FIFTY SHADES OF KELLY GREEN - by Diane Kelly

My book club recently read Fifty Shades of Grey. We just had to see what all the hype was about.  Unfortunately, I have to admit that I stopped reading once I came across the word “butt plug.”  I have a pretty high "ick factor,” but that crossed my line. Not that I fault anyone who has read past that point, because some women in my group assured me the book got much better after that.

At any rate, I found the concept of the characters' sex contract interesting.  The contract stipulated the when and how of their physical interactions, as well as defining limits on certain behaviors.   I figured that maybe it would be a good idea for all couples to have such a contract so that neither party expends unnecessary time shaving or showering or putting fresh sheets on the bed if the answer is only going to be “not tonight, hon.”

Here’s the draft I have in mind for me and my hubby, taking into consideration the implied terms under which we have been functioning for the past two decades of our marriage.

Nookie Agreement

1.  No nookie within three hours after a large meal.

2.  No nookie if the Mavericks, Spurs, Cowboys, Dolphins, or Rangers are playing on ESPN.

3.  No nookie before 9:45 PM or after 10:00 PM.  Too busy beforehand, too tired afterward. You better move fast.

4.  No nookie if any movie starring Russell Crowe, George Clooney, Johnny Depp, or Simon Pegg is on TV.

5.  No nookie if I couldn’t get my “fat pants” zipped up that day.  Just hold me and tell me I’m pretty.

6.  One major household chore must be completed by the husband that day in order to earn nookie.  Major household chores include: lawn mowing, car washing, vacuuming the entire house, grocery shopping, completing three or more loads of laundry, or fixing something that’s broken so long as a tool is necessary (glue and tape don’t count – I could’ve done that myself). 

7.  Interaction will immediately cease if either party says the “safe” word. My “safe” word is “Did you remember to shut the garage door? One of these days someone is just going to walk right into this house and kill us all!  How many times do I have to remind you?  Sheesh!” The husband's safe word is Zzzzzz.

Got any additions to the contract to suggest?  We'd love to  hear them!  

Don't forget to enter my "Big Hair" contest!  Just send a photo of you with a big hairstyle or a big wig to diane@dianekelly.com and you could win a Barnes & Noble gift certificate, fun hair accessories, or a free copy of my June 26th release DEATH, TAXES, AND EXTRA-HOLD HAIRSPRAY.  Photos will be posted on my site.

 

He dates!

Our blog has been around for almost 5 years now, which is awesomely cool IMHO.  There are very few things that I was doing five years ago that I'm still doing now.  For example: when we first started this blog I was a single mom, struggling to kick-start a writing career, and going on string of horrifically bad dates.  I blogged about a lot of those dates, which, looking back on it, was pretty humorous.  Mortifying at the time, humorous five years later.  Now, I'm with a great guy (okay, not ALL of the dates I blogged about where horrific... it only took one prince in a sea of frogs), and we have our second baby together on the way.  Life in my household is a far cry from what it was when I started blogging here.

But guess what?  I'm blogging about dating today again.  No, not me going on a date.  My son.  My twelve year old baby is - gulp - dating!!  I'm having severe mixed emotions about this.  He's a pretty mature kid, I trust his judgment, and I'm glad to see him feeling confident enough in himself at such an awkward age.  He's always been my little Casanova, and he's never gone through a "girls are yucky" phase.  And even in kindergarten he had a girlfriend.  But this is so much different.  There are actual dates involved, as in, he and a girl alone.  Together.  Hormones racing through both of their pre-teen bodies.  Gah!  My hair is turning white just thinking about it.

 

It started with a girl that he met on Facebook.  And, while I would have loved to warn him of all the evils of dating someone from the internet... I met my guy online, too.   Doh!  I knew that would come back to bite me in the butt at some point.

However, that romance was quick.  He told me that it was just too hard dating someone long distance.  (They did live a whole 5 miles apart.)  But, now he's into a girl from his own school.  Who lives just a mile away.  Close enough that they can ride their bikes to each others' houses after school and "hang out" for hours.  Know what?  I think I kinda liked the long distance online girl better.  She feels... safer.

I'm now frantically trying to figure out what sort of rules/talks we need to have.  It's one of those moments where I know Good Mom would do something.  She'd have a great talk prepared.  She'd know just how much to say about safe sex to prevent her 12 year old from entering into a world he's clearly much too young for, without giving him any ideas that might push him into that world faster than he should go there.  She'd know how to be encouraging about his young love, but discouraging about physically following through with it for many, many more years.   Man, I wish I had Good Mom's number.  Because I'm clueless how to handle this. 

Any advice for surviving this phase? 

~Trigger Happy halliday

Blast From the Past

In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I was one of those youngsters (practically a baby, really) who raced home from school each afternoon to catch the last twenty minutes of Dark Shadows. From Barnabas, the Collins family vampire, to Quentin the werewolf, Angelique, the witch, and assorted ghosts and warlocks, Dark Shadows was a campy gothic horror soap opera that, at times, provided unintended comic relief when a prop malfunctioned or an actor forgot his or her lines--which happened frequently.
Dark Shadows was the catalyst for my first fledgling forays into the writing realm with stories of a ghostly (and, yes, ghastly) nature.

Dark Shadows has always held a special place in my childhood memories.I introduced my kids to Dark Shadows via Netflix. They loved the corniness of the show as much as I did. So, it was with some misgivings that I decided to go see the new film starring Johnny Depp.

Don't get me wrong. I like Johnny Depp. What's not to like, right? And even though I couldn't really see Depp as Barnabas Collins, I was determined to keep an open mind. So, I took two of my kids and one of their friends to see the film this past weekend. The family friend had never seen the original Dark Shadows so that person wouldn't be influenced by expectations based on the original series.

We went. We saw. We all disliked the movie--in varying degrees and for various reasons. We wondered who the filmmakers were trying to hook. The fans of the 70s soap, we decided, wouldn't like the fact that the story strayed so far from the original--(I won't disclose any spoilers, but suffice to say much literary license was taken) and new viewers unfamiliar with the storyline and characters of the original would find little to enchant them, either in terms of story or characterization. Me? I'm still wondering how Barnabas and Victoria managed to fall in love considering they spent hardly any time together on screen.

So. There you have it. I'm glad I saw it, but wish I'd waited for the DVD release.

Have you seen Dark Shadows yet? What did you think? Thumbs up or thumbs down or so-so? What else have you seen in the theater lately?

The previews for Snow White and The Huntsman looked fantastic--especially the special effects--so I'm planning to see that movie this weekend.

Hoping I'm not disappointed.

And this has been a week at the movies with Bullet Hole Bacus!

~Kat

Wo(men) in black

A few days ago, I got a call from the US Government. Not totally unusual, since every few years, they do a background check on a good friend of mine. She works for the diplomatic service and is always at one embassy or another. I'm one of her "links" to the United States.

As far as links go, I'm a pretty good one. We've known each other since freshman year of high school. They seated us alphabetically in homeroom. She was Crowe. And since we had a small school (and very few "D" and "E" names), I (Fox) was seated right behind her. We got to be friends and the rest is history.

Very detailed history.

You see, when the federal agents want to know things, they want facts and plenty of them. And I should know lots of things because, well, I still see my friend whenever she's in the states. We talk all the time and I visit her in whatever country she's in (a little less now with kids and book contracts). Unfortunately, I am not a real detail person. As evidenced every time the agents knock on my door to talk about my friend.

Agent: How well do you know this person?
Me: Very well. I met her in high school and she was even the maid of honor at my wedding.
Agent: You knew her in high school.
Me: Yes.
Agent: Where did she work in high school?
Me: You've got to be kidding.
Agent: You know this person?

Who remembers where their friends worked in high school? Not me. I did manage to stumble out something about a summer camp where my friend taught gymnastics. Naturally, the agent wanted to know the name of the camp. Err...Gymnastics-R-Us? Really, who keeps track of these things? (Note: If you're one of those people who does keep track of things, you can pipe down right now.)

They also had questions about my job.

Agent: What do you do for a living?
Me: I write books.
Agent: That people read?
Me: Not all the time, no.

I thought that was pretty funny. Turns out, federal agents have no sense of humor.

Luckily, (and probably despite me) my friend has managed to keep her security clearance. So far. Good thing, because she really is great at what she does. After all, she kept me from getting arrested in Mexico City over a slight misunderstanding with la policia. They wanted a bribe. I wanted to see how well I could get by on high school Spanish (Hint: not that well).

And as far as I'm concerned, friendship is more than remembering the address of my friend's place in grad school. Instead, I remember crashing on the couch of said place. Oh, and the time she visited St. Louis and her grandmother took her to the store to buy batteries for her alarm clock. Aileen is legally deaf, so she has one of those alarm clocks that shakes instead of buzzes (hard to hear a buzz when your hearing aids are out). So naturally, her grandmother asked the sales clerk for "batteries for her granddaughter's vibrator."

But do the agents ask about that?

No.

They don't ask the important things. Not that I would tell them anyway. Some things are better left to friends.

The Day After Memorial Day

By Robin "Red Hot" Kaye

Memorial Day weekend is a big one in our house. Not only because we have so many of our family who have served or are serving in the Armed Forces, but because it’s also my youngest daughter’s birthday.

Ever since we lost our dog, a yellow Lab named Sambuca a few years ago, Mini-Me has been without her cuddly constant companion. ‘Buca was 110-pounder who thought he was a lap dog. Mini-Me took his death pretty hard.

Our other dog, Jasmine is a love, but she’s not cuddly.

Last week Mini-Me called me when she got home from school and asked if she could have a puppy for her birthday. I said the same thing I’ve said every time the question comes up—“Ask your Dad.”

I’m a dog lover—my husband, not so much. He thinks they’re okay, but with the busy household we have, he sees a puppy as just another thing to take care of. A few years ago he rendered his edict—No more carbon based life forms--and I’d seen nothing to make me think he’d change his mind. Still, Mini-Me wasn’t the only one who would kill for a puppy so I thought I’d do my part to help out.

Mini-Me really deserved a special birthday present, she’s a great kid, has been working hard in school, and as she told me, she’s never asked for much. She wanted a dog small enough for her to handle and walk on her own, and with her disabilities, she decided she on a Puggle—a designer breed that’s a cross between a Pug and a Beagle.

Now I’m not a little dog person. If it were up to me, we’d have St. Bernards, Mastiffs, and Great Pyrenees running around the back yard. The smallest dog I’ve ever had was a Cocker Spaniel. I’ve never had a dog I was afraid I’d step on. But this was for Mini-Me so I did some research on Puggles and had to admit they sounded like the perfect dog for her. So, while I was at it, I found a breeder who had a few females available.

Mini-Me made her case and my dear husband succumbed. (Next time I try talking DH into remodeling the kitchen, I’m just going to put Mini-Me on the job!) Friday night we went to PetSmart and bought all the necessary accouterments for a Puggle Puppy (including Puppy Training Classes) and took off early Saturday morning for the breeder. We began the holiday weekend buying Mini-Me her birthday present. Meet our Puggle Puppy Pepper (say that five times fast!)

Pepper is 14 weeks old and weighs all of 6 pounds! She’s wearing a cat collar because they don’t make dog collars that small. It was love at first sight between Mini-Me and Pepper. 

We’ve taken her everywhere: Starbucks (of course)

The Westminister, Maryland Memorial Day Parade--the longest running Memorial Day Parade in the United States. My son marched with his JROTC Raiders Team (he's in the second row, far right with the glasses)

We hit the local Pet Store on the way home for some chew toys. (Pepper has really sharp little teeth!) and to Mini-Me’s birthday party.

It was a great weekend and I don’t think I’ve ever seen my youngest happier!

So, what did you do this weekend?

Monday Holiday

The best kind of holidays are when they fall on a Monday. I absolutely loathe Mondays. It's the worst day of the week for me. If I had 52 sick days, I'd call in sick every Monday. But today is a holiday, so yea! I plan to write, write, write and sleep on my float in the pool. You can't get any better than that!

Saw a couple of movies this weekend: The Chernobyl Diaries and MIB 3. The Chernobyl Diaries was disappointing, following a long list of disappointing horror movies that I've seen in the past couple of years. Why can't someone make a decent horror movie? Someone? Anyone?

MIB 3 was great! And you actually found out some of K and J's backstory, which I thought added a lot of depth to the plot. Very nice job and some laugh out loud parts that you always get.

So what are your plans? Anything fun?

Deadly DeLeon

A Real-Life High Heels Mystery

No, Gemma isn't writing today's post. But maybe I'll need to call in her heroine Maddie Springer for some help.

First a little backstory.

Six months ago this coming Monday I went to work in the morning and didn't come home until Thursday. You see, when I left for my OB appointment that afternoon, I thought it was a routine non-stress test where I'd lie down in a lounge chair for an hour with a monitor strapped to my belly. I'd just read and then go back to work.

But Baby Boy had other plans, and the doctor informed me she was sending me "upstairs." Yeah, to Labor & Delivery. Which shouldn't really have been a problem because I'd already made it to 38 weeks (his sister was much more impatiuent and made her debut at 34 weeks), but nevertheless, I wasn't ready.

I'd left everything unfinished at work. And left everything untouched in my office. I completely forgot that I had a few pairs of really cute heels under my desk that I kicked off one day when my swollen feet just couldn't take it anymore. And it wasn't like I'd be needing them for maternity leave. My mommy uniform pretty much consisted jeans and a t-shirt (or sweatshirt...or pj's) and sneakers (or flip flops or barefoot) for months there.

I forgot all about them. And even had forgotten about them when I returned to work earlier this month. It wasn't until I was switching offices the other day and packing that I discovered them again. Ooh, pretty!

So I moved them to the new office and planned out the outfits I'd wear this week to match both pairs. Yes!

I was talking to some people on my new hall, and they told me that apparently there'd been some theft in that wing and we were encouraged to lock up anything of value, so I knew I shouldn't just leave my purse out. No biggie.

The next day I came in, wearing a fabulous navy and cream wrap dress that would look spectacular with those hot cream patent leather open-toe slings I found. I slipped my feet under the desk to put on the gorgeous shoes.

Nothing.

No cream shoes. No awesome red peep-toe pumps. No black strappy sandals.

Where the hell did my shoes go? I immediately thought back to my new neighbors warning me about theft on the hall. Did somebody steal my shoes? But that didn't even make sense. I mean, they're really nice shoes and all, but ew. Who wants someone's used shoes?

But I'm beginning to think there are some freaks on this new hall. You see, now that I'm at work, I'm pumping during the day. And pumping SUCKS, so I know exactly how much milk is in that bottle when I stick it in the fridge.

And one day I put 8 ounces in the fridge, but when I went to retrieve it a couple of hours later, there was only 6 ounces.

So yeah.

Open message to the coworker who drank that really sweet coffee creamer...joke's on you, buddy. And if you took my shoes, give them back please.