Saturday, 31 March 2012

Get back in your box...

So, I was a boot camp and we had to pair up with someone else to run through a course. The pairing up did not depend on being of equal fitness nor did you have to do the same thing at the same time. It was more about balancing numbers and everyone having an equal chance to do a particular exercise. Sounds simple? Sounds fair? Well no, of course it can’t be if you are a so called pretty or cool girl and you are paired up with one you perceive as being less than magnificent than yourself. What am I talking about? Yesterday, I experienced something I had not come across since high school. Someone tried to dismiss me as not worthy of being in their presence. Oh fuck off, I say. That person? A skinny, angular chick who considers herself too beautiful to be around anyone less than her supposed equal. When paired up with me she made it clear I wasn’t in her league. What is it with these women? Why do they never grow out of that high school mentality? Are they frozen in time and too scared to move on fearing that if they do not maintain that plastic, bitchy edge then they have nothing? I tend to believe that is the case. Lordy they’re sad, pathetic creatures. And being in your league? No thanks. I’d rather eat bark.

Anyway, I stepped away from exercise Barbie and paired myself up with an ‘uncool’, dishevelled bloke who was standing all alone. No one should be discriminated against when it comes to exercise or sport because the thing with sport is that it’s universal. It matters not who you are, the colour of your skin, your weight, how you look or if you have the longest legs or the shortest shorts. It’s sport. It’s sweat. It’s effort. It’s determination. It’s about having a go. Frankly, I don’t give a crap if you deem yourself too damn beautiful to associate with others and I'm sure as hell not going to fall apart if you don't like me.

For the so called ‘cool’ girls who think they are just too perfect? Grow up or get back in the box you came in. We need real people not the simulated kind. We have enough of those in politics.

Friday, 30 March 2012

Toad Day Out...

Bob Irwin will join with Cairns Regional Council to protect Cairns’ unique ecosystem at this weekend’s “(Not Just a) Toad Day Out”. The event will provide information about pest species of both animals and plants, combined with children’s activities and a cane toad collection point.

“We will have prizes for the heaviest, live toad brought in and the heaviest
collection of toads but, as the name suggests, we’re concentrating on more than just toads this year,” said council’s coordinator of natural areas management, Russell Wild.

See what excitement we have in the tropics of Cairns? More importantly we have to beat slack arsed rival town Townsville’s count. Shouldn’t be hard. They’re soooo average.
Come to Cairns. We’re fun, quirky and hot. What else could you want?

Thursday, 29 March 2012

Insert superficial here…

I was having a long chat, as I do, with the lady who pours hot wax on my skin and tears strips off me – and I pay for it – yes, madness does abound in the Jones family – and we were talking about her clients and the weird things they do and want. Its fascinating stuff and excellent conversation despite the circumstances. Anyway we were talking about men and what they have waxed – amazing things that I had never contemplated before - and waxing their backs came up. Neither she nor I could fathom why some women – insert superficial here – object to body hair on a man. What is that about? Who is so frigging perfect that they can point at another and demand perfection?

Have you ever noticed in romance novels that men rarely have hair anywhere? Is it a requirement to be hairless in order to be loved? Here’s the conclusion we came to. We like men to be men. We expect a certain rough masculinity because essentially a man is a man and we like that he’s not a Ken doll. You want him to wax his back for you? How would you react if he tells you to lose weight, have a Brazilian or have your boobs done before he will love you? Think you’re perfect? I can guarantee you’re not. Remember that when you expect someone to change for you.

Wednesday, 28 March 2012

I believe anyone can do whatever they like….

…as long as they do not willingly hurt another by their actions…this brings me to smokers. I do not understand why people who smoke feel that because they have this habit we all have to cut them slack and that it’s apparently unfair that they’re barred from smoking in certain areas. Boo frigging hoo. Take your second hand smoke somewhere else.

In Australia we have very strict rules on where you can smoke. Today, at work, a bunch of people, not related to my workplace tried to challenge those rules. So there I am at my desk and I look up and it appears outside the building is on fire. It’s not. It’s smokers standing bang at the front of our office door inflicting their poison on our staff who are coming and going and too polite to tell the smokers to bugger off. This is where I come in. No, I’m not big on rules at all but people who believe they have a right to smoke where they want without regard for anyone else? Na-ah. Not on my watch. I went out and politely told them to bugger off. They did.

Smokers – you want to smoke? Do it away from everyone else. We’re trying to remain as healthy as we can. Whining about having to smoke in certain areas and not being allowed extra smoke breaks to compensate for a weakness? When we all get extra chocolate eating time off work then we’ll support you. Until then – suck it up and realize that we don’t have to be politically correct and support, condone, indulge, have it inflicted upon us or understand your habit.

Tuesday, 27 March 2012

Miss Jones....

“For god sake isn’t every single bloody ménage ebook the exact same? Its fifteen thousand words of in-out, three up two down, Baby oh baby I love you and you and you – please save me from the evil-doer then please shag what little brains I have left out. All of you. Harder. Faster. Now. Yes, bring the horse along too. And we’ll all live happily ever after. It’s like the seven dwarfs discover Snow White’s a girl with whorish tendencies. Yes, yes by all means email me if that upsets you as a writer.”

So, I got an email from…well, let’s call her Lottie Lust. She’s an author who writes ménage and she was kinda pissed at the comment above.

“You have no idea what you are talking about. Not all ménage is the same. Mine aren’t. Miss Jones ménage means sex. I write erotica. Erotica means sex.”

First up – thanks for the email. Secondly, it depends what day of the week it is as to whether I know what I’m talking about. If it’s after boot camp then never. And no, of course your book is different to everyone else who is writing ménage…if you say so. Miss? I prefer Ms. And ménage means sex? I would say bollocks to that. Actually bollocks is as close to sex as ménage is…maybe closer...

menage - a social unit living together;
family, household, home, house
broken home - a family in which the parents have separated or divorced
conjugal family, nuclear family -
a family consisting of parents and their children and grandparents of a
marital partner
extended family - a family consisting of the nuclear family and their blood relatives
foster family - the family of a fosterling
foster home - a household in which an orphaned or delinquent child is placed (usually by a social-service agency)
menage a trois - household for three; an arrangement where a married couple and a lover of one of them live together while sharing sexual relations
social unit, unit - an organization regarded as part of a larger social group;

n. Vulgar Slang
1. The testicles.
2. Nonsense.

But hey, opinion is good and if we all agreed on everything there would be peace in the world and that would be bizarre.

As always, I stand by my words.


So, I got stuck in a flash flood yesterday and Verity, my car, died on me. Later many, many people would tell me it never floods in that part of the city. It does. It did. Been there. Done that. Have a cranky car to prove it. Anyway, I got me and the car out of the flood water by phoning a friend when my half arsed girl efforts to start the car failed. My friend turned up and told me what to do. It worked.

You know, sometimes you can’t do everything yourself. Yeah, I know. Freaking amazing concept but it’s true. I’m not good at asking for help but I did and it wasn’t hard as I thought it would be.

Thank you friend.

Need help? Ask. We would willingly rush to the aid of another yet when it’s our turn? We’re dumb about raising our hand.

Another huge lesson learned.

Sunday, 25 March 2012

Rate it, write it, trash it….

A thousand years ago when I first stared writing I had no idea what I was doing. I figured I’d put something out there and see what happened. The first story was called Rose Perfect and it had no sex at all in it. One well known publishing company at that time, who has since gone under, said it would never sell and give up. The words ‘Give up’ to me are a challenge. I sold it to Cerridwen Press, the now defunct arm of Ellora’s Cave. As I got more confident as a writer I started to write for EC. Big money could be made there. At that time there was a rating system when it came to sex at EC. I can’t remember what it was exactly but it basically ran along the lines of hot romance stories were sensual and no plot, anal sex/ménage/ MM stories were extreme and that’s where you made the big money. So people wrote to get the hotter rating and the bigger sales. Writers on writer’s loops agonized over whether they could write anal sex to make more sales. No really. It’s true. Then EC got rid of the rating system and that’s when I think it all went down hill and got sluttish in eBook land How so? Well, at that stage Ellora’s Cave was the premier place to write at. To get a contract there was huge. Now? It’s no better then anyone else. No, I’m not bashing EC. They’ve about done bashed themselves to death over issues of payments and loyalty. But that’s another story. The point is ratings divide writers and talents – and no talents. Five flames? I want that rating. I only get 4? Are you kidding me? Did you read what he did to the heroine in chapter 3 with the coffee cup, a pen, a hair clip and three candy bars all while riding a horse? That was 5 flames baby.

Why am I bringing all this up? For the last couple of days I have been solidly writing. It’s a romance story with a plot and some sex. Yes. Bizarre. Will it sell? I have no idea but I’ll put it out there and see what happens. But in writing this story it reminded me why writers are supposed to write. It’s not because we all want to jump on whatever bandwagon is hot at the moment. For god sake isn’t every single bloody ménage ebook the exact same? Its fifteen thousand words of in-out, three up two down, Baby oh baby I love you and you and you – please save me from the evil-doer then please shag what little brains I have left out. All of you. Harder. Faster. Now. Yes, bring the horse along too. And we’ll all live happily ever after. It’s like the seven dwarfs discover Snow White’s a girl with whorish tendencies. Yes, yes by all means email me if that upsets you as a writer.

There are writers who specifically write no plot ménage because they know it sells. And it does. So what does that say about us as writers and readers? The hotter the perceived rating is or best selling genre may be we’ll sell our soul to write it? Is that a good thing? Do we write from our soul or for the money? Do we have any respect for readers? As for readers - are we so blinded by the need to read sex that we no longer realize there’s no plot? Do we have any soul left at all? Do we know what real romance is?

I dunno…it certainly has me thinking that things are about come full circle…

Saturday, 24 March 2012

Just give me the facts…

I won’t lie. I got through University using Cliffs Notes. What are they? Condensed versions of a book that set out the facts and main points without all the drivel in between.I have no idea who Cliff may have been but what a beaut bloke he was. He saved me hours of time trying to wade their epics of intense boredom like The Pilgrim’s Progress – really Christian should have got it at the slough of despair and we would never have had to hear about that annoying bugger again. And the The Scarlet Letter? That’s supposed to be passion filled epic novel. All I could see was a spineless wimp who knocked up a local woman and then refused to do the right thing by her. He should have joined the other one in the slough. But I didn’t, as much as I wanted to, write those thoughts in my assignments. I diligently read through that main points that Cliff set out and then re-wrote them in Amarinda-speak. Cheating? Maybe. If you do it badly and get caught. Do it well and no one knows and that gets you an A.

My point is this – we waste so much time analysing stuff or listening to long-winded crap that I say there should be Cliffs Notes on everything – school,work, politicians, supermarkets etc. Let’s not piss around with the boring bits of life. Give me Cliff’s version and let’s get on with life.

Bums are bad...

The offending bottom by Isobel Goddard can be bought here -

Friday, 23 March 2012

Does my bum look big?

So I was pulling on my trackie daks (track pants) for boot camp this morning and I asked myself that age old female question – “does my bum look big in these?”

Why as women do we obsess about that size of ours arses? It’s because we can’t see them without being either a contortionist or using a mirror with a mirror to see said arse. That’s why women ask their partners. They hope their man will give them the right answer. And yes, that can indeed be a trap for a man. There is no right answer. What is the correct thing to say? No – could indicate that you’re not paying attention or you’re lying and a woman can always tell when it comes to bum issues. And if you say yes? Well, that’s never going to be the right answer because we really don’t want to know if our arse looks big and hey stop looking at it if it’s so horribly enormous. Really, no on can win when it comes to bums.

The answer to my question this morning? Yes it does look big but not as big as it used to. Drop a shirt down over to cover it and I can live with that.

Thursday, 22 March 2012

Men, sex and sidesaddle....

So, I was talking to a male friend and I mentioned something like ‘one of your girlfriends’ meaning one of the women you know and are friends with. I then discovered that ‘girlfriends’ to a man is different to girlfriends for a woman. Women can have female friends who we call our girlfriends. We chat to or have lunch with and are, in the simplest form of the word, friends. However men apparently view girlfriends completely differently because of attraction and sex. Girlfriends to a man are not platonic. A relationship is involved. A 'relationship' with a girlfriend involves sex or the need to find a way to have it. Okay, so what are women called who are just friends with a man? 'Friend.' Seemingly you don't have sex with friends. So women fall into two defined categories when it comes to men it appears. So what you say? My point is, and I do have one, is that if you are called a ‘girlfriend’ by a man and he isn’t, as far as you are aware, attracted to you are you missing some sign that he is - because let's face it men are harder to read than pukeable Pilgrim's Progress...not the Cliff Notes version....loved that...and then you have to work out what to do with what he feels for you. Or if you really like a man and are hoping for more and he calls you a ‘friend’ then do you just give up on what you feel for him?
Women – we have boyfriends, male friends, partners, husbands and lovers. You’re all likely to get a crack at having sex with us regardless what we call you…and you may also miss out on sex. We don’t split you into categories. We’re logical in our relationships. Sex? Yes. No. Maybe....there are no Cliff Notes when it comes to women. You're either lucky or not.

If the world were a logical place, men would ride side saddle. ~Rita Mae Brown

Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Licking pointy bits...

So, I got an email response from a friend today that said something along the lines of it was ok not to be able to do a certain thing because like elbow licking some things aren’t possible. Naturally, I tried to lick my elbow. I couldn’t. Go on, try it. You know you want to. If you can’t and desperately want to have the ability to lick long range pointy bits then I have the instructions. Actually, there are heaps of instructions on the internet on the art of elbow licking.

"If you cannot see or feel if you are actually licking your elbow, put an edible substance, perhaps salt, sugar,lemon juice, etc. on your elbow -- if you taste the substance you know you're licking it. You can also ask someone to watch, unless you are afraid you might be embarrassed if your attempt fails. You can also take a picture or look in the mirror to see. Don't get frustrated if you can't do it, it's a very rare trick to do."


I particularly like this bit –

“Your tongue is bound to feel overstretched after this exercise, this is normal, it will stop shortly after you do.”


See what happens when you question man’s inhumanity to man, the price of eggs, the wisdom of the ages and ask the universe where you’re going and what time you'll get there? It all comes down to elbow licking…

Tuesday, 20 March 2012

Zen simplicity...

So a couple of months ago I saw a Buddhist monk walking along the side of the road about 5 minutes from where I lived. It was an unusual sight in the middle of a rainforest valley. He looked like he should have been walking in Tibet. I thought I was dreaming it so I doubled back in the car and went to have another look. He had disappeared. Huh. I conceded I was mad and went on my way. Mad is ok. It’s works for me. You have less to explain when you’re nuts. Today, I saw the monk again. He was stoically trotting along in his robes and sandals with an umbrella in hand. I waved at him. He waved back. I drove on thinking to myself that it’s nice, that despite his calling, he is realistic enough to not expect the God he worshipped to protect him from rain. Would that all religion were so simple.

A bit wet...

Sunday, 18 March 2012


Rape is rape. Being forced into marriage does not make it right. This is sickening and sad and no woman anywhere in the world should accept this. But some will. Why? because it's not happening to them. Think for 5 minutes what you would do in this situation and then say it's not your problem.

Wicked woman…

So, I blaspheme a lot. Yes, I expect to go directly to hell without much discussion. It was indicated to me that blaspheming – Jesus, Christ, God – etc is wicked and I should stop. My response back was ‘telling other people what to do is stupid and you should stop.’

Whether you like it or not, blasphemy is part of life. We’re no longer in the dark ages of the Inquisition or dodging issues like whether a King of England can change religion because he wants to get his rocks off with another woman. Life has changed. Language has changed. It always does. It’s meant to otherwise we would be theeing and thouing and forsoothing all over the place. Language is about fluidity and cultural identity. We change with the times. Vernacular changes. No one is wrong or right. And blaspheming is no different. If you don’t want to use particular words then don’t. But, by the same token don’t expect other people to adhere to what you set as your standards.

As for the presumption of being wicked? I consider it more as the freedom to be yourself and follow your own rules without fear or favour…swear to god…

Saturday, 17 March 2012

It's not's you...

Everyone but me and thee are mad and thou are somewhat suspect….

My mother used to say that. Words to live by…

Thursday, 15 March 2012

Cover up that arse…

“….consider visible women's nipples, areolas and male or female uncovered butts as nudity. A minimum requirement for butt-shots is a thong."

Yeah…sure…a thong covers a lot don’t it? Unless they mean an Aussie thong….

What a funny old world epublishing is.

Wednesday, 14 March 2012

Tin-pot gods...

I have been reading a thread on another blog about this woman who has never published a book yet slams other writers and readers for their books or reading choices – and to top it off she was been given some moderator powers to rule over what comments others make on a book site. Oh, and she writes but from what I gather it’s just for herself to read yet she’s a fantastic writer. Uh-huh. This fits into something I have been thinking about of late. Who are these people who set themselves up as tin-pot gods and why is it they always manage to weasel their way into positions of power without any of us realizing it before it’s too late? I’m thinking it’s because we’re all out living life and achieving real, substantial things and these tin-pot gods slowly manipulate power until we realize that they’re on the scene and we’re stuck with them. Politicians are a good indicator or this or people who run school boards or parent/teacher committees or PayPal.

So why do we let them do it? First up I believe we’re all too busy and they’re not so they use that to crawl up to whatever level of tin-pot goddery they can before we realize and by then they’re entrenched. Think of chewing gum on your shoe. There’s also the theory of the ‘the great man’ in history who comes along and changes/disrupts worlds, not necessarily for good, and we’re stuck with those changes. Essentially tin-pot gods are insidious. How do we fight them? It’s not easy because their usually arse kissers. It has to be on a combined level and that’s we’re the problem lies – we’re all too busy….it’s a vicious circle.

* Tin-pot god – lacking real substance. Think about those schlock
1950’s movies where villages in the jungle would worship a old battered tin pot because they had never seen one before so it must be good.

Monday, 12 March 2012


On the Cairns Esplanade this evening, it was pouring down rain, I was sopping wet, my hair was plastered to my skull and neck, I was covered in sand from boot camp exercises and other people had given up and dropped into a walk because it was wet and hard to do. But I ran ‘til the end. Why? Because I could and four weeks ago I could only run a bit. But now? I run to the end and feel damn good within myself when I do. One woman asked how did I get so good? Determination baby. Never, ever give up. I like that about me. I like it a lot.

Go on - you can do whatever you want...

Sunday, 11 March 2012

Of tosspots and unicorns...

One of the local candidates in the upcoming state election came to the door and spruiked his stuff. I stood and listened because it was polite to do so and he did seem earnest in what he said. In essence he wanted me to believe in cupcakes, unicorns, sunshine and lollipops. He was articulate and charming. He listened to me at that moment but I was well aware he would not necessarily listen to me later if elected. He mentioned the party leader. I said ‘he’s a prick’. He was a tad taken aback and his response was ‘women don’t seem to like him. Possibly he comes across as arrogant.’ No ‘possibly’ about it sunshine. I explained how rudely this party leader treated my parents many moons ago when he was just out of Uni. He was a friend of my brother. My parents weren’t up to his speed and he let them know it. They had no real money, other than hard worked for savings, and they had nothing that was of use to this tosspot. So he treated them like crap. My mother did get back at him in a politely, deadly succinct way as only she could, that let that little prick know that he had messed with the wrong woman. The candidate said ‘Oh, well, men will still vote for him.’ I pointed out to him that men are very influenced by women. He looked at me like that was something he hadn’t factored in.

Politics. What goes around comes around…

Saturday, 10 March 2012

Keep your legs together ladies...

"What we say is that in order for Mom to be able to go on welfare if she has a child out of wedlock, you have to tell us who the father is,"
"If you don't tell us who the father is, you're not eligible for any welfare benefits, none, not even medical care. You tell us who the father is or you don't receive benefits." Santorum argued that his proposal could persuade single women to slow their sex lives, which, in turn, would lead to less out-of-wedlock parenting. "If Mom knows that she isn't gonna receive welfare if she doesn't tell us who Dad is, y'know maybe she'll be a little more careful, maybe," he said."Or maybe she gives us a list, say 'Well it could be one of five,'" Santorum went on. "I mean, y'know, I don't know what she's gonna do, but at some point we're gonna see her cooperate." Santorum’s proposal raised a number of questions. For instance, what if the mother wasn’t sure of the father’s identity? To that possibility, he proposed even greater government involvement.
"We say to Mom that you tell us the wrong name, and we'll bring that guy in and we'll do a blood test and that's not Dad, you lose your welfare benefits... Not till you tell us another name, but till we find out who Dad is, we establish it." At a meeting in Williamsport, Pa., in March 1994, Santorum advocated that teenage moms should be ineligible for welfare, arguing that a main reason they got pregnant in the first place is because "they get a pretty big cash benefit." Santorum's focus on mothers during a report from that March. The paper noted that "his bill would encourage states to refuse welfare to unmarried parents, require unmarried minor mothers to live with their parents, and the bill would reduce federal payments to states that do not achieve high rates of paternity establishment."

Social commentator and finder of wacky news Abigail-Madison Chase, who I regularly read, posted this on her facebook page. It’s what Rick Santorum, one of the many insincere looking, big white teeth, can’t-trust-any-of-them-contenders for the US Presidential race said. I say show me someone with crooked teeth and scars on their hands and I’d vote for them. But I’m not in Yankee-land. However I am concerned which nonghead gets in next because they have the power to truly fuck up the world.

Anyway, this Santorum guy said all this in 1994. Yeah, it was a while ago but people don’t change that much.

"If Mom knows that she isn't gonna receive welfare if she doesn't tell us who Dad is, y'know maybe she'll be a little more careful, maybe," he said."

Well exactly. Its women who make men have sex. Men don’t want to have it.

Clearly, what needs to happen here is all women who are unmarried are immediately to be handed chastity belts, wear black flowing robes that cover them from head to toe, be forbidden to even look at a man and basically if they’re not married by 30 they should be imprisoned as recalcitrant. Or if you believe in equal rights then maybe just don’t vote for this Santorum nitwit.

I’m thinking this Rick bloke needs to go to a quiet place, lie down, have a long nap and leave the world alone.

Friday, 9 March 2012

Not dead...

...just working on ways to get around stupid, anal, prudish rules made up by people who are full of bollocks.

Thursday, 8 March 2012

Sliding doors…

I was organizing accommodation for various people so they could leave the office thus leaving me in peace…no wait…that’s not it…they had to do business stuff far away out of the office, again leaving me in peace. Anyway I had to organize stuff in one town that I lived in for a short period as a kid. My father was in the army. Like most Army brats we travelled a lot. We saw a lot. We learnt a lot – fast. As I scrolled through the various internet sites for this town, lots of memories came back and I wondered what my life would have been like if we had settled in one place and never moved. No, it’s not realistic but it was interesting to ponder how I would have changed, who I would have missed out on meeting and would I, in essence, be any damn different to what I am now. As a friend and I often say ‘it’s just another sliding door moment….’

Wednesday, 7 March 2012


So I was at Woollies – Woolworths Supermarket for non Aussies – and I was in the personal care aisle buying a specific L’Oreal night cream – because I’m worth it – and it was on sale so I was extra worth it - and there were 7 boy teenage boys a bit further down the aisle discussing condoms. Seriously. They were taking packets down – they’re always on the top shelf – and reading the merits of each. They were deadly serious in their research. I had to go past them, and they stepped aside respectfully, possibly scared I would run them down because I had the edgy after work look, and I said ‘school project boys?’ because there was major discussion going. Several went red and I just said ‘Good for you. We don’t have enough real men around.’

Condoms? Up to you whether you use them. I’m not about to preach but it was good to see these guys, undoubtedly horny as hell, were taking sex seriously. Maybe the future isn't will be...carefully.

Tuesday, 6 March 2012

The brains trust...

At work there is a group of people that is considered the brains trust. They do deep, analytical stuff that I’m sure is probably going to be of some huge scientific merit that will change mankind but can they find a new container of coffee? No.

I get a call at my desk. There is no coffee. Yes there is. I’m the office manager. I mange everything from toilet paper to the D-Day landings to expenditure to cars almost running into the building…that’s another story. Anyway, I replied with those enigmatic words ‘look in the bloody cupboard.’ Which cupboard was the response? I walk to the kitchen and looked at them, then at the cupboard then back at them. They looked at me. I think to myself thank the cosmos I have average, street level, rat cunning intelligence and can manage things like finding coffee. I point to the cupboard. They look at the cupboard and ask ‘is the coffee in there?’ Yes, I respond but I make no move towards the cupboard as I want to see what they’ll do next. They continue to look at the cupboard as do I because I can almost see the cogs turning in their head as they analyse the cupboard. ‘Is there milk?’ I point then to the big white thing called the fridge. They nod and consider the fridge. I then say ‘all good now?’ They make no move to get either the coffee or the milk. How long they stood watching the cupboard and the fridge I don’t know but I expect the brilliant of mind were calculating the wind speed variables of their move to the fridge and whether the displacement of the air around them could indeed have some butterfly effect on the rest of the world.

Monday, 5 March 2012

Been thinking about…

…dating agencies and whether I should…

Where are all the good men?

Sunday, 4 March 2012


I had a dream that made me wake up in a horrible fright. It was ghastly. Wrong. Frightening. I was having sex with someone I knew that I really don’t gel with at all in every day life. In fact they drive me nuts with their anality and frankly I try real hard to avoid them because I generally want to head butt them. Don’t you hate dreams like that? The 'what the fuck' feeling stays with you all day. Shudder…ick and puke...

Saturday, 3 March 2012

Censorship is bollocks...

"Freedom of speech means that you shall not do something to people either for the views they have, or the views they express, or the words they speak or write." Hugo L. Black, U.S. Supreme Court Justice 1963
Damn straight Hugo...

Kit Catlyn…Hot As Hell…

Who is Kit Catlyn? No, she’s not me. I have enough trouble with the names I do have. Talk about Heinz 57 varieties. But Kit? She’s a one off…an original and one of the few very good authors that do not go inundating us with stuff. What she writes is good and solid and worth reading. As for hot? Hot as Hell, baby.

For a limited time there is a 10% off this book at All Romance E-books. Go on, do yourself a favour…

The Blurb…

Faire-man, Adan Edward’s impish aunt is always up to mischief. But this time she surpasses herself when she places a wager with the devil. The stakes? Redemption of Satan’s beautiful minion against Adan’s soul. One look at the sultry beauty and Adan’s willing to risk it, unaware the results will be Hot As Hell.

The excerpt…

He entered the Demon Lounge, smiling at the appropriateness of the title. Leave it to the woman to find the hottest new club in South Beach. He stood at the top of the stairs, his hand on the black iron balustrade breathing in the scent of alcohol and such a flagrant mix of perfumes that it made his nose twitch and his head spin. The band played a rock and roll number from the sixties.

His gaze, like every other male in the bar gravitated to the woman in red on the dance floor. There was no doubt, she was thoroughly enjoying herself as she swung under her partners locked arms, her silky dress flaring, revealing a marvelous set of legs atop stiletto red heels. Pure joy radiated from her smile.
For a moment, he forgot to breath. This woman might be made for sinful pleasures, but she was also made for love and life not death and the pits of hell. He wondered what had sent her there.
As Adan made his way down the steps and across the crowded floor to the bar, several women caught his eye, an open invitation on their faces. He nodded but kept going.
“Scotch on the Rocks,” he told the bartender. As he waited for his drink, he looked up and saw his reflection in the wide mirror. The male looking back at him with dark brown eyes would have passed for a man anywhere. The only sign of his wings were two knots on his shoulder blades and those were hidden by an expensive gray shirt. He shifted his gaze to his trousers and plucked a small piece of lint from the black silk.
“Here you go, sir.” The round, balding bartender set the glass down in front of him.
“Keep the change.” Adan passed him a bill.
“Thank you, sir.” The bartender lifted the glass, passed a white towel along the wood, returned the glass and walked away.
The cool tumbler in his hand, Adan took a sip of the liquid, letting it run down his throat and warm his stomach. He turned, leaning his elbows on the counter, and watched the dancers. In particular, one red dress that flashed like garnets against the dark smoky dance floor.
The band switched songs and began a slow bluesy number.
The woman looked up seductively into the big jock’s arms she danced with. He gathered her close.
Adan took another sip of Scotch, studied the two then set his glass down and pushed away from the bar. Winding his way between the dancers, swaying back and forth, he tapped the big burly man on the arm. “Cutting in, mate.”
Adan was six-two but the man the demon danced with towered over him and had a neck as thick as a tree.
“I don’t think so, mate,” the jock emphasized the last word and swung her around.
In a smooth blur of motion, Adan once again stood in front of them. He looked directly at the demon. “Before this goes any further, do you have a problem dancing with me?”
“No problem at all.” Her cobalt eyes warmed with sexual heat, her gaze traveled from the top of his curly close-cropped black hair down to his expensive Italian loafers, giving him a slow seductive smile.

Kit Catlyn’s other work is here -

Friday, 2 March 2012

It’s been a week….

….where I’ve run and rushed and sat on my arse and pondered life. I’ve eaten healthy yet lusted after the evil of life. I’ve read about censorship, obscenity and dealt was tinpot god bureaucracy and I still believe everything I do is right. Sex is wrong, right, never gonna happen and yet who’s that over there? I’ve lusted, lied and longed for sleep. I’ve been asked ‘why don’t you ever stress out?' I’ve responded that I stressed out in my early life and now nothing can break me. No, you don’t have to understand me nor I you. I’m unique and frigging fearless. I’ve smashed words, watched books strand and romanced e-books. I’ve fixed, manipulated, watched and waited. I’ve been told I look much thinner but as only the overweight can, I only see fat. I am fearless, fantastic and a fatalist. I know what I’ve learned in this life I’ll take to the next and probably bugger up different stuff. I don’t care, I don't know, I don’t need but yes, I’ll have some chocolate please. And the universe’s gift to me? That I am who I am and I would never want to be anyone else – and its Friday….ahhh…how sweet it is. Hoping you are the same...or different...that's up to you.

Thursday, 1 March 2012

Pukeably Crapacious...