No friends, a tiny wee rant, and the fact that I’m 12

I finished my latest draft, cyber friends! Thank you, thank you. Why yes, I will have some of that champagne. You’re too kind. Oh, a five-million dollar book deal? Thank you, I’ll take two.

Okay, so it hasn’t been exactly like that. I gave it to my writing group and, lo and behold, I committed an ultimate sin that I thought I’d never commit…*cue music*

My heroine doesn’t have any friends!!!! Every time I read a book and the heroine is without friends, I cringe. Granted, those books are usually about paranormal women with man-harems (I love typing man-harem. I love saying it, too. Man-harem. *snerk*) where friends would get in the way of all the nookie. I made sure my heroine had lots of female support, but no actual friends. I had to throw some in there, and now I’m just hoping my new beta-readers won’t think they’re tacked on.

Also, man-harem.

Speaking of, this town would be a wonderful place to try and form a man-harem, if such is your desire. We have a plethora of young men who drive fast, sneer constantly and can’t seem to wear a hat correctly. If whopping big tail-pipes turn you on, you need to come here.

What the fuck is up with whopping big tail pipes, anyway? If anyone knows, please enlighten me. Sometimes, it seems you actually need TWO whopping big tail pipes or even a smokestack (a fucking smokestack!!!) in the bed of your truck. Hell, maybe you need all three, all of them loud as fuck and belching black smoke. I hear the smoke is even engineered to be harmless to the environment, meaning it’s just there to piss people off.

I picture the kids buying these things at one giant mega-store that has a commitment to, “Selling only the best annoying products for the discerning prick.” Close up on the store manager nodding enthusiastically. “Mmm hmm, we cater mostly to pricks. Also assholes, wankers, and the occasional dickweed or jackhole.”

Seriously, guys out there who do this, no one’s impressed. No one has wood over your smokestack. But ‘grats on creating memories that will shame your children later.

And as for shaming children, I don’t plan to have any, but if I ever do, I hope I’ll grow out of being 12. My husband and I are doing home repair right now, and you should hear the jokes about caulk. Yeah, if you don’t say it correctly, it sounds exactly like what you’re thinking. Holes to fill with caulk, grabbing caulk, how much caulk to you have, this job needs more caulk… You name it, we’ve done the joke. What can I say, we’re 12, but at least we don’t inflict our 12-ness on others.

Well, I guess I just did on you… Hmm, better get myself to that store for pricks…

Tell me what annoys you. I’m bound to make fun of it sooner or later.

Almost forgot! Sorry RSS feed people. Next week, I’m having Maria Zannini over. You better show! Also, today I’m posting on Fansci. Come say hi.


6 thoughts on “No friends, a tiny wee rant, and the fact that I’m 12

  1. When you soup up your engine, you have to do the exhaust too. More torque produces more exhaust. All in the name of increasing the acceleration ability of a vehicle designed for utilitarian purposes, not performance. Rednecks are dumb.

    Equally dumb are rich old people who can’t properly maneuver the luxury SUVs that they shouldn’t have bought in the first place. Why is it that a Lexus sedan isn’t status symbol enough?

    • You and your logic, Sam. Sheesh. I don’t care how much you souped up your car, you don’t need a smokestack unless you’re A) An oldtimey steamtrain from olden times or B) pulling something monumentally heavy like buildings or the Olympian gods.

  2. Worse yet, I had to read your examples before I understood the caulk reference.

    Now just be sure to wash your hands after you finish handling the caulk. (Couldn’t help it.)

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