New Place, Come on Over

I will now be sharing my inane ramblings at Picnic at Stonehenge. Don't worry- I still have Random Cute Guy days. Stop by!

New Location...

Hey, gang. Thanks for all the kind comments you left regarding our shutting down this here blog. You are the best. (sniff, sniff, drip, wipe.)

All of you are cordially invited to come visit me over at my new blog, More of A Woman, centrally located and convenient to the interstate at http://moreofawoman.blogspot.com.

Stop by if you get a chance. I promise to always have cookies.

All Good Things...

…and you know the rest. Two years ago Missie and I decided to start this little snarkfest, but neither of us really realized what we were getting into. We have so enjoyed our experience; getting to know you, each other, and ourselves. But kids and work and generally, life, have intruded to a large degree, and it is becoming tougher to keep up. It is quite possibly because of the narrow focus of this particular blog. Kind of like the friend who tells her new acquaintances how funny you are, and when you meet them she says, “Go on! Be funny!”

Don’t get me wrong. We’ll always love romance, we’ll always dish on good books and bad covers. We’ll always be snarky.

And we won’t leave the blogging world completely. We’ll still visit all your blogs and leave witty, pithy comments that will annoy you greatly because we’ve shown you up, and we may have other blogs in the future.

From Missie: Once again, words fail me. I cannot possibly tell you how much you have all meant to me, so I won't really try. Thank you for stopping by here, reading our sometimes funny, sometimes nonsensical posts, and for allowing me to flood the Net with pictures of my children. You are the sweetest, prettiest, funniest, bestest group of blogfriends that any blogstress has ever had. (That is our totally unbiased opinion, so you can take that to the bank.)

We love keeping up with your lives, so we will be stopping by your blogs as time permits. Robyn has such talent and wit that I am sure we are not hearing the last from her in the Blog world. I will be starting another blog soon (and by soon, I mean sometime before my children put me in the nursing home) that deals with life, motherhood, and weight loss, not neccessarily in that order. We will post the addresses for our new digs here whenever we finally find a place to land.

We love you and will miss you. And the next time you see a really bad cover, think of us...for we will be thinking of you. And mutant babies in leopard suits.

From me: I have been continually amazed at how vibrant, intelligent, interesting, touching, and funny the online world really is. I honestly feel I have friends all over the globe, and wonder if my non-U.S. buddies know what wonderful ambassadors you are. World peace would so much easier if we could all have a laugh over John DeSalvo’s radioactive pants, yo?

You have given me laughter, support, salved my ego and challenged my thinking. You gave me your rapt attention while I was randomly musing, and your love while I was grieving. Thank you. Thank you so much.

We’ll leave this up so you can come by and view the covers in the archives if you need a laugh. For now, though, especially if you’ve never commented, (and we know you’ve lurked, even I don’t visit enough to warrant so many hits) come on in, have a caramel macchiato and a brownie and say goodbye!

Later, dudes!

The Worst of the Worst

Good Lord above, make sure you can dial 911 if necessary.

Emily's Daughter

Robyn: Now, wait...is she holding a picture of her daughter, or is she pregnant with her daughter? Is she so upset with the hideous dress she got stuck with she tried to rip the veil out of her hair?

Missie: Emily's daughter took one look at this dress and ran away from home. Along with Emily's fiancé, Emily's parents, and all Emily's friends.

Get Lucky

Robyn: Don’t we have enough movies about ordinary, plump guys getting hot women? We don’t need books, too!

Missie: A highlighted Jack Black does not say "romance" to me.

Moment of Truth

Robyn: His hand is down his pants. Her hand is in his pocket. Knowing what I know about guys, shouldn't he be happier right now?

Missie: What you can't see is the shiv she's sticking in his ribs while she's trying to get at his wallet. Back pocket, honey, it's in the baaaack pocket.

$he's on the Money

Robyn: Dude, if I saw a woman in the grocery store wearing that, I’d faint too.

Missie: More like She's On the Crack because no one not under the influence of illegal drugs would wear that outfit.

The Nanny Solution

Robyn: Nothing says luurve like a mutant baby in a catsuit. OMG, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Missie: I am sooooo calling Children and Family Services, because nobody should do that to a helpless baby.

Solitary Soldier

Robyn: BRAINNNSSSS...

Missie: There's a reason he's solitary. And it ain't by choice.

"Director- CUT!"

Sometimes, that’s how I really feel. I have to laugh at people who think romance readers can’t distinguish between fantasy and reality; they would have no more concerns if they could hear my internal dialogue with heroines. It usually goes something like this:

“Umm, okay. He’s tall, gorgeous, has no commitment issues, has a job, and isn’t gay. Your problem with him is what, again?”

But there has to be a conflict, so I get the Somewhat Implausible Reason I Don't Jump Him. I’ve written more than a few myself. And almost every heroine will, at some point in the book, do something stupid. I’m not talking about the waif who is TSTL. She could have several doctorates and a tenured position at Harvard, but she’ll do something stupid. That’s okay, too. After all, it’s the equivalent of yelling at the blonde in the slasher flick, “Don’t go in the basement! At least not in your skimpy nightie!” Fun times.

What makes me want to get out the 2x4 and warm up my batting arm is the nonsensical reason she always comes up with in the last act to keep the hero at arm’s length. She’ll invariably be upset over something that really, after everything else that’s happened, doesn’t matter. This hero has just gone through at least 250 pages of hell for this woman. He’s saved her. She’s saved him. They both know that the other is the Only Man/Woman For Me, so what’s the problem? Something pissy that makes me want to choke the life out of her. It’s like the authors know they’ll need two more chapters, so they spin the Wheel of Random Angst.

• You haven’t said you love me.


• You’ll always love your first wife more.


• You ~sob~ LIED to me!


• You hate my father.


• You hate my cat.


• I don’t know how to be a Viscountess.

Puh-leeze! I feel like the Colonel in that old Monty Python skit who yells at the director to stop because it was quaint and amusing, but now it’s just got silly.

Get it together, girl! Didn’t the last 23 chapters (and a big chunk of my life) teach you anything? It isn’t a good sign when I begin regretting putting off the laundry to finish this frigging thing. If it was done 20 pages ago, stick a fork in it and serve it up already.

Authors and editors, I beg you- if you need a bigger word count, bring back the prologue and the info-dump, but put the wheel away.

I Love The Internet

Where else could I read about a naked man walking down Melrose with a leopard around his neck?


Or a boy who has impaled his nose with a fork? (WARNING- this is an actual picture. And I was worried about my daughter getting sand in her ear. Yeesh.)

Or soldiers who are saved by feminine hygiene products?

Before Al Gore invented the internet, what would I have done with my hour and fifteen minutes this morning?

Umm, don't answer that.

Cowtown RULES!

Y'all, I just spent the greatest week with my family. In Fort Worth, Texas.

Yes, you read that right. Fort Worth.

Now, I used to live near Dallas. And I had relatives who would genuflect before the Texas flag every morning and thank their Creator for the awesome privilege of living in Dallas. Because in Dallas, you could still be classy and sophisticated and urban AND be Cowboys football fans.

But Fort Worth? Cowtown. Not classy. Not sophisticated. Moooo.

I have to spread the news far and wide- I LOVED that city. Fort Worth has the cleanest downtown area I've ever seen. No trash. The two winos I saw stayed to the shadows. One beggar. Who didn't beg from me.

There were polite, smiling, flat-bellied policemen on bikes who courteously directed you toward the nearest pizza place. There were blue vested workers who swept the streets free of pamphlets and beer bottles, who actually scrubbed gum off the sidewalk. I expected to be awakened each morning by gentle yet insistent birds who then made my bed, and to have competent but badly dressed mice bring me my coffee and newspaper.

I could totally see myself walking down the shining streets, peering into the quaint Western wear shops, carrying my brown paper grocery bag containing a baguette and a limp green leafy thing, trading Gilmore Girls quips with a friend, and then running into a man who has always infuriated me even though he's disturbingly, mutantly cute, only to come to the horrifying realization that deep down, I really like him. Yeah, it's that kind of town.

What did you do on your vacation?