A Transition - No Pithy Phrase Is Moving

So a couple of years ago I started a blog on Wordpress for writing, because Wordpress has more up to date functionality and is in many ways easier to use.

I intended to use that one for "professional" writing things and this one for personal, but in the last two years I've discovered a couple of things.

1) I don't do well at "professional" website writing...it ends up way too generic and I feel like it's boring, therefore it's probably pretty boring to read. Gross. No.

2) I'm too old and busy to hide the freak flag. Fuck that.

I exported all of THIS blog this afternoon and uploaded it to my other one, which will be quickly renamed No Pithy Phrase as well, but the address is way easier: http://jessicasettergren.com.

This is my last post on Blogger, so if you follow me here and want to keep up with my weirdo blog stuff, please come on over to the insanity at the new address. If you've had enough, hey, I totally get it and thanks for playing.

I'll likely leave this site as is for a while and I haven't deleted any of the content, just migrated it over.

The 1/2 Way Update: I might need Ripley to come to chemo.

Today I will have chemo infusion 8 of 16, which means I'll officially hit my 1/2 done mark at 4:30 or so.

Fun facts about Taxol/paclitaxil.

It was derived from the Pacific Yew tree in the late 60's/early 70's. Did you know yew is one of the trees that is universally fatally toxic? Yeah...even birds have to be careful not to swallow the seeds: the only non-toxic bit is the little jelly around seeds. Yep. I'm not kidding when I say I'm voluntarily poisoning myself every week.

Important note: the Pacific Yew is now endangered. Yes, directly because of cancer: it took a while for scientists to be able to synthesize the drug, and since it's the bark that's used to make Taxol and skinning a tree is pretty much as fatal as skinning anything else, I'm EXTREMELY aware of the sacrifices made to keep my cancerous ass alive. Or, cancerous boob, I suppose. Thankfully, it's now semi-synthesized.

Much of the negative response during infusion (oh, and I have some), is because it's essentially plant based histamine response. Two very important things to note from that sentence.

First, for all the anti-chemicals-in-anything folks who might read this: PLANT BASED ALL NATURAL DOESN'T MEAN IT'S GOOD FOR YOU. Hi, fatally poisonous plant without processing, and guess what? Still fatally poisonous. Taxol (like all chemo infusion drugs) is specifically measured out in doses based on my weight and health status, so it's a new personalized dose every time and monitored closely in case breaks/changes are needed. I'm all about natural remedies to support science, essential oils and stuff help mitigate some side effects. I wouldn't recommend chewing yew bard because it's "more natural" than Taxol...although I suppose that's a way to Darwin your way out of worrying about cancer anymore.

Second: I have hay fever already. So...I am pumped full of Benadryl and steroids before treatment (the Benadryl is part of the pre-treatment infusion bag of tricks, along with enough saline that I'm glad my IV has wheels for bathroom breaks). Unfortunately, MY during-infusion reaction is really intense sternum and hip bone pain, and low back muscle pain. SINCE WHEN IS ALLERGIC RESPONSE BONE AND MUSCLE PAIN? Luckily, it only lasts 8 minutes (last week Mom timed it, since she's a nurse and would be paying attention to those things) and it's not actually bad enough to stop or delay treatment. Honestly, I'd rather not stop or delay...even 8 more weeks is a long time to look at for me right now. I'm fucking tired.

I'm not joking you guys...the sternum pain gives me a serious "fuck, I really AM going to die an alien host" moment every week. (I considered adding an Aliens video here, but that's mean because it's a gross video and you're welcome.) Also I'm pretty glad that hasn't happened yet, because have you EVER seen a huge room of people with wheelie IV stands try to outrun anything? Ok, neither have I, but I can imagine it, and let me tell you that'd be a huge mess all around. Plus nobody has any energy in that room. I wonder if cancer and chemo is a transferable poison to aliens.

Anyway, that went off the rails a bit. I'm off to get my drugs in, and hope there's no secret sneaky creatures in my chest today.

8 more after today.

Updated because I put the damn date in instead of the actual number...today is the 9th and I had my 8th infusion, which means I have 8 left. Good lord...I blame chemo brain. 

Chemo is an Interesting Monster - Round 2

Yesterday I had my second round of treatment for the two drug cocktail. For people keeping score, I'm now 1/2 way through the first 4 cycles. I'll have an additional 12 of a different drug after these are done. I am tolerating it ok as long as I stay on top of my nausea-med schedule and am very careful about eating on time/sleeping when I need to. Except for this whole immune system thing.

The following may be TMI, so feel free to stop here with reassurance that as of this morning I still have hair, I'm not horking everywhere, and I'm going to beat this with somewhat less energy/determination than Maggie Smith while she Professor McGonnegal'd during breast cancer chemo, but still, I'll get there. Yes I just made McGonnegal a verb, and why shouldn't she be?

I went to Round 1 on the 16th with a cold. THE cold everyone else is getting right now, with the cough that lasts a couple of weeks and generally makes life miserable and snotty. The nurses all felt terrible for me as I coughed into a mask while they did the chemo dance. So let's discuss the actual process here.

1. weight/BP/temp collected
2. Remember that port under the skin in my chest I had surgically installed on the 9th? The one where I HORRIFIED my surgeon by casually commenting I'd get an all-over skull tattoo before my hair grows back (to which he visibly recoiled before patting my knee and saying "you do you", and my mom and I cackled like a couple happy witches in the pre-op room)? At chemo, you pick whatever heated reclining chair you prefer out of the 3 areas of chairs, grab a snack and some water, and settle in for a WHILE. Then, the nurse comes to stick an L shaped needle into the port and tape it down, which makes me instantly IV'd.
3. IV flush. I can taste and smell rubbing alcohol in the back of my throat. Gross. 
4. Port draw. Chemo nurses are very charming, kind vampires who take as many vials of blood as they want, thanks. 
5. Now we start the drugging, but not chemo yet. First, three small syringes of prescription anti-nausea meds. Those stay in my system about 48 hours, so this morning I'm currently on 5 different drugs just to combat nausea. FUN! My mouth is dry. 
6. My treatment currently consists of two different chemotherapy: the first is bright red and comes in 3 big syringes. The nurse has to administer them by hand because each syringe goes in over 10 minutes and if any gets on my skin it's a bad deal. We chat about her kids and how the holidays are going and other random things, then after the third one is in we wait a few minutes with the saline drip. 
7. Please note the saline drip or some other liquid has now been pumping fluids into my central line IV for about an hour straight. 
8. The final round of IV drugs hangs for about an hour. My bladder can NEVER make it that long, but luckily the bathrooms are huge and the IVs are on wheels, so much like the boys in Armageddon I can wheelie myself down the hall to pee. Unlike them, I get to be in real clothes and there's no anal probing first. I promise that link is SFW. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go watch Armageddon again. 
9. AFTER the chemo is done, I get my alien attachment. Instead of anything icky, it's more like  temporary insulin pump that sticks to my belly and waits 27 hours before injecting a booster that helps my bone marrow make more white blood cells. Turns out this one is pretty damned important. 

Remember the cold? So I tolerated round 1 of chemo just fine, didn't have some of the worse side effects that could happen (I knocked on all the wood, really). But I had that stupid cold. Which was fine until Saturday, then it kicked my ass in no uncertain terms. I spent Saturday night until Monday morning in bed, unable to do anything but drink water and throw up and sneeze and cough. I lost 18lbs. I went in for chest x-rays on Monday last week to check for pneumonia - nope, just bronchitis. "Just" bronchitis. So last week while Christmas was sort of happening I was drugged to the teeth with a steroid, big time cough syrup, antibiotics, and an inhaler. And orders to go directly to the ER if I get a temperature at all. Fun times. Remember how Chemotherapy is intended to kill rapidly-growing cells (this is why hair loss is a side effect - it can't distinguish which KIND of fast-growing cells)? That means white blood cells too...which make up the majority of your immune system and are made in bone marrow. One week after chemo, Oncology does labs again to check how low my immune system dropped because that gives us a baseline. Mine was frighteningly low...so I've been mostly hermiting or wearing a mask when I'm out in public because I can't get strep. I can't get the flu. I can't get whatever next cold is coming around...I don't want a repeat of that weekend before Christmas.

TODAY is the day after treatment 2, and I mostly feel good. I figure the cough will stick around a while yet but I seem to be over the rest, and the worst thing I'm dealing with today is random tiredness. Eating breakfast (so I can take pills) required a 20 minute nap afterward. Walking up the stairs to login at work took a few minutes of pause at the top. Invalid-ness sucks when you're used to doing your own thing, I'm not gonna lie. But this is temporary, and I'm 1/2 way through my first 4 cycles. Tonight my family is doing Christmas dinner and presents and stuff (we had important people out of town last week) and I'm excited I'll be able to taste fancy food...and see what chemo makes weird.

Review: Wild Country

Wild Country by Anne Bishop
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Anne Bishop is a master when it comes to creating a universe a reader can disappear into for days. I'm a long time fan, so I know how to ride this rodeo: even though I got my copy of Wild Country the day it released (Tuesday 3/5/19) I set it aside until the weekend. I can report that the resulting anticipation did not make my week move any faster.

Cynics could say it's a dangerous game, building the sheer want to read a book you've been waiting for since the last installment (a year before) by looking at it every day on the table and not touching. I had zero worries about over-anticipation for this one, judging by the previous Others books, and rightly so. I started Wild Country on Saturday at noon and finished it before bed, because I couldn't put it down. Yet again, Anne Bishop got me completely lost in Thaisia and the often uncomfortable, sometimes funny, sometimes downright terrifying interactions between humans and Others.

Wild Country occurs during the same time frame as Etched in Bone, the last Courtyard book. As there is a detailed backstory prior to this book, I highly recommend reading the whole series. There are communications between the communities that will make sense to readers of the series, but Wild Country is its own story with its own array of personalities and could be read as a stand-alone, although to be fair the reader would miss out on many references.

The varied plot threads come together seamlessly over the course of the book as characters grow, sometimes toward their new fragile community, sometimes away, and the rest of the world (and other books' timelines) changes around them. I adore the sub-plot around the frontier saloon and its proprietor, because Tess is my favorite character in the Courtyard and I'm happy Bennett has their own lonely predator interested in learning how to interact safely with town residents of all species.

The threat of violence and savagery is skillfully written: Bishop is an adept line-skater who strays close to horror on occasion but never crosses out of dark fantasy. She's also not afraid to take out a character when a dose of real life (in her universe) kicks in, so Wild Country engages the reader on every emotional level at some point or another.

The worst part about this book is waiting until next March for another story in this universe, because every time I jump into this series it's hard to come back out. If you like dangerous, dark fantasy set in a world five steps to the left of reality (absolutely recognizable yet totally different than the modern world) you need to get into these books. Wild Country is everything I wanted in a story of the Others: I recommend setting aside a chunk of time and snacks, because you're going to be in there a while.

View all my reviews

Book Review: Picture Perfect Cowboy by Tiffany Reisz

Retired bull rider Jason Waters is about as tightly wound and uncomfortable as a cowboy can be. He fits every surface assumption about a rodeo athlete more accustomed to thousand pound pissed off animals than people: lean, quiet, calm, conservative, and unfailingly polite. Unfortunately for Jason (and luckily for us), a promise to a fellow rodeo buddy puts Jason in the position of posing naked for a hot-rodeo-boys calendar: a calendar Simone Levine is shooting. Simone's unique combination of artistic mischief and harmlessness cuts through the Jason's polite shield, and he unexpectedly reveals a secret he's carried for years. And so they begin with a nude photo shoot and a naked confession.

One of my favorite things about Tiffany Reisz's work is the way she takes a familiar romance novel premise and twists it down excellently unexpected paths. Picture Perfect Cowboy occurs in the Original Sinners universe, which generally guarantees a certain level of character depth (oh yes, that pun is intended) as well as varying levels of smut. This story doesn't disappoint, as it turns out Jason is terrified his own predilections make him a terrible and depraved man. Simone, on the other hand, is an occasional professional at King's NY club and a personal friend of Mistress Nora. Who better to help Jason  relax and be who he is, by proving that a little depravity doesn't make him a bad guy?

Again, the romance theme of the "good woman is all a rake needs to be reformed" is revised to a more modern and entertainingly smutty adventure. Reisz doesn't skimp on the varying erotic scenes. True to form, some are pure sexiness while some skate the edge of downright uncomfortable, and there's really no predicting which scenes will have either effect on any reader. If you aren't an expert on spanking after this, you weren't paying attention.

What's really interesting in this story is Jason's evolution, both in emotional growth and technical skill. I love that Reisz always delves into the how/why of a character's kinks, and though some of the motivating factors can be judged as awful (through no fault of Jason's own), the end result is an acceptance without judgment of his needs as an adult. Simone (with a little help from Nora and Soren) actively encourages Jason to accept himself and navigate the twisty ethical and emotional effects of desires he's been ashamed of as morally terrible due to his upbringing.

In addition to his internal struggle, relationship conflicts arise as outside parties are introduced to Jason and Simone's private world, and the vast lifestyle differences between a Kentucky horse rancher and a New York professional kinkster interfere. Picture Perfect Cowboy is a lot of relationship packed into a pretty short package. Tiffany Reisz covers both traditional romance novel issues as well as BDSM kink with the same excellent style in the other Sinners books.

My only complaint is the traditional market length of this story necessarily leaves little room for more, and I wanted more. The best possible danger of writing is convincing readers the characters are real people you want to hang out with: this is an absolute success. I hope this becomes a bit of a series since at least one other character has some clear Sinner potential, because I thoroughly enjoyed Simone and Jason's love story. Also, I'm not going to lie, I'd love to find out how Jason and Griffin get along.

Picture Perfect Cowboy by Tiffany Reisz is available on November 5th in hardcover and ebook from 8th Circle Press.
Picture Perfect Cowboy on Amazon

More Things Ragnar Ate and Drunk Walrus Impersonations. These Are Unrelated.

Once in a while, I re-up a subscription to one of those monthly boxes of random fun stuff, just because who doesn't like getting a box of something NOT bills in the mail? 

This month, it was a witchybox full of various pagan bits and pieces (um, let's be clear I mean bits and pieces of things that are often associated with witches and pagans, not bits and pieces OF a pagan...that'd be gross, and way messier than this box turned out to be). 

Ragnar apparently thought the box smelled fascinating. Therefore, Ragnar ripped the box apart in the middle of my office floor when I was in another room. 

Interestingly, there was some incense, some bath salts (the sort for bathing in, not the sort that turn a person into a face-eating zombie), a candle or two, a set of Tarot Cards...and the ONLY thing he destroyed was the box the cards came in. My wall-eating, shoe-devouring, garbage destroying dog OPENED the jar of bath salt and very carefully didn't eat any, and left everything else alone. 

I'm fairly certain that box came with some sort of anti-dog-destruction spell, and it seems to be persistent. 

Last night I used some of the salts. I usually leave the bathroom door open a little so they don't scratch at it when I'm in a bath, and Ragar slammed his way enthusiastically into the room per usual. Then he stopped, all four legs went completely stiff, his hackles went up just a little, and he stared in horrified disbelief. Seriously, his message "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" was crystal clear, and hilarious. He wouldn't come near the bathtub, and jumped back if I moved the water. He made a ridiculous whine/growl noise and ran out of the room. 

You guys, I'm not kidding: he went to get Angus. My dog tattled on me for being in the bathtub, and brought the actual ruler of the household in to check. Ragnar stayed over a foot away from the tub while Angus jumped on the side, licked my knee, batted the water a little, and settled there to watch floating lavender bits. It's possible he stuck his face in the water and sneezed. I was laughing too hard to be certain. 

Ragnar continued his protest by lying on the bathroom floor and keeping both eyes on us, clearly worried the horrible water monster would kill us both. He grumbled like an old man for the entire time. 

He also ate both of my last two pairs of sunglasses recently: he gets zero sympathy. 

In other news, I'm taking my open-water scuba diving certification dives this weekend. In order to do said dives, I'm required to go to the scuba shop and try on wetsuits (because it's September in MN and lakes are starting to cool off, especially at 20 feet down). 

Have you ever tried on a wetsuit? I mean the 7mm version, not the cute skinny 3mm half suits used for warm weather/warm water stuff. Have you ever tried to pull on a pair of tights that REFUSE to allow you to pull them all the way up so the crotch is, well, in the crotch? It's infinitely harder to do when the fucking tights are weird rubbery material that squishes under your fingers and doesn't move much. 

WHO INVENTED THIS FRESH HELL? Seriously, I'd like to put the wetsuit creator in the same room as the dipshit who invented thong underwear or control-top pantyhose and beat them all with something humiliating. Like a giant dildo. 

I'm 6' tall, and I'm not one of those willowy thin tall chicks. Wrangling my buns into that thing involved flailing, heavy breathing, sweating, swearing, and eventually falling over like a damn drunk walrus. And having dropped off my yoga practice and not having any natural contortionist ability, I had to leave the dressing room and get help to zip it up. Since I wasn't actually GOING diving, I wasn't in a swimsuit - awesome. 

I have to do this tomorrow and Sunday in front of people...if I don't cause the rest of the divers to fall overboard and drown from laughing too hard, I deserve a goddamned medal. 

The Daily Mile and Other Random 7am Things

I have a couple of posts of things I found cool or horrifying or interesting on my trip...mostly to keep track of them myself. I TRIED to journal while I was there, I swear I did. I faithfully brought one with me and even made 1/4 of an entry on day 1...and then I fell off the wagon altogether. Some writer, I know. But I do have loads of pictures and a couple pages of phone notes of odd stuff, like the City of the Dead in Edinburgh and the fairy tree in Ireland. Sadly, I have a desktop computer about a decade old, and I'm having some technical difficulty loading pictures from my phone.

In the meantime, while in the UK a particular news story caught my attention, because if this isn't happening here in the states it really should be. For background, this post is not being written by your usual lazy sleep-in-Jess, but by the alien pod replacement who took over Jess's body somewhere in Ireland or Scotland and suddenly is WIDE AWAKE at 6am with no prompting from an alarm and gets up to walk the dog instead of rolling over with a grunt and sleeping until 7:59. Also, apologies for the horrendous run on sentence. Feel free to blame my lack of practice with your oddly archaic human language that uses punctuation and dangling participles instead of easier routes of communication, like telepathy or color coded fruit loops.

So, one of the BBC channels, which are conveniently numbered BBC1, BBC2, BBC4, and DAVE (Yes, there is indeed a DAVE channel in the UK. I was baffled too.) had a story about a Scottish teacher who had an idea to help her students get better grades. She started in her school, then her district, then her country, and ultimately internationally, including some schools in the US according to the website. She calls it The Daily Mile, and it's possibly the easiest thing to give children of school age to help them learn, get fit, and focus: outside walk/run every morning for 15 minutes. This little thing she started has had such an effect on kids she's been recognized for awards and is invited to the royal wedding next week. For adults, walking a mile every day gives us more energy...I think sometimes we forget kids already have tons of energy and need to burn some of it off in order to focus and learn better.

I may not have any spawn myself, but I'm one of those people who think a good education is one of the most important things we can give kids, which is why I never bitch about school levies on my property taxes and thoroughly believe teachers should make more money and have better benefits and support.

Anyway, if you're a teacher or parent or (like me) an aunt/uncle or otherwise have kiddos in your life and want to know more, the link is here: The Daily Mile.

Michael's Wings, by Tiffany Reisz (Book Review, Spoiler-Free, Appropriately NSFW)

One of the tags I use a lot in this blog is "these aren't the penises you're looking for," but I happily can't use that label for this review.

These are DECIDEDLY the penises you're looking for.

Oh, were you looking for a safe-for-work book review? Let's start here: Michael's Wings successfully proves that a series of stories centered around a male/male BSDM couple is absolutely lust-inspiring regardless of which direction you're sliding toward today on the sexuality scale.

Fans of the Original Sinners series already know the peripheral tale of young submissive Michael and his older, richer, sexy-as-sin beloved dominant, Gryphon. Sure, Michael's Wings could've just been a series of filthy sex scenes using various BDSM scenarios (well ok, honestly it IS that, and sexy as hell): easy peasy, everybody's tired and sated, job done. A complacent writer might've gone that route, using established characters to fill in a bit of the universe with more sex to sell: this is not that book.

Never one to shy from controversial expressions of love and lust, Tiffany Reisz gave us the high level events of how these two lovely men came together (ahem) as additional color threads in Nora's, Soren's, and Kingsley's story lines over the course of the eight Sinners novels. In Michael's Wings, she gives us a novella and a series of short stories that bring Michael and Gryphon fully to life, with just enough Nora, Soren, and Kingsley thrown in to give appropriately irreverent commentary on the duo's struggles.

Michael grows up over the course of the collection, and transitions over time from the emotionally broken teenager to an independent adult with ambitions and desires outside of the apartment he shares with Gryphon. Since his place in their relationship began with a suicide attempt, an abusive father, and a pretty all-encompassing rescue by his rich, beautiful lover, Michael had to figure out whether he was really in love, or just the damoiseau-in-distress. Was he capable of being a real partner in the relationship? Could he stand on his own as an adult? Could he be a husband?

Gryphon, on the other hand, has to discover whether he loves enough to do what's best for Michael, regardless of his own pain. Patience is not a virtue of his, and boy does he get to painfully learn how to let go of control and be patient. Since he's older, more established, and is already secure in who he is, Gryphon's job is to let Michael catch up in maturity, regardless of his own wants and needs. Nora, Soren, and Kingsley all make appearances in order to beat sense into him. Literally.

Michael's Wings is full of all the romantic, inventive sexual encounters a reader could hope for, including the blush-inducing, uncomfortably hot BDSM scenes. About halfway through the first tale I realized I could never sit down in their apartment in real life (because all of her characters end up being people you'd really like to know in person, don't they?) knowing how much naked cock has been on that couch. The candle wax, the toys. Wowza.

The thing is, the explicit quality of Reisz's writing isn't limited to eroticism: it's the anguished and raw emotional issues spiced with delicious sex that make her work so exhilarating (and wonderfully exhausting) to read. Gryphon and Michael have an incredibly complicated relationship. Love drives them both, and learning to love so intensely that they can heal while avoiding being completely consumed by each other is a delicate balance they struggle with for the entire book.

Michael's Wings is an excellent addition to the Original Sinners universe, giving us the long-awaited middle to Gryphon and Michael's love story. Be prepared to stay up until you've finished it, because you won't be able to put it down.

The 17 Year Old Unsolved Mystery of Russell Crowe.

The turn of the millennium had a couple big milestones for me. I graduated college in 1999, and my first real adventures happened in 2000. I moved away from home over New Year's weekend. (Yeah, I  know a lot of peeps move when they GO to college, but I LIKED my hometown and never wanted to move away. Alas, bills require jobs, and jobs for an English and History major were scarce there, so off to the city I went.) I spent that first year living at my grandparent's house - which is relevant to this post.

For a "yay you made it through college and are officially adulting" I was lucky enough to receive help to buy a car or go on a trip. 

Fuck cars. I went to Ireland. I was all of twenty-one. 

No FB, no texting, no affordable international cell phone plans. I chuckle at the helicopter parents now who have to hear from their traveling college students regularly: I left Minnesota on a Thursday night, flew from here to Chicago and from Chicago to London. This was my first trip out of the country, and I went alone. I didn't meet my tour group (Contiki Tours, who are still in business and run fabulous tours for 18-35 year-olds) until I got settled in my hotel in London on Friday night. 

I didn't have an opportunity to email or call my parental units 'til Wednesday that week. On that tour, I may or may not have had a fling with the Scottish driver (who was twenty years older than me but OH MY GOD that accent) and made a couple of Australian friends. After all, I was one of three Americans on the tour: everyone else was Aussie or NZ. 

I'm still friends with one of the guys I met from Melbourne, Australia. He visited twice in those first few years, and we had pretty regular contact for a while. To this day, we trade pics of our families and news once or twice a year. 

All of this is relevant, because I STILL suspect he's the culprit. 

2000 was also the year Gladiator came out. I saw it right after I came back from Ireland in May, and fell utterly in love with Russell Crowe. I have no regrets regarding my unrequited devotion. 

So, recall that I was living with my grandparents, and fast forward a couple of months, when a random envelope showed up in the mailbox. 

Note Return Address Area has NONE. 

 So, clearly this wasn't SENT to me. It was left in the mailbox by some weirdo. I don't recognize the handwriting.

WHERE THE FUCK IS THE POSTAGE?  

Return address. In case I didn't tape it back together well enough, that say NSW (New South Wales) Australia.
NSW Australia is where RC is from.
This is a lot of effort to screw with my brainpan. 

Indeed. 

THERE IS NO APPROPRIATE CAPTION FOR THIS...
Except YUM.

So, 17 years later I'm cleaning out papers and find this envelope, still never claimed by Cameron or my parents or anyone else. 

But SOMEBODY dropped Russell Crowe in my mailbox, and it wasn't a benevolent mail fairy carrying around an unpostaged Maximus. 

If anyone wants to claim this one, feel free...I still want to know. 

Cameron, I still think it was you colluding with some family member. And I'll miss you terribly when I'm on an other tour in Ireland next May. 

If anyone wants to send Maximus to my house now...hey, I still hold that particular crush right along with Gerard Butler and The Rock. 

The Red: An Erotic Fantasy by Tiffany Reisz (Spoiler-Free Review)

"Art should be dangerous, you know. It should say something to society that society doesn't want to hear. Do you know what the opposite of art is? Propaganda." -  The Red

This review is safe for work. The book isn't.

Mona Lisa St. James made a deathbed promise to her mother, vowing to keep their struggling little art gallery open "at all costs." Months later, she's about to fail the promise and just desperate enough to take up the mysterious Malcolm's (no last name) shockingly straightforward offer: become his, on demand, for the next twelve months and make enough money to save her business. Over the next year, Mona finds out the exact cost of keeping that promise, in explicit detail, and discovers some fascinating secrets about her odd lover and his artwork-themed demands.

I often recommend Ms. Reisz's novels because she doesn't write simple smut (that's right: she writes complicated smut), or syrupy romance, and The Red lives up to my expectations. I love Reisz's work for the depth of character and fascinating navigation through complicated and taboo sexual situations. The underpinnings of the story is an exploration of Mona's value, of her own sense of self-worth that becomes stronger and more pronounced as her boundaries are pushed, and her discovery of what she really wants. It's downright voyeuristically compelling, watching Mona's thoughts and actions evolve with each new level of debauchery.

Oh my God, the debauchery. Make no mistake: this is definitely a Tiffany Reisz erotic novel.
WOW. ZA.

Seriously well written, unapologetic lust exists between those covers. I tossed sleep aside to finish it in a night, and this book is worth it, although I may never look at a bottle of water the same way again. From an erotica perspective, The Red has at least one kink that will appeal to you and at least one that will make you terribly uncomfortable. I know what you're thinking, and I definitely don't mean the "blushing and you hope no one notices because WHY are you reading this in public" sort of uncomfortable.

I mean the uncomfortable where you're certain this particular kink shouldn't be so arousing because it's so dirty, but you're turned on anyway. You'll think about it for days afterward and read it again, and you'll want to recommend it to friends but worry they'll figure out that scene worked for you. THAT sort of uncomfortable.

Of course, part of the fun of reading The Red is discovering which encounters fall under which category for you.

The Red is a standalone novel, available on July 11th, 2017 in paperback and e-formats (Kindle is available for pre-order). If you enjoyed her Original Sinners series I don't have to recommend this one, because you already know exactly why you'll love this book. If you're new to Ms. Reisz's work, I highly recommend picking up The Red as soon as you can: it's an excellent mix of erotica and dominant/submissive dynamics, with a hint of the supernatural for flavor.

The Red is definitely exactly the right sort of dangerous art.

How To Get Out of Babysitting: 101

Actual conversation with my sister (Han and Evil's mom) via text message. Of course I could've just posted the screenshot, but then anonymity for both my sister and Han would be lost. Plus, I MUST fix some of the text shorthand, because I'm a nerd and it drives me nuts how people don't spell out actual words in text.

I know, I know: emojis and shorthand are their own languages now...isn't it interesting how the modern equivalent of Egyptian Hieroglyphs are coming back as a real language through texting?

Um. Anyway...conversation as follows (edited only for privacy and incomplete words. I left the punctuation, because it makes me chuckle to imagine the over-enthusiasm).

S: Han's Actual Name Han asked me at dinner how the babies are going to get out of my belly.......

Me: You didn't show him Alien, did you?

Me: I'm no expert, but showing a 4 year old to explain birth might be bad parenting. Just sayin.

Me: Go with Aliens instead. Better movie all around. 

S: Heehee...I said we'd go to the hospital and the doc would help get them out. Then I changed the subject and said 'guess what!!! Grandpa is going to stay with you while we're at the hospital!!!!!'

S: oh good lord Jess, maybe you shouldn't babysit...*

Yeah. I babysit the kids a lot. They're my favorite. I'm pretty sure when the twins come I won't be allowed to touch them at all if Han and Evil are around.

Also, four kids under 5 all in one suburban house?

If you were wondering when the apocalypse starts, I'm pretty sure she's due sometime in March.

*As it turns out, not actually a deterrent from babysitting. Neither is giving the kiddos cherry popsicles so they look like little vampires.

Dear Universe: Point to You.

So, this* showed up in my mail yesterday. I am, indeed, amazed.


And not un-coincidentally, I laughed the sort of cathartic, belly-wrenching, tear-streaming, choking snort-laugh that only happens when ALL THE THINGS stifled inside are suddenly and shockingly jarred loose. Those of you who reached, offering kindness and chocolate and sandbar (or alcohol bar) support, I love you. Thank you for helping me until I found a way to shore.


Which I have, Universe, you colossal weirdo. Because, who the fuck expects THIS in the mailbox? Clearly, the photographer surprised her: of all the candid camera  shots...




Pretty sure SHE'S amazed...at just how far she can get her own tongue up her nose.

*For the record, I did look up the organization. It's a non-profit dedicated to helping people not only get fed, but start their own livestock farms for continued prosperity. So while I can make fun of the catalog itself, (from what little research I did) it seems like a cool concept. 

3 Days in the Debauchery Den

Yesterday, I went on a tour of the Hoover Dam. The tour guide on the bus gave us all sorts of nifty Vegas facts, including the following: Las Vegas Boulevard (aka the Strip) is the lowest point of the valley. 

No. Doubt. 

So, my first time in the Sodom and Gomorrah of the United States involved only mild debauchery, because I"m cheap and don't drink much...so I spent my money on important things (like...massage, and entertainment of the not-hooker variety).

1) I'm pretty sure after landing we taxied back from NV to LAX.

2) The cab driver warned me that EVERYONE gets lost walking up and down the strip, and here's helpful map websites, and everyone gets lost in the casinos so don't panic here's helpful map websites of the interiors. Honestly, she was pretty awesome for that 15 minutes I was in the car.

3) It's probably helpful that I spend occasional time in the local big casinos at home, because while it's just as noisy and people-ful, the place I stayed was not overwhelmingly more than any other casino.

4) Starbucks is 2x the price at home. Sigh.

5) I discovered Vegas is JUST LIKE Renaissance Festival after hours, only more hygienic. I was walking the resort complex at 9:15 in the morning on my first day and not 10 minutes after leaving my room was propositioned by a Brit who wanted one last American fling before he flew home.  He was pretty cute, and way too young for me, and bolder than I'd be used to had I not seen his type before. He amusingly went from charming to crude to absently wandering away. Turns out training with drunk dirty festies is excellent for deflecting "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" attitudes with humor.

6) Tour guide lady, Jeannie (who really was fucking AWESOME: hilarious and snarky) said the correct answer to "what did you do in Vegas" is "WALK." So true. I wandered and people watched for a good chunk of Monday before the temp hit 100, and found the following tourist categories (locals and workers are easily spotted by their total lack of concern for anything on the strip):

• Dazed, overwhelmed, and terrified to be robbed. They shamble along the strip, tired and dehydrated, clutching their purses with a death grip and staring wide eyed at the spectacle that is the Vegas resort lineup. Often seen desperately trying to figure out just how far it REALLY is from the MGM to the Bellagio (and can we really walk there) on their phones. 
• Drunk at 10am. Death grip is on the beer/wine/mixed drink in their hand, and they stumble more than shamble. 
• The attentive. People watchers, comfortable taking in sights without looking constantly at maps. Not gripping purses or bags, but watching carefully and entertained by the variety. 

7) Met a charming couple from Pennsylvania on the strip. They were in their late 60's and thought I looked like their granddaughter a little, who is 10 years younger than me, so bonus. We were sharing a resting bench for a few minutes. They told me all about their bum son in law and teenagers in their neighborhood being too lazy to mow/shovel. It was thoroughly fun, and they did not steal my wallet. 

8) The tour bus driver's son had heart surgery at the Mayo clinic this year. Because I'm a listener. 

9) There is a gun range here where I can shoot sniper rifles, machine guns, and a GRENADE LAUNCHER. I'm coming back, just for that. 

10) A very slim and stacked goth Elvira look alike wandered through the casino last night. I wondered how much double stick tape she had keeping that dress on her boobs. Honestly, Elvira did it better, but it was a really decent attempt. 

11) GAME OF THRONES slot machine. 

12) Emeril's. YUM. 

13) NOT the Colicchio stakehouse. $250 for a fucking 8oz steak is just way the hell outside even a powerball budget for me, on principle alone. Ugh. 

14) Spa. It's the single really girly thing I do, particularly if on vacation and can justify the expense. I justified the expense. I'm sore, and it was an excellent afternoon. 

15) Hoover Dam. I looked over the edge. It's a great place to feel very small in the world, and while I admire the feat itself a little part of me is sad at the taming of a river so wild everyone said it was untameable. Then again, I enjoy that my parents in LA have water and that irrigation from the Colorado via the Dam's help provides a huge amount of food in this country. Also, because I'm a total nerd I DID walk from Nevada to Arizona and back again on the bridge. OF COURSE I took pictures. 

16) POOL. Because I'm a pasty scandahoovian, and after 2.5 days I'm peopled out, so sun and water and reading is the thing this afternoon. 

17) Tonight I'll dress up and see a show (there's a Cirque show in the hotel), and tomorrow I'm going home. 

I seriously cannot imagine how anyone could spend a whole week here - in three days I spent way more than normal. But, if the deal is right I'd also totally come back and take another tour with Jeannie, walk out on that terrifying Grand Canyon glass bottomed bridge, lose some money, fire a grenade launcher, hit up the Shelby experience, and walk until my feet cry. 

Review: The Bourbon Thief (Tiffany Reisz)

I'll admit it. I wasn't sure about this one.

Despite having read all of the Original Sinners series and most of the short stories/novellas set in that universe, The Bourbon Thief back cover copy didn't catch me. And so, foolishly, I started it at 10pm the night I got it.

DUMB DUMB DUMB. You'd think, after reading and rereading eight prior books, I'd learn that Ms. Reisz keeps me up until the damn thing is finished and I'd think about it for days afterward.

The Bourbon Thief is a richly written sordid labyrinth of secrets revealed in slow, savored sips. Ridiculously wealthy Cooper McQueen takes a hot, mysterious woman home for the night and, of course, she steals his million dollar bottle of bourbon. Except, Paris says the bottle is rightfully hers, and promises by the end of her sad story he'll not only let her keep the bottle, he'll apologize for having it in the first place.

The book jumps between today and the late 1970's as Paris doles out the details of the Maddox family legacy to Cooper. She takes her time telling him the story of Tamara Maddox, teenage heiress to the Maddox fortune, built on a post Civil War slave's sale which funded the beginning of Red Thread bourbon distillery in Kentucky. Cooper is fascinated by both the woman and her attempt to keep him from pressing charges for theft.

In 1978, sixteen year old Tamara loses her spoiled attitude along with her innocence while navigating the family's terrible secrets. Every scheming plot, every horrid fight between her and her mother, every action taken in revenge twists and turns her life in unexpected directions. The love story that threads its way through the book is just as unconventional and intense as her other works, just in different ways. Plots I can predict bore the crap out of me, and The Bourbon Thief is a maze that takes the reader down completely different (and often disturbing) paths as Paris weaves her tale to convince Cooper the bottle of 150 year old bourbon belongs to her.

I found both Cooper and Paris to be less developed characters than the rest, cutouts there purely to move the story along with narration. Cooper never develops beyond the horny rich dude who doesn't really have much on the line here (after all, what is a $1m bottle of booze to a billionaire in the grand scheme of things?), but Paris's background becomes clearer as the book progresses, giving her a measure of humanity that makes her less of a narrator and more of human character with complex motivations. Those in Tamara's story, however, are the fully developed people spanning human strengths and frailties I've come to expect from Ms. Reisz. They have measures of both good and evil: not one person in Tamara's world is without their own motivations for their actions, however vile or excellent.

As with Ms. Reisz's other works, this is not for the faint of heart, nor is it for kids. Period. If you're looking for an intense read that will keep you up 'til 2am because you can't possibly put it down until it's over, pick up The Bourbon Thief immediately.

I Heart Internet News

Blame Jay Leno for my never ending amusement at awfulsome headlines. 

Religious People Say They Don't Watch Porn. Internet Data Says Otherwise. Um, I feel like "duh"should be somewhere in this headline. Maybe even "fucking duh?". 

Catholic Bishop's Advice For Divorced, Remarried Catholics: Stop Having Sex. Clearly, he thinks they should just watch more porn. In true creepy fashion, said Bishop actually suggests remarried divorcees should live like 'brother and sister'.  I think he reads too much VC Andrews and needs to be sent back to Seminary.  

Here's how long you can look someone in the eye without creeping them out. OOH! A new skill to learn for commuting and long, uncomfortable meetings. 

How can people with narcolepsy drive safely? Um...

Stop judging ugly fruits and vegetables. You're hurting their feelings, you insensitive jerkfaces. Right before you slice them into tasty tasty salad toppings. 

Just a reminder that alligators show up in trees. What the fuck. Now they can climb goddamned trees, so in Florida you not only have to worry about SNAKES dropping out of a tree on your head (oh yeah, it happens people), but fucking ALLIGATORS can ambush you from above? Who allowed this shit? Darwin, I'm looking at you. 

Live out your dreams of frolicking with farm animals through virtual reality.  Seems like a legit alternative to Pokemon. Or internet porn? Remember the post about billy goats? Yeah. I'm stopping now. 

Starbucks is giving all US workers a raise. And, by the way, raising drink prices by 30 cents. Once, long long ago, I convinced my ex to quit smoking by saying "do you REALLY want to spend $10 a day on cigarettes?" I suppose I'm going to have to break the iced mocha addiction soon for the same reason. 

Vacation Conversations That Probably Shouldn't Be Repeated

I took an extra day off this weekend to be all social-like and prove I'm not a zombie hermit. My most excellent family member (who hates being called an aunt because we're more like sisters, and so I'm accommodating her whining request by calling her "family member") came down to drink and be stupid go to the MN Horse Expo yesterday.

FYI, I can't look at the expo link without seeing "hor-seex-po" (obviously there's a Latin-based language's accent attached - feel free to take your pick there), which is really indicative of my own mental failings and should probably be ignored.

Anyway, Thursday night presented Animal Planet on TV and smartasses on the couch. And thus, the following.

• What the FUCK is with man-buns anyway? WHY? For the record, I completely agree. 
• Later compared ManBuns to EntitledYogaHipsterMomBuns (those would be the Teletubby-esque top-of-the-head "messy" buns) sported expertly by a woman at the expo, who daintily pushed her fashionable stroller through a pile of horseshit while wearing a VERY disconcerted look. 
• SHITSTICKS! poop-on-a-stick, twatwaffle, and various versions of "whoore" also made appearances over the weekend.
• That's not a River Monster. That's a teeny crocodile, you puss. As it turns out, she's not a fan of Jeremy Wade or River Monsters. 
• OMG that guy just finger-fucked a crocodile! And thus Jeremy Wade's humiliation is complete. 
• When Chewy humps the air he's getting more than I do... I really see no need to reveal which of us made that comment. 
• If only for a pair of scissors with really long...scissorparts. For the manbuns, of course. After a couple of Guinnei (I still maintain that should be the plural of Guinness), the individual parts of scissors escaped us both. 

And then, there was Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo. I LOVE her, and I am not sorry. Pat Benatar was the go-to lip-sync game when I was a kid: my babysitting aunts and I used to sing along with a tape deck and an upright vacuum (because who needs a karaoke machine when you have a vacuum handle?).

And Pat Benatar didn't know she was still in Minnesota...I'm certain she thought they'd crossed the border into Canada. Close enough, really.

I have no smartass commentary about Pat, except I was really amused at how pissed off the sour old woman next to me really was (NOT any aunt or sister at the concert with me. I should go on record saying that...I was on the end and had the stranger danger). I'm not sure I can really blame her: the drunk jackass in front of her was one of six people who stood the entire concert...directly in front of us. And I'm 90% sure he kept farting in her general direction.

Pat and Neil did a bit of When Doves Cry to honor Prince. And all my favorites. My ears are still ringing with the pure awesome.

And there were many idiots with Teletubby topknots in the crowd.

Eyesockets and Pee-Batteries (alternatively titled: WTF Headlines)

Today's most fabulous headlines from various news sources:


Scientists Have Created A Fuel Cell That Runs On Pee - I suppose I should be glad it doesn't run on farts. Does it have to be human pee? 


Yes, You Can Rent Out Your Eye Socket For Money - Well...hmm. Amusingly, this headline was immediately beneath the pee-cell article. I really can't think of a number high enough to rent out my eye socket for pee. More importantly, if you're renting out the eye socket space WHERE DOES THE CURRENT OCCUPANT GO? Since it's a socket, would item requiring the space plug in? Are we headed toward a line of people with removable eyeballs sitting at a charging bar in the airport before their plane takes off, plugging a cord into their faces? What if you unplug and put the WRONG EYE back in? "Oh, I'm so sorry, I grabbed your eye by mistake!"


Can't you just SEE the possible romantic-comedy-esque engagement stories that start "well, we met when I accidentally plugged her eye in my socket..."


Oh yeah people, I TOTALLY WENT THERE. You're welcome. For the images AND the pun.


Secret Lives Of Monkey Midwives - Dear Animal Planet: I have a proposition for a new reality show...


Billions of Cicadas Will Soon Rise From The Earth, Have Sex, And Die - Isn't that all any of us do, just on a longer time scale? Watch out for Cicada Killers - they'll totally ruin the plan for either bugs OR people's sex lives. If they ruin people's sex life with bugs, I don't want to know anything about it, and it's time now to imagine less horrifying images. Like rentable eye sockets.


EMA #GreenMySchool Program Is Starting Something Big - So...the headline author doesn't know what "EMA" means in either inappropriate slang OR text language. Obviously, my friends are of the unsavory variety who do NOT mean "email" with EMA. Maybe that just means the author has a less-guttery mind than me...I'm not sure if I should feel sorry for him or be really impressed.

The Return and Demise of Samael

Two years ago, the Starbucks nearest to my house hosted a demon on their drive-through shelf.

As most bad pennies do, he turned up again on Wednesday last week after a snowstorm. I mean, sheesh...evil soul-swallowing snow monsters and their regeneration, right? How exhausting.

The Desolate One, Thwarted

Sadly, Samael (The Desolate One) was no match for the mighty powers of uneven melting and physics. Thus he's likely joined his first incarnation's demise. Until next year...

The poor Barista (is a male barista a baristo?) tried three times to stand the little dude back up on his melty not-feet, but alas Samael was just too tired. 

Nope, there really is no point to this post. 

A Must-Read-Review of "The Confessions: An Original Sinners Collection" (No spoilers here, promise)

So if you've stopped here in my little corner of crazy more than once, you already know I'm a huge fan of Tiffany Reisz's work. I reviewed her Original Sinners series last fall after finishing The Queen, and it's possible I crossed fingers, toes, eyes, and legs (which seems a little wrong considering the subject matter) when I requested an early copy of The Confessions to review.

Undoubtedly it was the legs that did it.

The Confessions: An Original Sinners Collection isn't available until Tuesday, so this review will contain no spoilers (because spoilers are equivalent dipping your balls in the chocolate fountain: it sullies the experience for everyone else). However, I will say up front that this book is not for newcomers to the Original Sinners. It's worth the journey to get here, so go forth and read all eight, starting with The Siren, BEFORE reading this.

The Confessions is a collection of two novellas which provide more detailed insight into the psyches and souls of both Nora and Søren (hence the requirement that you read the series first). Unlike the other short peripheral tales in the Original Sinners world, neither "The Confession of Marcus Stearns" nor "The Confession of Eleanor Schreiber" is sexual, however both are intensely intimate. Both are intricately woven scenes that expertly reveal secrets on both sides of the confessional (although in neither case do the conversations take place IN the confessional).

To me real star of this collection is Father Ballard. I'd love to have a drink and chat with the confessor to both of the most notorious characters in the series, even knowing he couldn't divulge anything. True to form, Reisz's Father Ballard is a fabulously complex character. Instead of a cardboard cutout for Nora and Marcus to use as a mirror, Father Ballard is a man with his own past and present concerns which color his reactions and give him incredible depth. He's funny and compassionate, insightful and perhaps most importantly, HUMAN. He is exactly the sort of Priest I'd want to talk to if I were Catholic, which appears to have worked for both Nora and Father Stearns as well. Good lord, imagine the kind of man who could hear  all of THEIR secrets and stay sane.

The fourth character in both novellas is, of course, the Church. As with all the Original Sinners episodes, Reisz combines humor, violence, shock, and compassion in new and interesting ways while exploring the "right" and "wrong" of love. The mix of obvious deep respect and blatant irreverence, often exhibited in the same person, is a wonderfully complex portrayal of the difference between the shallow, socially accepted "correct" love and the messy, inconvenient, difficult struggle contained in actual love.

Reisz packs a lot into two short novellas about the internal lives of her characters, and she does it so smoothly the reader is left wanting more, as any good Mistress is wont to do. My first thought after reading "The Confession of Eleanor Schreiber" was "oh man, I wonder what Father Ballard would do with Kingsley." Someday, I sincerely hope that question will cross the author's mind as well, because that would be a show requiring a comfortable seat and a large bucket of popcorn.

Luckily, we are given some insight into the author's take on the characters and their worlds in the final piece in the collection: "The Confession of Tiffany Reisz". I'll admit I normally don't dig interview pieces with authors, for the same reason I often don't watch the "behind the scenes" DVD extras in a movie I love. I don't usually want to think deeply about the secrets of the woman behind the curtain while immersing myself in the work itself. But in this case, the interview is well worth it: funny and interesting, Tiffany's responses only add to the story.

The Confessions: An Original Sinners Collection is available on March 15th, 2016 in eBook and Paperback. If you're a fan of The Original Sinners, I highly recommend picking this one up as soon as it's out, since I read it three times in the first two days and stayed up until the unholy "there is not enough espresso in the world tomorrow morning" hours to finish it the first night. I love to sleep: any book that keeps me awake at 2am to finish it is well worth the read.

The Confessions: An Original Sinners Collection
by Tiffany Reisz
ISBN 978-0-69-264377-8
8th Circle Press
Available on eBook and Paperback 3/15/16

It's Getting Crowded in Here

So 2016 is my "finish a goddamned book" year. It's not a stupid resolution I won't follow after a month because cake inevitably kicks the gym's ass: it's a self-imposed deadline to get ON my proverbial writing buns, sit my ass in front of the keyboard, and finish something.

At some point, I might learn not to announce intentions in any format other than a Jameson-induced drunken whisper, because apparently the Universe subscribes to the following axiom: if you want something done, give it to a busy person.

Except, unlike type A personalities or Virgo-ish busy people, MY prioritization and organization skills are often sub-par. And so, I have the following deadlines in February/March because I'm a fool who doesn't spread out my work better.

• book review for Ancient History Encyclopedia
• 1500 word article on sex in ancient Rome for the same site (it's getting the subject down to 1500 words that'll be a challenge)
• 1400 word article for a magazine (a paying market! YAY!)
• book review for a guy who found me through this blog and sent me his serial killer novel, which I'm actually DYING to get to but must finish reviews in order. 
• book review for Ancient History Encyclopedia (yes, another one, but I haven't received it yet so it's lower on the list). 
• book review for one of my favorite authors...I'm waiting for confirmation on that one, but I'm hoping I qualify as a review blogger for her because I love her work. 
• article I started for a magazine query earlier this month but never heard back on my letter (deadline is 3/1) so I'm changing it to a non-fiction book synopsis for later. I don't want to lose the idea, but I can't put it first in priority right now. 
• I have three short stories currently waiting for rejection out to markets. I'm not thinking about them much, except that it's best to have another marked queued up so I can submit again right away. This means I have to spreadsheet-track every piece, where it is, how long it's been there, and where it's going next. 
• I have a writing group twice a month and I owe them a finished piece (a short story that's totally unrelated to either book series). 
• Two different fiction series - one has been in the works since 200fucking8. I want to finish the first book in each series this year. 

Seriously, if you don't hear from me in a month or so, send a damn flare or something. I might be buried under a mountain of books.