Closet Nudist

What? Me? A nudist? No way...well, if the truth be told, I guess if walking around naked in my own home, regardless of the other occupants qualifies me as such, then so be it.

Blame it on my parents, ha ha!

Growing up, my parents' bedroom was next to mine. And every morning, my father would would walk past my door, on his way to the shower, carrying his underwear.

You remember those days, don't you? We only had one full bath in the house, and when four people are all trying to get dressed and leave the house within minutes of each other, bathroom time tends to overlap. Many times, my dad would be in the shower; my sister or I would be on the toilet, with the other brushing her teeth or even blow-drying her hair.

So naturally, I carried this relaxed attitude into my own adult life.

My son asked a friend of ours, "How long after marriage can you share the bathroom with that person?" She stated three weeks. I say, if you've been intimate with someone, then the same day!

I've shocked more than one lover over the years by using the toilet while he showered. After I married, it was natural for me to perch on the sink and talk to my hubby about his day when he came home tired and covered with dirt (he's a construction worker...the guy you scream at every summer, because his concrete machine has blocked the highway lane you think you need to be in?)and wanted to clean up before dinner was ready. And after the kids arrived, well, at one time, we would have Daddy sitting in the bathtub; a child perced on the toilet; another one sitting on the covered litterbox, and myself on the sink.

I have a vague memory of my mother running out of the house wearing only her suit pants and a bra, waving her toothbrush at the school bus to stop, as I was late.

My hubby was slightly shocked, when, after my sister's wedding reception, we were all gathered in our parents' hotel room ( they had been married six months before; this was for the friends and family who couldn't attend) and my sis had her husband unfasten her dress, while I turned my back to my dad and asked him to unzip me, as my husband was occupied in changing a diaper!

I shocked my MIL after my hubby's heart surgery; we were all staying in one room at the hospital's motel, and she went into the bathroom to change. When she came out, I had stripped to bra and panties and was preparing for bed.

Even now, I have no problems with dressing or undressing in the living room, if I don't want to miss a minute of the news, or a favorite TV show. And if someone comes to the door, then I'll slip a shirt over my head and poke my head around to answer it. And if you're a friend, I'll let you in. Otherwise, I'll close the door and finish dressing.

So I guess that doesn't make me a total nudist, right?

Friends

Friends are wonderful, aren't they? Especially the true ones. You can laugh, argue, fight, make up, and they'll still be there without holding grudges.

I had to remind one of my friends today that I'm here for life.

Why?

Remember two weeks ago, this person was very snotty on the phone? Thank god the techonolgy gods intervened and I didn't get her reply. It was apparently not very pretty.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I got an email from her; we briefly met and while she didn't apologize for her attitude, we're still on good terms. We've agreed to disagree on my choice of career paths...she doesn't support my decision to pursue publishing, and she said the crux of her email was to please stop inviting her to my signings.

I reminded her that friends support each other, no matter the personal feelings involved. I reminded her that I don't agree with certain aspects of her life, and while I wasn't expecting her to show up and loudly proclaim me as her favorite author (though...that would be nice!), I was simply inviting her to drop by and say hi. No pressure to buy; just show up and be friendly!

So with that out of the way, we settled back and exchanged info on what was going on in each other's lives. And she's going to set aside some time in the coming weeks so we can have lunch.

I love her; she's constantly in my thoughts and prayers; and I'm looking forward to seeing her again.

Will she show up this weekend? I doubt it. But then again, she just might surprise me!

Panic Attack

I've had a nasty virus invade my home PC, so I've been keeping up with my blog and email at the library. I just had a horrible thought:

What if, when I downloaded all my files to my brand new flash drive, I also infected the drive with the virus?

Or sent the virus to others? After all, I sent off a submission and interview answers!

So far, I've heard from the editor already, so I know her system wasn't affected. And no word from Gracen, either, concerning her PC. So I guess I'm safe.

But I've got two documents that I didn't put on floppy disk; the only copies are on my now-damaged hard drive and the flash drive.

Have I just ruined my publishing chances? Will I be forced to start all over with these stories? Or are they still salvagable?

Time will tell, I guess. I'll get my personal computer geek to solving that mystery when he gets back from Kentucky.

In the meantime, I can do no edits; I cannot chat; all I can do is pray that we will be able to either put in the recovery disk and hope it works, or else buy an external hard drive and recover it that way. Last ditch effort will be to buy a new PC. But for that to happen, hubby needs to return to work.

Or else I need to sell a huge amount of books this summer!

On a good note, I've started a new story called 'Steaming up the Midway'.

And I'm trying out a new title for the chef/customer story, 'Recipe for Love'. What do you think?

'Crazy for the Caterer'?

'Par for the Course'?

'Dishing Up Desire'?

I Did It!

I successfully trimmed my short story from 15,800 words down to 14, 670! Now I can have it critiqued and sent on its way. I feel so relieved:)

I'm having issues with a beloved friend right now. She took my head off verbally last night, and instead of losing my temper right back, I bit my tongue and quietly told her I never expected her to drop everything and come see me.

And today, I very nicely sent her an email, stating that I certainly understood her stress level and to please talk to me if she needed to vent. And reminded her I didn't know her new schedule; I had expected to find her relaxing instead of working. So far, I've not gotten any response, but I hope she calms down soon and either emails or calls me.

Especially now that I've completed an interview and finished with a WIP.

Next problem: I need a title.

My story is about a young chef who finds herself involved with a newly-returned member of the country club in which she works.

Taste of Love?

Cooking up Desire?

The Way to a Man's Heart?

Appetite for Love/Desire?

Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated!

Time Management?

My friends at the Oh Get A Grip! blog were discussing time management last week, and while everyone has different ideas on how to go about it, there's really no set in stone method. Some people list; some schedule every single minute down to the wire; others simply attack the day and hope everything works out well.

Three years ago when applying for a job, I was asked about how I manage my time. And at the time I had just finished an exhausting year with a husband with heart problems, and being caregiver to my young niece and nephew. My answer was to look at what chores needed to be done in any given day and to prioritize.

For example, a typical day went like this:

6am: Shower, drink my coffee, and dress. Start getting kids up and dressed.
7:30: Everyone out out the door to drop off older two at school.
8:15: Return home; breakfast for the younger three.
8:30-noon: Housework, surfing web, writing, mediating 3 toddler arguements/tantrums.
Noon: Lunch
1:00: Movie hour; nap time
2:30: If no nap was taken, leave to go to school. Otherwise, enjoy the solitude and write!
3:30: Older kids arrive home, if rode the bus. Otherwise, home at 3:15. Younger kids usually asleep at this time!
5:00- Start dinner
6:00- Eat; hubby home.
6:30-8: Cleanup, baths.
8:30-9: Younger ones storytime; bed.
10pm: My bedtime.

And yes, I've blown my stack. When my MIL fell and broke her back, I tried to squeeze in visits to see her, which entailed an hour trip both ways, and was frustrated by not getting all my laundry finished. I had to learn the world wasn't going to end if it all wasn't finished by 5pm. And at Christmas, when my husband nearly died, a comedy of errors showed me I seriously needed some downtime.

We were supposed to attend a family Christmas party. I also needed to go to the store for dog food. I invited my 'older daughter' to attend the party, thinking while she was reconnecting with her kids, I could slip out and go to Walmart without taking the entire crew with me. Hubby wasn't feeling well...we'd all gone through a bout with the stomach flu....and he thought it was his turn. So the kids and I left for the party.

My 'daughter' never showed up. At 4 pm, I loaded them back into the car with the intention of dropping them off at home and then going to get the poor dogs some food. We arrived home; all three were fast asleep; I left them in the car to enlist my hubby's help in getting them and the presents into the house.

Curve ball #1: He's on the phone to 911; they think he's having a heart attack, and the ambulance is on the way! We arrange to send him to the hospital where his doctor is. I telephone my aunt's house and fortunately my parents are still there. Yes, they will meet me at the hospital (my 2 older kids were going home with Grandma for a few days). I take off for the hospital.

Curve ball #2: Dad meets me in the parking lot; the ambulance had taken hubby to the local hospital, in order to transfer him better.

Curve ball #3: After 2 hours, he still hasn't shown up. St. V tells me they'll call MC to inquire about status.

Curve ball #4: Turns out hubby had vomited blood and MC decided to keep him.

Curve ball #5: I sent my 13-yr-old to the van to get the car seat. Five minutes after I kiss him goodbye and watch him leave, I discover he still has my car keys! After frantically contacting the State Police and giving them not only a description of my parents' van but a detailed route between here and their home, I kiss my 'daughter' goodbye after losing my temper with her over her inquiry about me watching the kids on New Year's Eve.

Curve ball #6: At 11pm, Dad calls from home and says he will return with the keys. And, oh, by the way, would I cancel the APB on him? An hour later, I thank him, get in my van, and head to the RIGHT hospital. Get hubby settled, and at 3 am, finally head to the store for dog food!

Curve ball #7: Walmart is waxing the floors in front of the pet department! I have to detour all the way to the back in order to retrieve the 40-lb bag, also enlisting a very nice person to help me wrestle it into the cart. I'm finally home at 3:30; feed the hungry dogs, and fall into bed!

But those two solitary hours helped me get my emotions under control; I was able to focus on what needed to be done and not just on my own mounting frustrations.

So now, when faced with a seemingly huge task, I've learned to step back and take of what HAS to be done, rather than what I think needs to be accomplished in a certain time period.

And for the most part, it's working for me. Overextending myself only leads to frustration.

Indy 500 Memories-1982 and 1986

1982
I think this was the year my interest in racing took off. I confess to a certain shallowness in picking my favorite race car drivers. At this particular time, I was 'in love' with a handsome driver by the name of Kevin Cogan. This particular year, he was sitting in the Pole position (ranked 1st for all you non-racing fans...this position has the highest qualifying speed and has the honor of leading the pack of 33 cars for the first two parade laps), but something happened when the green flag appeared, and an accident occured, wiping out several cars. And since this was before the teams could repair the damage and still re-enter the race, several past contenders were furious at my guy.

And those of us attending Band Camp were huddled around the radio, listening and cheering on the final ten laps and taking imaginary bets on who would win, Gordon Johncock or Rick Mears!

In a photo finish, Gordon Johncock nudged past by mere inches and won the thing! Even to this day, even though we know who the winner was, just hearing the sound bite from the final seconds brings back that adrenaline rush!

1986
My second race (1985 was my 1st) was a downpour. We huddled miserably under our rain gear, eating our sandwiches and watching the futile efforts to get the track dry. Everytime progress would be made, Mother Nature opened up the floodgates and the process would start all over again. The next day, it was still raining. We didn't make the trip to Indianapolis; we watched the progress on live TV. Dad said if things looked better by noon, we'd go. But once again, Mother Nature decreed no.

A week later, the weather was bright and sunny. We made fresh sandwiches, repacked the coolers, and off we set again. This time, everything went off without a hitch. Well, okay. Almost without a hitch! We parked in a different place than last time, and my sister and I set our own 'track record' by setting off in the opposite direction of our seats! We walked around the entire OUTSIDE of the track in 45 minutes...and did not beat our parents to the seats:) We did, however, see some interesting sights...we witnessed the Celebrity Caravan taking off; we joked about stealing an unmanned Pace Car (yellow Corvette! My favorite car!) and driving to our seats; and we pretended not to notice the drunk guy who offered to carry our heavy coolers for us.

And the race was awesome! My guy led several laps, and when an accident ocurred late in the race, I was jumping up and down with excitement, wondering if Kevin was going to win under the yellow light, or if the Safety Crew would get the track cleared in time to go green for the final lap or two. And since Dad's favorite driver, Bobby Rahal was in second place, we had a friendly rivalry between us.

With 195 laps down, the green flag waved. The crowd roared; we all got to our feet and cheered as the pace car pulled into the pits and the drivers hit their accellorators. The race was on! Kevin managed to hold off Bobby for lap 196, but the distance between them closed. Going into to 3rd turn, Bobby edged closer, and by turn 4, saw his chance and took it. He passed Kevin going into the home stretch, and even though Kevin continued to chase him for the final 3 laps, it was all over. Dad was jumping up and down and yelling; I was yelling at Kevin for not taking his spot back; Mom and my sister were also cheering for Rahal. But my sister very nicely said, "It almost happened...there's always next year!" Dad looked at me and said, "Experience wins every time!" and popped open another beer to celebrate.

Unfortunately, the following two years, my guy didn't even finish, and I don't think he even races anymore.

This will be the first year since the mid-90's that my sister will attend the race. And we have some hard and fast rules for picking winners.

1) We always cheer for the women! First it was Lyn St. James, and later Sarah Fisher. Now Danica Patrick stands to be the first female to win at Indy. Wouldn't it be great if she were to do it this year?

2) We always pick at least one rookie to finish. And this has been a private joke: For three years in a row, the rookie we picked either blew his engine at the start and couldn't even begin the race, or was the first one out of the race! We'll see what happens on the 25th!

3) And being loyal to our parents, we cheer for Foyt, Rahal's team, or the Unser family. Used to love Little Al's car...his sponser used to be Domino's Pizza! And we always pick the car with the best logo. One year it was a dentist who was driving...his sponser was Crest:)

And what happened between 1982 and 1985? In 1983, I chose to go to Florida with my church choir and skipped Band Camp that year. Took a lot of flack from my fellow Seniors who couldn't believe I was being taught my routine from (gasp! Shock! Horror!) an underclassmen! Yeah, right...get over it...who cared who taught me the routine, as long as it was somebody? They got over it after a few weeks. And in 1984, I spent time with my grandparents, who had come up from Florida for my HS graduation. And I got to spend an entire month with them afterwards!

Well, I'm off to get busy with revisions. Do me a favor? Click on Suazanne's blog and leave your opinion on her decision to stay home with her kids and WRITE! Or, just send her encouragement as she's sending off her first submission:) Tell her I sent you! And for time management tips, click on the gals at Oh Get A Grip. Do you spend the morning in your jammies? Do you let housework pile up when you're In the Zone? Are you super-organized? Give them your input.

Is This Public Knowledge and if so, How Did I Miss It?

Went blog-surfing the other day, and came across one post devoted to Brazillian Wax hygiene.

First of all, ugh! I have a very low threshold of pain, and cannot fathom ripping the hair away from any part of my body with HOT WAX. I do not tweeze my eyebrows; I gently shave away any unwanted body hair under the arms, down my legs, and in the bikini area.

I have a close male friend who told me several years ago that the 'messy look' was out.

"I like the landing strips," he sighed.

Okay. One question: How do you KNOW the 'messy look' is out? He's been married for over fifteen years! Is there a newsletter, a magazine, or was it in the paper? Do you belong to a certain group who keep track of body hair fads?

And secondly, are you SERIOUS? What, can't you find your way without, mmm, uh, a path?

Oh wait...this is a MAN I'm talking to; a MAN who regularly reads Playboy. And yes, knowing him, he looks at the pictures.

But to return to my original thought: What's wrong with simply shaving? I admit to having experimented several years ago, and in the summer time to shaving a little excess off, especially when going to the pool. But wax? Nah. I'll just touch it up in the shower, same as my armpits!

But I have noticed the, uh, clean-shaven trend in my erotica books. So maybe there was an ick factor when describing certain acts? Who wants curls tickling, or loose hairs falling into open mouths?

So maybe there is something to this trend, after all.

Or maybe we're becoming so warped a society that now women have something else to worry about?

Body hair. Who knew? And what's next?