Hugs, not drugs

I'm a bit at a loss today.

One year ago, something happened that completely changed the course of my life, forever. It changed me from whatever sort of person I was, and turned me into all kids of things I never expected. I've talked about it before, so today, if you want to know why September 29th is the day of life, loss and re-birth, see links below. And please, remember to hug someone today. Make it an extra-long hug (awkward is good). Because hugs make things better.

To find what the deal is re: September 29th, READ HERE.
To see the aftermath, READ HERE.
To read about my worst (fictional) nightmare, READ HERE.
To find out how Matt Brady + New Medicine brought me back to life, READ HERE.

Do you have a day that's hard to re-live, friends?
Candyland.OUT.

When dreams die a slow, painful death, get an awkward hug from a rock star

Recently, Candyland went through the literary ringer. Literally. Hehe. That was clever. I'm only opening up about it now to give you an example of WHAT NOT TO EFFING DO.

In July, after a series of near agent collisions (a couple were VERY interested for a hot minute), I got *the* call. You know what I'm referring to (if you don't, you're lucky not to know the torture that is waiting for said call to finally happen). It was FANFREAKINTASTIC. This agent adored my writing. S/he gushed, really. I was shocked that anyone would see all the things I'd only dreamed of them seeing. It lasted over an hour. We clicked, bonded, fell in love.

But s/he had some ideas. And I was okay with that.

Long story short, revision notes were promised, and it was decided I would shoo other wooing agents away, because someone else was totally into me...I thought. He/she agreed it'd be best to put everyone on notice I had an interested party, even though s/he had not officially offered. Whatever, that didn't bother me. I was stoked on the pending notes to make my story better. Because that's all it's ever about: telling a story that resonates with people in the right way. Mine had (has) a lot of flaws, I know, but s/he said s/he was in love with my writing, not the story, so I felt anything was possible.

And now here we are. I'm not writing this to piss and moan, or complain about his/her decisions (or lack thereof) in what's been happening, because the details don't matter [to you]. What does matter is that you take everything I did, and do the effing opposite. As I fumble around in the dark to find the pieces of my dreams that, I feel, have been shattered, here are some tips for the query warriors...from someone who's been in the trenches a long damn time.

~Never put all your eggos in one toaster. Even if you have stars in your eyes and truly BELIEVE this agent is the one, resist giving in to the temptation. It will only bring heartache if said agent doesn't follow through, and then your options have disappeared.

~If you finally get *the* call, remember that YOU are in charge. Don't let said agent make you believe otherwise. The goal is to get your book sold. Listen hard to every word said and reject false promises and/lofty expectations you, or said agent may tell you.

~Keep querying. This is SOSOSO important. Unless you've received and accepted an official offer, don't stop doing what you're already doing. Trust me.

~Keep writing. This seems so obvious, but let me tell you, I've now realized I wasted 2+ months of sulking, when I should have been writing the next bestseller. Sure, I've dabbled in other WIPs, but I could have transferred ALL that energy into something relevant. Something that means something. Instead, I've spent more time wondering, wishing, praying, crying, and hating the process when in fact, I should have appreciated the ride.

~Be gracious. I can't stress this enough. Even now, as I sit, still wondering about said agent's notes and how much better they could have made my story, if I were to hear from him/her today with a big fat NO, I'd still be grateful. I now know what it feels like, from one phone call, to feel valuable and important. Even if I never feel that way again, I will always remember the way s/he made me feel that day when I truly felt like DREAMS DO COME TRUE.

So, friends, while you're out querying and blogging and all that shizz today, tell me, have you made a rookie querying mistake (even if you're an old pro) like falling head over heels for someone who's just not that into you? How did you deal? What was your comfort food? Should I seek out Brady for a long and awkward hug?

Candyland, the dreamer. OUT.

If a pictures says a thousand words...then I'm screwed.

What the hell does proof of my obscene sugar consumption say about me?

Where did all the sugar go, you ask? Into about 1 1/2 cups of coffee. I was born this way, don't judge me. Well, you can judge me a little because I think it says a lot about the kind of person I am.

~I'm sweet. Maybe it's the millions of tiny, manufactured crystals, but in general, if a zombie were to eat me (NOT innuendo), they'd compare me to an extra-large cupcake with butter cream icing + extra sprinkles. Then they'd get a belly ache. And throw me up.

~"Give me MOREMORE-f@ck moderation." I've never done anything in moderation. I eat, drink, blog, love, desire, create and think in excess. I believe all of life's answers are found only after you've done something way too many times to count.

~I look for magic in the un-magical.The stray packet laying in the lower left corner of the picture is making me nutso. If I could rewind time, I would put that M. Effer into the big pile, because my OCD says so. And I think it's staring at me. *blinks* It totally is. I think it's corner just ruffled. *blinks again* Never mind. It was just my phone vibrating near the computer.

~I hallucinate. If you look closely, the vague shape of Matt Brady's face is in the center of the sweetness. It clearly says "marry me, Candyland." You don't see it? You're looking at it wrong. Un-focus your eyes, blink twice, turn the computer upside down, have a shot of tequila, and then tell me. Do you see it now? I thought so.

~I crash and burn. In everything in life, no matter how much I eat, drink, love, blog, desire, create and think, I inevitably fall. And it usually hurts. The only resolution is to find more sugar. Nomnomnom.

So tell me, friends, what do you enjoy in EXCESS?
Candyland (sweet as sugar). OUT.

Feel Me Up Friday: What I do in my private time is your business + an experiement heard 'round the "blorld"

Yesterday, I said the most disturbing sentence to my (almost) 4yo a mother could possibly say. And I didn't just say it once, but like a hundred times:

"It's not going to get any better if you don't blow it."

Sure, she's sick and sure, my mind is the equivalent of Studio 54, but once I said it a few times I started to feel weird. Then it was shortened to "blow it," which wasn't any better, but I digress...

Speaking of, I had the most intriguing email appear in my inbox. The title alone stopped my fingers from pressing delete (see...Studio 54).

But upon opening, I was sorely disappointed with Jane's pitch. She packed all the punch into the title, but lacked execution (story of my life)...

Sorry Jane, but regrettably, I'm going to have to pass on your project. Though I'm sure you'll find someone who's enthusiastic about your work. Good luck and all the best. It's a subjective business, what can I say...

Random Fact: Last week, I went an entire day before realizing...my underwear was inside out.

Random Fact: I accidentally slipped when I told you about Camp Rock 2: The Final Jam...what I didn't say was that I've seen it now five times...three of those times, I was alone.

O.M.G. that was insane. How did you know Candyland likes that? You're good. I mean, don't let it go to your head, but it was freakingfantastic this week! Now onto The Great Blogging Experiment! Writing Compelling Characters. Hrmm...If you're looking for the no nonsense-get-to-the-point-guide-in-5-easy-steps, you've come to the right place.

One. Name your character something stupid. People will remember it. Let's pretend you're named after a retarded fish. I'm talking to you, Suzie Salmon.

Two. Make them, and their lives, suck a little (why does everything I say insinuate innuendo...). Give them crap to deal with. Pile it on heavy, and see how your dude or dudette deals. It's not your call, it's theirs. Let them handle it.

Three.  If they feel something NOT ending in ly, you're doing something right.

Four. Let their heart break a little. Pain + something to prove/solve/discover/find = a story that's real. And it's fun to act out via your fake peeps. I mean, they can do ANYTHING...Hrmm...

Five. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

So there you have it. Go. Write. Create crazyawesome characters that compel the shizz out of me. Then, check out the other entries HERE.

Until Monday, tell me friends, what's the stupidest name you can think of? Go ahead. Make me pee a little.

Candyland. OUT.

When electronics talk, it doesn't mean you're crazy. Well, maybe a little.

Wehn writing this post, I realized I'm a lot crazier than I first thought. Here I've been walking around thinking "I'm only like a 5 on the crazy scale." Boy was I wrong. I'm a smidge closer to 7. Okay. Like 8....9???
*sigh*


You know you're on writer-electro-overload when...

-The offspring asks for lunch and you text "pnut btr or grld chz?" to her pretend cell

-The hubs wants alone time and you Tweet @eganger I'd love to but #amwriting

-When the microwave timer goes off, you dive for your phone

-You've started talking to your coffee maker. Damn thing won't shut up.

-When asked to sign a permission slip for offspring's class you Google "what is pen and paper"

-You bring your phone into the shower to multi-task (and feel less lonely)

-You consider a big night: Running to the DQ in your jammies then speeding home to cuddle the laptop

-You brush your teeth with your feet so you can reply to the hilarious LOLCAT vid someone posted

-During human interaction, you format your conversation re: agent submission guidelines

-Dinner is anything you can make with your mind because you're not moving from your effing spot

-Your butt is in the permanent shape of whatever you've been sitting on

-Your fingers have keyboard letters etched onto the pads

-When your mother asks why you didn't return her call, you tell her it's in your TBH(eard) pile (she's lucky it's not slush)

-You haven't bathed in a week but all your emails have been answered *ding* wait. Just one more...

What about you...how do YOU know when you're on writer-eletro-overload? 
Candyland. OUT.

Blegos, Tweegos and Reagos

To be a writer, or anything remotely as ridiculous, it's almost necessary to develop an alter ego. Not that you're pretending to be someone else (unless you prefer to dress up as Batman when no one's home), but tapping in to that little person inside of you (I hope s/he bought you dinner first) that demands people pay attention to YOU. Like RIGHT NOW.

I think writers, in general, aren't super confident. We write down words people in our real lives either don't care about or can't hear us say. I'm sort-of quiet in life (unless you pump me full of alcohol), so it's imperative I write things down for anyone to hear me at all. Otherwise, I'm just a walking mime with no way to communicate with real people. Or that gorilla, Cocoa using sign language for *wants*...

There are several types of alter egos that exist, some more annoying than others.

Blego: Your blog ego is what lets people get to know you. Some writers use the opportunity to talk about contests/writing tools/cats/strange rashes. Personally, I'm more attracted to the blogs that show me the writer, as a real person. Honesty and humility go a long way because were all people, dudes. I *get* it when someone opens up about difficult topics...or toilet glasses.

There's no judgement (except in the comments) (and by lurking agents, editors and VIPs) (oh...crap...) and because it's YOUR daily/weekly/monthly account of the way you see things. It's also one of the easiest ways to really connect. Yay for networking and friendmaking! (You mean you already know about Feel me up Fridays and you STILL love me? Wow. That's love)...

Tweegos: Everything Twit/Space/Face/My/Book is an ego of another level. If you're a pro-serious writer (you have an agent, sold a book, etc), these egos are primarily for promo purposes and less actual networking. It's a fine line between annoying as shizz and somewhat useful.

Tweegos can be like viruses. Links, plugs and mememememe all the effing time, is exhausting. If you have nothing to offer but a constant Tweego of marketing verbal vomit, you'll be lucky to keep said "friends" for long (unless they've been brainwashed by zombies) (okay, even then) (if zombies have brainwashed you, blink twice) *silence* (I'll take that as you have no control over your Tweego due to a zombie invasion. You're forgiven and I'm here for you).

If you know someone who's Tweego has gotten out of freakin' control, it's time for an intervention.
Step 1: Link this blog via Tweet with @(insert crazed person's user name).
Step 2: Space/Face/My/Book the same thing.
Step 3: Blog about Tweegos and wait for said person to realize you're talking about them.
Step 4: Repeat process until everyone is sick of hearing about it. Wait.....hmm....

Reagos: In real life, we're uuuhhh real. Via the web, it's unrestrained, and care free. We type these silly, little words that seem not to mean much. Then we hit send, publish, Tweet, comment like it's nothing. Online, we get to choose to be someone else or ourselves. It's the freedom that's sexy. Oooh and the danger of saying something like "I like....Camp Rock 2: The Final Jam." There, I said it. And it's there, forever. With little to no real consequence. (except extreme mocking)

BUT, in real life, if you walk up to someone and say "hey, dude, it's Friday,wanna feel me up?" It might not go over as well (he told me he loved me and I believed him...I'm so stupid). And creepy much? Our reagos are who we are walking down the street or in the bathroom stall next to you, digging our phones from toilets.

Point is, friends, whatever ego you use today, use it with class. It's not always about you, and even when it is, be gracious. So what about you? Which ego do you prefer?
Candyland. OUT.

Feel Me Up Friday: She got it on her face. Again.

First things first. Has anyone seen my glasses *checks toilet*?

Okay second, #thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou to every one who read, commented and/or donated to the cause. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, read yesterday's post. It doesn't get more real, or hit closer to home than this.

And third, this just in: the mother supports Team Candyland. Just look at that enthusiasm. She obviously can't wait to spread the word about J2W in such a stylish way. Her excitement is effing inspiring....

Random Fact: A few days back, Candyland decided to partake in a delightful, handmade s'more. The child was in bed, it seemed like an innocent enough treat. So I gobbled the thing down my suckhole...wait... I meant to say, I gobbled the thing down my

...with no regard to how incredibly messy the oozing chocolate and marshmallow really was. I enjoyed every last bite. Sometime later, the hubs said I had chocolate on my face so I casually swiped a sleeve across my face and called it a day. Insert multiple face-to-face interactions between the hubs and myself over the course of HOURS.

Fast forward to a trip to the bathroom. (do you see where this is going...). I caught a quick glance of myself in the mirror and found not a small trace of graham, but many thick streaks of melted chocolate plastered on my cheek, forehead, and even a little on my eyelid (its a wonder he takes me out to eat in public at all). Thanks, dear...

Random Fact: Yesterday morning, after waking in a sleepy stooper, I turned the computer on but nothing happened. Dead battery and, the charger was missing. In the place I usually leave it was, instead, a small, black cord I'd never seen before. I tore through the house, ransacking clean, neatly folded laundry, pulling out drawers, and everything in between with tears filling my eyes. At about a minute past sanity, I pulled the mysterious cord from the cabinet and stuck it in the computer, out of curiosity.

To my surprise, it fit. I was stunned. And the computer was actually charging. "WTF?" I thought. It was only about a half an hour before I realized...wait for it...wait....IT WAS THE SAME EFFING CORD I WAS LOOKING FOR. If you see my mind anywhere, let me know.

After yesterday this feel up was more than I could have imagined. Thanks for being so gentle. That's why I love you and your keyboard pounding hands, friends. Until Monday (when I hope my head's on straight), tell me, would your significant other let you write SUCKHOLE on their face?
Candyland (I think). OUT.

"It's almost like I feel you carry me"

In the months after my daughter's birth, things started...changing.

And I'm not talking about the hanging skin, gory stretch marks or milk, uhh, seepage. I'm talking about the internal. Some called it post-partum. Others said lack of sleep. A few thought I was sad, and time would lick the wounds and scab everything over. I was more than sad. I was completely empty. The chemicals in my brain I needed to feel [alive], died off and dragged the person I was, with it.

The following months, while holding the precious cargo I'd worked so hard to protect in utero, pieces of the life I thought I wanted, disappeared. My mind drifted to the darkest of places and burned a fire plaguing the growing hole in my heart. But we're not suppose to talk about that. Because people will judge you and stick you in a box and label you. So you just shut your mouth and fade into the air. Like you never existed. And you start to believe, everyone would be better off, without you.

For nearly two years, I crawled along the cold bathroom tiles with my husband banging from the other side to get through. But I couldn't hear him. I only heard the silence, and I only felt the pain. I wanted so bad to feel normal again. To feel anything but dead. To want to live. Luckily, rescue came in many forms for me. Friends, family, my husband and child. Writing, therapy, singing, and talking, thanks to TWLOHA.

There was a time, despite the bundle of pink cooing in the other room, I could have died. But I didn't. And I'm here, now, to tell you rescue is possible. Today isn't about the glass half empty, but about finding a way to discover the glass half full, whatever the means. Suicide is one of the leading causes of death in teens ages10 to15. Did you hear that? TEN and FIFTEEN. The prominent memories they leave behind, like a trail of puzzle pieces, are loved ones saying "I never even knew s/he was depressed..."

We're master manipulators. We'll tell you we're great when we're ripped down the middle. We'll laugh at your jokes and cry on the inside. We'll say we're busy so we can be all alone, and wish we weren't. We'll focus on the things that maybe don't matter to anyone else, but take the blame and punish ourselves and ruin the good things and make everything harder...BECAUSE WE AREN'T WHOLE. AND WE DON'T KNOW HOW TO BE, ON OUR OWN.

So today, my friends, I urge you to reach out to someone (anyone). If they've had a bad day, talk to them. If you know someone who's been feeling low, be there for them. Without someone to carry them, to catch them if/when they fall, they may never break the silence.

Blog peeps Justine Dell, Emily Reynolds, Candice Hughs and myself are all participating in the Out of  the Darkness walk on October 10th to raise awareness. We're asking you click on the link, type in one of our names, and donate just $1 to the cause. I've been so close to this, it still stings to remember. Help me, help those who've lost the battle or are still fighting alone, in the dark.

Okay, so it IS still me: headless, Brady-loving extraordinaire...

Candyland. OUT.
*Thanks to Lenny (GET WELL SOON!!!) and family for creating the banner*

This four-letter word is safe around children

Lovelovelovelove. One of my favorite four-letter words. With all of you amazing friends and fellow bloggers, it's really hard to choose just one of you to gush about for Sheri's "I Got You" Blogfest, so Candyland's making her own rules (what's new...). I'm choosing someone that's always there for me, always inspires me and always has my virtual back. It's not Brady. It's not the hubs. It's not even Yahoo Mail (which has been lacking lately)...

I would be nowhere, without Google, because of this new search (click to enlarge): #thanksgoogle

And quite literally, I'd be NOTHING, without my two morning compadres. No, not my life partner and the child I bore, but these two cuties: #thisislove

So okay, yes, my coffee maker is grimy, but it does one thing Brady, the hubs or even Yahoo Mail can't do. That's right, it gives me wings so I can fly. Or is that Red Bull? Whatev. I love the thing and if you try and tear us apart, I'll cut you.

And my beloved laptop (not my hand) (well, yeah, my hand too) (I need to thank my hand) (not for dirty reasons) (minds. gutter. out.). Without you, I could not spend countless hours writing about Fartypants, FBooking when I should be working, and cyber stalking the likes of New Medicine hotties. Also, I could not have found each and every one of you, without this very special blog buddy, whom we will now call Lappy.

So as you see, friends, I couldn't pick just one, because I love you ALL and I hate leaving people out. So....to every beautiful pair of eyes, I EFFING LOVE YOU. And to those of you that were around from the start and near start while I fumbled awkwardly through the blog-o-sphere, you know who you are and I will always be grateful you started reading my crap.

All you newbies, I hope you don't scare easily, because I've got more seepage of random to share, if you'll have me. #addictedtoyou

(At the risk of sounding slightly partial, If I *must* brag about one actual living, breathing human, I shall refer you to THIS POST. You will see here, the reason I write [and dream big, and laugh and cry and believe in the kindness of strangers] at all...)

Until tomorrow friends, what is ONE thing you can't live without?
Candyland + LAPPY. OUT.

Chocolate man in Candyland

By now, I'm quite positive you regret asking all these questions and are ready for it to end. Alas, friends, today is the last batch of questions answered and again, it's a tag team effort with the hubs adding his 2 cents. Tomorrow, a very special tribute you don't want to miss (or maybe you do...hell...I dont know).


Kelly Dexter asks: You have to get a tattoo. On your face. You are not allowed to wear hooded garments, and you are most certainly not allowed to style your hair like Cousin It. What is your ink of choice?

CL: I would ask for "Born to be rad," but indoubtedly, the dude would f@ck it up and it would forever say "Born to be rud." Then I would spend the remainder of my life explaining the mix-up, until eventually just saying I wanted "Born to be rud."

EG: Easy.  I would get the word SUCKHOLE tattooed on my face with my mouth being the O.

Nathalie asks: Does the nature of your posts change with your mood/amount of clothing you wear/weather outside?

CL: Only by the amount of clothing. I tend to overdress almost always, but if I break out the shorts and knee highs, it's bound to get freaky all up in heeya.

EG: Nope.  I only post when Candyland lets me so I gotta give it my 100% every time out.  All or nothing from this guy.
CL: Don't I know it...

Carolyn V. asks: What type of writing shoes do you wear? And do you paint your toenails to match said writer shoes?

CL: I wear a special shoe called a sock and my though my toes are painted the shade of my heart right now, that could change on any given day.

EG: Does Nike make writing shoes? I only have skate shoes and a pair of running shoes but typically Candyland creates her post in the evening so I'm either barefoot hippie style or wearing house shoes suburban dad style.

Erin MacPherson asks: What would you do tonight if you were given $100, a bottle of Pinot Noir and a rubber chicken?

CL: That's easy. I'd head to the local strip club after having a few drinks, turn $100 into herpes and tip with a rubber chicken. 

EG: Classy Candyland.  I would find a dark alley, spend the hundo on some hallucinogenics and record the nights events.  I'm sure the chicken and I could become miscreants and the tales of the hubs and chicken could become legendary in these parts.
CL: I can't even respond to that nonsense.

Sharon K. Mayhew asks: Would you ever cover your naked body with sushi?

CL: Not sushi, but Chipotle burritos.

EG: Heading to Chipotle, be right back.............................

Talei asks: What is your idea of the perfect evening?

CL: Tweetbooking, FaceSpacing and Myblogging about my NYT bestseller while eating frosting from the container with my fingers, in my jammies and robe, watching Chelsea Lately (Not that I've thought about it or anything...).

EG: I would finish up a sunny and sick day of snowboarding with a ceasar salad, new york strip steak and an oregon brewed wheat beer, shower and head off to see The Used and New Medicine where we have VIP access and tell all the band whores to go f*ck themselves. Then (I hope) to end up in a hot tub with Candyland and some champagne (not that I've though about it or anything...).

Kelly asks: If Matt Brady was actually a vampire and Bert McCracken was a singing werewolf, who would you choose?

CL: Find something to make me bleed and wait for the pain best dream ever.

EG: Wait for Candyland to wake up.

Robyn Campbell asks: Candy, what is a hoopty?

CL: The car my pops had me drive to school once, and only once..

EG: Ha!  I think its a car that should have died and keeps living...like the multi-colored, dented, rusted, spare-tire rocking rides in east Dayton.

There you have it my lovelies. Three days' posts full of crappage. If you're still following, thank you. I promise not to put you through that for awhile as long as you rub my back tonight. Oh and I conducted an experiment re: yesterday's search results. Turns out, "chocolate man in candyland" is a very popular phrase...(click to see larger)

Though, I'd much rather have you all find me by typing this:

However you get here, thanks. And until tomorrow, what would *you* do with $100, a bottle of Pinot Noir and a rubber chicken? 
Candyland +Hubs. OUT.

This is what happens when there's two of us

Candyland has a sekkrit: Your questions have been fun to read and have given me posts for a total of 3 days. But to make it interesting, today AND tomorrow's answers also include the hubs's thoughts, too. Should this idea disappoint, bore or displease you, I will return to normal posting on Wednesday. Until then, suck it up!

C.E. asks: If you had a slug that granted wishes, what would you name it?
CL: I'd name him Chuck Norris, because only He could make such things happen.
EG: Obviously slimy.  Or maybe something Italian like Vinny. Vinny sounds slimy so it would work.

Jessica Bell asks: If your guitar was a prophet, and it told you that you had to become a rockstar first before you could become a published author, would you be willing to give up writing until 'the' time came to start again? Be on tour, lapping up the musical stardom? Or is writing now too much of your life to think about being on stage again?
CL: Depends on if I were on tour with New Medicine...
EG: Well, the hubs doesn't write so I would just be a rock star and it would kill. (He talks about himself in the 3rd person too...weird...)

Lenny Lee asks: if your ol granny farted way too much would you be really sweet not say anything and just get her some of those fartypants or would you just do your Candyland thing and tell granny she just plain stinks?
CL: I'd thoughtfully wrap up a pair of Fartypants because I inherited my sense of crude humor from my Gram
EG: If my granny was still here she would probably challenge me to a fart contest because she was the coolest grandma on the planet.

Talli asks: If it was a life and death situation and you *had* to choose one item you care about to drop in the toilet, what would it be?
CL: Eff...I'm afraid I'd sacrifice my phone again, because it's already been in there once...
EG: My wife...ahhhhh vomit again!  I mean could it be something big like a snowboard because only a little bit of it would actually be in the toilet.  But I guess I could do the phone because then I could finally get the iPhone I've been dreaming of.

Melissa asks: If you could be any mythological creature what would you be? How would you woo the love of your life (who is glaringly normal)?
CL: I would be a glittery, sparkly F@ck and I would do no wooing because my lover would already call me by name.
EG: A Centaur...no doubt.  And woo?  Please.  Have you seen a centaur?  The love of my life would just look at my studly ass and it would be over.

Jo Schaffer asks: If you could choose ONE celebrity to meet and make out with...who would you choose?
CL: This must be a trap...did the hubs put you up to this? If so, Matt Brady (the hubs actually gave me his PERMISSION...). If not, Matt Brady (because a girl can dream).
EG: Keira Knightley if she were a pirate, Natalie Portman in Star Wars or pro snowboarder Tara Dakides. Or obviously Taylor Lautner (if I liked boys) (and if he showed his abs).
CL:I think that's more than one, dear...
EG: I said you can have Brady. That means I get four.
CL: *Pauses for thought* *Deal.

Nicole Zoltack asks: How would you move Mount Fuji?
CL: By telling it a sad, sad story. Or by talking about letting it see me naked (it would move far, far away)
EG: Well everyone knows that Japan is an Island so we just have to get enough people together on one side of the island, get in the water, and start swimming while holding on to the shore. You know, like learning to swim when you were a kid.  Stuff that floats totally moves easier than you think...

DL Hammons asks: Your baby-sitting a long-time friends six year old child for the first time. You ask him to pick up some toys he left laying in the middle of the room...but he ignores you. You ask him again and he replies with, "Fuck You." What do you do?

CL: I'd say "Yes, that is my name. Now pick up your damn toys."
EG: Open a window and throw them out into the yard (the toys, not the kid).  Depending on if I felt like an f-bomb...which I probably would.

Dayana Stockdale asks: Do you ever wear pink?

CL: Only when Insane Clown Posse Faygo'd me. And when I dropped my glasses in the toilet. And when I danced on stage with Afroman. And when I got knocked up...(pink is not my luckiest color)

EG: Never ever ever ever ever.  No.  And if anyone ever gives you that "real men wear pink" crap punch them in the f-ing face.  That was something losers and clever salespeople came up with.  Never in the history of the world has a newborn baby boy been greeted with pink.  Never ever ever ever.

Ok, friends. I think you now know more shizz than you ever needed to. Oh except this:

Now it's my turn. You tell me: What would your magical slug's name be? And what the hell does it have to do with writing (seriously...tell me)? Or better yet, has anyone typed in these search words (seriously...tell me)?
Candyland. OUT.

Feel me up Friday Awards: Answers and crap PART ONE

You never know what's going to come out of my mouth, but yesterday I didn't know what was going to come out of yours (well, your keyboard). Very nice ladies and germs. No time wastin' today. I'll get right to the BEEF (ugh, I hate words that have EEF in them...REEF, LEAF...).

Anne asks What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen European swallow?
Well, Anne, it's really a question of weight ratios. By estimating how many wing flaps per second (fA/U=7 beats per second, 0.18 meters per beat, 9.5 meters per second) there is still no definitive answer and requires more studying. Though, if I were to guesstimate based on the Strouhal equation for cruising flight, I'd say the M Effers' airspeed velocity is roughly 11 meters per second or 24 miles per hour, or some shizz like that.

Anne adds: Whats your go-to karaoke song?
Though I loathe karaoke, and much prefer a gaggle of hot guy playing with their instruments around me, if I *have* to do it, it's going to be something like Evanesence's Bring Me to Life or Alanis Morrisette's You Oughtta Know.

Matthew (TIM) Rush asks: For you SAHM means:
a)Sexy AND Hot Mamma
b)Special Access Hubbing Model
c)Stay at Home Mom
d)Super Awesome Heterogeneous Musician
e)Society for Adolescent Health and Medicine
I'd choose F. For F@ck off with these. SAHM stands for Saving All Hottness (for) Matt (Brady)

LTM asks: What are you wearing right now and why?
Jammie-jams, socks pulled up to the knee and a dirty robe. I don't get much hotter.


LTM adds: Who's hotter Adrien Brody or Matt Brady?
Leigh...if you could hear me sigh, you'd have your answer.

Summer Ross asks: Why is bra singular and panties plural?
Because to men, two boobies=one giant mass of fun, and panties (I hate that word too) are plural because it's a party down there and more than one panty (bleh) should attend.

Kelly Breakey asks: Which is your favorite New Medicine song?
Yay for your new autographed CD, btw! My favorite isn't on there. It's called Like a Rose, and I'm pretty sure it's about me. You Tube it.

Slamdunk asks: How many bags of trash did you generate from your move?
If you count my cats, just 2 furry bags of suckage.

aspiring_x asks: If you were to wipe your nose on your sleeve would it be the left sleeve or right?
I think you meant to ask the hubs this one. Candyland would get off her ass and get an effing tissue.

Jennifer Shirk asks: Do you hang your toilet paper in the over the roll or under the roll position?
Is this innuendo? If so, I prefer under. If not, I prefer over.

Shannon O' Donnell asks: What's your all time, #1, very favorite, can't-live-without-it book?
My checkbook.

Kelly Polark asks: If you were Kat Von D, would you date Jesse James or go back to Nikki sixx?
I'd lose them both and seek out a more age-appropriate understudy by the name of uhh MATT EFFING BRADY!

Kelly adds: If you could have dessert with anyone who would it be and what kind of dessert?
His name rhymes with Fat Grady, and it would be the sweet dish of love.

Jen asks: You're at the zoo, stranded, it's late and no one is around. In fact the zoo is closed and you're locked in. You need to escape and all you have with you is a pocket watch, $100 bill and bubble gum. How do you escape?
I've been preparing for this question my whole life. I'd obviously sit with my back against the gorilla enclosure,  (because they're awesome) blowing bubbles (who's Bubble's..hehe), watching the seconds pass on my watch, while thinking about the $100 bill in my pocket. Until the zoo opened in the morning. I'm not f@cking Macguyver.

Jen adds: A hot actor couple (take your pick, Angelina Jolie & Brad Pitt, blah, blah, blah) in town have paid you (TONS OF MONEY) to start a scandal on the red carpet. You must kiss the actor on the lips and confess the affair. Only one problem, paparazzi, security and fans stand in your way, I mean this place is sealed tighter than the white house. How do you make this happen?
That's easy. I'd bring along my a-hole cat, Fim and no one would notice anything I'd do because he sucks.

Okay friends, I'm pretty sure I've held my breath typing through these. PART TWO will resume Monday and believe me, they get weirder. Thanks to everyone who commented. You can still add your insane question by commenting HERE. This is my way of procrastinating about talking about something of substance...
Until Monday, How would you answer one of these crazy questions?
Candyland. OUT.

Everybody's doing it and there's no better reason than peer pressure

First of all, thank you to my word verification rebels. I still hit a good number of stupid a$$ mind benders that my fingers couldn't process. I tried taking a deep breath but ended up throwing F-Bombs like a mother f@cking trucker. If you *must* use it, can you tell it to go easy on me? Yeeaathanks...

Okay. So, I see this all the time. Yaaknow~all of the beautiful comment makers leave behind random questions, to which the blogee will then answer. Candyland has never done this because, well, I'm pretty much an open book (worn, torn and disgustingly honest). Alas, my sweet lovelies, aside from every Feel Me Up Friday, I wonder if there is something you've been dying to know. So, I open this thread for every ridiculous question you can think of.

Sounds easy enough, right? Well, to make it even sweeter, the BEST QUESTION gets a special post about them next week, done Candyland style (not a new sexual position) (well, it could be, but I don't know) ( I wonder...).

This doesn't have to be awkward. I'll start.

Candyland, what on earth do you smell like? Fruit? Chocolate? Man sweat?
Well, CL, It depends on the day. Id like to think I smell like a goddess with my Kat Von D Saint perfume, but on most days, when I don't wear it, I probably smell more like cat urine and child feces. And maybe even a little man sweat. Why? Who knows. Sexy, I know.

So go for it. Give me your crazy, obscene, wild, silly questions. I'm not normal, so I don't expect normal questions. Until tomorrow friends, what do you want to ask? Anything? Nothing? Something? Everything?
Candyland. OUT.

A is for A$$...

Dudes, I've surpassed 300 friends. This is monumental. I'm gonna cook you dinner. Bottle of wine? Chocolates, flowers, weird sex toys-whatever you want. Thanks for reading my crap. Today, yesterday, every freaking day. Seriously each and every one of you new and old (not as in age), thank you.

Sooooo, in keeping in line with more "keep your blog awesome" tips, I've got more useless info for your beautiful blue/green/brown/hazel eyes but before I start, 2 actual tips:
*Turn off word verification before I smash my computer against the wall for getting it wrong for the 10th effing time.
*If you change your settings so your email is connected when you comment, you'll actually hear back from me! If your email isn't attached, I don't respond via comments, so it's like you're doing all the work and no one likes that. I'm not rude, I promise!

Moving on...

 Candyland's ABC's of TOTAL BLOG ANTI-SUCKAGE.

A~Ass is your friend. Always use at least one mother f@cking curse word in every post. It'll keep readers on their toes.

B~Begin paragraphs with "Uhhh" and "Ummm." It sounds like you know what you're talking about.

C~Create stupid catch phrases that becomes your signature.

D~Don't ever tell your followers random facts about yourself. They will use them against you at some point.

E~Eat foods that crumble all over your keyboard when typing. It's fun trying to get them out.

F~Forget all your real friends. Only talk to bloggers. And New Medicine fans. Yeah.

G~Gain new followers by not sucking.

H~Have contests and then say "Psyche! No prizes, biotches!"

I~Ignore your children. You raised them for 9 months pre-birth. That's enough.

J~Joke about inappropriate things that only appeal to a small percentage of people.

K~Kill your social life.Say bye-bye to it. Seriously.

L~Learn to post about things that don't matter.

M~Make enemies. Not everyone should like you.

N~New Medicine. Because I can.

O~Open your post with a double OO. Not like eyes, but boobage.

P~Party like it's 1999, and then be too tired to post about it.

Q~Query your heart out but dis all agent rejections publicly.

R~Remember to thank your cat, everyday. 

S~Sell your soul, your morals and anything you have to. Popularity isn't free.

T~Tell your mother she was wrong and you do have a future in writing. Lie to her.

U~Understand that everyone *must* love your blog, or you've failed.

V~Virtual sex is not only encouraged between bloggers but I think it's mandatory. Or did I tell it wrong?...

W~Wait until you've blogged for over a year to tell anyone. They'll ream you less way after the fact.

X~X blows.

Y~Yell at your hubs or wifey to get to cookin' and cleanin' because you're busy doin shizz.

Z~Zombies, vampires, werewolves and mermen are people too. Don't hate.

So, friends, What would your A, B, and C be of writing? And more importantly, what color are you eyes? 

Candyland. OUT.

*Disclaimer: These are meant to be satirical, unless you live your life this way. In which case, get on with your bad self.

Candyland says: Get your sh!t together or find my socks

Moving can suck my ass (among other things) (though, the more I think of it, I'd rather nothing suck my ass) (maybe a colon cleanse) (no, that's gross. Not even a colon cleanse.) Let's start over.

Moving can shove it (shove what....) Anyway...

For two solid days straight, we did the damn thang. Before sunrise to waaaayyyy after sundown it sucked the life from me, the hubs and our darling offspring, though I promised myself I wouldn't get all "listen to my moving story" on you, so thats that. Plus, I have way more important issues to address. Like socks. 

Where. Does. Half. Of. Each. Pair. Go. When. I. Launder. The. Little. Bastards?

And my toilet phone. The keys have taken some major hits, and instead of typing what I *want* to say, they say what they *think* I should say. Like when Candyland *wants to effing say "I'll C U later," the C magically becomes F and changes the whole effing meaning. Not cool, toilet phone. Not cool.

No seriously. Blogging. Keeping within the spirit of what I've seen over the last few days, I want to give you some "yay you" tips for gaining new followers and maintaining a fresh, sparkly blog. The Candyland way.

Tips for being one of the coolest least picked on kids on the block:
~Don't be a dbag. It's a lot harder than it sounds. I've been one on many occasions, but when I blog about it, I try to leave out all the major MAJOR major dbag baggage. Blogs should be d-bag-free. People like people who are real, people. Be yourself, NOT her or that one over there. If youre not unique and not you, you're a dbag (sometimes Candyland has to dole out tough love) (It's for your own good. Promise). Not sure what this means? Read GUTS AND THE DBAG INCIDENT OF '07.

~Get to the point. Sure, I tend to ramble on and on and on and on and (omg shut up, CL) about the delicious, delightful, insightful, compassionate, (insert more and more fabulous words) about peeps like Matt BR80. BUT, my blog has a purpose. I think. Does it? Maybe it doesn't. Who knows. There are some blog posts that are the length of my offspring and honestly, I don't have the time or attention span to...hey what's that over there?

~Lose some weight. Like all the gadgets and music players and this and that and map of the world and key to the golden treasure and family tree. They clutter up all your biznass and it burns my eyes. I want to see your words. Don't take away from the beauty of that.

~Be as loverly to your commenters/followers as they are to you. Basically, do unto others, and all that crap.

~Givegivegive and you shall receive. In the blog world, in life...because were all just people, dudes. People, looking to connect with other people. And that's a beautiful thing. Speaking of (PLUGS <3), hop over to Sheri's blog to sign up for the coolest of blog fests, and a big thanks to Karen G for hosting an amazing virtual BBQ!!!Woo for new peeps!

Be kind, not rude. Be real, never ever fake. Be honest, don't hide. Be humble, not boastful. Be mine. Because I'm in love with every single one of you. Honestly. More than BR80 (shhhh...don't tell him).

So there you have it. Follow these tips and get about 298 followers in no time (9 months), and 298 friends for life. Now, off to find the runaway laundry while I throw my phone in time out.
Until tomorrow, friends, if you could move one more time, where would it be? And would you say it can suck your ass?

Feel me up Friday Awards: I know, it's NOT Friday but the hubs is STILL at it

Um, remember Tuesday's post about the hubs's verbal diarrhea? Just now, as I type this, I announced the fact that a pint of his favorite ice cream was waiting in the freezer. With joy on his face, he ran to open the freezer door and without letting his brain catch up to his excitement, he said this: "Thanks, F@$k!"

A moment of silence ensued before I spit out my water all over the computer and watched the screws in his brain work overtime to correct such a random form of gratitude. I laughed for a good twenty minutes. It's times like these I *know* I married the right dude. Now on to biznaass.

Candyland's web time will be limited over the next few days due to a change in location (aka were moving). So let's pretend today is Friday. We'll even keep it short and sweet. Go wash your hands. While you do that, I'll announce the winners of some books I needeth to unloadeth.
Winner of Linger: Matthew Rush
Winner of Picture the Dead: Izzy
Winner of Liar: Sharon Mayhew
Winner of Dreaming Anastasia: aspiring_x

Congrats amigos. Email your mailing address and as soon as I'm able to hop online, write those suckers down and get to the post office, I'll get them to you (assuming you want your book). Are your hands clean and sparkly yet? Do they smell like apples? I like apples.

Random Fact: I refreshed my inbox a thousand times yesterday, but it remained consistently empty. #sad #pathetic #addictedtoyou
Random Fact: I don't drink milk. In fact, I'm watching the hubs guzzle a glass of the tainted bev and I feel the gag reflex acting a fool. I was vegetarian for many years until I got pregnant. Then, I ravaged meat like we were running out. Now that the offspring is nearing four, I've been trying to get back to my veg roots. But milk is still too milky for my taste. Bleh on you, milk. Bleh.

OOOHHHH Thank you for that! With the move and the offspring starting school, I needed that. And a big thank you to the hubs for yesterday's explanation interview. Until next time, what food/bev do you LOATHE? And more importantly, have you ever thanked someone by calling them "F@$k?"
Candyland F@$k. Out.

Consider this Dramamine for the verbal vomit. Or just more spewage.

In re: to yesterday's verbal vomit post (I love you, dear), the hubs thought he ought to make things right (how very Matt Br80 of him...). So, being the sweet piece of Candy[land] I am, I said "sure, honey, why the hell not?" I mean, it can't get much worse than "your face is God awful," so here we go (my notes in red):

Why do you spew words?
I like to talk.  No joke. And for the most part, I like to sound smart, so out it comes.  En mass sometimes.  I also like to  be descriptive, which is where my misuse of words comes in.  I'm searching for a synonym or an adjective and my brain just gets to wandering and its all over.

What goes through your head while these weirdo bullets shoot me in the eye?
I'm searching for something good.  Sometimes I love you just doesn't cut it.  So I'll start out with something like "baby, I love you so much...." and then my brain is already on its next topic, but I haven't finished that sentence yet.  So then my brain continues...insert his foot issue here.

What is one verbal vomit you'd like to clear up right now?
Wow.  Just one? !!! It's hard to pick just one.  But I guess we'll start with when I said you weren't as big anymore.  You've never been into exercise blogging is totally excersie so when you started I tried to give you as much encouragement as possible.  But instead of just saying "you look great baby" or something else, I went with "you're not as big anymore" while holding onto your waist.

How did you score such a sweet, honest, caring etc etc etc wife?
Well for one, I'm lucky.  For two, you love me.  All of me. Including my stupid nonsense remarks that come from my mouth.  I love you. Too true.

If you could hang out with anyone what crap would you tell them?
Well, first off possibly the pool boy.  I would probably talk about his abs or his glowing skin.  Maybe Brad Pitt and I would talk about his role in Snatch and I would probably try to recite lines using his Piker accent.  He wouldn't be amused but I would go on forever.

Why don't you spike your hair all the time?
That is easy.  Because it's not practical all of the time.  For instance, from November to March its damn cold outside and I wear a winter hat because my ears are sensitive.  So that is not good for spikes.  I don't wear spikes during my work week because I have to wear a hard hat while I'm climbing poles (no laughing) and it would be a hot mess.  Plus I sweat a lot and it wouldn't go well. So I ask again (totally ignoring that long ass answer), why don't you spike your hair all the time?

What do you think about my BR80/Bert infatuations?
I think they are great except for the dream I had about you and Bert on a tour bus.  That was freaky.  But it's cool with me because I like them too.  Plus they've replaced that geriatric Steven Tyler. Hey. It was getting to a gray area bordering on gross.  BR80 and Bert rule! <3

Speaking of, are you Team Candyland or Team BR80?
I'm pretty sure I don't have a choice, do I?  I kid, I kid...Candyland all the way. My babes is the best.

If we were in a band together again, what song would I sing that reminds you of me?
If we still played it, Only One from Yellowcard.  I loved that jam and it was beautiful when we played it together.

Do you miss THIS cup?
Every moment of every day.  I'm not sure if everyone here knows that that was your cup first and I inherited from you.  I feel like that whole story is misreported and I got a bad rap from that cup. When I had it, it wasn't disease ridden and left to rot for days at a time on the TV, near the trash, on the counter etc. Plus it reminds me of Cocoa Beach and how we should move there. I wouldn't move there if Br80 himself asked us to. Well....then again...

How often do you read this blog (honestly)?
At least 2-3 times a week.  But when I'm here I read everything else that I missed.  I like the comments section to see what everyone else has to say, especially when it involves me because I'm narcissistic.  I like to google myself.  I'm that d'bag. So am I.

How much do you *heart* me?
More than my lousy words can say.  You put up with my crap all day every day and for that I am eternally grateful.  I love you baby. I love you, you crazy beast.

Well that settles it. Sort of but not really. My boo could go on all day about himself (literally), but I'm afraid he'll inevitably stick his foot in his mouth again so I'll just end it now. Until tomorrow friends, if WE were in a band together, what song would I sing that reminds you of me?
Candyland + Hubs. OUT.