Randomness Abounding! Help, I May Ramble! Or, OH NO! More On Writing!

Recently I read a review, of the reviews I'm not supposed to read anymore, about Bubba and the Dead Woman.  The person did not like Bubba because he felt that it did not live up to the standards of The Life and Death of Bayou Billy.  The reason I'm bringing this up because typically it's the other way around.  I get, "Dear C.L., Bubba rocks.  Bayou Billy is obscene.  If you were a really good writer, rainbows would shoot out of your butt."  (Okay, people don't really write this to me but they do complain about the foul language in Bayou Billy.)  Anyway, I was surprised because someone had read Bayou Billy first and was genuinely disappointed that I didn't replicate it in Bubba.  This is funny.  (Trust me.  It is funny.)  (Even HIM thought it was funny, but only after HIM said, "You're not supposed to read the reviews anymore, you know."  Then I whined, "But I like reading the good ones."  Then HIM said, "But you don't know if they're good until after you read them and then you're pissed."  "Help, I'm addicted to reviews," I whined some more.)

Did I mention the review from the woman who downloaded Bubba and loved it so much that she tried Billy?  Then she wrote a review that said I was horrendous.  (Her word.)  Then she said that she deleted all my other stuff unread.  Unread.  Jeez, that'll teach me.  Since she only downloaded the free ones, I'm not necessarily offended.  (I thought the guy who said I was writing worthless drivel said it much better.  Horrendous means I'm a monster.  Worthless drivel means it's well, worthless drivel.  Succinct.)

Nothing says excitement like a photograph of a tombstone.
Yee haw.
I took this photograph in Manassas' Civil War cemetery.  Pretty
good photo.  I wanted to put a Model-T behind it, but the cemetery
has rules about driving vehicles on their graves.  WTH?
(And if you haven't read Bayou Billy you won't get why
I want to put a Model-T behind a tombstone.)

So a special message to the man who liked The Life and Death of Bayou Billy.  Hey, Richard S. Philbrick!  Try Missile Rats.  You might like it because it's got the same sense of humor as Bayou Billy.  And it's only 99 cents.  Anybody out there know RICHARD S. PHILBRICK?  Go tell him I'm the reason his ears are burning.  I'm not making the name up.  He didn't like Bubba but he liked Bayou Billy and he made the mistake of putting his name on the review.

Recently someone wrote to ask why my covers are so boring.
Well, blah.  I did this one myself.  I drew the guy on
the missile and the little 'To Russia with XOXO.'
I thought it wasn't bad.  Obviously it's not Frank
Frazetta or the Hildebrandt brothers, but hey.
Maybe if I drew boobies on the missile it would
get more sales.

(For some reason I feel like yelling, "PHILBRICK!" like Marty Feldman did with Frau Blucher in Young Frankenstein.  You gotta be a Mel Brooks fan to get it.)  (I'm not saying Richard S. is like Frau Blucher but the name is definitely on my list of ones I want to put in a Bubba book.)  (Richard, I'm just messing with you.  Thank you for liking Bayou Billy.  Most people think it's too naughty and I enjoy hearing from those who liked it.)

"Blucher!"  Neigh-Neigh-Neigh!
I love Young Frankenstein.

Anyway, my cold is hanging on like a leech and HIM is prepping for a trip to Germany where he will supposedly work during Oktoberfest.  (Like that wasn't intentionally planned.)  I went and got euros for him and they look like Monopoly money.  (Seriously, they couldn't make money that looked like it was serious.  Seriously.)

Really, it looks like Monopoly money.
(I went to look at our Monopoly game but
we have the Star Wars one and the money
doesn't look like the traditional Monopoly money
so I was much bummed.)
Do not pass go.  Do not collect $200.
Collect 200 euros and then throw them
away because their economy is going
into the potty faster than ours.
I love freedom of speech.

Really, do those look real?  Cressy wanted to play with them and I was almost like, "Yeah, but don't draw on them."  Then I realized they were still real money and I couldn't let her play with them.

Funny side note.  The bank was counting these out to me and the teller had a problem because she couldn't understand why I'd paid $304 for €210.  She counted the euros out twice and said, "But it's supposed to be $304."  Then I said, "Well, it is, in euros."  "But it's supposed to come to $304," she said.  I'm not sure what was throwing her but I was in a benevolent mood and not terribly impatient so I said, "€210 euros equals $304."  (Silently, I added, 'dumbass.')  (Incidentally € is the money sign for euros.  Like $ is for dollars.)

The teller had to go get another teller to tell her (no pun intended there) that $304 was what I paid for in exchange for €210.  The second teller had to speak very slowly and use small words because the first teller was starting to make monkey sounds.

And the first teller STILL didn't get it.  I ended up taking a $1 out of my purse and saying, "If I give you this one dollar bill, you'll give me €.75 in euro money.  So I gave you $304 out of my money and this €210 is what you give me."

She said, "But you didn't pay me $304."

My patience pretty much flew out of the window like cockroaches seeing the exterminator drive up to the house.  "When I ordered the currency online through the bank, the $304 was subtracted from my account," I said gritting my teeth.  The paperwork that the first teller had just looked at, said exactly that and was still sitting on the counter in front of her not a foot away from her face.  The second teller already knew this but let me have the rein because she somehow sensed that I had gone past the point of Do-I-Have-To-Still-Be-Polite?

Clarity ensued.  HIM better bring me back something pretty from Germany.  That's all I got to say.