Books, Blog, Buddies

Books, Blog, Buddies
We have a ton of fun around here

Saturday, October 27, 2012

How Haunted Was It?

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Did anyone else get sent off to those church events where the young adults made a haunted house? I can’t tell you how often I ended up in these far away churches because everyone around went to Haunted Housea different church and we should all go to each other’s events—like Haunted Houses…is it me? I can’t be the only one thinking that, while fun is fun, how seriously involved should a church group be in scaring the heck out of small children? Or medium sized children, even…


When I was ten or so, I found myself once again standing outside of a church where the only familiar face had designs on my mental health. Most of those things are borderline lame, I suppose. Even in the seventies, when I was ten. Still, it’s because of that one haunted house that I can’t even stand the smell of SpaghettiOs ®—forget about trying to actually eat them.



And that’s without even mentioning the kind with meatballs or franks. * shudder *


The question today is—do you have any Haunted House memories that still make you shudder? (I capitalize Haunted House because it just feels right. LOL)


And the bonus contest—like I said, every comment puts you in the running, but tonight, I’m sending you on a field trip—not a haunted house, though.



Everyone who goes to  and leaves a little comment will be in the running for an ebook, or one of two $3.00 Amazon Kindle E-Gift Cards—not to mention being part of the contest on that site as well.


I like to share the love, and through a mistake of technology and communication, Faith Luna didn’t end up on the Blog Hop board. But why should you suffer? You shouldn’t. So, here you are.


I’ll check over there and each commenter goes in a hat, you get an extra entry in my contests and in Faith’s.


and thanks once again to for the creepy pictures. * grin * where would we be without them?


J.J. Massa

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Wednesday, October 24, 2012

I’m a guest at BLAK RAYNE’S Blog



Come say hello to me here: 

If you like M/M stories or just want to know some of my little secrets…come on over and see what’s going on Smile.


J.J. Massa

Stay current & join my Coffee Time Newsletter

Sign up at

Right in the middle of the page--can't miss it!

Monday, October 22, 2012

Need an honest opinion? Nina Davies!



Hey, I ask her all the time. And I use AutoCrit. It’s a wonderful piece of computer ware that she invented all on her own.  After my last bout with MS, I lost confidence in my work. With AutoCrit, I feel a lot better about what I write. logo


So, with no further adieu, heere’s NINA!


Get Out Of Your Box And Enjoy The View

It’s Fall, which is a time of reflection for me. And now that my kids are in school, I actually have TIME to reflect – a definite bonus!

One of the lessons that is resonating with me this year is the idea of getting out of the box that we create for ourselves. I see myself as left-brain, analytical, a geek, etc. So when I approach a task whether it be writing or something completely different, I approach it analytically. I plan, I organize, I write notes. I don’t brainstorm with friends, create a collage, or ‘let things happen’.

But, you know, some of the best things in my life have occurred when I have jumped out of this self-imposed box.

My worst subject in school was English. So it took a big leap for me to sit down in 2004 and start writing a novel. Doubts assailed me and months passed before I could admit to my CLOSEST friends what I was doing.

And guess what, that leap led me to create AutoCrit which combines the best of what I love, writing and computers! I never would have created AutoCrit if I hadn’t taken that scary leap.

On a smaller scale, I love plotting out a book to the last detail before I start writing. It’s that left-brain thing again. It’s who I am, right?

Not necessarily. One day I took a leap and forced myself to be a ‘pantser’ for at least three chapters. I wrote without planning a thing. (Only someone as left-brained as I am will understand why this is such a big deal). Doing this was tough!! I kept wanting to revert to my usual way of doing things.

After a tough few days, the results amazed me. The amount of emotion that poured onto the page was really, really surprising. And it’s just what my writing needed. Now I make sure to schedule unplanned writing, no matter I how well I feel the book is going. (Yes, yes, I know. Most people don’t need to schedule to be spontaneous.)

There are many more cases where my life has been enriched because I decided to ignore my internal definition of who I am. And I’m not alone. I love this story of a teen who let himself be a writer even when others told him he couldn't.

So let’s talk about you now. What is your internal definition of yourself? Does it always have to be true?

What can you do today to investigate the view outside your box? The results might surprise you…

BIO: Nina Davies is the creator of the  AutoCrit Editing Wizard, an online editor for fiction writers.



--or so says Nina

I say you should check out--

Edit Your Novel In Three Steps

Today's publishing industry is cut-throat and difficult to break into. A good editing plan can make the difference between 'sold' and 'shelved'.
In this article, Nina Davies gives you a 3-step plan for editing your novel.



Take five minutes and give it a try!

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Faith in the Moon: Story: Kitten

Faith in the Moon: Story: Kitten: Kitten by Faith Luna All Rights Reserved Copyright 2012 This story is an adult story, menage, m/m/m/m with bondage, spanking, and happy kink...

Faith knows how to tell a story--especially a kinky one.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Join us at the Latte Lounge—LUST HAPPENS!!!


Search results for coffee



Join the fun! Why?


We’ll be at the Latte Lounge:

JOIN authors:

Ashley Marie Lucas

Cindy Jacks

Milly Tilden

J.J. Massa

Faith Luna


KB Cutter

Rhonda Lee Carver

Sultry Summers

Mae Powers

J.J. Massa

Fran Mackey

Denyse Bridger

Ella Jade

W. Lynn Chantale

We'll be there around noon and we plan to stay ALL day!

There will be giveaways and goodies!!

Fran Mackey and Ella Jade have promised us swag :-) Ella has a book to give away, as does Denyse, Faith Luna, and most of our authors—Sultry Summers has 2! and the rest of us have a variety of goodies to take home!

You might even get more than you expect! Something in print? A gift card? It could happen!

Don’t miss it! We’ll be there ALL DAY!!

J.J. Massa

Stay current & join my Coffee Time Newsletter

Right in the middle of the page--can't miss it!

Saturday, October 06, 2012

Fandoms and Pictures

"My fandom has canon bondage role-play."
I found this on tumblr-- posted by fangirlasplosian 
I follow a few people who post pictures with witty comments about some of my favorite television shows. I was pretty young when The Man from U.N.C.L.E. first aired. Still, syndication and reruns perform a service for those of us that took advantage of them. I certainly did. This particular television show had it all. Even a tomboy could ogle these guys and pretend. They're hot (or they were--and probably still are) and the show itself offered a wealth of fodder for an active imagination like mine. 
And look there! It still does * g*  
I enjoy tumbler, not so much because of the cool pictures (which I can't see), but because of the wit and perspective of the people who post things. Sometimes, I surf and find these things on my own. Other times, friends will tell me to go look knowing what sort of things amuse me, or interest me in general. 

Thursday, October 04, 2012

WooHoo! More from Patricia

After a great deal of work and negotiation (by Patricia *g*) I am now able to produce the first chapter of Patricia's book along with a link to the book that inspired it all.

You asked for it, and Patricia Walters-Fischer came through!

Worth the Weight

Chapter One

Every new adjustment is a crisis in self-esteem—Eric Hoffer

January 2nd—Saturday
Ever end up in a bathroom stall, in the men’s room, wearing your wedding dress on your wedding day?
“Are you okay in there?” A low voice echoed off the white tiles that decorated the room from floor to ceiling.
I could taste the salt from my tears, as I tried to answer without sobbing ... again. “Si.” I followed it with a quick, “Yes, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Um, because you’re in the men’s room.”

“I know.”
He cleared his throat. “You’re in drag ... that’s cool.”
“Nope, just a bad day.” I lied through sobs.
My sticky hands still bore the result of a quick get–away. When I grabbed my steering wheel during my escape, I discovered it covered with Vaseline. It certainly made gripping the wheel frustrating. With nothing to wipe my hands on, I’d turned into the first place I found.
A full service car wash.
After deciding on the quick wash, I’d handed over the keys to the attendant and made a beeline to the bathroom, but didn’t bother looking at the sign. It wasn’t until I’d locked myself in the stall, the urinals registered. But before I could leave, I’d heard a cough.
“You sure you’re okay?”
I tried to clean my palms with toilet paper, but the one–ply shredded in my hands. “Dammit. I’m fine. Just peachy.”
“Okay.” The sound of running water helped end the conversation and gave me a minute to collect my thoughts, remembering what transpired not half an hour earlier.
There I was, back in the church, the scene of my disaster.
“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the man in the starched collar asked.
I answered.
The sparkle in my fiancĂ©’s eyes faded before it dawned on me that something had gone very wrong. He stared at me.
“Did you say no?”
I blinked a few times. “What?”
Glancing sideways through my veil, I saw the pastor biting his lip.
“Did you ask me something?”
“Yes. I. Did.” His enunciation of each word, with staccato precision, made my brothers snicker.
Images of the drunk sister in Sixteen Candles went through my mind as he continued. “Do you.” He pointed to me. “Megan Antonia Sayla, take this man.” He looked at, “Travis Michael Joseph Daniel Carter, to be—“
Travis’ mother cleared her throat. “The fourth.”
“Right.” The minister looked up, mumbled something, then returned to the service. “Travis Michael Joseph Daniel Carter. The fourth.” He smiled in her direction. “To be your lawfully wedded husband?”
I could feel the corners of my mouth lift as I took a deep breath, gazed into Travis’ eyes, and replied, “No.”
Yeah, I heard it that time. “Crap.”
Travis dropped my hands.
“What?” Mom screamed.
“Holy shit!” Dad stood up.
“I toll you, this not work. He not Italian.” My Italian grandmother, Nonna, crossed herself and started saying Hail Mary’s in her native tongue, as her husband, Nonno, woke momentarily, then fell back to sleep.
“Mama. Zitto, per favore.” Turning to his mother, my dad placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back into the pew. “Be quiet.”
Mom’s Danish parents, we affectionately call her Bedste and him Morfar, began to speak to each other in their birth language, saying things like “What the hell just happened here?, Should we call the caterer?”, and “Can you freeze all that rice pudding?”
With all the sudden chaos, I don’t remember much until I ended up in this car wash bathroom talking to a total stranger. I shivered as a gust of frigid, January air whipped through the room. Looking up, I noticed a row of open windows.
The water stopped running and the automatic paper towel dispenser hummed.
“How do I get out of this?” I rubbed my arms with my hands in an attempt to get warm. “Now what do I do?”
A low, masculine chuckle brought me back to reality. “Probably need to get out of the men’s room, first.”
I leaned against the cold, tiled wall and deeply inhaled the cool, lemon–scented air. “Did you ever have one of those days you wish you could start over?”
“Are you talking on the phone or to me?”
“You.” Don’t ask what possessed me to talk to a stranger. Being in that stall, I blurted out, “I feel like I’m at confession, so just go with me on this.”
He laughed this time, his rich voice resonating. “That’s a first.”
“For me to be referred to as a priest.”
“Seems like a day of firsts. This is the first time I left a man at the altar. The first time I’ve been in the men’s room.”
“Busy day for both of us, especially me, now being a priest and all.”
Silence filled the room, again. When he said nothing else, I assumed he’d decided to leave, until I heard, “What’s troubling you, my child?”
“Seriously?” Did he really want to know? Why? Was he really a priest?
“Sure, unless you’re not Catholic. Then you’re better off going to therapy or drinking.”
I crossed myself. “Forgive me Father, it’s been six months since my last confession.”
“Is that a long time?”
“If you were a man of the cloth, you’d know that’s a horribly long time.”
I suppressed a giggle. “It can be. Most people go weekly. Daily.”
“Geez, who has time for that much guilt?”
“Apparently, Catholics.”
“I guess I only know happy, guilt–free Catholics.”
“No Catholic is guilt–free. Guilt is part of the tradition.” And I felt plenty guilty today. I twisted the beading of my wedding dress between my fingers.
“You’re Catholic?” he asked.
“More like a Cathalutheran.”
He chuckled. “What’s that?”
“Catholic dad, Lutheran mom. We combined the two to get the best of both worlds.”
“Best of both worlds? Sounds very Hannah Montana–ish.” He cleared his throat. “My niece watches the show.”
“Right. During religious holidays, we have all the traditional food, but we pretend to ignore the sin of gluttony and gossip.” I bit my lip as my heart pounded in my ears. “Hence my six month absence from confession.”
“Right. I’m supposed to say something like ‘Six months? How many sins could you have committed in six months? Come back when,’ um ... what does he say again?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Trying to remember how they did it in Zorro.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Which one? The one with Tyrone Powers or with Antonio Banderas?”
“Aren’t they the same? Girl in a box. Guy isn’t a priest. He’s making it up as he goes.”
“Yeah.”. Rarely had I met anyone who knew of the first talking Zorro movie, much less the confession scene. I smoothed down my dress. “Do you need help with the movie line? I’m pretty good at them.”
“No, wait. Next, he asked her if she’d broken any of the Ten Commandments.”
“Something like that.” The corners of my mouth rose. “Forgive me Father, I have broken the fourth commandment.”
“You killed someone?” His accent changed to the melodious sound of the Spanish actor.
“That is not the fourth commandment, Father.”
“Oh, okay. Tell me in what way you broke the most sacred of God’s commandments?”
My parents’ faces flashed across my mind, my brothers, my family. A sob rose in my throat. “I dishonored my mother and father today.”
“That’s not so bad. Maybe they deserved it.”
“What?” I shook my head as I placed my hands over my mouth in an attempt to keep from losing it, again, but tears ran down my cheeks. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Tell me more, my child.”
“I ... I don’t know what to say.” I depleted a roll of toilet paper as I tried to dry my face. After a few moments, I realized he’d been silent for a while. “You still there?”
“Yes. This is when he sees her through the screen, isn’t it?”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t think you want me looking between the stall doors.”
His chivalry surprised me. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“It’s at the end of the scene before the captain of the guards shows up and screws it up.”
“Yeah, he’s a good bad guy.”
I took a deep breath as I tried to think. He may not want to look through the doors, but I’m generally nosy. No matter what this guy looked like, I was too curious to walk away without seeing his face. Kindness from a stranger had been an unexpected gift in my chaotic day. I needed to put a face with the voice.
“You okay?” he asked.
Frigid air whipped through the room, then a wave of hot. “Um, yeah, getting there.” As I maneuvered around in the stall, to get a better look, I saw the overhead heaters had clicked on, making pockets of the stall too hot and others too cold. Figures.
Without warning, my phone screamed “Hey Mickey!.” An involuntary squeak escaped my lips and I wrestled to turn down the volume. The phone vibrated for a few moments while I got my breathing back to normal.
He laughed. “Whose ringtone is that?”
“My mom’s.” I sniffed. “She loves the 80’s.” There was nowhere to hide my phone as it jiggled again. I’d left my purse at the church, along with my wallet, my clothes, and my life.
It was amazing I’d made it out with my keys and phone.
Tears began to pool, again, as a few ran down my face.
“Ever wanted a do-over day?” I dried my face, only to pull away a makeup covered wad of paper. Ugh.
“We all do.” Pause. “I guess this is one of those days?”
An escaped giggle filled the room. “Man, you’re good.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Show off.” My phone vibrated, again. I ignored it.
“Bad day, huh?”
“Yeah, but I’m sure his is worse.”
I took a slow, deep breath. “Why? He’s a nice guy and I left him at the altar. He’s still there, dealing with everyone, while I’m in a car wash bathroom confessional.”
“Hard to say. Neither of you had good luck today.”
Shaking my head, I almost broke the beading off my gown, as I wrapped the lace accents around my fingers. “It’s not his fault, really. It’s mine.”
I stomped my foot. “Why? Why? That’s the sixty–four thousand dollar question, isn’t it?”
“But you didn’t answer my question.”
“You sure you’re not a priest?”
“That’s not my question.”
“I know that, but you play the guilt card so well.”
“Believe me, I’m far from being a priest.”
My stomach knotted as the image of a very hurt Travis flashed through my mind. More tears. “When the preacher asked if ‘I do’, all I could think of was ‘I don’t’ and ‘I can’t.’” I sniffed and dabbed my wet face, again. “Please don’t ask me why. I truly don’t know.”
Enough time passed that I figured he thought I was some histrionic or spoiled bride–to–be and not worth the effort of an answer.
“You said he was a nice guy.”
I rested my head against the stall door. “He was.” I hiccupped. “I mean, he is.”
“But you said no. Maybe he is a nice guy, just not the right guy.”
My heart slammed in my chest as I heard the words out loud. This guy couldn’t be more on the money. All this time I kept telling myself Travis was such a nice guy, but I never asked if he was the right one. “You sound like a chick flick movie.”
“I’ve got three sisters. I’ve been forced to watch my share of them. And Oprah.”
I liked the way his subtle, southern drawl lengthened his ‘I’s’. “I’ve got three brothers, so I’ve seen everything to do with aliens, losing your virginity in high school, the military, and superheroes.”
He chuckled. “Coming out of there anytime soon?”
“I probably should.” My tears finally slowed. After wiping my face again, and knowing I’d ruined the two–hundred dollar makeup session I had not three hours ago, I needed to look in the mirror. “All right, I’m coming out.”
“Wow. You’re coming out already? I am good.”
I could feel the corners of my mouth lift. “No. My vanity has taken over.”
“I need to look in the mirror, because I think I might resemble a drunk circus clown after smearing all this makeup.”
“That sounds ... interesting.”
“Okay, I’m coming out.” I tried to straighten my overly beaded and ridiculously poofy dress. At least I’d opted not to wear the stupid petticoat before the service, much to my mother’s dismay. If not, I’d never fit through the stall opening without getting snagged.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Only if you don’t want to see a spazzed–out bride who probably looks like a circus freak.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the lemon scented cleaner, stood up straight, and unlocked the door.
When I looked out, I saw him standing against the opposite wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“You’re actually sticking around?” My hands fiddled with my phone. “Really?”
I paused as I caught a quick glimpse of him. He stood at least six–feet, brown hair, nice frame. Before I could get a better look, a glob of mascara and fake eyelashes clouded my vision. I pressed the wadded–up paper against my eye in an attempt to keep the makeup at bay. “Isn’t that a big no–no for confession? You’re not supposed to know what the confessor looks like. That’s part of the decompression process.”
He shrugged. “It’s not a secret. The priest knows who’s in the box, right?”
“You knew it was me in there, huh? Seems a bit unethical.” I dabbed at my eyes with a ball of toilet paper, clearing my line of sight for a second.
“You forget. I’m not a priest.”

Look here for Jude Deveraux' wonderful and inspirational book

Meet Patricia W. Fischer--She's Worth it!

Paying it Knightly
By Patricia W. Fischer

In 1991, I had hit bottom.

I’d fallen for a guy who was the human equivalent of slime. Well that’s not fair to slime, but you get the point.

He had the three things I soon discovered was the trifecta of bad boyfriends:

No consistent job, a former drug problem, and a record.

And I fell for him…hard, so I did what any ignorant, starry-eyed girl would do. Got a place with him and put my name on the lease because his credit sucked so badly he didn’t qualify.

Why didn’t I run away screaming when I heard he had a record? 

Because I thought I could save him, make him a better person, make him want to raise himself up and excel in life. I mean, wasn’t that what people did in the face of adversity? Rise up?

Nope, not someone who’d learned to live off wanting-to-only-see-the-best-in-people girls like me.

Fast forward six months later. The sweet period of our relationship had depleted, along with all the money in not only my bank account, but my college fund. I’d taken out a loan on my car to pay for the credit card bills he’d run up for the second time and I’d quit school.

Working two jobs waiting tables for 17 hours everyday, I’d prayed for him to come through (he’d been fired from his job a few months before). No such luck. He took advice from his crappy friend who told him to file unemployment instead of looking for another job. I mean looking for another job cut into his pot smoking time.

As he waited around for his benefits (he was denied), I tried to find some sort of way to deal with the nightmare I couldn’t seem to wake from and pay off the $20,000 worth of debt he’d so graciously helped me accumulate.

At one of my jobs, one of the waitresses suggested I pick up a great book by this new author, Jude Devereaux.

“It’s the coolest book,” she held up the book before placing it back in her purse. “I can’t stop reading it.”

A romance novel? I’m not sad and pathetic (well I was, but I obviously wasn’t ready to admit it), I don’t need no stinkin’ romance novel.

Yet, when I stood in line at the grocery store a few days later, I saw it.

A Knight in Shining Armor.

Counting up my tip money, I chose to forgo a few non-necessary items (beer) so I could buy that book.

For the next few nights, I sat up and read the rich story of a woman, Douglass Montgomery, and how she was stuck in a relationship she couldn’t figure out how to escape from.

I swear, Ms. Devereaux had to have been looking in my window. The character even had the same color hair as I did!

As soon as I had a moment in my day, I’d read. If I were in the bathroom at home, I’d read. I’d stay up late and read until the wee hours of the night until I’d finished it and discovered how Douglas made her escape.

When I put the book down, I realized, I had to do something else because what I had happened so far wasn’t where I wanted to be in even a year. Looking at my sleeping, deadbeat boyfriend, I realized my life would never change unless I made it so.

Within a couple of weeks, I left.

I called my family for financial help and told them everything. Then, my mother said the two words I needed to hear. “Come home.”

A wave of relief washed over me and for the first time in a long time, I felt free until I had to confront him.

What did deadbeat do when I told him his paycheck was about to walk out the door? It wasn’t pretty or polite, but that’s another story.

I got out of there alive and in one piece, that’s the main point.

It took me three years to work myself out of debt. During that time, I worked up to three part-time jobs at a time and returned to school full-time. I earned my LVN (LPN) and within two years of that, I’d earned my RN.

You may be asking why I would write all this for a blog entry.

When we write and tell our stories, we’re hoping to string a bunch of words together that make sense, but what I think many authors can’t appreciate is what their stories can do for their readers.

They can broaden a child’s view of the world, encourage conversation, and yes, can help a woman save herself from a situation when she’s almost given up.

Ms. Devereaux wrote such a passionately strong and vivid story, I’ve gone back and read the book four times. Plus, I’ve learned a very valuable lesson: my assumption of those who read romance novels was horribly skewed. Romance readers want good stories and an escape from life for a little bit. They are passionate, intelligent, and fantastic people not sad and pathetic.

Now it’s 2012 and I can look back on that part of my life as the dark moment. Sink or swim and I swam and not only survived but excelled and promised one day, I’d write a good story too.

I can’t say my newest book, Worth the Weight, is going to save anyone or make the kind of impact Ms. Devereaux’s book did on my life, but my greatest wish is that it does give people something that A Knight in Shining Armor did to me…hope.

Hope to believe in yourself when all seems lost or too complicated.

Hope to appreciate what you’ve accomplished and what you can accomplish if you stop and take baby steps each day.

Or something more eloquent by a woman I greatly admire, Mother Teresa, “We want to create hope for the person ... we must give hope, always hope.”

Worth the Weight~~ November 14th, 2012
Soulmate Publishing


Monday, October 01, 2012

So, today, I...
Got some brie and Waffa crackers? How about Triscuits and cheddar? Never mind, Ritz and Cheeze Whiz will do--because I have plenty of whine and I'm about to share it with you. You'll need sustenance. 

First, and I know, this  bit is my own fault, I just couldn't stop researching to go to sleep this morning. After I read some cool freebies by Alyssa Brio, and some crappy freebies by...let's call this author Anonymous, and ultimately got a three second call from my British actor friend --Yahoo is beginning to seriously annoy me--I tried to sleep. (Who DID catch up with me later, as you'll see) 

I was in and out when my sister went off to work. Shortly after that, though, someone else tried to go to work and failed...their car complained strenuously. 

A little later, the big bird--my daughter's bird (I love the guy, and I call him mine when he acts like he loves me back)--well, he likes a little song and dance in the morning. I get that 9:00 AM is actually late for birds to get up. Still, it's early for me. Regardless, I played a few songs he likes but weren't obnoxious to my half-asleep self. I should tell you now that I'm bad company when I wake up, no matter when that is. Doesn't matter to Banana, though. He wants me front and center until he gets sleepy again. So, no going to the bathroom! Only, that's a must for me first thing. A MUST!

So, Mr. Big Green Bird and I settle our disagreement and move on with our day. All is well...until I decide to take a shower. 

I won't paint you a vivid picture here, but let's just say, things fell apart. I use a wheelchair--no leg strength and perpetual dizziness. That chair--nearly new, top of the line, ultra lightweight--started to fall apart. The brake went sideways...I always have problems with brakes. The side guard seemed to shoot forward when I tried to move from chair to shower bench. And then! And then! The whole thing just shot forward in a tilt. Mind you, I'm transferring to a lightweight, aluminum and plastic (think Rubber-Maid) portable bench. It didn't absorb the sudden shift in weight as easily as you'd think. 

I'm so glad I installed that extra gripper thing on the edge of the shower wall. 

Finally, after my shot--hit a vein, of course, so lots of blood *sigh*--the bathroom follies were over.

What follows here are bits and clips from various conversations that took place through the early hours of the morning until now (names have been changed to protect...somebody):

I.M. --4:00AM
BonitaTx: Oh, girl! I knew it! I knew you'd start dating again!
Me: What? Hi. Dating? Me? What are you talking about?

BonitaTx: Tom! You know--that guy who brings you flowers and all. Tom! I saw it on your blog.
Me: We're neighbors. Buddies. Close friends. And why didn't you comment? Are you allergic?

BonitaTx: Guys don't buy flowers for no reason. You're dating. You bought him that cup. 
Me: We've never gone anywhere together. We've never had a meal together. We're friends. It was his birthday.

BonitaTx: Whatever, girl. You're dating. Accept it.
Me: He's a great guy. Considerate, lives nearby--unlike -- oh good grief. We're not dating. it's none of your business, and get a life.

BonitaTx: You're dating.

Phone 9:30ish AM:

"Hello, J.! Sleep well?"
>"You woke me up, Ed."
"We start early around here. So...have you given any thought to that article?"
>"What article? No. No thought."
"Oh, come on! It could do us a lot of good. The business would pick up, who knows what could open up for you?"
>"Ed. I don't teach anymore. I don't want things opening up. I want sleep."
"Don't try to tell me you don't need money. You're home all day. What do you do all day? That writing thing can't pay very much. I don't hear your name on the news."
"J.? You there?"
>"You know what, Ed? Never call me again. Write your own article..."
"Look, don't be that way. I'm sorry I demeaned your hobby..."
>"Ed. If you're bleeding, call 911. If you're dying, call your mother. Never, ever call me again." 
"J..." click
I went back to sleep.

I.M. (not that long ago)
Bic: All right, GiGi?
Me: :) Bic! What's going on in the exciting world of stage and screen?

Bic:  Who's this Tom? I thought he was your neighbor?
Me: He IS my neighbor. SO? 

Bic: What's with all the pressies? Flowers?
Me: Good lord. What, you just read my blog, didn't you? From the beginning, I suppose? and no comment? What's with that? 

Bic: I had down time. It's not like I can ring you directly.
Me: You could. As long as you don't wake me up. I'm not human then.

Bic: Like that cockup this morning, I s'pose? What of this boyfriend?
Me: No boyfriend. None. Tom is a dear friend. He's a great guy, and if I did have a boyfriend, I'm sure I couldn't do much better.

Bic: Are you sleeping with him?
Me: ...

Bic: Well?
Me: In light of our years of friendship, I'll answer that nosy, intrusive, none-of-your-business question. No. We are not. 

Bic: What do you mean you couldn't do better than Tom? 
Me: What is WRONG with you, Bic? Are you having some kind of a tantrum? You and I are friends. Longtime friends, yes. Platonic, longtime friends. No mushy stuff, no boy/girl stuff Friends.

Bic: We've talked about sex.
Me: Yes. When you feel like being gay--because your significant other is annoying you somehow. That's it. And frankly, that's plenty.

Bic: No need to get shirty. I'm just pointing out that I'm equally as good a friend as this Tom. And I would make a fine boyfriend, if the circumstances warranted. 
Me: What a baby! Yes, I'm sure you would make a great boyfriend. As for being a better friend, I can't say. Tom visited me in the hospital, brings me plants and flowers, in spite of the fact that i kill them, every time...and I can talk to him pretty much whenever. You, not so much. Besides, this isn't a competition. I've written you into several stories and a few longer books.

Bic: That last one, Metamorphose? I wanted to be Wynn, but you made me Rand. I thought you were going to change that. 
Me: *sigh* You're kidding right? They're both British, you can be whichever one you wanted. If it makes you feel better, I've never written Tom into a book.

Bic: It does. Thank you.

I have a headache. I'm going to go write for awhile. And that's it for now.  

J.J. Massa
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