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Friday, April 29, 2011

All Work and No Play Makes Jack a . . . yada yada yada

Welcome to Our Guest Blogger!


Our friend, Robin Edmundson from Rurification stopped by and left us a little Creativity Challenge to think about over the weekend.


'I am a worker bee. I work. It's what I do. One of my big challenges over the last few years has been to learn to have fun. I have never been good at having fun. I'm rather earnest by nature and I take everything Very Seriously. This means that I'm extremely conscientious and more than a little intense--which is all well and good when I'm being responsible [which is pretty much all the tine], but not so good when I need to stop working and relax or get some new ideas.


Fun is not someone that I know well. I've heard that she hangs around Inspiration and Relax a lot, and I've been advised by more than one person that if I'd invite Fun over more often, then Inspiration and Relax would show up, too. I tried it a few times--and they were right. It's just that I keep losing Fun's number, or perhaps I'm just afraid that Responsibility will get mad if I hang out with Fun too much. Clearly I need to work on that.


And that, my friends, is how you turn Fun into work. Stop it. Stop it right now.


The trick to getting Fun to show up is to let yourself get to know Play. Play shows up when you stop doing whatever-it-is-that-you're-doing so seriously. The relationship between Doing Things Not Seriously and Play is a lot like the Clark Kent/Superman thing. Try it. It really doesn't matter what you do as long as you do it Not Seriously. Walk from the bathroom to your bedroom, not seriously. Walk the dog, not seriously. Clear the table,  not seriously. Every time you do something Not Seriously, it's Play in disguise. No kidding. Keep practicing. Soon you'll find a way to turn a lot of your Work into Play. Wherever you find Play, you'll soon find Fun. Fun likes Play, and if you can just get Fun to show up, then Inspiration and Relax will show up too.


This week's challenge is about learning how to play again at your art. Choose a task that you want to do (or are desperate to be done with already) but you're not that into right now: those New Year's Resolutions that never quite got on paper; finishing Chapter 4; writing the orchestration for that sound track; fixing that scene in Act 2; cleaning up your space so you can get to your paint and canvas . . . you get the idea.


Now start that task--but start it. Not Seriously. Not Seriously will turn into Play, who will invite Fun, and pretty soon you've got a party. I wouldn't be surprised if they bring Silly along. She may be blonde, but she's not as dumb as you think.


Fun and Play may not be looking for commitment. Sometimes they prefer a one night stand. It's fine if they show up just long enough to get your creative party started. And don't worry that the party will spoil your masterpiece. This is an easy party to clean up after. And while you're straightening things up afterward, you just may stumble on some hidden treasure.


P.S. I'd love to know what hidden treasures you found after Fun showed up. Let me know how you are doing with your creative challenges. Leave a comment.



Thursday, April 28, 2011

Robin Edmundson- artisan weaver

Tomorrow is going to be a great day, we have a guest blogger: Robin Edmundson, of Rurification.

Robin is an one of the most inspiring people I know. She's an artisan weaver/dyer and she has a way with words. I cannot wait for Friday!

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Embarrassing moment alert

Before I get going on my post I just wanted to say thank you to all of my dear friends, be that from high school, the writing and blogging community. Anbody who has supported this blog, thank you.

Your kindness means more than you'll ever know. My writing dream is considered taboo amoung some of my family members. So, your comments and kindness are treasured.

With that said, lemme tell you about my dreadful day. I have been walking around the city with a giant sticker on my tookus.

Last night, my sister commandeered my condo with her scrap booking party. Not my idea of fun. So,when I awoke for lunch at a sushi bar with my bestie, I was a bit out of it. I threw on my leather leggings and lace shawl. The day was normal as normal could be- I tripped up the stairs while entering trax, accidentally bonked my head on some meat head's bike. Same old stuff for me.

Lunch was divine. Halfway between a large bite of tuna and cream cheese roll, I realized something was wrong. So, I stood up and had Jameses check out the stitch on my tookus. Apparently, I had a large white sticker with beautiful calligraphy state, "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams."

So, I have to ask- Is that a bad sign that the sticker stuck to my rump says, "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams?"

Are my dreams crap-tastic?

Oh, dear Fate, please let me know.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Accio Nostalgia!

Has anyone heard of this new book, HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER'S STONE? Apparently, it's already sold thirty thousand copies in the U.K. and it's poised to be big here in the United States. They're even talking about a movie! I don't know about you, but these figures sure have piqued my interest. I may have to check this Harry Potter thing out. Here's an interview with the author, J.K. Rowling:






Kidding aside, we are now two and a half months away from the final film's opening (*sniff*), and this has got me thinking on my own experiences with Harry. I was in high school when the books started getting attention. My mom gave me the first book on tape for Christmas and I remember thinking, "Psh. A kid's book? Lame!"


Famous last words.


Harry had me at hello. I was hooked. I became an unrepentant Potter junkie. This was back in the days before I started driving, so I would listen to the tapes on a clanky old walkman while I fed horses and cleaned stalls in the evenings. Even now, more than ten years later, the smells of horses, hay, and dust that hit me every time I step into my barn trigger a sense memory that instantly transports me back to Hogwarts.


Jim Dale's incomparable vocal performance as the books' narrator only added to the fun. I didn't actually read a Harry Potter book until I got halfway through HALF-BLOOD PRINCE and left the tapes in my car behind a theatre with the windows cracked (insert forehead smack here). Needless to say, those tapes disappeared. While I pinched my brother's copy of the book to find out what happened next, I still forked over the dough to buy another HBP on tape because I couldn't bear to have an incomplete set.


PRISONER OF AZKABAN and DEATHLY HALLOWS are my favorite books story-wise, but ORDER OF THE PHOENIX holds an especially fuzzy place in my heart. PHOENIX came out in the summer of 2003, just before I traveled to South Africa for a study-abroad program. It's the longest book of the series, but of course I started listening the moment it came in the mail. I was only halfway through when my departure date arrived. No way was I waiting six whole weeks to finish the book, so I hauled all seventeen tapes to Africa with me in my backpack.


You know the part where Harry is trapped in Umbridge's office and the only person who can help him is Snape but he doesn't want to give anything away, so he finally yells, "He's got Padfoot! He's got Padfoot in the place where it's hidden!"? Yeah, I was traveling in a van from the Nelspruit airport to the Southern African Wildlife College with a bunch of uber jet-lagged students when that all went down.


Or, how about when Dumbledore finally tells Harry about the prophecy? I was in a van again, but this time we were on our way to Kruger National Park for our first game drive.


I was sitting out on my dorm room's back porch at night, marveling at the southern hemisphere's strange constellations when a certain important character received the killing curse and fell through the veil in the Department of Mysteries (*sniff* again). Even over the headphones, I could still hear the hyenas calling to each other in the distance on the other side of the campus's ten-foot-tall electrified fence.


Yep. We've shared some pretty neat adventures, Harry and I.


As a reader, I've wanted to experience Harry's world again and again, returning to every book more times than I care to admit. As a writer, I marvel at Rowling's skill at creating characters with depth and humanity, a complex mythology, multiple side plots and an epic, over-arching hero's quest that she had to sustain over seven books. This is the kind of writing that makes me go, "Dang. I wanna learn how to do that."


Which makes me wonder: Are there any stories that stick out in your mind the way Harry Potter has affected me?


BTW: The cafe where that interview takes place is called The Elephant House. It's where Rowling did much of her early writing on Harry Potter. I visited the cafe when I was in Edinburgh last summer, but alas, I had already eaten lunch that day and it was rather crowded, so I didn't go inside. Now I kinda wish I had. (Insert another forehead smack here.)





Friday, April 22, 2011

Vampires Don't Fart.

Have you noticed this? It's true. 


Also, werewolves don't belch, fairies don't snort, and shape-shifters don't chew with their mouths open.


Maegan, Russo, and I had this conversation over lunch a few days ago. It's quite a phenomenon (vampires not farting, that is, not the fact that we had this conversation. Our chat-sessions regularly veer between Mozart, religion, awesome movies, writing challenges, and which of us accidentally experienced a gaseous emission in front if what hideously dignified person).


(By the way, before I proceed any further and throw myself off the pedestal of refinement I know at least none of you have me on, I was not allowed to say "fart" as a child, so I feel very liberated right now.)


Anyway, I think I've had enough of the whole Perfect Vampire/Werewolf/Bad-Boy-Fallen-Angel/Annoyingly-Attractive-Fey love interests that populate Young Adult literature right now. They're so not realistic. I mean, who wants to date a guy who can't even say "Pull my finger," with any integrity?


Technically, I guess it makes sense. I mean, Vampires have no body fluids, right? Which leads to all kinds of questions that I will not be addressing here. All I'm saying is this: If my boyfriend , I mean husband--I'm married--were a vampire, I'd want him to be able to rip a good one. I mean, he'd have to go elsewhere to do it; certainly not in my presence. But I'd want to know that he isn't so far above me that he doesn't even make any ridiculous noises--with his armpit, or otherwise. I don't think I can be married to someone who can't hiccup, belch, snore, or anything else, with the best of them.


Can you imagine snuggling in the sofa with your fanged honey-bumpkin, the two of you gazing into a romantically crackling fire in the fireplace, and having to stress about whether or not your double chimichanga with extra guacamole and pico is going to repeat on you? Because, for heaven's sake, you don't want Mr. Perfect Guts there to think you're human or anything.


Women get enough of this when they go into the restroom together. You men ought to see the contests of self-control that go on in there to make sure no one who happens to be within earshot thinks our digestive tracts actually function like they're supposed to.


So, I say enough! Enough already of the paranormal paramours whose palpitations perch in a personage of perfect percolations. Bring on the raggedy dudes who don't mind if my hiccups shatter the sound barrier, because their vapors could compete with Iceland's Eyjafjallajökull volcano. I mean, I want him to have manners, right? But I want him to be just as big a dork as I am. I can't compete with glittery perfection, and I don't want to.


So to all of you writers out there, YA or otherwise, I issue a challenge: let's make like Pinnochio and create a real boy for our readers to dream about. It might be nice for the opposite sex to feel like they can compete once in awhile. And besides, a little humanity in the characters we read about is what makes them compelling.



Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Living with a schizophrenic

Let's get intensely personal. My main goal with writing is to help at least one person deal with their life. Some might not like this topic choice. I'm going to be real and honest.

How to chase a dream when someone you love is mentally ill.

Chasing a dream is hard stuff. You have elements that are out of your control that slam up against you. How you react to problems will determine your future. Some problems are trivial. Others, not so much.

This past year I have had to face the truth that someone dear to me is not mentally well. I have known this truth for as long as I can recall but dealing with it is another story. *Please note that there are many levels of schizophrenia, some cases are mild, some are more advanced. What I write may ring similar to some but every case is different.

That said, I cannot watch the movie, A Beautiful Mind. And that's saying a lot, because I adore Jennifer Connelly and Paul Bettany. I cannot watch the movie because I have lived that life.

The person I love has rejected me countless times, not because I wasn't theirs but because they were so deep in the darkness I didn't really exist. I am flesh and bone and the more real you are to someone who is not mentally well, the more you do not exist.
This is not in your control, nor is it in theirs.

The only thing you can control is yourself. How you react and how well you live your life.

Chasing your dream is even more complicated when dealing with mentally issues of a loved one. In truth, there are times that I am super hard on myself. I am working on that.

Schizophrenia can take a toll but it has also been one the best blessing I could be given. Because of the disease, I am able to see the beauty in life. In my case, the person is gifted and talented beyond the norm. I get to see the world through their eyes. I'm lucky.

An existence can be fragile and fleeting. The beauty is realizing the hardest situations are the ones mold you. I'm better because of schizophrenia.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Step Aside, Bella

I was browsing through my friend Jenna's blog the other day and came across this post where she'd taken a photo of her beautiful, cherubic niece, Daisy and - shall we say - modified it.


Still beautiful, if somewhat less, um, cherubic.


Which prompted me to ask the obvious question: "Can I have one too? Pleeeease?"


Next morning, this was in my inbox.





What do you think, could I pass for a Cullen? Or how about Sam Roth's equally charming, non-werewolf twin sister? It's all about the yellow eyes, folks.


When she's not being Super Mom or vamping people via photoshop, Jenna can be found wielding her mad photography skills. Check out her website here.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Sheesh! I'm Just Glad This Wasn't ME!



Do you remember that one time when everything you said came out exactly backwards from what you meant, and you found out that your husband's favorite meal has been an exercise in discipline for him for the past zillion years because guess what--he hates soup and he was just being polite, and that witty comment you left on that one sort of famous person's blog was totally misunderstood and it made you look like a wench and the thing was, it was not misunderstood, you just wrote it badly, which means that if you ever become a famous writer someone will dig that up and out you on whatever equivalent of the Oprah show exists at that time, and then you'll end up not being able to pay for your kid's college education because no one will sell your books now--on top of which you forgot your best friend's birthday for like the 8th time in a row, which would be understandable given that you haven't lived near each other for years, except that it's not understandable?


Me neither.


But maybe you remember that time when you found out you can't trust chocolate chip cookies anymore because somebody might have stuffed them with marijuana and you've already had one bad experience with flambéed Bananas Foster whose alcohol didn't actually burn off in the flambéing process and so you got a little drunk for the first time in your life and you were an adult who doesn't drink because you were raised that way and once you became an adult you figured why start, except now you know--after the Bananas Foster incident--that probably cough syrup will put you under the table so you'd really better never drink, and all the people you used to work with sort of snort behind their hand whenever they see you at the grocery store, and besides all of that your workout shirt had shrunk in the laundry the last time you wore it to the gym and you didn't realize it until you looked down during your torture on the treadmill and your stretch marks were hanging out for all the world to see?


Yeah. Me neither too.


And then there was that one time when you were driving by a local high school's marching band which was out practicing and it had been raining and there were puddles everywhere but you were deep in thought and failed to calculate your speed versus the size of the puddle in front of you against your proximity to the woodwind section and when you hit that puddle you made an aquatic rooster-tail of such proportion that the woodwinds nearly drowned and probably had to spend the rest of the week drying out their reeds (and their clothes) but you didn't realize it until you heard their collective shriek, and though you wanted to you couldn't go back to apologize because they looked mad and there were more of them than you and they were all holding pointy woodwind instruments and you had many body orifices in which said instruments might fit nicely and you would rather just go to a book store and get a scone and hot chocolate and read People magazine instead? Do you remember that one time? 


Me too. You wanna go see a movie? I need a dark place to hide with someone who still likes me and doesn't own any musical instruments. And if you don't mind, no chocolate chips either.





Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Ways to not get stoned at a party

Lesson learned-when at a party with strangers do not ever eat the chocolate cookies. Because like it or not, you will get stoned. I know, I know, you are thinking- how in the world is this gonna help me chase my dream? Stick around, I might surprise you.

Lemme give you the dirt. Last night, I unknowingly got myself high. At 5pm, I played a wicked game of tennis. As a result of pushing myself too hard, I dropped my guard. Have you ever been so tired you will do whatever just ease the pain? The feeling stinks. Anyways, my best friend yanked my exhausted body out of bed for a party, I willingly went along. I was a terrible, painful mess. I grabbed the first set of clothes I could find- a mohair sweater with a plaid skirt and gladiator sandals. I looked like a school girl meets the movie 300.

At 9 pm, the air outside smelled like rain and anchovies. We traveled down a dirt road and into a small cottage with luminaries all along the walkway. Jameses-my best friend, stepped into the rest room. I hadn't eaten anything 2pm, and no joke, tore through 2 cookies. Jameses maneuvered through the crowd only to find me with glazed eyes.

He lovingly swatted away the cookies and said, "Baby-girl, I wouldn't eat those if I was you." I didn't listen to him. My shoulder pain began to disappear. I ate another set of warm chocolately goodness. All I could focus on was the chocolate chips. Apparently, I was a giggly mess. I repeatedly hugged my bestie, like his skin was made of red vines.

And as much as I don't want to admit this, I will, for the sake of the lesson-I jumped on top of the granite fireplace ledge outside and sang along with the iPOD- "Highway to Hell." I was dancing and whipping my hair all around. Truth to tell, I should've listened to my best friend. Instead I chose to do my own thing. Sometimes that will hurt you. In business, that will kill your career.

Along the journey of pursuing your dream, you will have mentors and teachers guide you along. The trick is to listen to those dear people. Don't blow them off because sometimes their advice may save you a whole lot of trouble.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Stalker Birds and Fairy Tales

Janiel's Friday post was a shiny surprise after a slightly stressful week. I loves my blog partners too!


Soooo, there's this robin that's been stalking me all week. I hear him crashing into my bedroom window, starting around 7 am every morning. The cats think it's the most entertaining thing ever.


"Look into my eyes . . ."


A friend of mine told me that her parents had a similar problem at their house. She suggested that maybe the robin has become twitterpated with his own reflection. It is spring, after all. Or at least it's trying to be. Kind of.



Sneaking a peak over the front door.


I've never been stalked before. I guess it was flattering at first, but now it's kind of annoying. Especially since the window sills and front step are covered with little bird presents.


Poor little narcissistic bird. It makes me a bit sad, to be honest. Sorry buddy, but you just ain't my type.


In other news, I saw HANNA this weekend. Oh my goodness, what an awesome flick. If you haven't seen it yet, you may want to scroll right on by, because there will be spoilers.


Maybe I'm really weird, but the whole movie felt like a modern, dark fairy tale to me. Or maybe just modern, since most fairy tales were already dark before Disney turned them all warm and fuzzy. Anyway, I love a good fairy tale. Not only does it reference Grimms' fairy tales throughout, but the story itself was your basic hero's quest. Hanna, the innocent - albeit deadly, butt-kicking - Princess leaves her sheltered kingdom, an isolated winter forest, to sally forth into the world to meet her destiny. All the while, she's pursued by an Evil Queen (Cate Blanchett) and her troupe of sadistic, German-sounding minions. Hanna and her father (Eric Bana - EEEE!) also speak with German accents, which makes you wonder if this detail was another nod to the Brothers Grimm.


The story did have a few logical issues. The whole Big Reveal of Hanna's true origins at the end was rather lame and unoriginal. (And really, why couldn't her father have just told her the whole truth from the beginning? He taught her how to kill people but he didn't think she could handle the truth? What was the big deal?)(Well, because there had to be a Big Reveal at the end to make the story work. But still. You'd think that with such an ingenious plot up to that point, they would've tried a teeny bit harder for a better ending. But I'm not bitter.)


Cate Blanchett is always amazing, whether she's an Elf Queen, 16th-century British Queen, or Evil Rogue Agent Ice Queen. And as this story's Snow White, how beautiful/tough/eerie is Saoirse Ronan? I'm thinking she's going to be around for quite some time.


Friday, April 8, 2011

Hats Off to Maegan and Russo

Today I tribute my two lovely blog-partners, Maegan and Russo. And I tribute them because they have added to my life in ways they don't even know about, and I am feeling all verklempt right now. Don't know why I'm feeling all verklempt. Could be a hormonal thing--I AM premenopausal, after all. Or it could be the fact that I just had my teeth whitened and I'm not allowed to eat chocolate or anything red for two days, which is making me a bit whackadoo.


Whatever the reason, my two chickie-babe-friends deserve a shout-out. So here it is:


Russo: This dudette never gives up. Not. For. A. Moment. You may have gathered from a few of her posts that her life has not been a bed of roses. Or maybe it has been - a bed with thorns. You would not know that by hanging with the woman. She has a perma-smile on her face and is always upbeat. She laughs easily and loudly and has no problem talking about things she has learned in life--things most people would put under lock and key and never let out. Russo lets them out, and we are better for it. It's nice to see someone who has been through so much coming out the other side with a smile on her face and hand-sanitizer in her purse. And her pocket. And in her jockey-box. And probably tucked into her awesome and epic hair-piece.


The thing about Russo? She learns. She takes notes. She studies. She never stops trying to improve herself. Look at her writing, if you want an example. She started out great on our blog: frank, honest, open, funny. Now she writes posts that are often brilliant. They have the same ingredients as at the beginning, but are more seasoned and savvy, and hit her points dead-on..  As for that urge to improve herself? She spreads it around. Those of you in whose blogs she has left comments know this. People in our critique group really do save her comments on their manuscripts because they are so encouraging and personal and insightful. This is a woman with a heart of gold.


Russo needs to be bottled and sold. Everyone needs a little bit of her in their lives.


Maegan: She has referred to herself as a barn-rat (partly because she works with animals). At first I took umbrage at this because she is a beautiful girl. Want proof? Go back to her earliest posts on our blog and look at her picture (back when we thought we were going to use the same picture of ourselves with each post so people would know who we were. Duh.) In particular, look at her eyes. Yeah, I know. They look right through you and make you want to know what she's thinking, right? And it would be worth finding out, because her thoughts are careful and brilliant, and pretty much spot-on. About everything. Wait until you read the book she's writing. Her insight into the tiny bits of us that make us tick will give you shivers.


Maegan is methodical and works very hard. She has more discipline than I'll ever have, and I'm old enough to be hers and Russo's mother big sister. She is calm and fair and has a tenderness of heart that is sometimes guarded, but comes out in her writing. Look for it. You'll see it.  You'll also find it in her magical hand at working with animals. She understands them and loves them in a way they can feel; strays have Maeg-dar. They always find her, showing up in her driveway or yard. And she always takes care of them and gets them back home. It's quiet tenderness. You'll find it in the way she still accepts you, even when you're a giant spaz and talk too much and too intensely, and have to retract half of what you say, and are sometimes overwhelming. (That's just an example. We don't know anyone like that.)


So do you see why I'm lucky to share this blog with my two gnome-slaying compadres? And share our critique group? And a few bakeries, smoothie shops, Indian restaurants, bookstores, basements with big TV's, and on occasion, my mini-van (in which we have gotten lost too many times)?


Stick around. You need to get to  know them better.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

April Fool's Intervention

April Fool's Day and chasing your dream don't really mesh well. And that's a good thing because you, as a dreamer are giving your all toward your passion. The month of April allows you the chance to breathe and relax for a moment. Enjoy the silliness because it will refresh you.

With that said, lemme give you the April Fool's Day dirt- I have done some devilish pranks. Way back in the day, I had my pregnant sister pee on a pregnancy test. I then left the stick on the counter for my ex with a note that said, "You'll be a great father-NOT." Yep, I learned the hard way that you don't mess with men by giving them a pregnancy scare.

This year, I got my own comeuppance. Have you ever watched the show called Intervention on A & E? Today my family pulled an intervention on me. Lemme give you the dirt, my mom invited me over for dinner at Red Lobster. And I stupidly, came to dinner in my new super hero-style leather boots with sparkly beret. My family sits me down in the living room and says, "Russo, we love you but you have a problem."

My heart raced like a hummingbird on speed. My family has been down this path with me. Not but ten years ago, I was a coked-out mess.

I evenly stared my mom in the eyes and said, "Are you kidding me? I'm clean. I'll go take urine test right now."

My brother has tears in his eyes as he says, "You're addicted to hand sanitizer."

Strangely, my family is semi serious. Everyone is staring at me waiting for me to speak. I have no words. At this moment, I'm baffled, my eyes are blinking rapidly.

My mom, no joke, says in a calm voice, "I'm serious, you apply hand sanitizer every 30 minutes. You reek of rubbing alcohol. You have a problem."

At this point I am baffled. I began laughing so hard that my eyeliner is running into my mouth. I mean, I am the girl who once took so many pills that my lymph nodes just ached. I evenly stared at my parents and said, "I'm sorry but ya'll are worried that I over-do my germ protection?My, oh my, how things have changed."

Yep, this year, its official. I loathe April Fool's Day- I vote that it be banished from the calender. But then again, super silliness might just be our muse. Something to inspire us while on the road toward our dream.

Monday, April 4, 2011

April Fools!

Hello, Gnome Slayers! Divine Miss Q here. I waited all weekend for the humans behind this operation to figure it out, but it just ain't happening.

Here's the thing: It was me. I hacked the blog last Friday.


What, you didn't think dogs do April Fool's Day too? It was so easy! I've posted here before, so DUH, of course they had to give me the code to sign in. I kinda hoped the "pant pant" bit would be a dead giveaway, but I guess not. (P.S. If you didn't read my April Fool's post yet, what's wrong with you?!?! Go now, read it! It's freakin' hilarious!) I finally decided to come out and say it because, seriously, I'd like a little credit for a prank well-done, ya know?


But see, that ain't even the best part. The really funny ha-ha thing is that everyone expects me to go for Jacob. I don't know, I guess because I'm a dog and he's . . . sometimes a dog. Come on. Taylor Lautner? I mean, really?? Nuh-UH. I like 'em pale and pasty. I'm an R-Patz girl, through and through! Team Edward all the way, baby!


Check out that gaze. The eyebrows! Those sideburns!!

Sigh. Didn't you know that having a dog is good for your mental health? I can fix all that emo broodiness for you! I'll be more faithful than that skinny K-Stew could ever be. Everybody loves me, R-Patz, and soon you will too. Take me home!



Friday, April 1, 2011

We Have Been Hacked

Dear Faithful "Challenging the Gnome" Readers: As you can see by the title of this post, We Have Been Hacked. Yesterday, some unscrupulous, clearly mentally disturbed individual hacked into our humble blog and . . . and . . . . LAUTNERIZED it!

*gasp*

We know. We can scarcely believe it ourselves. Fortunately we have been able to change our background back to the normal, happy little verdant meadow it was before this dastardly deed was done. Whatever SICKO felt the need to PLASTER it with a hodge-podge-collage of Taylor Lautner, a.k.a., Jacob Black, should be LOCKED UP!


Unfortunately, we have been unable to remove the sophomoric, pedantic, slobbering, puerile post about Mr. Abs Lautner. And believe me, we have tried everything. Everything! WHY WON'T THAT WOLF-BOY ANSWER OUR EMAILS?! Er . . . that is to say . . . we have no idea why we can't delete it.


If you have any information regarding where we can find Mr. Lautner who might have attacked our innocent blog in this fashion, please let us know. In the meantime, we will be taking the rest of this weekend off. We need time to track down Mr. Lautner's chest relax and recuperate.


Until we can fix it, whatever you do, please do not scroll down and read the post below. It will only encourage the writers. perpetrator.


Sincerely,
The Gnomeslayers
Do you think Taylor Lautner would sign my neck if I asked him to?
No, stupid. That's R-Patz. He does that. T-Laut signs peoples lips.
You're both stupid. It's all about Laurent. And his dreds. He signed my hairpiece. For reals. At the gym.



LOVE LOVE LOVE THE BIG T.L.!!!


SQUEEE!

Oh my GOSH!  Oh my FREAKING Gosh!  I totally LOVE Taylor Lautner! He’s such a man-child (pant, pant)! I mean can you totally believe his biseps? You can’t really see them through his shirt, but you just KNOW they are there, right? He’s just sitting there flexing, like the wolfy-babe he is.

DOUBLE SQUEEE!

Can you even imagine? I mean like, what if you were just walking along minding you’re bisness, like at the mall, right? Like at DEB’s or Charlotte Russe, or some other classy store like that, and Taylor Lautner came up to you and totally asked to borrow your cell phone. I mean you’d like totally LET HIM, right?

And he’d be all, “Hey babe, nice rinestones. Pink is my fave.” And then he’d like dial 911, BECAUSE I WOULD OF PAST-OUT RIGHT THEIR AT HIS FEET! And he’d have to do mouth2mouth and I’d totally grab on and not let go and then he’d be in love with me and I’d be in love with him and he’d be all, "Hey babe, be in my next Twi-movie!"

Then I’d be his love interest, Except Kristen Stewart already is (UNLESS I OFF HER! jk.) So that would just leave the weirdness Jacob ends up with in Breaking Dawn, which is like, that little cracked-out vampire baby of Edward (ew) and Bella (snark). And that’s just 2 strange, yeah?

So, maybe I’d like, invent a whole new caracter, right? And I’d totally take over the movie and the director would love me and he’d say, “Whatev. Kristen, babe, Get out. I’m all about this Janiel chick now. It’s TEAM JANIELANDJACOB, wenches!”

Yeah. Sigh. That’s what I’m pretty sure would happen if I ever ran into Taylor Lautner, AKA my future husband and pool boy. And then we’d have little wolf babies and name them all TayJan.

Ubersigh.



Slap him some ICE, girls, cuz that boy is a hottie-potottie! Mr. Hottie Hott Hott! Hott-House Hunkiewunkie! Hunka Hunka BURNIN’ luv. 2 Hott 2 B 4-Gotten! Hott to Trott to the Spott on my Yacht! (sorry. I’m not good at peotry. I was going to say “Hott to Trott to the Spott in my Heartt, but like, that doesn’t rime, right? And “Clott” just sounds bad.)

Oh. And by the way . . . 
Today is like, April 1st.
I KNOW, RIGHT?