Monday Lurvers!

Howdy peeps! Who has a Halloween hangover? Anyone want to share their booty?  And by booty I don’t mean to suggest  I’m asking for shots of your trunk full of junk.  Unless you like that kinda thing and then why not?

As you know, today kicks off NaNoWriMo and I’m participating for the first time. 1667 words a day.  Don’t hold your breath. I may or may not share some excerpts here. Let’s just see how it goes.

This last week was a lot of fun in the comments department, well, you know, what can I say. You guys are awesome.  AND if you’re visiting for the first time and you don’t know these lovely bloggers that comment here, I HIGHLY recommend that you head over to see them. They don’t save their genius just for me.

Last week I fantasized about leaving my husband for Jessica Biel.  Ash at Shades of Blue and Green questioned the source:
I’m curious if that site is for real, but scared to death over the amount of Viagra spam I’ll get if I click on it. I’ll take your word for it.
Now I need a cigarette after all your linky lurve. Whew! It was good for me.

Apparently this last week’s sexy time post worked for a few of you:
Damn! My arm is sore and I have hand cramps. Good smut, John.

Damn. I need a fucking date night.
Hubs working late. I’ll be drunk and naked when he gets home.

Of course I had to share a pic of the Mad from our trip to the “puhn in” patch (that’s Maddy speech. She doesn’t do c’s or k’s.)  Jill of Pining for Nordstrom knows a thing or two about kids.  And I don’t mind what she has to say about mine:
Delicious blondeness. Good job breeding.

I’m sorry for my need to pour my heart out on Thursday, it had been a rough week and I just needed to get some stuff off my (ahem, GROWING) chest.  Miri (you HAVE to go see HER SITE! She’s got a show in the works and I cannot wait to see it go live!) had some welcome advice and I won’t soon forget it:
I do just have “those days” sometimes… like today I woke up at 4 am all anxious and aflutter with worry and grief of a million small and seemingly meaningless things. So I try to say a little prayer of gratitude for the things I am thankful for. It’s hard to switch the focus and sometimes everything in me clings to the negative not wanting to let go, comfortable in that place of self pity and worry. But if I stick with it long enough, and breath and focus, I can usually move my thoughts elsewhere.

And then of course Liz picked out an important promise I have every intention of keeping:
So, instead of belly shots, we’re going to see boob shots? There’s a theme developing here.

Have you guys gotten to know Symdaddy?  He is quite the character.  He’s following my lead and making himself at home, quite literally:
Tissue’s at hand, the ‘daddy’ sidles in through the back door and heads for the kitchen. He makes it all the way to the fridge and freshly made punch without being observed.
Cautiously, he widdles in the punch and snatches a handful of sandwiches (the ones she makes with nutella and pickles) before searching for those elusive crumbs of chocolate cake which she hides so well.
She’s having a little lie on the sofa … didn’t know she snores!
Slipping quietly upstairs, the ‘daddy’ rifles through her drawers and closets … there has to be some cake here somewhere!
After what seemed like hours, but was in fact only a matter of minutes, the ‘daddy’ finds what he has been searching for … a Black Forest Gateau of enormous proportions hidden in the laundry basket.
Carefully removing yesterday’s underwear, he stuffs the gateau down his throat.
‘Why did I come here?’ wonders the ‘daddy’ as he slips back down the stairs.
Ah, yes!
In the living room, the mad lady is still sleeping.
The ‘daddy’ picks up a cushion and whacks her on the head.
“Cheer up girlie!” he say’s as she raises her head.
He makes his exit before a ‘Who the hell are you?’ can be hurled at him by the somewhat confused mad lady.
Over his shoulder he shouts “Oh, and by the way, you’re out of beer!”

Friday was all about the villain for my Red Writing Hood post.  What some of you already know is that it actually wasn’t a work of fiction.  This was my story (though I did add some color by suggesting I was attracted to Father What a Waste.)

I loved it. Nothing better than a complicated villain, because don’t we all have a little bit of villain inside us?
Confession scares the pants off of me. Good thing I’m Episcopalian ; -) (Ash)

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