So, there we were at the store looking for living room furniture for the condo, when…

*Looks right at you*

I hear the word “No.”

So, you have to imagine I did a double take. A triple take, and then I was checking my purse for a thermometer, because surely my husband did not countermand my design choose.

Yeah, this never happens. Not on account of me being the designer guru or anything. I tend to think it has to do with him not giving a rat’s butt about the décor.

As long as it’s functional, comfortable and something he can wear in. He likes to make his preferred seats his, you know?

So, where was I going with this? Well, I’ll tell you. I figured I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and see what happened. Here’s the conversation.

This is me, after I get over my shock and decide to roll with the upper-cut. “No? What, don’t you like the color? We can change that.” Not that I planned to, or anything, I just wanted to feel him out.

“I don’t know. I don’t like it.”

Kinda broad, but okay. We moved along, and I see another couch set. A small sectional. “What about this one?”

He affected a face and sighed. “No.”

When we made the rounds of the store and he’d literally said no to everything I pointed out, I threw up my hands in mock defeat. “We’re reached the end of the road, buddy. This is where we came in and you didn’t like anything.”

To which his eyes lit up when he said, “I liked a couple of things.”

There’s me. *Blink, blink*

Then I looked around at a loss. “Um…where?”

God love him. Seriously, I mean he walked to the left and slapped a hand down on a coffee table that was too big. Did I mention that we were looking for light beachy tones and this was almost black? No? Well, yes it was. Bless his little heart. He said, “I like this one.”

Then he marched past me going left. “I like this couch.”

*Leans in to whisper* It was a couch and half. It even had an XL on the sales tag. So, in terms of it fitting into our small condo? Yeah, no.

“I think this is a good design.” He walked to an end table that I thought was a bistro table of some kind, until I realized it was meant to go with humungous couch. Only it was in a teal color instead of a sand color.

“And I think these are interesting.”

I looked at the lamps he was pointing to and I didn’t know what to say. Speechless never happens to me, so I tried to find a positive here. One little—nope, couldn’t do it. “Are they supposed to be animals or is that a cactus?”

It was hard to tell. They were free-form something or other. Coulda been a giraffe or the cactus I mentioned. Hell, they could have been stylized brown waves that were supposed to be forever parked on one’s end table to remind a person, or possibly your guests, not to pollute the oceans.

Bottom line? They weren’t going to be parked in my house.

I tried my best to sugarcoat my displeasure. “I’m sure if we were doing a brown theme, or even a beige one – as those two shades go together, the lamps would work. But with beachy shades…?”

“Wet sand is brown.”

Yeah, and so is a wet blanket. I guess I was being one because, for the life of me, I just couldn’t get excited about the yellow couch that was the size of the condo, end tables that could double a bar-tops and lamps that looked better suited to go to a wood carver for his next project than to win prized positions on my end tables.

Meh, it wasn’t until we got back into the car without buying anything that it hit me. I never bring him furniture shopping with me. What the hell was I thinking?

Clearly, I hadn’t been…

Anyone else have a husband story?

As always, thanks for stopping by!






Let’s Play: The Mysterious Laundry Challenge…Oh, And We Have A Giveaway Winner!


Okay, have a look at these precious Honey laundry finds.

*I shall pause here to reflect*

For those of you who are new to Honey’s laundry “specialness”, let me fill you in.

The man is a collector. Don’t ask me why. To this day, I still have fond memories of us sitting together around the campfire when we were younger, drinking beer and shooting the breeze with our friends – while I’d watch him peel his brew labels off, and stuff the paper bits in his pocket.

*Side-eyes you*

Always thought this was because he didn’t like to litter. But, well, as you can see, the man collects these work-related smalls. A screw, or nail, or…?

Yeah, I don’t want to spoil the challenge, so let me ask you this. After examining the group of items in this latest treasure trove of laundry findings, what item doesn’t belong?

Come on, look harder. You have to see what I see.

*Points right at you* Exactly! The bobby-pin. *frowns and drums fingers* Now, what do you suppose the man was using that for? Picking locks? I hope not. It’s not part of his job description. But, then, neither is collecting these little bits-and-bobs I’m stuck pulling out of the dryer on laundry day.

Those annoying clink, clink, clink, clink sounds as the dryer turns? They drive me nuts…and, funny enough, they give me nuts, and bolts, and—you get the picture. 😉

When I asked him about the hair pin…well, here’s the conversation.

“So, I did the laundry today and look what I found. Any idea why you kept this?”

Quite frankly, I’d given up asking him about the mars/morets (wire connectors), screws and gaskets. He’s a collector, remember? Which did have me worried about him taking up with collecting female hair paraphernalia. This is where I was going to have to draw the line. You know what I’m saying?

Honey doesn’t even blink. He looks at the bobby-pin, and sighs. “It was probably in the way.”

And there’s me, blink, blink. In the way? The thing was tiny. “Of what?”

“Running my fingers through my girlfriend’s hair.”

Okay, I was ready to freak out here, because I wasn’t expecting that quick comeback, but then he smiled.

“What the hell do you think it was in the way of? Try me being able to apply floor patch smoothly down at the job site.”

And, again, me blink, blink, before everything was back in proper perspective. That’ll teach me not to tease the man so much. Phew! But hey, anyone else think of the pin obstructing a clean pour on a floor patch?



Haha! His girlfriend. That man. Like he could handle two of us…he’s having a hard enough time with just me. 😀


Okay, onto the winner. Congrats! There is an email in your inbox. Please let me know you’ve received the notice, and I will post your name and the detail of our next build-a-giveaway in my next post.

As always, thanks so much for stopping by! I hope none of you are stuck chained to the washer today. Now that I’ve finished mine up, I’m toying with the idea of making a laundry collage. Wouldn’t that be neat? Say I collected Honey’s “littles” all year and thenstuck them on…I don’t know, a big tool. I could surprise him with the sculpture at Christmas. Oooh, I might be onto something here. I will keep you posted. Poor Honey.




The Spear of Destiny!


I kid you not! Last night Honey and I were watching Jeopardy and he’s killing it with the correct answers. *Insert me not impressed at all here*

Actually? I do, but jest. I really was thinking the guy was doing great. Unfortunately, he thought so too.

*Looks right at you* I really hated that, but what can you do?

Ooh, Ooh, *raises hand in air and does the puppy dogs eyes at you hoping to get picked to share* Pleeease let me tell you!

Thanks. Okay, here goes…

It’s simple. You just deny, ignore, and then deny again. Here’s the conversation. Mind you, this is after he got a bazillion right on Jeopardy, just saying. State of mind is everything during our discussions. Heh. And watching Jeopardy would explain the topic we arrived at, because Mr. Trebek was looking for the mountain that erupted to bury Pompeii.

Honey got that one right, Vesuvius, but it was easy – so, I just ignored him. See? Simple. Then Honey switched the station to a show I have a hard time watching. Two guys digging up a beautiful island to find treasures? *sigh* Dang, when are men going to realize the island is the treasure?

Anyway, when I complained to Honey, he tells me they are looking for religious artifacts.

*Lifts a brow at you* And that’s different? I could go into the heated discussion we had about the Knights Templar, but I won’t. Suffice it say, that Honey thinks those guys rocked because they stood up and protected all manner of things – and I happen to like them because they were warriors who believed in something greater than themselves. Hence, me thinking that the items they supposedly kept safe and then hid so that they’d continue to remain safe – should stay hidden.

Honey? Not so much. Here’s the conversation.

Honey is staring at my profile as I don’t want to look at him. I was a little miffed, and I wanted him to know it. He knew it alright. “So, what you’re telling me, Ms. Smarty-pants, is that they should stop digging?”

And at that exact moment in the show, one guy finds – after laboriously sifting through a whole bunch of dirt he dug up – a piece of pottery that was the size of a quarter…maybe.

*Pulls down my glasses and steadily eyes you*

Let me repeat that. After digging up a whole pile of dirt for some time, the “excavator” -and I use that term loosely, found a piece of glazed pottery that was the size of a quarter. He shows it to their expert who gives it a cursory look and declares that it’s from the 1700’s.

There’s me *blink, blink* How could he possibly know? And the excavator must have read my thoughts because he asks, “How do you know that?”

That’s when I hear the expert say, “I can tell by the glaze.”

Seriously? It looked like – and probably was – someone’s broken coffee mug, but whatever. I turn to Honey ready to tell him how insane this show was – when he laughs out loud. Even he got how ludicrous it was that the “crew” was speculating about who may have owned it.

After we added our two cents in about that – I suggested Captain Hook, and he said Captain Morgan would be more fun 😉 He brought up the religious artifacts again. Then he starts naming them.

“The ark of the covenant, the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Chalice, the Spear of Destiny—”

And there’s me. “Hang on a minute. The Spear of what? Destiny? Sounds like Thor’s hammer, or Wonder Woman’s magic lasso.”

To which he says, “Do you mean to tell me, that a good Catholic girl like you were growing up, you never heard of the spear that supposedly pieced Christ’s ribs – delivering the final death blow?”

*Insert me, totally offended here* Hey, I was. I didn’t sit through mass every Sunday, and attend Sunday school, and Catholic school even, you know, just in case I didn’t get enough bible, to have Mr. “God and I have a special relationship” – tell me that I didn’t know my spears.

“It’s called the Holy Spear. Not some Marvel knock off for Super heroes.”

He handed me his phone. “Look it up and then we’ll talk.”

I did. Crap! *blows that annoying strand of hair out my eyes in frustration – big, HUGE frustration* Because he was right. Which, you know, was just perfect. Not really, but what could I do?

Concede you say?


Fortunately, right at that exact minute, the show gave me an out when they started to lavishly speculate about another possible item they’d found on their island. Honey was caught up listening to their suppositions – and when they were done, I shook my head.

“Man,” I said. “Those guys should have called me. I could have scripted this to be entertaining, and somewhat believable.”

Honey gave me the side-eye. “Oh, really? What’s not to believe?”

“Something plausible. Now, if we were talking about something so off-the wall – like…like…Yes! What they need are some unicorn bones or a dragon’s head. John Q Public would be all over that.”

I was expecting Honey to laugh, but you know what he did? He nodded, and then he said, “Did I ever tell you about those guys digging for gold in Alaska? They found a freaking Mastodon bone. A big mother of a one too.”

And there’s me… Blink, blink.


Because Honey didn’t give a rat’s excrement what I thought about his stupid shows – that turns out – weren’t so stupid after all. How could they be if he was learning all those Jeopardy question/answers. You know what I mean?

Ha ha! How crazy is that?

So, *looks around* How’s everyone’s New Year’s going? Good I hope. I’m planning on making 2018 a great one! You?

As always, thanks for stopping by! I’ll be finishing up our build-a-giveaway over the next two posts, so check back.





It’s A Bird, A Plane, A Giant’s Q-Tip???

I figured I’d put that disclaimer out there because I love Santa Claus…and after he reads this I know I’ll be on his naughty list. Which isn’t so bad. I’m sure if I buy myself the right kind of gifts, the big guy will come around. *Wink, wink*

*Drum roll please*

And now without further ado, here is that post I promised. Read it and weep. Yes, weep. Seriously, you should be shedding tears of joy that you didn’t get these delivered to your house the way I did.

Check out this slice of Riley’s life…if you dare. 😉

Exhibit A

Not impressed? Take a gander.

Um, yeah. Anyways, here’s the conversation I had with my daughter about it. Please keep in mind that I ordered certain items in two separate occasions from a particular female friendly – as in very friendly online store – and the Giant’s swab was the first “Free gift” I received with purchase.

And, no, I’m not going to mention that I lucked out getting a “free gift” on account of the size of my order. BUT if I was going to share that info I would be compelled to add that it’s all for story research.

*Crosses fingers*

So, phew, good thing I don’t have to tell you that – because I’m already in enough trouble with Santie- ’nuff said, right?

Now for Exhibit B

Stunned I was…

But, wait, there’s more…

In case you haven’t guessed, this was the *Free gift* with my second order. *curls fingers and examines my fingernails, while I give you a chance to digest this*


Well, for starters, if you’re anything like me, you should be having a
Goldilocks moment here. As in, “Oh, dear me, the first vibrating phallic is too big, and the second is too small…”

*Looks right at you and lifts a dubious brow* Don’t assume there’s a happily ever after here, because there ain’t. I haven’t placed a third order. But now that I think about it? Maybe I should. You know, just for the “free gift” and to see if it’s just right.

Alright, alright, I promise to post what I get when I order.

*Looks away and that looks back at you*

You guys know me too well. Heheheh.

But back to the conversation I had with my daughter. I’m laughing right now even before I get this down. Ah, good times…

I’ll set this up, but don’t ask me what the Q-Tip was doing under the spare bed in the guest room. I think I put it there when we were renovating my closet. I SO did not want Honey to see the beast – but, yeah, you know, that didn’t work out. Especially after my daughter got involved.

*Cries laughing thinking about that*

So imagine one day, when my daughter and I are looking for the suitcases that I have a tendency to shove under beds because I love my closet space. There I am on one side of the guest bed and she’s on the other. We are both on our hands and knees scanning under  the bed when…? Yep, our eyes lock on the monster at the same time.

Seriously, I’ve never seen the girl move so fast as she did that day. She had the beast (in a box – a very clear box that made it seem more daunting) in hand so quickly I was left staring at the swinging bed skirt for a full 30 count before I unbent and our gazes locked across the width of the mattress.

She didn’t blink. “What. Is. This?”

I didn’t blink either. “A dildo.”

She did a double take and then scowled. “I know what it is, mom.”

She looked so adorable getting ready to read me the riot act, I had to say something to deflate what was sure to be another one of those, “Oh, mom” conversations. “It looks like a giant’s ear swab. His big honking Q-Tip. An audio bottle-brush, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah it does. Where did you get it?”

I wasn’t going to have that conversation with her, because she might want to see the other stuff I ordered…and that wasn’t happening.

Did I mention that I think fast on my feet? No? I do. So I stood up and said, “Oh, you wait right there. You haven’t seen the best yet. This will kill you.”

Of course, I rushed to my room and dug out none other that the Mr. Sad. This was sure to stop her from digging, you know what I’m saying?

When I returned she was sitting on the bed and I did the old “Ta-da!”

She gave me a look that said, “Oh, please,” and then she followed that up with. “Womp-womp.”

I pretended like I was offended. “What? You don’t find him attractive?”

To which she said, “No wonder the giant sprung for this.” She held up the bottle-brush monster. “He’d need it because little finger there, isn’t going to cut it when he gets wax build up.”

And you know? She had a point. To this day, I still call the sad guy, little finger. Hahaha!

There, now you know my secret. Honey still hasn’t seen Little Finger. He’d probably laugh his ass off if he did.

Such is life around Riley’s house.

You guys have anything happen like this to you before?

Share please.

Ooooh. Maybe it’s time I pass on the joy. Yeah, maybe I should wrap the bottle-brush monster and send it to my brother in-law for Christmas. That way I could be sure there’d be some awkward situation going on at their house over the holidays. If I sent it to my sis, she’d trash it and tell me it wasn’t funny — but, think about it. If I sent it to her husband to surprise her? He’d be all over that idea.

Oh, boy. Santie Clause is going to be steaming despite the cold when he hears me cooking up these kinds of ideas…

But hey, it’s not my fault. I love to spread the joy. Can I help it if I’m the one who sometimes experiences the most of it? Nope. It just happens that way. 😀

As always, thanks for stopping by.

Tomorrow? It’s back to our build-a giveaway!

Stay tuned. I’m decidedly cheerful going into the Christmas count down so anything could happen. Don’t tell Honey! 😀



Tell Me Some Lies…& More of Our Build-a-Giveaway!


I had to post this one since I was laughing my butt off over it.

There I am driving home from the store, mulling over what to blog about and I think: SEX.

Oh, don’t look at me like. It’s fun to write about, at least for me. 😀 But I digress, because my second thought was, you’re always writing about sex on account of your books.

*Insert me tapping my front tooth here as I ponder*

What to write about…?

And that’s when I had one of those crazy-eight kind of thought streams. I started thinking about the heroine in my story, Permit Me. About how she was always trying to do the right thing and after about twenty random other thoughts this came to me.

Always tell the truth.

And there I was sitting at the red light waiting for the green, thinking. I always tell the truth. I’m a good person. I—

Yes, my thoughts did a double-take. Haha! They went back to “I always tell the truth.”

There’s me thinking. OMG, if I always told the truth – if we always told the truth, what would happen?

*Looks right at you*

We’d wind up killing each other.

*Leans in to whisper for clarity*

That would be figuratively, not literally.

And, of course, I’m talking exclusively about Honey and me. But walk with me a second and let me explain about the levels of truth.

Level one is the smile you maintain while you tell your host that dinner was wonderful even though you stuffed half of your meal in your pocket because you couldn’t stomach a bite of it – but you didn’t want to hurt his/her feelings.

Level two lie, I’ll call the look away. It’s the one where you pin the ding on the new car on a runaway grocery cart, instead of on the pillar you hit when you opened the door because you couldn’t reach the container when you were at the drive-thru bank that day.

Level three? Let’s call this the red zone. It encompasses everything from coveting thy neighbor’s wife and way beyond.

Don’t know about you, but I always assume the best of people. Seriously, I’m always shocked when I find out negative things about people I know because it never occurs to me, you know?

Anyways, the point is, level one is lying to protect someone’s feelings. You don’t want the host to know you detested what they made, right? Level two is lying to protect your feelings. You already feel bad about hitting the pillar and making the mark on your new shiny baby, so no need to feel worse by telling your significant other who – will no doubt, harp about it, right?

And then there’s level three.

That’s the level I’m always referring to when I say I tell the truth.

So there’s me, driving down the street heading home, and laughing. Why? Because I started running those first two level scenarios over in my head. If we all told the truth in those moments, this is what it would look like.

Scenario One

The wife. “Honey, do you like my new top?”

The husband. “No, it makes you like old and fat.”

The wife. “Yeah, well you’re no spring chicken, and speaking of chicken, I’m not making dinner tonight.”

The husband. “Why? Because I told you the truth?”

The wife. “Yes, you idiot. The least you could have done is lie. But back to why I’m not making dinner for you. Do you want to know?

She glares at him as he nods and then she says, “Because I’m fat and old! We’ll be eating a lot of salads from now on and going to bed early – being the ancient person I am. Deal with it.”


Scenario Two

The husband. “Babe, did you see there’s a big ding in the driver side door of the car.”

The wife. “Oh yes.”

The husband. “Do you know how it got there?”

The wife. “I do.”

The husband. “Do you mind telling me?”

The wife. “I bashed the door against one of those cement pillars at the bank.”

The husband. “How many times have I told you to watch those?”

The wife. “At least twenty times.”

The husband. “Is that all you have to say?”

The wife nods.

The husband. “That’s a bad ding.”

The husband. “It’s going to cost a fortune to get it fixed.”

The husband. “It won’t be worth going through insurance with the deductible and all.”

The husband. “Didn’t I tell you to use the outside lane? It doesn’t have a pillar.”

The husband. “I wonder if I can touch it up myself.”

The husband. “When did you do it?”

The husband. “Never mind. I’m already depressed. You weren’t hiding this from me, were you?”

The husband. “Didn’t you say that your new friend’s husband is a mechanic. Maybe we can get a discount.”

The husband stops at the front door before he goes to recheck the damage. “You didn’t answer. When did this happen?”

The husband turns and is shocked to see his wife isn’t in the room.

Now why did she leave the room?

She told a level two truth and that’s *points at the above text* is the thanks she gets for it! Talk about depressed!


Scenario Three


For this one, we need some props. Like…a spiky strident, an equally spiky tail, and a devil to go along with the ensemble. We also need a handsome older man with thick, flowing white hair, blue eyes, and a robe that any fashionista would die to own.

I say this, because there’s no husband and wife in this scenario. Why? Level three lies require the deft hand of divinity as it’s a battle for the soul.

I see this playing out like a boxing match. A, he said, she did, type thing with a few “Oh, yeah, wells” thrown in.

*Wags a finger at you* I know what you’re thinking. If it’s really bad stuff that’s been done at the level three all the souls are going to hell, right?


You can’t just say, “Hey, you there with the green jacket on, step away from the pearly gates. You committed murder, so you are going to ashes and cinders territory.”

Did I mention that the man in the green jacket was military?

Or, maybe, it was worn by a man who lost control of his vehicle when he had a survivable heart attack and ran someone over.

Or, maybe, it belonged to a woman who administered the wrong dosage of medicine to a patient on her nightly rounds.

You see? What the ancient law defines as “murder” comes in many different forms, so, the way I see it? Divine intervention is a must in these kinds of cases. And, in these kinds of cases there’s bound to be surprises. Especially if I’m writing it.

What if, the military man saved more lives than he took? Wouldn’t God call dibs on his soul?

What about the man in the car who had a true and uncontrollable accident. God might be ready to duke it out with Satan over him, but then it comes to light that the driver kicked his dog, beat his wife regularly, and cheated every chance he got when he gambled.

Hm…I’d be thinking Satan would be rubbing his hands together, no?

And what about the woman?

*Hikes a brow at you* My bet is, her own guilt would cement her path to cinders and ashes territory before God and Satan even got a chance to get in the ring over her.

A shame, really, because out of the three scenarios hers was the most heart breaking because she’d dedicated her life to saving and helping lives, and with the event of one mistake, all that joy was taken away from her.

So, what do you think God would say about this? Or Satan for that matter?

Heheheh. I bet you guys are wishing right about now that I’d taken a short cut home. This seems to be taking forever, no? 😉

I’ll tell you what I think. I think they’d both want her. One would lay claim because she’s given more than she’s taken in life, and the other would lay claim to her, because she broke the rules, and he’d have a chance to steal an angel without breaking the law the way it’s written.

It was at this point that I realized it all comes down to guilt and association. The two men who went before the woman let their fates be decided by higher powers, while a woman?

Yeah, she can’t seem to keep her trap shut long enough to be let off the hook.

That’s why we need level one and two on the scale of lies. Without them, there wouldn’t be any women in heaven.

Wow. When you look it like that – heaven is hell and hell is heaven because all the bad doers don’t feel any guilt and waltz through the gates.

Seriously, think about it. I watched a movie a while back. And in it the bad king had to sacrifice those he loved to get power. There I was watching his beautiful wife being thrown into the pool of water and this snake-type person surface to take her down. Then later, his beautiful and virtuous daughter gets thrown into the pool and is taken down.

It didn’t take me a minute to realize that the underworld is filled with some beautiful people, you know what I mean? Think about it.

I told Honey my thought while we were watching that flick, and after he stared at me for a full thirty seconds he said, “You’re determined to wreck every movie I watch, aren’t you?”

I didn’t blink, when I replied, “Absolutely not.”

You see? That right there was a level two, because I am SO going to bust his balls when he makes me watch movies only he enjoys. >:)

Do you agree with my lie-o-meter? Disagree? Or are you going to pull a level one in comments and not hurt my feelings?

Hey, now…I’m made of tougher stuff. You can tell me. 😊

Okay. Now, onto our giveaway.

We already have an Amazon gift card, so why don’t we do some chocolate covered strawberries delivered to your home (if you live in the US) – if not, and you win, I will purchase a gift card in the amount of the prize that will be included with the other stuff we’re going to be adding in the coming weeks.

Here’s what they will look like.

How’s everyone doing? Good, I hope! You guys know the drill. If you are a subscriber you’re already entered for one chance to win. With each new comment you post on the posts during the giveaway weeks your name will be added again for every comment for more chances to win.

Yay! I love reading comments.

And, as always, thanks for stopping by.