Being Neighbors in Crime

So here's the deal. For the last five years, I've gone down to the local fireworks tent. Bought over forty dollars worth of cheap sparklers, fountains, whistlers, and ground blooms.
And for the last five years, our neighbors have brought out every assorted bottle rocket, and flying whatevers that put the city park's display to shame. They've practically blown the paint off of nearby trucks and scared the *you know what* out of small children (including my own). All for a lot less dough than my lousy attempt at patriotic pride.
So this 4th of July, we're doing our neighborly duty and getting *out of state* fireworks. At this point, its practically tradition to break the law on the day the Declaration of Independence was signed. Makes perfect sense to me. And it's a whole lot cooler!

Not to worry, we keep a five gallon bucket of water and a hose ready at all times.

It's Not So Bad

I've recently stepped up my workout routine. Crazy? I used to think so.
With dirty looks and cursing those who did this, I went running. Not the first time ever, but the first time with an actual goal. The first day was two miles of complete torture. I think I walked half of it. I cried half and I swore people who did this in the name of "fun" were insane.
Yet, I did it again. And again. And again. And again. Now, I find that I can't get enough.
Not only am I finally able to eat that french fry that I haven't in three years, I'm finally dropping those last ten vanity pounds without losing muscle and hair.
I know ... it sounds like total ridiculous torture to someone who doesn't run... but I swear, I never thought I could do this. Trust me, it gets easier so much faster that I thought it could.

On an important note... good running shoes, athletic insoles, and finding someone who can watch you and correct your running form is a major deal. Shin splints are no fun at all!

Now... my goal is to kick freakin arse at the warrior dash in august. Yeah... I know. I guess I've got a competitive streak that runs deep, but only seeps out when called to.

EXPOSED

I'm sick of saying I'm a writer with nothing to show for it. I've currently written a 381 page novel with a sequel to come. I would lie if I didn't say I didn't love my characters more than anything else. Writers are weird like that I suppose. Well here's my query. A query, btw, is a one page report on the entire story. The most difficult thing about a book. The Pitch. The Line. The BS between whether its works or doesn't.
So here I am.
Exposed.


Genevieve Marshall, Evy, is just trying to make it through life without going crazy. She’s tormented by wild memories with strangers and major migraines that no one can seem to explain. She’s grasping at straws until one day she finds Adam, the stranger from her memories. (not to mention, the living pain killer) She follows him (well, who wouldn’t) and demands answers to once and for all put to rest these visions.

Undead, Adam Fischer, is trying to hide from the one thing he can’t, love. Love stinks at all angles! It’s only created misery and heartache. But a guy can never catch a break. He finds himself not only drawn to Evy, like a moth to a torch, but journeying through their tragic and ugly past together, yet again. The one thing he told himself he wouldn’t do, of course.

As they revisit his historic journals, Evy learns that Adam hasn’t died for over two hundred years and that she’s been coming back to him throughout the past. But she also gets the doozy of finding out that someone’s been stalking them both throughout time as well. From their first encounter with death in Germany, 1786, to a present day high speed chase through the canyons of Colorado, they find themselves racing to prevent another one of life’s delay’s, DEATH!

This novel is the perfect example of how the phrase “Death cannot stop true love, but only delay it for while” is no fun at all.

Currently, a sequel is in the works.

If It Were You...

You know that "I know I'm forgetting something important" feeling?
I got home and went through everyone's schedules today. Now I know that Friday night is a disaster area and the rest of the weekend just took a steep dive.

Okay... so how do I do this?
Thursday 6pm - 8pm (Adult classes)
Thursday 7pm (leave for Delta orchestra practice... stay for who knows how long, get home late)

Friday 8am-5pm (work at JHOF)
Friday 4:30am-7:30pm (Luke's overtime)
Friday 5:30pm (leave for Delta Spring Concert, get home who knows when... be driven nuts in the car with several children)
Friday 6pm (leave for Denver)
Friday 7pm (game night)

Saturday (Denver trip to the zoo... come home )
Saturday (install a well needed patio)

Sunday 10:30-12:00 (church)
Sunday 1pm (leave for Montrose concert)

Next Friday is shaping up to be worse with a concert in Ouray.

The Denver trip is obviously out of the question. Game Night cancelled. Ditching adult classes (kinda important).
I understand the responsibility of being part of a group performance and the problems it causes when someone can't make it. I honestly wish we could get the flu so bowing out would be excusable. That sounds horrible I realize, but what can I say? I'm so not happy about any of this.

What would you do if it were your child?

Verizon

Me "Luke, my phone just randomly shuts off. The battery isn't dead. It just shuts off the power."

Luke "Maybe there's a recall."

After hanging out with me for two hours and watching it do it twice Luke goes, "That ain't right."

So I go looking online. I can't find a recall or anything about it.

Luke says "Go to the nice verizon store. The eastgate one."

I go "Actually, if I dress up and look hot, they're really nice to me at the snobby store."

Luke goes "Well, use your booty. As long as it works for you, right?"


DROPS MOUTH OPEN WITH A POP!

TP Time

On the phone at walmart. Friends will testify, this is not a good idea for me. I'm too blonde to shop and talk on the phone at the same time.
But it was Luke, so I answered it.
"I'm at walmart. Do you need anything?" Currently imagining the security camera personnel watching me walk in circles through the store like a pacman ghost.
Luke "No. Do we need toilet paper?"
Me "I really don't know. Where are the coloring books?"
Luke "The toy section. Maybe you should get some anyways. When in doubt..."
Me "The toy section!!! Okay. Anything else?"
Luke "Nope."

Arriving home, the kids run out to the car. As we unload the car Justin asks "Mom, why did you get more toilet paper?"
Me "Um, we could always use more."
Justin "But, there's nowhere to put it all!"
I walk in to inspect the situation in the downstairs bathroom. And wouldn't you know it, he was right. There's a ton of toilet paper stuffed under the sink. I shrug and think, "Oh well, better than running out."

Tonight I sit down in my own bathroom and lo and behold, whose out of toilet paper?

For Once In My Life...

It's not every day that I get to go to a concert. Heck, I can't even remember the last concert I went to. And to be honest, if I wanted to listen to the music, the album recording is a LOT better. But I couldn't help myself last December when I found out that Michael Buble' would be in Denver.
I got online and fought for those tickets relentlessly. (followed by dancing around the kitchen when I finally got them)

As the months passed, our schedule got tighter and tighter. It began looking almost impossible to make. I was seriously contemplating giving them away or selling them on ebay. But my more childish selfish side won and we came up with an air-tight plan to get to Denver, go to the concert, and get home. (By saying air-tight, I mean could've fallen through at any second.)

After hours of running, packing, and traveling we made it. Michael Buble' was fantastic. Of course, this may all be in prejudice that I, in fact, haven't been to a concert in so long I wouldn't know a good one from a bad one. Or the fact that it was Michael freakin Buble'! Either way, I had a blast!

This kinda thing should be a "to do" on every couples list. Make plans and pull absolutely every possible string to finally follow through.

Oh, and P.S. I got a t-shirt. (Luke didn't want one.)