Who Am I?

Well, inquisitive reader, let me answer. I am a wife, a mom and I have chronic bad hair. I like made uppy words and Unnecessary Capitalization. If you know who the guy in the bottom right picture is, you're probably my best friend. Also, I own several Edward dolls which I write about HERE. No, I don't use drugs. By the way, if your love canned tomatoes, visit my stash HERE.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

It's Tuesday, and since we have no cable that means I get to choose between doing laundry or cleaning out my pantry for nighttime entertainment

Why, yes, that is the most obscure and boring title ever.  Thank you for noticing.


You're all perched anxiously on your seat to know the outcome of my *dum dum dummm* MAMMOSMOOSH.

I would be too, inquisitive reader, especially if I hadn't been through that glamourous experience before.

Well.  Let me just be frank and say-- man, I've never felt sexier.

This was so much worse than that time in 9th grade when my mother shouted to me through the dressing room door how to put on a bra.  It went something like this:  "Bend over and shake them into your bra!  Are you shaking them in?  Are you bent over?  Am I shouting loud enough for you to hear me?" (Why no, I'm not scarred by that experience, why do you ask?)

It was so much worse than the entire school bus turning to stare at my Rocky and Bullwinkle t-shirt after Landon Hessler announced I had big boobs.  So much worse than childbirth, with my legs stuck in stirrups and my mother in law and sister in law in the room, me trying desperately not to cuss out loud.  Also trying not to poop on myself.  

There is nothing, I repeat, NOTHING to make you feel sexier than seeing your own breast smooshed between two pieces of plastic.

Wait.  I take that back.  The last nail in the coffin of unsexyness is when the mammogram tech-person comes over and manhandles your breast until it fits correctly into the mammogram plasticky pieces.  THAT, my friends, is so much fun you'll want to do that every single year.  Just for fun.  Like going to the girly doctor.

So, yeah.  Unsexyness.

But thankfully, nothing abnormal or weird was in my bosomy areas.  So, I really can't complain.

Next week?  Surgery.

*dum dum dummmm*

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

I am feeling lucky

I've won TWO, count 'em, TWO giveaways this month, as well as Employee of the Month.  So I figure why not go whole hog and enter this smokin awesome giveaway by one of my most favoritist authors ever.  That'd be Maggie Stiefvater, for those who don't know, who don't listen to me yammer on about her all the live long day.

Also, real quick- so I had this dream?  And in it, Maggie S. and her buddy and fellow awesome zombie author, Carrie Ryan, were at my Costco.  Yes, that'd be the Costco in the booming metropolis of Louisville, Colorado.  Yes.  And they were shopping.  Yes.  Just work with me, people.  So, Mags and Carrie are roaming the concrete aisles of Costco when I happen upon them and become completely and utterly uncool and fangirly and swoon over all their oisome books.  And then I tell them all about my teeny work in progress.  Or "WIP", which is the writer's way of sounding all professionalish and importanty whilst talking about their works in progress.  I gotta sound the part, you know.  So I'm going all Swim Fan on them about my WIP and they're just staring at me.  And then Mags goes, "So what's your word count right now?"  And so I tell her.  And she and Carrie sort of glance at each other and give each other this look, which is all fraught with meaning and then Maggie tells me, "You know, I don't think you're cut out for writing."  Maggie and Carrie exit scene.

There you have it.  My dream/nightmare.  Which is what happens when you eat too much pizza before bed.  I am a cautionary tale, my friends.  I'm pretty sure in real life if I happened upon these two awesome ladies, we'd all be best friends and name our kids after each other and I'd be Godmother to at least two of my namesakes.

SO.  I am pining and jonesing to win something from Maggie S. and her newest giveaway which is where this post comes in.  Thank you, persistent reader,  for reading this insanely long giveaway entry thus far.  You are a gentleman and a scholar!

First things first.  So Maggie (I love how I just toss about her first name like we're all besties) is about to release her third and final installment of the Mercy Falls Trilogy.  Which is about werewolves and kissing.  Which you should clearly already know about or you must live under a rock.  Or we just don't hang out enough.  And so, feast your hungry eyes on this amazing video which is the Forever trailer, put together with the genius hands and brains of Maggie, herself.  It's pretty amazing.

Now, I talk about books quite a bit here on za blog, because they are my cocaine and life and hopefully future career.  This blog is really just to keep my fingers limber.  So let me reiterate.  If you've not read Shiver, Linger and don't know about Forever yet, please locate them henceforth immediately and get your eyeballs to those pages, folks.  They are awesome.  To purchase Forever, head to this link.

Carry on with your days and nights.  I'll be the one with a book in my hand, occasionally thinking about eating a piece of cake.

Happy Wednesday.

Monday, May 2, 2011

Monday is a royal pain. Except this Monday is pretty awesome. So it's like a royal pain that got a massage and is now happy.

So my friends, very little has been happening here at Chez Murphy.  Except for laundry.  That is a virus that never ends.

BUT, in my mind, my little book is slowly unfolding to be this super fun adventure starring a 16 year old girl named Deena.  Would you care to learn more?  Sure you would!  You're such a good sport.  Pull up a chair and I'll tell you more.  Unless you're Kim and have to stand.  More power to you, sister!  Also, I stood in the shower for 15 minutes today and tried to imagine how healthy my body was.  You have to read this to understand what I'm talking about.  Also, I'm sitting as I type this and I actually feel guilty.

Ok, so now that you're sitting/standing, let's get down to it.

So, there's this girl, named Deena and she dreams...

Yep.  That's all I'm going to tell you.  I know, I'm so mean.

Except, I'm going to include this one little scene, just for fun, for your reading enjoyment.  Unless you don't enjoy it and it's like reading punishment.  Either way, here it is:


Excerpt of Parasomnia, by Kearsie Murphy

I was heroically trying to cram biology facts into my sluggish brain one Thursday night, planning for an exam the next day when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.
“Yeah, Dad, come on in.”  Who else would it be?  Ed McMahon?  The President?  
He was hanging out by the door, holding onto the doorknob and kicking the doorjamb. An image of a child like version of my dad popped in my head, what he must’ve looked like as a little boy trying to hide the fact he stepped on the cat or broke his grandmother’s cremation urn or something.
“Dad.  You just gonna stand there?”  I sat up on the bed and drew my legs closer to me.  I even patted the bed a bit, like I would to attract a stray cat.
He ambled in slowly and perched on the edge of the bed.  Every few moments he would open his mouth like he was going to say something, only to snap it shut.  Ugh!  It was like having a conversation with a goldfish.
“Can I have a puppy?” I blurted out, just to break the tension.
“Huh, what?” His eyes jerked to mine, finally.  “Deena, honey, I don’t think we can handle the responsibility.  Caring for an animal takes time, a lot of time and--”
“Dude,” I interrupted, my hand outstretched to stop his flow of words.  “It was just to get you talking.  Carry on.”  I made a magnanimous gesture, like a king from his throne.  
“Oh.”  His eyes fell to his feet again.  Silence again.
Geez!  This was so painful.  I was feeling sorry for the guy.  “Sooo, that Ms. Shaddy...she’s pretty awesome, huh?  A hottie, too.”
A flush fell over my dad’s cheeks, making him look about ten years younger.  Full of life.  Kind of cute, in a gross, old man sort of way.
“Dad,” I said more seriously.  “It’s ok.  She’s great.  Mom would’ve liked her.  I like her.  So just go for it.”  
He glanced up at me again, kind of shyly.  “You’re ok with me...um...dating her?”
I shrugged one shoulder, trying to appear indifferent.  “Sure.”  If hanging out with Ms. Shaddy brought my dad a sliver of happiness, what was I going to do?  Stand in his way? 
He sighed with relief and patted my foot before getting to his feet again.  Just before he crossed the threshold I called out, “Just don’t forget to use protection.”
Ha!  The look on his face!
My cell phone rang just as the door shut with a click.  It was Hester.  No doubt calling to ask me something inane like “do you think Ethan and I should run away and elope and change our names to Bernadette and Clarence?”  
“Yo,” I said, tucking my cell phone between my ear and shoulder and propping open my textbook against my raised thighs.  
“Deena!”  She sounded panicked.  As per usual.  “I need a huuuuge favor!”  
Ugh.  The last time Hester needed a “huge favor” it was to drive her to get a bikini wax.  
“What is it?  I’m studying Biology right now.  Every moment I talk to you is one step closer to failing and it'll be all your fault.”  So I was being dramatic.  It was the only language Hester understood.
“It’s about Junior Prom,” she began.  My stomach was already plummeting.  “I’ve got to fly to New York for my great-aunt’s funeral and I’m going to miss Prom!”
“So what does this have to do with me?”  I asked, twirling my pen like a drummer twirls a drumstick.  I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.  I had an idea where this was going.
“I need you to go, of course!  I can’t let a perfectly good formal dress and Prom tickets go to waste!  And Ethan...he’ll be so disappointed to miss it…”
Seriously?  I let my head fall back towards the wall, solid thunk resonating in the room.  “Hess...I don’t want to go to Prom.  I told you that last week.  In fact, I’d rather go see the gynecologist AND get a root canal in the same day than go to Prom.”
“You’re ruining my life!” she wailed.  Melodramatic Female, table for one, I thought, rolling my eyes.  “And stop rolling your eyes!” 
I jerked my head up.  How the heck did she know I was rolling my eyes?  I searched around the room, looking for a nanny cam.  “How did you-”
“Ugh, Deena, you’re so predictable!  Look, I’ll be over in half an hour to drop off my shoes and dress and walk you through the plans, ok?  It’ll be fun!  I promise!  Did I mention you’re the bestest friend and I’ll love you forever and ever?  Bye!”  Hester’s voice turned from accusatory and wheedling to sugary sweetness.  Before I could protest again, she hung up.
I tossed my phone down on the bed and let my head thunk up against the wall again. 
Prom with Ethan.  Dressed up.  With Ethan.  Pictures and dinner.  With Ethan.  Dancing.  With Ethan.
In his arms.  

I tried not to shiver.


P.S.  Please don't steal my little excerpt.  Or make complete fun of it.  Or eat the last sleeve of Ritz crackers in my pantry. 

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