Celibacy and Suburbia and Bob Hope (dead you know) Stirs Controversy at Life by Chocolate

Dears, 
  Most months zip by, but August has been a long one. Am I right? I hope it's been kind to you, though.
  Next week, Tuesday, September 6th, I'll launch my silly little book ~ Celibacy and Suburbia. To build anticipation, I asked some big-name folks for quotes.
    First, Janie Junebug, sassy, heartfelt Queen of blogland and all else, said that the book "hits the G-spot of hilarity."
   The others' administrative assistants shouted obscenities at me before ending the call, blocking my number, and tracking my every move. So I made stuff up: Donald Trump said "I'd hit that little woman so hard, I would. I'd pound her face so hard it would spin. Her terrible writing, oh, it's getting worse. Engel's writing is absolutely killing this country! It's killing us all. Let's make America hate short people again, really. We need to build walls around short little people like her. The midget Muslims in Mexico, oh, they'll pay for it, they will. I'm so good looking. They're gonna pay." Martha Stewart said "Dress it up with a delightful springtime salad. I'll add lightly roasted pine nuts and a handful of juicy tomatoes from my garden. Use diamond encrusted handcuffs and one liter of hot wax for the dessert portion and viola! It's really quite a lovely feast. You and your guest will be satisfied for days."

And now, a brief preview of this small three-part book:

Part I. 250 Reasons for Celibacy
Me Man You Woman
Headline need help, Tarzan.
I am a professional, 6'2" of Italian decent.
Well, I suppose that's an upgrade from French offensive.
Funner than your ex
So is a colonoscopy.

Part II. Mock Talk (from my IWSG series)
Robyn says to Tori Spelling: You played a virgin for seven years. How'd you pull that off?

Part III. Calenderotica

From Thanksgiving Erotica: 
We're ravenous, so let's indulge.
Take off your belt. Expose that bulge.

That's it, my sillies.
Be well, stay well, and keep a stash of chocolate around in case of emergencies. Establish and hold yourself to a very liberal definition of "emergency."

Naughty Teacher: TeachErotica!

It's back to school time, and I'm a strong proponent of higher education. Learning is good. Learning by doing, even better. Gentle yet decisive individualized hands on guidance? As good as it gets! Enjoy. Wink.

PS I had all sorts of tech issues when I attempted to post an updated version. Thus, I'm subjecting you to Martha and her Dad bod. So sorry!

 

This and a year's worth of poetic erotica are coming soon to an Amazon link near you. I'll be publishing Celibacy and Suburbia. (I'm currently awaiting a paperback copy to proof, before I decide on the launch date.) Also in Celibacy and Suburbia are 250 dating ads with my mockery, plus a slew of interviews that I did for the IWSG/Insecure Writer's Support Group. It's a fun and zany 77 pager. More news to come.

Take good care of yourselves, dear sillies.

You are loved, by me and many others. Hopefully, this does NOT include Martha.

True Love & Woman on the Verge of Paradise

Kindly note: I am standing closer to the camera with knees slightly bent and less of a curly top. This is to say that I appear even shorter than I am. I swear, I'm slightly taller than him. Really, I am.

Last week, very special people visited Chico; my nephew and I had such a great time. Here we are in the Chico Plaza. A snippet from Woman on the Verge of Paradise follows. It takes the reader to 2010, when I'd just said "goodbye" to my then three year old love bug.  I've learned through J. that true love takes many forms and has no end.

---

 They’d only been gone an hour when one lone tear trickled down my face. I didn’t expect or quite understand my emotional state. We had such a great, fun-loving time. I couldn’t get enough of my nephew, but I’d see him again soon.

   Why am I feeling this way? I wondered. It was as if I’d said “goodbye” to someone I loved dearly. That’s why; I had.

   But this was different than having said “goodbye” to Justin when I went away for a weekend, or having to continue to say “goodbye” to Justin every day for perhaps the rest of my life. It was a softer, warmer, much sweeter “goodbye.”

   It struck me that I had just said “goodbye” to the love of my life, the new one. Being Josiah's Auntie is pure heaven. His beautiful beaming smile, flavored with a heaping teaspoon of mischief, tickles my heart.  He adores me too. I can tell by the way he body-slams me with an elbow to my rib cage, a choke-hold taxing my windpipe, and a stinky foot pressed leisurely against my nostrils—all accompanied by ferocious laughter. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please take care, my friends. 
I know that some of you are really struggling now, and my heart is with you.
Love yourself and know that you are loved. 

Chocolate Stout Cheese and Progressive California

Dear Friends,

I hope August is treating you well. It's not my favorite month, and I'm sorry I haven't been around much. I'm working on a little book for ya, but technical challenges have had their way with me. I didn't enjoy it either. Don't you hate that? It could be much worse, though; in fact, it'll be fine. I'll share more about Celibacy and Suburbia in the coming days and weeks. Stay tuned.

For now, I had to sample Rogue Creamery Chocolate Stout Cheese . . . for you.

Pretty label, and the cheese is a white block -- nothing fancy. It was expensive, $10.99 for 8 ounces. I splurged, because it shouted at me to make the purchase. As you can see it's made with actual chocolate stout.

How is it? Meh. I mean, it's better than those cheap zippy packed cheeses. It does taste rich and high end -- like a mix of cheddar and swiss. I could taste the stout, especially in the after taste. But what about chocolate? I ate the whole thing in search of chocolate. I couldn't taste it. So I had to run out for a hot fudge sundae. I had to. Otherwise, why bother eating all that chocolate cheese. Right? Makes sense to me.

In summary, don't buy Rogue Creamery's Chocolate Stout Cheese, unless you have a strong craving for stout cheese. In that case, spill some beer on a slice of cheddar. It's cheaper. I give the cheese a 3 on a 1-10 scale.  It's not terrible. It's just terribly mis-labeled and missing chocolate.

 

On an entirely different note, I'm so proud of my progressive, open-minded, liberal state of California. Look, we even have Trans parking spaces! Wait, maybe that means "Transportation." But isn't everything that requires a parking space, a form of transportation?

Is the world getting weirder and less logical? Maybe it's just me.

Take care, my sillies.

Flat-Faced Dog Lover, Part II.

Fred and I were going to see each other for the second night in a row – a good sign. (Right?) As I drove to the taqueria, I said out loud and to myself: “I like him, and I’m pretty sure he likes me. I'll likely get a kiss. It’ll be good. Or it won’t be good. Either way, I’ll know if I want to see him again.”

We decided to share a taco salad, and we sat side-by-side – a doubly good sign. (Right? Right?) Fred and I chatted about our respective work days, family, dream travel destinations, other significant and trivial matters. Everything seemed to be going really well.

The salad was so humongous, we couldn’t finish. I agreed to take the leftovers in a to-go container. Fred carried the food and escorted me to my car.

The deciding moment arrived. We stood by the passenger side of my car. Fred handed me the to-go box. I opened the car door, placed the leftovers on the passenger’s seat, and then shut the car door. Kissy, kissy now? “I’ve gotta go let Heidi out!” Fred blurted, dashing to his car several yards away.

I briskly followed him like – I don’t know – a puppy in heat. There they were, man and dog. Fred held onto the end of Heidi’s leash, fully focused on her. “She needs fresh air,” he reported. “Go ahead, sweetie,” he told her, as Heidi explored a nearby patch of grass.

What to do? I pet Heidi. “She’s pretty.”

With one hand firmly grasping Heidi’s leash, Fred extended his other arm to impart a flimsy cold-to-lukewarm side-hug. “I’d like to get to know you better.” (Bad sign. Good sign. Weird sign. Right?)

“Sure, be in touch,” I responded.

Driving home, I said this: "I like…no I liked him…What the hell!? I won’t compete with a b*tch for a man’s affections. Not a b*tch with two legs! Not a b*tch with four legs!"

Flat-faced Fred never called. It’s just as well. I felt inclined to bark at him, and that might’ve turned him on. The man gives new meaning to the term “dog lover.” 

Perhaps there WAS a kiss that night, and I was not the recipient. So it goes.

~the end.~

The Flat-Faced Dog Lover

His on-line dating profile boasted more photos of his dog than of him. Single guys love their pets, I figured, and that’s sweet. Plus we had two very nice, lengthy phone-conversations. Fred was educated, kind, liberal-minded, and a good decade younger than me. This, a refreshing change. 

So it was with rising optimism that I parked my car at the tea house. And then it was with deflated dreams that I watched a scrawny, casually dressed man step out of his beat-up gray Mazda. A shadowy figure dominated the passenger’s seat, and I realized it must've been his beloved canine.

I stepped into the tea house, and Fred immediately approached. He had a flat face. Presumably, he still does. But as we sat across from each other in a comfy booth, the man grew on me. He’s a fairly easy communicator, I thought. He met all the main criteria in dimmed lighting - which gave his face a semblance of dimension.

The bill came. “Do you want me to pay my part?”

“If it makes you happy.”

Well, it wasn’t going to make me happy, and I only had tea. So I quietly allowed Fred the full opportunity for happiness. 

As we meandered towards my car, I learned that his dog, Heidi, was waiting for him. “We go everywhere together. It’s what we do.” Before I could register the oddity of Fred's enmeshed relationship with a female dog, he enveloped me in a warm embrace – the kind that got me worked-up and wanting more.

I got home and texted: “Thank you for a very nice time.”

He responded: “Would you like to get together for dinner tomorrow?”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

We made plans for date #2.  

To be continued in the next few days.