Gnome Slayers Rock

I am a lucky girl. I have two of the most incredible, jaw-dropping writers that I get to call dear friends. This past month has been draining both physically and emotionally. I have had to deal with health issues and my personal life is like a pane of glass that has shattered. All the while, I am staring at the pieces of my life, wondering, "Is this worth putting back together again?"

My fellow gnome-slayers have been by my side completely.

I wonder, is there more people out there like me? Those that cannot handle vulnerability. If you are one of them, take a minute and listen. Do not put walls up around your heart because eventually, you, yourself, will have to tear them down.

Through the gnome slayers, I have learned to allow people into my life. Knowing my writer-friends has been the best blessing I could have ever been given.

Now, if they can help me with my cuss mouth I'd be peachy keen. I'll admit, I can make a sailor blush with my wicked vocabulary.

Rogue Roosters and Vagrant Vermin

So there was this cocky little rooster - you know the type: auburn feathers with a cape of metallic blue-green, resplendent tail, and a strut that said, "Chicks. The line forms here." He wouldn't have bothered me except that he took up residence in the middle of the street that leads to MY street. And it's a busy intersection. Dude was there every day, stopping traffic, impressing local birds, moseying around like he'd brought about world-peace.

I called the cops on him.

His standing there posing for a photo-op nearly made me rear-end the 4x4 in front of me. And honking did nothing. He glared balefully at us human-work-slaves and then slowly, sl-owww-ly, sauntered over to the side, acting like he just went there because he saw breakfast. He was a menace, and I turned him in. But by the time the police got there with their little rooster nets--He was gone.

I haven't seen him since.

I think he's probably hanging out with the mice I've been hearing under my cupboards lately. They keep eluding my peanut-butter traps. And the ultrasonic pest repellers don't do anything but give them a good beat to dance to.

Oh, the mice are taunting me. I killed ten of their kind a few months ago simply by putting traps under my sink. Took them all out in under an hour. Thought I'd won. But they've been biding their time. Mocking me. Scratching beneath the floors when I am in my office below, knowing that I know they aren't falling for the traps and I can't do anything about it.  I think it's the rooster's fault. He's in there with them. And he's getting back at me.

 I wouldn't mind so much,  except that I believe the mice and the rooster have been influencing my socks. Only half of them are coming out of the dryer each day. That's right: one from each pair. Just . . . gone.  Got a whole drawer full of useless half-pairs. I'm pretty sure they're hanging out under my cupboards. Having a party with the mice. Overseen by the rooster. Trying to slowly drive me crazy. But it won't work. I've got a rotisserie-pellet-gun-sock-stretcher, and I'm ripping up floor boards.

Those dirt-bags are going down.

Two Quotes To Not Die By. Plus One More.

"If we don't succeed, we run the risk of failure"
--Dan Quayle

Question: "If you could live forever, would you and why?"
Answer: "I would not live forever, because we should not live forever, because if we were supposed to live forever, then we would live forever, but we cannot live forever, which is why I would not live forever."
--Miss Alabama, 1994 Miss Universe Pageant

"Always go to other people's funerals, otherwise they won't come to yours."
--Yogi Berra

I could have said any of these things. Which is why I know I am supposed to write a book.

Something to help you on your journey

My weakness with my dream of writing is that I don't think I have the ability. Sure, my will is stronger than a bull but is that enough? I hear that I have a voice in my writing but I do not see what they see.

I have my dear friends who inspired me to take this leap of faith-you know who you are. Not to mention my fellow gnome slayers, a critique group, and a teacher/lifesaver who yanks me outta my comfort zone, thank heavens for that. I could not ask for anything better.

Whatever it is that you as a dreamer desire, look around your sphere of influence. You may have more at your fingertips than you realize.


*Thank you, Maegan for help with the grammar-I learned new things 'cuz of you.

The benefits of cinnamon gum

 I just learned this week that I chew 149 sticks of gum a week. That's about 21 a day. And that's also leaving out the 2 packs of Bubblicious . I'll admit, I have a gum addiction -what's your addiction?

Are We There Yet?

September Challenge: Worst. Trip. Ever.

My worst vacation experience would have to be Las Vegas. And don't get me wrong, I adore that city. Two years ago, I went with mom and two brothers. Because nothing says, "we're tight as a family" like standing under a poster of scantily clad dancer.

In the evening, on our way to Blue Man Group, my mom decided we should take the bus from the Luxor to the Venetian. The problem was we got on the wrong bus. The bright lights of the strip faded from view. We began to head southward, down past the freeway. My mom demanded that the driver stop the vehicle. And surprisingly, the bus driver listened. He dropped us off in the middle of the intersection on the freeway.

I immediately knew trouble lay ahead as adrenaline became my best friend. We hustled across the street and darted into an under pass. Which was the residence of a ton of homeless people. There were no streetlights, my mom and I were cloaked in darkness. Cars were screeching above us and used needles for substance abuse poked at our sneakers.

My mom's eyes widened as she saw the make-shift cardboard homes. She grabbed a rock and turned into this momma-bear 'cuz no ones gonna mess with her and the cub.

I, however, was more nervous for her than for me. I've spent a night on skid row, so a few freeway underpasses were a breeze. Skid Row-I'm not talking about the band.

Anyway, some man, offered my mom a 'cabbie' and she eagerly jumped at a cab ride. I grabbed her arm and said, "Cabbie's slang for something you don't want. Keep moving, don't look down. Just move."

We arrived at the Venetian safely. To this day, I know we both were lucky not to end up like the CSI victims.

P.S. Kudos to Janiel for figuring out the title of this month's challenge. And double kudos to both Maegan and Janiel for the help with my post.