Kindle Users: Last TWO DAYS for FREE ELSIE W.!

Hey Kindle Readers!

Today and tomorrow, October 26 and 27 are the LAST TWO DAYS for you to get Elsie W.'s FIRST BOOK for free!

CLICK HERE!

Last two days, and then Elsie goes WORLDWIDE for Nook readers, Sony e-readers, and everything else!

Birthday fantasies change as you get older!

Good morning!

My birthday is approaching in a couple weeks and lately I've been thinking about how my birthday wish list has changed from when I was a kid.

From the time I could speak until the time I was old enough to drive I wanted two things:  A pony and Randy Mantooth to fall in love with me.  Every year that was my wish list.  Now my parents were hardly the type to get me a pony, and in the days before the Internet, all this Wisconsin girl knew was the Randy "Johnny Gage" Mantooth lived somewhere in

My birthday and Christmas wish, every year.

California.  So every few months I would "borrow" a stamp and send a letter to "Randy Mantooth, California" and use varying zip codes.  Funny, I never got them back.  Knowing my skill at handwriting, and paying attention to things like return addresses, I probably did something creepy like put "Your Biggest Fan" in the return address. 

In my teens, I gave up the idea of a pony. 

I still wanted Randy Mantooth, or Bruce Willis, or Barry Manilow, or Rick Springfield to show up on my doorstep and take me away from my hopelessly mundane life.  Who wouldn't?  I rarely opened a door without picturing my celebrity crush of the day standing on the other side, pining for me and ready to make me the princess I knew I was.

But birthday dreams definitely change as you get older.  Yeah, in my teen years, I wanted a stereo, (with a turntable and two tape decks so I could tape stuff from the radio, from my record player AND from cassette tapes.)  I wanted a car.  I wanted a word processing typewriter.  (I actually bought that one myself.)

In my early married years I wanted a car that was paid off, maybe a new bedspread, books, CD's, portable electronics (you know, so I could take my tunes with me when I went on a hike, or a run. HAH!)

As the kids got older I started asking for things that would just make my life easier.  Coupons from them for hugs, room cleaning, laundry.  I still put books on my list, CD's, movies,  and maybe a dinner at a favorite restaurant. I still enjoyed thinking about that dream guy standing just on the other side of the door, and I can assure you, hubby did NOT feel at all threatened by that.  Nope, not at all.

Well, my kids are all but grown and I'm in my middle years and I realize I have pretty much all the STUFF I want to deal with.  I'm far more selective about the books and movies and music I request and, I'm finding, I'm getting far more practical.

At this point in my life, I'm pretty sure if Rick Springfield or Randy

Mantooth or any of my dream dates showed up, I'd still be thrilled.  I'd be thrilled because maybe THEY could clean my kitchen and my bathroom and do my laundry and do SOMETHING about my living room while I spent some quality time on my computer writing my next novel.

I mean at this point my big fantasy is that I get a new couch, one that doesn't hurt my hips when I sleep all night on it.  I'd like a new dehumidifier for the basement, one that doesn't freeze up after four minutes of operation.  I have an idea for the living room, I'd like to get one of those storage ottomans, so I have a place to hide all the ratty blankets we use because, thanks to the rising cost of EVERYTHING we can't afford to heat our house much above "brrrrrr."

But my mom sent me an email the other day telling me that in two weeks she's coming to give me my birthday present.  She's going to clean and organize my kitchen.

Ten years ago I would have been insulted. But now, wow, that's an AWESOME gift.  Maybe if I'm pitiful enough the day she shows up, she can start work in my basement, where all four of us seem to be hiding our hoarder tendancies.

But hey, that's a Christmas fantasy. 

According to my leg hair, my big toe should be speaking Portugese.

Good afternoon!

Before we get started, I just want to say, TODD...please keep your fun, snarky comments  (oh, and there will be plenty) to yourself until you read the end!  Thank you!

I am a student of history and somewhere deep in the recesses of my schooling I recall being taught about the Line of Demarcation. Click here to read up on this bit of history!  The thumbnail is that when Christopher Columbus came back from his Spanish funded voyage to the New World, he stopped first in Portugal, and got the Portugese King all riled up about the fact that he was getting hosed by the Spanish because the previous treaty for domination of the whole undiscovered planet didn't give him enough

It looks like a map of the world.
But is it really a map of my leg hair?

land.  So he got the Pope all involved in it and tah dah, the Pope drew a longer line around the undiscovered world and now Brazil speaks Portugese even though everyone outside South America thinks they speak Spanish.

I bring this up because I've been noticing something interesting...and fairly weird...going on with my leg hair.  See, it's getting to be that time of year again when middle aged women in the northern reaches of the US stop shaving their legs because, well, hey, we're wearing pants to work and sweats to bed anyway, what's the point?  Except for that rare weekend at a waterpark someplace, it's gonna be furry below the knee until Ground Hog's day.

Now, that might see terrible, but keep in mind that I have a skin condition that makes shaving my legs sort of a painful experience, and so really not worth the burning and itching and overall annoyance.  So for the last couple years, since I developed the skin issues, I really don't pay too much attention to my leg hair from October until Christmas, when I'm forced to wear a skirt to church, and then again until the first thaw.

This year I noticed something really, really, really weird.

I was only growing hair on half my legs.

And it wasn't the half I thought it would be.

I can't speak for most women, but shaving our legs is time consuming, and really, if you think about it, stupid.  If you have the courage to be hairy for a couple years, your body figures it out and no longer goes into a hair producing panic every time you shave.  Given enough time, a woman can stop growing leg hair.

The outside of both my legs proves that point.  I do not, really, grow leg hair on the OUTSIDE of my legs...not at all.

Below the knee, on the inside of my legs, however, is an entirely different story...and I'm starting to wonder if there's something going on I don't know about.

On my inner calf, on both sides, I can, and do, produce some pretty impressive leg hair.  Now, it doesn't grow in the way it did when I was in my teens, where I have a week of stiff, black stubble, and then it gets longer.  No, I go from no hair to half an inch of softer, albeit, dark hair pretty much over night, about two weeks after my last "hack and slash" session. (Back in college when none of us had any money, we used our single blade Daisy razors until they fell apart...those last few shaves were

really more of a machete job.  hey, we were 20 and we were idiots.)

I thought I was imagining things when I noticed this a few weeks back, so I did what any blogger who likes to mock herself would do...I shaved my legs, and then I watched.  And sure enough, my legs stayed hair free for several days and then BAM, the inside of my legs were coated with long, flowing locks of hair.  (That's the romance author in me coming out...)

Now don't get me wrong.  I like that I don't need to ever think about shaving the outside of my legs.  But, am I the only one...I can't possibly be the only one this happens to...can I?

CAN I?

On a sillier note, don't forget my friends, you can get Elsie W.'s FIRST BOOK in print by clicking here!  OR, you can get it for the Kindle by clicking HERE! (Those of you who read on a different device, never fear, I'll have it available in a few weeks!)

 

Is there such a thing as a Seeing Eye Mousse Dog? I think I need one.

Good afternoon!

I'm taking a break from the Green Bay Packers/Baltimore Ravens wonder of a defensive struggle  (I love a good defensive game, but come on...the two highest paid QB's in the league, and NO touchdowns in the first half?) to talk about something very disturbing I've noticed lately.

I've forgotten how to use hair mousse.

See, I'm a child of the 80's when mousse and Aqua Net hair spray were the tools we used to keep our teased, curling ironed hair looking slightly damp and very tall.

I love Rock and Roll...and really tall hair.

Over the years I went to very ,very short hair which needed very little in the way of hair product because, well, there was no hair.  But the last several months, under the expert tutelage of my hair girl, Meghan, I've rediscovered my love of tall, heavily layered hair.  And, since my arthritis has made pump spray hair spray almost impossible to use, I've also rediscovered Aqua Net hair spray.  (They keep it waaaaaay down on the bottom shelf, so it's hard for old 80's chicks like me to 1) see it and 2) bend down to get it, but it's there. I sometimes bring Peaches on shopping trips so she can spot it for me.)

So recently, having reached a length of hair I haven't had in multiple years, and having gotten some really cool rock and roll layers, I decided to return to my other hair product standby:  mousse.

Mousse, for those of you who do not know, is a foamy sort of hair product.  You can use it in your hair when your hair is wet or dry, but I prefer to use it when my hair is wet.   The mousse comes out of a narrow nozzle when you push on the little flat part of the plastic top.  Unlike pump hair spray, you can get a decent handful of mousse with one push, so my arthritis isn't as big an issue.

I didn't think I needed any refresher courses on how to use mousse, but, after two disasters, I realize something very sad:  I have, in my old age, forgotten how to use hair mousse.

It's a true sign of senility for a child of the 80's.

The first disaster I sort of laughed off.  I mean, it's been a good 20 years since I've used the product, so OF COURSE there's always a chance that the first time out of the box I'm going to do something stupid like look directly into the nozzle as I'm pushing the flat part.  And that would result, of course, in mousse hitting me square in the face and the neck and the chest, resulting in a complete change of wardrobe and ultimately, a late arrival at work.

All of that happened, except for one thing:  I wasn't looking directly at the nozzle.  Nope, I was actually aiming for my hand, which was positioned 20 inches below my face.  And I still managed to hit myself in the face, the neck, and the chest which resulted in a complete change of wardrobe since I managed to unleash so much mousse on myself it felt more like I was trying to unfrost a cake.

Go ahead, laugh.  I did.  Hey, that's funny.

This morning was NOT funny.  I was getting ready for church and, having learned a thing or two from my last fail at the mousse, I was more careful, way less cavalier, about dispensing the hair product.

This time I managed to hit my glasses, my pink boom box, my jar of moisturizer all located on the shelf 18 inches to the left of my target...my hand...AND I HIT THE FLOOR!

It didn't take a CSI to see, with so much spatter, that the person operating the can of mousse was clearly, maybe getting a little senile.  I mean, really, who forgets how to put mousse into your hand?  I used to do it in the dark, after a night where not only did I get no sleep, but I probably took someone's dare to try and cram myself into something.  (In college, I was much smaller than I am now, and I was able to crawl into fairly small spaces, like a drier, or under the bookshelf headboard of our dorm bed, or into a washer...yes, the agitator made that one very uncomfortable.)

So I'm thinking maybe I need to get a service dog that can help me release the mousse from the can into my hand.  I'm pretty good from there, although I have managed to hit my shoulder a couple times, I am getting better at that. 

Some would tell me to just give up using mousse.

Are you kidding?  Have you seen how tall my hair is lately?  I can't possibly give that up!   (I'm not saying I'm John Stamos height yet...but it's close!)

Gloria Vanderbilt, thank you for listening, Now, Lee...it's your turn to feel my wrath!

Good evening!

It's been about two years, maybe a bit longer, since I published my well received rant about Gloria Vanderbilt's black slacks and how, while the jeans fit, the slacks were ridiculously tight in the waist.

Well, friends, I'm here to tell you that I don't know if my blog is just that well read  (welcome those of you reading in Russia!)  or just I'm not the only fluffy girl who didn't appreciate the nasty surprise Gloria's dress slacks gave us when we got them home, but I can say this:  We whined, she listened, and Gloria Vanderbilt black pants are back on the list of things I love!  (Take that, Oprah!  I can love things, too!)

Yes, I found, after several months of fruitless searching, buying, and returning, that Gloria's black fit comfortably, and were perfect for that fuzzy "office casual" look we are all forced to wear.  Well done Gloria!

Now, to my next rant.  While Gloria figured it out, Lee jeans has let me down in a huge way.  For two years, more than two years, I've purchased Lee Comfort Fit pants in size 14W.  I've not bought one other pair of pants than LEE in more than two years because I knew that a 14W would fit.  14W is a rare thing, because sometimes a 16W is just a tiny bit too baggy, but something happens in when you try to jump from a 16W to a 16...makers of "misses" pants feel that those who are size 16 are still thin and therefore do not need any space in gut or butt area.  They make the pant leg fluffier, but not the waist.  And it's true, too, for a size 18 without a W.  Seriously, why is there one INCH of difference between a Lee comfort fit in a 16 and a Lee Comfort fit in a 16W?

But I digress.  For TWO YEARS  I bought Lee Comfort Fit pants in Size 14W and rejoiced because hey, a 14W is the tiny size in Fluffy Girl Land.

But now...now, when my 14Ws are falling apart after two solid years of wearing them everywhere all day, every day.   (I have three pair, brown, blue, and black.  They go in a rotation.)  And now, I'm in the market to put down some serious buckage on Lee Comfort pants.

But no 14W to be found. Not in the stores, not online, not on Lee's own website.

No, only the 16W which is WAY too big.  I look like I'm wearing a pair of blankets on my legs.  And I tried the 18, the 16, and the 14 in regular sizes because, in a fit of optimism, I thought I could squeeze myself into one of those.  No.  The legs fit perfectly...on all three pair.  BUT THE GUT AND BUTT areas were far too tight...if I could even get the pants zipped.

Riddle me this:  In what world would a woman have the exact same sized thighs, calves, and height...and be wilder thinner or wider in the g and b area?  But apparently, all Lee's models are 5" 5' tall, have 30 inch thighs, 16 inch calves, and a 34 inch hip. (oh, and no gut)  Until we get to the 16W where everything balloons upward. 

So congrats there, Lee Jeans.  You have now lost a dedicated customer because none of your seamstresses can MEASURE.

I'll come back when you decided to acknowledge that women with larger guts do not always have pontoon runners as thighs.  Get your measuring straight and we might talk.

But for now, I'll plunk my dollars back at Gloria!