Merkins galore!!

Since some of my dudes are having a hard time finding merkin knowledge, it's my duty to inform and educate the masses.

Enjoy! Let me know who's buying one for Christmas!

Trish.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Merkin (for the very stuffy and correct, like me)

http://www.straightdope.com/classics/a3_232.html Haha, very funny diatribe!

www.merkinworld.com History, facts and pictures, just in case you want to order one.

http://www.playazon.com/fashion/merkin_light.html Lastly, a gift idea...with pictures. This merkin has a hands-free flashlight! Tells you how to attach it and al that good stuff.

That Julie!

Julie the Samari Knitter is responsible for many things here at Dude, like the Dude Counter and the Dude Locator. Now she's gotten me hooked on blogthings. I took one test (what song should I strip to) but I shouldn't share the results because this is a sort of a family show. So instead, I'll share this one...

What kind of chocolate are you?

You are Milk Chocolate

A total dreamer, you spend most of your time with your head in the clouds. You often think of the future, and you are always working toward your ideal life. Also nostelgic, you rarely forget a meaningful moment... even those from long ago.

What Kind of Chocolate Are You?

Log in, let me know what kind you are!

WHY?

When my dryer rips holes in my clothes, why can't it do something productive and lucrative, like rip a picture of Jesus or Elvis into my sheets? Let's visit that thought for a moment. I could sell the ripped sheets on eBay and make oodles of money like the dude that sold the grilled cheese with Jesus' face on it. That would be WAY cool. Then, the herds of the faithful would flock to see my blessed dryer. I'd let them try to make their own inspirational ripped laundry. Of course, it would ONLY work if they used MY dirty laundry, so I could have a little Tom Sawyer thing going with the huge laundry pile. Then my kids could sell cookies and lemonade to get extra money. It would be one heck of a good time.

But no, not in MY dryer. ::sigh::: I guess I have to go buy new sheets. I hate that dryer.

Phone calls you WANT to get...

I get so sick of answering the phone, and a stupid fax machine is beeping on the other end. So I was thinking (yes, I do that occasionally), what would be some phone calls I'd love to get? Here are a few, chime in with your own ideas of phone bliss (and no, I'm not talking phone sex, unless that's what you want).

1) From a big, NY publisher: "We realize you're swamped and feeling a touch insecure at this moment about submitting your requested work, so we thought we'd take the pressure off you and just offer you the sale. And because we know how you envy publisher Lunch authors that get more than a 'nice deal', you're going to get to list this sale in the 'HOT DAMN, OBSCENE AMOUNT OF MONEY' section."

2) From the dr's office: "I'm sorry, but the lab results are positive for this dangerous, debilitating disease. You're going to have to eat your body weight in chocolate each month to remain healthy and alive."

3)From the telemarketers: "To show our deepest sympathy for interrupting you during Oprah, we're sending you 'Mamma's Little Helper!' absolutely free of charge. He's a Chippendale-esque man, hot, hunky and ready to wash that kitchen floor, and anything else you request!"

4) From the husband: "I realize how WRONG I was about your coffee addiction--I'm giving you an unlimited Dunkin Donuts charge card--drink to your heart's desire!"

5) From SZ the critique partner: "I'd love to have you review more than just the opening of my latest story. I realize you must be sick of looking at the same 300 words. Over, and over, and over..."

My bad...

Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom, has told me it's Van Gogh that lost his ear. She didn't know, though, that he was friends with Hemingway, which is why I picked him in the first place to make my point about spell check. I figured Hemingway would have chopped off something, too, but after his buddy did it he said, "No way in HELL."

Stealing blog ideas...

Poodle fact of the day: The breed is actually German in origin, and the names comes from the name Pudel, which means puddle, for water dog.

Because I'm supposed to be researching poodles (see, I learned ONE THING) I'm stealing an idea from my friend Mary F over at Mary's Bandwagon because she said, 'use it on your blog.'

So here's 10 things to know about my writing (this should be an eye-opener for all involved):

1)In a written document, it's a given that I'll have at least 6 things spelled wrong, and spell check will catch 4 of them.

2) I wasn't meant to be a short contemporary writer--I can't have my characters say hello in less than 50,000 words, never mind have them meet, have sex, break up and resolve their problems with a satisfying ending. Of course, I could use my favorite salutation--DUDE!--and get right to the...er...point? Yes, SZ, I'm thinking about WINKIES.

3) I will write/edit anything for money. Case point, my second ghostwritten book was about modifying import cars (dude, pimping the RIDE!). "Miss Editor, you want me to add a cowboy pregnant with an alien's baby, keep it all a secret, and give the cowboy a case of amnesia to boot? In 80,000 words? For money? Yes, Miss Editor! My pleasure!"

4) If I decided to be a writer in the past, I too would have hacked off a body part like that painter dude (Monet? I know Julie will correct me on this). And you know why I would hack off a body part??? NO SPELLCHECK. I failed my high school term paper because of my typing skills.

5) I have to say NO to research at times, because I get sucked into the void of knowledge. It's even worse now with the 'net. I'll start out on one subject (oh, like POODLES) and discover the meaning of merkin (if you don't know what it is, look it up! It's way interesting.) FYI, I thieved my high school honors English class dictionary because I couldn't bear to part with it (shhh, don't tell Mr. Bryant).

6) I like to write at night. Of course, the lure of Jimmy Kimmel is too great, so I end up ditching the writing at midnight, so I'm better off going to bed at a decent hour.

7) I have the best damned ideas EVER, until I put them on paper and submit them to an editor, where it is deemed I write poignant, contrived crap (my interpretation).

8) Interestingly enough, my first book had GMC (goal, motivation and conflict) for all of my characters, even the evil dude. However, it was a light read of 680 pages, and did I mention the contrived crap part?

9) I have always written paranormal stories, even before I KNEW what paranormal was, and before it was the hot, in thing. NO, I don't do vampires. They are scary. There is NOTHING SEXY about having your blood sucked out. I have my blood drawn every month, and I don't ever recall wanting to jump the tech.

10) I have no gift for poetry, so be relieved you won't have to deal with that. Maybe an occasional limerick, but that's about it.

Man's best friend

I'm doing research on poodles right now, for this juicy ghostwritten non-fiction book deal I scored. Did you know that poodles were used to retrieve arrows and truffles in the olden days? And no, not the cake truffle in a deep dish Athena (she likes that stuff, uses her Tim Horton donuts to make truffles) but the elusive mushroom that grows under the dirt.

So that got me to thinking... What has Corey, the 100 lb senile dog, brought me in his 11 years of service to the family?

Well...A zucchini. When he was 6 months old he brought a zucchini to the house site (we were building our house, and only had a foundation at the time. I was master cement maker, because when I say we were building, I don't mean hire a contractor and bitch about the bills). He must have got the zucchini from my FIL's garden. How he loved that thing, carried it everywhere until he dropped down the cinderblock foundation, never to be seen again. For weeks after, he'd go to that corner of the foundation and peer into the wall longingly until we finally framed in the house and the zucchini was lost forever.

Then there was the time he brought me paper cups. We were doing summer riding camp, and the little angels would leave their paper cups, with their names on them, all over the yard. Corey would have rather hunkered down on the lawn and ripped them to shreds, but instead (because he is a smart dog at times) he'd bring them to me and I'd shriek holy ever-loving madness all over the place.

Lastly, he's brought me a deer antler. A little tiny thing, but it has 3 prongs and it's very cute. This is probably the one thing he didn't really want to share, because to him it's just a cool bone and well, we don't share cool bones. But I snagged it, fearing he'd found a chicken bone somewhere. It now lives on the top of the TV because I've never seen any protocol on how to display 6 inches of deer antler.

But I'd love to have a truffle dog some day. Of course, we don't HAVE truffles here, but maybe if I pretend he's a guide dog, he can go into the supermarket and find me one. Until then, we're happily stuck with a zucchini, paper cup and antler retrieving dog.

RIP Summertime...

Today at 6:30 we had a funeral for Summertime the frog--it was a beautiful, toilet-side ceremony. She was a cherished member of our family for the past month and is survived by two fin pigs (Zoom and Multi the calico goldfish) and her owner, Alexa. She will be sadly missed. In lieu of flowers, please send checks to the "Say NO to Froglegs" foundation sponsored by Kermit the Frog.

Ailing Summertime

I have a frog in my bathroom.

Now, before you think that's code for some kinky thing (Athena the goddess of wisdom is also a pervert, so you have to set this stuff straight) the frog is real--it's on death's door--but it's a real, sorta-live, albino African frog named Summertime.

So why is it in my bathroom? It's in a little sick frog bowl, the top covered with plastic wrap with a few holes in it because the thing was in the fish tank and the goldfish (a.k.a. the fin pigs) were attacking it. So we took it out so it could die in peace.

Now, to make matters worse, Summertime the frog is owned by my five year old daughter. Most children, you could sneak off to the pet store and replace it with a healthier frog and say, "Look! He's feeling better!" and then have a party and eat some chocolate cake. This is not the sort of child you can do that with because if I got caught, all hell would break loose, and I'd rather be attacked by killer bees.

A little background to make you believe. First, St. Peter or someone behind the pearly gates saw that this was to be my last child and said, "Bring me the Special Soul." And thus, my child was born. Don't believe me? Read on:

1) at 20 mos, tossed her clothes at me and proclaimed, "I am NOT getting dressed, God dammit!" Mind you, all spoken in perfect, crystal clear English.
2) At 2 years she was restricted from watching 'Shrek' because she called her brother an Ass for having a tantrum. And yes, when I questioned her, she knew exactly what she was calling him. At 2 she also gained an imaginary friend named Sunny and an imaginary teacher named Miss Daisy, who is also the leader of the Girl Scouts (all 150 of them) that meet in my back yard. Oh, and there's the imaginary 'bad girl' named Paynie. I had to talk to her imaginary mother about the foul language Paynie uses on the bus to and from Girl Scouts.
3) After the first day of nursery school she put her hands on her hips and demanded, "Why didn't you tell me we had upper case AND lower case letters in the alphabet????" I know, I'm a horrid mother.
4) When I told her she couldn't marry her brother, she informed me she had called God on the phone and he said she could marry him if she wanted to, so there. How can we argue with that logic?

She has some great points, too, like a love of sweeping the kitchen floor. She's also cute as the dickens, which is God's way of keeping her safe. How can you torture something so danged CUTE?

So, the point is, Summertime needs to get well enough so he can go back into the big tank and terrorize the fin pigs. I'll keep you all posted. I'm sure you're hopping with anticipation to know what happens to the frog in my bathroom.

Stay tuned!

DUDES!

I'm BLOGGING! Never thought I'd see the day were I actually blogged something. I'm not one to jump on new technology--I mean, I just burned my first CD last month. You can't move too quickly on this new technology crap. I mean, look how long the 8-track lasted...

I'll jump in (bravely) by sharing my GH scores. For those that don't know, the Golden Heart contest sponsored by RWA (Romance Writers of America) is THE contest. It's the most expensive, the most nerve-wracking and all you get is a tiny sheet of paper telling you your scores and your grouping within the masses. Of course, if you final, lots of good things happen, but I've decided I have a better chance of getting hit by lightning than making the final grouping at this point.

So drumroll please.... The scores are (on a scale of 1-9): 8, 8, 8.2, 8.3, and 5, total of 37.50, second quarter. OH, and I entered paranormal this year, with the addition of a ghost and butt-kicking angels to my book...Which means my poor ghosts were battling against vampires and werewolves and other dark paranormal type creatures that my gentle soul just doesn't get. But that's a whole different barrel of apples.

Now, I'm ripped about that 5. My goal for the contest was to launch myself OUT of the freaking bottom half, where I had resided with the other bottom feeders for several years (no offense to you bottom feeders--I like you and I wish I could bring you all with me to the top. Honest). My first goal was to get something other than straight 6's. But that damned 5...Granted, it's not a 6, but it was 'just' enought to kept me OUT of the very elusive top quarter by .60. FYI, 5 used to be my favorite number, but not anymore. I'm changing it to 5.60.

So that's that until next November when the GH madness begins yet again. Now I'm off now to pay a deposit for the boy child's birthday party at this go-kart, laser tag, token place that will suck the change out of my pockets faster than a cockroach on a restaurant floor. God help me. Of course, the kids have to LIVE to go to the go-kart/token place (they slept at grandma's last night, need I say more). At the rate they are going, I may get a quiet afternoon alone.