Wednesday, June 29, 2011


When I spent those four or five years writing "Darcy and Fitzwilliam" I was just a happy little person, jotting down fantasies that had popped into my head.  Fanatsies about Pride and Prejudice and how I never seemed to want the story to end, after the mini-series, or after the movie.  I had no idea what I was doing, I still don't know what I am doing, and that is not modesty talking, just fact.  Anyway, I rambled on and on, in the writing sense, with various scenes jumping into the book like Republicans into a primary. 

By the time I had over 200,000 words crammed into my computer I submitted the book - two thirds of it was accepted.  I was forced to cut out about 65,000 words.  Not an easy task when you thought you had written the Regency's answer to Gone With the Wind.  They forced me to cut the last part, Georgiana's Story. 

I was bitter and brooding, like a law firm commercial, until I discovered Kindle and Nook self-publishing.  I took my cut up little end section about Georgiana and made a short story.  It is on sale now on Kindle and Nook for only $.99. 

Here is an excerpt from Georgiana's Story:

Darcy had slipped out the back door of his home moments before his Aunt Catherine had barged through the front, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt over his abandonment.  He needed a few moments of tranquility in his life and there was one place in London he knew with a certainty could make him feel better again.  Whistling, he turned west and leisurely strolled the five blocks to the newly purchased Fitzwilliam town home.  Gingerly threading his way among gardeners and landscapers, he jogged down to the lower servant’s door and entered, all the while sidestepping boxes and rolled carpeting, masons and plumbers.  He quickly came upon his cousin who had settled into the kitchen to discuss with the obdurate cook his wife’s lunch in detail.
“Our house is in chaos so I thought I might come here for sanctuary.”  Darcy ducked just before a ladder carried by two men swung around behind him. 
“It always saddens me that you are desperate enough to consider this is an improvement.”
“Catherine just arrived.”
“Say no more.”
“Feed me.”
“Good God, you are pathetic.”  Turning to the cook he requested an early tea be brought up to the family room.  He then turned to his cousin again.  “Let us go through the library before we are killed by a loose hammer.”  Fitzwilliam glanced over his shoulder as he heard part of a wall being destroyed.  “I will never understand women.  We purchased this house because Amanda deemed it absolutely perfect, and then she set upon changing it completely.” 
“This must be costing you a fortune, Fitz.”
“Not me.  Amanda.  She has finally obtained the inheritance she received from her father.  It had gone to her first husband and that idiot tied the money up with enough loopholes to make any solicitor salivate; it’s taken them the entire five years to untangle the unholy mess.  And then, instead of putting it aside as I recommended, she begged me to let her spend all of it on this damnable house.  Seems my father has finally condescended to meet her and she is very anxious to make a good impression, believes he will more readily accept her if the curtains are new.  Poor dear, she’s bound to be disappointed.  He promises to be here in August for her confinement but I have my doubts.  He’s been coming into town regularly for months and has never bothered to contact us.”
“I thought your father hated town.”
“So did I.  Evidently, from the rumors I’ve heard, he’s discovered opera dancers.”


Monday, June 27, 2011

THIS AND THAT MONDAYS - and the boys

Not Dennis Swenson

"Figure of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected; frequently used in a humorous situation." "Where there's a will, I want to be in it," is a type of paraprosdokian

(by way of Carol Wiley and an unnamed source, possibly Deep Throat)

 Do not argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level and beat you with experience.

The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it's still on my list.

Light travels faster than sound. This is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.

If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong.

We never really grow up, we only learn how to act in public.

War does not determine who is right - only who is left.

Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.

Evening news is where they begin with 'Good Evening,' and then proceed to tell you why it isn't.

To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism. To steal from many is research.

A bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where a train stops. On my desk, I have a work station.

I thought I wanted a career. Turns out I just wanted paychecks.

Whenever I fill out an application, in the part that says, 'In case of emergency, notify:' I put 'DOCTOR.'

I didn't say it was your fault, I said I was blaming you.

Behind every successful man is his woman. Behind the fall of a successful man is usually another woman.

A clear conscience is the sign of a fuzzy memory.

I asked God for a bike, but I know God doesn't work that way. So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness.

You do not need a parachute to skydive. You only need a parachute to skydive twice.

Money can't buy happiness, but it sure makes misery easier to live with.

There's a fine line between cuddling and holding someone down so they can't get away.

I used to be indecisive. Now I'm not so sure.

You're never too old to learn something stupid.

To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and call whatever you hit the target.

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.

Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.

Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.

A diplomat is someone who tells you to go to hell in such a way that you look forward to the trip.

Hospitality is making your guests feel at home even when you wish they were.

When tempted to fight fire with fire, remember that the Fire Department usually uses water.

Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer gut, and still think they are sexy.

Words of Wisdom "The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese."

Friday, June 24, 2011


Today's post is in conjunction with the Blog-A-Licious Blog Tour, a fantastic blog hop that brings together bloggers of all genres, backgrounds and locations. In today's hop, the blog featured before #3 "Karen V. Wasylowski...but I Digress" is #2 the fascinating "Born Storyteller".   The blog featured after "Karen V Waslowski...but I Digress"" is #4 the wonderful "D. K. Levick's Writing in the Woods". Do stop by and say hello plus some of us are having giveaways and contests. Enjoy!  Websites listed below.

Elie Wiesel
Write only if you cannot live without writing. Write only what you alone can write.

Imagine a world without the written word.  I can't even think of a life without the freedom of expression in all art forms, including writing.  It would be a life without the human link.  That is what writing is to me - a tangible connection between all human beings, between all generations and between all cultures.  Writing is recorded history, it is comedy and drama, the ideas of Stephen Hocking and the recipes of Rachel Ray.  Plato, Kurt Vonnegut and Erica Jong, Freud, Nora Roberts and Proust.  Hemingway.  Carl Sagan may have physically left our world but he lives on in our wonder at the heavens.  Writing connects the impossible and provides the priceless.

Henry David Thoreau
Write while the heat is in you. The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with. He cannot inflame the minds of his audience.

When I was writing Darcy and Fitzwilliam there were nights that I had to run to the computer and write, when I could not sleep for the ideas that were bouncing about that cavernous expanse between my ears.   The odd thing was that when I was editting myself later, reading and rereading and re-rereading the manuscript, I wouldn't remember how and when some things had gotten on the page.  I swore aliens wrote some of the book because my mind had forgotten so much.  The great thing about writing is that it purges your brain and cleans out a great deal of junk.  At least it does in a mind over fifty.

F. Scott Fitzgerald
You don't write because you want to say something, you write because you've got something to say

I also found that there were times I could not write - lots of times; and, if I tried to force myself, discipline myself to write even when the feeling wasn't upon me, I would fail miserably.  Little was salvagable.  I found I had to see the words in my head before I could write them.  Writing seems to be most successful and less stressful when it has something to say.

In the end I have to quote the words of my favorite writer, Mark Twain, and his advice to authors.

Say what you are proposing to say, not merely come near it.
Use the right word, not its second cousin.
Eschew surplusage.
 Do not omit necessary details.
 Avoid slovenliness of form.
Use good grammar.
Employ a simple, straightforward style.

It's good advice for life too.

Next stop:

1. Paula -
2. Stuart -
3. Karen - 
4. DK Levick -
5. Shannon -
6. Corinne -
7. Sonia -
8. Sulekha -
9. Dora -
10. Sarah -
11. Marcia -
12. Roy -
13. Janki -
14. Tina -
15. Thelma -
16. Muriel -
17. Nolan -
18. Deborah -
19. Jennifer -
20. Grace -
21. Dora -

Wednesday, June 22, 2011



Ok, let's recap.

Our story began in lovely North Carolina, The Old North State. State Motto - Esse Quam Videri.  State bird – cardinal. State flower – dogwood. State serial killer – gray squirrel .

North Carolina has a wide range of elevations, from sea level on the coast to 6,684 feet (2,037 m) at Mt. Mitchell, the highest point in the Eastern US.  Unfortunately, most of this beautiful scenery was lost on us due to fact we were experiencing A SCREAMING DEATH DIVE.  We careened up and down a road that was about five feet wide and paved with canola oil as we attempted to reach our little love cabin in the mountains. 

We clung to the side of our cabin for three whole days before we were found.  Ok, so we actually drove away.  However, it would be our wedding anniversary soon and I was determined to find a peaceful, romantic hideaway for two, a place for amore.  I had the mandatory Victoria Secret Nightgown.  Actually it was the Lucretia Borgia Line Nightgown but it had been on sale at Walmart and Dick wouldn't really care which it was anyway.  But I digress...

VACATION HEAVE PART DEUX - Asheville, Georgia.  I meant to say Heaven but...

Merry Maids

So the whole Asheville thing didn't work out either, never did see the Biltmore.  The Nazi Merry Maids were kicking in the door and Poncho, or Pinhead as he is more famously know, was shape shifting into a Linda Blair character from "Are You Smarter Than a Creature from Hell?"  Richie was so worried that Poncho would find a way to expose himself to the lobby below, and cost us a penalty point of $100 dollars, that he stayed awake all night, a sentry guarding the large window overlooking the lobby. 

Yes, this is an actual picture of my husband.  Sentry Man

(If you are confused you really must go and read the first and second chapters of this.  I'm not Linda Lael Miller and this is not a series book.  Go grasshopper and learn.)


We left the hotel in a huff the following day - they would not redeem our second night's prepayment amount.  We actually left in a minute and a huff.  Marxs Brothers.  They are rat bastards, (Holiday Inn not the Marx Brothers), Richie and I were now barely speaking to each other and Hell Cat was pooping all over the back of the van.  I wanted romance pretty soon and I was getting less and less fussy about the details. 

Now, first of all, Savannah is beautiful.  The whole city is a mess of parks, or squares, the hotels are lovely and we had hope of finally of salvaging the few days left.  The clock was ticking. No, not my biological clock, that little number croaked a loooong time ago. 

This was our Anniversary Day.  If only we could restrain from mutilating each other before it was over we both mused.  Do you know how to muse?  You put your lips together and raise an eyebrow.  It's a fetching look.  Do you know how to fetch?  I must get back on topic...

We decided to take a bus tour.  Savannah Day Tours or something like that offered a whole day bus ticket for $15 a person.  With this ticket they would let you off and pick you up at dozens of sites in the city and all the while a professionally trained tour guide was telling you all you needed to know about the universe, like Carl Sagan.

It cost us $25 each.  No, I don't understand that either.

Well, we pulled into the parking lot and lo and behold I was halfway to the office when Richie called me back.  The van had suddenly blown a thermastat and was overheating and the air was turned a magnificent shade of blue from our curses and grunts.  Well, the lady who worked inside the bus tour office was wonderful, found us a garage nearby, calmed us down, only slapped me once.  We handed the van to a complete stranger for the next six hours (read $250) as we jumped onto our bus tour of Savannah.

Our first bus driver was a young black woman named Red Sonja and she insisted she was not related to the blonde Red Sonja of movie greatness.  She was more of a Whoopy Goldberg Red Sonja and was really really funny.  I liked her.  We got on and off and on and off buses, toured the city, read about a hundred boring placques, took each others picture, erased said pictures, took more pictures, and had, all in all, a pretty wonderful time.  For an hour.  What to do now.  We decided to eat and there it was, looming before us like Brigadoon.  The Valhalla of Vittles. 

Lady and Sons (I think that's the name) Restaurant.

Paula Deen's restaurant.  Y'all.  

Well, I decided then and there I simply had to have me some of that Paul Deen.  (read that with a really thick southern accent, please.  Have you ever received stage direction in a blog before.  I didn't think so.)  As we approached we realized a long line stretched down the block.  The lunch crowd I surmised; it was about 11:00 in the morning.  I said to a lady, "Hey lady, how long is the wait to get into the restaurant?"  She said, "Get off my foot."  I said, "Sorry, how long is the wait to get into the restauant?"  She said, "This is the line to sign up for dinner tonight."  

I looked down the block and the line that was snaking around the corner. 

Now, my husband is not one to wait in line so we left, deciding we would come back later.  By 7:00 that night the line was gone, by 8:00 there were just a few people staggering out of the door, belts undone, zippers down, (makes you wonder about good old Paula's statement up there).  But, I guess they were just all really satisfied with the food.  We, on the other hand were BLOODY STARVING. 

We approached the two nine year old girls that worked there, standing vigil at the door, clasping the Sacred Reservations Book to their scrawny little chests.  Just as we got there, a tiny little elderly couple darted in front of us.  We are from Florida and we know little old people have really sharp shoulder blades and elbows and they're quick, much quicker than most people realize, like little rodents.  "Get out of our way," they shrieked at us, well at our kneecaps.  "We were here first.  You kids can just wait."  He threatened Richie with a catheter.  "Back off punk!  I know how to use this!"

I snapped.  Again.  Richie had to pull my hands from the wife's spindley neck.  I could have broken it in half, easy as pie.  Her walker was slowing her down her fencing lunges.  Well, they took sooo long asking questions of the nine year olds that we got bored.  I said, "You know we can always say we've been to Paula Deen's and we won't be lying."  Richie said, "You have a devious and conniving mind.  I always admired that about you."

We had our anniversary dinner at Five Guys down the block.  It was delicious.  I had a hot dog and he had everything else on the menu and later Richie and I celebrated with some drinks, one too many evidently.  One of us ended up visiting the bathroom of a fine Savannah hotel.

Finally, we returned to our romantic Savannah hotel room and celebrated our anniversary they way we truly wanted to, the way that meant something to us, something sacred and mysterious.  We dimmed the lights and lit candles, poured ourselves champagne, curled up together on the bed, turned on Cinemax and, pretty soon...


Monday, June 20, 2011

THIS AND THAT MONDAY (And the boys...)

CASEY ANTHONY TRIAL (Lawyer Land at Disneyworld)

Ok - anyone who is stunned that a Florida crowd turned into a bunch of low class, screaming morons raise your hand.  Didn't think so.  This trial is the Disneyland Line for Adults, people; Kaycee is preening in her Walmark gel shoes and lovin' it.  If she is acquitted she'll be on the Bachelorette - we all know this.  People are waiting over night, sleeping in the halls outside of court, camping out for a chance to watch a woman who more than likely killed her own daughter and sits watching the gruesome details as if its an audition for Dancing with the Stars.  Nancy Grace is beginning to make sense to me.

Four-year-old Aelita Andre dubbed mini Picasso

A four-year-old artist has been dubbed a 'mini Picasso' after a prestigious New York gallery displayed an exhibition of her work.  Abstract works by little Aelita Andre - said to be the youngest professional painter in the world - can sell for up to £6,100 each and have been praised by art critics. The Australian artist, who first started painting in play-group, says she is inspired and influenced by nature and outer space and loves creating big bold images.

She often incorporates bark, twigs, children’s toys, bird feathers, and other found objects into her paintings, which gallery bosses say lends "depth and texture" to the overall effect. And visitors to the Agora Gallery in Manhattan seemed to enjoy her vivid and expressive works… but maybe they just didn't want to make a little girl cry.


A spokesperson for the gallery said: "What makes Aelita’s work so compelling is the lightness that pervades her work, a carefree approach that remains completely innocent of anything except those materials that lie before her. "Using acrylics and mixed media, she creates large tableaux of abstract forms as she swirls, spreads, and pours paint across the canvas.

Agora Gallery    

A moment for perspective = At four years old I was still trying stick my fingers into light sockets.  It still has a certain appeal.

Don't you think Uncle Jessie regrets not being a little nicer to these two?  They are gazillionaires.  I have bras older than this.

And they look so real don't they?  They are actually made from marzipan.

1.  Paula Deen
2.  Penelope Cruz
3.  Angelina Jolie
4.  Rachel Ray
5.  Mother Angelica
6.  That Coulter bitch - the blonde, not her sister the writer, although the writer is pretty bad


No one looks different.  Except...Colonel Fitzwilliam (Cornelius Booth) is bald.  Egad. And thin.  Bingley is really cute.  He was magnificent in ROME as Octavian the Ice Man.  Hubba hubba.  The guy who played Wickham - how he ever got Keira Knightley to date him is a complete mystery. 

Donald Sutherland has looked ancient for over fifty years and doesn't he have about the hugest head you ever saw?  Little Tom Hollander - the Reverend Collins - is always adorable.  He's about 3 feet tall.  Little known Hollywood fact. 

Mathew Macfadyen became the Invisible Man.  Although, he is now going to be in The Three Musketeers - 3D (oy vey) and in the upcoming Anne Karenina, playing Keira Knightley's brother. (double oy vey.  They should get married already.  What great looking kids) 

PARANORMAL ROMANCE (or as we used to say, the Honeymoon)

I just can't get into this vampire stuff or any of the paranormal writing.  I am stalking book bloggers to try and get them to review Darcy and Fitz and all the younger ones are into this Vampire junk.  Blech.  I cannot think of anything remotely appealing about a man ripping out your throat.  Call me old fashioned. 

I have a feeling that the Harry Potter Effect is taking hold.  ll the little Potheads are growing up (in a manner of speaking) and they LIKE this crap.  Merde.




This was featured in Sharon Lathan's Father's Day post and I thought it was funny.  And true.

"Spread the diaper in the position of the diamond with you at bat.  Then fold second base down to home and set the baby on the pitcher’s mound.  Put first base and third together, bring up home plate and pin the three together.  Of course, in case of rain, you gotta call the game and start all over again."

~Jimmy Piersal, on how to diaper a baby, 1968

Friday, June 17, 2011


Today's post is in conjunction with the Blog-A-Licious Blog Tour, a fantastic blog hop that brings together bloggers of all genres, backgrounds and locations. In today's hop, the blog featured before "Karen V. Wasylowski...but I Digress" is "Hardline Self Help".   The blog featured after "Karen V Waslowski...but I Digress"" is the captivating "Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed". Do stop by and say hello plus some of us are having giveaways and contests. Enjoy!  Websites listed below.


Here it is, the book that has changed my life, for better or for worse.  Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice is two hundred years old!  And yet, from the very first, very famous, opening line,

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

you know you are in the presence of greatness.  Oh, it's not the greatness of Einstein or Freud.  It is the greatness of emotional truth.  Austen was the first to write a simple romance that dealt with feelings, families and misunderstandings honestly, humorously.   The test of time has not diminished one word of her text, the sentiments expressed above are as true today, in our liberal and emancipated society, as they were then.   My addiction to the story, and to the one and only Mr. Darcy, began when I was a young teen, home sick from school, and forced to watch an old movie on television. 

 Laurence Olivier was my first Mr. Darcy and I fell in love with the arrogant fool immediately.  I read the book then for the first time and found a much richer story within those pages than anything Hollywood had produced.

In 1995 I watched awe struck the mini-series with the wonderful Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy.  Firth has made a career of Darcy, despite his protests of being typecast.  He was magnificent, the series followed the book closely, and I was in love once again.

Then in 2005 the breathtaking movie came out with Matthew Macfadyen as Mr. Darcy.  Lust struck me in the form of Darcy for the third time.  In fact, it was during my 20th viewing of this movie on cable that my own book, "Darcy and Fitzwilliam", began to take form in my fevered little brain. 

The miracle of my book still astounds me.  I am a retired accountant, a CPA.  I have never taken a writing course, never written an article nor penned a short story, nothing.  All I had was a husband who believed in me and the ignorance of not knowing that the mountain I was about to climb was impossible. If I had known five years ago what the odds were against me I would have been defeated before I began.  But I was stupid and just having fun.  After my book was finished I started researching how to get published and saw that each book told me it would be impossible.  Only the famous or the previously published get published now.  Four out of five books do not even pay the advance given the author; publishers will not take a chance on an unknown.  The recommendation was to find an agent and don't get your hopes up.


Well, no agent would even look at the book so what is a girl to do?  I sent the manuscript directly to a publisher - and they accepted me.  Just like that.  This was a miracle.

And I have Jane Austen and her magnificent, beautiful Pride and Prejudice to thank.  She was a woman writer, untrained, who was up against great odds.  She is my hero.

Leave A COMMENT and FOLLOW to get a chance to win a signed copy of my book....


1. Roy -
15. Tosh -
16. Lucy -

Tuesday, June 14, 2011


The fifties woman

I had a great mother.  Everyone should have a great mother, but not everyone does unfortunately.  My mother was very different than most of my friends' mothers, very un-Donna Reed.  She wasn't into personal vanity, or clothes or shiny things (we had no money for it anyway)  My mother was a crazy little Sicilian lady who was years ahead of the movement for Women's Liberation, although she would have conked me on the head if I had told her she was a women's libber. 

However...she did tell me the following: I didn't need a man to have worth as a woman and she told me that anything a man could do, I could do.  She said any woman was as good as any man.  Not radical thought at the present but in the fifties and early sixties she was a raving revolutionary.  Of course, this was the same woman who told my brother Napoleon survived the Russian winter by living inside of a dead horse.  He announced that in class and was nearly beaten to death by an exasperated nun.

Momma also used to forbid me to go to mass if I put up a fuss.  She would say, "Don't you dare walk into that church with that attitude, sister.  Why it would be an insult to God, you sitting there sulking and bored. I don't want you within ten feet of that church!  Don't you dare!"  Just for that I went to church every week - I showed her.

I was thinking of her just now and how my brother and I would tease her so badly sometimes. Especially this one time.  She had a big old fur coat.  It was probably a wonderful coat - in the twenties.  In the sixties it was nothing more than a humiliation waiting to happen to her children.  We called it her gorilla coat and we would whine and wail if she tried to wear it.  My mother had a solution that only she could have thought up.

She took the coat into the dining room and worked and worked, then came out and stood before us.  "What do you think?" she asked.  We were flabbergasted.  She had taken scissors and cut the coat off at the hip line.  There was no hemming involved.  Just a clean chop straight across.  My brother summed it up best.  "Now its the monkey coat."  He and I laughed until our sides ached.

She disappeared once again with the coat.  We could hear her swearing and cutting and swearing and cutting.  She came out and stood before us again.  "Well?"  She had cut the sleeves off midway.  It was my turn.  "Looks like a monkey t-shirt."  Boy was she mad at us. 

She disappeared again and I could hear more snips and curses.  I peaked in and saw the pile of dead pelts and she slipped on the last vestiges of the garment.  Her eyebrows went up hopefully.

"Monkey hat." 

She chased me for a good half hour after that.

Please choose your favorite wet man - only from these three - or any other you like.  A trip for sixteen Tampa if you choose the right one.  (guess which one is mine)

Saturday, June 11, 2011

VACATION FROM HELL - PART DEUX (Valhalla requires dying in battle)


...where did our little tale end?  Ah, yes.  On the cusp of death...


These were the heartfelt vowels and consonants of endearment I shrieked at my husband in what I believed would be our final conversation.  Funny how sentimental you can become as you life flashes across the dashboard.  If you remember we had skidded past the driveway to our little Anniversary Love Cabin in Maggie Valley, NC.  We were sliding, hurtling down to the bottom of the Valley of Death.  The 600 were waiting.

June 2, 2011

Wasylowski’s Mountain.  Maggie Valley, North Carolina.  Richie, me, John Boy and Erin.  It was idyllic, the view spectacular, the air crisp.  Quiet.  Reflective.  I was ready to stick pins in my eyes after twenty-four hours.  After three days I was rocking back and forth in the corner, cackling and picking over dead roaches.   Squirrels were beginning to kick on the sliding doors, they began patrolling the deck, they were laughing at me...finally we had to take one out.

The only thing to see in Asheville is the Biltmore House.  It is beautiful.  We visited there several years ago, when we had all four dogs with us.  Because of this Richie and I toured the grounds separately.  He took the house.  I took the Winery.  This time would be different – no dogs to hold us back.  We could spend all of our time together, touring, drinking…

I made reservations at a Holiday Inn in Asheville.  Classy looking place.  I think it was a Holiday Inn anyway.  Who can really be sure? They didn’t allow pets in this elegant establishment, would fine you over $100 if you violate their rule, and we had old Pinhead with us, our scrawny, crabby, cat Poncho.  We are quite fond of him even if he is a pain, he’s the last of the tribe of pets we used to travel with and he’s not looking too well lately so I can’t leave him behind.  Besides, I figure a cat is not really a pet - he’s more of an employer.  I snuck Pinhead in under a coat.  It must have been a wonderful sight, me having a life and death struggle with an Eddie Bauer Windfoil Jacket as I stumbled down the hallway.  He kept trying to stick his head out and I kept pushing it back under the material.  He was hissing at me, I was swearing at him.  He and I arrived at the room alone while Richie piled the luggage on the luggage cart.  The demons had already taken possession of Poncho's body by then...

I have never seen this before.  One entire wall of the room was a window onto the lobby below. You were like an exhibit in a zoo, on display for the entire world to see.  It was like late night on Cinemax.  Not that we ever watch that.  Or the Spice channel.  The entire Inn was built in a kind of circle with a view down to the lobby, all six or seven stories of it, all the rooms open ended and facing each other.  You could look into everyone’s room, and we were only on the second floor.  Our room was 204, directly over the registration desk.  Here’s an interesting aside:  cats love to sit in windows so that passers-by can ooh and ahh. 


I stuffed Pinhead into the bathroom and set about to secure our window.  I had pulled the curtain closed but now I had to barricade them down so Pinhead wouldn’t sneak behind and expose himself to the world.  He's a lot more like my Uncle Frank than I care to admit. 

Frank is third from the left.  He's the one smiling.

And Poncho would do it to, just to get back at me.  I wedged the sofa against it, the ironing board, two tables, a watermelon and all the suitcases after Richie brought them in.  Sofa cushions, lamps, books, magazines, my hair blower, a fine pair of boots.  After forty minutes I was finally satisfied that Pinhead would never be able to get behind that curtain.  We were safe from that horrifying $100 fine.  We were puttin' one over on the manRichie shook his head.  "Pinhead’ll find a way.  They’re gonna nail us for this.”  Sometimes my husband really pisses me off.


That was when hotel staff began trying to enter our room.  Oh yes. 

 The cleaning people had not finished with our room!!!!  WTF.   Since when are maids this efficient???  I have never – never – had anyone from the hotel staff try to break into my room before.  I listened to the woman outside bitching and moaning that she had to do a final check.  She wriggled the door handle, she kept inserting that card key of hers over and over and over until I thought I'd go mad with terror.  Richie began to say something so I grabbed his mouth – OK, maybe his throat. I dragged him to the floor and made him crab walk toward the door where we pressed our backs against it.  My heart was pounding.  I cracked.

"You're not gonna take us alive, you bastards!"  I shrieked.  "Ma!  Ma!  I'm comin' home Ma!"

 Pinhead began to wail from the bathroom.  We were doomed.

To be continued…