Category Archives: Kayce Lassiter

What Happens In Laughlin Should Stay In Laughlin!

Gold one arm bandit isolated on blackHey there.  How y’all doin’ today?  Good, I hope!  Well, I had a blog topic all picked out and was doing research to get material for it and ran out of time.  I’ve got the material, but it’s gonna take too long to figure out how to put it all together and have it make sense and now it’s late and my brain is almost fried.  So what to do?  I thought about recycling an old blog and then I thought nah…that’s not fair.  So here I am, stuck again for a blog topic.  I know…big shocker!

So I’m taking my friend’s advice and blogging about our Laughlin trip last weekend.  If you’ve never been to Laughlin, you owe yourself a trip because it’s a fabulous people-watching spot.  And if you are a lucky soul, you could win a bundle.  I don’t typically tend to be lucky, so I set a limit on how much I can lose in a day and I try to stay with it.  This trip, I did pretty good.  I lost my limit on Friday night.  Then on Saturday I lost $30 more than my limit.  But on Sunday I won back the $30 and another $25 to boot.  So I actually considered this trip a big WIN.  LOL  However, there is a sad tale to tell…I came home with a $10 machine voucher…which means I left $10 in Laughlin because I forgot to take the ticket to the cashier.  ARGH!  Stupid Girl was at work that day!

Senior On HolidayAnyway, I still had a great time.  And, like I said, the people-watching is fabulous there.  But one thing absolutely dumbfounds me.  Why do those old women let those old men go out in public dressed like that?!  OMG, you see it all.  Plaid shorts with Hawaiian shirts, white socks with sandals, pants 4 inches too short, toupees that look like they came out of a Cracker Jack box, and never mind the old men in shorts with no underwear!  That image is going to take an ice pick to remove from my brain.

Then there is the hover-around.  And no, I’m not talking about a scooter.  I’m talking about the old man who is convinced his wife doesn’t know how to gamble so he has to watch her—close.  He stands behind her chair and leans over her…because she can’t hear his directions if he stands back too far.  So if you are unfortunate enough to be sitting next to his wife, his junk is about shoulder height just off your left side.  So you squirm to the right in your chair to ensure avoiding contact.  And as he stands there, he is scowling and telling her the right buttons to hit and why she made the wrong choice on that last hand.  And if he gets too agitated because she’s made too many bad choices, he starts to lean in further and you can’t tell if what’s brushing your left shoulder now is his junk or his belly…and either way, it’s not good news.  But you don’t dare look…because you don’t know whether it’s his junk or his belly!

Oh, and what is it with doling out the twenty dollar bills one at a time?  Can’t she be trusted with “their” money?  Why can’t she just have money in her purse that she can carry with her wherever she goes and spend it or gamble it however she wants?  How come he gets to be boss of the money AND the machine?  And when she runs out of money, why doesn’t he just insist she quit?  After all, it’s clear he’s not having a good time because he’s been scowling and lecturing her for an hour.  But instead of making her leave the machine double jokeror (heaven forbid) just walking away, he reaches across and feeds another twenty dollar bill into her machine.  HUH?  Okay, I’m no genius, but even I know he’s getting something out of this or he wouldn’t keep feeding the monster.  So what is it?  The satisfaction of being able to rub her nose in her losses?  The feeling of freedom you get from a lighter wallet?  No…my theory is that he’s getting even with her…getting even because she let him walk out of the hotel room that morning wearing those stupid green plaid shorts with that horrid purple Hawaiian shirt (with some kind of food stain on the front), and no underwear!

Well, that’s my Laughlin story, bonkers and ballsy, and I’m stickin’ to it.  Hold on tight now ‘cuz we’re gonna go real, real fast!

Lori_smallestLove ya,


Please Say YES!!!

Okay, I was cruising the internet this morning trying to find something to blog about…because I’m a slacker and blog day is here and I got nuthin’!  So I started out looking for funny typos or grammatical errors and then got sidetracked with bad marriage proposals.  OMG!  Did you know there are dozens of bad video and pictures of marriage proposals gone bad?  How embarrassing!  Imagine the poor schmuck who has found the love of his life (or thinks he has), only to be publicly humiliated when he goes down on one knee to propose.  And what I have found is that there are as many creative ways to turn a man down as there are ways to propose.  Well, before I get to far into it, let me just give you some of my runner-up favorites for bad ways to propose.

a98074_bad-proposal_4-graffiti[1]First, there’s the guy who uses a can of spray paint to tag a fence…probably his girlfriend’s parents’ fence.  Won’t daddy be proud of HIS little girl’s choice?!  I think not.  This guy thought he was being creative………uh, not so much.  Run, girlie!  This guy’s gonna do 3 years for defacing expensive public property, and then he’s gonna graduate to torturing kitties and ultimately go to the big house for murdering his wife in her sleep…you DO NOT want to be her…JUST SAY NO!

a98074_bad-proposal_6-merry-me2[1]Then there’s this one.  I can’t decide if the guy’s trying to be cute or is just a bad speller who doesn’t own a dictionary or Google or have a friend who can spell.  Perhaps there should be a rule that men have to have direct supervision when planning a proposal that’s more than just kneeling at the dinner table with a ring box in his hand.

a98074_bad-proposal_5-upside-down[1]This girl gets props for trying.  She obviously has figured out that the sports event lovecam is the way to get her man’s attention.  But honey, you gotta hold the sign right side up…… can’t give them too many outs.  I can see this ending up in divorce court.  “But, Your Honor, I didn’t know she was asking me to marry her.  The sign was upside down.  I thought it said, “Would you like a bratwurst?”



This one I love because of it’s simplicity.  This man obviously knows Shineka’s weakness and he’s not above exploiting it.  I hope she said yes because I’d love to know that this one worked!  LOL



a98074_bad-proposal_3-dishes-fb[1]Okay, this one could be at the top of the heap for bad ideas…Facebook, Really?  But the details behind this, when you really dig a little deeper, show that this guy is really one lucky bastard.  His girl was taken back at first, but then she was smart enough and creative enough to find a way to make lemons out of lemonade.  She says yes, but with the caveat that he’s got nuthin’ to say from this point forward about how much time she spends on the computer…after all, that’s how he got her.  Hmmm…I think this guy is up for a lifetime of being out-maneuvered.   Shoulda thought that one all the way through, dude!

a98074_bad-proposal_10-ginecologist[1]This next one is just really creepy to me and I’m not sure exactly why.  I just don’t think I want to be laying on an examining table shivering in a paper gown with ice-cold steel equipment shoved up my vijayjay and have some yahoo (no matter how much I love him) hold up a diamond ring and ask me to marry him!  WTF?  Really?  Good thing they make you take your shoes off or if it had been me, he might find a 4 inch spike heel up his left nostril.

a98074_bad-proposal_8-prank[1]I’m really torn over this next one.  I think it’s sorta cute that the guy went to all this trouble and I will give you the link to the video too so you can see it in live motion.  He seems really sweet and sincere and it’s kinda cute until you see the panic on the girlfriend’s face.  He scared the living bejeebies outta her and if I’m her, I’m not sure he’s gonna live past today.  That better be one big-ass ring!


a98074_bad-proposal_11-pee[1]And this one just boggles my mind because…well, because.  I almost have no words for this one.  I don’t know how any man in his right mind could think this is a good idea.  The guy proposes by peeing the message in the snow.  Not cute, not pretty, not classy…and yet, she probably said yes.  I guess love truly is blind!

Unfortunately, this last one is kinda sad.  But if you are as twisted as I am, you will laugh…I guarantee it.  There is that split moment when the girl’s reaction just makes you guffaw, right before your heart plunges in sorrow for the poor young man.  But I’m sure it served to make him a stronger man, perhaps a better chooser of women in the future, and he’ll choose a quiet and private place next time (not the Dubai mall)…without the musicians.  LOL 

I hope you enjoyed this little stroll through marriage proposal land.  Guys, there are some lessons to be learned here about what to do and what not to do.  Girls, I think there is something to be learned from the way a man proposes…and it might be your very last chance to make the right choice!

That’s my story, holy-cow hinky and you-gotta-be-kidding weird, and I’m stickin’ to it.  Hold on tight now ‘cuz we’re gonna go real, real fast!

Love ya,


(My thanks to Grace Murano at 12 Hilariously Bad Wedding Proposals for the pictures used in this blog.)

Katie’s Rock by Kayce Lassiter

katie's Rock, Kayce LassiterKatie’s Rock

Katie Schaffer is a single mother who slings drinks for a living. Her parents are gone, leaving her alone to care for her four year old son and a cocker spaniel with more energy than brains. When she meets Arizona ranchers Jake and David McAllister, the two handsome brothers both go into a full-court-press to win Katie’s affections. She quickly chooses Jake, but soon finds the road to love is a whole lot rockier than she expected. Jake is still raw from his divorce and is struggling with the pain of having his family torn apart. If she loses Jake, Katie stands to lose the entire McAllister family. Not only has she come to love them very much, but this would be the second family Katie has lost. Will Jake commit to Katie? Did Katie choose the wrong McAllister brother? If she loses Jake, can Katie survive losing her second family in three years?

Buy it now!

Diamonds or Backhoe?

That’s the ever-elusive question Beauty Fashion Glamorous Model Girl Portrait. Vintage Style Mystthat no one has ever been able to answer definitively…would you rather have a good backhoe or diamonds?  What?  You’re rolling your eyes?  Really?  You say, “DUH!”  Really?  Oh yeah, I get cha…there’s no contest, right?  The backhoe trumps diamonds every time.   What?  You’re shaking your head now and waving frantically.  Oh…I get it…you don’t have anywhere to park your backhoe.  What?  Oh yeah, I forgot about your homeowners association.  Yeah, maybe you should settle for diamonds…since you aren’t really equipped for big girls’ toys.

What?  No, Kayce has not lost her mind.  And yes, she means every stinking word of it.  Okay, before you call out the guys in the little white jackets, let me just clarify for you what has brought me to this conclusion.  Now, remember, I’m a country girl…conceived and raised on a farm.  So my value system might be a little different from yours.  No, I’m not crazy…I’m practical.  So…here’s the deal…I live on a farm and have horses and with that comes things like moving hay, moving manure, filling in holes the horses dug (yes, horses dig…at least, mine do!), hauling fence parts from one side of the farm to the other, digging post holes, and yes, even burying precious family pets once they have moved on to the afterlife.

Suffice it to say there’s a lot of digging that goes on around a farm and I pretty much thought I was the only girl in the world with this problem.  The issue of digging holes, moving manure, planting pastures mostly belongs to the world of Men and isn’t generally a Girlie activity.  However, there are those women who, like me, got tired of waiting for Mr. Right to come along and rescue them.  So they went out and got their own piece of property with their own animals and built the life they’ve always dreamed of having on their own.  So now we’ve got holes to dig…sometimes very BIG holes.

So what to do?  Can’t dig a hole with a diamond ring.  Oh, maybe if you’re McGuyver you can figure out how to do it, but I never saw a plow attachment or a post hole digger attachment for a diamond.  And I have discovered I’m not the only woman in the world with this problem!  I recently reconnected with a girlfriend from high school and we discovered that we both have traveled very different but similar paths in life.  So I am spending a few days with her at her place up north…a wonderful, gorgeous place that she is working hard to turn into a B&B one day in the near future.  And lo and behold, the girl has a backhoe.  A real, live backhoe!

Full BackhoeAt first, I was jealous.  Why don’t I have a backhoe?  I could use one to dig all those holes and move all that crap.  So why don’t I have one?  Well, because I never freaking thought of getting one, that’s why.  Like I said, the backhoe has always been a tool (some say toy) that was relegated to the world of Men.  But then along comes this girl with some fresh, out-of-the-box thinking and voile, my mind has been expanded, blown, transformed…and I now have a new goal—a backhoe!  Or, more accurately, maybe a tractor.

So what does a woman building a B&B do with a backhoe?  Well, lots!  She tears down trees, digs up roots, drags the reeds out of the pond, builds rock retaining walls, and carts materials.  Bottom line…she can do any damn thing she pleases with a backhoe…or if she’s more inclined to sit on the dock and drink a margarita that particular gorgeous, sunny afternoon, she can hire a man to drive her backhoe and move stuff or dig holes.  And did you know men are willing to work cheaper if they think they get to play with cool toys like backhoes?  Uh-huh!

You convinced yet?  Ready to buy a backhoe?  Yep, I knew you would be…it was the part about hiring the man to drive it, wasn’t it?   LOL  So…now to find a way to pay for that backhoe or tractor…guess I need to sell a lot more books, huh?  ‘Cuz we all know backhoes and tractors ain’t cheap.  Oh wait…I think I just found a great use for diamonds…you can sell ‘em to get the money to buy a backhoe.

Okay, I’m off now to see if I can find some diamonds laying around the house that I can hock to get my tractor.  BackhoeAnd if you’re interested in knowing where my friend’s B&B is going to be located, stay tuned here to the BMG blog because I will one day be posting an announcement of a grand opening and you wouldn’t want to miss it…she might even let you sit on her backhoe!

That’s my story, steely and sparkly, and I’m stickin’ to it.  Hang on tight now ‘cuz we’re gonna go real, real fast!

Love ya,



Camping again…just like I had good sense!

Hi, all!  Been a while…what cha all been up to?  Me?  Mostly just working my butt off to stay out of trouble.  Yep…some things are harder to do than others and some things never change.

Well, remember the camping story from last summer?  Yeah, I’m sure some of you do.  I’m still trying to live that one down.  And, as you’ve probably already figured out, I have not yet given up camping…but I’m now another story closer to it, I think.  You guessed it…went camping again this week and, as some predicted, my luck held true…total disaster.  Once again, God musta been having a slow week and needed a little entertainment…and he always knows right where to find me when he’s bored.  So, here’s my sad but true tale….

  As many of you already know, I have a passel of the most gorgeous, brilliant, talented grandsons a woman could ever hope for.  In fact, they’re all darn near perfect.  LOL  Anyway, I decided to take a couple of them camping for a few nights at my favorite camp spot…Woods Canyon Lake.  Yes, that is the same place I went last time…what’s your point?  Stop snickering…I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet!.

 They had been up north spending a few days with their grampa and I was going to pick them up from there on my way to the lake.  So the packing and prep fell to me to do alone.  Sigh…poor me!  Anyway, I worked most of the day on Wednesday and headed out right after I got off work to pick them up.  The plan was to be totally prepared with my list, all packed up in an orderly fashion,  and leave home by 2pm.  Reality was that my list never got completed so I was frantically stuffing last minute things in through the camper door to fall where they may in a jumbled heap, and I finally left town about 3:30pm.  Still a better start than some I’ve had in the past…so far, so good.

 I get the boys picked up from their grampa’s house and start up the hill.  Just outside Payson I remember what I forgot…the birthday cake.  One of the boys is turning 9 on this trip and there is no way I’m going to let him do it without a cake and a card, at least.  So it’s a quick trip into the Payson WalMart.  I send the boys off in one direction while I go in the other and sneak a birthday cake, card, and gift through checkout.  And true to form, I get the new girl…the checker who’s still worried about doing it right and hasn’t yet figured out that everyone who comes through her line is not her new best friend.  I wait patiently (well, almost) while she chats up the two families ahead of me and rings each and every item with slow deliberation…while she makes sure she gets everything folded just right and tucked into the bag in a neatly stacked fashion and that no bags are overloaded…while they chat about Aunt Mabel’s gallstones and Uncle Henry’s new false teeth (he needed new ones because the dog chewed up his old ones).  Honest, I did good…didn’t say anything, didn’t sigh and huff, didn’t roll my eyes…okay, maybe a little eye rolling.  But I was good, honest I was.  No one even saw the eye rolling.

   Finally, my turn comes and I try to look too busy rearranging all the “stuff” in my purse to chat.  Doesn’t work.  She just stops ringing things up and waits for me to free up so she can ask me how I’m doing.  Now, I’m not always the sharpest point on a needle, but I can tell immediately that there’s a “chat quotient” that’s required in order to get through this line.  So now I start talking really fast, hoping to get the chat out of the way quickly so I can get on my way…remember, I’ve still got a tent to pitch before it gets dark.  Even with a fast chat, I’m not gonna make it.  So I take a deep breath, suffer through the chat-fest, grab my bags, and make a run for the door as soon as she’s handed me my receipt.  Freedom!!!

 It’s now going on 7pm and the chances we’re gonna get that tent put up before dark are nil…now I’ve moved on and I’m praying I can at least get the lantern lit before complete dark falls.  This trip has now become all about flexibility and shifting goals.  Long story short, we get there and find a campsite that we can use for two nights.  We’d hoped to stay three, but it seems everyone else in the Valley of the Sun is also sick of the heat – so they’re ALL there to camp at the same time we are.  Okay, we’re flexible…we can shorten our trip to two nights…it’ll still be fun!

   Time to set up the tent.  Well, it’s an old tent and hasn’t been used since that fateful night last summer when I did a swan dive in front of the outhouse with my nightgown over my head.  And it would appear that it’s finally reached the end of its shelf-life.  The shock-cording in the pole sections is now all stretched out and getting the poles together while poking the little elastic string inside the ends takes a long time.  Between that and the fact that I forgot you have to do one pole at a time, each one stringing over the top of the last…well, let’s just say it took us almost three hours (in the dark) to set up this stinking tent.  Then there were air mattresses to fill and bedding to unload.  The boys were real troopers and did everything I asked without complaint…did I mention they’re almost perfect?  However, I’m sure the other campers were wishing we’d had a flat tire somewhere down the mountain.

 But we did get the tent up finally and our beds were warm and comfy when we finally crawled into them sometime around midnight.  Woo Hoo!  We were now officially camping!!!  As I lay there drifting off to sleep, I resolved that this would be my last trip in this old tent…when I got it home, it was going into the dumpster and a new tent might be my Christmas present to myself this year.  After all, the tree’s still up.  I could watch for a sale, buy it, stick it under the tree and I’d be ready to go come Christmas…I had my plan.  Who needs a stinking list?

 The next day dawned early but we chose to sleep late.  With all in agreement, it was  w-o-n-d-e-r-f-u-l…well, except for the three trips to the outhouse which was a very long ways away.  Guess all that water I drank on the way up the mountain wasn’t my best idea.  I’m thinking a porta potty may also end up under that tree this year!

 After breakfast, we grabbed our fishing poles and drove down to the lake with visions of a dozen trout baking in tin foil over an open fire for dinner.  I had the butter and lemon all ready in the ice chest.  However, those trout in that lake apparently had visions of seeing another day, so they chose to forego the pleasure of “taking the bait”, so to speak, and we ended up coming back to camp empty-handed.  Well, except for the rainbow power bait, the salmon eggs, and the worms we had purchased at the lake store.  Good thing we had some steaks I’d brought along just in case or those worms mighta been dinner.  Hey, it’s not my first fishing trip.

 So come late afternoon, we lit a big fire and burned the wood down to coals and cooked our steaks.  After dinner, we worked like hell to light the birthday candles in the wind that was starting to kick up, we sang happy birthday in triple-time (before the candles blew out), and we ate cake while my grandson opened his birthday present.  It was fun.  In fact, it was so much fun that we were a bit slow to notice the clouds that were gathering overhead.  Uh-oh.  With the first clap of thunder, we all jumped into action.  Food went into garbage bags and ice chests, bags were thrown into the back of the truck, we grabbed the playing cards and our books, and jumped into the tent about 15 seconds after the rain started.  Damp…not wet…got air mattresses and lots of blankets and sleeping bags…life is still good!

 A few minutes later, as we’re getting situated in the tent, the birthday boy asks, “Gramma, does this tent leak?”

 “Nah.  It’s dry as a bone,” I replied.  “We’ll be fine.”

 He casts me a skeptical look as he rubs the top of his head.  “Oh.  Because I thought I felt a drop of water.”

 I look up just to make sure.  Nothing.  I can see water drops on the top of the rain fly, but nothing dripping in.  We’re fine.  “Nope…just your imagination.  We’re good.”

 He nods and we set about trying to decide what we want to do while we wait in the tent.

 About five minutes later, birthday boy asks again, “Gramma, you sure this tent doesn’t leak?  I thought I felt another drop.”

 “Nah…stop worrying.  The only time I’ve ever had a problem was when I was up here with your folks a long time ago and it was pouring then.  As long as the rain stays light, we’ll be just fine.”

 Now, this is where things start to go wrong.  Yeah, you knew it would because this is my story…and it did…it went wrong…it went very, very wrong.  I had no sooner finished that statement…I mean, it was not even five seconds later that there was a huge clap of thunder and the noise immediately became deafening with the downpour that ensued.  The three of us went dead silent and just stared at each other as we listened to the rain come beating down.  I looked up toward the heavens and rolled my eyes and said, “Very funny.

  Very funny.” This sent both grandsons into fits of laughter and they fell back on their mattresses in utter hysteria.  Suddenly, the older grandson sits bolt upright and wipes his face.  “Gramma, this tent is leaking.  My bed’s wet and water just dropped on my face.”

 Staring at the water trickling down his face, I could no longer ignore the fact that…yes, the tent was leaking.  It was leaking like a sieve!  As we started to look around in earnest, we realized water was not only leaking in through the roof…somehow, somewhere…it was also dripping in through the bottoms of the windows and soaking in at the base of the tent.  Another 10 minutes and we’d be floating…especially since we’d opted to forego the tent stakes the night before.

 “Time to move!”  I ordered and everyone went into action.  We initially intended just to get into the truck with our bedding to keep it (and us) from getting any wetter.  But as soon as we stepped outside the tent and I saw how black the sky was, I knew we were in for a long, rainy night.  “Boys, we’re gonna have to pack up and head home.”  I expected an argument, but apparently they were just as convinced as I that sleeping in a floating tent was a bad idea.

 “Okay, gramma, what do you want us to do?”  Was the reply in stereo.

 I put one kid in the cab of the truck and one kid in the camper to stack and stow gear as I ran back and forth bringing stuff out of the tent and handing it to one kid or the other.  Once everything was loaded, I stood up under the raised camper window, soaked to the bone and shivering, as I stared at the tent and wondered how the heck I was going to get that big old sucker down in this pouring rain.  Maybe there would be a break in the rain or at least a slowing where I could actually see what I was doing.  NOT.  So after about five minutes or so of shivering under that raised window, I finally ran out to the tent and started pulling the poles out of their holders.  I managed to get them loosened enough to drop the tent to the ground, but when I tried to get the poles to slide out of the little sleeves, nothing would budge.  The nylon was so wet that it was plastered to the poles and nothing would push through from any direction.  As I frantically worked the poles, they started to break down inside the sleeves and I now had a series of short poles stuck inside these long sleeves.  I gave up and ran to the truck, jumping into the driver’s seat.  As I sat there shivering and trying to decide what to do, I grabbed the towels I’d thought to buy at WalMart and wrapped one around my head and one around my body, trying to hold onto some body heat.  I was cold to the bone.

 The boys sat quietly, just staring out the windows at the tent.  Finally, the older one asked, “Gramma, are you okay?”  At which point, I just started laughing hysterically and within seconds, we were all laughing like we’d lost our minds.Another grand adventure!

 We waited about a half hour with no break or easing in the rain before I made the executive decision that we were leaving the tent right where it sat…which made the boys absolutely roll with laughter.  One thing’s for sure…when I die one day, there will be plenty of fun stories to tell at my funeral.

 Now the last dilemma I was faced with was how to get dry and stop the shivering so I didn’t catch pneumonia.  All of our clothes were either wet or packed at the very bottom of all that crap in the camper.  No way was I gonna get to it without unpacking the camper…and that wasn’t happening.  Finally, it dawned on me that my sleep shirt (translation:  nightgown) had been rolled into my sleeping bag…it might still be there in the back seat.  So we started digging and came up with the nightgown.  At the time, the irony escaped me but as I write this, I realize this was the very same nightgown (or sleep shirt) that I was wearing the last time I went camping.  Wonder if there’s some sort of spell on it.  I might have to burn that damn thing…or at least avoid taking it camping again.

Within minutes, I was out of my wet shirt and bra, and into my sleep shirt.  My shorts were wet around the bottoms, but not enough to keep me chilled.  With the dry nightgown on and the heater cranked up, I was warming up nicely as we pulled away from camp, leaving behind that old albatross of a tent, two bags of wet firewood, and a 2-gallon jug of water I refused to go back out into the rain to get.  Life was good once again!

 Until…we got down off the mountain and back to Camp Verde.  You see, this was not just an isolated rain storm.  This was one of the two days a year where it rains over the entire state of Arizona…and we chose that exact time to go camping…who woulda thunk it?  Okay, don’t be rude!  The drive from campsite to front door shouldn’t have taken more than 2-1/2 hours or so.  But this night, with the downpour and all of the steam coming up off the roads, the going was very slow.  So about 3 hours out of camp, I’m starting to squirm in my seat with the need to pee.  The boys were no problem.  Pull over next to a low bush, they hop out and take care of business, and we’re good to go.  But an old broad in a nightgown peeing at the side of the road…well, that’s tougher to ignore…and not gonna happen.

   By the time we hit Cordes Junction, it’s not a choice any more.  Either we stop at the truck stop and I go inside and take care of business…or that tent’s gonna look like a high, dry spot.  The birthday boy is sound asleep by this time, so I only have one grandson laughing his butt off as I screw up the courage to go inside.  I grab my purse and hold it in front of me, wishing I’d brought a much, much bigger purse (for coverage), and I walk into the little store at the well-lit truck stop, looking for all the world like I knew exactly what I was doing.  I walked straight to the bathroom and winced as I saw a note on the door indicating it was “for customer use only”.  Now the guilt begins.  I do my business (with tremendous relief) and then I allow my guilt to propel me out into the store itself where the clerk and no less than 3 other customers proceed to openly stare at me.  I throw my shoulders back and hold my head up high as I clutch my purse to my chest to hide the fact that I am wearing no bra under my nightgown…as I proceed to grab the closest bag of chips and head to the register.  The clerk, bless his heart, tried valiantly not to continue to stare.  In fact, he seemed totally unable to make eye contact at all as he rung up my purchase, took my money, and handed me my change.

   Back in the truck, my oldest grandson is almost in tears over witnessing the scene inside the store.  Which tells me I must be the “fun” gramma…at least, that’s the story I’m going with.  LOL

 Well, we made it home that night and for the second night in a row, managed to crawl into nice, warm beds (dry beds) at about midnight.  Life was still good.  However…the next morning, about 7am, I wake to the sound of someone in my room.  I roll over with one eye open and it’s birthday boy standing next to my bed.  “Hey, bud, you up already?” I ask.

 He nods.  “Gramma, something bit me when I tried to put my pants on.”

 I’m awake now.  “Something bit you?  What bit you?”

 “I don’t know, but it really hurts.”  He begins to cry.

 Oh crap!  I hop out of bed and we head back to the boys’ room where I begin to shake out his jeans.  Within seconds, the offending creature makes his presence known.  Now, there’s no telling whether that scorpion found its way into my house (since I live in the country) or he hitched a ride all the way back from the lake with us in search of a dry spot to sleep.  But this does appear to be the camping trip from hell…the one that just won’t end.

 So…to make a longer story shorter, we call 911, the paramedics come and check out the kid, we take him to his doctor who gives him a shot and proclaims him to be fine, and we spend the rest of the day unpacking damp camping equipment and watching movies as birthday boy keeps ice on his poor leg.  (By the way, I just talked to him on the phone and he’s doing just fine…none the worse for the wear.)

 Well, that’s the tale of this year’s camping trip.  Stay tuned…I’m thinking about making it a yearly “event”…a trip and a blog…sort of a package deal…maybe some of you would like to come along next year…or maybe I should just try to figure out a way to get a travel trailer underneath that Christmas tree instead of a new tent and a port-a-potty.

 Well, that’s my story…and I’m sticking to it.  Hold on tight now, cuz’ we’re gonna go real, real fast!

 Love ya.


Even more from RT 2008

I’m posting late tonight because I spent most of the day traveling and just arrived home an hour ago.

I read Kayce’s post and am disappointed I missed her water bottle demonstration. Pictures would have been great. But have I got a story for you!

Rewind back to Thursday night to the Faery Ball. Isabella, Kayce and myself all ended up in line together on one side of the stage. Iz in front of me and Kayce in line behind. Well, like I said, “Faery Ball” which means wings are involved.

Apparently my wings were brushing against Kayce’s chest, I say chest, to keep this PG. As she tells me this I burst into a fit of laughter which causes my wings to move and well, brush certain chest parts again. So, since my wings got to second base with Kayce she now expects an engagement ring or at least a long term commitment. I’ll have to break it to her gently. 😦

Speaking of wings, Isabella and I grew bored waiting in line and started a wing war. This is where you attack each other only using your wings. Quite fun when you’re standing in one spot for half an hour in high heels and your feet are killing you. The cover models who were to escort us across the stage looked at us like we were little kids or something. If they only knew how childish we can be! We decided they were waaaaaay too young to understand and we would break them. Teehehehehe. (Cassie & Iz can explain that one if they wish)

So RT 2008 is over and plans for the 2009 bash in Orlando, Fl are already underway. I am exhausted and would do it over again in a heartbeat if I had the chance. What am I saying? I will do it again!

Off and running ~


Kayla Janz

Cavemen, Cover Models, Strangers and Boobs…It’s All Good!

Well, as you know if you’ve been following our blogs, most of the BMG’s are in Pittsburgh this week for the Romantic Times Conference.  We have been working our tails off doing promo, setup, tear-down, decorating, networking, workshops, and trying not to leave the hotel with an overstock of Buttershots.  Dirty job, but someone has to do it. 

Can you imagine…when we arrived the hotel had NO Buttershots.  What the hell were they thinking?  We made sure well in advance that it was specifically listed in the conference BDO, but someone apparently didn’t take it seriously enough.  You get six Butterscotch Martini Girls and enthusiastic readers who love to try new things all in the same spot with no Buttershots and…well, let’s just say it’s not pretty.  LOL  But we did manage to find some substitutions that got us through until the hotel realized we were dead serious and managed to finally get in a shipment of Buttershots.  The booze arrived on Thursday and this is Saturday so by now, we have ALL of the bartenders trained on the art of Butterscotch Martini-making.  Woo Hoo!!!

And yes, as Cassie mentioned yesterday, I am apparently still wearing a sign on my back that I can’t see.  My family used to tease me that it said, “If you’re weird, I’m in love,” implying that I attracted the strangest boyfriends.  And they were pretty much right at the time, as I generally managed to attract someone with either no job, no home, or no car…often, none of the above.  But I’m getting better…just, apparently, not completely free of the curse.

This time it happened yesterday morning in the restaurant.  I started out fairly safely when I joined Dani and Carol for breakfast.  They had arrived first and were almost finished when I joined them.  So halfway through my meal, they paid their bill and left me there alone to finish my coffee…here’s where it starts to get strange.

I’m sitting there finishing my coffee and a woman walks up to the table.  The restaurant isn’t really very crowded, so the tables around me are empty, which makes it fairly obvious that she’s there to talk to me.  I look up and she’s just standing there staring at my 3 empty chairs.  I’m wondering if she wants to borrow one and why when I smile and say, “Hi.”

She replies, “Hello,” as she stands there smiling and glancing at my chairs.

I wait.

Finally, she says, “I’m just looking around for a perfect stranger to sit with.”

Okay, I’ve never heard that one before…so I stare for a minute trying to figure out if this one just got off the short bus.  She looks safe enough.  I kind of squinch up my eyes and repeat after her, “You’re looking for a perfect stranger to sit with?”

She nods and smiles, but doesn’t offer any more information.

Okay, my “weirdo alarm” is starting to honk, but I ignore it because I’m bound and determined to be polite to everyone.  So I gesture toward the chair and say, “Well, you’re welcome to sit with me if you’d like.  I’m not perfect, but I’m about as strange as they come.”

She visibly relaxes and plops into the chair.  “Thanks.”

Alrighty then…now, what to say to a woman who walks through restaurants alone in strange towns looking for perfect strangers to sit with?  I have no clue.  So I decide she’s the one looking for strangers…let her come up with a topic.  Fortunately, she had no problem doing just that.

As it turns out, we had a very fun chat and she turned out to be a lovely woman who is welcome to share my table any time.  Of course, next time I won’t be a stranger any more, so it might not work.  Anyway, in the end, we both met someone new, had an enjoyable cup of coffee/breakfast break, and did not have to sit at the table alone reading a book.  Woo Hoo…

Now, another great story is the boob tale…man, are there boobs at a romance writer’s conference!  Who knew?  But this tale starts with the costume contest the night of the Faery Ball when a woman showed up in an old time costume that looked like it might have come from a Renaissance Festival…and did she have some jugs on her!  The corset she was wearing pushed those puppies up until they were pointing straight out in front of her and they were flat on the bottom and very, very jiggly on top.  Then, to make matters even stranger, she stuck a long neck Bud bottle in between those tata’s and paraded across the stage and all through the ballroom like that. It was a hoot!

Later, some of us were sitting around in the room, rehashing the party and Carol made the mistake of saying she just couldn’t imagine the beer bottle between the boobs.  Well, long story short, I decided my boobs were just flexible enough (translation…floppy) that I could show her.  So I hoisted those puppies up and stuck a water bottle between them and, Thank God, it stayed in place.  Well…at least until I quit supporting the girls, at which time the water bottle shot across the room.

Oh, the hazards and sacrifices of a career in writing.  LOL  Oh, and there was one more piece of excitement that has Dani’s nose totally tweaked out of joint.  While she spent this entire evening cruising the hotel ballroom, stalking the hallways, peeking in elevators, trying to get a glimpse of Fabio and, possibly, have her picture taken with him…guess who passes him in the hallway to our room?  Yep…me.  So I drop my books in the room and hotfoot it back to the elevators where he gallantly holds the door for me and I get to ride the 17 floors back to the ballroom with the infamous Fabio.  And I must say, girls, that I was very surprised…he’s actually very good looking in person.  Very intense, very quiet, but actually gorgeous. 

So now I guess I’m going to have to sleep with one eye open all night so Dani doesn’t beat me to death in my sleep.  LOL  By the way, be sure to ask Kayla why her fairy wings owe me an engagement ring…you talk about hot wings!  That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it…hold on tight now, we’re gonna go real, real fast!

Love Ya,