I don’t have a Facebook page or account or whatever it’s called. But like all of you, I get invitations a few times a week from people asking me to join their Facebook page. Some of these people I don’t know, and I treat their emails kind of like Spam. But last week my 90-year-old grandmother invited me to join! How crazy is that? My grandma has a Facebook page, and I don’t!

And then an ex-boyfriend invited me to join his page, and I wondered why he would want me as a “friend.” Wouldn’t his new girlfriend or wife or whoever be a little upset that we were communicating? Wouldn’t my husband be a bit annoyed? If the shoe were on the other foot, I’d be annoyed!

My sister has a Facebook page, but she said she won’t let my grandma be her friend because her friends post pictures from parties where they are all drinking and doing who knows what. She’s looking for a job right now, and I reminded her that employers sometimes look at Facebook pages when they are hiring, and maybe she should rethink whatever is on her page. The look on her face was like a light bulb going off.

And then I hear people talking about their old acquaintances. How so-and-so is married to this really great guy, and how she has perfect kids, but how so-and-so is an unemployed loser who lies about his or her age to get dates. From what I can gather, if I did find all my old friends from high school, I would either feel like a complete loser or a smug jerk. Neither are probably good places for me to be.

See, why I’m not on Facebook? I don’t need this stress! I mean, how bad would I feel if I denied my grandma as a friend, and how much trouble would I be in if I started friending (is that a word?) ex-boyfriends?

Anyone else stumbling through this virtual world?

Spring has hit central Texas in full force. For us, that means it’s strawberry picking time. There’s a pick-your-own farm about forty-five minutes away from our house and we make several pilgrimages a year to load up on fresh berries and then basically eat ourselves sick.

My husband, The Geek, grew up on a farm, so he takes his berry picking pretty seriously. Since the deer started decimating our backyard garden, this is his one big chance to play in the dirt. (Not that he’s given up on having a garden, but the attempts to keep deer away from basil plants in the middle of a drought is a topic for some other post.)

We spent the better part of Sunday at the farm, picking berries. We pretty much closed the place down. By the time we were ready to leave, the man who owns the place was doing his evening chores, which included feeding the goats. He was nice enough to get one of the kids out of the pen so my daughter could pet it. Now, I gotta tell you, I think baby anything is pretty cut. But these baby goats were beyond cute. I was tempted to stash one of the kids in my purse and make a dash for the car when the farmer wasn’t looking.

I was reminded of last spring. My husband has an uncle who lives down by the border who raises boer goats. In May, my in-laws drove down to visit Uncle John to pick up a kid for my brother-in-law.

Naive, animal lover than I am, I said, “Oh! I love goats! Why didn’t they offer to bring one back for us?”

“Um, seriously?” The Geek asked after a long moment of silence.

“You’re right. They’re a lot of work and we have small children. Maybe in a few years?” I asked hopefully.

An even longer moment of silence past. As the seconds ticked by, I realized with dawning horror, that my in-laws had not driven down to the border to get a goat:

They’d gone to get a goat:

“Omigod! Don’t ever let them bring me a goat!” I practically screamed.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not a vegetarian. I eat plenty meat, even occassionally cabrito. It’s just that I like to pretend that all my meat comes into the world on white styrofoam trays wrapped in plastic. That’s where I draw the line. I’ll pick my own berries, but not my own goats. 

I don’t know if it amuses my husband or annoys him, but that’s what he gets for marrying a girl from the suburbs. 

What about the rest of you? Do you like your food on-hoof or on-tray?

My beauty comes from having my own style, living my own way and knowing my own mind.
—Lee Damsky

Its the 50th birthday of fashion icon–Barbie!  So I thought I’d take a moment to confess…

I love fashion.  I’m not going to lie and tell you that I’m anything close to resembling a super-model.  But I do like clothing and hairstyles and have more shoes than one girl could possibly need but that’s okay.

I love how putting on a certain outfit can change my mood.  Some days I like to be ultra-professional (since I’m a writer and can usually be found in pjs this is a big deal!) especially when I’m talking to my editor or agent.

Other days I’m totally into bohemian chic.  I want everyone who sees me to know that funky girl is a writer or another type of artists.  Other days I’m old-Hollywood glamor.  Some days I’m soccer mom, others I’m surfer girl.

Underneath the clothing I’m the same person but these changes in clothing, hair and make-up let me play with different parts of my personality.  And I think if you looked hard at yourself you’d find that they do the same to you.

See clothing to me is part of my cover.  Part of how I give people who encounter me some clues as to how I want to be treated.  If I’m going to Nordstrom’s or Saks you can bet I’m going to be in full make-up and carrying my real designer bag (not one of my many China town knock offs) because the sales ladies there treat you differently if you look like you have the money to shop there.

At school with the other moms some times I like to blend in and be Suzy-Stay-At-Home.  Other times I want to be the funky artist.  But it all depends on my mood and how extroverted I’m feeling in a day.   If I want to be noticed then I dress the part.

What about you?
Kathy

Last year I traded in my Buick Riviera (which I loved) for a new Hyundai Sonata. Although the Riviera still looked great, I was looking at having to put a lot of money into it. So I said good-bye to it and bought the Sonata. This car has every feature I wanted and it gets great gas mileage. It’s very comfortable to drive and I’m happy I bought it. I don’t love it, the way I did my Riviera, but I’m definitely happy with it.

Thinking of cars got me thinking about the first car I ever owned. I was just a junior in high school when I bought the MG Midget. I paid for the car (it was used, of course) when I was sixteen. I also paid the taxes and license and for any repairs. It was a convertible and a stick shift and I thought it was the coolest car. My friends and I loved to drive around on hot summer nights with the top down. And if the night was chilly, we’d keep the top down but turn on the heat.

One thing I didn’t like about it was that when it rained it tended to stall out. Then, I’d have to get out, pop the hood, take off the distributor cap and wipe out the moisture. Once I did that it would start. It didn’t even bother me that I had to do it….I considered it just a quirky thing. Now, I’d consider it a major irritation.

In case you don’t know what an MG Midget looks like, here’s a picture (although mine was blue, not red):

I think the Midget will always have a place in my heart…because it was the first vehicle I ever owned.

How about you? What was the first car you ever owned? And does it still have a fond place in your heart?

My Dearest Readers,
I usually never repost from my blog www.DelilahMarvelle.blogspot.com but I simply could not resist because this post is WAY too delicious and many of you simply won’t find your way over to the dark side. So I am bringing the dark side to you. Grin.

It is quite by accident that I happen upon the most fabulous of books. Though perhaps not *quite* by accident. Considering where I happened to pick up a copy of this particular book I’ll be discussing: Sparticus. Now for those of you that don’t live in Portland, Oregon, Sparticus is a fabulous adult store with everything under the mattress a woman or a man would ever need. Lingerie, books, wigs, paddles, nipple rings, condoms, you name it. They have it. And if they don’t, they know where to get it. So I wandered in (after all, how can one simply walk by such a store and NOT go in?! T’would be a crime) and after passing the pasties, purple and pink wigs, twenty inch heels with tip jars attached to the bottom (I kid you not), and all the other kinky goodies, I headed for my favorite section in the entire store. And no, it wasn’t the dildo section, gentle readers, but rather, the book section. Honestly! A naughty writer needs naughty inspiration. So I spotted this fabulous reprint sitting on the shelf and simply fell in love with it. Because it captures an era that reflects times gone by in history. The book, HOW TO MAKE LOVE, SECRETS OF WOOING FROM THE 1930′s was the only thing I walked out with that day (well, actually, that’s not true, but I do not intend to post what else I walked out with as every girl has a right to her privacy…ehm)

So here is a basic overview of the book and why you MUST get your hands on it:
*It is a man’s perspective on love. From the 1930′s. (Bwahaha)
*Defines love as an art that can and must be perfected. (Bwahahahahahahahahahaha)
*There are so many great lines that will make every woman want to burn bras. And I quote, “Man was created strong. Woman was created weak. Therefore, it is up to the man to protect his woman. Woman is so physically constituted that she needs a man’s strong protection.”
*A woman must always be passive. (Because?….)
*Basic customs, such as laying out a cloak on a puddle as in olden days or holding the door open, helps the “basic necessity of establishing this strong-weak relationship as soon as possible…”
*The secret to lasting love: Understanding. (AMEN, brotha)
*Make sure that when you’re on the sofa and you want to “make your move” you do so in a manner so as to arrange that she is sitting against the arm of the sofa. So that she has no means of escaping. (Forced seduction, anyone?)
*Oh, and THE BEST LINES EVER to help a guy out with a gal and I quote as I’m holding back a gasp of horrified laughter: “If she flinches, don’t worry. If she flinches and makes an outcry, don’t worry. If she flinches, makes and outcry and tries to get up off the sofa, don’t worry. Hold her, gently but firmly, and allay her fears with kind, reassuring words. Remember what Shakespeare said about “a woman’s no.” However, if she flinches, makes an outcry, a loud stentorian outcry, mind you, and starts to scratch your face, then start to worry and start to get yourself out of a bad situation.”
*Flatter a woman. (The oldest and dirtiest trick in the book, I’d say)
* How to properly place one’s arm around a gal in the theatre. There is a right and a wrong way. The right way is to place your arm around her below the upper part of the chair so that no one will see you doing so. The improper way is to place your arm around her AND the seat for everyone to see and pulling her close.
*Love is entirely irrational and unless you understand that, you won’t ever understand love. (Um…that TOTALLY makes sense)
*Understand thyself. In turn, you will understand others. (This is actually damn good Dr. Phil stuff)
*Oh, and the best advice ever. Gentlemen. Do remember that 1+1=3. Amen.

Again, pick up this fabulous book. It really gives you an understanding as to the mentality of an America that we are still trying to break ourselves away from. Although I must say that it has a lot of very wonderful lines about love and relationships that deserve further scrutiny. The one thing that I most certainly noticed is that the whole notion and premise of the book which discusses “making love” cannot be compared to our definition of “making love.” For although kissing and techniques and so on is covered, A into slot B is not. It is more of a commentary to the men about love in general and the paths it leads them down. Which is really fascinating. Because the book really tries to “talk” to men about love and relationships in a very rational and concise manner. To the best of the author’s knowledge that is….

Until next time.

Cheers and much love,
Delilah Marvelle

This is a fun post that sometimes makes its way around cyber space. I thought I’d give it a go…

Four jobs I’ve had:

1. News paper reporter
2. Public relations professional
3. Cosmetics counter girl
4. Stand-in on the New Mickey Mouse Club (the season right before Britney Spears; Justin Timberlake, Christina Aguilera; et al.)

Four movies I have watched more than once:

1. Pride and Prejudice
2. 13 Going on 30
3. Chocolat
4. The Sound of Music

Four places I have lived:

1. St. Louis, MO
2. Orlando, FL
3. France
4. England

Four of my favorite foods:

1. Curry
2. Chocolate
3. Crab legs and lobster
4. Slow simmered spaghetti bolognaise

Four places I would rather be right now:

1. Paris
2. Lost in a good book
3. Hiking in North Carolina.
4. This is difficult because I really love where I am…

Four things I am looking forward to this year:

l. Finishing my work in progress
2. Starting new projects
3. Traveling this summer
4. My quest to watch every episode in the 9 seasons of Seinfeld

TV shows that I watch:

1. The Office
2. 30 Rock
3. Grey’s Anatomy
4. Various cooking and travel shows

Now it’s your turn. Tell us about you! If you post, for your effort, I’ll enter you into a drawing for a free book.

The Professor always says that he can tell what I’m thinking about by the shows that I tivo. Lately it’s been Designed to Sell and Get it Sold, both on HGTV. You see, my lovely and wonderful Professor got a new job and this summer we’ll be moving back to the homeland. That’s right kids I’m going back to TEXAS!!! I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. My mom and I are already making plans. And let me tell you when Emily and I get to live near each other again, well, let’s just say we might need an intervention on getting our work done. Oh and the new job is a great one for him, so it’s not just a good thing for me.

But here’s the thing…now we have to sell our house. We were first time home buyers when we bought our little blue house and now we’ll be first time home sellers. Lucky for us we’re getting to use the same realtor who we used when we bought and she’s just fantastic so I know we’re in good hands. We’re definitely treading into uncharted territory though. So I’ve been watching the real estate staging shows to absorb all the good tips.

Here’s the basics I’ve gathered:
1. Declutter, declutter, declutter
2. Fix any repairs we’ve been avoiding
3. Pack away all personal items like photos and our massive DVD collection (we certainly don’t need potential buyers more interested in that than the house)
4. Touch-up paint and make everything sparkle
5. Make sure we’ve got good curb appeal

I’ve got a to-do list a mile long, okay really I have a notebook and a to-do list for every room in the house in addition to a first run packing list and a myriad of other things. We’ll be cutting our belongings in half and sending a truck home with my family at spring break so that we can stage easily.

I know most of you have probably been down this road before so what are you’re real estate tips? Did you replace those big standard bathroom mirrors with a trendier framed mirror? Did you add fresh flowers to the yard?

*Oh, and as a side note, my website was just updated with information on a way you can win an advanced reading copy of Seduce Me as well as the first excerpt.*

I hope we have some aspiring authors reading this blog because this one is for you. I know you have read plenty of articles and gone to dozens of workshops fgiven by authors who talk about how to persevere in the face of rejection. Yeah, right. Easy for them to say when they have a book contract in one hand and a new release in the other.

Well, I have neither. I’m looking for a new publisher, and I’ve received about 4 rejections in the past week and a half. If you know how that feels, then grab your latest rejection slip (or email), and come hang out with me.

No, we’re not going to have a pity party or a sob fest. We’re going to talk about how to keep going.

1) Stay positive.
The market is tough right now for everyone, established and new authors. Editors are being pickier than ever—and they were picky to begin with. But even if you have a dozen rejections, you only need one editor to say yes. Keep that in mind. One yes and who cares about all the nos?

2) Keep it in perspective.
Rejection hurts. It’s no fun for anyone, but it is not the end of the world. The end of the world is when your house is demolished in a tornado, when your husband is killed in a car accident, or when your child is kidnapped. A little no from an editor at your number one choice is nowhere close to any of those.

3) Keep on writing.
Okay, so what if everyone does say no? Are you going to give up? Of course not! You’re going to write another book and that one is going to sell. You’ve already started working on it, haven’t you? No? Then you’d better stop wasting time reading blogs and get to work!

Anyone else have any advice for hanging in there?

I washed our cat the other day. The evil Hyacinth, not Cinnamon, the regal, older cat.

No cat enjoys a bath, of course, and I knew this. But the sympathy pangs were slow in coming. The evil beastie tends to start yowling around 4 a.m. each day. She attacks innocent creatures (chipmunks, birds, me) and doesn’t hide her contempt for us, her servants. She needed a bath, I was going to give her one, and I didn’t mind a bit.

Was I perhaps a bit cheerful at the task at hand? Maybe. I donned a pair of yellow rubber gloves, got a few towels, told the kids not to watch and scooped up the beast. Deposited her in the shower and closed the door. Turned on the water.

Hyacinth generally likes water. She sits on a raft in the pool, and the kids swim around, pushing her…sort of like she’s Cleopatra and they’re her slaves, which sums things up perfectly. She goes into the shower for a drink, sometimes to nap. She slurps out of puddles and seems to enjoy mud. But water for the purpose of cleanliness? Ah…no.

Oh, to have had a camera running for what came next! At first there was the leaping…I’m estimating five feet straight up. Then came the clawing at the walls. And then…the yowling. At first it was her normal, pain-in-the-butt, 4 a.m. yowl. Then, when she realized she was getting really wet, the yowl changed. No more “Meow, meow.” No, now we were into “Roow… rooooowwww.” And then her voice got deeper. Scarier. The snarling began. Remember that scene in The Exorcist when the kindly older priest comes to help little Regan, and before he’s barely cleared the front door, she starts bellowing his name from upstairs? Yes. That was our cat.

After she escaped from the shower (twice), after I learned that my full body weight is no match for thirteen pounds of feline malice, after the yellow gloves were shredded and after I’d lost a pint or two of blood, I began the actual cleansing portion of our program. Broke out the Kitty Paws Cat Shampoo and got to work. Pin and lather, pin and lather, restrain — watch it, she’s going for the eyes — rinse, repeat. Finally, we were done. And a few hours later, she was so shiny, so sweet-smelling. She will never be that shiny or sweet-smelling again, I assure you.

My brother-in-law came to visit last weekend, and I regaled him with the tale of Shampooing the Cat. He enjoyed my story, but one-upped me. Seems he tried the same thing, once upon a time when he was a youth. Except there were two cats. Two big, semi-feral cats. And he thought the shampooing would go more quickly if he put on his bathing suit and got into the shower with them before turning on the water.

Note: Do not try this at home.

Any ill-advised moments in your history with pets?