Things I CANNOT Blog About Anymore OR How I've Been Repressed

Yes.  In a previous blog, I ranted.  (See 'I'm Sorry This Individual Never Had a Female Dog OR Denial Ain't Just a River in Egypt OR I Rant Therefore I AM.')  I admit that I ranted.  The ranting was, indeed, mine.  I quoted a reviewer who did not like one of my works and who sounded like a jackass.  (The reviewer sounded like a jackass.  He/she was so full of wind he/she sounded like a corn-eating horse.)  (Think about it, it'll come to you in a minute.)

Therefore, I've received instructions from several people.  In particular these people have spoken: HIM, my sis, and my daughter.  It was a truly biblical moment.  HIM said it first.  Cressy, my daughter, said, "Don't be sad, Mommy.  Be happy."  (Can you believe she's never heard that song?)  But my sis said it best.  Really, she nailed it.  And here I go, quoting because well she made the mistake of emailing it to me, and I know how to use the copy/paste command:

You've got to stop reading the comments. These are not people with any kind of brain capacity. Birds fly through one ear and out the other. These are mole people from the center of the earth. Vegetoids from planet Puree.Things from another dimension where they elected Sarah Palin President (shudder). My cat possesses more insight into literary criticism than these people do. She'd tell you if you hadn't pissed her off. Really. Seriously. Stop. Reading. The. Comments. Stop. Stop. Stop.

There's a funny story about her cat in there that I feel compelled to tell.  (How I pissed off my sister's cat is the story, in case you've missed the way my brain is bouncing around.)  Once I visited my sis in Spokane.  This was the same trip that I experienced the flight attendant joy that is **KYLE** and the wrath of not having potable water on board a plane when I've just consumed a Venti Chai Tea Latte.  (See 'Why I Love to Fly in Airplanes Or How a Venti Chai Tea Latte Almost Ruined My Personal Flotation Device.')

The alleged cat, Mellow.  Looks pretty benign there, doesn't she?
Well, don't hang your hands over the sides of the bed at night, dumbass.

So I was hanging out in Spokane with my sister and we were doing stuff.  (We got to see a laser show on a very large dam and I made fun of a documentary about the damn dam.  I made so much fun of it that we got the giggles and almost got kicked out.)  Anyway, my sis's cat was cruising around the house pretty much minding her own catly business and doing catlike things.  Her cat is a girl cat named Mellow.  (She's a Fat Cat and she isn't really mellow.  As a matter of fact she is the opposite of Mellow.  Her name really should be Angry-Don't-Touch-Me-I-Have-All-My-Claws-And-I'm-Not-Afraid-To-Use-Them.  Seriously.)

Well, I hid around a corner and when Mellow came up I kind of jumped out and made a loud noise at her.  (Mellow was not harmed in the execution of the pranking, but she did do a backflip in the air that would have made Nadia Comaneci jealous and it was frankly a backflip that a cat of her...shall we say...stature shouldn't have been able to perform.)  Let's just say that Mellow wasn't enthusiastic about my little prank.  In fact, I've never had a cat hiss at me continuously for thirty minutes straight.  For the remainder of my stay the cat would periodically look at me and hiss.  I think if my sister says my name to the cat, even now, a few years later, she still hisses.

Yes, I know I've moved past the cat story but I'm feeling the
creative dialogue mood.

So anyway, I've been instructed not to look at reviews any longer.  Furthermore, I can't blog about specific reviews, no matter how shitty, tacky, stupid, and whack-jobbed they are.  (Hmm.  I may be skirting the line here.)

Okay, if you don't get the reference then you need to google it.
And don't mention that you hid in a closet during the eighties.

All right, have I gotten off the point of the blog or what?  But no, I can't help myself.

Okay, referencing the same movie.  But if you met this cat, you would
understand completely.

So what was I ranting, er, talking about?  Oh, yes.  I can't look at comments, reviews, or otherwise relating to my books unless someone is pointing an uzi at my head.

But wait, I found pictures of the damn dam (Haha.  It's not as funny the second time.) that my sis's nice friends so graciously took us to see.  I'll explain why I was so silly.  I went to visit and the time zone is three hours earlier.  So by the time the laser light show was starting it's like 1 AM in Fat Woman Time.  (That's a special time zone.  FWT.)  I wanted to see the light show, but I was pooped.  Then I became silly.  (And I hadn't even had a drink.  Man, if they had given me alcohol there would have been a lampshade and not much else, I'm telling you.)  (Anyone who didn't have a vision of a naked fat woman wearing a lampshade on her head and nothing else doesn't have an imagination.)

My sis at the Grand Coulee Dam, I swear.

So they had the light show on the side of the dam and much hilarity ensued.  I don't think my sister's friends thought much of me.  Oh, well.

Now who said a blog had to go from point A to point B.  Hell, I just went from point A to XJH squared in triplicate divided by PI.  Yea, me.

Postscript by me: In anticipation of the note I'm going to get from my sis, the same note that's going to specifically say, 'You can't copy/paste this one or I'll fly over and hit you over the head with a wet noodle.'  Sorry.  Sor-ree.  I couldn't help dissing your cat.  She asked for it.  I swear.