xerinmichellex: (lillian gish2)
I've been meme-slapped by [livejournal.com profile] rhoda_rants to list 10 of my favorite things that start with the letter "P." I didn't realize until now how few of my interest begin with that letter--so if this list looks haphazard, odd, and just plain "WTF?", it's because it is. Yes, I cheated with a few things...c'mon, I was grasping at straws here.

My 10 Favorite Things That Start with P )
xerinmichellex: (Default)
There is a time honored tradition in my house that dates back a few years. It happens after the turkey's been eaten, the in-laws have left, and my brother and I hand over our Christmas lists for the year. It is a race to see whose tree can be put up first. We have two--three counting the Whoville tree I bought at Urban Outfitters a couple years ago. My mother likes the generic green, 7 foot tall fake tree. The one my father and I prefer is...one of a kind.

For the past two years, my mother has succeeded in getting her tree up first. This year, my father and I won.

Gather 'round for a fantastical tale of Christmas cheer )
xerinmichellex: (Default)
Playing a quick game of catch-up because yesterday was busy. First, I received my cat's ashes. My mother felt the need to open the can once we got her home. There's not a whole lot of her in there (I'll spare a photograph). She was a tiny thing when she died--only four pounds--but I thought there would be more, considering the size container they gave us. The vets also did this paw print for us, with her name on it and everything.

Kitties! )

What else could possibly happen yesterday? Well, I received another request for my querying manuscript. Yes, it seems Agent Y wants to play in Submission Apocalypse! Given it's taking me a couple years to get any positive responses, I am not complaining. Agent Y wanted a brief synopsis, first 50 pages, and...an author bio. I bit my nails at seeing that in her email. I'm the first to admit I do not live an exciting life. Nothing I've done has any baring on my writing. And agents don't care if your junior year English teacher said he liked a certain line in one of your papers and that has been your best compliment you've ever received and that's what keeps you going.

I ended up hobbling something together that looks like this: Erin _____ grew up under a steady diet of stories about supernatural creatures and superhuman heroes. She found she had more freedom in telling her own stories about extraordinary people, once she ditched her plastic dolls for a computer. THE WATCHER is her first novel.

Yeah, me? Not so interesting. Also note, agents want the bio in third person...which opens up all sorts of awkwardness while you write it...

Now that package has been sent out. I am still waiting on 7 more queries, so I'll keep you, my two little friends, updated.

Oh, I also broke our coffee pot last night. Though, it was my father who set it in the dishwasher so precariously that it wasn't my fault it fell out when I slide the top shelf out. I'm just sayin'. So, my parents broke out this coffee maker they bought when they got married.

Say hello to this sexy beast circa 1984.
xerinmichellex: (Default)
I just got back from one of those quick trips to the grocery store--the kind where most of the stuff could be bought at a quckie mart, except the ones by us keep going out of business. So, I braved the outside with my father to go to the other grocery store because the one closer to us doesn't have a parking lot on account it's been ripped up to be repaved. Already the trip wasn't looking good. In the car I was treated to my father's stirring rendition of All-American Rejects' "Move Along". (I'm still humming "Mow the lawn, mow the lawn" as I sit here.)

At the store my father and I got into a pissing contest over where the facial scrubs were in the cosmetic aisle. My father also refused to grab the milk we need until after we got the stuff that didn't need to be cold, cause he thought we were spending an hour at the store. Shopping with my father, it could have been. Facial scrub in hand, I watched my father fight with the liquor cooler to get the two Sharps boxes on the top shelf, in the very back. The Sharps were the reason for our trip; therefore, talking my father out of shaking the shelves before he spilled all the alcohol on the floor wasn't going to happen. He managed to pull the two remaining boxes out using one of the beer bottles from a pack on the shelf below.

The cashier that helped us was a little, old lady named "Norma Jean". I squeed on the inside. I can only imagine what she made of our purchases: facial scrub (which the company totally repackaged in a smaller size whilst maintaining the original price), a gallon of milk, ice cream, two boxes of Sharps, and Kraft Singles American Cheese.

Then on the way home, there was an ambulance and fire truck parked at the end of the street. A couple kids from the Bicycle Gang were sitting at the cul-de-sac watching. That's the most excitement we get around here.

Back to my editing party!


xerinmichellex: (Default)

August 2015



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