This gem is care of my friend, and Southern transplant via Brooklyn, NY, the brilliant and gifted Kayti Nika Raet
Thank you so very much.
It is with the utmost humility and gravest sincerity that I accept this wonderful honor bestowed upon my humble blog. I am speechless, finding it hard to believe I’m even worthy of such attention.
I received this love pat of an award from my gifted fellow blogger and sublime wordsmith, Christa Wojo, of the stunningly crafted and beautifully worded blog, My Sweet Delirium. Christa is an animal-loving ex-pat living in Panama, smoking five cigarettes a day (oh! the willpower), exposing us to some of the beauty of her world. Oh. And she also happens to be the author of this little gem of a book called The Wrong David. I kind of loved it.
The One Lovely Blog award is not really so much of an award as it is an excellent excuse to tell folks a little about yourself and then pass the love on to your other blogger and writer friends. It’s what Christa did with me and what I’m about to do with some other good folks.
First things first
I’m kidding. Not going to hit you with some Biggie right now, although any time I write the phrase “first things first”, I cannot help but sing “I Poppa! Freaks all the honies”
What I intended to say before Notorious B.I.G. got me all distracted is…
First things first, let me hit you with the rules:
- Share 7 facts about myself
- Link to blogs I enjoy reading and want to pass along the love
- Nominate those bloggers to participate in this love fest and link back to the Lovely Blog that nominated them (ahem…which would be mine)
So let’s do this, bitches.
I’ve seen my brother turn blue and almost die from being exposed to peanuts. Back in the early 80s, before fatal nut allergies were discussed and blogged about, my family was already well-versed in dealing with them. We were on our flight to India, seeing my grandparents for the first time ever, and towards the end of the flight, he got hungry and ate the special, nut-free meal Air India made just for him. Nut-free my ass. Just as we’re touching down in Chennai (then still known as Madras), he vomits and then has trouble breathing. The plane stairs go down and there’s my family, racing across the tarmac. We burst into the insanely crowded airport (have you seen an Indian airport? Whoa), my dad throws my brother on the floor, and starts digging through his bag for the epinephrine. Of course, he couldn’t find it and by this time a crowd has formed around us, made up of family members who have never seen my brother or sister and have only seen me once, when I was two, and strangers, all while my brother is turning a sick shade of blue, beginning with his lips, and my parents are frantically searching for the meds. They found them eventually, after dumping the entire medical bag on the floor, and my brother survived, after getting two shots. But damn if that image has not remained seared in my brain all these years later.
I’ve seen Michael Jackson in concert three times, once on the 6th row from the stage for the Victory Tour and twice on the Bad Tour. You don’t need the details, you already know: it was EPIC
I was eight the first time I rode an elephant, which is an excellent opening sentence to a book and I think I’m going to use it to open my next series, but is also true. I really was eight years old when I rode my first elephant. We were visiting my grandparents in Chennai and my cousins and I rode the elephant at the animal sanctuary. And guess who got to ride up front, bareback, with her hands resting in the elephant’s head? You got it…this bitch right here.
Lately, I’ve been having this intense desire to learn to ride a motorcycle. I’m forty-three and kind of figure if I was going to be the motorcycle riding kind of girl I see in my dreams, then I should have started a little earlier. Now I’ve got The Kid and The Husband who, when I shared this desire with him last night, looked at me like I have three heads. He told me to go and buy a Vespa.
Back when I was in college, after a long night, partying in various Parisian night clubs, and riding on the back of a very cute boy’s motorcycle through the city streets as the sun was coming up, I dragged myself into my friend Deena’s dorm room on the International Campus where we were living for the summer, spied her sleeping in bed with her boyfriend, spotted a lovely bottle of water sitting on her dresser, next to several bottles of wine, raced across the room and swigged half the contents. Only it was not water, it was Ouzo. And it was toxic. I’ve never touched the stuff since.
I have laughed so hard I have peed in my pants. Twice. Both times with my friend, Noelle. We were just laughing about it this evening as we texted each other. To this day I own the crown for being able to make her laugh like no other. Needless to say, she and I have the potential to be all about some funny shit when we get together.
There needs to be a movement informing women that their 40s are fucking awesome because no one says it, but it’s the goddamned truth. Okay, so maybe I don’t have the boobs or the hipless body I owned in my 20s, but in my 40s my mental self is so fierce that I can handle that fact. And even better, I kind of love my 40s body – it’s pretty damn sexy, if I may say so myself. Shit is great on so many levels as a woman in your 40s, but in this youth-obsessed culture, an appreciation of the 40+ female is rare and novel. And you know what I say to that? Fuck that noise. Just one more reason to move to France.
And now I will pass this on to some of the fabulous writers and bloggers I’ve met this past year – they should all feel free to take their time with this or even say thanks but no thanks. It’s all good.
SABINA KHAN – author of the soon-to-be-released YA Paranormal novel Realm of the Goddess
STEPH SWINT – of the blog Bookish, where bookish types are always welcome
CAROLE BESHARAH – of the blog Barda Book Talk
AMAN MITTAL – of the blog Confessions of a Readaholic, who doesn’t read fantasy fiction but reads (and enjoys) my books
AMANDA HOROWITZ – lawyer by day, freaking amazing magician in the kitchen at all other times (her photography is pretty dreamy as well)
THELONIOUS LEGEND – author of Sins of the Father and blogger on all matter of things diverse
GUINEVERE & LIBERTAD – the mighty twins behind the kickass blog, Twinja Book Reviews and Diverse Book Tours, working hard to diversify our bookshelves
ERICKA GREER – YA Librarian and Highway-YA blogger
KAYTI NIKA RAET – author of the fabulous YA series, The Outsider Chronicles
TESHELLE COMBS – award-winning fantasy author of The Core series and The System series
That’s enough for now…I’m tired.
I make no bones about the fact that I love to dance. I’ve always loved to dance and others might disagree, but I think I’m pretty freaking good. These days my chances to dance are certainly not like they were back in the late 90s, when there was a Black Diamond party every other night, and The Husband, me, and our friends were always up in the club, but I have no problem making my own dance party.
I do it in my office all the time, randomly putting on Pharrell’s “Happy” video and dancing out my frustrations. I do it in the shower while I’m getting ready in the mornings. Back in the day, I would come home from college and accost my sister many a time in her bedroom, jamming out to Kris Kross’ Jump. Really, I can pretty much dance anywhere, any time.
Which I mention because lately some ad campaigns have been getting me to stop what I’m doing, watch their ad, and dance it out.
Uh-huh. That’s what I said. I will put down what I’m doing and groove right along with an ad. You heard me right – an ad. As in advertisement, as in that annoying thing that breaks up my episodes of Parenthood and The Walking Dead.
Interestingly enough, but probably not what the ad execs had in mind when creating these short, brilliant blips of dance perfection, I could not tell you what they’re selling. At least I couldn’t the first thirty or so times I watched the ads because really, all I wanted to do was play it again and dance it out.
But now I know and even if I’m not sold on buying the products, I sure as hell am sold on watching the ads. Again and again.
Here are my two favorites:
If the boy in the beginning of this Android ad doesn’t make you want to shake it out, you’re just a little dead inside
And then there’s this gem from Zumba. The girl in the meeting – oh man, does she bring the joy. I want to be her, all day, every day. (Also, if my Zumba classes had been half this fun…)
Today marks my first celebrity Twitter follower.
Well, that’s not true because the very brilliant Michael Kelly, aka Doug Stamper to those of you who know and appreciate excellent television, follows me and I follow him. But Michael doesn’t really count since we’re old friends from high school. I mean he does count, of course he does, he’s awesome, but he doesn’t because, I mean really? I can’t count him. We’d follow each other regardless.
So anyway, today I got this notification in my gmail
Taye Diggs is my first celebrity follow. My gut tells me he probably follows everyone, but that could just be me, being me. I’m not a huge Taye Diggs fan (although I liked him on The Practice and am enjoying him on The Good Wife) which I know, as a woman of color, hell! as a woman in general, is like committing some sort of hot guy crime, but he’s a little too smooth where a man should have some edges. I like the edges.
But that’s just me and I digress.
If I’m being honest, what I really want to know is how I can finesse this follow into some book sales for The Sanctum because really, that’s all I fucking care about.
Now to get my books into Mr. Diggs’ very smooth hands…
Blogger Aman Mittal just finished reading THE BOY and says he “was pulled in from the beginning.” Holy smokes, that’s a great way to start the week. Check out the rest of his review and hit The Sanctum Bookstore when you have a chance to snag your own copy of THE BOY.
Happy Monday, bitches.
I’ve got a mean case of Charlotte Olympia Dellal closet envy. Pack up my laptop, a steady supply of Smooth Ambler’s Old Scout and I could live here and be quite content.
Charlotte Olympia Dellal is one of those beautiful girls of good family who today call themselves “socialite”. In 2008 she decided to found a brand of shoes that resembles to her soul in every way: crazy, full of glamor, English creative soul and luxurious Italian craftsmanship. Her kitty cat flats conquered the world and style icons such as Kate Moss or Daphne Guiness became fans. The rest is history.
And what better way to know a woman than that of searching for through her closet?! Thanks to thecoveteur.com we can have a look at the intimate world of her closet .
“I’ve always loved the 1930s, ‘40s, and ‘50s, from a young age. I used to watch lots of old movies with my mom so I think I get it from my mom. She loves glamour, my grandmother was very glamorous, so I guess I get it from the women in my…
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Do you watch Between the Ferns with Zach Galifiankis? Who, by the way, will always be Fat Jesus to me.
I love it. It’s totally bizarre and uncomfortable and even though you know everyone is in on the joke, it’s still delicious fun watching everyone be in on the joke.
So Brad Pitt was just on and it was kind of special. I won’t give the whole thing away, although I desperately want to because all of it cracked me up, but Zach addressed him as Bradley Pitts, told him that he finds it strange Pitt plays so many characters who are Nazi haters because he “looks like Hitler’s dream”, and asked to hear about Pitt’s new movie “Furry”.
This might be my favorite episode yet.
Check it out.
Oh! and while you’re at it, have a happy Diwali.