Debra Anastasia's Blog, page 31

June 25, 2014

Romantic Times #2014 Trip report -- Chapter 6 Grapes of Wrath

<br /><div class="MsoNormal">Romantic Times #2014 Trip report -- Chapter 6 Grapes of Wrath<br /><br />New the the Report? <a href="http://www.debraanastasia.com/2014/05..." target="_blank">START HERE Chapter 1 </a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m writing this chapter from Florida. We are housesitting for a place in the retirement community. It has a pool in the back! How fun. My kids will have gills by the end of our vacation. I accidently wrote grills instead of gills at first. I think that would make a great name for a restaurant. Grills and Gills. I like that. But I don’t like fish. Anything that swims actually. Well, I guess cows can swim if a pinch. It’s just not their favorite mode of transportation. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JBffN800UPk..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JBffN800UPk..." /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway. So I almost got in a fist fight with a Wal-Mart old lady today. Granted I was in Wal-Mart and I was hungry. Ever do that? The emotions that your body manufactures is what they use to make the atomic bomb. So much rage. Anyway I’m trying to get some god damn produce that my kids might eat so they don’t get scurvy (my constant<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>battle) and I see some nice fucking grapes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">In front of the grape display is an old lady. I park my cart and wait it out. She’d blocking the whole display like she was a Gringott’s troll. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oM65-6BJO2E..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oM65-6BJO2E..." /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">I observe her. She has one precious bag that contain “the ones.” Sometimes the pre-bagged produce is a giant rip off. You see it's $2.98 a pound but they cram 10 pounds of grapes in every bag. So she was, I assumed, reducing the weight. I get it. That makes sense. She’s there for like 4 minutes. Minutes in Wal-Mart stretch the time space continuum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels like you’ve lived a sea turtles lifetime per minute. I watch her more closely. She is taste-testing grapes from every bag. And selecting only the juiciest, best fruit for her precious selection bag. The husband walks up. I try and get him to get us a bag of grapes. No dice. He’s all, “We’ll come back later.” But that’s not good enough. There is some numbing anesthesia aerosoled through the vents in that damn place. And the minute you walk away you will be jazzed about the Gangnam Style shirt they have on sale. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m9p..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m9p..." height="172" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And honestly this old chick’s bogarting the grape display is pissing me off. I abandon my cart and say excuse me as I make my way into her personal space. They I try and just grab the first bag and leave. Of course I grab her precious bag first. Not intentionally, but in hindsight it was kind of a boss move. I hold it long enough so that I can watch the anger ripple through her body. I realize I'm holding the grapes she has chosen for Cleopatra or whoever, so I drop it and grab my own. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The husband tells me the woman is staring daggers at my back. I look over my shoulder and tell her, “Bring it, damn it. I’m so hungry I'd love to fight.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And then I left Wal-Mart. I bet that saying is uttered by 95% of the customers coming out of Wal-Mart. Did I tell you there was 25 registers and 2 were open? That’s right, two. Never, ever ever have I seen all the registers open at a Wal-Mart. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Lord help me Wal-Mart and I are on a slippery slope. I love their deals but you always pay in other ways. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, back to New Orleans. I tell the hostess that I’m to meet some girls and she tells me to look around. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I find Micha! (Why do I know have pictures with all of these women? I don’t know.) She and I have been buds throughout my whole publishing experience. We’ve meet before at Book Bash and I just love her. You would too. She is so fun and huggable and pretty. Anyway, then the ladies start to trickle in. CJ, Lisa, Traci, and finally Elizabeth. I hug them all. Even the ones whose body language was clearly saying, “You are one weird chick.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We proceeded to have breakfast from the buffet. I made Elizabeth sit next to me. And we laughed. God we laughed and had so much to talk about. I got to tell Elizabeth thank you in person, which was long overdue. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We were supposed to be talking about our panel, instead we were catching up. After breakfast we retreated to a hotel room. Everything that happened there was wonderful. We did eventually get around to planning the panel specifics. It was a crazy fun out-of-body experience with a beautiful view. I’ve always liked the Omnific ladies but it was really cool to see them in action, making decisions and plans. They are really in tune with each other. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">After I have my part down, and Lisa had grabbed my registration, I was out and headed to the lobby. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the convention hotel there are a series of elevators that are ginormous. It had a button system like I’ve never seen before. You press a button and then it tells you which elevator to get on. For example, if I pressed 11, the screen next to it would say B. You (if you were a smart person) go wait by the correct elevator. And you don’t get in the others that open because they might take you somewhere else. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">For serious I did not know how these worked until the third day in New Orleans. I would press the button and then wait in the center, bouncing on the balls of my feet, for a door to open. Then I would dash in. Then the elevator took you wherever the hell it wanted. So I picked up my phone and tried finding my sister and Karen. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">As I get on the elevator, I see a gorgeous redhead looking at my boobs. And then Daisy, who is on the ball, reads my brand new name tag and hugs me. <a href="http://daisyprescott.com/" target="_blank">Author Daisy Prescott</a> is a-fucking-dorable. We met in person at last years Book Bash and then again in NOLA. So I’m on the phone, Daisy and the other elevator hostages and I are talking to each other. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The door behind me opens, and I go to get out. Daisy yells, “No wait! That’s the third floor!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I return to the elevator. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Let me just put this out here. I’m an asshole. I’m like a giant baby that needs other humans to help me get from point A to Point B. These helpers I find along the way are sent by God or my grandfather. They keep me from wandering into traffic, etc. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">My sister was the first human to pull me away from an electrical outlet after she found me licking my finger and sticking it in. Yes I was doing it. Yes more than once. I couldn’t decide if it made me feel pain or cold. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://madguyyy.com/wp-content/upload..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://madguyyy.com/wp-content/upload..." height="320" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, unknowingly Daisy became a Pam. Humans that keep me away from fire and traffic are really just another Pam. I bring this up now because it will come handy in later in this trip. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Next there was lunch. What the hell did I do for lunch? I can’t remember. There’s a picture of a pancake in my iphotos right between my dressed up outfit and the panel. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">So I don’t know what it was. Let’s assume I went to Brad Pitt’s house and he made me and my sister and Karen pancakes.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DbUX-1u7Fn0..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DbUX-1u7Fn0..." height="240" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Then, next we have my panel with my Omnific buddies. (PS if you saw me at lunch on the first day of RT, send up a flare.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>

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Published on June 25, 2014 21:07

Saving Poughkeepsie Cover Reveal!!!!!!!!!!!!

Saving Poughkeepsie is the third and last book in the Poughkeepsie Brotherhood Series. Check out the cover below:

What will it be about? Here's the blurb:

Beckett Taylor’s quest to be a better man has brought Eve Hartt back into his life, but sometimes it feels like they’re bound together with barbed wire. Though he longs to love her without causing pain, the wreckage of their past continues to crash down around them.
Yet with the help of this brothers—and for his brothers—Beckett won’t stop trying. He’s determined to make them all a family, to make a life they want to live, and to make Poughkeepsie a place that’s safe to live it.
He can feel their futures balanced precariously on his shoulders: Blake and Livia and their children, Cole and Kyle and the new baby they’ve just brought home, and Eve…always Eve. He wants their dreams to be real. But murderers don’t just get Happily Ever After handed to them. They have to wrench it away from Satan himself.
Good thing Beckett is prepared to do just that. After all, saving Poughkeepsie is the only way his story ends.
Prepare your heart and your head for a wild ride in this final installment of the Poughkeepsie Brotherhood series. Debra Anastasia does not disappoint as she weaves the last chapter of a story that blends true love, turbulent emotions, and life’s harsh realities into an uplifting tale that calls to the good in each of us.

Join the boys for one last time on November 22, 2014

Saving Poughkeepsie releases 11.22.14Release Date for Saving Poughkeepsie is 11/22/14Poughkeepsie is on sale for .99 cents!Amazon Amazon.uk Barnes & Noble Omnific PublishingGroundbreaking Poughkeepsie Enhanced Collector's Edition is available on itunes NOW

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Published on June 25, 2014 10:28

June 3, 2014

Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 5 #RT14 Semi-Private Shower

So before we get to chapter 5, I want to share a little titty diddy that happened yesterday.

Ugh. So I had to go into the Verizon Store, which is like a punishment on a punishment. It's like where they send you if you commit a crime in Wal-Mart. I hate it there. It's so annoying. But I had to go. I pull in to the lot and the spot right in front of the door is free. I grumble. I get out. Both doors are propped open so I didn't even have to use my arms to get into the store. The girl greets me at the door, shows me to an open teller and my problem is fixed in less than two minutes. So fine. This time worked out but screw you Verizon, the last time I was there (about two years ago) it sucked. I don't forget easy and it's tough to teach me new things so I will hold on to this grudge no matter what. On the way out I drop my keys (of course, fuck you Verizon) and I have to pick them up. Even though it's empty there are 400 people there because Verizon that's why. So I have to pick up the keys. In a pin quiet, packed place. No one has anything else to do except watch the grumbly lady pick up her keys. So do I bend over and moon everyone? No. Plus, farting. So do I bend one knee and swoop to grab them? Well, then there would be all the popping noises my knee can make. People would think it was gunfire. So what do I settle on? A plié. Ask me how often I've done a plié in my life? Never. I've never done one before ever. So now's a great time to try an execute this fun move. The good news is I managed to not crack my goddamn head open. The bad news is I pulled a muscle in arch of both feet and my vagina. I suck. Not as hard as Verizon, but I suck.

Okay so I tweet the above status and Verizon tweeted me back. (Mind you, they only saw the first two sentences): @Debra_Anastasia I can understand how that would be frustrating. Is there something that I can help you with? *MT My response: .@VZWSupport No actually the store was perfect yesterday. Keep up the good work! It was my fault I pulled a vagina muscle, not yours.

Curious to see if they respond. Poor companies thinking it’s safe to tweet my crazy ass.

Anyway, back to deciding to go out in New Orleans at 11:30pm on a Tuesday just quick to hug my bff and then run back into the hotel. What could go wrong? According to Siri everything was great. Karen’s hotel was just across the street. When I get out to the sidewalk, I immediately make the wrong turn and cross the main road there. (Canal Street maybe?)

New Orleans has the most giant holes in the sidewalk ever. Like not just a “oops a squirrel buried a nut here and now I tripped", but "Hoffa buried a few bodies here and forgot to put the dirt back in kind of holes." Ridiculous.

Now I live in a leafy, farmy place in the world normally, but I’m from New York so when I gauge the surrounding atmosphere I know I’m in a purse-across-your-chest-be-mean kind of situation.

It takes about 8 minutes of me pinging around aimlessly on Canal Street before my friend can corral me and slow my roll. We hug. She looks amazing and confident.
Karen and I

Let me explain a little bit about Karen; she’s traveled the world, or at least been to another country. Her family is fairly well spread out in the US, so planes, unique cities and exploring doesn’t phase her.

We are totally jazzed to be standing in front of one another and hate to just hug and leave.

“Should we try and get a drink?”

I mean New Orleans is kind of known for their drinking. We start walking to Bourbon Street.

Yeah, we soon realized this was not the coolest idea. We stepped over vomit, dodged the giant holes, and were trying to pay attention to what was going on around us.

I look at Karen, “I’ve got no tolerance to alcohol. If I have four sips I will actually go to sleep on Bourbon Street.

We walk back to Canal and part ways with promises to get together as soon as possible tomorrow. We both arrive back in our hotels. I look at my vomity, airplaned feet and really need a shower.

I wake up my sister and talk some more. She deals with me despite her own exhaustion because she’s had a lifetime of my weird shit.

Now it’s shower time. The bathroom is wicked spacious. Play a game of football spacious. But it’s not because of the luxury. You totally know it’s huge because they turned this quirky old building into a hotel. The one shelf for your clean underwear and bullshit is right above the crapper. No lid on that crapper, so there is like a 50/50 chance of dunking your pj’s in the water.

I get in the shower after carefully balancing my underwear on the shelf. La la. Shower shower. Now it’s time for the hair. Do do. La la. Soap up my hair. Dance a little because I’m alive despite my fairly stupid idea to wander NOLA alone at night. Do do.

And as I turn to rinse shampoo I look out the window and lock eyes with a guy on street level. I smile because I’m nice and then I realize I’ve LOCKED EYES WITH A STRANGER while taking a shower.

I drop low, soap in my face now.

The shower has a HUGE bay style window. I had wrongly assumed that the hotel would have put up some sort of treatment that would ensure your privacy.

No. No. That was not the case. You see they had old, clunky venetian blinds. There’s a trick to those bastards, by the way. I learned this important lesson when my family lived in the apartment after my house was demolished in Hurricane Irene. At night, when the lights are on inside and the sun has turned off outside you have to be very careful with your blind angling. If the blinds are on an upper floor and you point them down, people can see in as if you didn’t shut them at all.

So obviously, there are two dudes on the street and I’m on the second floor. While staying crouched, I adjusted the blinds to angle up. And that’s when I saw the party they were having on the third floor in the building across the street.And the reverse is true of the blinds. If you point them up, people above you can see in.

Shit.

So I angle it down again, trying to forget that I just flashed a group of humans with my crouching naked form. (Which is a super flattering stance, BTW)

I step out of the shower and cross the vast expanse of the bathroom and grab a towel, intending to tuck it into the window treatment. Well, I think they built the old building around these venetian blinds. I think they were the prototype that the actual Venetian people created.

I was fairly certain that if I tried to tuck the towel in, the treatments would crumble under my hands.

Agghh. I’m soapy but not clean. I’m tired but also not sleepy enough to do a bead dance in New Orleans without a care. I look out of the blinds. Dudes are still there. They toast my frustrated face with the beer they were able to find. Fuckers.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I draped the towel over my head and took my shower under it. Like ET in the basket.

I crawl out of the tub at the end of it all and finally get dressed and fall into bed. It’s a comfy mattress probably made out of the bodies of the tourist that have fallen in the sidewalk holes before me.

Because we are changing hotels in the morning, I want to make sure I get up early enough to get dolled up and packed. I wasn’t sure if I would be hotel-less until check in at the JW Marriott. (I can use their actual name, not like West Bestern because the JW rocked.)

It was 1:00am NOLA time when I got in bed. Which thanks to crazy time zone math I was falling asleep at Thursday of last week.

My alarm is set for 8. I have a meeting with the Omnific executive team at 9. My panel is 1:15pm. All good.

I wake up at 7:10am to a slammed hotel room door. My sister is pacing the room cursing under her breath. I pry open one eye and look at her. She’s not hurt, so my first assumption that she’d fallen in a hole was incorrect.

“My AARP card ....charging me money to look at it... I’m calling AA and West Bestern’s corporate number.... Assholes.”

I frown. Apparently my sister is mad that she didn’t get her alcoholic senior discount and has to arrange a merger with corporate.

I prop up and try and think harder. “What?”

Well it turns out my sweet sister was trying to pay for the hotel, get it done before I woke up. She’s all dressed and looks gorgeous.
Pam

I think I’m still wearing mostly soap. Which my vagina will hate once I get her walking around.

When she looked at her bill they had charged her $12.95 to look at her AAA card. Which was supposed to give her a $10 discount on the room. So she paid $2.95 extra to get the “deal.” And then the front desk was super mean about it and gave literally two shits about common sense. Totally understood where she’s coming from.

How do I put this delicately? The women in my family are bitches. Yes, that works. We are nice, friendly and helpful, but the second you ask us to grab our ankles and hang on for the screwing we kind of rear up.

So I know my sister (like I would have or my mother would have) gave them a teeny tiny bit of hell.

So I look at her pretty face and no there is a HUGE chance that an angry Creole man might barge into our room and toss out suitcases over the charming balcony and I will be dressed in soap and pajamas for my meeting with the executive board.

I hop up like the bed is on fire and start slapping on my panel outfit ASAP.

I hear my sister on the phone. First it’s AAA. Which is good because I can’t find my bra.

Locate the tit prison. Insert boobs. Wrap dress on.

Oh no. She’s onto West Bestern’s corporate number. I start scraping some make up on my face, deodorant.

Corporate is closed. (Thank heavens!) So the only fear I have is the local one. My sister is packing. Fuming. I commiserate while I rush around to find all my bullshit. Purse, flower for my hair, jewelry. Oh god. One quick sweep and we are out --leaving the lobby at 7:45am.

I call the JW. They have a room ready for us right now! Blessings. We do the whole procedure in their amazing lobby. I think this is the nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in. It wasn’t the convention hotel, but across the street (for real this time Siri!) By the time we are checked in, I’m looking at my phone. I want to be a bit early for the meeting. Sister is going to unpack. Refresh the lipstick and I’m out the door. I find the restaurant I’m supposed to meet fairly easily. The convention hotel is bustling it’s ass off. Do I need to register now? I don’t want to be late for the meeting.

Now, I work in a strange business. The ladies I’m going to meet are friends, but I’ve only met two of them in person before. I’m super excited because I finally get to hug them. All of them. In particular Dr. Elizabeth Harper, who is the Omnific head honcho. Why? Because when no one else would take a chance on a bizarre author that wrote a book in the homeless romance genre, she welcomed me with open arms.

And because she did, I wound up hugging my book in real life and changing how I define my stay on this planet.

Chapter 6- I’m gonna be fangirling. I’m also in a fairly fancy restaurant and I normally shop in Wal-Mart. No worries, right?

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Published on June 03, 2014 09:57 • Tags: 2014, chapter-5, romantic-times, rt2014, trip-report

May 30, 2014

Romantic Times Trip Report #RT14 Chapter 4 - Slapped by God

<br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /><a href="http://www.debraanastasia.com/2014/05..." target="_blank">Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 1</a><br /><a href="http://www.debraanastasia.com/2014/05..." target="_blank">Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 2 My Armpit Boob</a> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.debraanastasia.com/2014/05..." target="_blank">Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 3 Alien Toilet </a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Romantic Times Trip Report #RT14 Chapter 4</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not alone in the baggage room. Other customers are looking for their underwear too. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I was mentally preparing to fill out forms, draw a picture of my suitcase, etc. when a Southwest employee saw my Mickey Head luggage tag. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“I just saw that. We have it.” She disappears. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Really?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Really?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I was pretty damn sure she was remembering incorrectly. Lo and behold she drags out my beast of a case. It’s here! It made it!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Color me surprised and delighted. Hot damn. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.reactiongifs.com/r/oh-you.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.reactiongifs.com/r/oh-you.gif" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I thanked her profusely. Good job Southwest! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Next up was my cab ride --which was a flat rate of $33. There was a little taxi booth and a nice gentleman who called over a cab. Back when I was in cabs they were yellow and cars. Now they are white and vans. My minivan from home to be exact. The cabby loaded up my bags and I told him where I was headed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">My sister, Pam, is a librarian. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6nRGf00NvRA..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6nRGf00NvRA..." height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karen, Pam and me</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I was able to convince her to come to RT with me. She had an event that evening which she luckily made. It sounded fun. She told me the hotel was charming. </div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The cabby takes off. Somehow, all the windows in his minivan roll down. I didn’t even think that was possible. It sure isn’t in mine. Then he slaps the gas pedal down. Hard.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We are going easily 80 mph. With all the windows down. My hair is a cyclone above my head. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://0.media.collegehumor.cvcdn.com..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://0.media.collegehumor.cvcdn.com..." /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The wind is so forceful it hurts. Dear god, why does it take this freaking long to get to a hotel. I find my reader glasses and slip them on as safety goggles. I’m all Snoopy as a WWII flying ace in this car. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.comicbook.com/wp-content..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://media.comicbook.com/wp-content..." /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I can barely take it. I take a video to show my husband how I spent my last few minutes on the planet. It was like being slapped by God. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fvc_Dherwqk..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fvc_Dherwqk..." height="320" width="180" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally I use my cell phone and find the window control. I was grateful when the window lifted at my command. I met the cabby’s eyes in the rear view mirror. He looked disgusted with me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We finally get off the runway/freeway/thruway or wherever the hell we were and start rolling through town. It’s pretty freaking lively late on a Tuesday. At a stop light a car pulls up next to us with the loudest, most filthy rap playing ever. And whoever this rapper was, they had great enunciation skills. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://theotherhubby.files.wordpress...." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://theotherhubby.files.wordpress...." height="165" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s so weird to be sitting in a car with a stranger listening to the word pussy and dick flying around the inside of the vehicle. The red light lasted forever. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally the cab pulls up in front of my one night hotel. Due to changing to a plane ride from a car ride at the last minute, we needed a reservation at a hotel that rhymes with West Bestern. I’m not going to say the actual name of the hotel because of what happened there. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I walk in the lobby where my sister had texted me that there was a key to the hotel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough I’m handed the key card. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">My sister and I have been talking about this trip for months. She’s three years older than me and we really love the hell out of each other. I was excited to see her. She was right, the hotel was adorable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a little balcony, there was exposed brick everywhere. Super cute. I open the door and tackle hug my sister who tells me she is a winning winner. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lqrd4t..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lqrd4t..." height="213" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">At the librarian soirée she’d scored a door prize of crystal goblets. This started a trend of her winning her ass off at the Romantic Times. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">My sister is also in bed. I text my best friend Karen, who I also managed to snag into coming on this trip. She is temptingly in a hotel close by. We just want a quick hug. What could be wrong with that idea? Busting out of your hotel in New Orleans in the middle of the night to wander aimlessly hollering for your bff? That’s cool right? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Next: Chapter 5 That’s not cool. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>

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Published on May 30, 2014 13:15

May 29, 2014

Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 3 Alien Toilet #RT14

If you are reading this on Goodreads click this link:

http://www.debraanastasia.com/2014/05/romantic-times-2014-trip-report-chapter.html

Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 1
Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 2 My Armpit Boob

Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 3 Alien Toilet:

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Published on May 29, 2014 13:55

May 28, 2014

Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 2 #RT14 My Armpit Boob

Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 2 #RT14 My Armpit Boob
Looking at this on Goodreads? See it on my blog here without all the weird code http://www.debraanastasia.com/2014/05...

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Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 1 located here

Chapter 2- My Armpit Boob

So, I’m not normally alone in public. I have kids, so they are with me most of the time. If they are in school I’m writing my face off or goofing around on Facebook, the usge.

So of course I have to poop because now would be the worst possible time for me to need to do that. I find my gate and double check with the employee that I’m in the right spot. That took 3 minutes. So I start dragging my carry-on around shopping at the airport. It’s such a strange, in-flux kind of place. Hurry up and wait maybe?

There are weird off-brand eateries. And McDonald’s. Does anyone else refer to all restaurants by nicknames? I think the husband started that with us. Like so:

McDonald’s = Slop Donald’s
Burger King = Burger Sling
Taco Bell = Taco Hell
iHop= Sloppy Hop

Etc.

Actually a few years ago, I was meeting my girl Shalu and my sweet friend Jen in Poughkeepsie and I was all, “Let’s eat at Sloppy Hop!” And they agreed thinking it was a new, fun place to go until I pulled into iHop. Then they made fun of me (of course.)

Anyway, I was battling with myself, should I force the poop issue and eat at McDonald’s? What if it starts and I can’t stop it? Then I’m picturing a horrible plane ride toilet issue I read about here http://jalopnik.com/this-is-the-most-... (read it, it’s so funny!!)

I decided to have a croissant and test the boundaries of my nerves and anal muscles without the clown’s aid.

So I wait. I played a few games on my phone. The wireless wasn’t working in there or I was too stupid to make it work. And wait. And go for a walk. I scope out the bathrooms just in case. HUGE GAPS in the stalls. Pin quiet. How do they get it this quiet in a busy airport? Also, there’s an attendant cleaning up constantly. Which I get, that’s nice. Truly. But it you’re trying to pop off a deuce on the down low, someone waiting on the other side of the stall with a mop and a sneer can be demotivating. Bathroom hopping from one to the other, it was just a no go.

Damn it. Can’t we pipe in some music with bass? It’s not a church for pete’s sake.

Okay, those of you who fly in planes all the time will think I’m insane, but I thought the time of departure was the time they let you on the plane. This comes into play later --for now I’m sitting next to the right gate when they announce that there is smoke somewhere at the Chicago airport and our flight will be briefly delayed. I call my mom and tell her the news.

Here’s what happens when I call my mom about travel issues. She turns on the TV, opens two iPads and researches the bejeezus out of the problem. She’s also been on a hell of a lot more planes than I. She delivers her verdict:

Go up to the desk and get on another flight.

Okay? No one else is moving. These well-worn airport warriors are not reacting to the smoke news. My mother tells me to do it anyway, and then hangs up on me to contact my sister who is also traveling through Chicago (we are meeting up at NOLA). I get to the desk and the lady is typing while talking to me.

“Where are you headed?”

“New Orleans.”

“Are you Debra or Beth?”

Whoa. She’s some sort of wizard.

“Debra.”

“Okay I have a protected seat for you and Beth on the 4:40pm plane stopping in Nashville.”

I leave, making sure that if Chicago gets its act together I can still take the plane that is waiting for us at the gate. Beth and I are now semi-related.

Now, I wait some more. I’ve been traveling in my head since I woke up at 5:30am. Needless to say, it was 2:30pm now, this is a long day and I’m still in my home state.

Twenty minutes later, the announcement is made that Chicago is rage-quitting airplanes in general and people as well. The whole airport just shit its pants. (I understand, go to be safe.) Mom was right.

The entire airport stands up and gets on line to talk to the wizard lady. The line is at least 80 people long.

So, I stand there like a deer in the headlights. My seat is protected, so what does that mean? Do I hand them my now useless boarding pass? That can’t be right. Getting on the airplane is like top-secret stuff. You can’t wear bras and need your driver’s license. I look at my watch. That line is at least an hour long. People are getting vouchers, new tickets, selling their names to Rumpelstiltskin, etc.

I see the other Southwest counter by the next gate down has no one on line. If I approach them will I be tackled? I don’t know.

I tell them my dilemma. The lady shakes her head, no of course my old pass is null and void. She kindly prints me out a two new ones. It’s in the next concourse over, so I haul bootie. But I will have time, right? The plane doesn’t board until 4:40pm. No Debra. You have to be there paying attention to the speakers. The waiting area is as packed as my bowels.

I looked over my shoulder and noticed people lining up next to the Star Trek poles they have by the gate across the way. I looked from my pass to the board.

Shit. That’s me. Luckily I have a really horrible boarding number. It’s like Bingo with the Southwest. I was like B48 or something. They could just print “middle seat with a broken tray” on the pass instead. The As are the best and I think the Cs ride on the wings.

I got on the plane and looked at the sea of faces. Jesus there are so many people here. I see a seat by the exit door with a woman and her huge purse taking up what was going to be my seat. I jammed my carry-on where it belongs and tapped her on the shoulder.

“I’m going to sit there.” I pointed at her purse.

Southwest seats are 17 inches across. Make your hands that distance apart now. I guarantee you that no seats in your house are 17 inches across. Adult humans are not generally going to fit ass cheek to ass cheek comfortably in those dimensions. My hip and her hip became friends. She looked me in the face, grabbed her purse from the floor and crossed the aisle. Turns out her husband and her brother were sitting in the aisle and window with a seat in the middle. They were hoping to make the exit row their first class seats.

I ruined it. Hehe. Anyway, now it’s me, the space from the exit door and an aisle seat. I had a split second of hoping for my own first class experience, but so many people were coming on board (maybe because Chicago was lighting up a giant joint or whatever) I knew I was going to have a friend next to me.

One of the last people on the plane was a sharp dressed businessman. He eyed the seat and nodded at me. I smiled at him because I didn’t want to be like the lady and her purse that used to own the seats before me and my ass hijacked them.

He will mind his business and I will mind mine. Perfect.

Oh no.

Crawling from the back of the plane came another guy. He jumped over the steward and planted his ass in the aisle. We locked eyes. His were so glazed over they could have been donuts. I had a great idea what the hell he was doing in the bathroom.

We make small talk, he’s actually really sweet. But handsy. We have to pledge allegiance to the exit doors, promising that we were willing and able to kick out doors and fire up rafts. We were all in.

My neighbor then decided to reenact a plane crash with me. He pantomimed how he would Die-hard style save me from drowning.

Within, I would say, about 6 minutes this guy was hugging me, and pretending to swim with us both. Turns out I was sucky at pretend swimming so he had to readjust his hold. To my tit.

Of course. The next thing I know he was showing me every tattoo on his body. I knew what courses he was taking in college, etc. As we started down the runway, I’m treated to every photo in his camera roll.

Now, I’m making fun here, but he was sweet and the grope thing I think was mostly a mistake because he didn’t expect to find my tit in my armpit, but like I said –no bra.

He gave me tips on flying or made them up, whatever, and when we were rumbling down the runway he looked me dead in the eye and said, “Now let’s pray.”

He bowed his head, braided his fingers together and passed the fuck out.

As we take off, I looked around me. No one was reacting to the fact that we were GOING INTO THE AIR. At four million miles an hour. Jesus people. Get excited. I had to tamp down my roller coaster screams.

It was incredible! Holy crap. People do this all the damn time? My eyes were HUGE.

Finally we level off AT THE TOP OF THE SKY!! I’m seeing the clouds from their heaven side. I’M A GOD.

Needless to say, I loved the plane ride. The close quarters were le suck though. Not a fan. The service was great, the stewards were funny but that’s a close squeeze with a stranger.

No worries, right? I only have one whole other plane ride before I touch down in New Orleans. I’ve got the hang of it, I can do this. No worries. No problems. I’ll be fine.

Next up in Chapter 3: I’m not fine.

Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 3 -- Alien Toilet

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Published on May 28, 2014 10:18 • Tags: rt14-trip-report-chapter-2

May 25, 2014

Romantic Times 2014 Trip Report Chapter 1

Romantic Times 2014 Trip Report Chapter 1
Seeing this post on Goodreads? Read it here without all the weird code stuff http://www.debraanastasia.com/2014/05...

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So, I signed up for Romantic Times Convention a while back. So long ago I thought I might me a different, more worldly person by the time I boarded the plane. The time came and went. I was somehow less worldly when I squished into my Southwest airlines seat.

I kept waiting for something to change. For sure things would go conkwire and I would somehow not get to go. I hadn't been on a plane in over ten years. Took the kids to school and my handsome chauffer took us to Baltimore with no trouble. Before I knew it I was parked in the kiss and go area. So I kissed my chauffer. (He’s also my husband, which made this whole situation easier.) As I drag my bullshit into the airport, I try to catch his eye for a wave. He ignored me.

Okay. No problem. Driving is important. I get to the Southwest check in and find out I’m too early to be at the airport. The man points me to a few waiting chairs by the large windows.

I drag all my craziness in and look around like the well-seasoned asshole I am. My phone dings. As I’m looking for it I notice some cop lights reflecting off the windows. I find my phone and look at my texts. The husband informs me with a smilie :) that he’s been pulled over. Those lights I’m seeing are marking his place. Turns out we had a mildly expired registration. Which is a teeny bit illegal.

I text back, “Do you want me to come out there?”

The answer to this, in case you are playing the home game for the first time, is always no. When cops are involved, the appropriate answer is, “No way in hell.”

So I dragged all my weirdness around, trying to find where his van was. The reflecting lights were like a creepy fun house and I darted in front of all the windows. I’m sure this put up no flags of concern for TSA who were strapping on double gloves for my impending body cavity search.

Finally I found him and pressed up against the window waiting for the verdict. The texts coming from my husband were alarming. There were chances that the car would be impounded right there.

Jesus. What about my babies in school? My too-big-to-be-called-babies kids that were trapped in their educational buildings surrounded by tons of friends and parents we know that could pitch in in an emergency? Panic ensues. I put one of my big paws against the window.

The cop (I love cops and they have a hard job!!) took 4 million hours to run everything and deliver the verdict. The husband got a warning and a notice to get the registration updated. He gives me the all clear.

I still had another few minutes to wait before I was legally allowed to enter the airport as a person. I was so early. I was like a pile of senior citizens arriving for dinner early.

Finally, I can check in. With the wide eyes of airport stupidity. In case you are wondering, regular plane commuters do not have time for my hillbilly shit.

The Southwest person helps me check my bag and points me to TSA. I take off all my clothes and get in line. Which is not protocol, I came to learn from a women with a stern face and very pointy nails. Okay, not really, but everyone there really assumes you’ve done this before. There are always at least two lines. Passengers and Pre-TSA. What the hell does that mean? No one tells you. I take a wild guess and get on the passenger line. The next thing I know I’m standing barefoot in one of those nudie scanners that were all over the news like four years ago. I knew what it meant. Quick Star Wars style strip tease. I felt dirty when I got out. How many other people had stood naked for a spilt second in that contraption before me? I’m betting a lot.

So now I only had three hours to kill and my stress IBS was acting up. Oh god.

Romantic Times Trip Report Chapter 2 My Armpit Boob

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Published on May 25, 2014 08:18 • Tags: rt14-trip-report-chapter-1

May 10, 2014

Hard for me to breathe...

http://www.amazon.com/Poughkeepsie-The-Series-Debra-Anastasia-ebook/dp/B006BHR94Q Poughkeepsie (Book #1) .99 cents
http://www.amazon.com/Return-Poughkeepsie-The-Series-ebook/dp/B00HL50PIO/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=1C4TSJGSSWA8KJ0CH4SAReturn to Poughkeepsie (Book #2) $2.99
https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/poughkeepsie/id763056961?mt=8 App for iPad

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Published on May 10, 2014 20:27

May 9, 2014

Romantic Times Convention May 14-17th

Hey Guys!!

Just wanted to give you a heads up on where my crazy ass will be throughout the Romantic Times week of fun and boobs.

This is my first ever Romantic Times and my IBS is hilarious right now. I can't imagine the farting on the plane.

Where will I be so you can either find or avoid me?

Wednesday, May 14, 2014 from 1:15pm to 2:15pm I'll be on a panel called:

The Changing Face of Publishing - Fan Fiction to Publication with a handful of my Omnific Publishing friends. You can find out more info HERE

Location: 4th Floor Room: Bonaparte
I will for sure hang around a bit afterword, so stick around for me to hug you.

Thursday, May 15, 2014 I'm meeting with a few agents. After that I'll be drinking in the streets.

Friday I have nothing scheduled, so I won't be wearing a bra.

Saturday, May 16, 2014 I'll be signing at the Giant Book Fair from 11:00am to 2:00pm
3rd Floor
Grand Ballroom & Mardi Gras Ballroom Social Event and I will have model/athlete John Quinlan (the gentlemen who portrays Beckett Taylor in the Poughkeepsie Enhanced Collector's Edition App for iPad and soon for all other devices) there signing head shots and taking pictures and possibly applying temporary tats!!

Also on Saturday I will be at the FAN-tastic Day Party from 6:30-7pm. The event takes place on the 2nd Floor (Quarter Tower) in Preservation Hall.

For the book signing I'll have 10 print copies each of Poughkeepsie and Return to Poughkeepsie and 5 of Crushed Seraphim. Make sure to get to me first if you're looking for print copies, I'm not sure how fast they will go. I'm bringing an assload of swag, so I should have that no matter what time I see you.
Are you coming? Let me know below!!

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Published on May 09, 2014 08:59

May 7, 2014

Interested in a Pough Tat Necklace?

Would you be interested in a Poughkeepsie Tattoo necklace? We are trying to figure out how many will be needed for the first limited edition.

Fill out this form if you'd like in on this: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1uHtXiTj01x_moVhaX5iSpfnY7W1oYL2nLfv50_XKRBs/viewform

*this is the example necklace and the actual one will differ slightly and be made from brass by KMH makes https://www.facebook.com/KMHmakes?ref=ts&fref=ts

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Published on May 07, 2014 08:48