For answers, find a sexy butterfly

I'm still a woozy floozie. Well, not the floozie part.

But it's to be expected I 'spose. Anyway, despite a flippy stomach, we took the offspring to an arboretum to see a butterfly exhibit and I must say, not only was it beautiful and romantic, but inspiring. To me, butterflies signify a re-birth or renewal of life, so with all the questions suffocating me over the last few weeks, I now feel it's time to let go of some things and move forward.

So with that, some answers (kind of)...

-I eat too much ice cream. I'm sure my insides are made of Oreos and sugared milk. I'm okay with that.
-I admit, I sing along to Hannah Montana songs but have a softer spot for Demi Lovato.
-There's a very real possibility my writing journey will take a drastic turn from YA fiction to adult nonfiction via the coolest GWG evaaaa.
-There's also a very real possibility Candyland might teach YA Novel Writing For Beginners.
-I made a new editor friend via a contest I lost (go figure) and she is #funcie and #mynewbfffff.
-My hair grew rather large today re: the heat. Russell Brand would be jealous.

Sorry to be incredibly vague, but that's all I can give you for now *grins*

I hope to clarify in the coming days but until then, my favorite butterflies of all.

If you were a butterfly, what would you represent?

Candyland Out. (But my food is in.)

P.S. Tomorrow is Literary Crush Blogfest with special guest blogger, the hubs. I think I hear my pool boy calling...

Toilets LOVE this girl

I did something stupid.

Okay, a few something stupids. Friday night was the first time in awhile I was ready, willing and able to (as my best dude would say) tie one on. Apparently when I go, I go big or go the hell home. Mix an insane amount of alcohol (for me) with what appears to have been food poisoning and you have an entire Saturday of up-chucking.

I couldn't keep water down. Dehydrated and weak, we called the nurse line (per the back of our insurance card) who gave me this helpful information.

"Drink water. Keep it down. Feel better."

Yeaaaahhhhthanks. Saturday night at 7:15pm was the last bit of nothing pumped from my intestines, and so far, I'm better. Through all of this, something that only happens to Candyland, happened. Remember when I told you about my toilet glasses, yeah well...

Friday, I dropped my phone in the effing toilet.

I have no words for what a filth-mongering toilet-magnet I've become. Oh the good old days are long gone; the days I never dropped things in toilets...

But, it wasn't all bad. The highlights of the weekend, though, far outweigh the pain and humiliation of throwing up in the driveway.<---gross

Best Parts:
-Best dude and hubs joined forces to fix my toilet phone. It works, but after answering a call, I now know what it means to be considered a pea pee-brain. HA.
-Even through the trashcan and toilet hovering, my beautiful offspring rubbed my hair and told me repeatedly to "feel better" and "throw up in the trashcan, not in the bed."
-I lost about twenty pounds by the looks of what came up.
-I literally was aloud to lay around and do nothing. What an odd experience. I don't recommend it.
-Though I don't know the exact food culprit that spawned this, I've vowed to eat better (kind of) (let's not push it) (who are we kidding, i'll have a reece cup by noon)
-I had an excuse not to exercise (like I need one of those)
-I know for sure my best dude is exactly that for a reason. Though we test each other often, when it comes down to grit (helping drunkie walk, hugging her mid-vomit before he leaves), he takes care of me.
-I know for absolute sure the hubs truly loves me after 1) childbirth 2) my brief fascination with the Jonas Brothers 3) watching me vomit all day and never flinching while taking charge of our baby and the house.

So, friends, Candyland is still recovering but happy to report I may have some answers this week. Yeah answers!
Until then, tell me about the time you were too sick to stand...(or blog. Yikes!)

Candyland Out<--literally my system is completely empty. I swearz.

Feel me up Friday Awards: Oreos taste waaayyyy better than sleep spray

Yesterday, after my post about signs, my cat, Ritalin, fell asleep standing up. How eerie is that, yo? (Yeah, I realize the two aren't related, but it could mean I'm about to find my agent...) The saddest part about this story is, I watched her head sway and nod for about ten uninterrupted minutes. I'll never get that time back.

Actually, I do have something to add about fate and signs and dreams. It came to me in the form of a song by my new yummies, New Medicine. I wouldn't call it anything other than words to live by.

Don't try and tell me where I fit in the equation,

F*ck that and f*ck my reputation,

I'm gonna find my own inspiration...

 Can I get an amen? Uhh, this shall be my anthem for all the times I forget who's really running this dream thing. Who's with me? *Waits for a lone hand through the crickets*

Random Fact: Cookies N Cream Homemade Brand ice cream is my favorite. But I have a confession: My OCD kicks in when I'm scooping and I literally can't stop until all Oreo is gone. My bowl could be heaping, dripping, spilling over and if I see a cookie fragment, I'll dig it out.

Random Fact: I've talked before about eating face wash, dropping my glasses in the toilet, and still allowing the hubs to tuck me in at night. What you don't know is, I'm a Sleep Spray addict. It smells like lavender and vanilla and I coat my pillow every night with it's deliciousness. But two nights ago I did something that's only normal in Candyland. When I angled it to spray, half asleep, I didn't notice the placement of the nozzle until I had a mouth full of it. Now my taste buds have no trouble drifting off..........yeah.

Oh wow! Fantastic feel-up (though nowhere near Creepy's entertaining faux facts). After a long week of foreplay, this was a nice end to my week. You should hold seminars for couples who've lost the "spark." I really do have a ton of awards to hand out, but to be completely, brutally honest (I wouldn't be Candyland if I weren't), it's a lot of work doing linkage and picking names and whine whine whine, so I didn't get to it like I'd hoped. Alas, they will happen.

And just as I've finished typing this, the answers to those biotch questions are pouring in. Now that, my friends is a sign. Until I know for sure...

Tell me, what's your favorite ice cream and are you insane like me?  (Elana do you hear me on this?)

Happy weekend. Feel me up again Monday, Tuesday and every other day. I quite enjoy it.

Candyland. OUT <----(still the one and only)

Punch a sign in the face today and get free tickets to nothingland

You hear it all the time. "It was a sign, I know it. It's fate. It's totally meant to be. It's this, it's that." Whether it's about the agent you keep running across on various sites (it's not a sign, it's called stalking),  the fact that the clock is stuck at 9:59 every time you look at it (okay, maybe that's just me), or how so-called contests pop up with (what seems to be) the opportunity you've been waiting for. It doesn't matter. Signs can officially suck it.

Let me tell you a little story about Candyland. It goes a little something like this:

Candyland was a fair (olive) maiden who loved to cook plunge toilets write. One day she decided to write a book because it's sooo easy to write a book, like anyone can do it (all saracsm). After many months of toiling, the book of sucketh made it's debut into the world like a naked, whiny baby in need of milk from the teet (the revision teet, that is). Candyland loved that baby so much, she spent days, nights, hours that didn't exist transforming that whiny baby into something called Suck #2.

When Suck #2 was a few months old, Candyland queried agents near and far, short and tall, awesome and awesomer. Until Candyland had a revelation: "Why don't I write the book in reverse?" Lightbulbs went off and exploded over her head. Until the rewrite sucked too.

Fast forward through betas, rewrites, various distractions and a complete depression where the book sat untouched and unloved for months. Then Candyland had another revelation that she can't share until her book sees the light of day: *giggles* More query letters were sent and Candyland started getting ridiculous requests to read her baby. She was so excited, the feeling in her gut knew she'd found an agent somewhere in there.

Annnnnnnnd here we are.

Every last agent has responded. All with fantastic news. Apparently, I can kind of write. I may have a compelling high-concept book, I have a strong voice and one went so far as to say she'd sign me right now.....if she was looking for fiction.

I've spent so much time and energy looking for a reason to stay positive, looking for a sign to tell me what to do. When the point is, my story is the sign. I wrote it. I obviously believe in it or I wouldn't still be slaving to find it a home. I'm a writer. It's what I do. My advice to you Candylanders? Lose the signs, and believe in yourself enough to make your own effing sign. Power to the peeps.

Have you felt a fate-like moment lately? Tellmetellmetellme

Candyland. OUT.

Candyland Six Months Later: So are we dating now or what?

My missing post is here. The first ever Candyland experience I accidentally deleted a few days back. I don't know if you've missed me (I effing hope so), but I missed you fo sho. I hope you checked out Creepy and Anne's posts. If you didn't, please list your name in the comments so I can give you a virtual swipe.

No, it is not for pleasure. Buuutttt, I'll let it slide as long as you're here right now, my lovlies. So today's post is a blast from the past, but in present time. Weird, I know. I'm still dealing with the loss of Phil Harris on Deadliest Catch, so talk amongst yourselves for the remainder of this post (unless you're being punished with a swipe)...

Enjoy. 

So, I've debated doing this for some time now. You know, sharing my thoughts with the world in a place where I can never ever ever take them back (ever). But as some of you know, I've been hard at work on my first novel for an entire year now, and I'm realizing more than ever that:

a) I'm losing my mind a little

b) Getting published is not a means to an end, but hopefully a lifelong career (even if it pays in peanuts)

c) Being a stay at home mom of my one beautiful princess often leaves me too drained to form a sentence, but I still have the overwhelming urge to write

d) I'm losing track of what's important here. Obviously it's finding a way to meet Steven Tyler. I'd settle for Joe Perry, though...

Writing has always been an escape for me like it has for most people. Though it's difficult to find the right avenue for which to apply it. I picked up my first guitar at 14 and started with the usual suspects: lyrics I obviously thought rocked enough to get me magically signed, and poetry I obviously thought could get me some kind of sensitive, emotional boyfriend who would listen and cry as much as I did (hormones). I did get an offer of representation some years later from a small label in California and I did get that emotional, sensitive boyfriend. 

Turns out after all the searching, neither was a good fit for me. I was always excited for my creative writing class in high school, though lacked the same enthusiasm for the periods of blocked time (in which I was required by law to attend) I merely referred to as "the others." I never had a problem making friends, but I was never popular, either. An oxymoron at its best, everyone knew me, but no one did. It was clear that I was bound to straggle off onto my own path, alone.

Sharing the same lackluster attitude towards Ms. Weaver's commander-style demands and bowl-shaped haircut just wasn't enough to form a lifelong kinship with all those who had a plan for their lives. I just settled into accepting the way my life was forming, blank and restless, yet unsure. It was good enough in high school. But I wanted more. 

I was a daydreamer. A wishful thinker. Full of hope,(or full of something). And then graduation came, which I barely made it to, and I realized I had no goals. No aspirations beyond the dreams. No future. I married my high school sweetheart two months after being cut loose from the grips of higher education, hoping, I guess, to ride on his coattail for awhile until I figured it out. He had so much potential until, well, me. Problem was, I didn't know how to figure it out.

 I continued singing and playing my guitar everywhere I could manage, working every job under the sun from telemarketer to vacuum sales to house cleaner. I was never satisfied. There was a nagging feeling I was meant to do more but I ignored it. Blame it on laziness, or blame it on fear. Either way, it got me nowhere. As my marriage fell apart four years in, amazingly, so did the nothingness. The desire to do something only grew stronger the longer I was on my own and you know what? I owe it all to the one who made it all possible. My childhood cat, Boo-Boo.

Boo-Boo was an ass. A rebel. He never did what anyone wanted him to, until he wanted to. He'd sit in the driveway, grinning from ear to little cat ear, while Mom would honk for him to move for a good five minutes, or until someone would get out and physically remove him. Even then he'd wander back to the same spot just out of aggravation of having been moved. He lived life on his own terms and never apologized for it. A lesson I'm only starting to appreciate.

I have to believe my novel will razzle and dazzle an agent this year, and it will be published, (she chants repeatedly), and I will never (well, I'll try not to) doubt the power of daydreaming, wishful thinking, or hope ever again. Thank you Boo-Boo. And thank you sensitive boyfriend, (who cheated on me). And thank you awful record deal. And first husband for setting me free to spread my wings. But most of all, thank you to me.

For having the guts to find myself through a forest of shady trees and naysayers. For sticking to my guns and most of all...NOT GIVING UP!

Welcome to Candyland, baby.

So now you know how it all came about. The Wizard has been revealed (not really but I'm tired) and hopefully you feel a little closer to feeling me up on Friday after that extra long foreplay (you had to know I'd go there)...

Until then, what is one thing you've learned in the last few years?

Candyland. OUT.<---still the one, and only baby

Feel Me Up Friday Awards on Monday: Getting Intellectual on Yo Ass

Today's guest post is from the insanely fabulous Katie (aka Creepy Query Girl), whose entry took home first place in the Imma Do Candyland Better than Candyland contest. You'll never know I'm gone by the genius in this post. Just read and see.

Yesterday I took the offspring to the dwelling place of old crap the art history museum. The advertisement bragged of guaranteed family fun. I admit, the offspring was intrigued by the life sized historical figures made of shining wax. But after watching Night at the Museum one too many times, there was absolutely no freakin way she’d believe they didn’t come to life. People gave us curious glances as she banged on the window in front of Atilla the Hun’s exhibit screaming “Mashu Mashu!!!”

The toe nail was about the size of the offspring’s head. She looked up at the pale gleaming stark naked lady with wide eyes. 

“Mama whats dat?” she asked.

“Uh... A flying saucer.” Next

We went out to lunch at the posh museum restaurant (Subway), dined on delicacies (ham and cheese with mayo), and intellectually discussed the exhibits. 

Offspring: "That man looked like a pile a poo." (referring to the replica of Germain Pilon)

Friday snuck up on me like kung fu ninja with an eating disorder. Now it’s time to feel me up. Please be sure to wash your hands. Better yet, use sanitizer. Especially you, Creepy. I know what you’ve been up to.

Random Fact- I once dated a Turkish prince named ‘Hazan’ and spent six weeks vacationing on his family’s yacht in the Mediterranean.

Random Fact- When I was eighteen I shared a jail cell with Whitney Houston’s ex ‘Bobby Brown’. It’s a long story.

This concludes your Candyland action (for now *wink wink*) Here’s wishing all my blogging buddies a frickin awesome weekend. 

Candy out.

Okay, um, I think I might be out of an effing job if my peeps can do a better Candyland than Candyland herself, soooooo Imma take some time to get my junk together. Thank you Katie for entering! Tomorrow, the second place winner, Anne's entry! I hope your F Day was a good one. Until tomorrow.

(the only) 

Candyland. OUT.

Feel me up Friday Awards: Blow Pops and Toe Nails

I don't know where my mind's been, but once again, Friday came from nowhere. I didn't even read...wait for it...wait...BLOGS yesterday. *Gasp* Maybe it's because I've been so focused on finding answers, I've yet to breathe. So, hold on a sec while I inhale.

Wait.

Wait.

Okay, thanks. I feel better now. Because of recent happenings that have left Candyland somewhat burned the eff out, I'm leaving this Friday feel up to a dear friend of mine, also known as the hubs. Be gentle with him, he likes to take things slow, and long walks on the beach. Buy him dinner first, or at least say you "thought" of buying him dinner so he doesn't feel violated. Without further adieu, Friday's facts presented by...Erik G.

Random Fact:  Some people have you from hello, Candyland had me at blow pop, tongue ring, mini skirt and trucker hat.  She was quite the minx or my Funcie Fox or my Muncie Maven as she would be so lovingly known.

Random Fact:  Candyland once ripped her entire big toe nail off on the bottom of a bathroom door at the Olive Garden.  It's proof that flip flops are not a good footwear choice regardless of how hot it is because you never know when a pesky door will be lurking around the corner.

OMG. That was fantastic! Have you been taking lessons? I think the hubs can tell! Mommy Daddy like. In honor of F Day this weekend, the winners of my Imma do Candyland Better than Candyland Contest! I had to divvy up prizes because a few of the entrants are overseas (therefor only eligible for the critique), so that's why it looks crazy. The plus? One extra winner. Aside from blog posts, the other winners were chosen at random. Feeling lucky?

Winner #1 of Query Critique
Creepy Query Girl who entered with:
An insane reenactment of Candyland. You won't know the dif. To be posted Monday.

Winner #2 of Query Critique and Lauren Oliver's "Before I Fall"
Anne Kenny who entered with:
Her secret paint skillzz! Who knew?! To be posted Tuesday.

Winner #3 of Query Critique
Stina Lindenblatt  who entered with:
"My favorite post was If Taylor Lautner were my pool boy. Need you ask why? Well I'm off to stare, I mean read the post again."

Winner #4 of Life As We Knew It by Susan Beth Pfeffer and matching bookmark
Kelly Polark who entered with:
"My favorite future blog post is the one when you post a vlog of your band singing "Last Resort!"

Honorable Mention: Winner of secret surprise *evil laugh*
Lenny Lee who entered with:

"i was gonna enter your contest but didnt know what post i could like best til i read what you just said today.  now im entering cause its my most favorite even if its soooo really sad. i like all that fun stuff you say cause it gets me laughing  but this one i like best cause in it you  just let every one see the for real you the  inside of you. this one got way inside my heart  and got me feeling more close to you and knowing you more. its  real hard to share out stuff that hurts in our heart but you did it and said it in words that made me feel like i could be right there sittin with you and wantin to hold your hand or give you a really big hug. i know bout that cause of stuff that got me hurting in my heart real bad and it was hard to say it but saying it got me feeling lots better. i like how you could  share it and could know all your blogger friends are real good to hold you up when you hurt.  so for me this is my most favorite post."

Thank you to all who entered. And a huge double triple quadruple thank you to my crush, Elana Johnson for donating her time to critique these queries. *Loves you forever*
Winners of queries: I'll email you with instructions this weekend!
Winners of of books or surprises: Email me your address (candace ganger at yahoo dot com)

Come back Monday for Creepy Query Girl's contest winning post! And thanks to the hubs for today's feel up. Have a fantasmic weekend.

Oh, but first, any of you have a nickname penned by a lover/friend or significant other? Tellmetellme.

Candyland. Out.

The computer says I have no special powers

Father's Day is in a few days, and after yesterday's sullen post, I want to get my thanks on, early.

To the hubs. Thank you for giving me our baby, (and the one we lost). She's the single greatest gift ever (sucks for you since you'll never be able to top it). You're an amazing father who makes us laugh with your crazy dancing, your (sometimes tiring) comedy, and the incredible ability to laugh whole heartedly at yourself (and everything that really isn't funny). I married my bestest friend and absolutely the best daddy ever. Happy big F Day, early.

To dad (J-Byrd). You won't read this because technology isn't your thang.Most things aren't your thang. But thanks for blasting Aerosmith all those years (and unfortunately a little too much Blue Oyster Cult, CCR, Allman Brothers, and everything hippie), cooking the big, greasy Sunday breakfasts every two weeks and teaching me how to properly light a cigarette while reading the paper/watching racing in your underwear. Oh and your mad Christmas light-on-coat hanger decorating skillzz are much appreciated, but it's okay if you take them down in the summer. Really.


To Matt. I never had the chance to tell you, and I never will again, but I love you. You helped make me, and I'm sure I have your laugh. I'll spend the rest of my life getting to know you to make up for lost time. I've even started researching Polish websites to get in contact with your widow, though every time I try, I'm told I don't have the special powers needed to find her.
How did the site know I'm not a super hero (anymore)?

I tried to log on to this site.

And literally got this message.

So, maybe someday, when the Green Lantern, Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman or even the Wonder Pets lend me their powers, I'll find her. Until then, Happy Father's Day times (insert my age here).

And to all you other adoring fathers, have the best day ever. Hold your children. hug them. Tell them how much they mean to you. And ladies, tell your fathers/husbands/whoevers the same. This is an emotional day for me this year because not only is it F Day, but Matt's birthday, too. R.I.P, dad.

On a lighter note...

Today's the last day (until like, uhhh 6ish EST) to enter my contest so get those entries in or I'll have to have a word with your mother (not to be confused with "word to ya mutha").
Don't you want a query critique?

Thank you for all your continual support. I'll have answers for you (and me) soon. Hugs and big, sloppy kisses to you all. In the mean time, what are you doing for F Day?

Candyland OUT.

Pardon me while I burst

Yesterday I couldn't breathe.

Some questions provoke anxiety. More "why." More "what if?" More "now what?" More more more questions than answers. You can't see my face, right now (or ever), but if you could, you'd see an exhausted, frustrated, and down right sad pair of eyes staring back at you. Not because I'm ready to give up. Not because I'm "over it." Not because I can't do whatever it takes.
But because I'm human.

Yesterday the doctor looked me in the eye and swallowed. His hands were clasped together, forming a shallow well between the finger holes. "Last September, we got all the tissue."

I swallowed, too.

"Things should be normal, because the tissue is gone," he said.

I rubbed my hands raw and watched the dried flakes plummet to the floor while my stomach twisted into a double knot. "Things aren't normal."

"But, the tissue. The tissue. The tissue." He started every sentence with those words, tearing little holes in my ears so the blood could flow. I watched his mouth move in half-time, but the words became silent. The only sounds were of my heart, racing, and the clock's minute hand, crawling.

"The tissue" was my child. "The tissue" was a part of me. "The tissue" took a big part of me when he scraped it off my insides. It clung to me with a plea, to be remembered as something other than "tissue."

I have no answers, still. Just more appointments, more questions, more doubt, insecurity, loss of faith, confusion and frustration. And that's only one of my questions. There's still a whole list of things unanswered, hoping for something a little more than everything I got yesterday.

I'll fall to my knees, clutch the angel with Lilliana's fingerprint in the middle and squeeze my eyes tight. Until the answers come. The kind to pull my to my feet, drag my arms towards the sky and force a "thank you" from my lips.

Thank you for last September's "tissue."
Thank you for today's possibilities.
Thank you for tomorrow's answers.

Candyland. Out.

P.S. Two days left to enter my Contest. Spread the word, enter, be happy. Winners announced Friday.

P.P.S. If you want to leave my post smiling, head right over to Sheri's blog where you can see my winning photo caption entry.

Feel me up Friday Awards: Morning wipe & Underwear OCD

You may not know this, but aside from my asinine, snarky and sometimes dirty mouthed comments and stories, I'm actually quite religious. It's not something I say to new friends like "Hi, I'm Candyland. Jesus loves you." And I'm only telling you now, to share the offspring's rendition of our night time prayer.

Morning Wipe

By Lilliana

"Now I way me, down to sweep,

I pray the door, my so to keep,

And angels wash me through the night,

Until I wake in morning wipe. Amen."

And then she says: 

"Thank you Goooooddddd (in true shout out fashion). Thank you for Mommy, Daddy and Lilli. Thank you for the lights. Thank you for my blood. Thank you for my carpet. Thank you for wuv."

It made me realize how perfectly perfect children are. They're so grateful for the littlest of things, like blood. I mean, when was the last time you were grateful for your blood? And wuv. Wuv makes the world go round. And respect. Like yesterday's post. If we don't respect one another, then we'll never fully evolve as people. And dudes, we're all people who want a little respect, consideration and regard.

Random Fact: The movie Up gets me every freaking time. In the beginning sequence, a montage of Mr. Fredrickson's life with his wife, Ellie, it shows love, loss, acceptance, and everything in between in a matter of minutes. It breaks my heart down the middle, and I feel the pain of these animated peoples. Am I a d-bag? Probably.

Random Fact: I admitted to dropping my glasses in a strip club's toilet. The irony of this is that I change my unders (you know...) at least three times a day. I need to feel fresh all the time, yet I still have toilet glasses.

Whoa. I wasn't ready to be felt up. Friday came quick (no pun intended) but you're always so soft. Thanks for that. Another reason I respect you. You never make me do anything I don't want to. Except that time in the back of your Gremelin after Adam Chin's party in '99. But we'll just blame it on the booze.

To my new browsers, followers friends, don't be alarmed by the Friday feel-up. If you relax, you might enjoy yourself. I want to thank you for stopping by. Whether you're a loyal reader, a newb, or just passing through. Your eyes mean the universe to me. Without you (dare I say it) I'm nothing. I'm just wuv and blood.

So come back Monday. Please. Pretty please. I promise not to be so needy. And I swearz I have awards to pass out, but I prefer to let them accumulate (because I forgot it was Friday until now).

Sooooo, what are you grateful for RIGHT now?

Heidi Montag?

Food-flavored beverages?

Shirtless Taylor Lautner?

RESPECT?

Rejection letters?<---In a way, I am.

Candyland. OUT.

Have you entered the CONTEST yet?

 Win a query critique and books!

--->Clicky Clicky<---

Respect is a seven letter word. Use it.

Let's talk about respect.
(This is 'bout to get a little serious up in hee-yaaa)

We don't always get it. We long for, demand and even plea for it. From our children, the writing community, and our friends and family, to our colleagues, pets and even the stories we tell. Like right now.

I've talked a bit before about the father I didn't know well, but always searched for. When I finally found a connection that could link us, I was too late. He lost his battle to cancer in 2004, but I didn't know until three years later when my heart gnawed its way through my chest. To relieve the burden of not knowing.

I cried for days.

Since then, I've come to know my father more in his death than in his (and my) life. I've acquired a few pictures, dug around the internet and found an old obituary which names me, and stumbled upon a website that promises tributes to loved ones, no matter their location. And there he was.

It's not easy, looking him in the eyes. I feel guilty for something I had no choice over.The feeling only gets worse with time, maybe because I'll never get the chance to tell him I loved him. Through the memorial site, I was able to request a photo of his burial plot. Morbid, maybe, but I had to see for myself where his final resting place lies.

When the email came through, I clicked so fast, my fingers nearly gave out. And then I saw it. An insignificant,  metal marker poking through the grass. No headstone. No flowers or footprints. Barely noticeable to the naked eye unless you're searching. But look closer. The man lost his daughter, his self-respect and his life to cancer, and now, even in death, the disrespect remains.

He was born in 1960, not 1906...

So as you're walking down the street today, or emailing your blog buddies, or texting your loved ones, treat them with respect. All seven letters. In order. Because some day, whether in your life, or death, you might want some in return.

Candyland. Out.

In which the hubs decides to leave Taylor Lautner lying around instead

My offspring's last dance class of her first year (whoa, the math) was last night. I must say, I'm a little weepy. Another milestone, another level, another reminder how life just keeps on going forward.

To go from this:

To this:

I wonder where the time has gone. From baby to princess. From my arms to the stage. From dependent to "Imma do it." And one day, I'll look back at this, when she's graduating high school or getting married or having a baby of her own and think "Oh my Bert, where did the time go?"

Okay, enough sap. 

Yesterday I reminded you how crazy un-crazy I get when it comes to the hubs's stupid delightful beverage container. I couldn't bring myself to physically cause it harm (yet), so I've made my point in artistic form. This is your last warning, DD devil. If I see you 'round my parts again, you're going to be sorry.

I think the only way to remedy this is to have my pool boy stream water from his cupped hands into the hubs's thirsty mouth. Of course, I'll pay him extra, but as with everything else, no shirt allowed. And ideally, it should be raining outside. Because rain makes everything look better (except my Diana Ross hair).

How about you...what do you wish would go away?
Heidi Montag?
Food-flavored beverages?
Rejection letters? <-----yes PLEASE.

Candyland. OUT.

Have you entered the CONTEST yet?

 Win a query critique and books!

--->Clicky Clicky<---