face
With plastic smiles
All teeth no bite
Wondering
Wonder
When will I stop missing you?

Meridian by Amber Kizer

2011-08-06T20:47:00.000-07:00

I first read Meridian more than a year ago and was so enamored by the romance between Fenestra and Protector, the unique story of escorting souls to the afterlife, and the epic GvB battle I overlooked the under-whelmingly bland writing. Now that the much anticipated (to me) sophomore follow-up, Wildcat Fireflies is out, I decided to re-read the first book to bring myself up to speed on the story again. Big mistake. During my double-take, my reading pace slowed to enjoy the story as I already knew the ending. It was all the faint details in between I wanted to savor before devouring the next novel. Unfortunately, Meridian was less appetizing as seconds. (Like all my food metaphors? Thought it added a special touch)

Meridian Sozu is suddenly abandoned by her family on her sixteenth birthday with cryptic instructions to find an Aunt she’s never met a few states away. Oh, and someone may be after her. She arrives at Auntie’s hard-to-picture (becuase the descriptions are seriously lacking) Colorado cottage-mansion (and contradictory) where the mystery is unraveled at a confusing, slow, and predictable pace. The gist? Meridian is a Fenestra, an Angel-ish being with a generationally spares gift to grant souls passage to the Other Side. There’s a lot of interesting mumbo-jumbo about energy in a spiritual context that adds a rational layer to a fantastical story. Of course, if there’s an angel for the Light side, there must be a balanced minion for the Dark side. Enter the not-so-subtle Reverend Perimo. We get it, Miss Kizer, he’s the Bad Guy. don’t think you are fooling anyone. Okay, I know I read this before, but I am basing this off the inane naivity of Auntie, Meridian and Tens not to figure out his true identity in lieu of some goold, old-fashioned foreshadowing. And don’t even get me startedon the fact that even Tens refers to Meridian’s aunt as Auntie as if that’s her name. I don’t even like Auntie as a nickname. It sounds fake and pretentious. You should have stuck with “Merry” as the old namesake and Meridian as she is.

Let’s ignore the fact that the story is muddled because it is a well-enough developed concept to pass for entertainment. I can barely overlook the flat characters. Meridian arrives and Tens is vaguely rude to her. From his actions and dialogue I, the reader, didn’t grasp that he was rude, but Meridian’s inner dialogue announced it loud and clear how she interpreted their interactions, so it must be true. Then she discovers he’s her Protector (I’d say Spoiler Alert, but there isn’t much these little surprises are thinly veiled in the story, I don’t think I’m really spoiling much) and before you know it they are spouting the “L” word in typical teen fashion without so much as a first kiss. Bwah-huh?

Despite the leap in relationships, the characters are decently developed. But the writing itself is bland, Bland, BLAND. Aside from the ongoing “Fenestras are the gateways and must guide souls through the open windows” (or something like that) metaphor, Kizer fails to use imagery, metaphors, hyperboles, and any other writing flourishment I got docked on my AP History papers for using as “fluff and fillers” but my AP English teacher vividly encouraged. The dialogue is just that-lacking any fluidity or punctuated by character movement.

Overall, Meridian provided a quick respite from the rigors of everyday life when read quickly enough it blurs past all its inherent flaws. As a re-read, there is nothing more to glean from the story to hold my interest and I found myself nitpicking until the whole concept, characters and all, fell apart. There’s still Wildcat Fireflies to get through and I’m hoping it’s more developed.

The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan

2011-07-15T22:06:00.000-07:00

Oh My Goodness! My heart is still racing from this book. I literally could not put it down today(yes, I finished it in a day while still managing to work a full 8 hours and go to the gym). FYI it's a girl's zombie book. The cover and descriptions make no allusions to zombies, but trust me, that's exactly where this story is headed even though "zombie" is never mentioned. Unconsecrated=Zombie.

Mary lives in a post-apocalyptic world after the Return where a mysterious infection has spread creating the Unconsecrated who paw at the edges of the gates surrounding her little village. Beyond lies the forest of Hands and Teeth. The gates are patrolled by the Guardians and the Sisterhood guide the citizens. Most have lost hope and try to keep Faith, but Mary has relinquished her belief in God to follow her dream of finding the ocean-and a freedom from the Forest. Life in the village is strained and choices are minimal. Bonds are forged out of necessity to survive and commitment over love. A sequence of events (don't want to be a spoil-sport) reveals to Mary that nothing is as it seems and the people she trusted are hiding secrets.

The story is amazingly written around the choices one young girl must make in the face of overwhelming despair. Will love prevail? Will undying faith in a dream? It's fast-paced and every word leads seamlessly into the next thought, the next chapter. The reader is propelled into this complete isolation and consumed by Mary's POV. An interesting take on a classic concept. The love story is empowering, but not overshadowing as the need for freedom still rings loud and clear. The reader experiences a gamete of emotions as Mary feels them-such is the vivid imagery and fluidity of the writing.

The Forest of Hands and Teeth is the first in the trilogy with it's companion novels The Dead Tossed Waves and The Dark and Hollow Places already out. Honestly, I feel so heavy after absorbing the weight of this novel, I'm going to have to break before jumping into the next story. Seriously, I was enraptured the entire time, but by page 268 I was bawling my eyes out and I finished the book with an empty void that only chocolate can sufficiently fill. Don't get me wrong-I can't wait to read the other stories in this world Miss Ryan has dementedly formed, but I need a good comedy or epic romance to space out the utter tragedy.

True Story

2011-06-30T22:06:00.000-07:00

Married Life

The hub works from home. He's one room over in the home office and I'm showering in the master bathroom. He comes into the bathroom and I act sexy through the glass. He ignores me completely to use the restroom. I get out and dry off. With the towel wrapped around me, he emerges and washes his hands. "Seriously?" I ask as he doesn't so much as glance at me even though he's facing the wall mirror spanning the length of the His and Hers sinks. "Does a naked, wet wife do nothing for you anymore?" "Of course it does." He responds. He eyes the towel cloaking me and makes a bee-line. Thinking he's going to rip it off and expose me, I smile. He dries his wet hands on the corner and sneaks a peak at the empty towel rack behind me. Then turns and walks out-back to work.

Showering With My Fear

2011-06-23T23:29:00.000-07:00

I cried at work today.

The last month has been exceptionally stressful at work. Insanely busy, short-staffed (by that I mean, no staff), looooong hours and a lot of other BS. Even though I come home exhausted and tense and vowing never to go back, each morning I wake up and drag myself in for another 12 hour day. I hate it, but I also love it. I feel a sense of accomplishment because all this responsibility means simply, I'm responsible. I worked hard for these moments and I won't spend my time wishing it were different. Still...the stress does get to me.

But that's not why I cried.

Today was a promotional "Hot Dog Day." I remembered last night around 923pm and at 930pm found myself walking around a 24 hours Wal-Mart in my pj's stocking up on hot dogs, buns, soda and chips. It was now 308pm and I had yet to eat anything-busy as I was. My cell rang. A number I didn't recognize, so I answered. It was the lawyer working on my dad's case. She wanted to update my address (it only took 7 months) and then told me the insurance company may be ready to settle as soon as next week. I thanked her and got off the phone. Then the tears came.

I couldn't stop it. I sniffled. I wiped my eyes. I willed myself to stop and the harder I tried, the faster they fell. We were closing in less than an hour and the day was winding down. Still, I was embarrassed. I went to the bathroom and cleaned up, but I couldn't face myself in the mirror. Ashamed I was being weak and someone might catch me in this precarious situation. I stood in the middle of the bathroom and, avoiding the mirror, stared at the toilet. The same toilet seat I left down and some stupid boy peed on yesterday instead of lifting up and that was the final straw so I forced my borrowed help to clean the restrooms today. The first time in 5 weeks they had been cleaned. Why did I care what some stupid bad-aim boy cared about me? So what if I was crying at work? At least I know not to pee on the frigging toilet seat or would clean it up if I did!

And now I was crying more. I couldn't stay in the bathroom, hiding, for the next 40 minutes, so I emerged to face whatever criticism would come. But no one was in the showroom. My employee was in the warehouse. The phone didn't ring. I sat down at my desk and just stared at the computer screen daring someone to interrupt. Nobody did. I left the blinds up and my door wide open and my eyes red and wet. I almost wished someone would come by. Notice me. Ask me.

My CSR locked up and left for the day. I planned on staying late, but I couldn't. Call me petty, selfish, lazy. But I just didn't care-I needed out of there.

I drove to a bookstore-the one farthest away from me-to buy a book that I already purchased and was being shipped to me. On the long drive I thought about calling my dad. I always called him after a long, stressful day. Or when I was stuck in the car, in traffic. Today it was both, but his phone wouldn't be answered. I called a friend instead. When she had to go, I spoke to another.

I got to the bookstore, bought my book, sat in the car and read. I only meant to read for a while to clear my head. Four hours later it was dark and I finished the book. With nothing more to do, I drove home.

Another long, empty drive. Alone. I could have turned on the radio or drove faster, instead I called through my phone book. Dialed until I got hold of someone. And talked. I wanted to spill all my secrets, but the words wouldn't come. Afterward, I could only think about what a horrible friend I was.

When I got home, a package was waiting for me. My friend's daughter drew me a picture and sent me a care package. My brother and my husband called me thinking I was still out and they were worried. It struck me odd that people should care about me when I am incapable of connecting to others. I shut them out and push them away and I don't trust or get too close. I never get hurt. I thought about my dad's memorial and who would be there when I died. Then I showered.

As the filth of the day washed down the drain, I stared off wearily; distant. In the corner of the shower I noticed what appeared to be a ratted strand of hair and I flicked water at it to rinse it away. When it didn't budge, I bent down for a closer inspection. Through blurry eyes and grief and sorrow and stress and the weight of the world, I recognized the tangled mess as only someone with my severe phobia could: a spider occupied the shower with me. Was it dead or alive? I let the water stream over my shoulders and down my fingers and poked at it in waves. Normally paralyzed by my fear, today I towered over the beast, curious.

My enormous cat Bond sat right outside the shower doors. He guarded me. Protected me. But the very thing he defended against was inside. It taunted me when I was most vulnerable. Naked. Bare and weaponless my fear laid before me. The cat leaned across the bathmat blocking the shower door. At that moment I realized he was my warden. My savior unwittingly kept me locked in my prison.

I showered. With the spider in its corner and me in mine, I showered. Not in fear, but with my fear. Because I was Strong and Empowered.

Because in that moment there were more important things that terrified me.