I’ve got a couple things to announce and/or confess today:

Firstly, today kicks off a two week Bewitching Blog Tour for “Touched.” There will be spotlights, interviews, guest posts, and various giveaways, so be sure to check in daily.

Secondly, at approximately 5:01 A.M. at the day job, this happened:

I may or may not have been involved. Okay, I might have been the only one involved, although if you believe the sticker, I had Heavenly help. And if I was made in His image, he sure has a mischievous side. Heh heh ….(I’m goin’ to Hell for sure.) To be fair, I had Songza set to Hit of the 80’s by accident, and I was listening to Hall and Oates. Everyone at the Booktrope family knows that Hall and Oates can make ANYTHING happen.

Thirdly, my children’s slide finally fell off the swing set, and I came to the realization that there was no point in fixing it, since they’re 12 & 9 and they don’t use the set any more. Which means my kids are old. Which means I’m old. *choke-blerg!* This is, however, the perfect excuse to start acting like a complete and utter child in the hopes of turning back the hands of time. I will do this experiment FOR SCIENCE!

Fourthly, I am working on two projects at the moment: the third installment of the Marnie Baranuik Files, “Last Impressions,” and a Marnie Baranuik short story which will be offered for free on Amazon. There may be progress on the collaborations, and possibly some erotica to come. (Ha! I said come. See? Operation Childish is already working.) Anyhoo, details to follow! Stay weird, my friends. *swak*

(Author’s note: Whenever I think about taking a day off and slacking, I think about Stephen King, and I imagine him giving me THIS look. THIS look says, “Oh, yeah? You don’t wanna be successful? Okay, then by all means, go take some time off. Take a few weeks. Months. Years, even.” What a great motivator THIS look is…)

Firstly, let me do this linky-link thing, before my adorably-peppy project manager has a fit and her pompoms explode. *grin* With everything going on in my house lately, I totally forgot to let you know that “Death Rejoices” is now available for pre-order at Amazon HERE! WOOHOO! Official launch date: April 30th, 2013. That day I will also be doing my First Soul-Cleansing Manuscript Bonfire, weather permitting. Prepare for pictures of me being scolded & berated by sexy firemen, with this little Writerghoulie looking impish yet smug. (My flaming milkshake brings all the first responders to the yard? Heh.)

Also, I’ve got a story to tell you. I call it The Gnome, and it’s entirely true. That’s what makes it so tragic.

So, not too long ago, I had my sister over for a visit. She’s younger than me, way cuter than me, and she might be clinically insane. During one of her many smoke breaks (which I make her take outside, because, eww, smoking is gross) she decided to “get me back” by belting my garden gnome into the passenger seat of my car. She then came back inside and had perfectly straight-faced conversations about  various girly subjects: perfume, ceramic hair-straighteners, serial murder, penis girth, the giant mole on her manicurist’s nose, and why so-and-so (that bitch, that absolute whore) didn’t return her texts.

I did not notice the gnome that evening.

I did not notice the gnome when I got into the car at 4 A.M. because it was dark and it was 4 fucking A.M. I drove to work, oblivious to my little frozen-grinned friend.

I did not notice the gnome when I went through the Tim Hortons drive-thru, got my X-LRG steeped w/2 milk, parked in front of work, and began to edit some writing.

A cop cruised by my car, maybe ten minutes later. This is not abnormal at that time of the morning. They just want to make sure I’m not casing the joint, I suppose. They usually don’t stop to chat. This one did.

He strolled over. I rolled down the window, smiled at him. I like cops. I have no problem with an officer of the law doin’ his job. He said good morning, asked me what I was up to. Told him I was waiting for my 5 A.M. work shift, and my manager would be here in about ten minutes, and he was welcome to wait and see. He said “nah,” and went to leave…and stopped. And stared past me, into the seat beside me.

I froze. What the fuck was on my seat that could make his smile dissolve like that? Did I have an axe, or a knife, or a bottle of booze, or what? None of those things made sense, but he was abruptly concerned, so there had to be something.

I craned over slowly. And that’s when I saw him: little green hat with the paint chipped, empty grin, holding a daisy. BELTED IN.  Like I’m responsible for the welfare of his little gnome head in the event of an accident.

I stammered, “I have no idea how that could have gotten there!”

That statement did very little to make the officer more comfortable.

I continued, “Well, I mean, it’s not like he got there on his own. Even if he could walk, which he absolutely can’t, his legs are too little! I’m not sure he even HAS legs. Does he have legs? His shirt’s kinda long, I can’t tell–no, I’m not going to check. My point is: somebody put him there. Not me. I don’t need him. It’s not like I crave his company. He’s got no personality. Or maybe he does, maybe I’m being unfair. I’ve never even talked to him. Maybe he has a fantastic sense of humour….” Blink. “I’m not crazy, Sir.”

He said nothing. Not a word. He went right back to his car and drove away. Despite being 4:40 in the morning, I texted my sister immediately, thumbing the letters urgently.

Me: A cop. Caught me with the gnome. Belted in. I hate you so much.

I didn’t get her hahahahahahaha until much later in the morning.

I was at dinner this past weekend at a lovely Chinese buffet with friends for the birthday of my sometime-collaborator, Jason D. Ready.  After dinner, each of the diners handed me their fortune cookie slips. I didn’t ask for them, mind you. It was understood. 

See, I have this quirk. It might even be creeping into superstition territory. Despite all logic to the contrary, I suspect that if I throw out a fortune from a fortune cookie…it won’t come true. 

As a result, I have ….um, a lot of them.  Some, I keep pegged in front of my face; I use them as inspiration to not kill people, elevating me to new and amazing non-people-killing heights (although one day I wanna crack open a cookie and read, “go ahead, whack just one creep, you’re gonna die next week anyway.”). Other slips, I keep in a drawer with a pack of Harry’s cigarettes (I don’t smoke, but he does), half a Green & Black’s organic dark chocolate bar, and about a thousand-and-one paper clips.

I suspect I am not the only one who does this. Fess up, people. Do you read your fortune and then squirrel it into your pocket? Do you just toss it in the trash? Crumple it and leave it behind with your sweet&sour-stained napkins? Don’t you worry about your Fortune, your Luck, your FUTURE? You’re gonna toss your FUTURE in the TRASH? What does that say about your state of self-loathing. Or, alternatively, your blind trust in your ability to dodge bad luck? Go ahead, thumb your nose at the, uh, paper-slip prognostications of the powers that be! See what they predict for you next time… 

<Damn right, my patience will pay off. When you’re fairly sleep-deprived, nothing says promise like a 4 A.M. fortune cookie. > 

(ps. I have no idea how Silver Surfer got on my pegboard o’ death, but until he bothers me, he can stay. That’s pretty much my attitude toward most people/things: stay ’til ya bother me *grin*.)