Tuesday, 8 January 2008

Rubber chicken moments….

I did not blog yesterday. Why? Many reasons which I will not bore you with. So I am stamping “never to be discussed” on Monday’s date and drawing a big, black line under it as well. Why? Because I Canhmmm…good name for a book.

Okay – by the way it’s Tuesday. Why do I mention this? As much as I love Blogger that little bugger has problems with time stamping my blog entries for Down Under with the right time and date. So, as long as we all have that straight. If you are reading this it is Tuesday – unless you read it tomorrow then it’s Wednesday – ok?


I was out doing my morning hour long tramp around the neighbourhood in the name of health and fitness and all things boring when I came across this unusual sight. You know how black cats crossing your path are bad luck and that ducks are good luck? Well what does a toy rubber chicken on the sidewalk mean? I stopped in my tracks and looked at it as it’s not something you see everyday. It was 5am and no one was around but me and the rubber chook. It’s one of those moments when you either contemplate your place in the universe and the existential eccentricity of a world beyond what our primitive nihilistic culture can fathom in our endless quest for meaning – or you step over the chicken and keep walking. A rubber chicken is, after all, just a rubber chicken – no meaning I can see.

"It just seems wrong Amarinda

…you know to write about sex" – an acquaintance told me. Why? 'Well it just is." I see. When pushed she explained that she did not want to read about a man’s ‘parts.’ I suspect she met his genitals and not his arms or legs. The beauty of books is that they have warnings. This contains sex means just that. If you have problems with men’s ‘parts’ then by all means I would suggest you do not read about them. I would not expect anyone to read anything they are not comfortable with. I did ask her how she felt about things like Michelangelo’s beautiful sculpture of David. “It is okay but then ‘it’ wasn’t all out there.” ‘It’ I discovered means the man’s ‘parts’ thing again that are apparently so wrong to write about. Okay, good to know it…when I say ‘it’ I don’t mean 'it' as in a man’s ‘parts’ again but ‘it’ as in normal everyday language. It is most confusing to a simple romance writer. Sadly, my acquaintance did, to my mind, miss the point of the book as she was so focused on not reading about ‘it’. The book is romance – plain, crazy, muddled but essentially two people falling in love. Maybe she is subconsciously more interested in ‘it’ than she likes to let on....

Stare me out? I think not…

I wandered out to get petrol for the car and the lawn mower. Yes, exciting – not – but on Tuesday the petrol is cheaper for some reason unknown to all. Anyway, as I was filling up Ida, my car, this average looking woman was staring – well really glaring - at me a couple of petrol bowsers away. I locked eyes on her and stared back coolly. After a few moments she couldn’t handle it and she looked away. Never seen her before. Anyway I went inside to pay, clutching my discount docket (love those) and she came in after me. As we waited I felt her eyes boring into me. I turned around and said “Do you have a problem?” Amarinda – Queen of Confrontation. She got all flustered. I continued with, “I assume that you must otherwise you would know how incredibly rude and possibly insane it is to glare at someone for no reason.” She turned bright red and did not know what to say. Why would you glare with hatred at someone for no reason? I did have my Betty Boop t-shirt on – maybe she hated Betty. Anyway, my point is why would you do that? I don’t have a problem if you don’t like me. That’s fine. But at least have some reason in your mind as to why otherwise you look like a tosser. Oh. And by the way, I cannot be out-stared – just a warning if we ever meet.

On – Kelly left us with -

Emmerlinda strode purposefully from the room, brushing aside the flower girls and the ring bearer. She elbowed the maid of honor and yanked up her skirts exposing her trim thighs, flexing under each deliberate step toward the minister. The minister in disguise....

"I know who you are Choltax and this time you won't get away with your evil plan." Everyone had thought the peeler was a weapon to contend with. They knew nothing about the weapon tucked in her garter. She reached for it and aimed for Choltax....

I’m going with…

Zoltan slapped Emmeline’s face. “You’re rambling incoherently. I told you not to drink so much.”

“They offered.” Emmeline clutched her head and felt woozy. She looked at the smiling half naked villagers that plied her with more fermented coconut juice.

Zoltan snatched the cup from her hand. “And for god sake stop chanting ‘Choltax must die’. The natives are getting restless.”

Emmeline looked blearily at Zoltan. “I love you,” she slurred.

“You are as pissed as a newt aren’t you?”

“I think I just ate one of them. They’re crunchy.”

“If we are to get out of here alive with the diamonds we need to agree with whatever Choltax says – okay?”

She hiccupped. “Okay.” Zoltan threw a cup of water in her face. “Hey!”

“You!” Choltax pointed at Emmeline.

Uh oh. “Yes?”

“We need a virgin.”

“Sorry, you’re out of l­u-”

Zoltan quickly placed his hand over her mouth. “Emmeline would love to help out.”

She pulled his hand from her mouth. “Er – hello? Me a virgin? Was that you on our honeymoon?” She whispered furiously.

“This may be our only way out of the jungle.”

“I’m not sleeping with him.”

“No, I think he just wants to throw you into a volcano.”

“Oh – what?” Emmeline was rapidly sobering up.

“Seize him!” Choltax ordered.

Emmeline looked at Zoltan. They wanted a male. “Oh yes, Zoltan by all means let’s help them.” She watched as he was dragged to his feet.

“Emmeline, those diamonds belong to both of us.”

“Sorry what? I can’t hear you over the drums.”

What happens to Zoltan next? Is it likely his estranged wife will save his arse? Visit Anny on tomorrow for the answers.

***Attention avid book readers – there be competitions on
Check it out to win.
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?


barbara huffert said...

You're out a 5 AM? I'm impressed. There's got to be a story behind the chicken. Perhaps you should investigate?

I'm surprised your friend didn't ask when you were going to start writing real books. Hm, seems to me that books with sex are just as real is not more so than books without. Some people just don't understand romance writers...their loss.

Molly Daniels said...

I'm so off my schedule, I'm having trouble getting up at seven! Want to swap households? Just kidding:)

Anny Cook said...

Good morning, AJ. I put that chicken there just to see if you noticed it. Hmmmm. Wonder what I should toss out there next?

Zoltan is back! Yay!

Phoenix said...

A frog. Toss out a frog with great big dark green spots on it. It must be a stone frog though, and in it's mouth a profound message that will universally shake us to the core. Yes, a frog.

Phoenix said...

by the way... hate random glarers. It's like being virtually slapped and spit upon. What was she thinking? Did she never say? Did you cut her off on the way to the pump? What's up with that?

And deary, I'd never glare at you. I might stand and grin at you like an idiot for a few minutes but I don't glare unless royally pissed off. And that takes a lot to do.

Mona Risk said...

How can you be up at 5 am? I have trouble opening one eye before 8am. And then I need my coffee to open the second. There are ten days left for my book release. I should be excited and happy. But I am depressed, worried, terrified, nervous, sleepless...

Sandra Cox said...

Good for you for meeting that stare head on. I hate it when strangers glare at me.