Knackerdom...

So, the Unbreakable contest has closed. Thanks once again for the huge response. I think the koala t-shirt did it. There was a t-shirt with a possum on it but after my run-in with Mervina, possum, pest and bon vivant, I am off possums. Anyway…I have sent best friend Ethel a list of names and I expect a phone call shortly. As soon as the winner is notified by email and responds, I’ll bung the name on the blog. Due to the huge response for this contest, I will have another one shortly…watch this space.

I am knackered (bloody tired). I have spent the whole day renovating the laundry. Is it finished? No. It’s the whole Rome wasn’t built in a day thing…I think it took 2 days because they had to get the pizza ovens in. Anyway, the laundry is on its way to looking lovely. I tell myself that because otherwise I have spent all day wasting my time. The good thing is all that apricot paint has gone. Now, I personally have nothing against that coloured paint. It’s just that I am sick of looking at it. Years ago when I was extremely cash strapped, someone gave me 10 litres of apricot coloured paint free – yes – correct – a lot of
things got painted apricot. Anyway, while I was waiting for the men with the new shelves to arrive– yes I piked out (gave in) and decided I didn’t have time to make shelves besides pre-made Aussie built ones came in a lot cheap compared to Amarinda built ones. Anyway, where was I? Apricot paint – yes, so I decided to paint out all the apricot paint. Now, I have a lot of half cans of paint. No two rooms in my house are the same colour. It’s a mood thing. So now the laundry is half crimson and half teal. No, it’s not pukeable – it’s rather wild and I like it. I also hope the huge, tattooed delivery man and his mate like those colours too because the paint wasn’t quite dry when the shoved the shelves in and they left with a mix of teal and crimson on their backs. I was going to tell them but they looked awfully big and a tad beyond me, so I decided discretion being the better part of not getting into an argument with scary tattooed people, I would say nothing. Besides I think they thought I was odd anyway because when they arrive I was munching on a tomato and had just stuffed the whole thing into my mouth (yes, I do have a big mouth) in order to free my hands to do something and they looked at me kind of funny. Possibly I looked a tad odd with my cheeks full, not able to talk and giving hand signals as to where things should go...

Injuries sustained? One bruised finger and one split lip. Moral of the story, don’t hammer things and don’t pull things towards you or you’ll smack yourself in the face or lip in this case. But on the whole, other than being covered in paint, not much physical harm done to myself at all.

So, due to my state of knackerdom – okay, maybe it’s not a word – maybe it should be a word – it’s a short blog as I want to go collapse on the sofa like the big wuss I am. But never fear, Anny, Regina, Barbara, Sandra and the other good folk to the left on the blog list always have amazing things to say. Check ‘em out.

Marlow’s Curse - review

Stories by Amarinda Jones are always hot and steamy, yet also filled with amusing conversations to keep readers entertained all through the book. From the beginning of MARLOW”S CURSE to its conclusion, emotions are evident and they run the gamut from humorous to anguish to overwhelming desire. Though the plot started in the first book of this series, there is plenty of background in this story to inform readers of just what is happening and causes them to care about the hero and heroine. Marlow and Sybylla make an unusual couple, as he is a vampire and she is a witch. Ms. Jones throws numerous obstacles in the pathway to them finding any true happiness, and each one adds an interesting side to their personal stories. There is much going against these two from the beginning of their relationship, and they must look deep within themselves for answers before they can move forward. Although their longing for each other is off the scale and is depicted with fiery intimate moments, their deep caring for the welfare of the other is just as strong and is powerfully shown by their actions. The ruthless nature of Scar is vividly portrayed through his merciless deeds, making me want to see him receive a fitting punishment. MARLOW’S CURSE proves the power of love with fervent desires and tender compassion.

http://sensual.ecataromance.com/index.php?p=773

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Ah, the beauty of a long weekend....

When you cannot get a compliment in any other way pay yourself one--Mark Twain

It’s the Queen’s Birthday weekend. I am a staunch republican but for a day off on Monday I’ll celebrate any bloody thing you want. Actually Liz’s birthday is in April but it works better for us to have it in June because there are a lot of public holidays around April. Yes, we care deeply for an English queen who has done nothing in her life but have people call her ‘your majesty’ and be waited on hand and foot. It’s ridiculous in this day and age. But good luck to her. I wish her no ill. I just don’t understand why we need to be tied to a monarchy that has stuff all to do with who we are as Aussies. I think my maternal, pure Scot grandfather Bill, husband of Elsie - the would be silent movie star, summed it up best when he said. “When she (the queen) sings god save Bill then I’ll think about returning the favour.” I think that’s fair. By the way, to the best of my knowledge she never sang god save Bill.

*Eureka flag – symbol of independence since 1854 in Australia. Based on the Southern Cross in the night sky in the Southern Hemisphere.
* Republican – against the monarchy

Last day for the Unbreakable contest. I have been overwhelmed with entries. Thank you. I will email just the names only to best friend Ethel who will pick a name out of the proverbial hat. I have told her no rabbits but you cannot guarantee what that woman will do. The answers can be found somewhere in the book or they are 43 and Ethics in the workplace. How easy a contest is that? Now the questions. Correct, I refuse to do anything the right way around.

Question 1: What subject does lecturer Dash Lomard teach?

Question 2: How old is India Blake?

Email the answers to amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au. Please put ‘Contest’ in the subject field of the email. The first correct answer, drawn at random, to those two specific questions wins the Aussie gift set in the picture. The contest closes at midnight (USA EST) on June 6th. The winner will be announced on the blog after they have been contacted by email. Good luck.

Now, to give you a break from reading my waffle, I have asked, actually I demanded, two fantastic authors for excerpts of their hottest selling books. And yes, of course you can click on the cover to buy…shopping is easy at the Amarinda blog…no, I get no commission…hmm…I must look into that. I am will be back tomorrow to regale you on my renovations and associated injuries from them. Blood will flow...because I am clumsy…


“Djinni and the Geek” By Cindy Spencer Pape - Available NOW at Ellora’s Cave – it’s a red hot adult excerpt.

Excerpt:

“Oh hell.” He groaned and crushed her to his chest. “We are never going to get anything done if we’re in the same room together are we?”
Her tears were forgotten as she burrowed into his chest. The strong bands of his arms encircled her, and she felt wetness pool between her legs. Why did it seem she could never get enough of this man? She was no novice at sexual relations, had enjoyed them with some of her masters, but with David she was experiencing a continual state of craving for his touch. And that was like nothing she had ever felt before. Still, she saw no reason to deny them both the pleasure and relief that they could find together. There was a small glass pane in the office door but it had been covered over with papers and cartoons. “Did you lock your door?”
“Uh-huh.” His hands were already sliding up under her sweater. “I usually do when I’m breaking federal law on my computer.”
She shifted her hands to allow him to tug the soft pink wool over her head, taking her ivory satin bra with it. Then he pulled her out of her chair and into his lap, filling his hands with her breasts. His mouth crushed down on hers, fierce and hungry.
Her breasts swelled and ached as he shaped them with his hands while his tongue plundered her mouth. She shifted in his lap until her knees straddled his legs and her pussy—another word he had taught her that morning—rubbed against his cock. It wasn’t enough, she wanted him stuffed up inside her but his hands were doing such wonderful things to her taut and swollen nipples that she could not bring herself to move.

Marriage Plot, by Kelly Kirch – regency romance out June 17th from ResplendencePublishing.

Caroline chewed her lip and flipped the next page and the next—ten pages in all.
A hand dropped on her shoulder, startling a gasp from her.
“Are you finished here?” Nicolas smiled down on her.
She looked up into his handsome face. His twinkling eyes mocked the deepening shadows.
Her second challenge—to convince Nicolas they were made for each other -- seemed even more daunting than the first. Her attempt to create his awareness had fallen ill with her kiss. A normal courtship took time, but not knowing how long Nicolas would remain at Braeton put a decided crimp on her plans. Well, that and the fact that he still thought of her as a girl, which the yearning in her breast asserted she was not. She must change his mind, yet propriety and pride kept her from bolder action.
“I’ve got you at a bad place, haven’t I?” he mused.
Indeed he had. Badly in love, badly wanting, craving his affection as she had for the past nine years. Only, nine years ago, she had a different interpretation of what type of affection she needed. No longer content with the youthful idea of a quiet word of praise meant for only her, she wanted more from him. Something which began with a kiss and ended—where? To have him look at her with longing, as he had looked at the governess at the Winter Ball years ago.
Penelope had read his frequent correspondences to his family. She had participated in recounting the tales of his youth that all the girls knew, having grown up in the close proximity of Worthington township. Nicolas was a man of character, strength, humor, and loyalty.
He was precisely the man she knew he’d become those years ago when first she’d discovered her affection for him. The man her father could not have been for his gambling prior his death. Nicolas was a man of her brother’s ilk, whom she respected above all others. That he and her brother had remained close friends at university solidified her assessment of his character, because her brother was discerning in the extreme.
“A bad place,” she said now, stumbling over the words, wondering if he could imagine what she had been thinking.
Nicolas removed his hand, motioned to the journal. “In the midst of something?”
“Oh.” She clapped the book shut. It was too dark to write and would soon be too dark for a proper lady to be found in the sole company of a gentleman. “Yes, I’m ready to leave.” She stood, collecting the materials together.
Marie’s light-hearted laugh tinkled merrily from the yard. Nicolas’ gaze traveled beyond the door, smiling fondly at the scene of Marie covering her face for a game of hide-and-go-seek. His eyes danced.
For once Caroline wished Marie was not so very beautiful. That she did not have China blue eyes, golden locks, or an exuberance for life which made one wish to see the world through her. And that she was not the only person Caroline had ever met who carried around a ray of sunlight which singled her out for the stunner she was. It made the transition to Caroline, standing in the dim room with hair the same shade as the mud in the yard, singularly depressing.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Thursday...

I had this dream last night. It was so real that I woke up shaking. It was eerily similar to a book I have just written and got a contract on with Cerridwen Press. What was the dream about? Lots of things but it culminated with this man, I know, standing so close to me that his cheek brushed mine and I panicked – hence the shaking. Not sure why I panicked…hell, 3am the other morning I was downstairs with a broom in attack mode. Weird. It was even weirder that I saw him when I was out shopping this arvo. What did I do? I nodded and smile and walked on. Some things you just don’t mess with and shaking should only happen with margaritas.

I was driving home and there was this huge accident – cops, ambos and firies…er…ambulance officers and firemen… it was a mess. We had to drive by it. People slowed down to look. What the fuck is wrong with some people? What if that was a loved one and everyone was staring at them? How would you feel? Some people make me sick. Curiosity is fine but have some respect. You never know when that could be you. Pull your head in and move on.

Sex in the City…I never understood the fascination with this TV program. The movie is just hitting Aussie shores and people are getting all hyped up to see it. When I say ‘hyped’ up, I mean the cinemas are telling them to get excited and that ‘everyone wants to see it’ and people are naturally following the drum. But then that’s great publicity. Tell people what they want. Make them see, feel and buy. You can’t fault that kind of marketing. Now, I’m sure someone will tell me why Sex in the City is a great movie to see. Please do. I don’t understand how four scrawny, expensively dressed women have anything in common with the average woman other than similar body parts. Yes, I know its all fantasy and there’s nothing wrong with that. We all need escape. But I find advertising that tells me ‘this is a must see movie for all women’ curious. Why is it? I know that women can be strong and independent and in control of their lives. I just don’t see how these women are role models for the average woman. Please explain….

The Unbreakable contest – please see the headless model wearing the t-shirt picture at the end of the blog - is almost over but if you scroll down to yesterday’s blog you still have time to enter – read, answer and email…too easy.

Too Young To Die by Anita Birt has been released today at Cerridwen Press. Yes, you can click and buy on the cover.

For the first time since she graduated from college, Ellie Paxton is unemployed and broke. She accepts the position of "nanny with computer skills" to care for a three month old baby boy and agrees to live in her employer's mansion located deep in the Cascade Mountains north of Seattle
Dying young isn't on Ellie's personal time line and her contract doesn't call for heroics on a grand scale but when the mansion is invaded by armed gunmen threatening to kill her and the baby if she doesn't reveal the passwords protecting her employer's files, she has to choose. Co-operate. Abandon the baby and escape. Or take him with her.

The excerpt

Misery dogged her footsteps. Her feet hurt. Her legs ached. Being scared out of her wits didn’t help. For Nicki’s sake she had to keep going. Had to reach safety.
She plodded on. What time was it? How long had she been walking? Had she made a mistake leaving the house? Maybe she could’ve bargained with the man in black, given him access to the computer in exchange for her freedom.
She shook her head. Not in a pig’s eye, her mother would have said. Why a pig’s eye? Ellie wasn’t sure and shifted the baby from one arm to the other to ease her tense shoulders.
Do pigs know who to trust and who not to? She puzzled over that. Miss Piggy might know. Don’t trust the boss man.
“What do you think, Nicki?” He slept peacefully in her arms. Every step wearied her. Her legs had taken on a life of their own. If she got out of the forest alive and in one piece would her legs know how to quit?
She stopped for a few minutes to catch her breath, glanced around and suddenly realized she could see. A faint pink glow filtered through the leaves overhead.
“Nicki, honey, I think it’s getting light.”
When had they left the house? Midnight?
Her spirits lifted. People lived and worked in the Cascades. Maybe she’d find a logging camp or a house with helpful people who’d phone the police.
She longed to rest. Longed to put Nicki down safely. Longed to sleep.
She plodded on. One foot followed the other. Don’t stop. Keep moving. The forest had to end somewhere.
“Oh no!” She choked on the words.
Two large dogs bounded towards her. Hackles raised they approached stealthily. She huddled Nicki in her arms and buried her face in his blanket. “They’ve sent tracking dogs. We haven’t a hope in hell of getting away. I did my best, sweetie.”
The dogs circled, closed in and sniffed at her and the baby. “Don’t bite,” she pleaded.
Torn to pieces by dogs or shot quickly? She’d choose the gun. Quick and easy if they aimed at her heart or blasted a hole in her head.
As for Nicki. Please God don’t let Nicki die because I failed him.
At the sound of a loud whistle the dogs stiffened. A man emerged from the trees, a threatening rifle slung over his shoulder. The dogs left Ellie and stationed themselves beside the man, their eyes remained fixed on her.
The man walked up to her, frowning. “In the name of all the saints and the Pope himself, what are you doing here with a baby?”
Ellie backed away and bumped into a tree. “Don’t kill Nicki. He’s only three months old. He’s innocent. He doesn’t deserve to die.”
Nerves strung to the breaking point she sank down on her knees. Eyes blurry with tears she gazed up at the man.
“Give me a few minutes to pray then shoot me. Promise not to kill the baby.”
He knelt beside her. “I don’t kill babies and women.” He pulled a red and white polka dotted hanky from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. “Dry your eyes and tell me what you’re doing here. This is private land. No trespassing. Didn’t you see the signs?”
Crackling laughter erupted from Ellie’s dry throat. “No trespassing.” She rocked back and forth. “No trespassing. That’s very funny.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stop laughing. She’d been through too much. He’d caught her trespassing. Where was she? Would he shoot her for trespassing? She clamped her lips together choking back the laughter.
The man slapped her sharply on the side of her face. “Stop it, you damned fool. You’re scaring the baby.”
She jerked sideways and punched his arm. “What do you think you’re doing?” The hysteria died.
“Stopped you screaming, didn’t I?” He smiled showing even white teeth. Even in the early morning light he was better looking than George and the man in black.
Intelligent eyes. No boxing scars. Probably an expert tracker.
“So what’s next?” Too tired to think clearly Ellie waited for the end. He said he didn’t kill babies and women that’s so she’d calm down and make an easy target. A sitting duck and a duckling.
It wouldn’t hurt much. A single shot would do the trick. “Kill me and get it over with.”
“Stop babbling about killing. Got that? Explain what you’re doing on Vinnie’s land.”
Ellie shook her head. If he wasn’t one of them she was safe. But was she? Whoever raided the Blesnicoff’s home would be searching for her and the baby. She’d witnessed the carnage, could identify two of the men.
Sucking in a deep breath, her brain spun out of its death spiral and emerged intact with an alibi. No way would she tell him her name. He might hand her over. She used his hanky to wipe her sweaty, teary face and plucked a name from the past—her high school English teacher.

“I’m Sarah Hargreave. I’ve run away from my husband.” She raised her head. “He threatened me and the baby.”
The man’s gray eyes darkened. “Did you spend the night in the forest?”
Ellie nodded. “I had to or he’d have found us.”
“Then you’re damned lucky. There’s a cougar lurking in the neighborhood. It killed and mauled some range cattle. Good job it didn’t find you.”
A stalking cougar was too much for Ellie. “We could’ve died,” she wailed and sagged against him.
“But you didn’t.” Grasping her hands he stood and helped her up. “You’re worn out. I’ll take you to my cabin. You can rest there.”
“Is it far?” She’d walked all night. Her nerves were frazzled. The soles of her feet burned. Her ankle throbbed. If he said a mile she’d never make it.
“I’ve got a vehicle.”
Ellie almost kissed him. “Show me.”
For now she had to trust him.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

3am, a woman and her broom…

3am this morning I heard a noise under the house…actually a prolonged something or someone noise under the house. So I went and had a look – pitch black, broom in hand and dressed in my pjs. Yeah…I am frigging insane. I have a problem. I fear nothing. I expect that will get me in trouble one day. Do you do dumb things like this? Nah, you’re probably too smart. Anyway, I went down stairs to ‘sweep’ whomever or whatever it was away. Naturally I expected another possum…a very large one by the sound of it. When I got downstairs there was nothing. I believe the sight of me in my pj’s with my feral hair was enough to scare whatever it was away. Yes, I will consider hiring myself out to scare people off if the money is worthwhile.

I am on a mission. Look out…get out of the way…woman with a tape measure…

So what's my mission? I have been slowly renovating the house. I have an old wooden house. Things take time. Things take money. Yeah, I know I'm preaching to the choir. Anyway, I have been thinking about getting the laundry, which is under the house, renovated. It's pretty bloody basic at the moment. I have a new washer but the rest is what I would call orange crate rustic. I have been looking at getting a carpenter in to do all sorts of things down there. Getting one of these creatures is hard. They say that will come but they never appear. Being the sort of woman I am - pushy, bossy and under the assumption I can do everything - I have decided to tackle this project myself. I am, after all the woman who nearly chopped her big toe off when I removed a wall. I am capable of inflicting great damage on myself in the name of renovation. I have the scars to prove it therefore I feel I have the experience to do this reno project on my own. Yes, blood will flow but I have decided I can do this job myself. I say myself because those who would be happy to help me realize it’s not a good idea. Why? Because I like certain things done a certain way and I am capable of working flat out for 24 hours to get something done right. Yes, I am exhausting so people tend to steer clear from offering help when I mention my latest project and I take no offense in that.

So I have been walking around measuring walls, cupboards and floors and scribbling copious measurements down. Can I put a wall in? Maybe, maybe not but damn it I am going to give it a try. What's the worst that can happen? I break another toe? Ha! I have steel capped boots now. And while I haven’t done tiling for a while I reckon I'll give that a crack too. Shelving is easy. Give me a cordless drill and I am capable of anything. Now I just have to find the time…ah yes…time. Apparently though, as I am single I have time. Someone told me this was a fact. This person, who will remain nameless, said single people go to work and come home and then do nothing. Possibly some do. Possibly they live on Mars. I have not met a single person who finishes work and does ‘nothing.’ What do you reckon ‘nothing’ looks like? Do they come home and sit on the sofa and stare into space? Do they wish that had a partner so they could do nothing with someone else? That’s what nothing suggests to me. I put it to you that martial or partnered status has stuff all to do with the ‘nothing’ quotient in life. I also suggest that people who make these statements need to either pull their heads in or look at what they fear in life. Perceptions in life huh?

Daffodil by Anny Cook – it’s hot and it’s out now. Click on the cover to buy – oh and it’s an adult excerpt…

Bart’s interior sleeping chamber Pansy woke alone, shivering with cold. Her tattered dress hung on a hook across the room repairing itself with the regeneration spell she put on it when they went to bed. Back then Bart’s warm body was wrapped around her, providing a blanket of heat. In the dark she patted the bed around her. No Bart. Softly, she called his name. “Bart?”
She heard a snort and then a puff of aromatic smoke wafted over her. “What?”
“I’m cold.”
With a heartfelt sigh, he reluctantly opened his eyes, illuminating the space between Pansy and him. “Well, move back over here. You wiggle around so much when you sleep it’s like nesting with a hummingbird. Jab. Poke. Try to be still,” he grumbled.
Pansy crawled over next to him as he tugged a heavy blanket up and spread it over her small body. She snuggled close, basking in the wonderful warmth he radiated. “Hmmm. You’re so hot.”
Bart grunted and shut his eyes plunging them in darkness once more. “Go to sleep.”
Her hands brushed against the smooth scales on his belly. Fascinated by the silky, slick surfaces, she rubbed her fingers over them in the dark, enjoying the way they felt under her touch. Caught up in her explorations, she didn’t analyze the strange urge to get closer. Rolling on her side so that her breasts and belly faced her dragon, she thrust the coverlet out of the way. With increasing urgency, she slowly surged against his chest dragging her turgid nipples across the pebbled surface.

He opened one golden eye. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I don’t know but it feels wonderful.”
Abruptly, he rolled her on her back, nudging her legs apart and shifted his heavy body down in the bed so that his head was between her legs. Carefully pinning each leg down with a heavy claw, he opened his mouth and gently puffed warm air across her mound. Then his long forked tongue snaked out and flickered across her tight nipples.
With a breathless shriek, she curled up and grabbed at the hard ruffles that lined his jaw. A chuckle rumbled in his chest and he flicked the hard tips again. “So you like that, my Pansy?” His tongue slithered down across her smooth abdomen and plunged in the damp valley between her legs. Her plump folds parted allowing the sweet scent of her cream to drift to his nostrils. He inhaled deeply before sliding the tip of his tongue in her slippery entrance.
Pansy whimpered and writhed on the soft bed. “Uh, Bart? Bart!”
He slid his tongue out and flicked it across her tiny clit. “That’s my name!”
“Bart!” she shrieked again as he slid one fork across her clit while slipping the other back inside her pussy. She wriggled madly beneath his ministrations, yanking on his jaw ruffles. Suddenly, her entire body convulsed as she came, drenching his tongue with her sweet cream. Bart’s busy tongue extended her climax as he eagerly searched out every drop until she shuddered and collapsed into a satisfied heap.
Sliding back up in the bed, he curled around Pansy’s limp body, carefully cradling her against his heat. A quick tug on the blanket spread it over his little faery’s body. He sighed with deep contentment. One thing he’d discovered for himself. Pansy was indeed a virgin. And that meant that he could take her as his mate. A low rumble of possession vibrated in his big chest as for the first time in his life his heart lifted with hope. He resolved to guard her closely. Nothing and no one would harm her in her search for Daffodil’s tooth.

**************

Yes – the contest closes Friday at the stroke of 12 midnight USA EST which is like 5pm my time…see right – that’s the prize. See below…thems the questions…page down a bit and you may just find that I put the answers on the blog…okay I did…

Question 1: What subject does lecturer Dash Lomard teach?

Question 2: How old is India Blake?

Email the answers to amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au. Please put ‘Contest’ in the subject field of the email.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

The Tuesday waffle on...

There is a house in the next street that I used to live in when I was a baby. No, I have not always lived in the same suburb. I am an ex-army brat. You live nowhere for any length of time. Buying Chez Amarinda a street away was just a fluke. When I was looking to buy a house I had, as most people, a limited budget. The bank was prepared to finance me so far – even in this day being a single woman is a risk to take on and I’m not just talking PMS wise – if you have someone with a penis that can co-sign the loan your prospects of more money are better. No matter how far we have come, we have not come far enough. But then being single is my choice so you deal with stuff like that…okay – shut, move on Amarinda…okay I will.

Anyway, before I bought my shambolic house, I looked at hundreds of houses, as you do. I was due to look at the house next door to my current one when I saw Chez Amarinda. Now, it’s nothing fancy but it instantly struck me as the one. It’s like the
person you fall in love/lust with…you see something that no one else may see and you want them. So I paid vague attention to the house I was supposed to see with the agent, all the time looking over the fence to the future Chez Amarinda. Once the tour of next door was done, I wandered out to the front of the house I decided I wanted. I had not seen inside of it but I knew I wanted it. Maybe it was desperation in the fact that I was sick of looking at houses or maybe, it was more like my mother, who had died a few months earlier, was slapping me on the upside of the head going ‘this is the house.’ Anyway, the guy that was renting it was outside and me being me went and talked to him. Did I want to see inside he asked? Sure, but you could be an axe murderer and I am not hormonal enough to deal with possible killers today…maybe next week. Instead I rang the real estate agent on the listing and suggested they high tail it over there if they wanted a sale. The agent skidded the car to a halt outside and I had my first look inside. OMG. It was a nightmare. There were wads of peeling, ghastly wallpaper – bright yellow roses with vertical lines through them mixed with palm tree print – the bathroom was third world and everything needed work and yet I could see amazing potential. No, to the best of my knowledge I wasn’t drunk when I viewed it.

I asked my father to come and see it. I needed someone who could tell me every single thing that was wrong with it. He did. And there was a lot wrong with it. “It’s going to be a lot bloody of work.” So I negotiated them way down listing all the flaws. The area when I bought into it was unfashionable. I would like to say I have a knack at picking up and coming areas to buy into but it’s purely budget that forced me there. The owners were desperate to sell so I got the price I wanted for the house of the peeling wallpaper as it was known for a while. When guests used to visit they were invited to rip off shreds of paper if they were so inclined. All the wallpaper has gone now, as has the cream carpets – they hid amazing wood floors – and I have the house to a livable if messy – okay no ‘if’ about it – messy stage that I’m happy with.

Why am I rambling on? I pass everyday the house I lived in for those first 6 months or so when I was a baby…no, I don’t have any baby photos here. They are elsewhere. But the kid in the picture is me. I still have the same knees, I am marginally taller and my hair is probably the same only now I have a really long fringe (bangs) because I hate plucking my eyebrows. The other picture is Mum and Grandma Elsie in 1956. Every time I

pass the ‘baby’ house, I always think of my mother. She lived there with 2 kids and one on the way during the Vietnam War. My father was a professional solider. He naturally went to war. My parents had no money. When my father left they had to split the tube of toothpaste between them and Mum had two dollars to live on. Mum had no car, no close relatives near by and the area I live in is very hilly and she pushed a pram, pregnant for miles with two kids under three, to get groceries. In those days no one looked after the wives and the families of those who went to war. They had to fend for themselves. I often think how bloody hard it would have been for mum. She never complained. She got on with life and did what she had to in order to make sure her kids had everything. Someone once said of my mother, if there was only one loaf of bread my mother would have fought like a demon to make sure her kids got it. How lucky was I to have a mother like that? I think seeing that other house everyday reminds me that I am the product of my upbringing and I anything I have now is due to that. I believe that’s a good reminder to see, have and never take for granted.

Well, bugger…that was a bit of a ramble….the contest – is still going and there is still time to send in your answers. Questions….

Question 1: What subject does lecturer Dash Lomard teach?

Question 2: How old is India Blake?

Answers? Terribly hard – scroll down and take a squiz at yesterday’s blog.

The prize – see right… email the answers to amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au. Please put ‘Contest’ in the subject field of the email.

The first correct answer, drawn at random, to those two specific questions wins the prize. The contest closes at midnight (USA EST) on June 6th. Good luck.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Meh Monday....

It has been raining all day. Yes, much excitement to be had in Brisbane and surrounding areas. The only problem with the rain? No one seems to be capable of driving in it as some people’s skill levels are shot to hell through lack of use. Crashes abound. And yet I don’t know why. I was taught to drive to the conditions. Wasn’t everyone? Water on the road means its slippery conditions. Speeding to get out of the rain is a dumb idea. Going faster does not mean you will get less wet. It means you will crash and you will hold everyone up and people will swear a lot. So do us all a favour and slow down. It’s not a dodge ‘em car race.

Or course there is always someone the starts whining about the rain. We have been in the worst drought in a century and the phrase ‘Armageddon plans’ was being bandied about yet someone will whine cause it’s wet. Yes, it’s raining dipstick. Rain produces water and water is wet. The rain we have had does not end the drought or the severe water restrictions but hey we’ll take anything. Bring it on.

I stuffed something up today. Oh well…you get that. Someone said to me you’re taking this pretty well. As stuff ups go it was probably a 6 out of 10. It was repairable. If it was a 10 out of 10 and not repairable I would have taken it just the same way because life is too short to be beating yourself up over your mistakes. I have made some beauts in my time. I expect to make more. I know I will. I don’t worry about stuff like that. In fact, I don’t worry at all. No really. I don‘t. I figure if no one dies, I’m not bleeding profusely or going to jail then I’m okay move on. This attitude worries a friend on mine. “You’re not prepared

for the worst.” Which worst am I supposed to be prepared for? Which should I worry over? It’s all too hard. I’ll wait for it to happen then act accordingly. Of course he’s stressed out because I’m not stressed out. So what do you worry over?

A loyal reader pointed out a couple of typos in Unbreakable. Oh dear. I must admit one of them made me giggle. It just goes to show you that nothing is foolproof no matter how many people check stuff. I appreciated her telling me. Mistakes are fixable.

Just heard on the news that an author threw $11,000 out the window of a plane….not any author I know that’s for damn sure….

Other than that, it has been an intensely boring Monday. I even matched my socks. That’s unusual and probably if I didn’t the day may have been more exciting. Of course I’ll never know now what unparalleled mayhem may have happened now will I?

'

The Unbreakable contest is going great guns. 'Quite gobsmacked by the entries I have received. Thanks. But there is still time to enter. To go into the draw to win the Aussie stuff you see on the screen, all you need to do is answer two simple questions. The answers can be found somewhere in the book or maybe at the end of this blog… hard contest? Nah, what the hell…life is too short to make things hard.

Question 1: What subject does lecturer Dash Lomard teach?

Question 2: How old is India Blake?

Email the answers to amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au. Please put ‘Contest’ in the subject field of the email.

The first correct answer, drawn at random, to those two specific questions wins the Aussie gift set in the picture. And yes, the t-shirt comes in XXL – I checked. The contest closes at midnight (USA EST) on June 6th. The winner will be announced on the blog after they have been contacted by email. Good luck.

Possible answers? Hmmm...43 and Ethics in the workplace…

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/

Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

OMG….

On page 9 of The Sunday Mail – in Brisbane – if you’re not in Brisbane then you probably won’t have it..... bummer…anyway on page 9 there is this man who is, I am sure, going to cop a lot of flack from anyone he comes in contact with. Why? Well it seems he is very busy – so busy in fact he wants to hire a ‘virtual wife.’ I don’t whether to feel appalled or just sorry for him as he really does not seem to have a clue when it comes to women in 2008. I think he wants a woman from the 1950’s or possibly a Stepford wife. His requirements for a ‘virtual wife’ – quote –

“So you need to be humble enough to do my washing as well as savvy enough to make appointments with professional people.”

Golly, do you think a woman can be trusted to do both?

“You must be able to clean my bedsheets….You must be able to stack my fridge and cupboards….you must be able to put the wheelie bins out and bring them in.”

Sorry…pardon me while I laugh my arse off…

Hmmm…other requirements are “ironing, shopping, making lunch and dinner, and preparing food menus for his cat.” Well…that’s what a wife does, doesn’t she? What other purpose has she? Funny, sad and probably lonely boy. Naturally all the rad fems are up in arms and rightly so. Sometimes it seems like we haven’t come far enough if there are still men like this being produced in this day and age.

Yep, so he’s busy. Who isn’t? Men and women alike are busy. It’s not a gender based thing nor is it confined to the single or the married/partnered. But like most busy people you find ways to pay someone to do the washing and ironing and look after pets if they can’t without needing a 'virtual' someone – or – gasp – you make time to do it yourself. Why does he have to hire a ‘virtual wife?’ Why not hire a man to do the same job? A lot of men are quite capable of fulfilling all his requirements. So why a woman? Does she have to look a certain way? The whole things smacks of ignorance. Sure, go and hire someone Sonny Jim but take the ‘wife’ bit out of your advert as you clearly do not understand women. Sandra Bullock is apparently his ideal woman. Gee, I have a feeling Sandra would not be waiting obediently at home with his pipe and slippers with a well fed cat at her heels and dinner on the table….


Comment on yesterday’s blog…

I wonder, do books become classics because they were controversial at the time they were written? Does that mean we'll be designated as classics in another 200 years? Think Cliff's descendants will have a little more fun summarizing us? Barbara Huffert

You know, I was thinking about this and I wondering how someone from the Cliffs Notes people would summarise erotica books.

Chapter 1 – introduction of characters – they get naked and have sex – explicit terms are used to describe his ‘love muscle’ and her ‘flowered centred’.
Chapter 2 – characters have sex every where and any how while sub plot is added to make it less like a book where people are just having sex and spending ridiculous amounts of money on condoms.
Chapter 3- characters realize they may actually have more in common than sex – they also enjoy bondage/spanking and maybe are not averse to ménage.
Chapter 4 – threat from bad guy or similar while main characters still going at it like rabbits despite the imminent danger of running out of condoms.
Chapter 5 – the ‘love’ word is introduced making the sex more meaningful. Toys are introduced to add more meaning as well. At least that’s what what the author says.
Chapter 6 – misunderstanding between hero and heroine – no sex for a couple of angst filled pages because she hates him for whatever reason, while he acts stoic/know-it-all
Chapter 7 - Bad guy threatens heroine. She takes care of him herself because she can kick arse with the best of them or the hero does. After the day is saved they have sex
Chapter 8 – Declaration of love, sex, wedding proposal, sex – but no babies as babies are ‘forbidden’ in erotic romance.
Theme: Romance and sex
Purpose of book: enjoyment

Unbreakable has released at Ellora’s Cave…a bit like ‘release the hounds’ I suppose. To go into the draw to win some Aussie stuff all you need to do is answer two simple questions. The answers can be found somewhere in the book or this blog…maybe scroll down a bit if you have not collected enough pennies together to buy…did you look under the sofa cushions? Anyway the terribly hard questions…

Question 1: What subject does lecturer Dash Lomard teach?

Question 2: How old is India Blake?

Email the answers to amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au. Please put ‘Contest’ in the subject field of the email.

The first correct answer, drawn at random, to those two specific questions wins the Aussie gift set in the picture. And yes, the t-shirt comes in XXL – I checked. The contest closes at midnight (USA EST) on June 6th. The winner will announced on the blog after they have been contacted by email. Good luck.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?