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Is Shelli a prude? You decide!

So my daughter had a birthday party today and it was a swim party (indoors of course, it’s snowing!). So I went through my kid’s clothes, trying to find the bathing suits. The ones from last summer are too small. She had one Sponge Bob suit that was a little rough for wear. So I decided we’d have a field trip to Target to pick up one. Since I’d been there the other day and saw they had some swimsuits already.

I’m not really a prude–or, hell, maybe I am a bit, but the swimsuits I saw there had me squicking out with a big eeew vibe. I swear to God, almost every suit looked like something you’d see on a twenty-something. Or maybe the juniors. NOT the kids section though. And certainly not for my five-year-old. Seriously, one little sneeze and these little bikini tops will fly right off your kid. The few one pieces they had were so fugly there’s no way I could make my child put it on (I myself am a recovering badly-dressed-child). And even they had like the sides cut out to show their waist.

I refused to buy anything. Screw it. My kid could wear the ragged Sponge Bob suit. When I returned home I got online and searched to see what kind of suits I could expect to find at the normal stores.

Old Navy (don’t even get me started on their girls department which has had the ugliest clothes for the past few years–Karen knows what I’m talking about) had just as many skankalicious suits. As did Gap. Now, most of these stores have a few token ‘normal looking bathing suits for kids’ but they go fast. Because I think many parents are having the same WTF are you serious? reaction I am and really grab them right away.

Here’s some of the OMG really? suits I saw today… keep in mind these are in the girls section–not teen.

Does nobody see anything wrong with this? What do you think? Am I a prude? Or do I have a valid complaint here?

FYI: Here’s what I’m thinking is age appropriate for a five-year-old….

This Is Why I’m Right


So I’ve snipped some gems from my own blog to share with you today. Why am I sharing? Because I think it’s time to stop the madness that is VD.

So we get home last night and I’m piddling in the kitchen, trying to get dinner started, and child #2 is pretending he’s doing the dishes and child #1 comes wandering in from the living room and says, “How come girls can say things like “I love you” to each other and hug but boys can’t?”

I say, “Well–”

Then #2 son (who is 11!!) interrupts me and says “Because girl on girl is hot but boy on boy is grossssssssss!”

Um wait, let’s try that again. People…..this is what we’re doing to our children. In honor of VD I’m reposting an oldie but goodie story about #2 son (this is actually from 2006) and asking you to help me stop the madness.  No, I’m not kidding.

Or a mother’s retelling of a VD Tale…… Last year in Mid-January my phone rang. It was a little girl–we’ll call her GF for girl friend (as in another girl’s friend). She wanted to talk to #2 who, at the time, had just turned 9 and had a crush on MH (mini-hottie). Well GF was calling because OCG (other cute girl) was interested in #2 and wanted him to be her Valentine.

Are you still with me?

One boy (who’s ADD, immature and talks like a grown person–figure that one out), and three girls (One running interference). So, GF called and called and called with increasing frequency in the days and weeks leading up to …you guessed it…VD  :doh:

Drove us all up the wall and gave #1 son much ammunition to use against smaller, younger brother (who will some day beat the snot out of him). But I digress…..GF was calling on three-way with OCG listening in. And my son, having the tact of a gnat, tells GF “I’ll be her Valentine if she’ll leave me alone and quit calling my house.”

Mom says, “Son don’t be mean. Use a little tact.”

#2 “I don’t want to be her Valentine. I want to be MH’s Valentine but OCG said MH said that she didn’t like me.”

Mom says, “Son that’s normal. OCG wants you for herself, so of course she told you that MH didn’t like you! Did you talk to MH?”

#2 “No cuz OCG said MH didn’t like me!”

Mom says, “OCG LIED!!!!! She’s a lying skeezer!” Okay I didn’t call her a lying skeezer out loud. But I thought it. Girlfriend had already learned the game, if you catch my drift.

So while Poor #2 was pining away for MH, he had to pick out a VD gift for OCG.

The moral of this story? Never listen to the other cute girl. Or maybe, it’s just as good to have no Valentine at all as it is to get your arm twisted into buying something for the Other Cute Girl.


Not feeling too good here. Forgot to post earlier because um, I fell asleep on the couch at eight p.m. last night and never really got back up. So I’m lacking any thought to come up with a blog post today…

See ya next week!



Hello, everyone! I’m delighted to be here today, and can’t thank Shelli and her fellow Naughty & Spicers enough for inviting me to chat about my single title contemporary debut, TANGLED UP IN LOVE (, which will go on sale this Tuesday, February 3rd! (Can you tell I’m bouncy with anticipation? Nah, I’m sure it’s not obvious at all. *g*)

So what should I talk about? Not usually a question I have to ask myself, as I can normally talk the paint right off the walls. :-p But there’s so much I could say about TANGLED, it’s hard to pick just one. I could mention how excited I am to be writing super-sexy, super-funny contemporaries for St. Martin’s Press (picture jumping up & down & making a lot of high-pitched squealing noises)…or how much fun the story was to write (a little less jumping up & down, but a lot of chuckling & still some high-pitched squealing)…or that the “Chicks with Sticks” trilogy is all about knitting. Hot, funny, naked knitting, no less. 😉

Yes, I could talk about all that & more.

But I won’t. Instead, I think I’ll talk about…magic.

Magic is a wonderful thing, don’t you think? The fairy dust, the fantasy, the faith it takes to believe in something we can’t necessarily see or touch or prove.


While I wouldn’t call TANGLED UP IN LOVE a paranormal by stretch of the imagination, it does actually contain a small paranormal element. You see, in addition to the three funky “Chicks with Sticks” and the three smart and sexy men who keep them company through the series, there’s this character in the trilogy named Charlotte. Charlotte is aunt to one of the knitting gals (Jenna from Book 2, LOVES ME, LOVES ME KNOT, which will be out in August) and considers herself a bit of a matchmaker…as well a Lucille Ball wannabe, judging by her choice of hair color & penchant for getting herself into trouble. *g*

In addition to raising a herd of adorable alpacas and spinning their fibers into yarn that she then uses to knit all manner of wonderful things—like scarves and sweaters and hats and mittens—Charlotte also happens to have a spinning wheel that’s been handed down from generation to generation through the women of her family, which is said to be enchanted. Magic. Able to bring true love to those who use the yarn it creates.

Is the wheel actually enchanted? Does it truly possess magic, happily-ever-after powers? I don’t know…I think I’ll let you decide that one for yourselves. 😀

But what I will tell you is that there is something very magical about this entire trilogy for me. From the way it came about in the first place (which is a story I shared earlier this week on both my WIPs and Chains and Must Love Yarn blogs) to how every detail of the stories came together perfectly—and everything in between. It was like I had a fairy godmother sitting on my shoulder, guiding me in all the right directions and bringing all the right things to me with a little sprinkle of her glittery dust. And I couldn’t seem to stop myself from sharing a bit of that fairy dust with the characters of the “Chicks with Sticks” trilogy, making sure they all got their Happily Ever Afters, as well.

No doubt about it, a little bit of magic, a little bit of legend, and a whole lot of faith are involved in bringing Veronica Chasen and Dylan Stone (the hero and heroine of TANGLED UP IN LOVE) together. Frankly, considering how much these two despise each other when the book begins, I’m not sure it would have happened without a touch of magic. LOL

So tell me, do you believe in magic? Do you believe in enchanted objects, or lucky charms, or blessings passed down from those who have passed before us? Tell me what you think…and maybe even give an example of a time when it felt like magic was at work in your life…and with the ladies’ permission, at the end of the day, I’ll draw three winners for their choice of an autographed book from my backlist ( (This includes the HOTTER THAN HELL anthology, by the way, even though you have to scroll up a bit to see it.)

Wishing you lots of lots of love, knitting, & magic,

Better with age? Or worse?


So in last week’s post I mentioned I was a recovering bad-childhood-dresser. I got to thinking about it, and really, when I was a kid? I was a complete mess. Well, in the fashion and makeup sense. Inside I was oblivious and loving life and my friends. My fashion was whatever my mom put on me. Whilst I should have been wearing adult onsies over stonewashed jeans, I was wearing stretch jeans with a t-shirt with dolphins on it. Or some button up blouse (were teenagers even wearing blouses then?) with flowers all over it.

I had a haircut that made me look like Krusty the Clown’s sister, wore big old glasses, and never put on makeup until I went to prom (by now you’re probably asking…how the hell did she get a date to prom? Well, I asked an underclassman friend!) Honestly, it was so bad when I was in junior high and went to pick up my little brother from school, the teacher thought I was his mom. Here’s me in high school (the hair is shorter than my usual Krusty cut).


It wasn’t until college when a friend (bless you Shannah!) pulled me aside and basically informed me we had to do something about my fashion. I *heart* her forever because of it. She took me to the Gap, showed me overalls–hey they were in then!–and lots of cute clothes. Since then, it’s been a gradual rise to making me a little more fashionable. I sometimes do makeup (when I’m out at events or seeing other made up people!), I try and dress a little better (no spandex and weird t-shirts!) (The recent picture!)

So here’s where I’m going with this post. I think I’m getting better with age versus the other way around. I’d go to my reunion because I know I look better than I did back then. I love getting older. I used to dread the idea of getting older. Thinking it was all just going to be a big old mess. But you know, so far? I’m a’ok! I like the way I am today much better than the me about 15 years ago.

How about you? Are you happy with where you are compared to 10-20-30 years ago?

Newsday Tuesday

Since Amie is taking the summer off from blogging, we’ll fill in Tuesday’s with some kind of news story that you may or may not give shit about

And speaking of shit….

Tuesday News:

Naked Man Rescued from Porta-Potty

Rescue crews in Pennsylvania had to cut apart a portable potty to save a naked, drunk man who had somehow lodged himself inside the “holding tank.”

According to authorities, the 31-year-old man got drunk, removed his clothes, got stuck inside the “potty,” then called 911 on his cell phone. He was charged with public drunkenness and violating the health code.

Baby, bye, bye


Like my little boy band title line do ya? No?

Well, everyone, I’m actually on a plane right about now heading for Disneyland!!! Sadly, no more seeing Karen  cause of a strep throat incident. But better safe than sorry, and I’ll see her next month in San Fran!

So since I’m not ‘really’ here, I didn’t want to do some big deep post that I can’t return to chat with you about. So instead, how about some gas humor? No, not that kind of gas, gas for your car!! Or maybe you’d already guessed.

Video Saturday

So I was attempting to dance tonight (this is Shelli typing) and was not complimented on my moves. This reminded me of a scene in Never Been Kissed that cracks me the hell up. This is right after Drew Barrymore eats a pot brownie.

Apparently I needed to drink more


We’ve been on about the 80’s a lot. And my topic kind of incorporates that as well. I remember growing up in the 80’s and having all these weird dreams. Scary dreams. And these weird images in my head. I never really knew where they came from.

Well, tonight at a party I think I figured it out. We were knocking back a few drinks and eating way too much, when someone decided to put on a movie. It was a movie I hadn’t seen since I was a wee little kid, but for some reason I remembered the theme song. I would sing this song…and I would occassionally–through out my lifetime–scream out the one line from the movie I remembered…Bastian, call my name. Anyone got it yet? Maybe the big flying dog with the glittery scales will remind you.

Dirty Night before Christmas

I was going to add the traditional Night Before Christmas on our blog today, but realized that’s not very naughty or spicy. So the clean one goes on my blog, and the dirty one goes here (where we seldom behave). I had to do a brief search of the net to find this gem, but it was worth it. Enjoy you dirty birdies!

“Twas the night before Christmas, and God it was neat,
The kids were both gone, and my wife was in heat.
The doors were all bolted, and the phone off the hook,
It was time for some nooky, by hook or by crook.
Momma in her teddy, and I in the nude,
Had just hit the bedroom and reached for the lube.

When out on the lawn there arose such a cry,
That I lost my boner and poor momma went dry.
Up to the window I sprang like an elf,
Tore back the shade while she played with herself.

The moon on the crest of the snowman we’d built,
Showed a broom up his ass, clean up to the hilt.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a rusty old sleigh and eight mangy reindeer.

With a fat little driver half out of his sled,
A sock in his ear, and a bra on his head.
Sure as I’m speaking, he was as high as a kite,
And he yelled to his team, but it didn’t sound right.

Whoa Shithead, whoa Asshole, whoa Stupid, whoa Putz,
Either slow down this rig or I’ll cut off your nuts.
Look out for the lamp post, and don’t hit the tree,
Quit shaking the sleigh, ’cause I gotta go pee.

They cleared the old lamp post, the tree got a rub,
Just as Santa leaned out and threw up on my shrub.
And then from the roof we heard such a clatter,
As each little reindeer now emptied his bladder.

I was donning my jacket to cover my ass,
When down the chimney Santa came with a crash.
His suit was all smelly with perfume galore,
He looked like a bum and he smelled like a whore.

“That was some brothel,” he said with a smile,
“The reindeer are pooped, and I’ll just stay here awhile.”
He walked to the kitchen, himself poured a drink,
Then whipped out his pecker and pissed in the sink.

I started to laugh, my wife smiled with glee,
The old boy was hung nearly down to his knee.
Back in the den, Santa reached in his sack,
But his toys were all gone, and some new things were packed.

The first thing he found was a pair of false tits,
The next was a handgun with a penis that spits.
A box filled with condoms was Santa’s next find,
And a six pack of panties, the edible kind.

A bra without nipples, a penis extension,
And several other things that I shouldn’t even mention.
A fuck ring, a G-string, and all types of oil,A dildo so long, it lay in a

“This stuff ain’t for kids, Mrs. Santa will shit.
So I’ll leave ‘em here, and then I’ll just split.”
He filled every stocking and then took his leave,
With one tiny butt plug tucked under his sleeve.

He sprang to his sleigh, but his feet were like lead,
Thus he fell on his ass and broke wind instead.

In time he was seated, took the reigns of his hitch,
Saying, “Take me home Rudolph, this nights been a BITCH!”

The sleigh was near gone when we heard Santa shout,
“The best thing about sex is that it never wears out!”