Posting at 30,000 Feet

December 20, 2012December 31, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

So, we’re in flight, on our way to California. At least, we were when I wrote this. The plane has Wi-Fi. My computer is showing a happy little Wi-Fi sign. But can I post this blog when it’s written? That would be a big, fat no.

Damned if I know why. I think it’s because everyone around me is streaming movies on their various technologies. Apparently I decided to get online too late in the game. Which wouldn’t bother me if we had an in-flight movie. But no, apparently we’d rather pack a couple hundred people onto a plane for six hours and provide no entertainment.

Yeah, I know. See previous statement about all the people streaming around me. But that’s them, not me. How am I supposed to tell you about anything if I can’t get online? And yes, I am the last person on the planet to not have a tablet of some sort. Until this moment, I didn’t think I needed one. And if even one of you points out something like tablets don’t need Wi-Fi to connect, I’m going to scream. The guy two rows back is watching Animal House. The guy across from me is watching some sort of news. What’s up with that?

So I thought I’d hook myself up with a little TNT and watch last night’s Leverage. Alas, that’s not happening. Actually, now it could happen, if I’m willing to cough up $10 for an hour. The problem is if I cough up the cash, I’m going to post this blog because now I’m thinking about writing, so I won’t be able to watch the whole episode.

What I should be doing is plotting the next book. But I’m tired. Like all of you, I’ve been going all day and my brain fried itself somewhere in the security checkpoint. During which something popped up on my ankle. I’m still trying to figure out what that was all about and fear a doctor left something in my foot during surgery years ago.

And in a moment of total stupidity, I agreed to guest blog today at romancebandits.com. Do not get me wrong. I’m all about an opportunity to talk to folks about Billionaire Bachelor’s Revenge. Or, in this case, what their favorite thing is about the holidays, and share holiday recipes (Butterscotch Shortbread!). But when I picked the day, it obviously didn’t click that I’d be basically incommunicado because I’d be packing 8,543 cookies in our carryon luggage, or traipsing through an airport. Oops. I’m a little ticked about that because it’s a great group over there and they’d make this trip more interesting.

Then I had Snarky Daughter flipping out because she wanted to download a book onto her Kindle. Totally shocked that she could do that without the use of my computer. Duh! I have done this in front of her. Not sure why this came as a shock. Anyway, turn the Kindle on. Immediately get a low power warning. Climb over all the bodies packed around the outlets to add one more plug, and charge said Kindle. Load the book while waiting in line to get on the plane.

Finally on plane, eating really boring airport wrap. It claimed to have chipotle in it, but I found no spices. Flight attendant asks me what I’d like to drink. I had seriously been considering this for about fifteen minutes. Brought out the In-Flight Beverage Menu and everything. One drink will cost about the same as 50 minutes of Wi-Fi. And what with the bathrooms being miles away, I’m sticking with water.

And that, my friends, is my rambling from 30,000 feet. Hope you’re having fun today. Stop by romancebandits.com and see what’s up. I really am going to shell out some cash so I can get online and chat with folks for an hour. It is, after all, a business expense. Oh, and I’m giving away one copy of Billionaire Bachelor’s Revenge to someone who comments over there — NOT here, over there — so come on over!

Reading = Housecleaning

December 16, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

So I was supposed to spend the weekend cleaning the house, addressing Christmas cards, knitting a Christmas gift and probably baking some more because after 15 batches of cookies (really don’t think I’m exaggerating) who doesn’t need to bake some more?

Instead, I read Faking It by Jenny Crusie for the 1,345,253 time. Maybe there won’t be a happy ending this time. OK, so yes, I need some new reading material, and no, I have no idea what author to try next. I’m open to suggestions as long as you understand that I like Light. And. Fluffy.

Last weekend, while knitting and writing and laying out the annual Christmas letter, I spent Saturday night and some of Sunday watching all those romantic Christmas specials on the Hallmark Channel. The living room was a little insipid by the end. But I balanced that out with the “oh no, I’m still without a day job and what am I going to do with my life” thoughts, so I think it was pretty much situation normal around here.

Last night, still wanting some Christmas cheer, and something funny to make me forget the horror of this week, I thought, “hey, I caught some of The Family Stone last weekend, that was pretty funny.” And it has Dermot Mulroney in it, and his photo was pinned up next to my computer while I wrote The Billionaire Bachelor’s Revenge, so yummy and funny. Sounded good.

The scene I caught was the spilling of the strata in the kitchen, which is, it turns out, pretty much the only funny scene in the movie. Oops. Spoiler alert (although why you’d need one since this movie has been out forever is beyond me): The. Mother. Dies.

Not so much on the Christmas cheer. I tried to go back to the Hallmark Channel after that in hopes I could cheer myself up, but it was no use. I watched this week’s Grey’s Anatomy instead. I was batting 0 for 3 last night.

Hence, picking up Faking It again. I’d picked it up the other night because I wanted something I wouldn’t fall into. It’s not like I can’t recite the story by heart at this point. So I figured I’d be able to put it down any time and do housework.

Yes, I totally lied to myself. I was able to put it down a lot, but I found myself taking very long meals so I could read while I ate. Or ignore my empty plate for an hour and read. It’s now 10:45, I’ve been up for three hours, and the only thing that’s been cleaned in the house is me.

But that’s OK because I have the house to myself. Just me, three cats, a dog and a fish until this evening. And during the holiday season, I think it’s important to have a little down time for ourselves. Don’t you agree? Besides, now I can put the book back on the bookshelf. That counts as housecleaning, right?

The Tree: Final Update and Miscellaneous Holiday Junk

December 11, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ 1 Comment

Quite the title, I know.

photo of kitten stealing Christmas ornament — That’s Athena, stealing one of my favorite ornaments that my mom made 30 years ago.

So, you waited and wondered about the Tree vs. Kitten Saga and how the tree has fared. When last I shared, Rex was eating the ten year old plastic tree from Michael’s. I have to say, this tree still looks really good for ten years, and so far the kittens have not managed to rip off any of it. Although there was one small piece that fell off during the building process and Athena thinks that’s the Best. Toy. Ever. Since she’s keeping it under the couch, I really don’t care.

After a week, the cats have mostly given up on stealing the ornaments, because they have discovered curling ribbon. And they love them some curling ribbon. Don’t freak. They’re not eating it. Athena just pulls it off the gifts one piece at a time and lays it at my feet. Which is almost as cute (in a can I kill you now, that took hours sort of way) as when she took the bow of MY gift and brought it to the dog. Who immediately told her quite loudly where she could stick that bow. And I don’t think it was back on my present.

kitten with christmas light in his mouth — Yes, as soon as I took the photo I got the lights out of his mouth. You can’t really tell, but his mouth was glowing.

But by far, the best holiday memory so far with these two has got to be when I looked up and Rex’s mouth was glowing yellow because, yes, he was eating the Christmas tree lights. Rex, in case you’ve forgotten, only has three legs because when he was a few weeks old, be apparently decided he needed to investigate an outdoor folding chair and got caught in it. By the time someone found him (this was pre-me, so no bad pet owner letters, please), it was too late to save his leg.

You’d think that would be a learning experience and he wouldn’t continue investigating everything. But no. He’s currently plotting his escape back into the out of doors to catch a bird. Yes, I did put the cat tree right in front of the bird feeder so the cats would have entertainment. And so would I.

In other Christmas news, I am finally able to prove that the space-time continuum is messed up in Wal-Mart. When I walked in this morning to get a $5 Dirty Santa gift (seriously guys, $5?) for a Boy Scout dinner… OK, now I have to explain the Dirty Santa thing because otherwise this sounds really bad. You know the game where you can keep your gift or steal someone else’s? It has a name. Dirty Santa. I did not name it.

I digress. So, I walk in to Wal-Mart and they have some XX days til Christmas light up sign going. This must be for men because there isn’t a woman in the world who doesn’t know how many days she has left to pull the perfect holiday off again this year. SO, in I go. 16 Days til Christmas. Now that seems off to me, but it’s 8something AM, and I’m grumbling about being unemployed and still having to get up at 6:30 each day, and we’re lucky I know it’s Tuesday, let alone what the date is. I mean yesterday I posted something for the school that happens THIS Thursday and listed a date from last week.

OK, so 16. Seems off. I walk by a few minutes later, and now it’s 13 Days Til Christmas. Which also seems wrong and now I’m doing the math because I swear I’ve only been wandering around the store for ten minutes looking for a cheap gift someone would actually want. But this does prove that time has no meaning in Wal-Mart. And when I left, yes, some good soul had actually fixed the sign and we were at 14 days.

14 Days of Baking, Knitting, Christmas letter writing, baking, eating, singing carols…

Happy Holidays! Hope you’re staying sane as you face the season.

Everything’s Better with Real Whipped Cream

November 22, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

So, after 19 years in the South, I finally ate at Waffle House.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s Thanksgiving, aka National Mashed Potato Day, and I want to talk about Waffle House? Not really. It was more a confessional thing. Really good waffles though.

We just put the turkey in the oven. I’m excited and terrified because I feel like this year’s cooking isn’t doing what I wanted. Nothing like potentially poisoning your extended family with cheesecake.

Pumpkin Cheesecake with Sour Cream Bourbon topping from Gourmet. It’s an awesome cheesecake, and a great substitution if you’ve hit the point where making another pumpkin pie is going to get you institutionalized.

Normally the cream cheese works with me and everything turns out nicely, with a few small cracks on the top that are easily covered by the sour cream bourbon (or in this case Glenlivet) topping. Not so. Yesterday, I got the San Andreas Fault going through the cheesecake. Did I stop and think, hmmm, how can I fix this? Did I read the recipe as I was making the cheesecake?

No, not so much.

I just put the topping on the cheesecake and kept going. And here’s what it ended up looking like:

photo of pumpkin cheesecake — Luckily, a spoon smooths this topping and makes it look better than this.

Do not start with me. Had I thought about it, I would have put a flag over the fault line because clearly that spot will have more alcohol in it. But here’s the thing about cheesecake:

It’s really hard to tell when it’s done. It jiggles. And it’s cracked, and it’s just odd looking. And it has to sort of set up in the refrigerator after you bake it. So it doesn’t look right when it comes out of the oven. It’s a total crap shoot.

So crap shoot dessert, although the French Apple Pie — do not start with me about the French on Thanksgiving; everything is better with streusel topping — looks fantastic.

French Apple pie photo — No promises about the turkey or the cheesecake, but we can all feed off the French Apple pie

But we got a surprise phone call and suddenly the turkey cook was tied up, and if you’ve cooked a turkey, you know it has to get in the oven on time if you want to eat before Saturday. So suddenly, I’m working on the turkey. Which was so not what I had planned. Sweet potato casserole, yes. Pie, yes. Main part of the meal that everyone looks at when I’m already nervous about the damned cheesecake? No.

So, a little nervous. And if this works, I will be telling everyone at dinner what I’m thankful for: not killing them with poultry and dairy products.

And pie with real whipped cream. Because everything’s better with whipped cream. As long as it’s homemade.

Building the Tree

November 15, 2012November 15, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

You know you’ve been out of work too long when…

You’re excited about Michael Strahan’s new dressing room reveal tomorrow;
You know which Twilight star is dumber than a post, which one is the post, and which one actually has a brain. And uses it;
You no longer stop typing when a cat lies (lays?) across your arms;
You have to go to The Oatmeal to figure out if it should be lays or lies. (It’s lies.)

Photo of kids building a fake Christmas tree — “Yeah! We’re building the tree!!!”

I know you’re all shocked because this is two posts in two days, as opposed to my usual once a week/month/lifetime routine I’ve had going lately. But I knew you all wanted to know how the tree building went.

First, boys do not know how to fluff trees. Shocked, I am. Especially since I’ve been re-teaching this skill for five years. So I went through the refresher. Some branches have to point forward to cover the florist wire, some to the left, some to the right, some down so we have a full tree. And still, the skill does not come naturally to those with a Y chromosome.

OK, this tree is 11 years old, so it gave up on full years ago. But it was a really good tree I got for about $2.32 when I worked at Michael’s because that was more fun than potty training one of my children. Yes, I really chose retail during the holiday season over potty training a child. And I wonder why I haven’t been nominated for Mom of the Year.

photo of Kids building a Christmas Tree — Scout Son tries to fluff like Snarky Daughter. Yes, I see she is wearing a barcode on her elbow. Yes, I have the Photoshop skills to fix it, but why miss this opportunity to embarrass her?

Back to the tree. Rockefeller Center’s got nothing on this 7.5-foot plastic concoction currently sitting in my living room. Snarky Daughter, being a girl, was all about the fluffing.

You know what’s really depressing? A Christmas tree without stuff on it. So we built the tree and Stumpasaurus Rex immediately tried to figure out how to scale the tree. Given that he’s missing a back leg and can’t jump well, you’d think I could breathe a sigh of relief. The problem is, he’s muscle. Since he can’t launch himself, he pulls himself up things. He is regularly at the top of the 6-foot cat tree.

Which is the other reason I was worried about the tree. Given that they already have one thing to climb in the room, would the cats see the difference? I really expected a cat as a tree topper.

Rex is crafty. He spent the evening under the tree trying to figure out how to get up the clothing hanger branches. We’d be watching TV and all of a sudden some part of the tree would start shaking.

Photo of kitten exploring Christmas Tree — “Finally, you brought the trees inside! Where are the birds and squirrels?”

I had a glass of wine and generally ignored it. Athena, Goddess of Christmas Trees, felt that this tree was like any other plant (real or fake) in the house and it was meant to be eaten. For that, I grabbed a spray bottle and shot her with water. She was not amused. I expect a retaliatory hairball any time now.

This morning, I’m staring at an empty tree and the cats are totally. Ignoring. It. Totally. Like, OMG.

I may speed up the process and add lights. So tune in next time (I almost wrote tomorrow, but that seemed like a promise I was going to blog tomorrow, hahahaha) to see what’s going on with holiday preparations.

And find out if I mess with Bon Appetite’s Pumpkin Cheesecake recipe or if I keep it pure for Thanksgiving.

40 Days Til Christmas

November 14, 2012November 15, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

40 days and 14 hours. That’s how long we have until Christmas. Yes, I’m a little surprised that I was able to Google days til Christmas and come up with a Christmas Countdown clock. I shouldn’t be, but it seems like there are better programming choices than that.

Anyway, Christmas. 40.5 days of shopping left. I know. There are a ton of you who haven’t given this any thought yet. Clearly none of you are flying home for the holidays. But we are, and that means I have to do a ton more planning for the holiday than I’d like.

There are the folks I don’t normally see but this year I’ll have to find a nice gift for. Hard to do when you see each other every other year. These are the people in my life who would, on this coast, get homemade Irish Cream truffles, sea salt scrubs, knit scarves or some other Pinterest-inspired gift. But since I have to get it across the country without breakage, I have to either buy supplies/bottles and ship them to California and spend a day in the kitchen there, or I have to make it here and pack it very carefully. And hope TSA doesn’t decide they want softer hands and spiced pecans.

Of course, next week I’ll be writing that great holiday favorite: the family Christmas letter.

Photo of kids with Christmas tree — Scout Son and Snarky Daughter try looking cute in front of the Christmas tree.

Being a freelance writer gives me a leg up on most in that department because I have InDesign so I can put together something nice and spend an extra 100 hours making sure everything lines up perfectly. Because I know you’re all going to pull out rulers and check to see if the spacing is equal on all columns.

My letter comes and goes depending on the news. The year my mom died and I was getting divorced I didn’t do the letter. Merry Christmas! May Death and Destruction Stay with Me, Not with You! Somehow, I couldn’t find a lot of happy to share that year.

This year, even with the loss of a job, I feel like there’s good news. Snarky Daughter and Scout Son each get a column in the newsletter, so I only have to find about 300 words of happy, and with two books coming out this month, I think I can wing it.

But that’s next week. This week, I’m cruising Pinterest for cool homemade gift ideas, making a shopping list for pies for Thanksgiving. And putting up the Christmas tree. Tonight. No ornaments or lights, just the tree. I want to see what the kittens will do to it. I fully expect to find Rex sleeping at the top tomorrow morning. I’ll keep you posted.

Feel free to start the pool on how many times the cats knock it over.

What’s that? Why am I putting up a tree when I won’t be here?

That’s a really good question. The answer involves pitiful faces on sweet children who want to decorate for the season.

Whatever. I have gifts to work on.

In Which I Share the Family Eggog Recipe

October 25, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

So, last week I was mourning not getting the job I was perfect for. Perfect. Except they decided they wanted someone with hacking skills. For a writing position. Yes, I try really hard not to whine about the search for a day job, and all the people who do not think I’m perfect (really?), but this one hit hard.

I’ve been looking for a new day job for Seven. Months. Almost eight.

OK, anyway. I was waiting to hear about the job I didn’t get because everyone needs a hacker for an online writing position (no kidding, they said “what we really need is a hacker” and I burst out laughing because even if they did need someone with those skills, which they don’t, that person isn’t interested in a day job because, duh, he’s out hacking something) and I decided to deal with the last two boxes of my mom’s stuff.

photo of woods — About 1.3 seconds after I took this shot from my living room/office the leaves finished turning and are now falling at an alarming rate in the yard. Just something to do now that I’ve gone through the last two boxes of mom’s stuff.

I’ve been moving these two boxes around in my house for four years. God forbid I dive in and deal with it. But at the end of last week I was a little insane and looked at the boxes one night and thought, nope, those Have. To. Go.

I’d been avoiding them because I knew what was in them. You see, we had no fewer than 203 copies of some relative’s application to the DAR. Now, normal people would be able to throw out 202 copies, but some of those copies were thicker than others, so dealing with this mess of paper meant going one page at a time through everything making sure I have everything I need when I apply for the DAR. Or something.

Anyway, tons of family history sitting there, with some odd stuff mixed in. There was a statement from one of mom’s retirement funds, and being four years since I’d managed the estate HAHAHAHAHA! I had to call the company and make sure I still had to keep looking for work. The secretary actually remembered mom and I found myself offering condolences for her loss.

But, mixed in all that stuff, was the family Eggnog recipe. I’ve never had it, but reading it just cracked me up. I always wondered why nobody got salmonella poisoning from all the raw eggs, but then I read how much alcohol was in it, and I’m no longer surprised.

So, here you go, an early gift for your holiday enjoyment!

Eggnog In Quantity (yes, it really says that!)

photo of handwritten eggnog recipe — I blame the condition of the recipe card on the 4-6 cups of alcohol the recipe calls for.

1. Beat till light: 12 egg yolks
2. Beat in gradually 1 pound powdered sugar
3. Add very slowly, beating constantly: 2 cups booze of choice (I use brandy and rum)
4. Let mixture stand covered for 1 hour to dispel “eggy” taste.
5. Add, beating constantly:

2-4 cups more booze

2 quarts heavy whipping cream

6. Refrigerate, covered, 3 hours.
7. Beat till stiff, but not dry: 8-12 egg whites
8. Fold into other ingredients and serve via punch bowl.

ENJOY!

How can you not enjoy a pound of powdered sugar, half a cow’s worth of cream, 24 eggs and, you know, 6 cups of alcohol? A lot of my holiday memories were explained when I read this recipe.

Which I may need to whip up if I don’t find work soon because I am really tired of spending all my free time looking for work, when I could be writing romance novels. Which I am off to do. As soon as I apply for yet another day job.

Snake in the Kitchen

October 17, 2012December 31, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ 1 Comment

Today’s post was supposed to be all about Snarky Daughter’s first pie. A fabulous pie. The best pie I’ve ever had. And subsequently dropped on the floor. Instead, we’re going to talk about the Snake in the Kitchen.

Having just gone through a week of prep work followed by a two-hour job interview (no idea how it went, don’t ask), I came home with grandiose plans to tackle all the stuff that had been put on hold for the past week. You know, 3 months of filing that had fallen over in my closet/office, going through the last two boxes of my mom’s paperwork that have been sitting in my living room for a couple of years, and taking care of all the PTSO stuff I haven’t done for several weeks because I went into denial that I was president.

I was really enjoying denial. I was also really enjoying talking to a friend I live too far away from about kids, spouses, lack of spouses and writing. All while sorting receipts and filing insurance paperwork. Yes, I keep that stuff. So I’m steadfastly ignoring my family, when I hear a scream.

Being a good parent, I try to climb up off the floor, but hello, I’ve got the body of a 73 year-old so it takes some time. And by the time I get up, I haven’t heard anything else, so I assume this is a simple “Ack, spider, I need the vacuum cleaner” moment.

About then, there’s a knock on my bedroom door. Hey, with Marking Kitten, all bedrooms are closed all the time.

Snarky Daughter: Mom, Sarcastic Housemate found a snake in the kitchen, and um, I can’t remember what we do.

Me: You don’t remember what to do? Wait, Sarcastic Housemate is home?

Me, thinking: Finally, off to trivia night and a glass of wine, because today has beaten me senseless. After I deal with the snake.

Scout Son: …

Who are we kidding? The last time he saw a snake, he screamed more than me and the damned thing was climbing my leg at the time. He was nowhere to be seen.

Me: Snake? Really?

Sarcastic Housemate: Yeah. I thought it was a stick or something because it’s kinda dark in here. I just assumed one of the dogs brought something in. Then it raised up to get me.

I’m now fighting the kitchen light switch. Have I mentioned the ballast is going bad on the light? On. Off. On. Off. On. Wiggle, wiggle. Let there be light!

Yep, that’s a snake. About as thick as my ring finger and maybe 18 inches long. And moving. Into. Snarky. Daughter’s. Bedroom.

Some of you snake lovers are saying, What kind of snake was it? Answer: Suicidal Snake. Dark and light pattern.

Did it have a diamond shaped head? Answer: How the hell would I know? It’s head is the size of a pencil eraser. It’s kind of hard to tell. Especially since I have now grabbed the only thing nearby — the WetJet — to try and pin it while Scout Son gets a shovel.

Yes, snake lovers. A shovel. Outside, he can do what he wants. Inside, and not sure of what kind he is, sorry, he’s done. But to make you feel slightly better, here are some identifications:

He did not look like this, the gift the dogs brought me this morning.

photo of mole my dogs brought home — Princess Cassie’s request for dinner. Request denied.

It looked amazingly like this, but you know, with a head.

photo of rat snake — With photography forethought, Princess Cassie retrieved the snake for identification this morning.

Having now done much snake research, it was a juvenile rat snake. Sorry. Enter my kid’s bedroom and I consider it an act of war.

Special thanks to Princess Cassie for realizing that I would need a photo and digging the snake out from under the deck (where it slipped while I was beating the heck out of it last night), and breaking it into several pieces and drying it on the deck so we could have snake jerky. Or so I could have to go get the shovel again and toss the bits into the woods on the other side of the electric fence for a proper burial. You know. Whichever. (Yes, she is now pacing from window to window trying to figure out how to get back to her tasties.)

So, kill the snake, go and have a glass of wine. Tune in Friday and see the Perfect Pie. That I destroyed. Because that’s the kind of mom I am. Snake and Pie Destroyer. I’ll just add that to my resume.

I’m back!

October 4, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

Hey, welcome back.

Actually, you should probably be saying that to me.

Like the new colors? It’s quirky. They’re not quite right, but they’re better than the previous version. They’ll probably change again in the next few weeks, but not until I’m sure I’ve nailed it. I’ve been spending a lot of time learning about color and design.

And why, you ask, does a writer care about color and design? Well, let’s review the past few months for me:

In April, I smashed and sprained my thumb.

In May, I fell and screwed up my back… and re-sprained my thumb.

In May, I also was crazy enough to bring two kittens into the house.

photo of kittens playing — That’s Marking Kitten (4 lbs) taking on Laid-Back Kitten (7 lbs).

In June, I re-sprained my thumb.

In July, I finally went to a specialist who told me I had sprained the worst part of my thumb and that it would take forever to heal, but I could type as long as it didn’t hurt.

Guess what? It hurt. No writing for me. I also put Cranky Cat on Prozac. A miracle drug.

In August, I sent Snarky Daughter back to high school. She’s now a sophomore. I also took her to get her learner’s permit . Awesome! The curves may kill us – feel free to light a candle.

In September, I sent Scout Son to 8th grade. He also earned his Life Scout rank in Boy Scouts. Awesome! We also put Marking Kitten on Prozac. Fingers are crossed.

Now every time I think it’s getting better, I do something small like breathe on it and the whole mess swells and I’m back to playing with my website colors instead of writing.

In other news, my new book, The Billionaire Bachelor’s Revenge comes out this month! And I was asked to take part in a holiday anthology, so mistletoe moments are headed everyone’s way!

And now, somehow, it’s October. And I’m writing. Blogs and books.

I’d promise there won’t be any more lapses in content, but then I’ll tweak my thumb and be down for the count again. Of course, one more time and I think I’ll have to invest in some of that Dragon stuff.

Because speaking my blogs to the cats isn’t nearly as interesting as sharing them with you. But the cats think you missed some quality stuff there. Of course, they think I’m a goddess as long as I have one functional thumb.

Dear Victoria’s Secret and Limited Brands: (aka Underwear Rant #1)

July 19, 2012October 4, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

We need to talk. You need, once again, to be run by a man and not a conglomerate wanting to slap their logo on a high school girl’s ass. There was a time when the under 18 set wouldn’t have set foot in your stores because they were for grown-up, sophisticated women who wanted to look sexy and feel feminine without being trashy.

Photo of Marilyn Monroe from listal.com — See? Marilyn had curves.

These were women of the world. Women who had a gleam in their eye that said they had great sex regularly… or would at least know it when they found it. They knew a Secret. They had a Secret. They did not parade around in cotton panties with the word PINK on their butts.

According to several websites (and her dressmaker) and several men I’ve dated over the years, I have dimensions a lot like Marilyn Monroe. So could you please have those Pixie Sticks that work in your stores open their eyes and look at my chest before asking me if I want a bra that will increase my cup size?

First, it’s false advertising, and hey, eventually your date is going to discover that the wonder going on there is cotton padding. And second, I don’t even know what size I would be if you increased my cup by two sizes. I do know I’d be able to balance plates on my chest!

I know, I know. You’re owned by the Limited. Your clientele is, like, twelve. They have

Photo of Kari the Babysitter from The Incredibles — I know you’re racking your brain…this is Kari, the babysitter from The Incredibles

expendable income. Hello. That’s my income! Who do you think is paying the allowance that kid is spending in your store? But here’s the thing. She wouldn’t know what to do with sexy underwear if you gave it to her free! Hence that whole cotton dorm room attire that takes up two-thirds of the store, leaving seven bras for those of us who have breasts, and no bras for those of us who have a cup size above an A.

In your marketing plan, you’ve overlooked a couple of things. 1) I make more money than a 15 year-old girl; 2) there’s a good chance I’m single/divorced and I make more money, so I am dating (and if I’m married, I’m trying to keep the love alive because I’m in my prime); 3) no woman wants to wear granny panties on a date where she might get some; 4) having given birth to said 15 year-old in point #1, I would love it if my bra supported what I already have; and 5) there should be matching panties that do not double as dental floss.

You used to sell mystique. Now you sell sweats and bras that don’t keep the girls contained because you’re too busy trying to smash everything together under 20 pounds of cotton. Here’s a clue: my bra should not stand up by itself in the drawer. It should support while being sexy. Lace can do that. I know this because I have made it my life’s work to find gorgeous underwear.

Sadly, none of it has come from you in years, although I do still have a backless sweater and a silk slip I bought from your catalog 20 years ago.

I’m going to give you the advice I have yet to give my high schooler: Grow up!

Every woman I know can — and would — outspend a teenager on good underwear any day of the week. Without a second thought. I have credit limits designed solely for this purpose and lingerie departments that call me when shipments of favorite brands come in. And if you have a set in my size that looks great, I’ll buy it in every color.

But not if it’s cotton and says PINK on the butt. Or if they’re boy cut. If I were a boy, I’d be buying Hanes.

I’m a woman. I have curves. Work with them. Love them. Accessorize them.

If you do that, give me a call. I’d love to experience Victoria’s Secret again. I miss it.

Kimberly Hope

Writing sexy, sassy contemporary romance novels from coast to coast

Life