If You Can't Stand the Heat

Looking for a good book? Just in time for Texas Mystery Month, I've got your next excellent reading material right here! My friend Robin Allen has a new novel out:  If You Can't Stand the Heat. It's a cozy mystery with a witty protag, so if you want a fun read with an interesting plot that moves at a fast pace, this is the book for you. It's gotten great reviews.











Yesterday was Robin's book launch at Book People in Austin.







Here's a small contingent of Austin WriterGrrls, including me in my jailbird dress. Well, it IS a book about a crime!






We followed the book launch with drinks at the Driskill Hotel on 6th Street. What a great bar. Cozy and luxurious -- old Texas money, dontcha know.



Support new authors and buy this book! You can check out the reviews for Robin's book at Good Reads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9644570-if-you-can-t-stand-the-heat
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I Need Direct Guidance

Most of you know I'm a big proponent of the Law of Attraction, which says that whatever you're putting out into the Universe, you're attracting back to you—the good and the bad. So far, no sign of a silver-tipped Brad Pitt but, hey, maybe I'm too askeered of Angie to allow him to enter my space. (Or am I? . . . Come to me, Brad.)

Anyhoo, the steps are Ask, Believe, and Receive. And it's the Receiving part that's tricky. See, it's up to me to recognize the gifts and opportunities when they arrive—for instance, potential dates—and to act on them. Which is the whole problem: it's up to me. Cuz what if these gifts and opportunities aren't so clear cut? How do I know if I'm missing something good, or glomming onto something awful that only seems awesome? I totally did that once with a cheesecake. I mean, how do I really know for sure?

I think what I need is Universal GPS, some guy speaking with authority on behalf of the Universe who guides me with a British accent to my glorious bounty. He can sit on my shoulder and instruct me.

Like when I meet a guy who's not good for me, my UGPS would say: "Depart now. Travel straight ahead for 5 miles. Don't stop to second-guess. I said don't stop!"

When Mr. Goodtime is near, UGPS would say: "Turn left in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Right there! Pinch his ass! Not that one. THAT one!"

When I've missed an opportunity, but there's still hope, UGPS would say: "Turn around when possible. Use your power for good:  flash your boobs."

To avoid that guy I broke up with via text, UGPS would say: "Turn left, then right, then left, then right, then duck into a Baskin-Robbins. What? Where was I? Oh, looky there! Pralines and Cream!"

When I only have a first impression to make something happen, UGPS would say: "In ten seconds, hold in your stomach, stand like a 'ho, and suck on your middle finger." (Heh, like I would ever be so gauche. Again.)

When I'm supposed to notice someone, my UGPS would say: "Hel-l-o-o-o, girl, are you not paying attention to that fine specimen?" (Okay, he's British and flamin'.)

Or when my Forever Man is right in front of me, UGPS would say: "You have arrived at your destination. Don't fuck it up."

See, I need direct guidance. Cuz otherwise, how will I know for sure?
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Blogger! Seriously? You dumped a bunch of my comments! And just when my homies and I were makin' a whole lotta noise! You OWE me, Blogger!
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Three Fabulous Things

Let's just recap my weekend, shall we? Wherein three fabulous things happened...

#1 Fabulous Thing:
Praise the Universe, I finally got my laptop back with a shiny new hard drive and lots of space to cram all sorts of grey matter I want to preserve for posterity. Yay, and huggy thanks to Waynerdawg for making it happen. You da king.

#2 Fabulous Thing:
I made my performance on the "Listen to Your Mother" Show. What a blast! I think I only flubbed one line, but it wasn't the tongue-twister I had feared, so I probably drifted somewhere else when that happened—like to the OMG-I'm-speaking-to-300-people place. Or maybe I was still freaked out at being the person to follow the lovely and incomparable Jenny Lawson (The Bloggess). It was like, Really? I have to follow her? That's the equivalent of Jan Brady on the kitten heels of Marsha Marsha Marsha. Wait, who's Jan again, and why is she stuttering like Porky Pig? Uh, be-a-be-a-be—uh, that's all she wrote, folks.

The incredibly talented LTYM cast, post-show 
(minus Jenny and Kristin).
I'm the short shit in the middle.

Actually, LTYM was huge fun for me, and ham that I am (isn't that what Moses said? Ham that I am? Or maybe it was Dr. Seuss, who sounds a lot like Blythe Jewell, by the way—though Blythe is much prettier, with a lollipop in her hair and potty words in her mouth—this would all be clear to you if you'd been at the show!), I've decided I need a new career in public speaking. If only I had some real wisdom to impart that people would pay to hear while refraining from throwing things. I would so dig it.

I want to publicly thank Wendi Aarons and Jennifer Sutton for the awesome job they did in producing this show and for their incredible contributions on stage. They are two smart, funny, wonderful women. And I'd also like to thank my sisters in writing, all the multi-talented and lovely LTYM cast members. How about we take this show on the road, girls?

More to follow on LTYM later, including links and pics and stuff.

#3 Fabulous Thing:
After the show, I was totally allowed to eat carbs again. Woot-woot! My ingestion this weekend, post LTYM, consisted of chips and queso and salsa, chips and queso and salsa, and, I admit, chips and queso and salsa—and a waffle. Two of the best food groups ever.
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I Noticed Some Stuff

Yup, I was just looking around this week, waiting for word on my ailing laptop, and this is what I noticed:

Backup drives are as important as your last will and testament, especially when losing your hard drive makes you want to roll over and die.

Having to choose between transitive or intransitive lie, lay, laid, lain, lying, or laying makes my brain shrivel to the size of a raisin lying in the sun. Or is it laying in the sun? Kill me now...

My first sunburn of the year took 45 minutes: 15 to burn and 30 to realize the shade had moved.

Tween boys are like pop farts. Cute and gross at the same time.

Source Code is gripping and worth the ticket. Your Highness is ridiculous in a Monty Python sort of way, for which I offer two words and one unforgettable image:  penis medallion.

You never really forget how to cook. It's like having sex. You turn up the heat, throw in the good stuff, and hope it tastes better than it looks.

I don't know how threatening to "rain a shitstorm down on you" got translated to "Nana's gonna poop a storm," but y'all need to quit telling on me. Your mother turned out okay . . .

Tickets are on sale now for my April 30 performance at the Listen to Your Mother Show in Austin, HERE. Come on out and see me!
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The Reason for This Post is ESTP, I Think

So often I feel like I have absolutely nothing to blog about. Yet the minute someone walks into the same room with me, I'm all "Hey, you look like you need to hear my opinion on something." Why, I wondered, is there such disparity?

Then I remembered that over the last 25 years, I've consistently tested out in Myers-Briggs as an ESTP, a class of personalities that make up only 4-10% of the population, including Ernest Hemingway, JFK, Madonna, and Doris Day. I figured maybe revisiting how my personality works might give me ideas for getting past my bloggy constipation. So let's see, being an ESTP means I'm:

E = Extroverted (vs Introverted)
ESTPs are hands-on learners who often feel motivated by their interaction with people and enjoy a wide circle of acquaintances. They gain energy in social situations.

Truer words were never spoken (except for that time I called my ex a jerk-off). I practically bounce off the walls when I know I'm about to see friends. If I had a tail, it would wag all the time. I admit to having fetched in the past for no more than a buttery nipple shot.

S = Sensing (vs Intuition)
ESTPs tend to be more concrete than abstract and focus their attention on the details rather than the big picture.

Whatevs. I'm a problem solver. I prefer to have facts before diving into a big project, which apparently includes teeny-weeny blog posts. True this:  if I don't know where I'll end up, I rarely devote energy to it. That makes me sound lazy, but (yawn, stretch) I'm totally not. Where is that remote?

T = Thinking (vs Feeling)
ESTPs tend to rely on objective criteria. When making decisions, ESTPs generally give more weight to logic, and they seem to enjoy arguments.

Just call me Spock. I'm good with cause-effect or if-then arguments and universal rules or truths. Raise your hand if you think the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one? I'm also particularly good with the concepts of attraction and gravity, especially when it concerns two people with saggy stuff. And that last descriptor about arguments? Totally open for debate.

P = Perceiving (vs Judging)
ESTPs tend to withhold judgment and delay important decisions, preferring to "keep their options open" should circumstances change.

Heh, sounds like my dating philosophy. I do like spontaneity, and I admit to a degree of fickleness. But I'm just being flexible (that's what HE said) and open to opportunities. Of course, this means I'm subject to working under pressure to meet deadlines. Like blog posts, if I had any deadlines, which I don't.

So basically, I'm a fickle, tail-wagging opportunist named Spock. But, again, that's open for debate, and I'm not sure this revisiting has helped. Whaddaya think?

Have you taken the Myers Briggs Type Indicator test? What's your personality type?
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Men, Friends, and Gods of the Arena

Important reminders for Fragrant Liar this week:

1. Just because a guy says he wants to see you again doesn't mean he really does. He may have good intentions, but here's what I know: if a guy is really interested, he'll do what it takes to make it happen. He will not wait. Esta mujer no espera a nadie.
2. Each tweet sent out to the universe is like a hand-scribbled note that says, "Will you be my friend? Check yes or no." I never wanted to go back to the school yard, yet that's what Twitter often feels like. Por favor, decir que sí.
3. Some of your best friends are the very ones you haven't heard from in awhile but who will surprise you and show up when you need them most; and it will be like no time has passed. Love for my good friends, dormant and present, springs eternal. Bienvenido de nuevo, amigas.
4. When you give someone the benefit of the doubt and go the extra mile to make them feel welcomed in your circle, yet you repeatedly get the stink eye, it's time to raise anchor. Some people carry chips on their shoulders, regardless of what you do. For me, once that ship has sailed, it never returns to port. Adios para siempre, muchacho.
5. Spartacus: Gods of the Arena (Starz) is my decadent new guilty pleasure. Without. Reservation. High tension. Slow-mo battles. Complex relationships. Explicit everything. As exciting, riveting, and titillating as TV gets. This is why Rome fell, and why I kinda wish I'd been there to partake of it. Meant to be enjoyed with good girlfriends and good wine. Men optional. Más! Más! Más!
6. Fun, sexy music makes everything mui fabuloso! Even in these shoes.
   
   No le gusta caminar / No puede montar a caballo.
   Como se puede bailar? / Es un escandalo!

Following me yet? Go for it! ------>>>
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Lights, Camera, ACTION!

Y'all, I got super awe-fabu-wonder-credible news today! No, I didn't win an all-expense-paid 30-day vacation to the Caribbean on a pamper-the-hell-outta-me cruise that includes a scalpel-free full-body rejuvenation, complete with 50-year guarantee and an endless supply of Swedish massages with Sven the manscaped Viking, warm peanut butter crackies, and exotic, um, tingly sensation aromatherapy pleasuring oils. Oooooo, good guess though!

My peeps, I'm going to be one of 15 featured cast members on the Listen to Your Mother Show (Austin) on April 30, 2011. Waaaa-hoooo! LTYM is the brainchild of the lovely and amazing Ann Imig of Ann's Rants; and after last year's premier in Madison, Wisconsin, this year new shows are in Austin, L.A., Spokane, and Valparaiso.

You all know how timid and reserved I am, but I think I'll probably maybe perhaps be okay with the Hollywood lights shining down on me. [sigh] People may just have to escort me onto the stage. But I'm totally not letting anyone escort me off! Ahem, I mean, it should be fun.

Hope y'all can make it! I solemnly promise I won't be long-winded or gross or cussing like usual, and I solemnly promise to embarrass someone near and dear to me.

We'll be at the AT&T Conference Center in Austin. More later on tickets and such. Austin is great for a live show, but if you can't make it, they're taping it. Woot-woot! (I mean, gosh, I'm just doing my part) So you'll be able to see it online after the event.

Pretty cool, huh? Not as titillating as your excellent guess of an all-expense-paid 30-day vacation to the Caribbean on a pamper-the-hell-outta-me cruise that includes a scalpel-free full-body rejuvenation, complete with 50-year guarantee and an endless supply of Swedish massages with Sven the manscaped Viking, warm peanut butter crackies, and exotic tingly sensation aromatherapy pleasuring oils (you were totally so close!). But I'm nonetheless honored and thrilled to be part of such a cool new show and a very talented group of writers.

My humble thanks, LTYM!
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Wee Wisdom #12

Miss America's Poignant Pearl of the Week

Says 7-year-old Miss America, upon visiting her first Japanese steakhouse, where the chef/cook performed amazing aerial tricks with the food he prepped in front of her:

"Wow, Mom! I didn't know eggs could do stunts!"

_________________

I'm all torn up about what's going on in Japan. I send my best, warmest wishes across the Pacific.

And many thanks to Hilary of the Smitten Image for bequeathing Miss America and I this Post of the Week award for our Wee Wisdom! We appreciate it!
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Plenty of Fish in the Sea?

People, I signed up for Plenty of Fish again. I know, I am such a glutton for punishment! Why do I do this to myself? I'll tell you why. YOU! I hear it all the damn time, how people met their spouses or soul mates online. And I thought, hey, that could happen to me, right? Maybe I'll actually meet someone who won't send me running for a galaxy far, far away.

Alas, me? I'm the eternal optimist. And when I say optimist, I mean magical thinker. And when I say magical thinker, I mean ridiculously hopeful sap.

Anyway, within an hour of signing on to POF, my inbox filled up. You might think that would be a good thing, but not so much. I like to say I'm discriminating, but really I'm just picky. For a lot of these guys, there's a reason they're still single that has nothing to do with being picky.

I promise you, I'm a serious fan of men and all their uncomplicated charm. But on a dating site, you have three chances to get attention. (1) Your profile. Your self-authored sales pitch. (2) Messages. They're your calling cards, so make them count. (3) Your best, real, recent photo. The real you—hopefully, you from the front, side, back, and shirtless. Heh, totally kidding. Not. (Have you seen Spartacus on Starz? Fan me down.)

So of all the messages in my inbox and all the profiles I reviewed, only two or three really caught my eye. The others . . . Well, you tell me:

1. Mr. I Sat Out Language Arts. Go ahead, call me elitist, but when your one chance to hook me in a profile looks like this:

ladies i dont know want to email pingpong forever just sea if weget along dont drag it out cuz mytime is valable you know it lol what about coffee or a beer instead and then?

. . . and then I'm gonna have to pass.

2. Mr. Socially Awkward. Those inbox messages I mentioned? Oy. Filled—FILLED—with single-line stuff like this:

• Hey you and me match. I hope you want to meet me. Write me back.
• I like your profile. Your special. But you have to have things in common I know.
• I am an acquired taste. A mix of little boy, dominate male, artist, poet, intellectual, and mechanic with a dash of essentricistism thrown in.
• Hi pretty lady, how's your evening going? Fine I hope.
• What am I living for, if not for you?
• Your pretty. LOL. But seriously.

Guys, I need meat. And when I say meat, I mean conversation. And when I say conversation, I mean big people words. How about an adult exchange? That stuff above? That makes me worry you have skinned knuckles and grunt a lot. Come on, what do you really need to know about me?

3. Mr. Love Me for What's Inside. Dude. That won't be a problem, IF I see merit in your profile and IF you show your photo, which is actually #1 in the whole "Pick me!" process. This is the guy who sends you a two-line email about how pretty he thinks you are, but lets a blank blue square be your window into his soul. Why so afraid to reveal yourself? Call me shallow, but I don't buy prime rib I can't see.

4. Mr. I'm Embarrassed about How I've Let Myself Go. Ancient photos of you do NOTHING to tell me who you are now. Same goes for a photo of you taken from across the Continental Divide, where I can't tell if you're a man or a mailbox.

5. Mr. Heavy Petter. Just as useless is the heavy-handed use of your dog(s) photos. I don't care how sweet and lovable your schnauzer is, I'm not going to date him, and he can't sway me to date you.

Plenty of fish in the sea? Depends on if we're counting all the ones ya gotta throw back. (sigh) Now are you feeling my pain? Ladies? It's all your fault.

P.S.  I should mention, I'm not perfect either. I went all Chatty Cathy on a guy, which was outrageously out of character for me. Obviously.
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Say HELL NO to McCruelty

I don't post these things often, but this is a cause near and dear to my heart.


It takes 20 seconds to make your voice heard on this HERE.

Thank you!

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