Ava Stone's Blog, page 4

I Had a Dream...

I know it LOOKS like I'm sleeping peacefully. …Well, not an inspiring or populist dream that will be memorized and quoted by school children until the end of time.
But I had a dream, just the same. Actually, I’ve been having very strange dreams lately. In the good ol’ days when I first started writing, I had dreams about characters. I had dreams that inspired books. And I very, very rarely had dreams about myself. Most of my dreams have always been like films, looking in on someone else’s life like a bystander, sitting in a dark movie theatre with popcorn.
But recently, not only have my dreams been strange. They’ve been starring yours truly. And perhaps that’s why they’ve stuck with me longer than my usual dreams. I even told Jerrica about a dream I had about squirrels in one of our ROMANCE RAMBLINGS webisodes.(For those of you who don’t know… I hate a squirrel. I HATE A SQUIRREL) I even coined a new word to discuss this particular dream – Freudianly. I know it’s not really a word but it so should be!
Anyway, for the last few weeks, we’ve been moving The Scientist from his house into an apartment. He could have moved in with me, but the plan is to wait until my angsty teenager graduates. Not that any of you care about this, I’m sure.
But I digress. Where was I? Oh, the moving. Right. Ok, so we’ve been moving stuff for days and I’m a little more tired than normal. So this week, after I dropped my teenager off at high school, I’ve returned home to grab an extra half hour/forty-five minute nap before work.
Have you ever had a dream where you’re doing exactly what you’re doing? Did you follow that? Well… I had a dream that I was sleeping in my bed, in the exact position I was really sleeping in. And a man came into my house. (I watch a lot of crime TV, don’t ask me why. I don’t know.)
Anyway, from the front entryway, a man grumbles, “Where’s the dog?”
Now adrenaline is coursing through my veins. I mean, I’m just 5’2. If a couple of men break in, I’m in trouble. I didn’t have the energy to even get out of bed, I was so tired. So instead of hiding or calling for help, I decided that the best way for me to deal with a pair of uninvited robbers was to scare them off before they got to me. Because if they get to me, it’s too late. I’m done for.
Are you following me in the dream? The man says (presumably to another man) “Where’s the dog?”
So I loudly answer, with all the sarcasm and bravado I have in me, “Reading, #*$%er!”
Yeah, that’s right. Some burglar wants to know where my dog is, and my answer is that the dog is off READING . And then I call the man one of the most vile things you can call anyone in an attempt to scare him out of my house.
Ended up the man was my ex-father-in-law bringing my son home sick from school. (All of this was a dream. While my son has a cold IRL, he's been at school all week.)
Anyway, I have laughed for days about the idea of my dog lounging around, wearing a smoking jacket in the backyard with a worn out old copy of War and Peace or maybe a little Pride and Prejudice for a lighter read.
But, seriously, these dreams are going to make me batty (if I’m not already). I need to get back to dreaming about characters or people I don’t know. Or maybe I should just lay off the crime TV.
Now I know they say no one cares about anyone else’s dreams (unless they have a starring role in said person's dream)… but I’ll be nice and ask anyway. Have you had any strange dreams lately? What do you think they mean Freudianly? (It is a good word, isn't it?) But most importantly, do you own a dog who likes to read? (Because mine would like to start up a book club with his peers. Maybe something they can do after their late night poker games.) 

* Originally posted at LadyScribes 5/17/13

Image credit: <a href='http://www.123rf.com/photo_12470759_d... / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

And Now For Something a Little Different...

It feels like this has been a long time coming. But now it is finally here and I can hold it in my hot little hands... ok ears. Well, listen to it in my hot little ears. You know what I mean. Maybe I should explain.
As of this morning the first in my Scandalous Series ~ A SCANDALOUS WIFE is now available in audio! That's right my first audio book has been born. Audible   |   Amazon
Like most authors' first books, this is the book I labored over, struggled with, poured my heart into, the book that gave my first lessons in the craft of writing. I don't know that I've ever admitted so publicly, but my tortured heroine was inspired by my grandmother as a girl; and therefore she is a character who is very close to my heart. Her struggles are more personal to me than perhaps any other heroine I've ever written.
I will admit that it was strange the first time I heard audio producer Stevie Zimmerman's voice reading MY WORDS and the sound coming from my MacBook Pro. I had to get up from my desk and walk away. It was all very surreal. But I sat back down and listened to every word of my novel come to life as someone else read those words aloud.
And I fell in love with this story and these characters, the ones I once knew so very well, all over again.
So I'd like to take this opportunity to scream from the roof tops that A SCANDALOUS WIFE can now be listened to as well as read; and I'd like to thank Stevie Zimmerman for her excellent skills as a narrator and for breathing life into my characters.
Originally posted at RedDoorReads.blogspot.com April 8, 2013

Make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh!

I love to laugh. In fact, it’s one of my most favorite things to do. I have actually said on more than one occasion that I won’t pay good money for something that will make me cry. “If I’m paying for entertainment, it needs to be funny. I can sit at home and cry for free.” Several of you have probably even heard me say this, live and in person. More than once. I mean, it is a mantra. With all the ups and downs that happen in real life, laughing is important! It may be the only thing that keeps you sane.
No matter how much I love to laugh, however, I’m fairly subdued when it comes to making other people laugh. Oh, I like to think that I have a biting wit (no matter what the males in my life think). But I’ve always been the sort who likes to sit in the back of the class, notice what’s going on around me and make snarky (read: hilarious) comments under my breath to whoever is lucky enough to be sitting next to me.
I’m sort of funny on a one-to-one basis. Maybe one-to-two, depending on the two.
That’s why I truly enjoy those who are able to be funny on a global level, those who put themselves out there on a grand scale to “Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em laugh, make ‘em laugh.”
Over the last few months, I have become an avid follower of the TruTV show Impractical Jokers. Without a doubt it is THE funniest show on TV.  From time to time it can be crude (it’s not all good, clean fun) BUT it is always hilarious. If you’ve seen it before, you know what I mean. If you haven’t seen it before, you are totally missing out.
The gist of the show is this… Four men who grew up together in New York (and who apparently have spent most of their formative years daring each other to do ridiculous things) have turned practical jokes into a competition and perhaps an art form.
All four men – Sal Vulcano, Joe Gatto, Brian “Q” Quinn, and James “Murr” Murray compete against each other to not be the LOSER of each individual episode. A hidden camera follows each member of this group as they perform their tasks, usually with an ear bud in their ears, while the other three jokers tell them what to say/do. If they don’t do or say what they’re told, they lose.  You do NOT want to be the loser of any particular episode or you’ll get punished – in a most embarrassing way. (One time they hooked one of the jokers up to a lie detector machine in front of the current student body of their old Catholic high school and teachers, asking embarrassing questions that only your best friends would know the answers too.) Repeat after me – you don’t want to be a loser and get punished.
I’ve seen these four work a cash register at White Castle, be awful checkout emloyees at Costco, and work as free fortune tellers on the boardwalk. I’ve seen them decipher handwriting, try to teach a foreign language (one they didn’t speak) and steal food off people’s plates at a buffet. Here are some snippets at YouTube, if you'd like to see what I mean. (Though you MAY need to watch a full episode to understand the true genius of the show.
Their hijinks aside, the laughter of these four men as they watch each other compete is more than infectious. Their bond, camaraderie and long time friendship is heartwarming. When you finish watching an episode, you’ll find yourself wishing for more and wishing for friends like these guys. (As long as it’s not YOU they’re embarrassing in public.)
Even though I am not a practical joker in ANY way, shape, or form, I cannot help but get sucked in to each and every episode of this amazingly hilarious show.  If you are in the mood for a good laugh, and I mean a laugh that knocks you off the couch, you should find an episode of Impractical Jokers and experience the merriment for yourself. After all, I could never explain properly how funny they are… you have to see it for yourself.
Are you a practical joker? Have you seen this show? What makes you laugh more than anything?

Originally posted at LadyScribes March 22, 2013.

You Know Who I'm Talking About...

Some people love their jobs, and some people hate their jobs, and some people love to make YOU hate their jobs. (Yes, that’s one more dig at power hungry TSA agents and local law enforcement, not that this is another one of THOSE blogs. I don’t fly again until April, though, so stay tuned.) No, today I’ve got a different target in my crosshairs – those men (because they’re always men) who love their jobs more than should legally be allowed in any state. (There are, of course, women in this profession, however, they always seem quite balanced.)
I don’t care if you live in New York City, Abilene Texas or Walla Walla, Washington. You’ve got oneof these men in your area. I’m not sure why it’s always just ONE, but it is.  Perhaps there just isn’t enough oxygen in any given region for there to be two of them. This is actually a good thing. If there were two of them in a region, we might end up in some sci-fi paradox and the world would cease to exist. Each region gets only one. It’s some kind of law, I think.
You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?  A man who gets so excited about his job, it makes YOU a little uncomfortable watching him on TV in the privacy of your own home. I’m truly surprised more children don’t have nightmares about them like they do clowns because – honestly – they’re equally scary.
We got our first snowfall of the year a few weeks back. (I missed it as I was enjoying a nice cruise with Jerrica Knight-Catania and Catherine Gayle at the time. Yes, I’m rubbing it in.) Sometimes in Raleigh we only get one run-in with snow, sometimes we don’t get a run-in at all. So, I thought I’d missed all the wintery excitement this year, but I was wrong. We got a bit of snow this past weekend, and you’d think the world had come to a screeching halt. As Tes said earlier this week - in the south, the world shuts down for snow.  It’s just the way it is, and probably the way it will always be.
But that ONE man in our area always acts like the weather (whatever it may be) is THE singular most exciting, or scary event ever to occur. That’s right – I’m talking about your local weatherman. You know the one I mean. The ONE guy in your viewing area that gets a little wild-eyed and foamy about the mouth at the first sniff of cold air, or warm air, or wet air, or just about anything. This ONE guy loves his job more than everyone else in your viewing area combined loves theirs.
As I’ve said before – I’ve lived out West, the Midwest, the Southwest and now the Southeast.  And in each one of those places there was the ONE excitable weatherman who always seemed as though Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Mickey Mouse were waiting just off camera for him, waiting to high five him for his amazing delivery of the next day’s weathercast. He bounces a little too much in his shoes. He points at the map with a little too much vigor. And when he’s not  on the air, he LOVES breaking into scheduled programming at the drop of a hat.
He is your WEATHERMAN. The meteorologists at the other local networks are just pretenders, overshadowed by him. The other meteorologists at his own station are just poor substitutes until he’s back on the clock (always during primetime hours and occasionally in the morning, if he’s slumming it that day.)
And he totally and completely creeps me out.
Like I said, NO ONE SHOULD LOVE THEIR JOB AS MUCH AS THIS GUY DOES. Like it should be illegal in the lower 48. (I can see why someone might be excited about weather if they were in Hawaii or Alaska, but that’s beside the point.)  Instead of Santa Claus waiting off camera, I think there should be a psychiatrist waiting to administer a bit of valium as soon as he finishes his weather report. Being THAT excited cannot be good for his health, and it certainly isn’t good for MY mental health, and I’m just a viewer.
Watching him both exhausts and frightens me. I once found out I was attending the same boy scout event as our local WEATHERMAN, and I had to leave. Seeing him on TV is one thing, who knows what the man is capable of in real life!?! Honestly, I feel lucky to have gotten out alive.
What about you? What are your thoughts about your local crackpot…er…I mean…weatherman? Is he just as creepy as children's party clowns? Which one is scarier? Or is there someone even creepier than both, that I’ve somehow missed? 

Originally posted at LadyScribes Feb 22, 2013.

A Meeting of the Matchmakers...

On this Valentine’s Day, bestselling authors Ava Stone and Jerrica Knight-Catania are happy to bring you a conversation between their most devious, managing, and cupid-like heroines, the ladies who may make a little havoc, but always find a way to make things right, all while getting others to do their bidding.

Without further ado… Caroline, Viscountess Staveley from Ava’s Scandalous Series and Katherine, the Duchess of Weston from Jerrica’s Wetherby Brides Series.“Oh, that’s an easy one. Benjamin and Phoebe, of course. It was easy enough getting them to the altar, but they nearly sabotaged their marriage! If I had not stepped in, Lord only knows where they’d be by now.” Katherine turns to Caroline. “Your turn. Which couple was your greatest success?”
 Caroline taps her chin and scrunches up her nose. "That's so difficult to say, Kat. On one hand, Luke with his foolish male-ness would have lost Juliet forever, if not for me; but I think bringing Robert and Lydia together was my greatest accomplishment. Robert is so stubborn and set in his ways. Domineering, really. His mind had been firmly made up about his wife, and it still would be if I hadn't intervened. Now several children later, he hardly resembles his former self. It's so rewarding to know how happy he's become." Her hazel eyes twinkle mischievously. "I think we have to do what we do, Kat. Manage others, I mean. No matter how dangerous a situation gets. Where would our friends and family be without us?"

Katherine sits forward in her seat, clearly getting excited about the topic. "Oh, I couldn't agree more! Why, to think of the hoops I had to jump through for cousin Victoria. Goodness, it gives me the vapors just to think of that situation. Foolish girl! Now if we could only bring her brother, Thomas up to snuff! Of course, the way I've seen him carousing about Town tells me he's not thinking of settling down anytime soon. Perhaps Victoria and I can team up to change that. But tell me, Caroline, what--or rather who-- will your next project be?" 
"Oh, darling!" Caroline clutches Kat's hand. "There are just so many people in Town who need a happy ever after, don't you agree?"
Katherine nods whole-heartedly. "Indeed."
"Hmm." Caroline continues. "Lord Carraway would be high on my list of those to help next, as would that poor, brooding Lord Avery. Although, I think his sister, Cordelia Clayworth, might have something up her sleeve for that particular fellow." Her hazel eyes suddenly start flashing with indignation. "But I can tell you who won't be getting any help from me. The Marquess of Haversham can go hang, for all I care. That man makes your average rake look like a well-behaved saint!" She heaves a sigh and shakes her head as though to shake an unpleasant thought from her head. "Enough about him. What about you, Kat? Who will you focus your efforts on next?"

Jerrica pipes up, Ava by her side. "Ladies, I'm afraid we must ask you to stop right there."

Both Katherine and a Caroline turn to them, confused looks upon their faces.

"But why?" Caroline asks.

"We can't have you giving away any secrets now, can we?" Ava explains. "You'll ruin things for our readers."

Katherine shrugs. "She does have a point, Caro. But that doesn't mean we can't wait until they leave to continue planning our machinations."

"Oh!" Caroline leaps from her seat and rushes to where Jerrica and Ava are standing. "Well, thank you for stopping by, ladies," she says as she ushers them out the door.

They try to protest, but it's no use. They are no match for Caroline's desire to plan her next matchmaking adventure. 

If you'd like to read more from Katherine and Caroline, be sure to check out Jerrica Knight-Catania's Wetherby Brides Series and Ava Stone's Scandalous Series.

It's Been One of THOSE Weeks...

Last week was not one of my best, and it ended with my boss saying the following words to me – YOU KNOW, YOUR LIFE COULD BE A BRITISH SITCOM.
I wasn’t sure what to make of that, and I did send out a Tweet about that very thing. One of my followers replied with “At least he didn’t say your life was like an episode of Mr. Bean.” And there is that, I suppose.
I could soo live there! If my life was like an episode of Mr. Bean, you’d find me in some sort of asylum (and not the kind found in American Horror story because (1) that particular season takes place in 1964, not 2013 and (2) it’s an American horror series, not a British sitcom.)

But if my life is going to be like something, why can't it be like Downton Abbey? I would make an excellent dowager countess. Just ask anyone who knows me. 
But I digress…
My boss was, of course, referring to all of the insanity I dealt with in a one week period.
I'd totally rather do this than have to
endure some people's company.MONDAY  - there was the hour and a half meeting at my son’s high school with his guidance counselor, math teacher, assistant principal, math resource, and – oh yeah – my ex husband. I’d rather have a root canal every day of the week than have to sit in a room with my ex-husband for an hour and half. I did 13 years in that particular prison. I’ve done my time thank you very much, warden. (My son wasn’t in any sort of trouble, by the way. We were dealing with why his math teacher seemed incapable or unwilling to return emails. Still not sure I'm clear on that, either.)
TUESDAY - brought the return of an old drama to my life. A while back, my youngest brother was assaulted and spent a week in the hospital recovering from his injuries.  I won’t go into all of those details because (1) it will set me off again and (2) his injuries were so traumatic, just thinking about them turns my stomach. And so on Tuesday, when I learned he’d dropped the charges against his assailant, it sent me through the roof. When someone nearly kills you and leaves you for dead, they need to put in jail. Period. They need to be off the streets to keep the rest of society safe. After listening to my tirade - which, you know, lasted FOREVER - my brother saw the error of his ways, and I’m happy to report that the charges have been reinstated. I didn't even know that was possible!
WEDNESDAY - I called work first thing that morning to tell them my freezer stopped working, but I promised I'd be in as soon as the repairman was done.
THURSDAY  -  Ah, Thursday was a good day. Thursday was my only good day. Thursday was the eye of the storm, where everything is quiet and you think it’s over. Thursday was a lie!
There's even a droplet of water that's
about to fall right here!FRIDAY – the real fun began on Friday. I dropped my son off at high school and returned home to throw in a load of laundry before work. I noticed the laundry room floor was wet and I looked up to find the ceiling was leaking water. One plumber and one fixed toilet tank later, and I now have a slew of workmen in my house drying out the walls with big machines that make my house sound like an aircraft carrier. The bathroom floor and laundry room ceiling are both things of the past.
I don’t really understand how any of this would make for good television viewing in Britain, but if someone in London wants to pay me for my life story, I’ve got more.
This week hasn’t been any better. There’s (1) toilet in my bathtub and none of the others are working (this has something to do with the pressure from the missing toilet. I don't really understand that, but whatever.)  That's beside the point, which is...How am I supposed to live without any working bathrooms? Luckily, I have plenty of friends who’ll let me use their showers, etc. But come on!! At this rate I’ll end up in that asylum WITHOUT my life being like an episode of Mr. Bean.
The one bright spot is I’ll end up with a remodeled bathroom after this. If I can last that long.
Have you ever had one of THOSE weeks? Are you having one of THOSE weeks right now now?  If your life was a sitcom, British or otherwise, what would it be called? And what should I call mine, in case, you know - someone in London wants to pay me for my life story?

*Originally posted at Lady Scribes January 17, 2013

Holiday Traditions, huh?

I never really thought I had any, just the usual stuff everyone else does.  Decorating a tree, wrapping presents, you know “the usual”.  But this year, as I’m merging my holiday traditions with The Scientist’s holiday traditions…  Well, there are definitely some differences.ONE – The Stone household has always had a “fake” tree. (This is my Scottish roots coming out…Why buy a tree each year? Buy a good one once, and you’re set.) The Scientist’s household always does a “real” tree. I was told that Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without the smell of a real tree. When I said candles had the same scent, I was met with a death stare.FINE – “REAL” TREE it is.TWO – The Stone household always goes out for Chinese food for Christmas Eve dinner. (Actually, I’d go out every night of the week if I could avoid cooking.  And who wants to cook at Christmas?  There are too many other things to do.) The Scientist’s household has always had a traditional Christmas Eve dinner – roasted goose and the whole nine yards.  Of course, my teen is quite upset at the prospect of not having Chinese for Christmas Eve this year, even though he doesn’t like Chinese food. “But, Mom, it’s my tradition.”FINE  – ROASTED GOOSE for 3 and TAKE-OUT CHINESE for 1 (who doesn’t like Chinese.)THREE – The Stone household loves happy, cherry Christmas songs. (I’m very partial to Bing Crosby’s crooner voice.  He should have sung every Christmas song.) The Scientist’s household has always listened to religious carols (Apparently, it’s a German thing.)FINALLY I WON ONE – CROSBY’s WHITE CHRISTMAS it is!  And Peggy Lee’s Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, and Gene Autry’s Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.Growing up, we always opened one gift on Christmas Eve (which was usually some sort of Christmas pajamas, until I caught on and pitched a fit and refused to play along) and the rest of the presents on Christmas Day.  But in the world of split families, children must be shared. So, this year we will open all of our presents Christmas Eve, and the next day my son and his daughter will go see their other parent to open those sets of gifts.And what will we do on Christmas Day without children?  I guess we’ll have to come up with some new holiday traditions!  Left over goose?  A little more Crosby, anyone?  Have you ever merged your holiday traditions with someone else’s?  How did you do it?  Do you miss the old traditions or have you embraced the new ones?*Originally posted at Jerrica's Regency England December 17, 2012

When Harry Met Ava...

…not that Harry is my sort. I much prefer tall, blond scientists who are soft-spoken and kind-hearted. But aside from all that... For 23 years now I’ve thought that Nora Ephron must have been channeling me when she created the character of Sally Albright. I share so many similarities with Sally. I mean, she’s even a writer, for heaven's sakes! (But can I stop for a minute and ask if anyone else can believe When Harry Met Sally is 23 years old?!?!? Seriously - 23!! Two more years and it’ll be a quarter of a century old! Great! Now I feel old.)
Anyway, when I first watched this movie...All the way through, I thought Sally was just like me. Here is the best example:
Yep! I’m, apparently, the worst kind too. And that whole “on the side” thing is totally me (though I'd never eat mustard sauce "on the side" or otherwise. Yuck!). Just ask any of the Lady Scribes who’ve ever gone to dinner with me. The first thing I do in any restaurant is try to figure out if there’s anything on the menu I don’t have to “special order”. See… I try to be the low maintenance sort. I’m just not.
But I’m with Sally on this. I just want it the way I want it too. And if I’m paying money for it, I should be able to get it the way I want it, right?
I am, in my defense, a generous tipper. And I always say “please” and “thank you.” I’m not really a pain, or at least I don’t think so. But, I suppose, this could maybe all be categorized as me thinking I’m low maintenance when really I’m high maintenance.

I'm not the only one I've recognized on the big or small screen. Years ago, when I watched the first episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, I turned to my then husband and said, "OMG! Larry David is just like you!" And it was uncanny. Truly.

My ex-husband glared at me and said, "Everyone thinks Larry David is an (expletive)." And then he didn't talk to me for the rest of the day.

Funny thing, a lot of people think my ex-husband is an (expletive) too. If Larry David ever runs out of material, I know someone he can ping for ideas. ;)

So now you tell me, have you ever identified with a character in a movie, tv show or book so much, you think the author is spying on you for material? If so - which character do you relate to more than all others? What about friends or family? Have you ever come across a character and thought... He/She is just like _______? 

Originally posted at LadyScribes.blogspot.com 11/30/2012

Truth or Dare

Remember those old sleepovers we had as kids? Staying up all night, hopped on sugar and the good company of your BFFs? Toilet papering the yard of the hot guy on the basketball team (why did we do this, again??)? Watching videos on MTV (back when they played videos)? Talking about crushes? Playing Truth or Dare until someone either chickened out or got mad?No? Only me? Yeah, I’m not buying it. You remember. You just might not want to admit to remembering. Or your memory is worse than mine. Either way, odds are, you did one of all of those things back in the day.

Those were the days, right? So I thought it would be fun to take a walk down memory lane and play a virtual game of Truth or Dare. And being the good sport I am, I’ll go first.  And I’ll pick “truth”.TRUTH… Tell us all something “bad” you did within the last 24 months…Ok. Here I go…I stole an “in-play” golf ball and didn’t give it back. That sounds bad, doesn’t it? Anyone who plays golf is now going to hate me. But in my defense, it wasn’t on purpose. It really wasn’t. At least not at first.I suppose I should preface this story with the fact that while I was growing up, my uncle lived on a golf course and his lawn was always littered with golf balls. I mean he could have made a mint selling used golf balls (if there was a market for such a thing.) So, I was accustomed to seeing golf balls lying around near a golf course. Idyllic, at least until a golfer with a 
bulging vein in his neck is after you!So one day, the scientist and I went for a walk along the golf course near my brother’s house. We were walking on the paved golf cart path and enjoying ourselves, the pretty weather, and the nice view. And then there – right in the middle of the paved path – was a golf ball. I said, “Look, a golf ball.”The scientist said, “You should take that.” So I did. I tucked the little treasure in my pocket, and we continued on our walk. Well… about 5 minutes later, a man starts yelling down the path toward us. He was too far away for us to hear, and we didn’t think he was talking to us, so we just kept going. But a few minutes later, thanks to the windy path we were on, he was now a bit closer to us, a little louder and looked a lot more irate. “Hey! Did you take my ball?”It is at this moment that I now know I’ve messed up his game, accidentally, but messed up all the same. Normally, I would have copped to my ineptitude and apologized profusely, but the vein I saw bulging out of his neck warned me that he wasn’t the sort to listen quietly or calmly. So I just to keep my mouth closed in the cowardice act of self preservation. Luckily, the path meandered away from him and we were safe for a while. But now we both know we’re in trouble. To get back home, we’re going to have to go right past him again. There isn’t another way. So on the fly we came up with a plan… Ok, it was hidden better than this, 
or I'd be dead right now. Taking a deep breath as we approached our unintended victim, we were prepared for the onslaught of yelling. And the enraged golfer did not disappoint. His face was red, the vein was still bulging. He bellowed, “Let’s try this again! Did you take my ball?!?” My scientist said… Well, I don’t know what he said, it was all in German. And I stared blankly at the golfer, as though I didn’t speak English and couldn’t understand why he was screaming at us.“You don’t even speak English?” he barked. “Perfect! That’s just (expletive) great!”My scientist said something else in German as we walked away, the golfer’s ball tucked safely away in my pocket. So that’s how I stole an “in-play” golf ball and didn’t give it back. I’m not proud of my actions, but I am still alive. And being alive is very important to me.Now it’s your turn. Truth or Dare?TRUTH – Same as mine… Tell us all something “bad” you did within the last 24 months. (No cheating with things I did as a kid.)DARE – Doorbell ditch your next door neighbor (but they have to be home at the time) and then tell us all about it. Do you feel 12 years old again?

OR - If you're too chicken to either tell us a truth or do the dare, I guess you can tell us your best sleepover memory.

Do I look like a terrorist?

* WARNING ~ AVA STONE RANT TO FOLLOW *  Public Enemy Number One?
I mean, really… Do I look like a terrorist?
I might look a little mischievous, but I hardly look like a freakin’ terrorist. And – yet – there must be something about me that screams “SEARCH ME, FRISK ME, TEST MY HANDS FOR EXPLOSIVES!” because that is what I got on every leg of my last trip.
You all know that I have a problem with authority figures. I don’t like anyone telling me what to do. That goes for both cops and TSA agents, just to name a couple of groups. (Though I’m sure Andris’ police officer husband is perfectly nice in real life.) I have a pretty high IQ and I’m a law abiding citizen. If you just leave me alone, we’ll all be happy. Don’t tell me what to do. Don’t get me all riled up, because it’s just going to be unpleasant for all of us.
Seriously.
You might remember a while back, my teenage son and my scientist and I were all headed out west to see my family.  For the most part, the trip was fine (if you consider being uninvited to your brother’s wedding fine… which I do – as I saw that particular wedding as more of a funeral than a wedding, but that’s another story for another day.)
We started our journey leaving the Raleigh-Durham airport. My son in a “Question Authority” T-shirt (yes, he’s my son), the scientist with his thick German accent, and me in a happy, sparkly shirt.

NOTE TO SELF – Do NOT wear happy, sparkly shirts through the security line. TSA agents don’t like happy, sparkly shirts and they’ll get out their “wands” and wave it over the sparkles and then haul your tush a few feet away so they can swab your hands for bomb making materials. I’m not even kidding. I couldn’t leave until the machine the swabs went into said I was "safe".
But THEN we were on our way to Chicago… where we misconnected and had to spend the night. I was fine with that, actually. It was a bonus night in a fabulous city we hadn’t planned on visiting. We took the train into town and had pizza with an amazing view of the Hancock Building out our window. Lemonade from lemons. That was my motto thus far. Lemonade from lemons.
I feel that lady's pain!We woke up before the crack of dawn the next morning as the airline had scheduled us on a 6am flight. I was fine with that too. At least we’d make our final destination before noon. What I hadn’t counted on was an insane security line at 4-freakin’-30. (Yes, that is an actual time.) We stood in the blasted line so long we were in serious danger of missing our flight, something my teen kept reminding me of every 60 seconds. “We’re gonna miss our flight.” “Why is this line so freakin’ long?” “Why is that guy goin’ on break?!? We’re gonna miss our flight!” My nerves were on edge to say the very least.
At least this time I hadn’t worn a sparkly shirt, ‘cause heaven knows how TSA agents feel about THAT. No, this morning I had on a comfy maxi-dress that went down to my toes. But guess what? Yeah, that’s right… TSA agents don’t like maxi-dresses either.  The grumpy old guy (who could have been Methuselah’s great uncle) says “We gotta check this one out.” (Meaning ME).
I’m sorry… What?
“You could be hiding anything in that dress.”
Are you freakin’ kiddin’ me? I said, “I’ll happily take it off and go through naked if that would speed up the process.” Because – remember – we’re gonna miss our flight! (And I know that guy in Portland who stripped down to his birthday suit won in court against the SS…er…I mean the TSA. So I know the law is on my side in this).
“There’s no need for that attitude ma’am.”
Oh I beg to differ. There is EVERY need for my attitude, you sparkly-shirt-long-dress-hatin’-power-hungry-blankety-blank (In my head there weren’t blanks, but this is PG rated blog). 
“I’m going to miss my flight. I really will go through naked.”And I would have if this female TSA agent hadn’t showed up when she did.

She needed to pat me down. And she needed to explain everything she needed to do in excruciatingly slow detail. “Ok. I’m gonna run my hands over your bra.”

Fine. Just do it.

“Ok. Now I’m going to pat down your sides.”

Yeah, yeah, just hurry the heck up! 

“Ok. I’m going run my hands along the inside of your thighs.”

Just freakin’ molest me all ready, but hurry the heck up! I’m going to miss my freakin’ flight!!!!

You’d think after I went through the pat down I’d be done, but NOOOOO… I had to have my hands swabbed for bomb making materials.

Again.

I wish I was kidding. Apparently people who make bombs wear sparkly shirts and maxi-dresses. Who knew, right?
We ran to our gate, just as they were getting ready to shut the door. We barely made it. And there was absolutely NO reason for all of the stress. No reason except for sparkly-shirt-long-dress-hating-power-hungry-blankety-blanks!
To reduce our stress on our return trip, we got to the airport 3 hours before our flight. I didn’t have on a sparkly shirt or a long dress this time. Just jeans and a T-shirt, but once again – the TSA agents felt that I looked like the sort who makes explosives in my basement. Not my scowling teen. Not my very German scientist. Not anyone in line around us. Nope. Just me. So once again – my hands got swabbed and I had to wait until the all-knowing machine said I was “safe” to continue on to my gate. But at least we didn't have to run to the gate this time. 
Now don’t get me wrong… I want our skies to be safe and I don’t want another attack on this soil. BUT come on! We take off our shoes because one jerk tried something with his shoes. We have to pour out our water because one jerk tried something with liquid in a bottle. I just wonder which terrorist got caught in sparkly shirts and maxi-dresses.
I know you’ve got travel horror stories… because...Well who doesn’t? Tell me about your experiences flying the NOT-SO friendly skies. I hate to think I'm the only one who, apparently, looks like a terrorist.