Danger Will Robinson! Danger! A rant is to ensue:
*spit* *snort* *snarl*
We went out to eat last night, just Mr. Jordan and I. Rarity, let me tell you. But, anyway, that's not the point. On recommendation, we went to a new restaurant that BGF Lisa told me had great atmosphere and food.
Excuse me?!?
Must have been a f*ckin parallel universe that we Jordans stepped into.
We sat to our table in the 'bar' section, (loud, busy, frenetic mojo) and this cute little thing with a fresh face and pony-tail was Johnny-on-the-spot to our table. "HI," cute smile "I'm the-one-who-should-be-serving-you and I'll be your waitress tonight."
Things went down hill from that point.
In swoops the hag. Fresh-Face Waitress was chased off by Bling-Bitch Waitress with a face like a backstop and too much jewelry which, in hindsight, I am sure was a tactical distraction from her less than sparkly attitude and less than attractive looks. "I am Bling-Bitch Waitress-from-HELL and I will be your waitress tonight."
Yeah, whatever, just get us our damn drinks, okay?
And, then, she squeals, "Oh! My parents are here!"
Bling-Bitch shot from our table side to seat her parants and wait on them. Meanwhile, we are stuck waiting for Bling-Bitch Waitress to get our damn drinks! After fawning on her parent units, Bling-Bitch brought our drinks, ice already melting in my weakass ice tea. But, then her parents got their appetizers first, her parents got 6 visits to their table while we received one. We watched Bling-Bitch screw up everyone else's orders around us. Then, she FINALLY took our order. *pre-emptive* Pulled Pork BBQ and fries. How f*ckin difficult is that?!?
Needless to say, we waited a long time for our food. Bling-Bitch's parents got their food way before us. I though to myself, "Are you f*cking the pig before ya butcher it?!?" Geezus! When our orders did arrive, the sandwhich buns were greasy/soggy, indicative of the time spent waiting on Bling-Bitch to get them and bring them to our table, the BBQ was unimpressive, and Bling-Bitch f*cked up my order. Forgot the fries, which were a special request!
We won't be going back there. And our refusal is directly related to Bling-Bitch's bad service.
I would say that she totally sucked. But that would imply that she was good for something.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Been kicking around a new concept
As if the stress of the Holidays, sick kids and fighting family members wasn't enough, pile on some wicked excitement and paperwork to sign, and then I go and get the bright idea to start yet another project...
Being called a bitch was the least of her concerns. She had been called worse by better men than the corpses left behind in that deserted alley.
Given their remote location, it would be a while before the bodies were found and much, much longer before the remains were identified. She had seen to that. The teeth were smashed into their braincases, and chunks of their flesh now soured in her stomach. Those severed limbs jostled against each other within the churning acid of her guts. Digested fingerprints were impossible to read. Dental records weren't much good on gum lines.
Bastards, Sariah snarled.
They had chosen to hurl vulgarities on the one night on which she could not control the beast within her. She did not take particular exception to the terminology – in truth, they were tragically correct. In more ways than one. She was a bitch. It was the tone of their taunts, the rude gestures, the puffed chests and bulging denims. She hated that. And, in her present state, Sariah could not tolerate that derisive, tough-guy verbal swagger or the eager musk that hung heavy in the air surrounding them.
She shook her head to clear the tainted images. Blood flew from her snout to spatter the ragged blouse which hung from her neckline. She looked down at herself. Tawny hide, talons, a ripped blouse, barely recognizable now, shoes gone; but the leather skirt still clung to her hips with a savage fit. A dark laugh caught in her inhuman throat.
Carnage and leather looked good on her, she thought.
Tentative title: Hunted
Being called a bitch was the least of her concerns. She had been called worse by better men than the corpses left behind in that deserted alley.
Given their remote location, it would be a while before the bodies were found and much, much longer before the remains were identified. She had seen to that. The teeth were smashed into their braincases, and chunks of their flesh now soured in her stomach. Those severed limbs jostled against each other within the churning acid of her guts. Digested fingerprints were impossible to read. Dental records weren't much good on gum lines.
Bastards, Sariah snarled.
They had chosen to hurl vulgarities on the one night on which she could not control the beast within her. She did not take particular exception to the terminology – in truth, they were tragically correct. In more ways than one. She was a bitch. It was the tone of their taunts, the rude gestures, the puffed chests and bulging denims. She hated that. And, in her present state, Sariah could not tolerate that derisive, tough-guy verbal swagger or the eager musk that hung heavy in the air surrounding them.
She shook her head to clear the tainted images. Blood flew from her snout to spatter the ragged blouse which hung from her neckline. She looked down at herself. Tawny hide, talons, a ripped blouse, barely recognizable now, shoes gone; but the leather skirt still clung to her hips with a savage fit. A dark laugh caught in her inhuman throat.
Carnage and leather looked good on her, she thought.
Friday, December 23, 2005
...mentioned vampires
Seeing as someone in a previous post mentioned vampires...
BLOODLUST
Hungry –
So hungry for your flesh
That my teeth throb.
It is so much more than
Carnal desire…
The dance between us,
This game of pursuit
Tantalizes,
Rises in waves
Akin to passion's heat,
Until my body burns,
Pulsating
To your unspoken name.
I want you,
Want to taste you now.
An ardent moment,
Beneath midnight's cape,
Sensual and unseen –
Touch and tease, and then,
Furtive contact
My lips soft on your body,
My teeth bearing down.
Fear mingles like spice
With the scent of your skin.
I feel your pulse falter
Beneath my tongue
As I drink you in.
And yet I am not satisfied.
BLOODLUST
Hungry –
So hungry for your flesh
That my teeth throb.
It is so much more than
Carnal desire…
The dance between us,
This game of pursuit
Tantalizes,
Rises in waves
Akin to passion's heat,
Until my body burns,
Pulsating
To your unspoken name.
I want you,
Want to taste you now.
An ardent moment,
Beneath midnight's cape,
Sensual and unseen –
Touch and tease, and then,
Furtive contact
My lips soft on your body,
My teeth bearing down.
Fear mingles like spice
With the scent of your skin.
I feel your pulse falter
Beneath my tongue
As I drink you in.
And yet I am not satisfied.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Waxing poetic
Hot Night
Heavy air,
thick with moisture.
Satin drapings
cling to undisclosed curves.
Tangled, eager sheets
climb my legs.
Fingers snarl
in my tussled hair,
And,
sweat shimmers,
a tingling sheen,
glossing taught muscles,
as my body
rises to greet
an errant sultry breeze
Heavy air,
thick with moisture.
Satin drapings
cling to undisclosed curves.
Tangled, eager sheets
climb my legs.
Fingers snarl
in my tussled hair,
And,
sweat shimmers,
a tingling sheen,
glossing taught muscles,
as my body
rises to greet
an errant sultry breeze
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Beastiality
Before reading this post, I want y'all to know that I am NOT saying "Here, Rover! Here, Boy...." THAT IS NASTY. With that said, read on...
What's up with the ban on beastiality thing?? I have a rightfully hot erotic short fic story, but because the male in the story has claws and fur, it's bad. Forbidden fruit. Taboo. I can't share it. No one is going to get to read it.
Not fair.
By all intents and purposes, he isn't a beast at all, but an animorphic Egypitan god. Hello?! Anubis is not animal. Sexy as hell, I think. Well, except for those *ahem* Hollywood-ized, rotted-flesh-with-golden-collars Anubis Warriors in The Mummy Returns. Ew. But, Oo! Wasn't Oded hot, fighting them, though? Sweaty, little bit of blood, tussled hair... Oh, yeah! *sigh* But, I digress.
I am half tempted to post the short fic here. But, then again, I am not sure if my (two) readers would appreciate that. (Hi, Candice! Hi, Bernita!) And what good would come of scaring away my gals? Gratification of thumbing my nose at the ban is only so satisfying, after all. Maybe I should just horde it up like the "grubby candy" that it is. Maybe not.
Any suggestions?
What's up with the ban on beastiality thing?? I have a rightfully hot erotic short fic story, but because the male in the story has claws and fur, it's bad. Forbidden fruit. Taboo. I can't share it. No one is going to get to read it.
Not fair.
By all intents and purposes, he isn't a beast at all, but an animorphic Egypitan god. Hello?! Anubis is not animal. Sexy as hell, I think. Well, except for those *ahem* Hollywood-ized, rotted-flesh-with-golden-collars Anubis Warriors in The Mummy Returns. Ew. But, Oo! Wasn't Oded hot, fighting them, though? Sweaty, little bit of blood, tussled hair... Oh, yeah! *sigh* But, I digress.
I am half tempted to post the short fic here. But, then again, I am not sure if my (two) readers would appreciate that. (Hi, Candice! Hi, Bernita!) And what good would come of scaring away my gals? Gratification of thumbing my nose at the ban is only so satisfying, after all. Maybe I should just horde it up like the "grubby candy" that it is. Maybe not.
Any suggestions?
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
So damn tired this morning. My head was too heavy to lift off the pillow, yet I struggled up and into my slippers. Our son was already at the table, clinking his spoon in the cereal bowl and making my brain convulse in its un-caffienated state.
"Morning Mom." No a bright smile, no singsongy voice. He's not a morning person either. Yet there we were.
The dog happy-danced at the back door when my Hubby returned home from his third shift job. He occupied my Dell for awhile, and our daughter Kat straggled from her room. She's grumpy too, but, that's nothing new. Then, Hubby took our boy to school and Kat lost herself in the traumatic world of Animal Planet.
Hubby returned home and got into bed. The dog jumped up on one side and I slipped in behind him on the other.
That pillow felt so good against my head, the bed cozy and welcoming. Hips to hips, knees pressed to knees, nestled as tight as spoons -- the only barrier between the flesh was a layer of pajama. I ran my fingers through the hair on his chest, leaned my face closer to smell the warmth rising from his bare shoulder. I love that curve where the neck becomes the shoulder, that long lean muscle. So ready to support my tired head. So strong and resistant to tears. So perfect to bite in a heated moment.
Bite. My mind swum in a swell of heat. My jaws ached. If teeth could yearn, mine yearned for his flesh. That muscle would fit so well between my canines...
Nothing vicious. No blood. Just bite...
I leaned closer still, my nose tickeld by the fine hairs on his skin. My jaw trembled. I closed my eyes, his warmth the only sensation other than the pounding of my heart. Desire burned me.
I pressed my lips to that curve, yet retained the teeth for some other moment. Some moment when he might be awake enough to enjoy my bite.
"Morning Mom." No a bright smile, no singsongy voice. He's not a morning person either. Yet there we were.
The dog happy-danced at the back door when my Hubby returned home from his third shift job. He occupied my Dell for awhile, and our daughter Kat straggled from her room. She's grumpy too, but, that's nothing new. Then, Hubby took our boy to school and Kat lost herself in the traumatic world of Animal Planet.
Hubby returned home and got into bed. The dog jumped up on one side and I slipped in behind him on the other.
That pillow felt so good against my head, the bed cozy and welcoming. Hips to hips, knees pressed to knees, nestled as tight as spoons -- the only barrier between the flesh was a layer of pajama. I ran my fingers through the hair on his chest, leaned my face closer to smell the warmth rising from his bare shoulder. I love that curve where the neck becomes the shoulder, that long lean muscle. So ready to support my tired head. So strong and resistant to tears. So perfect to bite in a heated moment.
Bite. My mind swum in a swell of heat. My jaws ached. If teeth could yearn, mine yearned for his flesh. That muscle would fit so well between my canines...
Nothing vicious. No blood. Just bite...
I leaned closer still, my nose tickeld by the fine hairs on his skin. My jaw trembled. I closed my eyes, his warmth the only sensation other than the pounding of my heart. Desire burned me.
I pressed my lips to that curve, yet retained the teeth for some other moment. Some moment when he might be awake enough to enjoy my bite.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Winter
Gorram snow!
"Oh it's sooo pretty! I love to just sit and watch the snowflakes dance on the winter breeze."
Yeah. Right. WRONG-O!!
Then I opened up the door this morning to find nearly a foot of the gorram shit! Te me da!! So. I go out with my husband's tightass boots on my bigass feet, hair flying everywhere but where it should (including my eyes and nose), thin leather gloves and a gorram shovel. And. The fucking arthritis in full flare up in arms and shoulders. Woo. Hoo. Let's go shovel! AND The damn dog is barking, "Throw the shovels full my way!" ***edited for material of a familial offensive nature***
Foul weather, I tell ya, and not all of it on the outside. Pretty damn ugly on the inside.
All the while I am shoveling thinking the ***edited for material of a familial offensive content***
Then, maybe four square feet from driveway completion and total ruination of my joints for the next three days, ***edited for material of a familial offensive content***
Pretty damn ugly on the inside.
It was so much better last night, sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine, a good friend watching wrestling with me and the gorram snow falling outside the window.
"Oh it's sooo pretty! I love to just sit and watch the snowflakes dance on the winter breeze."
Yeah. Right. WRONG-O!!
Then I opened up the door this morning to find nearly a foot of the gorram shit! Te me da!! So. I go out with my husband's tightass boots on my bigass feet, hair flying everywhere but where it should (including my eyes and nose), thin leather gloves and a gorram shovel. And. The fucking arthritis in full flare up in arms and shoulders. Woo. Hoo. Let's go shovel! AND The damn dog is barking, "Throw the shovels full my way!" ***edited for material of a familial offensive nature***
Foul weather, I tell ya, and not all of it on the outside. Pretty damn ugly on the inside.
All the while I am shoveling thinking the ***edited for material of a familial offensive content***
Then, maybe four square feet from driveway completion and total ruination of my joints for the next three days, ***edited for material of a familial offensive content***
Pretty damn ugly on the inside.
It was so much better last night, sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine, a good friend watching wrestling with me and the gorram snow falling outside the window.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Basking and bitching
Ah. Well, the serious writer side of me is basking in the glow of praise from a LiveJournal user who is currently reading my novel. I just love it when someone loves what I've written. It swells my chest, not that THAT is necessary, and puts a smile on my face.
And, Savannah's horns start to rise. The frisky, sassy side of me has a hotbed of fuel lately with two recent great reviews. If I didn't have WORK to do for my agent for submissions, I'd have to whip out the WIP and write something steamy. Something with teeth and more skin. Something hot. Or something dark and with tendancies toward slaughter.
On to the bitching, which my son blurts out is a 'bad word.' In defense of me, which it seems that there are precious few are today... Have you ever had a day that it felt as if you could do no right. Yup. "Today is that day, Evie." (quote from The Mummy Returns) Since my hubby set foot to the floor I've felt like the whipping girl. Sorry, but my pajamas are most comfortable when I have the chills. Sorry, my pajamas are most comfortable when the methotrexate is knocking me on my ass. Sorry, but I am not going to get dressed and run around when my guts are gnarled and I feel like crap.
Venom spatter over. Typing over. Arthritis is winning. Dammit.
And, Savannah's horns start to rise. The frisky, sassy side of me has a hotbed of fuel lately with two recent great reviews. If I didn't have WORK to do for my agent for submissions, I'd have to whip out the WIP and write something steamy. Something with teeth and more skin. Something hot. Or something dark and with tendancies toward slaughter.
On to the bitching, which my son blurts out is a 'bad word.' In defense of me, which it seems that there are precious few are today... Have you ever had a day that it felt as if you could do no right. Yup. "Today is that day, Evie." (quote from The Mummy Returns) Since my hubby set foot to the floor I've felt like the whipping girl. Sorry, but my pajamas are most comfortable when I have the chills. Sorry, my pajamas are most comfortable when the methotrexate is knocking me on my ass. Sorry, but I am not going to get dressed and run around when my guts are gnarled and I feel like crap.
Venom spatter over. Typing over. Arthritis is winning. Dammit.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
The indignities of being female
So. Okay, here we go. To christen this blog, I begin with bitchin, because... I'm a bitch, therefore~ I'm a bitch.
This is for all the women out there.
*Remember, if you don't want to read rotten, vulgar bitchin, Step Off*
Recently, I had to go to the crotch doctor for a "check up." Now, I ask you, how dignified are you, laying on your back with your feet in stirrups and the only thing between your legs is a balding man in a lab coat and various metal tools of feminine torture?? Please. The paper ass skirt they give you to cover yourself is supposed to be One-Size-Fits-All. Yeah, right. I don't know which All they are referring, but it sure the hell isn't me. So, you sit on the examination table/medieval wrack of a chair thingy, the one where they can raise you ass higher then your head, or drop the bottom out so that you feel like your sliding into Dr. LabCoat. The ever present draft is sneeking between the gaping ends of the OSFA paper ass skirt while you sit and look at anything, everything, count holes in the ceiling tiles, wonder WTF they have Pittsburgh Steelers sock thingies on the stirrups for. Anything to keep your brain from going as numb as your bare butt. Half an a hour later (why don't we get reimbursed for the time our asses are hanging fancy free out their paper ass skirts??) Then, they show up, perfunctionarily polite as they tip your head to the floor, your ass on high, poke, prod and take cultures (chunks of flesh) while your toes turn numb from the awkward angles... Then they send you away, achy, grumpy and wanting badly for something of the chocolate or murderous variety.
Thanks for that.
Even the women doctors aren't much better.
We women are raised to be polite, caring, considerate of others before ourselves, raised to carry themselves with dignity and grace, and then they point your hooha to the stars with your knees at 90-degree angles. How is that dignified??
This is for all the women out there.
*Remember, if you don't want to read rotten, vulgar bitchin, Step Off*
Recently, I had to go to the crotch doctor for a "check up." Now, I ask you, how dignified are you, laying on your back with your feet in stirrups and the only thing between your legs is a balding man in a lab coat and various metal tools of feminine torture?? Please. The paper ass skirt they give you to cover yourself is supposed to be One-Size-Fits-All. Yeah, right. I don't know which All they are referring, but it sure the hell isn't me. So, you sit on the examination table/medieval wrack of a chair thingy, the one where they can raise you ass higher then your head, or drop the bottom out so that you feel like your sliding into Dr. LabCoat. The ever present draft is sneeking between the gaping ends of the OSFA paper ass skirt while you sit and look at anything, everything, count holes in the ceiling tiles, wonder WTF they have Pittsburgh Steelers sock thingies on the stirrups for. Anything to keep your brain from going as numb as your bare butt. Half an a hour later (why don't we get reimbursed for the time our asses are hanging fancy free out their paper ass skirts??) Then, they show up, perfunctionarily polite as they tip your head to the floor, your ass on high, poke, prod and take cultures (chunks of flesh) while your toes turn numb from the awkward angles... Then they send you away, achy, grumpy and wanting badly for something of the chocolate or murderous variety.
Thanks for that.
Even the women doctors aren't much better.
We women are raised to be polite, caring, considerate of others before ourselves, raised to carry themselves with dignity and grace, and then they point your hooha to the stars with your knees at 90-degree angles. How is that dignified??
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