Pissing my Bitchpants

Bitchpants = Wet

Two videos which made me piss myself with laughter:


Cindy McCain Claims She's Just Like Any Other Female Human

GIRAFFES! via SNL



Listening to: Devo, "Freedom of Choice"

Please peel me off the ceiling.

Bitchpants = Loose(ning)

I was traveling for work last week, an activity I find very stressful. Please bear with me as I rattle off some of the things that annoyed me while I was away from home, in no particular order:

1) Airport restrooms: is it too much to ask to let me flush my own damn toilet? I'm really tired of shifting my weight on the toilet and having my girly bits unexpectedly bideted with ice cold water. Also, what's with the ten seconds' worth of cold water for hand washing? That can't be healthy.

2) Gum chewing. Adults: I don't want to see your gum, and I don't want to hear your gum. Did your parents not teach you to chew with your mouth closed? Did you spend too much time with your friends, the cows? ***SNAP*** ***SNAP*** ***SNAP*** ***SNAP*** ***SNAP*** ***SNAP*** ***SNAP*** ***SNAP*** ***SNAP*** ***SNAP*** Thank gawd for iPods and noise reduction headphones.

3) Carry-on baggage: small women, if you can't lift your luggage into the overhead bin all by yourself, do us all a favor. Pony up $25 and check the damn thing.

4) Noise pollution: how is anyone supposed to hear gate annoucements over the fifteen cell phone conversations people are having at the top of their lungs? Primary topic of conversation: "Can you hear me now?"

5) Rental cars, or cars generally: Can y'all just HANG UP AND DRIVE? Please. If you don't take your own safety all that seriously, think of mine. I don't want to die because you were making a restaurant reservation instead of piloting that 3000 lb. projectile down the highway at 70 mph. Thank you.

Listening to: Nora Roberts RWA 2008 session

Golden Heart

Bitchpants = Loose

Nicola over at Alpha Heroes has very politely reminded me that it's been a LONG time since I've updated this blog. I know this is no excuse, but... I've been writing. Frantically. For some reason, and likely under the influence of hallucinogens, I entered the 2009 Golden Heart contest. While my Bitchpants are Loose, it's two months before the contest submission deadline and my panties are definitely in a wad.

For those of you who may not know, The Golden Heart is the Romance Writers of America's annual contest for unpublished romance manuscripts. It's kind of a big deal. And why, you ask, did I decide to push my first/only (and not quite finished) manuscript out into the world by entering the biggest friggin' writing contest in Romancelandia? Do not ask me. Like I said, I was under the influence. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I have to stop tweaking the first two chapters and start writing the dreaded synopsis.

Listening to: "Maybe Tomorrow" by Stereophonics

All Timmeh, All the Time

Bitchpants = Loose(ning)

Tim Russert is on the cover of People magazine this week.

So, I get it. Really, I do. Tim Russert was a towering figure, a talented journalist, an all-around great guy. Great husband and dad. His kid is a chip off the old block, a preternaturally-talented communicator already being groomed for the business. Tim died at 58, too young, dropping dead in the saddle, as it were, recording voice-overs for "Meet the Press." He was an angel on earth, a guy who never did anyone wrong, was always there, who never ...asked members of the Current Administration the tough questions about Iraq, or illegal wiretapping, or the myriad other ways Bush & Co. have repeatedly bent The Constitution over a table and fucked it in the ass.

Ahem.

So, a good man died, like good men die every day. It was shocking, but...I can't say I was surprised. Overweight, overworked, high blood pressure and cholesterol? Seemed a matter of time. He died, and it certainly deserved a mention in the national media outlets. But NBC and MSNBC's saturation coverage of his death turned into a self-indulgent grief wankathon. Their "All Timmeh, All The Time" programming was just too painful to watch. And not because of any feelings anyone had about Tim's death.

Was nothing else happening in the world? There seemed to be no other news in the land that was worthy of airtime.

Call me a bitch, but is the wankathon over? Enough already.

Listening to: "Colorful" by The Verve Pipe

Upcoming Hardcover Releases

Bitchpants = a leeetle Snug

I love books. Just LOVE them. But several of the authors previously on my "Must Buy" list have unfortunately shifted to my "Must...check out of the library" list because someone, somewhere, made a business decision to release these authors' upcoming books in hardcover.

I understand that this is an accomplishment for these authors, an indication that they've arrived, that they've hit the "A List", that their publisher is willing to invest in their careers. Congratulations. But... someone really should have asked their readers about this first, because with this decision, they've lost a sale. Mine. And I don't think I'm alone.

I'm a voracious reader, buying at least a hundred books a year. My library card smokes from frequent use. But I don't buy hardcover fiction. EVAH. Hardcovers have serious usability problems. They're too big, too heavy. They don't travel well (again - big, heavy) and they are not easy to read in my preferred reading location: the bathtub. Heavy, heavy, heavy. And? Water. It's so annoying when an author has released 10 books in a keeper series in paperback, and the 11th comes out in hardcover. It fucks up my bookshelf feng shui.

So, Sherrilyn Kenyon ("Acheron"), Laurell K. Hamilton ("Blood Noir"), Christine Feehan ("Dark Curse")? Love your work (okay, I'm on the fence with LKH), but... I'll check your new releases out of the library, take them for a test drive, and buy them in paperback if I decide they deserve a space on my keeper shelf.

Because with a hardcover costing half a tank of gas, that test drive is pretty damn expensive.

Listening to: "I'll Fly For You" by Spandau Ballet

Music as a Catalyst

Bitchpants = Loose

Writers, have you ever had a scene for a book emerge, nearly fully formed, from a song? This happens to me quite frequently. This morning the song was "Maybe Tomorrow" by Stereophonics. Its aural qualities - soft, woozy, with a thrum of bass driving it along - catalyzed a pivotal love scene in which my hero and heroine engage their emotions in addition to their bodies.

Ahem. Where's my boy when I need him? Out of town, damn it.

Listening to: "Crazy Bitch" by Buckcherry

J.R. Ward's "Lover Enshrined"

Bitchpants = Snug

Things that bugged me about J.R. Ward's latest Black Dagger Brotherhood book called "Lover Enshrined":

1. Shoddy Editing #1 - Referring to the lack of prisons as a problem with the “penile system” deserves a place on the All Time Top Ten List of Editing Groaners.

2. Shoddy Editing #2 - having an acolyte repeatedly call her deity by a transposed name ("Virgin Scribe" instead of "Scribe Virgin") does not instill the requisite awe.

3. Did I mention shoddy editing?

4. Inauthenticity #1 - howlingly bad text messages from the younger men, who do NOT attend "Sweet Valley High."

5. Inauthenticity #2 - the Brothers would NOT say "Laters" or "I'm outtie." Girlfriend, really.

6. The hero and heroine of the book are reduced to a sub-plot IN THEIR OWN DAMN BOOK.

7. Speaking of which? Can we play "Count the Sub-Plots?" If you have used all your fingers and have to start counting on toes? Red flag.

8. Too much brand name-dropping. We get that the Brothers have serious money at their disposal. Phury wearing Calvin Klein underwear? Slumming. But I'd still look.

9. Character interaction - I would have understood the manner in which the Brothers treated Phury (re: his addiction) better if there had been a scene where the Brothers discussed their concerns. Instead we were left with them...just cutting Phury loose to deal with his own problems, which seemed really out of character.

10. Your books are like crack. You haven't lost me yet.

What I'm Listening To: "Mercy" by Duffy

Bitchpants Code = Snug

I'm an aspiring writer. And I'm getting really tired of all the extranneous stuff I'm being told I "have" to do to get published or sell books. It doesn't help that I'm a contrarian. The minute someone tells me I "have" to do anything, my back goes up.

I'm tired of my writer's email loops being filled with self-promoting "I'm guestblogging at X today, come on over!" emails. It's an incestuous echo chamber. There's nothing on craft.

It seems more and more of the writing life has very little to do with ...um, actual writing. We're told we have to develop a website, a MySpace page, have a Facebook presence, spend time blogging. Enter or judge contests, depending on where you are in your career. When do these authors find time to write?

Heresy time: IMO, time invested developing book trailers (hate 'em), in-character interviews (self-indulgent in the extreme), and message boards where fans come to squee regardless of the quality of the book (ego need massaging?) is time not spent writing. And WRITERS WRITE. Don't they?

I used to think so.

Bitchpants Codes

Following are the Bitchpants ratings I plan to use in this blog:

Bitchpants = Loose
If my bitchpants are loose, I am not at all annoyed about the topic I'm writing about. All is well. Compliments may well be uttered. Think ...(MC) Hammertime!

Bitchpants = Snug
If my bitchpants are snug, I am experiencing a... wee bit of angst about the topic at hand. These jeans are pinching me in the crotch. Annoying, but not agonizing.

Bitchpants = Tight
If my bitchpants are tight, I am highly, monumentally annoyed. Maybe angry. I can't breathe in these pants. I need a pliers to get these damn things zipped, and my genitals are going numb. May be modified by decade. e.g., '70's jeans' tight. This is as high as it goes.

Bitchpants, activate!

I seem to be bitching about an awful lot lately: politics, work, writing, TV.... And so the name of this blog was born.

Come and bitch, snark, or whatever. You don't have to keep it clean, but try to keep it respectful. Good writing appreciated.