I Can't Make These Doodz Up

Yeah, I know I'm a writer and all but I can't make my friends up. Nobody would believe me. For instance, the group of whackjobs with whom I roamed during my (cough) formative years were known as THE BEACH RATS (some of them seen at left in warmer times). It was a crew, a clique, and a band... not necessarily in that order. This past week one of our fringe-crew showed up in town and we crashed at my BFF Roxy's house... later we re-crashed at my XBF and other BFF's house.

Rob Dossier is known to his friends as DOZER. Rob should not be confused with Arthur Dodd, whom I christened The Artful Dodger, or DODGER, for short. Dodger and Dozer never played music with us, but then again... calling it music was pretty expansively generous.

While we were sitting around being obnoxious at one another I got questioned by Petie, BFF, about the progress of my current WIP. This led to questions about the subject matter.

"What's the book about?"

"Well... it's a romantic-comedy-space-opera. It's about a bunch of hippies at Woodstock who get high and have sex with aliens, who impregnate them to save their infertile race. Years later a space cowbody named Chance, who flies a ship called The Ponderosa, comes back to earth to claim one of the hybrid offspring and take her back to his planet to help rejuvenate the population... only there's weird stuff going on and..." And then I blushed. "Um, it's kind of weird, but when you're actually reading it, it's funny and entertaining. Also it has homicidal kitties."

Now, with any other crew I'd get serious crickets chirping here. My gang? All sitting forward on the edges of couches, chairs, and patches of floor. (OK, leaning forward on patches of floor, since the edges would not be in the same places as their butts.)

"Really?" Dozer, gawd love him, looked genuninely curious.

"Yeah, I was going great guns but with everything going on right now I've slowed down. Plus I hit a wall with a mess of social issues that want to be in it."

Again, anywhere else on the planet, the subject would have changed already.

"What kind of issues?" asked my ex boyfriend and current great friend, Timmy.

"Well... the moral questions surrounding the idea of disposable life. The idea that all life is sacred and worthy, and the idea that seeking perfection in a race of human beings will lead to dystopia and injustice, because every living thing deserves respect, praise, love. Which sounds like it won't be funny, but it stays funny." I squirm.

"Well, yeah," says Dodger, "what with the homicidal kitties. That's gonna be funny no matter what, right?"

And I could cry. Because yeah... exactly... and omg does it feel good to know I have a room full of people NOT changing the subject, NOT thinking I'm an idiot, and asking because so-help-me-gawd... they actually want to know.

Good times... good times.

I Smell

It's been a terrible week for my skin due to many forces: medical treatments, stress, the change of seasons. So last week I stopped wearing perfume (which I love) and started using honey-milk lotions by Burt's Bees and my own home-made honey products: body scrub, shea butter and honey balm, etc. So I smell like honey. It's a nice scent-- soft, powdery, and warm.

Now, one of the things I like to do for my little nephews, god-children, and friends' kids is cook. And one of the things they love most of all are a pair diabetic coma dishes. Captain Crunch Waffles and Captain Crunch French Toast. I crush the cereal to make a bread crumb base, use it outside the battered french toast, or add it into the waffle batter before pouring it into the irons. It gives an incredible, sweet, caramel-ish crunch. Plus you add crunch nuggets and honey syrup... err... and whipped cream because... well, I am trying to kill the children.

This morning I was heading for Boston to be mangled and abused by the torture artists at the PF clinic when my phone went off. I was running behind, but when my BFF Roxy calls, I answer. She's like my own EF Hutton. Sort of a BFF Hutton.

Her son, John, was home sick and wanted to borrow a computer game of mine. So I took a side trip, pulled in, ran into the house, and delivered the goods. Before I left I got a huge hug. But the best part of my day so far?

As I was leaving I heard John say to his mum "I love Chrissy. She smells like Captain Crunch waffles."

K. That was made of the warm fuzzy stuff, right there. :)