Coffee cup physics...

Did you know if you put an empty coffee mug out in the rain, you can sit and watch it fill up and speculate on the rate it will fill versus the speed of the rain versus the force of the rain drop falling into the cup all while you eat lunch? No, me neither. I think it all depends on the mind of the person you’re having lunch with versus inherited insanity verses the quirkiness quotient factor versus e=mc2 and whether you’re having a good hair day. Fascinating what you learn at lunch.     

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.

Wet, wet and annoying…

It’s been bucketing down with rain in Brizzie. That’s pretty unusual. It’s not a sight we see often. Because of this and the ground being so hard and dry, it’s caused flooding and chaos and wonder of wonders we got to bugger off home early from work due to street closures. Actually there was a moment there when I thought I would miss out on going home early because I live in a high ground suburb. Head slap – how foolish of me to opt for safety when I bought the house. When others were all tearing off because they lived out in the boonies or low lying areas, I rued the ‘Heights’ part of my suburb name.

But then a miracle happened, to save me from the file culling from hell…you have no idea how sick of the alphabet I am at the moment. Why do there seem to be 27 different ways to file Mc, Mac, Le, La, De? Or is it just because the previous person, who had a stick up her arse and put all the files together, couldn’t alphabetize like a normal person or used some system from the planet anal. I firmly believe more people should sing the alphabet song when they file. If they did then I suspect there would be world peace ….just a thought…and it wasn’t just the alphabet driving me mad. It was the phone. I swear, in my job, there are people – men - who like to – either - A - drive me mad because they can or - B – are not very bright and do the exact opposite of what I have just discussed with them.

Anyway…where was I?...alphabet….rain…road closures…living on high ground…okay – yep - so I was thinking ‘holy crap I have to deal with LMNOP and XYZ and really just want to POQ (piss off quick) home.' And then the boss wandered over. “You should go home too.” I almost kissed him.

And it was good I left when I did as it was a hell of a trip home. It never occurred to me – well it hasn’t flooded in yonks – that to get to my house I have to pass through all the low lying areas to get to the Heights. Well duh. There’s nothing like driving into vast expanses of water and wondering how deep they are. When I got home and surveyed the flooded areas I winced. Bummer. I decided to avoid clean up until the weekend as there is more rain on the way. I’m also very good at avoidance. Ask anyone. Maybe I’ll avoid the alphabet tomorrow…and the phone...and the email…and men and I’ll just sit at my desk and write sex and give people the evil eye. Now, there’s a plan….

And how sweet is this. I messaged my gym trainer Hugh and said I would not be in due to flooding. He sent one message to say ‘be careful’ and then another to remind me if I had to clean up remember to use ‘my excellent squatting technique.’ It’s all in the thighs, baby…

www.amarindajones.com
www.amarindajones.blogspot.com
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?

Thursday trivia…and a hot new release just for you….

Mad About Mirabelle - winner announced -from the Ellora’s Cave chat where I asked “How long is a piece of string?"

Answers given –
- a piece of string is double the length from one side to the middle!
- A piece of string is as long as you want it to be, you silly girl! If it's to yank out a tooth, I'd say about 12 inches long. If I want it to bind a present, about 24 inches will do. To tie up a man's c..k, I think around 12 inches should sufficiently do!
- Regarding the length of a piece of string...it's as long as you want it to be!
- A string can be a 1/2 inch, 10 inches, 1 yard or it can be a mile, you decide.
- A string is as long as it takes to get from one end to the other
- A piece of string is always about an inch shorter than you need it to be
-Oh man, not the string question! To it's middle to it's end x2.
-How long a string is depends on whether you ask a man or a woman. A guy's idea of 8 inches seems to be different than a woman's

All very inventive. The winner, after enlisting best friend Ethel to once again do her famous throw the names into an empty saucepan and draw out a name trick, is – Jaycee. See what you miss out on if you don’t go to the chats? I’ll have another contest soon.

Are battery powered toothbrushes….

…. scary or what? I bought one of these instruments of death and I know now if anyone comes into my house to attack me I will forget about picking up the steel tipped axe handle to swing at them and head right for the toothbrush. I believe you could put an eye out with one of those if you are not concentrating. I have a habit of doing ten things at once – that’s just me. I never just stand and brush my teeth. I wander around brushing with one hand and doing other stuff with the other. You can’t do that with one of these battery powered jobs. If you hesitate for a second it clacks violently against your teeth impatiently and tears at your gums. Scary stuff. I believe if these were put into the hands of the wrong people, war would take on a whole new dimension.

Someone will always whinge…

We are in the grip of the worst drought Australia has ever seen. Our damn levels are precariously low (we have currently a 20% capacity in the dams) and we have come up with ingenious ways to save water for it is worth more than gold or diamonds at the moment. Over the last couple of days we have had some rain. It is a wondrous sight and a good omen for the start of a new year. We have had enough to give us another weeks worth of water in the dams. Of course we need much more but this is a good start. I was in the supermarket buying carrots and whatever else jumped out at me as I wandered the aisles aimlessly in hunt and gather mode and this woman started bitching to me about the rain. My trolley screeched to a halt at her comments. Her biggest problem was that it was summer and we should see the Sun more often instead of clouds because how is she supposed to get a suntan? I explained to her, in the nicest possible way, that she was a nitwit. I then continued on my way. People…what can you do with them?

Garbage collection day…

… I love it. Why? Because I cleaned up under the house yesterday and threw out an enormous stash of incredibly useless crap that I had been hoarding for some reason or other – there would have been a really good reason at the time it was stored. Anyway, I did find all manner of things including some desiccated bodies that could have been mice, lizards or aliens who crashed landed and crawled under my house seeking shelter. I also discovered I have the world’s supply of useful bits of wood. Any renovator worth their salt knows you never throw good wood out as you never when you will need it. So the bin man cameth today and emptied the crap I had collected and I re-filled it up with more. I was on such a roll that I contemplated sorting out the horrors of the linen cupboard but not even I had the heart for that. Maybe another day when I’m feeling invincible…or drunk.

Went walkabout...

I went for an hour long walk about the burbs where I live. It’s a hilly place hence the reason my suburb has the word Heights tacked onto the end of it. Anyway, I trudged out of my working class suburb and into the next one. It’s a suburb where the houses are big and brick and the streets are all named after American movie stars – why I don’t know. I suspect lack of imagination on some developer’s part. Anyway there is Minelli Court, Stallone Avenue and John Wayne Street etc– yes, excessively tacky. There is a suburb in a town I used to live in that has streets named after alcohol – Champagne Cresent, Beer Boulevard etc – it’s called the ‘plonk’ estate by the locals. Anyway back to the high-faluting suburb next to mine. It’s all very nice and quite interesting to see what money can buy you but as I wandered back into my own little part of the world, with it’s own particular ‘renovators delight’ charm, I thought all the money in the world would not have me living in Charles Heston Road. But that’s just me. Before I bought my house I looked at many. I discarded many on name alone. I will not live Grott Street or Donk Avenue. I am sure the Grotts and the Donks are fine people but no thanks. Where I live suits me just fine. No one can spell the street name properly but as Dorothy said there's no place like home.

Djinni and The Geek –Cindy Spencer Pape – out now through Ellora’s Cave – click on the cover to buy

Blurb:

Computer science professor David Garvaglia is nobody’s idea of a hero. Is he? When David opens an antique puzzle box and finds a Djinni, his first thought isn’t for wishes, it’s how to set her free. Anissa has spent centuries as a prisoner of the box and has dreamed of the day some handsome master would release her. But she also has to adapt to the twenty-first century, and defeat an evil wizard. Besides, once she meets David, she’s not so sure she wants to be freed.

Excerpt:

David shook his head. Today had just been too damn long, and he didn’t want to think about anything any more. He snagged a beer from the selection in the fridge and walked toward the stairs, turning lights out on his way. Good beer was his one indulgence, his one way of admitting to himself that he’d made it in the world. He’d never be a wine connoisseur or a gourmet chef, but he could appreciate the difference between an ale and a lambic.
Finally, he shrugged. Whatever was going on, the gods would reveal it in their own sweet time. He set the bottle on the milk crate beside the bed and picked up the box. With a silent prayer to every god of fools and lunatics, he gently brushed his thumb over the carved flowers on the lower left-hand corner of the box’s top. He moved his callused digits over the delicate inlay and paused when he felt a tiny electrical jolt from the ring. He brushed back against a flower in the upper left-hand corner. Yep, there was the tingle. He could almost feel Anissa’s warm sweet breath and hear her sultry voice in his ear cheering him on.
With just the tip of his thumb, he exerted pressure on each petal, one at a time. With an almost inaudible click, the third petal depressed. A heartbeat later, the box gave another, slightly louder click, and a seam appeared, dividing the box into two uneven halves, following the flow of the pattern rather than a straight line. It resembled a rectangular Easter egg cracking open slowly from the inside.
His hands were big; they almost engulfed the box as he palmed each of the halves gently trying to separate them. He tested a couple of different motions, finally discovering that if he rotated the halves counter-clockwise, the tingle returned to his fingertips. That must be it, then. He twisted slowly, not wanting to accidentally break whatever treasure was inside. When he finally felt the mechanism give, he expected the box to come apart in his hands dropping whatever it contained onto the comforter covering his lap.

Instead, he heard a loud whoosh, as if someone had just launched a missile in the room. The box was hot; it singed his fingertips till he dropped it to the floor beside the bed. Then he coughed as he inhaled a cloud of lavender-colored, licorice-scented smoke. He closed his eyes against the sting of the wispy tendrils. A second later, he opened them again. The burning sensation and the lavender cloud were gone, but the licorice scent remained.
And there was a woman kneeling on the comforter at the foot of David’s bed. Her face was down on her knees in a position of full obeisance, but the curly black hair that fell all around her to puddle on the comforter was a dead giveaway. Dave knew who he’d see when she lifted her gaze. He tried to speak, but couldn’t get the words to leave his throat. He stared in rapt fascination as she spoke without lifting her head.
“How may I serve you, oh master?” Her voice was soft and husky—pure distilled sex. Exactly as it had been in his dreams. Dave’s cock throbbed just thinking about the possibilities. Maybe he was still dreaming, because here she was in his bed.
Then she looked up and saw him, and all the color drained from her lovely face. Her tilted violet eyes widened and her hand covered her mouth as she shrieked.
“Who are you and what have you done to my hero?”

Hmm…on that interesting what’s-going-to-happen note – Anny - www.annycook.blogspot.com is discussing her website and the angst of starting to write a new book and Kelly – www.kkirch.blogspot.com is somewhere in the wilds of Wisconsin. I am sure much adventure lurks there amongst the cheese..

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