Hark and Forsooth

The Hark

My next release, PROJECT DATE, is due to come out in September 2007.

Despite the title, it's not related to PROJECT DADDY. It's about a hacker who resorts to technological sabotage to win her ex-boyfriend back. As soon as I get the back-of-the-book blurb, I'll post it in my Books area.

I have, however, gotten my first quote...

I laughed myself silly over Kate Perry's quirky PROJECT DATE. This book's more fun than a round of strip poker!

— NYT Bestseller Vicki Lewis Thompson

The Forsooth

I'm taking next week off. Ergo: no post. I'll be back the following week, refreshed and cheeky.

Have a great holiday season!

Dinner Last Weekend

My friend Diego opened the oven door and inspected the gigantic leg of pork he was cooking for dinner. "I read your blog this week. You know what?"

"What?" I asked, distracted by the wine bottle I was trying to uncork.

"You've gone off the deep end."

"What do you mean, she's gone off the deep end?" Afra, Diego's wife and one of my oldest friends, piped up from the dining room where she was setting the table.

"Did you read her blog from last week?"

"No." She came into the kitchen. "What was it about?"

"My Christmas tree, Charlie II," I muttered. Why wouldn't the cork come out? I twisted the opener in deeper and tried to pull again.

"It wasn't just about her Christmas tree. It was how her tree stared at her." He made a face as he closed the oven door. "It was just weird."

I grunted, more because of the cork—which still wouldn't budge, darn it—than his comment.

Afra shrugged and reached for a hunk of bread. "She's always been kind of odd. You should have seen the letters she used to write me when we were kids."

"She should write about you and our Christmas tree hunt," Diego said, cuddling up to her.

"You should write about it," I interjected as I put the bottle between my legs and yanked on the corkscrew. "I'll let you guest blog this week."

Diego, of course, ignored me and made kissy faces at his wife instead. "Have I told you how much I love you today?"

Afra beamed back at him. "Yes, but tell me again."

"You're my flawless diamond." More kissy faces.

Making retching noises, I tried to jimmy the cork out. The frickin' thing wouldn't move.

"Do you need help with that?" Diego asked.

"Yes." I shoved the bottle at him.

He, of course, pulled it out in one smooth, easy motion.

"Thank goodness," I exclaimed, reaching for the wine glasses. "Now, are you sure you don't want to guest blog?"

Diego hurriedly picked up his oven mitts. "When was the last time I checked the pork?"

Break Out the Thorazine

I love Charlie Brown Christmas trees. The more lopsided, the better. And bald patches where there are no branches? Be still, my heart.

Knowing this, for our first Christmas together Nate chopped down the most beautiful, pathetic Christmas tree he could find on his parents' property, wrapped it in a sheet, and carried it on Amtrak to give to me. I loved Charlie, even though his limbs couldn't hold up one strand of popcorn. For real. We had to prop him in a corner to get him to stand, and even then he kept falling over.

This year, since it's our tenth year together, Nate's mom thought I should take him a tree—and she knew the perfect one. So Charlie II is standing in the windows of our living room, crooked and gorgeous.

And naked. Because I haven't made the time to decorate him yet.

Normally, naked doesn't bother me. But I have the feeling that Charlie II doesn't appreciate remaining au naturel. In fact, I swear he's staring at me accusingly.

As if that's not enough, every now and then he shakes his needles like he's trying to get my attention. Then, when I walk by, he pokes me. And if I angle my body away from him, he seems to lean until he's in my range of vision again.

Freaky.

I know I should just decorate him—I have the lights out and everything—but I've got this morbid fascination, wondering what he'll do next.

Lime

The color of your eyes
     pale ardor
          not knowing the darkness of passion.

Like a wedge straddling a drink
     You
     straddling our relationship
          too afraid to fall in
          unwilling to fall off.

The plush velvet couch
     cradling me in silent comfort
     offering a soft shoulder to cry on.

The silk coat
     stolen
     walking down the street with its new owner
           oblivious that it once was mine.

The color of jealousy
     lackluster and weak
     of a love that once was
          but is no more.

I was going to write about the color of my snot but I decided this poem was less disgusting. It's a toss up, really, I guess. However, I'd like to reassure you that my snot is, in fact, lime colored—only the color of a lime that's been sitting around for a couple weeks. At first, I thought it was my brain oozing out (which would explain how spacey I feel) but Nate says it's just mucous gone awry.

Since you can't see my snot, you'll have to come up with your own impressions of the color. Get to it.

And Kate reaches for another Kleenex...