Susan Abel Sullivan's Blog, page 12

Bull in a Thrift Shop

I broke a flower pot at the thrift store yesterday with a hula hoop. 

Everyone came running at the sound of broken ceramics.  I wanted to slink away, but I was more or less caught hoop-handed.  One of the store volunteers got an eye load of the hoop, which had come apart as it was whirling around my hips only to boomerang over to the shelf with flower pots.

Him: What's that??? (meaning the hoop)

Me: It's a fitness hoop.

Him: What do you do with it?

Me: It's for exercise.

I picked up the broken pot feeling like a total dumb ass. 

Me: Hey, is there a safe place I can test out this thing to see if it'll stay together.

Him: (not unkindly...I think he was still trying to grasp the idea of this giant, multicolored, foam hula hoop being used for exercise).  How 'bout in furniture?

Furniture.  I would have thought over by the clothes, but hey, what do I know?

Me and the broken hoop went over to furniture.  My husband appeared as if from nowhere.  "What did you do?" he said.

Me: I broke a pot.  It (I meant the hoop) came apart and crashed into stuff. (I held up the non-hoop for emphasis).

The hubs: I should have known.

I snapped the hoop back together and sure enough, I hadn't done it properly the first time.  I whirled it round my waist and the store volunteer said, "Now ya got it!"

The furniture section remained unscathed.  Fancy that. 

The last time I broke something at the same thrift store, I was moving a bag of stuffed animals that caused another bag of stuffed animals to roll onto the back of a propped-up picture frame which fell over onto a vase which wiped out a whole bunch of ceramic knick-knacks.  Aiiiigh!

I'm surprised they even let me in the door.  But I do keep them in business.  Guess I'm a regular bull in a china, er, thrift shop.


Fitness Hoop box photo

Veteren's Day 2013

My parents, Ernie & Jean Abel Today's post is a combination ode to Veteren's Day and Memorial Day.
 
My dad, Willam Ernest Abel, known as Ernie, of Fort Payne and Gadsden, AL, served in the U.S. Navy during the Korean War.  He went to the University of Alabama on the GI Bill after the war and received a Bachelor of Science in Broadcasting.  He was the first person in his family to ever go to college and was the youngest in a family of seven.  Both of his parents died when he was only ten years old.

The U.S. Air Force hired him to direct training films as a civil servant.  He went on to earn a Masters degree as a Education Specialist from Auburn University in Montgomery and worked for the U.S. Navy the rest of his career reviewing top secret training programs for the navy. 

I get my love for theater, drama, singing, acting and writing from my dad.  Even though he majored in Broadcasting, he acted in school and college plays, as well as little theater after he graduated.  Both of my parents loved to dance.  They met while teaching ballroom dance for Arthur Murray.  And both of them played musical instruments--my dad: guitar and trumpet. 

My dad was one of the beta readers for my first published novel, The Haunted Housewives of Allister, Alabama, but sadly, he succumbed to kidney cancer and died before it was published in print and eBook.  I think he would have gotten the biggest kick out of knowing I finally made it as a published author with an honest-to-God printed novel. 

Here's to you, Dad, the finest man I have ever known and the best father a girl could ever have.

Where's Waldo, er, I mean, Sabrina?

Where's Sabrina? Can you find the Ragdoll (cat breed) in this photo? Sabrina likes to hang out with the Steiff zoo. 

And btw, those aren't puppy pads under the animals, which would be pretty funny all on its own.  For some reason, the two clawed cats don't use the Steiff as scratching post swhen I put plastic underneath them.  I've had to resort to putting aluminum foil on the lion's back for the same reason.  If it's not one thing, it's another at Casa Sullivan.

Making a Splash

Yours Truly at Worldwide Aquathon Day. Yes, my eyes are closed. This is why I'm not a model; I do not photograph well












One of the many things I do professionally in addition to writing wacky novels and stories is teach water fitness.  Today was Worldwide Aquathon Day and I taught Aqua Kickboxing for part of the three hour fitness-thon.  Visit my other website for more details...

       www.sasdancefitness.weebly.com

Weird Science #1

NOTE: If you're squeamish, find rotting, maggoty body parts gross or distasteful, or lack a sense of scientific curiosity, then I recommend you skip today's post and go read Hello Kitty or something.

Bo found a rotting cat's foot out in our jungle of a yard and brought it up to the back deck to gnaw on.  I walked right past it several days in a row, but upon closer inspection, I thought it was part of a dead bird.  Then I looked even closer and discovered that it was a cat's hind foot and lower leg.

And it was riddled with maggots.

Gross, huh?

Instead of throwing it in the trash dumpster like a normal person, the part of me that's kin to Victor Frankenstein wanted to examine the cat foot in closer detail.  I noticed that part of the tibia was missing, but the fibula was still intact.  I hadn't realized how thin a cat's fibula is.  Makes me appreciate my veterinarian's surgical skill.

Oh, I should tell you that I was a pre-veterinarian science major for two semesters in college.  It wasn't squeamishness that drove me to change my major, but Organic Chemistry.   And when I finally settled on Exercise Science, I had anatomy and physiology labs involving animal dissection and vivisection.  The first was fascinating, but the latter rather distressing since the animals vivisected were still ALIVE! I took an "F" on those particular labs.

Look what the dog dredged up...rotting cat's foot with maggots--yummy!











So back to the Weird Science part of this post. 

I bagged up the foot, maggots and all, and put it in the fridge for several days until I could get around to this post.  I figured the cold air or plastic bag enclosure would kill the maggots, but when I pulled it out this afternoon, the maggots were alive and well and wiggling at the bottom of the bag.  So cold temperatures don't kill maggots, but it does seem to put them off their feed since they left the corpse to congregate together.  I suppose maggots don't use up much oxygen so the air pocket in the bag hasn't dissipated yet. 

I do have to wonder what happened to the rest of the cat?
Maybe possums ate it.  Opossums do eat carrion and our neighborhood is home to many possums.  Or maybe our dog, Bo, ate it.  He is a goat in dog's clothing, although I don't know if goats eat rotting meat. It's a mystery any way you slice it.

But the fun part about all of this is what my husband is going to say when he gets home from his business trip tonight and opens the fridge to find the cat's foot.  I can guarantee you it won't be yummy.

Stay tuned for more Weird Science at Casa Sullivan . . . Maggot Convention at the Rotting Corpse Hotel

Cats and Writers Go Together Like Martinis and Olives

It's practically in the author handbook that if you're a writer and female, you're also a cat person.  Maybe even a crazy cat person.  I used to be a crazy cat lady, but once you reach a certain number of indoor cats, some or all of them will have pissing contests with each other in your house. 

And man, cat pee reeks.  Does it ever.

So, we're down to five cats in the Victorian house and that seems to be the right number for our square footage because the piss-offs have stopped.  Order has been restored and all the felines are happy again.  Because Lord help you if your cat isn't content.  It'll make your life a living hell. 

Pictured above are my two love birds, er, love cats, Zoe and Spencer.  Zoe came from the animal shelter and Spencer was born to a stray cat in my neighbor's yard.  They luv each other...can you tell?

Now, what would a cute cat story be without a Casa Sullivan oddity?  Check out the photo gallery below.  Before we acquired the Charles Wysocki painting of the orange and gray tabby sleeping together, none of our cats cuddled.  Once we hung it over our bed--BOOM!--we had 3 pairs of cuddling cats: Cosmo & Cleo, Zoe & Spencer, and Buddy & Ernie.  I had to stop buying cat art because it seemed like as soon as I bought a piece, a corresponding cat would show up wanting a home. 

This mystical happening inspired my short story, "Finding the Way Home," in my short story collection Fried Zombie Dee-light! Ghoulish, Ghostly Tales (available in eBook from Amazon and Barnes & Noble.com.)

Fix yourself a nice martini, kick back, and enjoy the story.  Or cuddle with your cats.  Or both.  And don't forget the olives.

True Wonder Women!

I'm secretly a super hero.

There! I've admitted it right here in front of God and the almighty internet.  Which is probably a dumb idea since all the super villains will now know my secret identity.  Yup, that's right.  Meek, mild mannered paranormal author, Susan Abel Sullivan, is actually...Wacky Woman. 


[pictured above: myself and the totally awesome Vicky Smith]

That's right, if there's a verbal faux pas to make, a banana peel to slip on or a catastrophe to be found, Wacky Woman will unerringly target in on any and all personal mishaps. 

Just ask my Zumba Fitness class.  They can tell you all about the weird, wacky sh*t that goes on in class, the latest involving Wonder Woman costumes, Star Wars light sabers, and cootie bugs from outer space.  Aichihuahua!

And like many super heroes, I have two fabulous sidekicks: Memory Madam (Vicky Smith) and Femme Fatale (the fantabulous Audrey Tinkey {not pictured}) who help me fight the battle of the bulge and kick butt with me in Zumba class and at Zumbathons around the county.

And forget the dominatrix-like super hero costumes.  We're practical ladies and eschew the 5-inch heels for Coach high tops, Nikes, and Zumba Fitness shoes.  It's so much easier to kick butt and take names when your shoes are sensible. 

So...Wacky Woman, Memory Madam, and Femme Fatale...dropping pounds as if they were ounces and maximizing oxygen uptake with ease and inspiring other wonderous women (and men) to take charge of their health and fitness and have fun getting into shape.

For more info on my (secret) identity, check out my other website: Susan Abel Sullivan Dance Fitness.  www.sasdancefitness.weebly.com

Ten Tips for Successful Public Speaking

Today I'm sharing a few tips on successful public speaking.

First of all, don't show up drunk.

I know it's tempting.  After all, there's a reason we call booze liquid courage.  But slurring and staggering or falling down just don't create a good impression on your audience.  Unless you're in Vaudeville, in which case, drink up. 

#2: Watch what you eat the day of your engagement and I don't mean stare at your food.  Avoid major gas producers like chili cheese dogs, cabbage, onions, and garlic.  The last thing you want to do when is let one rip during your big moment.  Oh sure, it'll be memorable for all concerned, but not in a good way. 

#3: On the heels of #2 is consume carbonated beverages with caution.  While burping is not as socially unacceptable as farting, it's disruptive and will have your audience laughing at you instead of with you.  Plain water is usually the best thing to wet your whistle while you're speaking. 

#4: Take a pee before you speak or plan on wearing Depends.  Pissing your pants is a big public speaking No-No and dashing out in the middle of your presentation to take a whiz is, too. 

#5: Speak from your diaphragm and I'm not talking about the birth control method.  That would be a pretty amazing trick all on its own, especially if you're a guy.  Nope, take a deep breath all the way down to your belly and project your voice as if you're standing  at one end of a football field and are trying to speak to someone at the other end.  You'd be amazed at how many people get up to speak (without a microphone) and use their everyday voices.  Remember, the back row wants to hear you, too, or they would have stayed home to watch "The Walking Dead."

#6: On the flip side of #5, if you're using a mike, don't project or you'll bowl everyone over from the volume. 

#7: Mumbling, verbal fumbling, or rapid-fire speaking will guarantee either a mass departure or a massive tune-out as everyone grabs their personal electronic devices to Facebook or Tweet how lame your presentation is.  Speak slowly, clearly and with confidence.  Pretend you're talking to first graders.

#8: Project confidence.  Your stomach might be churning, your palms (and other body parts) sweating, your saliva production either going into overdrive or completely drying up, and your bladder doing double duty, but you shouldn't let on that you're a white hot mess on the inside.  Stand up straight, shoulders back.  Look people in the eye (but don't stare them down.) Smile.  Try not to giggle or laugh maniacally (unless you're speaking about world domination--then yuk it up.)  Stride in as if your audience members are guests in your home.  And for goodness sake, if you suffer from serious stage fright, see #1 or ask your doc about anti-anxiety meds.

#9: Notes are your friend, but don't marry them.  I've seen speakers read from their handouts.  Eek!  This is an automatic tune-out for me.  Notes are like guideposts that keep you on the path.  You want to be looking ahead to where you're going, not down at every individual stone you're stepping on.  If you're giving a reading, there's no need to memorize the passage, but do look up from time to time and connect with your audience and don't look down as you read.  Hold or place your material where your voice can go out into the crowd (or mike) and not down into a podium or the ground.  

#10: Yoda said it perfectly, "Do or do not. There is no try."

(Yes, I'm a Star Wars geek and proud of it.  But the first set of movies.  The later ones just left me with an insane urge to kill Jar-Jar Binks.) 

Follow these ten tips for a successful public speaking session.  And if all goes wrong anyway, you can always go back to #1 AFTER it's all over. 

 

Goose Girl Strikes Again!

WARNING: If you have an inordinate fear of geese or waterfowl, stop reading and seek help immediately!

A few days ago I blogged about picking up my parents' geese as a party trick in my post: SECRET CHICKENS.
This morning I hand-fed the wild Canada geese and ugly ducks at Ft. McClellan after my Water Works classes were done.  Don't ask me why I get so much satisfaction from feeding waterfowl.  I just do.  I find it EXTREMELY satisfying, especially when a wild bird will take a chance on me and eat right out of my hand. 

I sat in the parking lot with a loaf of cheap bread and the ducks and geese came running when they saw me.  Some of the ducks are the ugliest birds I think I've ever seen.  Poor things have been hit with an ugly stick.  I have no idea what kind they are--if you know, please tell me--they have weird, red, rubbery growths on their heads (some more than others) and they look like a mix of mallard, white duck, and some bizarre Frankenstein duck.  But they like bread. A lot.

Slide Show below...

DISCLAIMER: No geese or ducks were picked up or harmed in today's blog, only shot with a camera.

Looking for Ghosts in All the Wrong Places

This is me trying to capture a ghost in the bathroom mirror of my Victorian home.  I was going to make the picture with the shower curtain closed, but then thought about all those movies where there's something BEHIND the curtain and the audience is practically shouting, "OPEN the curtain!" or "Get OUT of the bathroom!"  So I opened the curtain.  Nothing there.  At least not that I could see.  My cat, Ernie, thought there was something to see.  He jumped up on the toilet seat and peered into the tub at SOMETHING.  I got out of the bathroom pronto. 

Why am I looking for ghosts in all the wrong places?

A friend of mine from high school has been posting some fascinating real-life stories about the ghosts in her Kansas home.  One is a creepy shadow man.  Her daughter made a selfie into the bathroom mirror and in the photograph there's the shadow of a man wearing a coat behind her.  The shadow does NOT match the daughter's body shape.  Whether you believe in ghosts or not, her posts about her ghosts are captivating. 

And it got me to thinking, if I knew I had ghosts in my house (and I used to and still might, but that's another story for another day), I'd be terribly self conscious.  Is the ghost watching me apply hemorrhoid cream?  Pop my zits? Wipe my ass?  Or any other number of embarrassingly intimate actions?  Would I care if it did? 

When we used to have a ghost, this potential for spiritual voyeurism didn't even occur to me.  But after seeing my friend's Shadow Man, I'd feel hinky about getting naked in my own house if I thought something like that was sharing my living space.  "Excuse me, Mr. Ghost, but could you please go haunt something else while the hubs and I do the wild thing?"

Note to self: Do not have sex in a haunted hotel room.

Now to add to the creepiness, I didn't capture any ghost or shadowman/woman images in the mirrors tonight, but the ceiling fan in my office did start running---all by itself--after three months of not working.  I didn't even realize it had started up until a huge dust bunny floated down on my face and I went, "What the frell?" and I look up and there's the ceiling fan just spinning merrily overhead.  Eeeee!

On a semi-related note, Moxie's birthday was on Halloween and I more or less forgot about it.  I feel like a bad dog mommy, but then, Moxie doesn't really care.  You can see her reaction below.  Just give her a tennis ball and a soft place to snooze and she's happy.  Happy birthday, old girl!

PS: Sorry Ernie's photo is blurry.  I was trying to take it quickly so that I could then get the hell out of the bathroom.   You know how it goes...