I… I’m at a loss. Really.

As I sit here on my bed, laptop open, busily inventing new and exciting adventures for Juliet, my heroine-of-the-moment, my daughters run past me, circling through my room, through the hall, through the bathroom, and back again, around and around in circles they go, clad only in their underpants, shouting at the top of their lungs, “I’m a MAN, Momma! I’m a MAAAAAAAAAN!”

Yep.

I believe it was Mark Twain who said, “It’s no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.” Now let me guess what you’re thinking: Twain was a friggin’ genius.

Right?! Hey?! Am I RIGHT?!

Good lord.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sit back, figure out how best to embarrass my daughters with this story when they are teenagers, and wait for their over-tired, it’s-almost-bedtime hysteria to wear off.

Then it’s off to bed they go, and I’ll just be sittin’ over here, laptop open, writin’ the fiction, chillin’ like a villain.

And… here they come again. “I’m a MAN! I’M A MAAAAAAN!”

*sigh*

Honestly.

Thank God Almighty for YouTube!

Don’t tell Blake and his pants (I refuse to acknowledge the argyle; I have issues with the argyle), but… Jordin Sparks was so frakking awesome (the first time she performed “This is My Now,” and when she won American Idol and performed “This is My Now”) that she actually brought me to tears. Twice. Because of her wicked awesomeness? Then I laughed, because when my Ry-Ry stood next to her and tried to comfort her? He looked like a wee leprechaun. Because of his adorable wee-ness? Hee. I just pictured the scene again. Good LORD! That man is WEE!

Okay, so Jordin rocks, that’s all I’m saying.

Uh-oh. TGIM just caught me posting about American Idol! Oh, TGIM, you know AI means nothing to me. I was weak! I WAS WEAK! I just wanted to see Blake and his pants–just one more time–and maybe catch a little La-la Percocet Paula Sunshine, and perhaps a bit of Simon’s snark, but it was all about Jordin! Because she was AWESOME! I’m not lying! Watch! You’ll see!

But I never meant to hurt you, baby. It will never happen again, I swear.

(Okay. Gotta go. See you next year. Rock on, Jordin!)

The strangest thing…

The strange thing about writing novels is that sometimes the story gets away from you. You know, takes on a life of its own? The characters run amok and wind up surprising you with things you just did NOT see coming. I mean, I always knew there was something not-quite-right about Jake. Something… different. But this?

(excerpt 1 from Juliet Moss novel)

“You’re a ghost?”

Jake cocked an eyebrow at me. “Is that a problem?”

“A ghost,” I repeated as I narrowed my eyes at him and folded my arms across my chest.

“That’s right,” he answered, folding his arms across his chest.

“As in ‘Casper the Friendly’.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes. Well, except for the transparent, floating around in the rafters part.”

“A chain-rattling, house-haunting ghost,” I said, recklessly waving imaginary chains in his face.

He pushed my hands away. “Well, it’s not so much ‘house-haunting’ as it is ‘hanging around.’ Come on. ‘Skulking,’ maybe.”

I jabbed his chest with my finger. “Then why can I touch you?” I asked, willing my knees to stop shaking, the traitors. I mean, this—all of this—was ridiculous… right?

He paused, his eyes distant, thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he finally answered.

“Seriously,” I said, my voice rising to an embarrassingly high note of near-panic. “A ghost?!”

“Could you keep it down?” He nervously scanned the parking lot, then turned his gaze back to me, his dark eyes intense, serious. “And is it just me or is this conversation going nowhere?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just so—”

“Hard to believe,” Jake finished for me with a rueful grin. “Trust me, I’m right there with you.”

“I was going to say ‘freaky,’ but what you said works, too.”

(excerpt 2 from Juliet Moss novel)

“Juliet.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“God, Jake!” I yelled. “My heart!”

Jake chuckled. “Why so jumpy there, Blondie?”

“Would you please stop lurking and jumping out at me like that?” I demanded. “Myocardial infarctions are not my friend.”

Jake walked out of the shadows at the side of the school. “Sorry.”

I cast him a dirty look. “No you’re not,” I muttered.

“Well, in my defense, it is pretty funny. You get all twitchy,” he said, opening his eyes wide and twitching his shoulders a few times to drive home his point.

I glared.

“I’m not joking. You’re wound tighter than a spring.” He stopped imitating me and let his eyes wander up and down my body. “You need to relax, Juliet Moss.”

The boy sure knew how to make a girl blush. Remember the mocking, I told myself sternly before saying, “Whatever, perv. And hello, yeah,” I gestured to draw his gaze back to my face, “up here, buddy. Eyes above the neck, if you don’t mind.”

Jake leered suggestively at me. “Oh, but I do mind.”

“Seriously?” I mean, the nerve of this dead guy. “Shut it or I will pop you in your mouth.”

He grinned so radiantly I had to turn away to hide my involuntary smile. “It was worth a shot,” he said simply.

I snorted. “Dude, you’re a ghost. There is no shot.”

“You wound me.”

“You’re dead!”

“Well, sure, if you want to be Miss Technicality.”

Jake laughed as I threw my hands in the air and growled in frustration.

……………………..

You see? I mean, a ghost?! WOW. Who knew?

When will Cat get her groove back?

I seem to have misplaced my mad blogging mojo.

*sigh*

Shenanigans.

That’s just plain rude.

Okay, seriously?

I don’t know whether to be flattered or genuinely insulted by this dude’s blatant rip-off of my podcast name. Honestly. One quick Google search for “Veronica Mars Rewind” and anyone can see that someone is already using it.

For real. Show a little originality, people.

Epiphany in the Kiss and Ride

“Hey, Allison’s mom! Sweet ride!”

“Hi, Allison’s mom!”

“Woo! I like your car!”

I pulled up to the front of the elementary school’s Kiss and Ride line dense with rowdy, backpacked children, and smiled at the cluster of little boys nearly knocking themselves over in their efforts to get closer to my Miata as Allison ran from the line and hopped into the car, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Momma, boys are so weird,” she said, as I took her backpack and, after a brief struggle, managed to wedge it into the minuscule space between the back of her seat and the folded convertible top.

I raised my eyebrows at her and put the car in gear, ready to maneuver out of the parking lot.

“They’re all, ‘Tell your mom I like her car! Tell your mom she has a sweet ride!’” As she buckled up, she wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes with speaking seven-year-old eloquence. “I mean, come on. They were totally flirting with me.”

I lifted my sunglasses and looked over at the group of boys stumbling over themselves, yelling and waving thumbs-ups our way, and swore to myself that Allison would SO be driving a clunker of a car until college.

“Allison!”

“Bye, Allison!”

“Sweet ride!”

Allison shrugged at me, and then turned around in her seat to wave wildly back at the crowd. “Bye! Bye!” she screamed at them. “See you later, you weirdos!”

Grinning widely, I settled my sunglasses back in place, cranked the tunes, and pulled away from the curb.

Note to self:

When your soon-to-be sixth grader needs booster immunizations and a TB test, do not consider this a teaching opportunity and share with him (and his little sisters) information about the super interesting regulations you happen to be drafting about bovine tuberculosis, and explain that the government will pay indemnity to encourage herd owners to depopulate their TB-infected herds rather than simply testing and treating them, because depopulation is the most effective way to deal with the disease and prevent re-infection. And when he wants to know what EXACTLY you mean by “depopulation” and “indemnity,” do not enthusiastically explain that, duh, depopulation means to slaughter.. kill.. destroy… put down… and the government totally pays them to do it, too!

Because sleep is good, and kids waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, screaming, “NOOOOO! Help! I don’t wanna be depopulated!”? Well, it can seriously disrupt the zzzzz’s.

I’m just saying.

Veronica Mars REWIND: Un-American Graffiti

Does all the relationship drama on Veronica Mars have you confused? Let Cat and her “Chart o’ Bone-ing” sort it out for you.

Wait. Mystery? What mystery?

With “Remember” by Black Lab.

(Thanks to Paige, David Spade, and The Showbiz Show for the inspiration!)

Feel free to increase my Veronica Mars street cred at VEOH by clicking here.

Random Thought on a SLOW Friday Afternoon

Is it weird that I’m sitting here thinking that there are at least ten different ways that it WOULD be wrong to eat a Reese’s? Especially that way I just thought of which involves a slinky, bubble gum, and enema bag?

American Idol: A Moment of Weakness (Shut. IT.)

I am weak. I admit it. But, hey! Don’t judge! So what if– perhaps– I feel like checking in with American Idol every once in a while?! Huh?! So what if– perhaps– I find myself lurking in the TWoP forums reading the recaps. Huh? What? Just because I broke up with American Idol, I can’t check up on the show? Whatever.

And so what if– perhaps– I snuck a peek at some clips of the show on YouTube after reading the recap and discovering that JON FREAKING BON FRAKKING JOVI was the guest judge?! And that Phil wasn’t as scary as usual? And that Lakisha tried to up her ‘tude and MADE OUT WITH SIMON COWELL (which makes me inexplicably jealous) ON HIS VERY LIPS? And that Melinda went all Tina Turner on America’s ass? And that Blake would be KICKING SOME MAJOR BOOTAY with nothing but a drummer (drummist?) and some killer moves?! HUH?! WELL?! LIKE I COULD HELP MYSELF! A gal gets LONELY, OKAY?! !!Exclamation!! !Point!!!

Needless to say, watching the clip of Blake and his (not-plaid) pants? And his kickass beatboxing skillz? And his funky new black ‘do?

Yeah. He was SO worth it… all five times.