So today– 5/6/08 — marks the release of my BFF Michele Bardsley’s release of Because Your Vampire Said So. Queue MAJOR pom-pom moment. I’d do a split jump on her behalf, but I fear my bones, and the brittle disease of said bones I’m sure I’ll find out I have at the most inopportune moment, will display their symptoms in a most unseemly fashion.

So no split jumps for you. Try and hide your pain

However, it is with  great pride (and still no split jumps, though I might be up for a basket toss if we can find a guy who can take blunt force trauma to his chest), that I tell you, she’s my pal–and BECAUSE YOUR VAMPIRE SAID SO is AN AWESOME BOOK.

I’m just suggesting, in a roundabout, very subtle way that YOU SHOULD GO BUY IT. Cause it’s really good.

This is in no way a blog post to subliminally or otherwise recommend you should go BUY IT. I’m just being helpful.

I would never make you do anything you don’t want to do. Like BUY A BOOK by MICHELE BARDSLEY

I’m just sayin’–It’s a KILLA GOOD BOOK.

But I’m definitely not the pushy sort and again,  I would never try to sway you to GO BUY BECAUSE YOUR VAMPIRE SAID SO.

Here– A URL for you– Order Because Your Vampire Said So

Just on the off chance you might want to check it out. No commitment or anything. Just sayin’. And yeah, I know–I suck at the URL thingy ( it was all that cheerleading–it scrambled my memory for how to insert URL)–cut and paste to your browser when you GO BUY THE BOOK

And in all seriousness–Michele is a remarkably talented writer–incredibly funny, and an awesome pal. But just because she’s my BFF in no way means you should buy– BECAUSE YOUR VAMPIRE SAID SO.

But maybe you might consider it BECAUSE I SAID SO? LOL

No, I’m kidding–how about we all just wish Michele (and maybe, possibly consider buying her book BECAUSE YOUR VAMPIRE SAID SO) so many sales she can buy Godiva chocolates into the afterlife and beyond, eh?

Let’s give her some love

Hugs, honey!

Dakota

Edited by Ter to fix Link and add bookcover

So, here’s the thing. I totally and completely had this on my list of things to blog about, but old, doddering, tard that I am–I lost the list. Then I ended up winging it from memory. As you’ll see, my memory blows

In my RT post, I completely forgot to mention a random act of caffeine by our BFF Robin. She’s a reader from our Yahoo group, but more importantly, has become an awesome pal over the years. Her job’s kinda crazy, so we don’t get to chat with her much via email, but I was so happy to spend time with her after nearly a year of incommunicado.

Robin got stuck at the Omni–which, despite the transportation trouble back and forth to the Hilton, wasn’t really like being stuck at all. Because the Omni had a STARBUCKS. Uh-huh. Here we were shafted in the Hilton with Vlad and some lukewarm, colored piss water (it wasn’t that bad–it just wasn’t STARBUCKS–snd I’m snarking on Vlad, but he turned out okay in the end), and Robin held the key to keeping me from beheading Vlad

Every bloody day Robin lugged four or five cups of Starbucks on a bus to the Hilton so we’d shut our whiny traps. Every day–smile on her face, coffee cups juggled between her purse and the shuttle rides from Hell. That almost explains the awesomeness that is our Robin–but not totally

I had a wardrobe malfunction–like big. I was all happy clappy that high waisted pants are back in fashion. I hate those stupid hip-hugging things that feel like they’re falling off my tuchus. So I bought me a pair at Speigel. See them here– http://www.spiegel.com/shop/product_ensemble.aspx?effort=2AE&style_id=33431141&ifn=S0818040_SDC08_152&associated=1&index=1&gp_coll_id=5001&gp_cat_id=5002&nav_cat_id=8368&category_id=10719

Dress trousers in black–FABULOUS, I say. They zip up under like your boobs. Well, MY boobs because my boobs have decided southern locales are best when sunning

When my mom ironed them for me (cuz she’s simply the best at keeping everything from wrinkling when packing), I tried them on and they zipped right up–no prob. I slap those puppies on at the Hilton and I can’t get past like the bottom half of my ribs–WTF–how did I manage to gain weight in two days? I panic–Robin’s in the room with me–I eyeball her with a glare, thinking the reason I can’t get the zipper up is because I’m drinking a Starbucks White Chocolate Mocha and out of nowhere, it created five extra inches on my waist. it happens. Seriously. Like overnight. When you’re old like me. Just sayin’

I’m all blaming Robin in my mind, cursing my man for not being there when I need him most, but Robin’s quick to help–she’s up, on her feet and at the ready–zipper fingers twitching. She immediately rushes to help. We struggle–all while she assures me it really isn’t my expanding waistline (I roll my eyes, unconvinced). Finally, we figure it out–cuz brain surgeon is my next position in life. First, I’d forgotten that my mom had commented on how damned stiff the band of the waist was compared to the rest of the pants–that’s so they’ll stay up under yer taters. Second, my mom sprayed this stuff on the zipper to keep it from sticking. I need to pull down on the bottom half of the zipper while Robin pulls up over the thicker band. But that’s all lost on me. I couldn’t get my arm around my waist (and over the river and through the woods) to reach it if I suddenly turned into Stretch Armstrong. My ta-tas are in the way, people, and I get this pain across my bicep when I try. But Robin could–and she did–and for the remainder of the day–when I had to make potties (which is oft because I’m OLD), she and Jaynie had to come to the bathroom with me.

Pathetic on my part, but above and beyond for Robin, yes?

So it is with love, and admiration,  that I thank you, darling, for pimping my caffiene addiction and for just being some seriously splendid awesomeness.

Now on to Mark Henry–as I said in the last blog–dude is funny–his book? even funnier.  I never get to read nearly as much as I’d like these days, and when I do, I try to stay away from my genre because I don’t want anyone’s stuff in my head. So mostly I do a lot of King–Koontz and books from my friends like Michele Bardsley and Renee George.

Yet–I was verra curious about Mr. Henry. Not only because he had a fantastic title, but because he was so much fun at the con. Can play. Love that in an author.

So I set everything aside and read his book–couldn’t put the mutha down–read till my eyeballs wobbled–then got up and read some more the next day. Loved. It.

Loved.

So for any of you who haven’t picked up Happy Hour Of The Damned (cannot believe I didn’t think of that frickin’ title), Do It. You’ll laugh your ass off. Oh, and have a Flirtini while yer reading it. The ingredients for said drink are in the book–along with some freakin’ hilarious footnotes

DC

Soooooo–home from RT. I have much to report. This might be long–set aside at least two days and some no-doze in order to read

I hooked up with my BFF’s, Teri, Renee George, Michele Bardsley, Jaynie Ritchie, Jose, Da Nanchez, Trish, Robin, Lori and Space (the married couple in our group), better known as the double chin crew (I swear, every pic of us has 12 double chins in it. Tee hee) and we set out for a quiet, demure, uneventful con.

Oh, hush–don’t be such skeptical weenies.

The Panels–where I met two of my new BFF’s–LA Banks and JR Ward. I’m just sayin’… LA Banks was on a panel with me and the mouthy MJD, the lovely Kelly Armstrong, St. Martins Press editor, Monique Patterson, and Cheyenne McCray (who showed up late and said it had to do with her hurt foot. I call she was off getting a pedi that went awry, but what do I know? I’m kidding:) I love me some Chey). I met LA in the elevator a couple of hours beforehand and I only knew who she was from her name tag. Go on–call me loser. Yes, of course I’d heard her name–but alas, I’d never seen her. Dudes, she’s killa cool. She let me whine about how I had no idea what I was going to say. I mean, the panel was about reinventing the paranormal. I couldn’t reinvent something if Einstein possessed me, ya know? But I hiked up my big girl panties and dove in. Yet I found, the panel was a freakin’ riot–and LA was pretty durned funny. MJD? Not so much? HAHAHAHAHAHA. I’m kidding. She’s a riot, too, and a good sport–she and I should not be allowed to panel or do anything even remotely panel-ish together. To call us ill-behaved is understating our mystical, mouthy powers

So the panels ovah–it went well–we laughed–we mocked–LA told stories about her family and how she’s based some of her characters on them. Toooo funny. As I’m stepping off the platform thingy, up steps a chic blonde. My publicist Ter is jumping up and down and in general moving more than I can ever remember seeing her do. I cock my head appropriately because I have no idea WTF–she’s now pointing at the chic blonde who then bows to me in “I’m not worthy fashion” and says, “Dakota Cassidy?” Me? I’m just thinkin’ all’s right in the universe, ya know? I’ve been addressed appropriately–so what’s the prob? LOL. Again, the kidding thing. Er, it was JR Ward–who knew ME. Uh-huh–ME–ME–ME. I’m as shocked as the next person. Next thing I know, we’re taking pics, and she, being the chic, blonde, awesome sport she is–primps for the camera with me. We fluff our hair, hug, and I now have a secret weapon against Michele Bardsley who’ll never let me live down the freakin’ Nina Bangs incident. Again, I don’t want to BRAG. LMAO. Truly, she’s lovely, and I think she has good eyes because she must’ve read my name tag in a matter of seconds to find out who the hell I was. And I’m secure with that. I only know, she can play, and that was golden

The Second Panel– ‘K, so now I have laryngitis (and I swear to GOD, if Richelle Mead and Mark Henry say one more time my husky, 1-900 wanna wonk hotline voice was just laryngitis again, I shall SCREAM. I have very few claims to fame–one of them is my voice. And it really IS husky, damn you!), and I’m kinda worried I won’t be able to lob back my snarks at MJD because yes, you guessed it, I’m on another panel with her. But today it’s with Cindy Cruciger AND Sandra Hill. You who read my blog know my crush is bordering creeeepy over Sandra and Nina. Soooooo I sound like Pee Wee Herman with the occasional Lou Rawls intervention, but I am DETERMINED to behave like a lady because, it is, after all, SANDRA HILL, people! Sandra, who came with a bunch of notes, thus making MJD and I look like we hadn’t done our homework. Sandra was so much fun, but alas, I believe MJD and I have scarred her. Have I begun apologizing yet–here’s where I start. Dear I’m So Not Worthy Miss Hill… Seriously–she was a good sport and I lurve her work.

The Last Panel I’ll ever be allowed to attend without a keeper– This panel included my pal Angela Knight, Caridad Piniero (ooooh. did I spell that right?), Patrice Michele, and Michele Bardsley as mod. Monique Patterson was there, too. She’s EVERYWHERE–like Visa. And let me add–she’s also an awesome sport. So I’m all listening to the vampire panel, but folks, truly, I was ass-fried. My voice was virtually gone, and I’m waaaay tired. I begin to nod off. Sigh. Had nothing to do with the panel members, it’s just my age showing. I swear. All of a sudden, Michele Bardsley (who might be on the borderline boot OFF my BFF list) declares I have a question. Which I totally didn’t, but had to make one up–thus leaving me looking like the tard I am. Not only did I confuse myself by my question, but a panel of exceptionally smart, authors. I have no idea where I was going with it–I only know Michele may find death far more becoming than remaining my BFF for putting me on the spot like that when I only had one eye open

The Balls–and not the ones I sucked at that panel. We kinda skipped in and out on winged feet. We got our dance on, then hit it. Erin McCarthy was in charge of the music, and it was the best in the five years I’ve gone to RT–guuuurrrl–you are HAWT! And, I made some new BFF’s there, too…

My New BFF’s–Jackie Kessler–forced her opinions on me, er, offered advice for my laryngitis (chicken soup, tea and honey.). Nice lady–can write. LA Banks–see above. Crazy cool. JR Ward–again–fab, chic lady. Mark Henry, my separated at birth twin, who calls me goddess. Dude is one funny mutha. He stopped me at the fairy ball and knew who I was, I wasn’t familiar with the face, but knew his name and that fab title I’m still gnashing my teeth over not thinking of first. He introduced me to his lovely wife, Caroline, Caitlin Kittredge, Richelle Mead, Jackie, and Heather Osborne. The Urban Fantasy authors were all at one table– who’re swell. I have to admit, I’m a lot in lurve with Mark. He’s brilliantly funny, knows how to play and all round shiny.
More new BFF’s–Selah March. Chic rawks. She’s such a lady, and whatever she says I just nod and go “Uh-huh”. Smart, funny, well-spoken, and above all, genuine. Lurved her. Want her to move in next door to me–even IF she has the yellowest bag I’ve ever seen. Yellow kills, BTW. Geoff, a male fan of mine–great, great guy. Maya Banks–cracked me up in the smoking area. Some awesome readers–Linda–Megan–Beth, and Blake. Been talking online with them, but it was killa cool to chillax and hangout. Cindy Cruciger–rocked the house when she moderated us at the panel on snark and has a wicked sense of humor. Erika–Cici’s sister–what a hoot! Lori and Space. Our married couple. I knew Lori online, but had never met her. Her hubby is the awesomest and so is she. Oh, and she sings like a bird. Which leads me to Ron and Jay–our strays. LMAO. Ron plays the piano and we were going to scream out White Snake, like the biotches we are, and I was going to do my Tawny Kitaen impression on top of the piano. but alas, if I spread my legs that far, there’s just no coming back They came to support their friend Mark who was once an RT romance model winner. We adopted them. They’re coo

The Funniest Story Evah Told–was by Renee Bernard, and I can’t do it justice cuz ya can’t see the actual visual. Let’s just say maybe Renee might consider getting her dance on in front of her bathroom mirror only–versus in front of VIP’s from like BEEG publishing houses. LOLLOL.

The Big Honkin’ Girl Moment–when my buds fought to buy a bottle of champagne (see below for Atilla the Waitress and Vlad The Impaler) from the hotel to toast the success of The Accidental Werewolf. Inspired by my pal Jaynie, I was toasted by all of my buds and they made me cry like the sissy-Mary I am. But without them, I never, ever would have been able to sell a single book S’riously.

The Accommodations aka Hotel California– Er, well, let’s see. They claim they weren’t prepared for us, but I just gotta say, is that a reason to slam food on the table in front of us like we knocked on yer frickin’ door and ordered you cook and serve us? Vlad (from Russia) was a wee bit annoyed with us all showing up on his doorstep, looking for some kibble, and I can understand that, seeing as he’s the WAITER and all. I’d be pissed if I had to earn a living, too. Tee hee. Atilla The Waitress was just a doody head. I’m sure other people had better experiences–or maybe they got their happy on later in the week. Which leads me to the heathen who designed these new rooms. First, they’re crazy small, which is fine because you spend so little time there. But there’s this thing called a flippin’ shower, and taking one is essential to drawing people into your smarmy book buying web. Had it not been for a lovely young woman in the smoking area outside–I’d have never known there was a way to turn the freakin’ thing on. So picture this: a glass enclosed shower with but ONE door to get in and out. Where’s the door? Go on, ask me. On the far side of the shit kickin’ SHOWER HEAD. Yeah, it was like that. I had to jump in, flip it on, then jump back out. Thus proving pilates is a friggin’ sham. Know what else? Whomever put the shower handle on is a sadistic mutha. Cold was hot and hot was cold. And so what if it took me like three minutes to discover that… Not to mention, the guy with the jackhammer at 8:15 every morning now knows what the word fucktard is There was a lot of dust, tons of disorganization. Oh, and if you hit room 1919, a non-smoking room in the Hilton, and it smells like smoke. Tough man-titties. I asked for smoking. Why ask if you don’t really mean it? LOL. I got a non-smoking room–haters. LOL

Biggest Transformation–Cici and Jaynie. Both lost weight and if they were hot before, they smoke now

And Still More New Acquaintances–Toni Mcgee Causey who had the best damned button at the con. It said: Shuck me, Suck me, Eat me raw. It’s part of a theme for her book, and I had the pleasure of sitting next to her at the bookfair. She was a sweetie. Helen Kay Dimon sat behind me, also a sweetie, and on the other side of me was the charming Katherine Caskie of the porcelain skin. Met Shiloh Walker who ended up with the same prob I had–laryngitis–she’s a sweetie, and so is her hubby

The Evening Temptation Party– with MJ and Michele Bardsley turned something that can get tedious for those who have to wait in line to have things signed–into a total free for all. And I just wanna publicly say–MJ started it. Seriously, I’m all sedately signing things, being my typically sweet, well-mannered self and that troublemaker MJ began writing mean, cruel, utterly contemptible things on the totes we gave away like “Dakota sucks rocks”. For which I retaliated with–”MJ needs to pluck her nostril hairs.” I’m just sayin’ it was ON–don’t come to the playground if you ain’t gonna bring yer lunch pail, girlie. LOLLOL. We actually had people get back in line so we could snark their bags. It was fabulousness! I was unprepared for it, but apparently, she’s done this before–which leads to…

The Retaliation–so Ter has this brilliant idea–let’s snark back. We take Jackie Kessler’s sticky notes and Michele and me write crazy stuff on it like “Fred tastes like chicken”. Original idea being, we’d sneak them into her books at the bookfair, but then, not knowing who’d buy what, we decided to hand them to her fans in line and ask them to tell her Bardsley and Cassidy said Helloooooo. LOLLOL. It was the best bookfair I’ve ever done MJ, being the lady she is, took it like a man. However, I fully expect a beat down–for which I’m fully prepared, MJ. I ain’t askairt a you. LMAO. Nah, MJ’s very, very cool and one of the most generous writers I know. She’ll toast your successes, and cry over your losses right with ya.

Best Stand In For A Publicist–Jaynie–dudes, she rawks! Ter was busy trying to locate Michele Bardsley’s books (OY–what a mess), so Jaynie took my poster board and Michele’s, too, and wandered with them. Because of that, she hooked us up with GQ mag, and Lux mag interviewed me. Not to mention, she fetched, ran, reminded, re-reminded me to do stuff, was charming, funny and brought me something to drink–all while being VERY patient with me. Truly, in Jaynie’s case, the definition of a real BFF cuz she has NO patience. LOLLOL

The End–I am wiped out, my friends. I had the best RT I’ve ever had, spent with my bestest buds, my man, who is always the best, made lot’s of new friends, and overall, enjoyed the hell out of myself. I can’t wait for next year. Off to work on my double chin–maybe MJ will loan me the cash for a chin tuck, eh? LOLLOL

DC

Soooooooo I leave for RT on Tuesday, and I’m in the middle of hell week at my house. Never fails, when I’m getting ready to go somewhere, the shit flies.

It’s been a busy week trying to finish up a proposal, deal with Uncle Harry’s funeral, not commit kid-i-cide, and get the house ready so I can come back and find it a complete mess.

However, I have some AWESOME boots to wear, and the cutest pair of heels. I found myself packing pretty light–I’m not doing costumes or anything, and the thought of dragging all that stuff through the airport kept me from doing it. I think the biggest bag I have is for product–go figure

I’m giving away two ARCs of Accidentally Dead, the second in the accidental series, based on Nina at the party I’m hosting with my bud Michele Bardsley and MJD. If ya like a good eyeball bleed, I hope you stop in and enter to win.

Anyway, if ya read this, and you pop by my table at the bookfair (I’ll be the one by the fabulous PC Cast, if seating goes alphabetically again, who’s skulking in the corner, peeking between the strands of my greasy hair. LOLLOL

If you just pop on over and say hello, I’ll do your color wheel for ya–because really, who should go on living without knowing the season of color that best enhances their skin tone and and hair color?

Hope to see you all there!

DC

My uncle Harry…

My dad went in to wake him this morning for breakfast, and he’d passed–quietly, peacefully in his sleep.

I’ve blogged about Uncle Harry before because for the short few years I knew him, he was an utter riot. He suffered from dementia, and as a result, he didn’t exactly know I was his niece. Snort. He made regular passes at me, called me good lookin’ and hot stuff, and in general, made my poor mother caaaaa-razy. Whenever UH was here at the house, hanging out with me, you could often hear my mom yell, “Harry! Stop that–stop that NOWWWWW! She’s your niece!” LOLLOL

Anyway, uncle Harry was a veteran of two wars, and that left him a little wonky at times. he thought the automatic cat litter box with the red glowing light on it was a tape recording device from Interpol. He kept wads of cash taped to his body because he thought surely the “other side” was coming to take it from him. He had a bank account to rival a Rockafella, and  thought everyone was carrying a concealed weapon. Which again, made for some wonky circumstances–like when he taped each slat of my mothers blinds shut with Scotch tape…

Ya feel where I’m goin’? He was a litle paranoid. Mom said he was crazy like a fox, and I say, maybe so–but he was hella fun at foxy My dad brought UH from Canada when his wife (the fifth one) died, and he had no one to take care of him. Even back then he thought the Nazis were hunting him, and my dad staunchly refused to put him in a VA home because he felt he’d be neglected and wouldn’t get the kind of care family should have. So dad told mom he was coming back with them until they couldn’t care for him on his own anymore.

And he did–come back with my dad, that is. The last seven years of his life, he lived with my dad in their swinging bachelor pad because my mom and dad can’t coexist without World War Three breaking out–which would mean UH’s thought that everyone had a concealed weapon could become a reality. LOL. So my parents (who’re still married) live apart–mom with me, dad and UH in an apartment meant for two senior hotties. Snort. Mom and dad have a love/hate deal.  Mom and dad food shop together every Saturday, and that’s the extent of the love part of their relationship–the hate part is an endless list of mom can’t hear, dad gets impatient, he yells, she yells back, I interpret so they won’t scream–wash–rinse–repeat.

Dad’s always had a letter to be opened if UH died before he did, and in that letter, he said if there was any money taped to him (nuts, yes? LOL), we should take it and all go have dinner on him. Sort of like an Irish wake, but not, because he’s not irish. but he liked the idea that we’d celebrate his life instead of grieve his death.

So we did–at Red Lobster–his favorite place to dine. Me, my sons, mom, dad, my brother, and his girlfriend, Cathy had dinner, laughed, toasted UH and in general had a nice time.

And UH woulda been proud of the guy at the bar–he sent a note with the waitress to ask if he could buy me a drink. Sorta like he was channeling the lecherous in UH or something. I giggled my butt off and told the waitress to tell him I wasn’t interested because I’m in a relationship with someone who’s like not still needing a ride to the skate park. LOLLOL

But I think UH would have smiled and smiled.

So here’s to you, Uncle Harry–wherever you are, I hope it’s filled with hot babes in bikinis, a good bottle of Scotch, paint brushes that never curl at the ends (because he loved to paint), and oil paints in every color imaginable. You’ll be missed

Dakota

The winners of the contest for March 17th on Jaye Wells Blog are:

 The winner of The Accidental Werewolf by Dakota Cassidy is : cherie J

and the winner of I’m the Vampire That’s Why by Michele Bardsley is : Bernita

Congrats to the winners and if you e-mail Terri at terri@michelebardsley.net or promotions_ter@dakotacassidy.com she will mail your books to you as soon as possible.

 Thanks for playing and stay tuned for more chances to win great prizes.

is–Irwirum–congrats, you won yourself an ARC of Accidentally Dead!

Please email me at Dakota@dakotacassidy.com so we can hook up

And mucho thanks to all who played–we had a terrific response. You guys never fail to support us, and as always, we appreciate that!

Hugs,

DC

So my friend Ter found this really cool blog like last week–and this really cool lady named Jaye Wells, the author of an upcoming vampire trilogy (2009) that begins with The Redheaded Stepchild is having a theme month called Adopt A Vampire. When I was done giggling my ass off about the genius she is–I wanted to play, too

Seeing as I’m all about the vampires, and my next release in July, the sequel to The Accidental Werewolf is Accidentally Dead–I was all in to play. And then my BFF Michele Bardsley got involved and we cooked up an idea that involves giving up two of our caaa-razy vampires for adoption. When you read our blog over at Jaye’s, you’ll see why we’re so anxious to fork these vamps over

So if you wanna win an ARC of Accidentally Dead or a copy of Don’t Talk Back To Your Vampire–go here (yes, Ter, when you put all that fancy new stuff up on the blog table, I could no longer remember where the hell the insert URL thingy went–snort) on March 7, 2008 and tell us what vampire from a movie or a book you’d like to adopt and you’ll be entered in a random drawing to win!

Winners will be announced Sunday March 9, 2008 here and at Michele Bardsley’s blog

So come on over and visit with Jaye and hang with us!

Dakota

*** - Edited by Ter to fix the links

So we all know how much I love me some Barry. We all also know that R got me the rawkinest evah Xmas gift.

The gift of Barry tickets. Yes, Barry and I were destined to spend another evening together. We’re just meant to be

So last night was the night. I saw him in Vegas last year on Valentines Day at the Hilton and it was pure awesomeness. I cried the ENTIRE show. I really thought I’d have it together this time round.

This is what I looked like pre-Barry.

Now here’s the thing–I’ve mentioned in previous posts that Barry always picks someone to dance with him to a song. We were kinda up a few rows from the stage, and well, I know he’s getting (whispers) older, but sweet mother and all the apostles–WHAT does a girl have to do to get his attention? Is my hair not big enough? My bling? Do you see that freakin’ thing around my neck??? it’s ginormous!And did he pick ME–his biggest evah fan? Why no, no he didn’t. He sang The Old Songs and he picked DARCYYYY–Darcy, Darcy, Darcy–some screamin’ wench who clung to him like fried on chicken.

Now, that said, I’m sure Darcy’s LOVELY–however, this IS Barry–all bets are off here, ya feel me? IIIIIIIIIIII deserved that damned dance–me, and NO ONE else. LOL. To add insult to injury, I also lost the drawing for the weekend in Vegas and all the signed goodies.

So this–THIS is what I looked like POST-Barry–

I was a sad, sad girl. Alas, again, I sobbed almost the entire show, but it was still awesomeness.

And-I got me some goodies–

And the race to hunt Barry down and dance with him whether he wants me to or not? well, t’s ON, BABY!

DC

throw pork at your valentine day…

uh-huh–it’s true. That dream man you guys all tell me I have all the time THREW PORK at me. Seriously.

It went like this–Rob came home and brought not just me, but my mother a little something, too. Don’t go ooohin’ and ahhhin’ just yet.

He plunks down a BIG ole box of chocolate on the kitchen table and wishes her a happy V-Day, then hands me a card and a wee package of Dove chocolates. My mother’s box hits the table like lead, shaking it, and making the  silverware bounce. My mother, all atwitter, ditches the dinner I so lovingly prepared and pops open that box like it has the meaning of life in it. She’s all happy snappy and runs off to gorge on said chocolate and I heat my mans meal up for him.

Cuz I’m a good woman. I read his card and its vey sweet, and also refers to me as his “wife”–which in hindsight, could explain his treatment of me. How quickly we forget I’m his GIRLFRIEND, and while I can’t take his stuff just yet because legally it’s not mine–don’t think I won’t try

As he’s eating the lovely garlic roasted pork tenderloin with homemade fettuccine Alfredo, I can’t remember why, but all of a sudden he’s holding a piece of pork up at me and threatening to THROW it at me. The pork I slaved over–the pork I made because I wasn’t going out to dinner for V-day… Just sayin’.

I, astonished that he’s threatened to throw pig, dare him to. I tell him if he throws it at me, I’ll pry his mouth open like the jaws of death and make him eat it. Curtsy. Smile.

I turn around to finish cleaning up after dinner, and I feel a solid thunk against my back.

He THREW the pork at me! It’s soooooo on. I then grabbed the piece of pork and tried to shove it down his throat as promised, but I was laughing so hard I couldn’t get a good grip on his smart-assed mouth. We settle back down again after much giggling and he informs me the pork just doesn’t taste like it normally does. Hookay, not only has he thrown pork at me but he’s insulted my loving display of a feast fit for a king…

I’m all willing to let it slide because his taste buds have been off due to a cold–a cold I lovingly nursed him through, FYI. I also tell him he better never throw pork at me again.

What does he do?

Throw it again–AND he whips it at my head–it grazed my hair. MY HAIR, people! I whiz it back at him and just for good measure, I snatch it back up and hurl it at him one more time. We giggle some more–I try to get past the idea that he hit my HAIR with the pork, and we giggle some more.

However, Rob’s not done just yet–as he gets up to empty his plate in the garbage–he dumps pork in my :coffee: COFFEE   –then runs like a pansy-ass upstairs and locks the bathroom door.

So for all of you who hate V-Day–just remember–my man raised his hand in pork to me AND gave my mother a bigger box of chocolates than me…

And how quickly he forgets–I’m a pro at backsies. I was married long time, dude…

DC