The Dreaded "R" Word...

Since it's June - summer for us in the Northern Hemisphere - I've been thinking a lot about vacations, travel and all that sort of thing. Plus we're in the middle of a hot political season as well. Both these topics crashed head-on into each other when I put gas in my car yesterday.

There's no two ways about it, nor any polite way of putting it - we're in a RECESSION, folks. The politicians can call it what they want, but when the cost of filling my gas tank nearly maxes out my credit card...when a gallon of milk requires I pass on the cookies to go with it...and when every bill I get in the mail is higher than the last one - yep. It's a recession, all right.

So I have to wonder how you all are managing, given our current financial crisis. And in particular, how it is affecting your reading. I'm a writer. I need to know these things!!!

So here's some questions for you - and I hope you have chance to answer them. Vent a little frustration, whine, rant..whatever you want.

Question One: Are you reading as much now as you did a year ago? I'm not. Besides the time thing, I have a habit of digging around in my bookshelf for old favorites and re-reading them now and again, especially on long hot summer afternoons. It's like spending time with old friends.

Question Two: When you do scrabble together enough pennies for a book, how are you choosing what you'll buy? Are you getting less-expensive books these days? Waiting for them to be reduced or end up on the Bargain aisle? Or are you saving up for that one new release from a favorite author?

Question Three: Are you sharing books with friends? Setting up your own little lending library? (Hint: Put your NAME inside those paperbacks. They'll get lost and won't be able to find their way home otherwise. I'm still missing a Nora Roberts someplace...)

Question Four: Are you having to make a choice these days between books and other things? I'm not sure there ARE "other things" but my family has this silly habit of complaining if I'm out of stuff like eggs and bread. Obviously they haven't realized the nourishment provided by a good book. (Also a diet aid if you bought it instead of double chocolate chip ice cream. Hmm. The Recession Diet? LOL)

I'm interested in knowing how you feel about all this. How your purchases - when it comes to reading - are affected by the overall financial situation going on right now. We're all feeling the pinch, tightening our belts and looking for ways to economize - and cover that damn fuel bill. Where do books rate on your priority list?

Oh...Question Five: Anybody know where I can find some cheap gas?

Kiss me or kill me?

Yesterday, Rachel raised a very interesting point that caught my attention. Why is it okay to portray the most horrid and gruesome side of human nature in all things artistic, but the most beautiful thing in the world is apparently taboo? How come when I turn on TV I can find "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" playing on several stations, but anything with "Nudity and Adult Situations" is relegated to late night viewing? Why - to condense the question - is bloodshed okay and lovemaking out of bounds?

Taking this into the world of novels - why is Agatha Christie considered a classic by many, yet Anais Nin considered porn by even more? Exactly who is it that said "Sure, go ahead. Slice his dick off. Just don't touch it lovingly." And even more importantly, WHY did they say it?

It's something I've never quite understood. I do know that every living organism on the face of our planet has two goals - to survive and to reproduce. To survive, occasionally it must kill. And to reproduce - yep...it's gotta have some sort of sexual interaction. For humans, one is pleasant, the other fatal. So where did the notion come from that the pleasant one is "dirty" and the fatal one "acceptable"?

I have a theory about all this. It goes back a very long time, all the way back to when our species was gaining sentience. (Sorry creationists. You might want to skip this discussion.) Back then, early man watched the females growing large with child. Watched them give birth in a process which was bloody, painful and completely miraculous. And got totally scared out of their wits. That fear of women and their apparently indescribable abilities became lodged in the male psyche. After all, in the immortal words of South Park's Mr. Garrity - "how the hell can you trust something that bleeds for five days a month and doesn't die?"

Several early civilizations were pretty gender-equal. The Sumerians are a good example. Women could own land and divorce if they were so inclined. But it didn't take long for men to begin suppressing that notion. No way were they going to permit these scary creatures that kind of power. No, let's tell them how precious they are and how we're going to protect them. And then along came organized religion to lock down the process.

That was back then. Now? Sexuality has become a matter of whispers, innuendos and dirty jokes. The human body is still regarded as "naughty" and those who display it as "immoral". Sex is taught to be something done for procreation, not recreation. We hand out weapons with less concern than we hand out condoms. Yes, that fear of the entire sexual experience is still with us, even though it's metamorphosed into the twenty first century version.

"Dexter" is a serial killer with a series on network television - edited, but there nonetheless. "Criminal Minds" doesn't hold back on the bloodletting. VERY occasionally, one or two bedroom scenes sneak in. But where does one go for the no-holds-barred sex? Cable networks...FX... "Nip/Tuck" and "Rescue Me". After ten o'clock of course.

And when it comes to erotic romance novels - well hell. We're sluts, "prostituting our integrity" according to one writer. (Who doesn't apparently sell well in her genre.) No matter the hours of research we put in, the background we've acquired in our chosen field or the popularity of our titles. We're tramps, whores, loose women with looser morals in our professional AND private lives, corrupting the innocent minds of our readers. And teaching them - what??? That sex is wonderful? That two naked people can share something beyond fabulous? That love encompasses more than hand-holding at sunset?

I refuse to even make the effort to defend what I write any more. I will staunchly defend my ability TO write, but not WHAT. I will not bow down before that moralistically unreal notion which says sex is dirty, but I will change the channel when something or someone gets dismembered. I will try to remember that the "Moral Majority" is NEITHER moral nor a majority. And I will ignore those petty enough to jab sharp sticks of jealousy into my chosen literary genre. Writing good sex is as complex and challenging as writing a good murder. I've done both and hope to do so again. If that gets your knickers in a twist, then tough nookies. Go watch the "Texas Chainsaw Massacre".

I'm gonna find myself something that says LOVE is what it's all about.

A Pair of Star-crossed Lovers....

That's how Shakespeare described Romeo and Juliet. Today, I'd describe them as a pair of horny teenagers who needed to be grounded, have the keys to the stable taken a way and get their bottoms soundly smacked. Yep, I have little patience with these two, classic theater notwithstanding.

They were both in their mid-teens, for starters. Okay, so back in the Bard's day that was marriageable age. Urgh. Can you imagine being married to some of the guys you dated in Junior High? Freshman year in High School? Both Romeo and Juliet suffered from the ohmigod syndrome - "But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?"..."Wherefore art thou, Romeo?"... which translates today into "Yo, doll." and "Hey dude."

The Montagues and the Caplets needed a good dose of Dr. Phil. What happens when you tell kids with hormones leaking out their ears that they can't see someone? You got it. They break every rule in the book to do JUST THAT. So the families aren't totally blameless when it comes to star-crossing these teenage twits. And you can bet your quill that if there'd been any financial gain in uniting the families, Romeo would have been marched up the aisle beside Juliet in two seconds flat. Marriage was a sanctified business maneuver more than anything else in those days. Aha. Juliet doth bring a hefty 401K with her, which cans't enhance our coffers most righteously. Translation: Romeo, DO her, kid, with our blessings.

You may gather from this that I have little patience for the theme of star-crossed lovers. It worked for Will since he lived in a different age with different values. His words linger on today because of their magnificence...not necessarily because they're about idiot teens who wanna get laid. (I note Hamlet was also in his late teens. Which explains a lot.) But in this day and age? Star crossed lovers don't really work for me. If you're star crossed, you've screwed up somewhere or you're thinking with your hormones not your brains. It's the twenty-first century. I find it impossible to create a story of "star crossed lovers". I can't relate, and if I can't, then the story isn't going to work for readers, either.

The one exception? West Side Story. Maybe it's because it was set to music. Maybe that touch of lyrical magic - and songs that stay in your head for weeks on end - maybe the fact that it included men who could dance up a storm.... (Did you ever notice that women who like to dance marry men who don't? There's an interesting psychological theory in there someplace. But I digress...) Yeah, West Side Story did justice to those classic star-crossed lovers and suspended my belief enough that I could cry when Maria and Tony never got their happy ending. Er...I still do. LOL

So, having made poor Will Shakespeare cringe, if not roll over in his grave, I'll leave you with a parting thought for this Monday. Star crossed lovers need to get a life and work it out. And for the rest of us? Have a day like Maria! Feel PRETTY!!!

Who doth occupy that lofty seat?

Yes, it's Monday and of course I'm running late today. Oh I was up early, swigging my drug of choice (vanilla coffee) and realizing I needed laundry in a HURRY! Hence the delay in my blog. I think better in clean underwear!!

So...who's on top, you ask? For me, that's an easy one. I'll take a lusty Lord, thank you. A Knight of the Realm. Whether jousting or soliciting my hand for a waltz, he's unquestionably in control, not about to be refused and staring at me with a great deal of heat in his gaze. (Hey. It's my fantasy! Let me enjoy it, okay?)

He is a man for the ages, a man of many faces - all of them rugged, desirable and guaranteed to put a flutter into a maiden's heart. (All right, let's not quibble about the "maiden" bit. Like I said, it's MY fantasy!!) And he dresses flamboyantly, secure enough in his masculinity to be able to deal with codpieces, ruffles, cloaks and hats. Isn't it a shame that part of history has vanished into denim and baseball caps? Sigh.

In case you're in doubt, you'll see below EXACTLY who I'm talkin' about. There isn't a dude out there who better represents my choice for WHO'S ON TOP!!! For anyone who persists in believing that the Historical romance novel is dead, I say "POO"!!! Just take a look at the inestimably perfect Mr. Darcy (aka Mr. Yummy Colin Firth). If this is "dead", move over in the casket because I want in!!! What do you think?

In this lifetime? Probably not....

The subject for this week - Not in this Lifetime - can be interpreted in several different ways. When I read Ciana's post of yesterday, I smiled. Yep, I'm with my sister Hussy on a lot of these things. (I'll add "eat an oyster". Nope, not in my lifetime! Bleeeccchhhh!!!)

But then I paused. There's another way of looking at the topic...things I probably won't get to do in this lifetime, but rather wish I could. Here's a few of them:

learn to play the dulcimer
dance the tango
see the sun rise over Mount Everest
swim with dolphins
learn the names of the butterflies in my garden
identify a bird by its song
keep a gardenia alive more than two days
ski
have dinner in Venice
pet a wombat
see Rio De Janeiro
find the perfect pair of jeans
meet George Clooney (yeah you knew he'd be in here someplace)
live in Carmel
learn to speak Italian
appreciate good wine
see the Loch Ness Monster
understand financial portfolios
paint in oils

These are all things that I'd love to be able to do, but in all likelihood, I never will. Either there's no time, no opportunity, or the subject is just too vast to be absorbed at this stage of my life. Plus one's brain tends to fill as we travel our journeys, leaving less room for knowledge of the obscure and less ability to recall it even if we know it already. (Where are my keys anyway?)

Is this a poignantly sad observation? Not at all. There's always a chance I MIGHT get to do some of these. The hope that I will stumble over George Clooney at the supermarket or suddenly find my fingers working perfectly over an antique hammered dulcimer. It's not an "I'm sorry I never..." list, but a "maybe someday - I can dream" list. It changes, things get added or left off. A lifetime list of wondrous wishes that keep me smiling as I think of the possibilities...

It never hurts to remember that once upon a time "Write a book" was on top of the list. (grin)

On those days when it seems that none of these things will ever happen, I stop by a very special website and take a few minutes to look at this video. You've probably seen it - millions upon millions have already fallen in love with it. If you haven't, you're in for a treat. It's inspiring, beautiful and truly embodies the sentiment that "hope springs eternal". And it reminds me that maybe today I'll hear a birdsong and KNOW what kind of bird is singing it - just for me!

Um....

So I have the same problem - twenty five years this June with the same dude. And we're both still alive. Pretty impressive, I guess, even though I went through my share of frogs before I found my Prince.

However, that hasn't stopped me from getting inventive for this week's theme...

(Ahem)...

Give him a pain, Jane
Make a big scene, Jean
Knock him to the mat, Nat
Kiss another girl, Pearl
Blacken his eye, Ci
Push him out the gate, Kate
Shave both his legs, Meg
Lock him in the can, Ann
Abscond with his cash, Ash
Shove him in a pit, Kit
Fill his trousers with fleas, Reese
Hire a lawyer to sue, Rue
Run away with a cook, Brooke
Curl your lip and then hiss, Bliss
Laugh like hell at his bone, Joan
Kick him up the ass, Cass

...and set yourself free!!!

Keep goin' Hussies...I know I've missed some!!! And what better way to survive a Monday than playing along?

You know how to whistle, don't you Steve?

In this day and age, the word "subtle" isn't what it used to be. We discuss sex openly, chat about toys, positions and lovers, even the number and intensity of orgasms with often distressing candor. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, of course. However when I was lucky enough to score an early peek at "MAN OVERBOARD" by Lara Diamond, I was reminded why I adore old movies. Why the "noir" genre appeals to me so much, with its truly subtle sensuality that oozes sex rather than flaunts it. Go get this novel, my friends. It's fabulous!!!

But it also made me somewhat wistful for that age when women were "dolls" or "dames" - treated as something special by those guys who let their eyes roam over hips and curves with lustful appreciation. When car doors were opened without even thinking about it. When long gowns were expected for evenings and pants were something men wore to work. Sure, this is the glamorous take on the thirties and women have earned the right to stand shoulder to shoulder with men. No arguments from me on how right that is. Gender equality is a worthy goal and we should continue our battle to achieve it.

But...we've sacrificed something on the journey, I'm thinking. We've lost the art of subtle seduction. We've reached a point where sex is represented by a mostly naked model in skimpy silk and wings. Where commercials show people in bed and movies aren't considered complete unless somebody gets naked at least once. Nipples and breasts are all over the place and nudity is getting to be commonplace along with personally intimate sexual details. It's the twenty-first century, and mostly I'm okay with all this. I write hotly explicit sex scenes that readers seem to enjoy and I have fun doing it.

However, there are one or two moments when I think back to some of my favorite old films - the "Noir" films that linger at the top of the classic movie lists. And I wonder if we'll ever recapture that ability to be seductive with our clothes ON. If you don't think that's possible, then I invite you to check out the movie clip below. This is one of the HOTTEST scenes ever filmed, IMHO - sparks are leaping between Bogart and Bacall. It's in the eyes, the expressions and the dialogue. They're dressed but there's not a doubt in anyone's mind that the only thing they're thinking about at these moments is sex.

Lauren Bacall was (I think) nineteen when she filmed this particular movie. Yet to me, she exudes more flat-out sexual appeal in these few seconds than all the dimwitted blonde celebrities of today, combined with every Victoria's secret model ever photographed. If I had the choice to be a sex Goddess for the twenty first century, or a siren of the thirties - well, I know which one I'd pick.

And I defy a man to walk away from my question...."You know how to whistle, don't you Steve?"

Gimme Dat Thing!!!

When it comes to human behavior, the urge to seize something precious and hold on to it is right up there with food and sex. We've all got our "THING". Shoes? Nice things, Nat. Books? Darn it, Ci, that's one of my things too.

My sister Hussies blogs urged me to indulge in a few moments of contemplation in search of my thing. Like Nat, I knew it had to be something I craved mightily, and like Ci I knew it had to be more than the usual "stuff", eclectic though it is, that I've accumulated over the years.

It took a while, but I finally arrived at its doorstep, knocked on its door and stared it in the face.

I LOVE dressing up!!!! THAT'S my thing!!!!

Why? I have no clue, although psychiatrists would probably have a field day delving into the reasons for my passion. I'm hiding? Pretending to be someone else? Avoiding reality? Who the hell knows or cares? If it swooshes, I'm there. Does it glitter or sparkle? I'm so on it - like white on rice. If it has a corset and a long skirt - well, we're into semi-orgasmic territory. I spend a lot of time window shopping on eBay - sighing over divine Gothic fairy dresses, lusting for lavish pageant gowns and drooling over Renaissance rigs that would require a room of their own just to sleep at night. I adore Victorian nightgowns and Edwardian day dresses. I know the difference between a chemise and a surplice. I have a sewing machine and an imagination and I use both. I also have a closet that has one section jammed with costumes. If ever my supermarket has "Free Ice Cream for Wenches" day, I'm there!!!! I have corsets and petticoats, cloaks and crowns. I love sparkle, glitter, sequins and beads.

Is there something wrong with me? Maybe. But honestly? I like whatever it is that's warped in my head. I have two X chromosomes. I'm a girl. I like dressing up. I like swooshing and swanning in silks that rustle around my ankles. I like leaving the jeans behind for soft cotton, the sports bra for an uplifting corset. The only problem with my passion is that I only get to exercise it a couple of times a year. (Plus folks really need to understand women need POCKETS in their costumes!!!!) Other than those two points, I'm really okay with my thing. I have it under control. Well, most of the time. There are, of course, one or two days when I pass on housework because I just HAVE to make sure that Juliet gown still fits....

Which leads me to the title of this post...and the associated song. The video really has nothing to do with the topic, but I don't see why I should be the only person with this darned music stuck in my brains all day. (Grin)

Do we need a different hero?

Their legs brushed as he moved, so sure, so confident... "Wait...is that right?" She hesitated.

"Trust me." Low and heated, he answered her, moving even further into her darkest places, hands searching, touching, stroking - secure in the way of a man who knew what he was doing.

"I do." She breathed the words, afraid to break the magic of the moment.
His back arched and he froze in place...she felt a tingle from her toes to her eybrows. "Oh Lord..."

"There. Got it."
Her monitor flickered to life and she bit back a cry of delight. He'd done it. He'd fixed her computer. Yeah, sometimes a working computer IS better than an orgasm. She smiled at her own thoughts, then looked down. From this angle, tucked under her desk, he really did have a nice ass!

So that was fun. And something that isn't out of place in a hot erotic romance novel. But yes, I'm as guilty as the next author when it comes to making those heroes out-of-the-ordinary guys. Dukes, warlords, CEO's... sure. Barons and knights, Lords and Earls - you won't find too many humble dudes with everyday jobs in erotic romances. I confess, there is a lure to authors in this kind of man, the alpha male type we know and love.

So where (as my sister Hussy so poignantly asked) are the accountants? The shepherds? The tech support guys? Personally, I draw the line at tech support. If you've ever been on the phone, listening to soppy music, while some dude who says his name is Ross (but you know it's actually Mumble Jumble, he's twelve years old - or sounds it - and his 'office' is in Outer Burundi) mispronounces your name and tries to help you get your operating system to function - well, it ain't pretty and it sure isn't something I want in my next novel.

Putting personal issues aside, though, it is very true that most romance heroes fit a certain mold. This makes it easier for us writers, of course. A strong point in its favor. We're not lazy, but we're human. Plus undercover cops probably have more exciting cases than cops on the beat.

A CEO has money (nice dinners and a cool place to seduce the heroine), while Frank in Cubicle B shares a fourth floor apartment with two roomies and a cat. Again, it's a challenge to make hot romance work amidst Guitar Hero, World of Warcraft and kitty litter. Dukes can hop into their carriages or onto their finest steeds at the drop of a cloak, rather than having to walk five miles over hill and dale to rescue/seduce/claim their heroine, always assuming they've got the breath left to do it when they get there.

So, yes, it's convenient to have a top-of-the-pile hero. And when you take this thought one step further - it's what GOT them to the top-of-the-pile that makes them a hero. They have guts, spunk, moxie, charm, drive and passion. (Well, Dukes and Lords are born into it, but we'll ignore that because it mucks up my argument. That's called Literary License. :) ) The very features that create these men propel them into the role of hero when it comes to spicy romances. They're not afraid to take risks with their careers and they're not afraid to take the heroine to exquisite heights. Or twentieth floor penthouses, whichever comes first. A fine Chardonnay is more conducive to romance than a six-pack of lite beer.

Is there a point here? Yep. We LIVE with the six-pack, cubicle B, kitty litter guy. We wash his shorts, prepare his food and occasionally bear his children. We love him, we're committed to a life with him, and it's all good.

BUT...when we open that romance novel? We'd like to see our heroine doing improbably hot and gymnastic type things with a guy we don't know. A fantasy man who isn't really much like anyone we've ever met. We'd like to lose ourselves for a couple of hours in a world of silk and lace, elegant dinners and fabulous sheets, sleek spacecraft and dark vampire passions.

In other words, we don't really need another hero in our lives - the one we have is just perfect, be he accountant, plumber or CEO. But in our romance novels? Yes. That's where we need and adore the totally unreal dude. It's all about the wonders of escapist fantasy, folks. Come travel with me to a place where things are different - men are different - and leave the everyday stuff behind for an hour or two. Come curtsey to that wicked Lord, flirt with that bold knight, go toe-to-toe with that lusty alien starship captain and succumb to the seductive tones of the CEO in the back of the limo. None of them will ask you to wash his shorts, or what's for dinner.

They're not real. But then again, we write fiction. And that's what "fiction" means - a creation of our minds. And, in the case of erotic romance authors, a few other bits as well. But we won't go into that here.

All of which has nothing much to do with surviving Monday, but I will note that one or two fantasies about my heroes (and possibly Mr. Clooney who has the added advantage of being quite REAL and thus unique) have helped me survive the first day of the week. So maybe today's the day for you to dig up that book with that ONE hero who really did it for ya. Let him do it again. After all, he's a fantasy man with no limits on his prowess. He can do it as many times as you want.

Ah yeah....ain't fiction grand?

Ripe Cheese

As the title suggests, I'm going to talk about age today. Yeah, Monday's aren't great for that topic, but we CAN survive it. I will admit to being of "A Certain Age" - which is the French way of saying I'm someplace in between 45 and the obituary column. (Vive La France.)

I don't usually pay much attention to it, unless I happen to get into one of "those" conversations with my mother. The one that goes something like... "Dear, don't you think your hair's a bit long for a woman your age?" ... or... "You're showing a lot of cleavage for a woman your age, dear." Now, my mom is a wonderful woman. She is still, however, solidly in the Buckingham Palace mindset when it comes to appearance/age. I think she hopes to see me in a permed short "do" wearing a tasteful twinset and pearls.

Sorry, mom, ain't gonna happen. As far as the hair thing goes? My initial response is... "Hell yeah, I need long hair. What else is hubby gonna grab when he's riding me doggy style?" Okay, not really usable when talking to one's mother. And the cleavage - "No, I don't think I'm showing too much. My nipples are hidden, aren't they?" Also not terribly appropriate for daugher/mother discussions. I could answer these points individually, but it won't help much. Because mom doesn't understand that for so many of us these days, age is mind over matter. We don't mind, so it don't matter.

Sure, we look in the mirror on some Mondays and wonder what the hell happened. But there are other days when we take a look at a vibrant face, full of experience, wisdom and the humor to deal with it all. I think women should be labeled "ripe", not mature. I don't feel mature. I feel ripe - ripe for fun, ripe for laughter (and yes, ripe for a nap now and again, I'll confess. LOL) We have years behind us that have enriched us and made us who we are right now. We know more about sex than half the experts and have the medications to ease the cramped muscles which occasionally result. Are we gorgeous? Depends on your point of view. My point of view says "don't stand me next to a Victoria's secret model and I can shoot for "elegant", if not gorgeous." That works just fine for me.

I truly believe that surviving Mondays has a lot to do with how we perceive ourselves. I've never been able to convince Mom that a scrawl on a calendar has NOTHING to do with age. That long hair works for me. That cleavage, when displayed appropriately, is an excellent distraction away from the other bits I don't want noticed. I love my Mom and she loves me in spite of the hair and the tits. So we don't always see eye-to-eye on appearance and behavior. (RT convention photos of me cuddling a variety of cover models - well, I think she's still hyperventilating over those! LOL) She views me as her eldest daughter. Her grown-up daughter. The mother of her college-aged grandson. I'm all those things. But those aren't notches on the tightening belt of age. They're part and parcel of a chunk of ripe cheese that's sitting happily alongside a bevy of other ripe cheeses and enjoying life to the fullest whenever possible.

So this Monday, I will groom my long hair, tuck my girls into my engineered marvel of a bra and strut my stuff around my house. (Okay, covered by layers of warm clothing, but you get the idea.) How old we are isn't measured by a calendar on a fridge. It's measured by the life in our hearts. It's measured by the passion in our souls not the number of times we have to get the grey out of our hair. Somedays I feel like I'm a hundred-and-two. Other days - I'm twelve. I'm a woman of a "certain age" - I'm a HUSSY - and I have long hair.

If you're a "ripe cheese" or heading that way, let me know how YOU deal with the whole thing? I'd love to hear!!!

That Moral Monday Mindset...

Come Monday morning, it's hard to remember that there are things in this world that really turn us on! Mondays are about beginning the work week (where's my car keys?), getting the kids off to school (no, you can't take the cat for Show and Tell) and organizing your life (Eeeek. I'm out of clean underwear!).

It's funny how a date on the calendar can shape our thinking. On Saturday, we were all about the shaved legs and the handsome waist we planned on wrapping them around. Now it's cereal, coffee and lunch boxes.

Ever wonder why? Are we supposed to put aside the sexual components of our brains while we figure out where little Johnny's gerbil is hiding?
Yep, women are lauded for being able to step from wanton woman into wife/mother without missing a beat. Do men? Since they apparently have sexual thoughts at least every other minute, I doubt it. While we're on our knees looking for the gerbil under the heating duct, our significant other is probably staring at our ass and having decadently naughty thoughts about it.

I say it's time for equality, girls. Let HIM look for the damn gerbil while WE admire HIS ass. If we want some satisfying time between the sheets on a Monday, then why the hell not? Time to shift the balance a little bit. Share those evening chores (so what if he forgets to wash behind your kid's ears?) while you indulge in an after dinner glass of wine. Your bathrobe may be fuzzy and lined with flannel, but the mere suggestion that there's not much of anything underneath and your children will get the quickest bath they've ever had and be tucked down for the night in record time.

Yep, Mondays can work for sex. Any day can work for sex. All we have to do is get our weekend mindset into place - and then go for it!!! Everything that turned us on last Saturday night (that would be a warm smile, a kiss, a George Clooney movie or an erotic romance - by a HUSSY of course [grin]) - it's all still there. You got the urge on a Monday? You got that itch that needs a good male scratchin'? There isn't a man alive who'd turn you down.

It's all in your head, sister Hussies! The calendar may say Monday, but if your head and other places are singing about Saturday night... let the good times roll!!

(And for our friends in primary election states this week...
I'm Sahara Kelly and I approved this message)

Take a BATH!!!

No, that wasn't a comment on your personal hygiene - the Internet's good, but not that good yet. Thank heavens.

I'm talking about soaking in an honest-to-God tub full of hot bubbly water!!! In this day of rapid fire conversation, sound bites and instant everything, we tend to "grab a shower" more often than not. In, lather, rinse, repeat and out. We're clean, but are we soothed?

Right now Mondays are hectic, crammed with last minute holiday stuff and your shower is probably even quicker than usual. So here's my suggestion for surviving Monday this week.

Hit your local drug store, fork out four bucks for a tube of something flowery and fragrant in the way of shower/bath gel (lavender is lovely - and so is jasmine!) and then treat yourself to something fun - a foot care brush with scrubber or something. Don't spend over nine or ten dollars total. This isn't about lazing around with champagne and candles and your lover. If you've got the time and the cash, great. If you've got a lover with that kind of time to spare, even better - and more power to you. Most of us haven't.

So - you've got your little treats. All you need is ten minutes!!! Turn on the tub and put a good dollop of your gel under the water. While the tub is filling with fragrant bubbles, clean the sink, change the towels and do those bathroom chores you always do. Why waste time waiting for the tub to fill? It's about multitasking these days. When the tub is ready for you, get your hair out of the way and sink in, letting that warm scented air fill your lungs as you do so.

Now....wash. Just the same as if you were in the shower. You may not be lingering, but you ARE relaxing. Grab your foot care gizmo and lather your feet - then treat them to exfoliation, stimulation, a good scrub and a wee bit of massage. Combined with the soothing sensation of warm water cradling your body and a pair of feet that have been tenderly nurtured...well, hell, girl - you're ready for anything!!!! (If you've overdone the bubbles, drain the tub and then turn on the shower briefly just to rinse them away. Er..make sure you stand back a bit in case the shower water is cooler than the bath water. That falls under the heading of "eeek"!!)

See? Ten minutes - not much longer than that shower - and you have a clean bathroom, fresh towels and best of all... a mind and body that are calm, relaxed and ready to embrace whatever the day may bring. At the very least, you'll be soothed enough not to kill anything. Given the demands of the holiday season, I think that state of mind is a good thing!!

If anyone needs me, I'll be in the tub. I might just stay there until Spring!!! (grin)

For Hussies in the Snow Belt...

It's here. Winter, that is. And along with it, that first snowstorm, which is bad enough. When it happens on a Monday? Look out. Here's a few tips for surviving Mondays when you're up to your butt in the white stuff...


Ditch the designer boots. They're cute as hell, cost a fortune and they're going to die at the first sign of anything cold and wet. Sorry - this is a time for thick ugly clumpy footwear unless you go from a dry garage to another dry garage. (Lucky you.)


Don't shovel. Get someone else to do it for you. Stick ten dollars in your pocket, throw on some makeup and stand on your front doorstep looking adorably helpless. The ten bucks is for the first kid who goes past and catches your eye.


If you have to shovel, remember not to shovel into the wind. Blowback's a bitch and - if it's really windy - it hurts!


Use moisturizer - lavishly. This isn't a time for a delicate touch - this is a time to yank out the facial equivalent of WD-40 lubricant and smear it thickly over your face. Winter air can be even more damaging than the summer sun - especially when sunshine is reflected off that white stuff. (Goes double for you skiers!!!)


You've listened to the weather reports, so you have bread, milk and toilet paper. Hopefully you also got something useful like a book, chocolates and plenty of cocoa. Remember that snow turns ordinary drivers into Nascar finalists and there's likely to be "trouble in turn two" - which is in front of your house this morning not in Daytona. Be PATIENT when you're behind the wheel! It'll all melt in the spring!


If none of these things work, consider becoming a "snow bird" and heading south to warmer climes. Just remember there's always someone worse off...as this video demonstrates quite clearly!!! Stay warm and keep smiling....

Makin' Time

Here we are, Monday again - but this one marks the start of a long race to the finish line - the Holiday season. Aaaaargh. For any reader with a family, children, relatives, pets, neighbors - in other words almost every one of us - this time of year is about as stressful as it gets. (With the possible exception of tax time!!) You'll probably notice a lot of good advice everywhere on how to de-stress. From inhaling a variety of herbs (not those kinds of herbs) to singing, jogging and even giving your turkey a good solid smack when you're stuffing it. (Don't ask me, although the idea has merit...!)

My advice? Go on vacation. Okay, you can stop laughing! I didn't mean packing, airline tickets or suntan lotion. I mean a mini-vacation for your mind!!! And I'm gonna tell you how to do it!!!

Step one - close your eyes. Preferably not while you're driving. Behind the wheel isn't a good place for a mini-vacation unless you're stuck in traffic or you've actually found a place to park at the mall. (That deserves a party rather than a vacation!!!)

Step two - paste a "picture" in your mind of the most beautiful place you've ever been. A beach? A mountain? Someplace quiet maybe - a field at sunset - whatever your favorite memory is. This is YOUR vacation, no one else's!

Step three - go there for a moment or two. Focus on shutting out everything around you. Push your mind to remember the sights, smells, sounds of your favorite place and take a look around inside your head. Relax your body if you can while you're doing this. Just "be" in that place for a few short minutes out of this busy day. And relaaaax...

It sounds simple - and it is. But it does require you find those few quiet seconds. The shower works, or the time before the rest of your family arrives in the kitchen. Maybe when they've gone off to work/school and before you have to leave. Perhaps even while you're waiting for that load of laundry to finish the final spin cycle. Lay all the busy-stuff to one side and just "chill" for a tiny portion of your day. It's refreshing, relaxing, re-vitalizing and can help you wade through yet another stressful pre-holiday twenty-four hours. Trust me. It does work. I do it more and more as the stores fill up, the to-do list gets longer and longer and my patience thins out to a microfilament I'm hanging on to with my back teeth.



For anyone who can't think of a memory off the top of their heads, I'm tossing out this photo for you - it's the Reid Glacier in Alaska. One of my favorite mini-vacation places. The air that day was cool and crisp, the scenery - well, spectacular doesn't do it justice - it was quiet, just the sound of the water lapping around our ship and the cry of seabirds wheeling over the stark landscape...mmmm....I'm more relaxed already. Now I can get going. Where's that pastry for the pies?

Here's hoping you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving filled with love, laughter, family and friends. Oh yes...and some wonderful mini-vacations! No postcards required!

[Confession - sometimes I take George Clooney with me!!! Hey. It's MY vacation - why not?? Although those little trips sometimes last longer than five minutes. ;) ]

A Day for Heroes

Today in the US we celebrate Veteran's Day - another Monday that may or may not be a holiday, depending on where you live. So instead of suggesting how to survive it, I figured it would be nice to suggest how to appreciate it - and the heroes it represents.

Romance writers need heroes. Without 'em, our heroines would do a lot more knitting than they do now. But when you think about it, everybody needs heroes, whether in a romance novel or not. And they're out there, quietly going about their business, day after day.

Yep, I'm talking about your average Joe. The Joe who puts on a uniform and badge and works his shift as Police Officer Joe. Or the guy who drops everything at the station when an alarm goes off, grabs his protective gear and emerges as Fireman Joe. Then there's the thousands of Joes who wake up every morning, not just Mondays, in a place about as far away from home as they can get. Those are the G.I. Joes, and they put on military uniforms without a blink.

They may not be tall, dark and handsome. They may not be hung like horses, or have the sexual talents of a bedroom god. But they are heroes, make no mistake about it. After all, it's gotta take something special to produce a Joe like that. Something in his heart that strengthens him enough to take on his daily job - some of which would make the rest of us curl up and whimper. And of course, Joe isn't alone. Jane is right there beside him, being a hero in her own right regardless of her gender.

So on this Veteran's Day Monday, I'm gonna take a moment and sent out a silent thankyou to all the heroes out there. And the families who stand beside them. No hero I've ever created for a story can come near to possessing the sheer guts and quiet strength you guys possess in abundance. May you survive this Monday and all the Mondays to come, healthy and happy. May you soon come home if you're far away, also healthy and happy. And may we all find a way to tell you how much we appreciate you - not just today, but every day.

And may we all enjoy a bit of a sleep-in if we can. After all, the holidays are approaching. It's gonna get rough, folks. Grab that hour now - in a few weeks, you'll wish you had!!!

Come Fly With Me - if you must...

Some folks simply have to fly on Mondays. I do it myself from time to time. So here’s a few tips for not only surviving Mondays, but surviving the flying experience at the same time.

Do NOT fly before ten am if at all possible. Otherwise, you’ll be lost in a pile of empty Starbucks cups and probably wearing several dollops of cream cheese swiped over your body from those whole-wheat bagels. I like coffee as much as the next guy, but I don’t want to wear anybody’s breakfast. It’s not a good fashion statement for me.

Do NOT make eye contact while waiting at the gate. If you do, you stand a good chance of getting hit on by that tourist from someplace you’ve never heard of, wearing a shirt that should never have seen the light of day and with little or no conversation other than “Hi.” (Guaranteed to slide you out of your undies, right? Sigh.) You might also end up helping a little old lady fasten her stockings. (Okay, this happened to me in Heathrow, so maybe it’s a British thing, but why take the risk?) If you don’t look people in the eye, it makes it easier to push them out of the way and step on their children when your row is announced for boarding.

When finally seated, do NOT ask for liquids that are hot or spillable. Anything other than a bottle of water and turbulence is all but certain. The air gods are watching. They wait for that nice full cup of coffee then - splat. It’s their version of volleyball. Again, wearing food and/or beverages - well, it really doesn’t work, although it might score a tidy four points on Mount Olympus.

Try not to read what’s on the laptop next to you. It’s not polite airtravel etiquette and it’s probably boring as hell anyway, unless he’s writing an erotic romance. Let’s face it, the odds are against that happening. Stick with your own spicy novel and make sure he can’t read your pages. Especially if it’s that guy who hit on you earlier.

And finally - this has to be one of the funniest airline commercials EVER. It’ll keep me laughing through those endless gate changes and delays. Hope it’ll work for you too.

The Monday Workout

We all know a workout is good. Sadly, for a lot of us, the spirit is willing but the flesh is deplorably weak. So here’s my suggestion to get your Monday off to a healthy start.

Step 1. Go out on Sunday and buy one of those “Look Three Sizes Slimmer” undergarments.

Step 2. After your Monday shower, remove it from the package. It will look like something resulting from the cross-breeding of an Ace bandage with a bag of elastic bands. Don’t worry, this is how it’s supposed to look.

Step 3. Put it on.

Here’s the workout part. First, put both feet through the leg holes. Yes, they are there, they look like funnels, but if you wiggle your toes you’ll find the right places sooner or later. Remove the bits that catch on your toenails and work until both bare feet are actually touching the floor. Now bend at the knees, grasp the garment at both sides and try to stand up, drawing it with you.

Try again. And again - until you can actually achieve something resembling a vertical stance. (Feel the burn in your thighs? Good.) You’re hobbled, so remember staggering uses calories. Grab the towel and make sure every part of your lower body is completely dry. Any moisture will double your workout - it’s up to you if you want to sweat that much. Now ease upward once more, remembering that this is supposed to reach your crotch at some point during the exercise session. How long this will take is a function of your leg length multiplied by your patience limitations minus the cling factor of the rubber along your thighs.

Breathe here. Holding your breath isn’t recommended until you’ve actually reached the crotch. Now you can suck it in because it has to go over your stomach and continue upward until it’s somewhere close to the base of your bra. Yes, it will stretch that far. But it needs encouragement. You can now use your biceps, triceps, forceps or whatever ceps will get the job done.

Breathe again. Blue isn’t your color at this time of day.

Now close your eyes and envision a Sumo wrestler readying himself for a fight. Lift one leg high in the air at an angle of ninety degrees to your body, stretch it and thump it down onto the floor. Repeat with the other leg and continue until you’re sort of wearing the entire thing and most of it is almost where it’s supposed to be. Wiggling is good (uses the glutes) and removes the wedgie. You’re now up to about a thousand workout calories - good going. If you’re lucky, this will end the first session. If not, continue wiggling, stomping (and cursing) until you’re encased in a lovingly clinging wrap of engineered slimming bliss.

The workout will continue to keep your metabolism high during the day as you fidget to roll the waistband back up around your torso, remove the bits stuck in your butt and correct the placement of the thigh bands. Going to the bathroom more than once while wearing this garment will result in an additional metabolic burn of approximately five hundred calories - depending on the size of the stall and how badly you have to go.

Does it work? Well, the first two sizes you sweat off while attempting to put the darn thing ON. The third? Personally, I didn’t notice my behind “lifted and shaped”, but then again I don’t look at my ass that much. (Too depressing.) I could, however, zip up my jeans without lying down and nearing asphyxiation. Definitely a plus.

It’s not a ten-mile run, of course. Or even twenty minutes on the treadmill. But for those of us who think running is cruelty to breasts, and the treadmill nothing but an endless road to nowhere - well hell! We’ll take the elastic torture garment regime any day. Now where did I put my shoehorn? I have to take it OFF tonight…

Next week: A look at the physics behind the “reed” in flutes and its usefulness as applied to farting a middle C while wearing a thong.

You gotta be YOU

Monday mornings! Urgh. You look in the mirror and realize why Sports Illustrated didn't call again this year when filling their swimsuit model quota. It's so not fair that some people have more than their share of gorgeousness while you're stuck staring at the cat - who's staring back with a raised eyebrow and that "If you didn't feed me I probably wouldn't stick around" look.

Okay, well...you've got more in common with the rest of the us than you do with an anorexic swimsuit model who's thrown up everything she ate since she was twelve. Maybe it's time to remember you have a LOT to offer the world just as long as you can find out exactly what that is. We all have something special, some gift, some skill, some talent that makes us unique. It's just a matter of realizing it on a Monday morning. So I'm offering an inspirational video that I hope will start you thinking positively about yourself. Find those good points, be proud of 'em - and smile! That's the best way to start off this particular day!!! (And congrats to whoever made this video - it really gets the point across!!! LMAO)

When is a Monday NOT a Monday?

Trick question! It’s always Monday, but sometimes it’s not really a Monday. Today is a good example. For some of us here in the States, it’s Columbus Day - a holiday. (And how much do you wanna bet Columbus chucked off at least three of his crew for endlessly asking “Hey, Chris, are we there yet?”)

So for you guys getting an extra lie-in, congrats! Enjoy it! Do whatever you do on a holiday Monday. Tuesday’s comin’! LOL

For those of you stuck with an ordinary Monday and hating it, just remember - it COULD be worse. Since a picture’s worth a thousand words, I figured I’d simply put in the one below. Can you imagine looking out your window on a Monday morning and seeing THIS????



You see? It could be worse!! A LOT worse. Try explaining THIS to anyone without blushing!

Have a Hussy Monday!

How to live through the next twenty four hours..

Welcome, Monday people, or as we’re more commonly known - the walking dead! Yeah, that’s not all of us, I know, but some of us have a real issue with opening at least one eye during this godawful introduction to the work week.

So the alarm’s gone off, you’ve dragged your tired butt into the shower and you’re staring at your coffeepot wondering if it’ll part with one more cup to fuel your sputtering body. Was it worth it, you wonder? Did you just have the best weekend of your entire life? Well, here’s a few ways to tell…

You woke up next to George Clooney or Brad Pitt. If you woke up between ‘em - dayum, woman…you shouldn’t be wasting time reading blogs!!!

You found a rose on your pillow. Awwww. What a guy!

You’re walking bowlegged and don’t care. Again, we say awwww, what a guy!

Most of the sheets are still on the bed, but the pillows are on the floor. And there’s a new set of handcuffs dangling from your headboard. Oh yeah. You had a real good weekend, baby.

There aren’t any tighty whities in a heap on the floor. They’re in the laundry basket. (Please post this dude’s cell phone number on MySpace. He’s an endangered species.)

And the sign you had the best weekend ever? You have both eyes open and you’ve got makeup in the right places. It’s Monday and a good hair day. And you’re singing “You shook me all night long” as you leave for work! You Hussy, you!

But in case you’re not quite at your best and you’re thinking that extra cup of coffee might just tip the scales in your favor…remember there can be side effects! LOL


For the Hussies, I’m Sahara Kelly. Happy Monday!!
When we’re good, we’re good.
When we’re bad, we’re better!