Debra Anastasia's Blog, page 69

Chances to win Crushed Seraphim!

Here:

http://www.lovlivlifereviews.c​ om/2011/07/author-debra-anasta​sia-interviews-satan.html

And Here:

http://supernaturalsnark.blogs​ pot.com/2011/08/guest-post-giv​eaway-...

Disney Trip Chapter 2 Grandmas are like prisoners!

Chapter 2

So we arrived at my parents' house. They live in a very fun cruise-like retirement community. They are professional retirees. Apparently they're training for the retired Olympics. You can't even fathom their rigorous daily routine. It is hilarious. Between working out, swimming, dances, mowing the lawn, and every other freaking thing…it's hard to get them on the phone.

Here's a tip about retired people, at least the ones I saw. Don't mess with them. I wouldn't. They are all leathery and ripped. They come out of the work out room and look like they could crack walnuts with their thighs. The biceps and abs on these older people are off the chain.

Why, you ask?

I have no idea. I guess we would all be tight and chiseled if the gym was a golf cart ride away.

They are fit, well-read, and ready to party and they are behind well guarded gates. They are sort of like prisoners, but in a good way. In the best way possible. Am I calling your grandma a prisoner? Sort of. Butt it's a compliment.

We had so much fun. The kids had so much fun. Actually my girl and my boy both changed their career plans. When they grow up they want to be retired. I think they are geniuses . So the pool, the shuffleboard, the tennis, all of it is like a kids' wonderland. We had one week before we left for Disney.

In that week a few things happened. My father became addicted to Farkle, my kids never really took off their swimsuits, and I became infatuated with the hot tub. Have you never played Farkle before? It's a game with six dice, sort of reminds me of poker. Very fun!

The kids had two swimsuits each and one was wet and the other was about to be.

But most importantly, I fell in love with those hot, bubbling pools of chemicals and germs. I could not stop putting my jiggler in them. I would float on the noodle for a while. Chase the kids around, then I would go for a soak. And in Florida in July? Your tub is already hot, but I wanted it inhumanely hot. And I got it. Remember those healthy retired beefcakes? They can boil their business extreme style. You would actually sweat in the water. I didn't even think bodies could do that! Mine did. The jets were powerful massages, and I was all over it.

Here is what I know about hot tubs: They are super sized Petri dishes.

Whatever you are hiding from the neck down is going to get cooked and shared.

That's a pretty scary thought. It's funny that after using the restroom I wash my hands like a surgeon, then use the paper towel to open the dirty door, holding it open with my foot while I toss the towel in the trash.

But I will roast my heiney next to perfect strangers while we all wear wet spandex. Luckily I'm not a thinker nor am I consistent. The heat would feel so good on my under-used muscles. Then the rush of getting back into the 89 degree pool? Well, it was down right chilly.

I'm not even going to talk about the benefit of all those bubbles. Let's just say either there are a lot of wildlife farting like men near the hot tubs or everyone is way too relaxed in those things.

So retirement was grand. Glorious.

But you know what's coming. I know what's coming. DISNEY. So I had some work to do. My girl fondly remembered the shirts we had made on our giant trip-o-rama with my in laws and my parents. I painted the shirts and we spent the whole two (separate, after laundry) days we wore them hearing comments on our fun shirts.

My girl wanted that back, but we only had four family members this year. So I had to contemplate the design. Then I had one evening to knock them out. Four shirts. I knew the backs would say "Let the magic begin…" and I wanted to have Mickey and Minnie heads, but something was missing. My girl really loves Phineas and Ferb. (oh my gosh, who doesn't?) so she drew a Perry the Platypus on her shirt. Then I knew.

I drew the Perry the Secret agent on hubby's shirt and then on me and my boy's shirt I asked, "Where's Perry?" Which for anyone not familiar with the show, the kids ask every episode.

They dried and we were thrilled. ( I will try to get hubby to post a few pics of the shirts) That show is such a favorite, so many people knew what the shirts meant, it was much fun! So with the shirts dry and the bags packed, we left the compound of thrills to head to the motherland.

Up Next.. "We are here!"

Disney Trip Report

Hi guys.

I went to Disney. Of course I brought the family too. It's not always all about me and my love affair with the mouse.

This is the trip that shouldn't have been. The trip that wasn't going to be. In our previous visits to Disney for the past 14 or so years, my parents were cast members. They were seasonals, working a scant few hours. Because of this we were able to partake in the Disney vacation on our budget due to cast discounts.

But that all came to a screeching, surging, flailing halt when my parents received the news that they had been let go. No Disney. No nothing. Not even a mickey shaped ice cream. And they did not find out until it was almost time for our trip. No time to save up for the visit to Mickey.

So we were preparing to go to visit my parents and no giant furry characters were going to be there. No castle. I was fine with it. Yes I was. Stop. Okay I was internally having a temper tantrum, but who is going to cry for me -Argentina? No one. We have been to Disney a boopazillion times. We didn't even need maps. We don't deserve extra anything.

There would be no need for hand- painted shirts. No Tinkerbelle presents. No window decorations.

Okay, I really was hoping Argentina would bust a tiny tear for me.

Butt then.... butt then...my mom called with incredible news. We would be getting four park hopper tickets. The kind people at Disney had forgotten about my mom's tickets that she had earned and sent them to her!

We would get one glorious day in the parks.

How cool is that? In the past I would have lamented the measly one day trip. But when it had been no Disney at all and very, very bleak ( I was planning on capturing some of those Florida lizards and having them sign my girl's autograph book whether they liked it or not)

But now one day was looking us in the face and dancing around. And we were dancing with it!!

One perfect day. Leave early from my parents (about an 1 1/2 away) and stay until closing. Then we would drive back after closing and I would pinch all of Mr.'s soft parts to keep him awake on the ride home.

Then my hubby had an idea. He snuck off to make a phone call. Maybe he was afraid of the pinching. I am incredibly accurate at that.

He came back victorious! He had not one but TWO, TWO nights at POP Century. POP CENTURY!

POP is my very, very favorite.

So this trip report will be for three days. Getting to POP, Going to Disney and then our last day and the things we did on our way home.

Who was with me? Well...

Hubby, 36 a very patient man who works in a school system. He is also friggin' hilarious, loves to party, sing, and flash his dimples at me.

My son, 12 who is just a magnificent person. He is staggeringly smart and remember everything he learns. He has an engineering mind and loves all sorts of transportation.

My daughter, 9 loves Disney. She is a huge fan of the characters because they are her dream come true. She loves animals and huge ones that walk around? That's fantastic. She still believes, though I'm sure it was our last trip with that kind of magic.

And me, 37 I do the stay at home mom thing plus I'm a substitute teacher and an author. I'm new to knitting and loving it. I like sunsets, walking on the beach and slapping clowns.

We have three dogs and a cat. Spike is a rescue from a Wyoming puppy mill. He's a multi poo which means he poops multiple times in the house. Snowy is a spitz mix that was rescued from the streets. She's our oldest dog and has gone blind. She is adorable and takes all her jobs she delegates to herself very seriously. One of her most important tasks is sleeping on the floor next to any sleeping human. She is so cute. And our weirdest dog is Peanut, a cocker spaniel. Dear heavens she is a dingbat. She is good with the kids, but in her head she is always rioting. She wants food and you have it. In her mind, if a door opens (any door, including closets) It's on like Donkey Kong. She jumps on any table that may have food. Yes, including the kitchen table. She is a 50 pound nimrod, so she makes a ton of noise.

She is cute though. At least there's that. My in laws in New York were kind enough to take this crew during our Florida visit. They are angels.

We also have a cat. His name is Blackberry. He is the coolest cat in the world. I will tell you his story, but not today. His post needs like spotlights and a drum roll.

So the phone calls happened. Then the plans formed. We drove straight through to Florida this time. No waiting, no overnight in a hotel.

It's a 16 hour drive (give or take) We piled into our vehicle at about 2:00am and we were off.

The ride was pretty uneventful, which is always good. The rest stops on the way down are weird, because sometimes you're busting into a McDonald's to "borrow" their restrooms. On our way to New York there are proper rest stops that are like little malls of wonderful. The ride to Florida is a crap shoot.

So when I'm not walking in on a casting call for a Quentin Tarintino movie thinly disguised as a fast food restaurant on stops down South, I'm happy.

So I wasn't expecting a problem with the honest-to -goodness billed-as-a-pee-stop break. We were in Florida, things were looking good. The little mall like stop reminded me of New York Style rest stops. A few hours left on the monster ride. I did notice a few buses out front, but whatever.

The ladies room was packed with elderly ladies. I go into my stall and my girl goes into the one next door to me. Things commence. I'm looking straight ahead when I'm surprised by a face peeking under my door.

"DORIS??"

I'm looking at her, she's looking at me. I do not know her. Well at least I think she is looking at me. She's wearing super dark aviator glasses that cover at least half her face.

We stare at each other. I say nothing. I mean what could I say? "Let me check for you?" The stall clearly only has room for me and my butt.

"DORIS?!" She says again.

I try to become invisible. My name is not Doris, nor have I nicknamed any parts of my body Doris.

I shrug. This old bag is amazingly flexible for her age. She must partake in big blobs of yoga.

At least if she is busy interrogating me about Doris (who she clearly thinks I have stuffed in the toilet and sat on top of) she isn't creeping out my daughter.

After another awkward pause, her head is gone. Her orthopedic shoes make her as sluethy as a Death Eater.

So that's how I was welcomed into Florida this year.

Up next will be a tale of being slightly retired at 37 and freaking loving it.

Summer Lovin'

A while back I was contacted by Omnific Publishing with the opportunity to contribute to a charity anthology. Included in the Summer Lovin' Heat Wave Anthology is a story I wrote. It is the fairy tale style story about an evil queen-to-be and her brush with a defiant warrior. She must learn to love someone other than herself to impress him and save her country. This Anthology is for adults, with some hot love. The authors participating in this edition are: Kasi Alexander, Debra Anastasia (me!), Robin DeJarnett, Jesssica McQuinn, Lisa Sanchez, BJ Thornton


All proceeds will go to the Save the Ta-ta's foundation. It's just astonishing how many lives breast cancer has affected. I don't need to tell you the stories of the people I know, because unfortunately you can most likely close your eyes and picture someone you care about's struggle.


So this effort is for the person that brings tears to your eyes when you see their bravery. This is for you if you've heard the diagnosis of breast cancer with disbelieving ears. As women we can stand together and do something. After all the pain, determination and sadness, how can we not?


However you contribute to the fight against cancer, you have my deepest thanks. If you would like to contribute to this one please click the link below. The Anthology goes on sale on July 5th and will read "sold out" until then.



 http://omnificpublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=36&products_id=52

Also, please check out the Summer Lovin' Summer Breeze which is rated for YA readers. It includes these talented authors: Hannah Downing, Nicki Elson, Sarah Glover, Jennifer Lane, Killian McRae, Carol Oates, Susan Kaye Quinn.

The link to the YA Anthology is here: 
http://omnificpublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=36&products_id=53

Disney World

I'm going to be there on July 17th. Oh yes I am. For one sweat-soaked day. and I'm a crazy tits excited about it. 


I'm weirdly, perfectly obsessed with Disney. I try to go every year. Did you ever meet a Green Beret who can pack the bejeezus out of a bag? Like grenades, and knives and jerky for living on in the jungle? Well, me neither. But I bet they are good at that shit.


 I'm just like that for Disney. I can pack a bag within an inch of its life. Command Hooks, Sunscreen, Ponchos, hand sanitizer, band-aids, autograph books. No need for a Map because I got that all up here *tapshead*


I can't wait. Bring on the pulsating, mind-altering heat. I want to sweat through my underwear, pants, everything. I want to sweat so hard that I sweat through your underwear too. 


If you coated Hell in asphalt and scented it with hot waffle cones I would fight a rabies-laden alligator to walk around in there for a day.


 So, anyway. My hubby really likes to take pictures in Disney. He got a new camera for Father's Day. He is losing his mind with excitement. 


He was also thrilled when some camera equipment arrived in the mail. He had been all-atwitter about its arrival. Now, I trust the husband to make his own manly purchases. I watched as he happily pulled it out of the box.
 
He bought a stick. An expandable stick. As I eyed him with suspicion, he clamped his beloved camera to the stick.

And that's it.

That's all it does.

Me ~ "We bought a stick?"

Him ~ "It's a monopod. For my camera."

Me ~ ""

Him ~ "It has a wrist strap!"

Me ~ "A stick with a string? Does it have, like other legs to hold it up, or something?"

Him (scoffing) ~ "That would be a tripod. This is a monopod."

Now I'm blond, but I do know that mono means one. Hello, Monorail?! It only has one something or other that makes it different from the Tri-rails. And Mononucleosis only has one germ. Whatever. 
 
I watched as he delightedly stood with his camera on a stick and snapped pictures of the living room. I thought of Jeff Dunham and his Jalapeño on a stick.

Then my husband completely ignored me, and packed his camera in his obscenely heavy backpack that travels like Yoda on his back in Disney world.

And he clipped the collapsed stick on a string to the arm strap of Yoda. Then he had the audacity to look at me. Again.

He's lucky he's handsome with white teeth and a set of dimples. I shook my head at the version of my man I would be looking at in Disney. At least he's usually smiling.

So we're proud owners of a stick, which I fully intend on stealing to beat people with. I'll become the Disney Whisperer with that stick. Ever see Cesar Milan? With all his "Chuchch" and "See my hand? Dat is a bite!" (I love that man relentlessly, by the way.)

I'll take said stick and poke people.

Me ~ "See that stick? It's a poke!" I'll use it to correct such unwanted behaviors as farting, nose picking, line jumping and body odor (in that order). And No, I won't use it on myself.

 If by some miracle, the husband gets through security with his overpriced expandable stick, I'll be prodding the crap out of "the undesirables of Disney."

But in all honestly, I expect him to get a full body cavity search in the tunnels under the Magic Kingdom.

Toe Nail Clippers

Yesterday morning, I got to see one of the fun tricks being 37 plays on you. I spied that apparently overnight, four longish chin hairs had decided to make an appearance. So, I started my hunt. For my good tweezers.


After years of plucking stray eyebrow hairs with a poorly designed pair, I had bought expensive tweezers. By expensive I mean over $3, but under $5.


The old pair of pluckers was the worst design ever. They had the rounded edges. The design team of crappy tweezers must have sat around trying to replicate the sensation of using two newborn baby's tiny fists to grab a hair. Slippery, inaccurate, and frustrating.


After cursing a blue streak at them one day, I realized there must be a better design. And made a mental note to grab a nice pair next time I was at the store.


Two years after that, I remembered to buy them. My mental notes are like throwing a message in a bottle at the seashore. You have no idea when they will find you.


So I purchased the high-class pluckers, for high class random hairs. They were like two razor blades sodered onto a sleek pincer. I came home and waged war on my facial hair. Anything that glinted in my harsh bathroom light was whipped away. I went overboard. Who knew that some of the hair on your face denotes personality and expression?


I stepped away from my overzealous pluck mania. I was surprised. My face was as smooth as a newly painted wall. I stopped feeling surprised, but my face refused to calm down.


Too much, I had plucked too much of my eyebrows.


For about the next two weeks, I spent much of my time explaining to the other humans I encountered that I was okay. I was not just back from witnessing a ghost. I was not carrying a pile of tacks in my underwear.

By the time the eyebrows had resumed their shape, I had lost my new tweezers/razors. Maybe it was divine intervention.


I went back to the trusty newborn baby fist pluckers.


Because I was now too stubborn to go out and replace the expensive tweezers.


When the errant, offensive 37 year old chin hairs alarmed me in the mirror, I began the hunt. For the tweezers. Preferably, the ones that meant business. I could recall the smoothness that they had inflicted on me. While searching, I could not help but keep on stroking the new hairs like Col. Sanders thinking about fried chicken.


The hairs were so coarse. I kept peeking in the mirror while ransacking my bathroom cabinet.


Oh Crap! One of the four hairs is black! Black! I feel like my chin is giving me the finger. What kind of crazy hormone is turning one chin hair black?

I give up on finding the fabulous, lethal razor tweezers, the Angelina Jolie of pluckers, if you will. I start searching for the baby fist tweezers.


Anything will do!


I feel like there is a spotlight on my chin now. If I don't get them plucked soon, they will turn into a full-fledged goatee. Baby fists are missing too.


I'm ready to loose my plucking mind.


I spy out of my panicked eye, the toenail clippers. I seize them and run into my bedroom so I can get real close to the mirror.


Plucking chin hairs with a toenail clipper is tricky business. I wish I could say I have no experience with using toenail clippers for unconventional things, but you know and I know, I can't.


Sometimes, I use them for scissors. Little, tiny inaccurate scissors.


So, I line up the clippers and the hair. I bite my bottom lip and stick my chin out like Jay Leno. I close one eye.
The husband walks in and sees me.

The husband wisely walks right out again without saying anything.


I focus back on the hair. I try and pluck just before I clip. Because if I cut them, well, then I'll just be trimming them back some. And that does not teach the hairs a lesson at all. Actually, trimming them makes them feel special and loved.


Turns out trying to judge the exact thickness of a chin hair is kind of hard. I wound up trimming them. Like a hedge. Or a Christmas tree.


Somebody remind me to buy expensive clippers again before the hair grows back.

My Oven Hates Me

My oven is losing its mind. Which would be funny if it wasn't freaking true. When we bought this house, the oven caught my eye like a painted up floozy. It was maybe five years ago now? It's a double oven. Not super fancy in-the-wall, but two ovens in one unit.
I was in love. I could cook two separate meals at once! Never mind that I hate to cook, it was the possibility that set my brain aflame. Now, it wasn't a spring chicken but it could cook the fuck out of spring chicken. Twice.
Yes, I burned some meals. Yes, sometimes a morsel of food fell to the bottom and caught fire, but we worked it out, my two-headed oven and I.
But I'm afraid our relationship is puttering out. How do I know this? Because my oven, which has a digital display, has been calling for help.
Every once in a while, it beeps. And beeps. And beeps. Until I press the cancel button. Even though I'm not cooking anything. And then it will pick an oven to lock. Either the top or the bottom, I never know which one.
Then a scrolling message unveils itself where my time used to be. The message is:
Call an Authorized Dealer!
And it suggests an 1-800 number. Well, I totally read it as "Call an authority!" the first time I saw it. I expected my oven to call appliance 911.
At first it angered me. The beeping at odd times, sometimes waking me from sleep, etc.
Then I just ignored it. It's been about a week now.
But now I'm starting to feel sorry for it. Sort of like ET with the frigging blanket and his large, light-up dildo. My oven wants to go back to the mother ship.
I want to phone home for this Maytag. It's had enough of my crazy ass. I guess I'll need a new oven. But how can I part with this one knowing it will be beeping in some junkyard, begging for someone to call the 1-800 number?
And what if I call the 1-800 like my oven is suggesting? Will it tell on me? All the times I didn't line a pan? The drippings from all the gruel I've made for my family was hardly kept to Maytag's standards.
I don't even know what to do about this oven.

3rd place!

So a while back I entered a 24 hour writing contest. I wrote my piece and sent it in. I didn't think about it again until a fellow writer contacted me telling me that I was in the list of winners! How exciting, right? It's awesome. But I totally forgot what I wrote. I clicked the link.


I had titled my entry Hooker in a Casket 


As most of you know, I can't be trusted to write anything normal. I remember when I participated in a sweet friend's surprise birthday blog, I wrote her a short story about a prostitute on her last day of work. It was edgy and sad.


The day of her birthday I clicked the link to her blog and read all the super sweet, adorable birthday wishes. And then there was my entry about a hooker. Happy Birthday?? What the hell was I thinking.  She was very sweet and said she liked it. But you know in her head she's thinking, "Hairy Christmas, this girl is nuts." My story was like a pimple on a birthday cake.


Anyway, back to my winning entry. It has armpit hair, a wet sounding fart, etc. Yeah. So I call my parents and tell them the good news. They are so proud.


 Mom: "What's the story called? I'm going to send it to all your aunts!"


 Me: "Mumble mumble casket."


Mom: "What?"


Me: "Hooker in a casket."


Mom: "..."


Me: "Yeah."


 So good times in my family. Only I could manage to win something that might actually hurt me if I put it on a writing resume. I'm a nimrod. Well, we should all laugh at me, so here is a link to my craziness:


http://writersweekly.com/contest/3rdspring11.html

Winners!

The winners of the Crushed Seraphim Giveaway were:

April from Silverdale, WA
Nicole from Toronto
Jessica from Richlands, NC
Caitlin from Greensburg, PA
Natasha from Australia

Thank you for you patience while I figured out exactly how this giveaway worked. Please watch your mailbox for your copies.

Also, please email me at Debra.Anastasia@gmail.com so I can offer you a digital copy because you have had such a long wait!

And now that I (sort of) know what I'm doing watch this space for another WORLDWIDE Crushed Seraphim Giveaway soon!

I held my book.

And it shouldn't matter. I've seen the pdf of Crushed Seraphim. I've read the words in that story a boopazillion times. So it really shouldn't matter. The cover was no surprise. 


 I had a full day on Friday, some of the following Monday's work was clogging up on me so I stayed a little late to get a head start. It was a beautiful day outside. I forgot to plan dinner, so as I drove home that was on my mind. After getting home, taking off my bra (hate you bra) and saying hello to the husband and kids there was a package.


 A book shaped package. 


 And yeah, it had my publisher's return address on it.


It's kind of funny because I had been getting reports from friends who got their copies, pictures even. It just made me want it more.


So then I opened the package, hubby snapping pictures and what spilled out was exactly what I expected. But also, it was so much more. Endless edits fell out, plopped on my lap. Hours fell out, spent in the very latest part of the night with my Mac. 


 Most importantly, a story fell out. I wrote that story. 


 Maybe I'm lucky we aren't completely digital in this world with our books because yeah, it so mattered. I'm afraid to crack the spine even though I'm usually a hard customer for a book. I snuggle with them, rip off dust jackets, toss them from the bed when I'm tired. But this book has been treated like royalty (so far). I've slipped it in my purse to go for a ride with me. Carried it into a restaurant and left it casually on the table. Because I could.


And I hug it from time to time. I know where it is, right behind me on the kitchen table. It was being the model for the bookmarks I'm making for the signed copies and bookplates. So I guess I'm playing dress up with my book now? 


 It shouldn't matter but oh my gosh, it really has been big blobs of fun. I have yet to sign one. I'll have to work up the guts to do that. I made my hubby and kids take pictures with the book. I don't even know what I'm getting at with this post. 

Maybe just telling you that holding my dream in my hand? It shouldn't matter, but it felt like wings and hope and I'm damn proud.