Snippet # 3

Meet Ben:

“Do you want me Julia?” His voice is low, alluring.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to touch you here?” He lightly presses his fingers on my panties, applying pressure against my throbbing sex.

My muscles clench. “Yes,” I gasp.

“Do you want me inside you?” He brushes his lips down my neck, lightly nibbling by my collarbone.

“Yes,” I whisper. My body is on fire. I need him right now like I need air to breathe.

“Good… After dinner.” He straightens himself out and releases his hold on me.

My mouth falls open. I’m completely confounded. What the fuck just happened? I thought we were about to have sex.

“Something wrong?” he asks with a devilish smirk and raised brow. Holy shit, I know his game. He’s teasing me back. The bastard.

Coming May 15, 2014

Hi Diddle-Dee-Dee…A Farmer’s Life for Me.

I had this idea in my head that I’d be an excellent backyard farmer. Live off the land, so to speak. Provide my family with nutritious, delicious, fresh off the vine vegetables and save a few bucks. Every afternoon, I could go to my garden and pick lettuce, tomatoes, and zucchini. I would spend early mornings, tending to the weeds, keeping a happy environment for my plants to thrive.

So last year, I went for it.

As with any new project… I began enthusiastically, rushing out to our local Home Depot … all the while whistling John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” to myself. Yes, this farmer was starting from scratch…no pre-grown vegetables in peat pots for me. I’m starting early and growing them from seed.

My husband and I purchased wood to make a few raised beds. Then we went to the garden center and picked up our own peat pots. Next we chose seeds. There’s so many. I remember as a kid, there were probably ten kinds of vegetables seeds you could purchase. Things have changed. There were rows of different varieties of carrots, beans, corn, tomatoes. Too much for this farmer. After a very scientific and thoughtful process, (Eeny-meeny-miny-moe) we chose our seeds.

All that was left was the dirt. Yes, I bought dirt. True, I had plenty of free dirt in my yard…if I didn’t mind living with the ants that reside in it. We looked at all the fancy dirt blends. Even something as simple as dirt is complicated… and pretty damn expensive. It’s dirt.

We ended up purchasing the cheapest dirt we could find and a bag of humus (not to be confused with hummus, the chickpea dip) and a bag of manure. That’s right, I paid a couple of hard earned bucks for a bag of shit.

This was exciting. My own garden. I had visions of a cornucopia on the dining room table every night, filled with the day’s harvest. This is good. I realize the up front money was more than I budgeted, but I will make it back tenfold because I can skip the produce aisle for months. Kind of an extreme couponing for farmhands. This is good. This is very good.

First things first. I have to mix my dirt, dip and shit together. I find a container we once used to mix concrete. That’ll have to do; it’s the biggest container I own. I open the bags and pour out the contents. Now I have to mix it. At first, I take a shovel and mix it around, but it’s making a major mess, spilling over. So I get down on my knees, throw on my gardening gloves and mix it the old fashioned way. By hand. So basically I have my hands in a mix of soil and crap. But this is the price you pay to be a hearty farmer….and that’s my new title.

Once the mix is complete, I get my tiny garden shovel and fill the peat pots with the newly enriched concoction I created. I open the seed packets. Hmm… the seeds are pretty small. I can probably fit a few in each pot. That’ll save me even more cashola. I’m quite the brilliant frugal farmer already. After about an hour of filling each tiny peat pot with various seeds, it occurs to me that they need sun. It’s too cold outside…so all around the kitchen and dining room they go. On folded tables, folding chairs. Anything I can find and place in front of a window.

While the seeds are germinating and doing their growing thing…we need to prepare the earth and build the raised beds. And when I say ‘we’… I mean my husband. This project was put off for various reasons. It’s too cold, it’s raining, the ground’s too hard…and the most popular….I’m tired. I’ll do it tomorrow. While I wait for tomorrow to arrive, I take special care of my seedlings. Always making sure they are properly watered and they have plenty of sunshine. I take them out on my deck in early May to acclimate them to wind and fresh air. Yes, acclimate plants. Wiki said so…and they never lie. So every day I’d move my seedlings in and out of the house. Like a nervous mother snooping on their kid’s Pre-K class from an outside window, I’d watch from the sliding glass door and nervously jump every time the wind blew. My plant babies!

It’s two months later and tomorrow is finally here. At this point, my seeds have grown to big proud plants. Too big for the peat pots I purchased (<—say that three time fast) and overcrowded from my frugal planting. I’m in crisis mode to save my plants. After extensive research, I’ve determined that they have no more nutrients to squeeze out of my magical shit and dirt mix. These must get in the ground. Besides, at this point, it’s late June. They should have been planted weeks ago.

After my poor husband worked his ass off, making his farmer wife happy with four new raised beds, and a nifty trellis for string beans… I’m ready to plant. This is when I realize I have more plants than room to plant them. Now what am I supposed to do? I cared for my plant babies; I can’t just throw them in the trash. I plant what I can fit. Zucchini, mixed spring lettuces, cucumber, carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, string beans…and our glamour crop…watermelon.

I find buckets, old pots anything I can to plant the orphan plants. My pretty farm is looking a little hodgepodge at this point, like a thrift store of this and that with a plant stuck in anything. I set the other plants free to fend for themselves, never actually throwing them out.

The potatoes were pretty cool to grow. I saw on you tube, you can grow them in garbage bags. With the chipmunk and mole issues we have, that was the perfect solution. (You tube this…it really is pretty darn neat).

For the first two weeks, I’d go out every morning and tend to the garden. Pulling weeds, water the plants, inspecting each plant for disease. I even read up on hand pollinating if the bees didn’t show up. I was ready.

By the third week, I realized it’s pretty fucking hot in the sun in July. I’ll weed at night. This proved to be a mistake, as the mosquitoes enjoyed devouring me… a lot. A fucking lot. Apparently I’m quite tasty…and they told all their mosquito friends.

So I try early in the morning. It seems that New Jersey has a constant stream of mosquito armies on duty. No matter what time I went out, I was getting eaten alive. Well, fuck that. I’ll let the weeds grow and just water the plants. This also was a colossal fail, as my cucumbers and zucchini plants got some white powdery mildew on them and died on me. All of them. Dead. Muerto. Bereft of Life. Powdery white plant cadavers soaking up the sunshine.

My tomatoes at this point have hardly grown. I have no idea why. I did every thing right. They got sun. Okay they didn’t get weeded, but they got water. That’s something. Tomatoes are spiteful… that’s the only explanation.

Because of my mosquito/weeding protest, I can’t pick any of my lettuce. I can’t tell what’s lettuce leaves and what’s a weed. I have a fear of dying. I’m not about to ingest something that may send me to the Emergency Room. So that’s another crop fail.

I still had my green beans…which are doing surprisingly well. And growing freakishly long. Probably a mutation…but I don’t care, it’s all I have left.

So in the end…I got a handful of tomatoes. I mean exactly a handful…they fit in my hand. There goes my dreams of homemade tomato sauce.

So here’s what we ended up with after all that work and money spent.

My potatoes grown in a large trash bag

 

Mutant Green beans

 

My only carrot

Watermelon…our glamour crop

Glamour Crop- Actual size.

Nice huh? And I’m going to do it all over again this year.
~End business~

The book is done and due to be published soon.

I have an Author Page on facebook. Please ‘LIKE’ it (and tell your friends). I need constant reassurance…and you can keep up with my book there.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/AC-Netzel/643706702344488?ref=hl

Fanfiction stuff:

I have the outline to the next chapter to the Different Way story completed (hint: Wanda).  Working on the chapter now.

And after many requests…and the fact that I love to mess with Mr. Grey…there will be a part 3 to Nighttime Thoughts.

 

That’s all for today. Enjoy!

 

 

Snippet Time

It’s been a busy month. I know I have a lot of blog catching up to do.  So no one thinks I fell off the face of the Earth…here’s a small snippet from my book.  Due out Early May. I have a new Author Page on Facebook too.  Please “Like” it.   I suffer from Middle Child Syndrome and need constant reassurance.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/AC-Netzel/643706702344488

(Snippet below)

Meet Julia:

I suppose BOB and I could make a happy life as a couple. He never makes any demands, other than the occasional battery change, which admittedly has been often since I dumped that cheating asshole. And I know BOB would never betray my heart. He seems quite taken with me; he’s hard for me all the time after all, and he lives rent free in my nightstand drawer. It’s a win-win for both of us.

Mrs. Julia Dildofucker. Yup, my future’s looking bright.

 

Insomnia brings out the crazy

I have a sleep window, the time when I’m so tired I need to either nap in the afternoon… or go to bed for the night. (Depending on what time of the day my sleepiness presents itself).  When the need for sleep hits me, there’s a short period where I either use it or lose it.  If I wait too long I lose my sleep mojo.

This happened to me countless times on weekend afternoons when I pulled a late nighter (that’s a lie…I had one wine too many) and I’d peter out in the early afternoon.  Knowing I have a ton of errands to run, I’ll fight through my exhaustion (wine haze) because I know if I take a nap, I’ll have no desire to go out when I wake up. So, my husband and I  dash around town, doing the Costco, Home Depot, Target, Shoprite runs—or as we affectionately call it- A Hot Date.

Yup, life in the Land of Netzel is nothing but thrilling.

 

Once our errands are completed and we’re home, I groggily traipse upstairs to our bedroom to indulge in my well deserved (and very much needed) nap. Snuggling in my warm and cozy bed, I close my eyes and drift off to a peaceful sleep.  Three minutes later, my eyes are wide open.   I lost my window…my sleep mojo is gone.  Poof! Disappeared.  I’m still tired (exhausted, wine-hazy and now cranky as hell) …but the moment is lost.

This phenomenon does not apply to naps only; it also applies to my nighttime sleep.  You know, the eight hours we’re supposed to get each and every night to start our day bright eyed, bushy tailed and all that jazz.

This brings me to last night.  At around ten o’clock my head was in the throws of some serious bobbing, as I dozed off on the couch.  Several times, Mr. Netzel nudged me, telling me I should go upstairs to bed.  I refused.  It was Sunday and I didn’t want the weekend to end. I forced myself to stay awake, although I was crappy company, constantly yawning and dozing off again.

By 11:30 I finally gave in.

By 11:45 Mr. Netzel was comatose and I was wide awake.  I missed my window.

It’s funny the things that go through your mind when you can’t sleep.  The number one thing that goes through your mind…Why can’t I sleep?

Aggravating as hell.

 

After the initial berating myself for not going to bed an hour and a half earlier, I start to overthink.  Overthinking when you’re frustrated, exhausted, and something I like to refer to as “sleepy-stupid” is a bad combination.  All sorts of random thoughts pop into your head. There’s no rhyme or reason…. over-tired brain babble.

Here’s one of my thoughts…this one went on for a while.

Knowing that filming for the Fifty Shades of Grey movie just wrapped, it was on my mind.  I know why, it’s pretty much every other topic on my facebook newsfeed.

This got me thinking about actors and movie sex.  Now, I realized they simulate sex, but still.  There’s nakedness, lots if they do it right.  Then my brain takes it to the next level.  How would I feel if my husband was an actor and part his work was to get naked and simulate sex with a pretty, young, flexible actress he just met?  Could I be cool about it and convince myself that it’s part of his job? Would I be secure enough in our relationship to allow it? Could I look him in the eye when he came home after a long day at “work”?  Or would I give him the side eye?

It didn’t take long to know my answer… although the paycheck is nice and the possibility that his career could flourish is incentive… I’d be totally selfish and put the kibosh on it. I’m not that cool.  I’m not that secure.

Even if they had him wearing one of those cock socks.  You know, the garment actors wear over their manhood to protect their modesty. Not a freaking chance in hell.  There’s still uglies bumping…and that particular ugly belongs to me.

 

On filming days for sex scenes, my husband’s hands will be cupping the perfect young and perky tits of a woman who is most definitely not his wife. The very girl he just met a few weeks prior. His tongue gliding down her stomach, trailing featherlike kisses back up to her neck.  (Excuse me for a moment…I need to find a photo of my husband and burn it).  Her perfectly manicured nails will be raking down his back, while she lay naked under him, her legs wrapped around his waist.

All the while I’m home, watching reruns of The Nanny, sticking pins in the groin of the Voodoo doll I named affectionately after my husband, while yelling at it “Simulate this- You Bastard!”  (Don’t worry, she gets one too.)

Next, I imagined going to the wrap party with my husband, a festive get together of cast and crew after three months of filming.  Everyone is smiling and laughing.  Drinks are flowing.  The lead actress comes up to me to exchange niceties. She may be the sweetest person in the world, but to me she’s the bitch who got naked with my man. I try to act cool, but inside I want to scratch her eyes out.  I know my husband probably had his mouth wrapped around her nipples three days earlier, while he pounded his sock into her ugly.  I’d wonder if he had a sock slip…or if anything else slipped.  Too much wondering.

Like I said, I’m not cool.

I had to get my mind off of that scenario because it was making me angry at my husband who was doing nothing but peacefully sleep beside me, oblivious to my irrational fury and jealousy over something that never happened.

I start thinking about the book I’m writing.  Sometimes I hear the conversations between the characters in my head.  It’s like I’m eavesdropping on a private discussion.  I hear the words go back and forth …over and over.  This time a phrase was used and I wanted to remember it.  But it’s three am and pitch black in my bedroom.  On my nightstand is a pad and pen I keep for these moments of clarity.  I didn’t want to wake my husband, but I knew I’d lose the words if I didn’t write it down.  So in the darkness, I scribble something.

Two words scribbled in handwriting I don’t recognize.   Fortunately for me, I remembered what I was referring to and added it in the chapter (I’m guessing it’ll be in chapter 16 when all is said and done).

By now it’s close to four a.m.  I’m still awake  and the hubs is snoring.

In a desperate attempt to bore myself to sleep, I grab my cell phone and connect to the internet.  After about an hour.  I’m bored enough to call it a night. I close my eyes and finally drift off.

 Buzz, Buzz, Buzz…. Stupid alarm clock. Six a.m came around fast. Time to get up and start the day.

So here’s my lesson learned.  Don’t ignore the sleep window. It messes with your head.

~o0o~

Some quick notes: I’ve received a few questions regarding my Different Way story.   I’d like to thank everyone who took the time to read it and inquire about it. I have not abandoned the story and will continue it.  I’m back in my writing groove, so hopefully soon.  Thank you again for your patience.

I’ve been thinking about moving my fanfics over to this blog.  I haven’t decided yet.  This way, everything is in one place…and it’ll give me the opportunity to rewrite some of the chapters I’ve always wanted to retackle.   I’ll get back to you on that.

About my book.    I’m very close to the end of it before it goes into the first round of real editing.  Please let me know if you’d like to see some snippets here and I’ll see what I can do.

And lastly, I’d like to thank all of you who take some time out of your day to read this blog.  It’s been fun to write.  Please be sure to subscribe to it and follow me if you like what you see.

That’s all for today.  Make it a good one.

You’ve got to be kidding me… It’s going to snow again?

I’m managing my facebook exile pretty well. I’ve written four additional chapters for my original story in that time, the first draft anyway. I usually take a few days after to think about what I wrote (and go through some inner conflict tug of war over whether I like it or hate it.  At some point during my turmoil, the answer is both.  I’ll fix what didn’t work and move on.)

 As you have probably worked out, my process is not that complicated.  The truth is- I’m not that deep.  And I like it that way.

While I work out the kinks in the original, I figure it’s time to get working on a much delayed update or two in FSOG fanfiction world.  That’s what’s on today’s menu anyway. 

 My Social Media Dom has allowed me a few minutes here and there to peek into facebook.  I hope he doesn’t get too used to his Dom status because those days are numbered. Soon I’ll be back to my well-deserved Queen of the Castle status.

 

While perusing my newsfeed, I’ve come to the conclusion that I haven’t missed much. In the few times I’ve peeked in, I’ve found that most  status’ are my fellow facebook friends bitching and moaning about snow. Granted, this part of the world has been dealing with a shitload of snow.  I’m not a fan of snow. Truthfully, I hate snow (yet, I enjoy shoveling snow… it burns away all the wine calories… and there’s a lot to burn).

Correction, I like pretty snow. The kind that sticks onto the trees and grassy surfaces, leaving the streets and sidewalks clear.  That has not occurred this winter.  We are getting pounded.  Three storms just this week.  It’s crazy. Mother Nature is really getting around…Snow Slut that she is.

When my daughter was in middle school, the eighth grade sponsored a day trip to the Pocono Mountains for some winter sports… skiing, snowboarding, tubing, all the outdoorsy cold winter fun activities I’d rather avoid.  Parents were encouraged to come along and participate.  Like many of us, I was an overprotective parent with visions of my daughter breaking her leg from a freak tubing accident, so I was on board.  Mind you, we were not chaperones; we were there to enjoy the joys of winter along with everyone else.

The kids were having a blast, decked out in eighty layers of coats, hats and scarves.  My daughter and her friend begged me to join them on the mountain. 

Hello darling daughter….  Have you met me?

Fortunately, they were still young enough to believe that anything I told them was gospel.  Like a few other snow-hating mothers, I explained to them that I was staying behind at the ski lodge in case someone was injured and needed help.  I’m so selfless, such a giver.  Satisfied with that excuse, the girls scampered back to the frigid mountain, while I and all the other selfless parents waited patiently in the ski lodge.

Here’s what our kids thought we were doing:

 

 Here’s the reality:

 

 Needless to say, we made the best of the day (and slept it off on the bus ride home… Good Times).

~o0o~

A few years ago, we were hammered with a bitch of a blizzard. This is a worst case scenario for a snow hater like me.  It’s not pretty snow.  It’s snow that keeps you locked up in your house for days with nothing else to do but eat and deal with bored kids.

I was miserable at the prospect of this snow event.  Mother Nature was setting herself up to be particularity slutty…porn star slutty. I needed a diversion, something to keep my mind off of the storm as it was happening, and lighten my misery.  That’s when I had my moment of clarity.

I read somewhere that it’s practically impossible to look at a penguin and feel angry.  You can’t argue with that logic.  Think of a penguin right now…you’re happy right?   You can’t help yourself, can you?

Meet Paulie the Penguin.  He belongs to our neighbors. We steal it off their porch every Christmas and return it in July. Paulie was about to make this blizzard tolerable.

We placed him on a table outside and let Paulie and Mother Nature entertain us. 

Paulie at 11:00 am: Ready for the fun to begin:

Paulie at 3:00 pm.   He’s still holding his own:

5:00 pm…Things are starting to suck for Paulie:

 7:00 pm.  Paulie is experiencing numbness on his face.  Meanwhile, I’m warm and toasty with a  glass of chilled Pinot Grigio:

 9:00.  Lucky for Paulie, penguin balls are internal.  Now that it’s dark outside, he’s lit up for our viewing pleasure:

 11:00 pm.  I think it’s pretty safe to say, Paulie is not a happy Penguin. However I’m on my third glass of wine, it’s all good for me:

11:00 BONUS PIC. For shits and giggles.  Yes, he’s still in there. Watch him glow.  Isn’t he glorious?  

 8 am.  My ruler said a gazzilion inches of snow fell that day.  Not a good day to be a plastic penguin. Paulie entombed:

 

 9 am.  Paulie carved out of his snowy tomb:

 

Later that day…. No Penguins were hurt in this experiment:

~o0o~

 So, there ya go. My solution to beating the “You’ve got to be kidding me…It’s going to snow again?” blues.

I hope you enjoyed Paulie as much as we do. It’s the only FU I can give to Mother Nature… make the misery she sprinkles upon us… entertaining.

It’s time for me to get writing, so adios until next time.

Stay safe out there.

Time Waster …aka Managing the Easily Distracted Mind

I hadn’t realized until recently that I have the attention span of a flea. Why didn’t I notice it?  I was distracted.

 As I sit at my desktop, pounding away on the keyboard what I hope will entertain anyone who reads it, I find myself drifting …a quick glance out the window to spy on the neighbors or I look to my other side where I have a hutch full of crystal wineglasses.   I should keep on writing while the mojo is going…but in an insincere moment of imaginary-housewifedom, I decide the better choice is to get off my ass and take out all the crystal and hand wash them.  They’re dusty and don’t have the sparkle they deserve.  Mind you, they haven’t sparkled for months. I don’t use any of these glasses.  I insisted I needed them as an engagement gift, you know, so I could set the table for all the fancy dinners I was planning to have. 

 (To those who aren’t married yet, I’m going to give you a free life lesson: You will never have those parties.  I can count on both hands how many times I’ve used the crystal wine, water and champagne glasses, along with the ‘good china’ I had to have.  You want the cheap stuff, the stuff you don’t care about when your husband’s idiot of a best friend drops it on the floor. Trust me on this one…and you’re welcome.)

 Lately my distraction has been all about facebook.  It took me forever to kick my Farmville addiction (honestly I did have one hell of a fancy farm).  I’d plan my day around what time I had to pick my corn and plant roses. I made sure each farm animal wasn’t crushed in their pens…you know, like they were real breathing farm animals. I owned reindeer…how cool is that? Much unlike my real life, my farm was neat and orderly.   I crossed the sanity line.  I’d have long conversations with my mother (another proud farmer) over our vast farmlands and how beautifully they were decorated.  It was sad, just sad.

Like I said, I finally realized that I had to stop cold turkey.  And it was painful.  I knew my flowers were wilting and my corn was turning brown. I wanted to look.  I wanted to feed my poor hungry chickens. But I stayed strong. I stopped over a year ago and to this day, I can’t visit the ol’ farm…it’s much too painful.

When I decided to go for it and write a book, I was on a roll.  I was a writing machine.  Words were coming so easily… Clever, clever words.  Oh, I was quite the wordsmith.  That didn’t last too long.  Once again, my attention span got in the way of creativity.  Damn facebook again.  I’d get through a paragraph then reward myself with a quick peek on my newsfeed.  Little by little, the rewards were given for lesser achievements.  A sentence.  A word.  A space.

Facebook, Twitter and various gossip websites were ruling my life and sucking out my inspiration… A complete time waster.

Hello, My name is Annette.

I’m a  procrastinator and Social Mediaholic.

 I thought long and hard (<—another one of my issues, immature dirty mind) about how I was going to escape my obsession and actually do what I set out to do when I powered up my desktop… Write.

I’ve deactivated my facebook page temporarily before.  The trouble is, you can easily reactivate it by simply typing in your email and password.  I’d accidentally (I swear that’s the truth) log back in all the time and have to deactivate it again (of course after I perused my newsfeed first)

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  I called in for reinforcements.  My husband. I couldn’t believe what I was about to request, but it had to be done. Here’s how it went down.

 “Change my password and don’t tell me what it is.” I signed into my facebook account and handed the tablet to him.

 “Seriously?” He frowns.

 “Yes, I’m weak.”

 “You’re not going to text me all day while I’m at work asking for it, are you?”

 “No. And if I do ask for it, you can’t give it to me.”

 “How will I know when you really need it back?”

 “Oh, I didn’t think of that. I don’t know.  You’ll have to figure it out.”

 “I’m in a no win situation here, you know that.”

 “Yes, now change it.”

 

I turned my head and poof!  New password.  I can no longer access facebook at will. My husband holds the key.  I gave him all the power. He decides when I can go on facebook and I obey. I just made him my social media Dom. Holy crap, I’ve unintentionally entered into a D/s social media relationship. All this Fifty Shades of Grey fanfiction writing has infiltrated my real life.

I’m going to have to ponder this for a while; I think I just blew my mind.

 

You’d think having no facebook access would give me some relief, but what I wasn’t expecting was my paranoia to sink in.  What am I missing?  What if they’re talking about me?  They probably are.  They definitely are.  What are they saying?  Is it mean?  Why are they saying mean things about me?  You get the picture.

Come to think of it, if anyone reads this blog entry,  they’ll know I can’t see my facebook page. They’re probably going to litter my facebook page with taunts, knowing I won’t have the ability to respond. There’s no way I can win this.

 But I am keeping to my word, until I get a respectable amount of writing accomplished.  Today, I was allowed a little facebook time.  I had to look the other way when he entered the password. It was wonderful. Wonderful!

So, now I’m spoon-fed small morsels of facebook.  I’m still working on my gossip site addiction (Cut me some slack, Rome wasn’t build in a day). But I’m heading in the right direction. I’ll pour myself a glass of wine (or two) and wait for the brilliance to pour out into my keyboard.

 

 

New Year’s Resolutions….The Verdict is In….

We’re a little over two weeks into the New Year and I thought I’d revisit my 2014 New Year’s Resolutions. Let’s take a look and see how I’ve faired so far…..

~o0o~

 1- Be more financially responsible.

That Amazon is a sexy beast.  Seducing me again with one click shopping and Two-day Prime delivery.   I’ve also discovered that I really dislike watching my  bank account go down, down, down.  Hence the rather large pile of unopened bills.   Well, well, well… lookie here… a Bed, Bath and Beyond coupon at the bottom of the pile.  How can I pass that up?  There’s got to be some Yankee Candle or quirky wine glass charm that I must own.  Since I get 20% off…that’s financially responsible…ish.  Isn’t it?

Verdict: FAIL

~o0o~

2- I’m going to eat healthy.

 I had two cups of coffee and a handful of jellybeans for breakfast.  Does that answer this question?

 Verdict: FAIL

 ~o0o~

3- I’m going to exercise six days a week.

 I wanted to.  I really did. I had grand plans of setting up an exercise room in the basement.  Dusting off my dumbbells and kettle bells, locating all the Biggest Loser DVDs and removing the piles of laundry off my Total Gym…but it was cutting into my naptime. (They don’t call me The Napster for nothing.)

 So…unless you count lifting a coffee cup to my mouth and digesting jellybeans (which does expend some calories, doesn’t it?  I’m pretty sure that has to be close to a wash) as exercise, I’d say….

Verdict:  FAIL

~o0o~

4-I’ll be less cynical.

 Bwahhh… yeah, right.

Verdict: Let’s be honest -This was never going to happen.

~o0o~

5- I’m going to be more social.  Reconnect with old friends.

 I admit… I haven’t actually tried to reconnect with anyone.  I was waiting to lose some weight first, so I looked good. (See, vanity can be your friend). If you’ve read my Resolutions # 2 & 3, you can guess how that’s going.

However, I did “like” two facebook postings on my facebook newsfeed.  That’s pretty darn social for me.  I know it’s a stretch, but it’s something.

Verdict: I’m taking half credit for this. We’ll call it FAIL-ISH.

~o0o~

 6- I’m going to organize my life.

You’ve seen the pile of bills and Amazon boxes…want to take a stab at how this resolution went down?

Verdict: FAIL

~o0o~

 7- I’m going to keep up with my gardening.  Weed a little bit every day.

 It’s too early for mosquito season (although I’m sure if those blood sucking bastards could find a way, they’d locate me in a blizzard).  That said, there’s a lot of plant pruning that needs to be done. My yard is still full of fall leaves.  I should bag them.  I could log that as exercise and accomplish Resolution # 3 …but it’s cold out there.  I hate the cold.  I’ll wait until we get one of those freak eighty-five degree days in the middle of winter.  Until then, I’ll continue to stare at a yard full of dead leaves and lifeless dried clematis vines wrapped around very pretty arbors.

Verdict: FAIL

~o0o~

8- I’m going to drink less wine.

 I’m still laughing at this one.  As I write this, last night’s wine glass is drying in the dish rack in my kitchen.

Verdict:  FAIL

~o0o~

9- I’m going to stop wasting my valuable time on stupid facebook games.

 Confession…I got a new tablet for Christmas.  So now I waste my valuable time on new game apps.  Flow Free is going to drive me insane.  But I can’t stop myself.  And I don’t want to brag (but I will) …I’m awesome at Four Pictures One Word.  Awesome!

 Verdict:  MEGA FAIL

 ~o0o~

 However, I still forgive myself…

For not being the perfect parent… because next to some of the mothers I’ve seen on Reality TV…I’m Mother of the Century.

For not being the perfect wife… but loving my husband, who I don’t expect to be perfect in return— However, he could be a little closer to perfect  if he could just put  his dirty dishes in the dishwasher, instead of the kitchen sink which is RIGHT NEXT TO the dishwasher. And it’s sweet that he cleans up after dinner, but his version of cleaning up is placing dirty dishes in the sink.  That’s it.  USE THE DISHWASHER!   It’s not too hard to figure out how to place a glass in the rack.  And another thing….the kitchen isn’t “cleaned up” unless you wipe down the counters and any spills on the stove.  He’s a very smart man…yet he has not yet figured this out.

For feeling like I failed… when at least I tried—I suppose I could try a little harder.

For not finishing my book this year: FINALLY!  Something positive.  You may recall back in October, I was struggling with “Evil Chapter Nine” in my book.  I’m happy to say, I have beat the beast and I’m finally moving forward.  I’m currently editing less evil Chapter Ten and Eleven.

I’ve received a few PMs regarding my Fifty Shades of Grey fanfictions.  Now that I’ve crossed Evil Chapter Nine off my list, and life’s bumps are…slightly less bumpy and I got my writing mojo back…. I will start working on the next chapter of Fifty Shades- A Different Way.  I’ve had a few requests for more Late Night Thoughts- 20 Year Later.   I have a few thoughts on One Shots.  So we’ll see…right now my answer is Definitely Maybe.  That story is like home to me…and there’s no place like home.

The Great Pumpkin Patch

There are five kid’s birthdays in October in my immediate family.  Celebrating each one separately is an impossible feat. This is why we combine birthdays for the family… and they have their separate parties with their friends.

The past few years, we’ve embraced the Fall birthday season and go pumpkin picking followed by dinner and cake. We like to make it a full day and since the age range for the birthdays fall between six and seventeen so there’s a little bit of something for everyone.

It’s interesting to see how inventive of the local businesses are when latching on something that’s going to improve their bottom line and extend their season. More power to them, they got me through their door.

We went to a Food Market/Garden Center near my sister’s home.  Our group of a thousand (okay, twenty-three) met at the designated time.  My sister, otherwise know as the Martha Stewart of the family, came prepared with thermoses full of apple cider for the kids and perverted apple cider for the adults (you know, cider with a little extra fermentation… wink, wink).

Once our group assembles (that task in itself is a small miracle, we live within a hundred mile radius of each other so time coordination is essential) and we sip our magical cider we’re ready for the hayride.  There’s nothing like squeezing twenty three people on the back of a tractor pulling a wagon with bales of hay as the seats. After a “scenic” bumpy ride through a parking lot, past a few greenhouses full of other birthday parties, you go through a very small corn field on your way to the mythical pumpkin patch.

Charlie Brown gets the credit, but it’s really Linus Van Pelt who made me appreciate the magic of the pumpkin patch.  As you get closer and closer to the Pumpkin patch, your heart races.  Childhood dreams of picking the perfect pumpkin fresh off the vine dance in your mind.

You see yourself walking through long rows of vines, searching out the pumpkin that calls to you, will it be perfectly round?  Oval?  Misshapen and with a little personality? (Like Linus, I uphold the belief that pumpkins have personalities. Don’t judge me).  You know you’ll recognize the right pumpkin the moment you lay eyes on it.

You pass on the corn maze because you can’t wait to meet your special pumpkin (besides, the corn has only grown about 3 ft. tall, making more like a stroll through some corn than a maze).  Finally the tractor pulls up to the patch.  You take a deep breath, this is it. You feel it…the green of the vines, the crisp brown edges of the leaves as the vine dies away for the season.

Pumpkin Xanadu.

 Here’s what I always envision, pulling up to the Magical Pumpkin patch.

Here is the reality of our magical journey.  Stunning, isn’t it?

(Cue the booby prize music)

An open dirt field, with crushed pumpkins randomly scattered among the others.

Not exactly the dream.  But the kids were happy.  I own my special pumpkin grown just for me. And everyday until Halloween I will tell my husband “We really need to carve this into a jack-o-lantern” and never will.