Thank you again and again!

Thank you, thank you to everyone for the birthday wishes. You sure know how to make somebody feel loved! Even Carol from freakin’ Perth, Australia, came out of lurkdom to wish me happy birthday—yay! In her honor, I watched Rabbit Proof Fence Sunday night. I actually saw that in the theater a few years ago with my Kiwi ex. It’s a good movie, but only if you have the IFC channel gene.

So I had a nice visit in Idaho, though I was a little concerned when I got on the plane. I mean nothing says, “We’re all gonna die” more than a woman in the emergency exit row with a Kate Gosselin haircut. I should talk; after struggling for like 20 minutes, I had to ask the guy next to me to open my peanuts. Freakin’ helpless.

It was gloomy and rainy all weekend in Boise, but I didn’t care; Mom took me to not one, but two Ross Dress-for-Lesses and bought me all kinds of stuff for my birthday, on top of baking me a cake and brownies and taking me out to dinner at an awesome place called Jakers. We also checked out an independent bookstore, Rediscovered Bookshop, and I hope to arrange a book signing there when I’m back in Boise next month.

As I’ve said before, Boise is a cool place with a funky downtown and an independent movie theater that sells microbrews. (Oh, Mom also had a six-pack of Moose Drool in her fridge for me—isn’t she the best?) Anyway, I think you’d be surprised at how nice Boise is, and I’ll tell you something else that’s surprising—it doesn’t get dark until much later than Las Vegas and it takes forever to get bright in the morning. I swear, I got up to pee thinking it was the middle of the night and it was 6:45 a.m. It was pitch black!

This was a short visit—I was back in my Vegas sunshine by 3:00 Sunday afternoon. October is beautiful in Las Vegas—it’s been in the 70s lately, which is actually a little below normal, but it will be in the 80s again by the end of the week. I’m telling you, people, Las Vegas is a fantastic place to live.

One last thing—thanks to all of you who’ve placed your orders for Bastard Husband. I am both amazed and overwhelmed with gratitude for your interest in my story. I heard from a couple of you asking how to buy more than one book; I adjusted the PayPal button so you can do that now. (I'm still working on figuring out international orders.)

Man, there’s so much to learn, and I’m pretty damn sick of learning stuff. I wanted to put together a WordPress site for www.bastardhusband.com, but I’m not kidding, I’ve had to learn so much lately about self-publishing that I’m like F it, I know Blogger, so I put together a total cob job of a website for my book in Blogger. Sometimes you just have to say “good enough,” you know? It’ll get better over time; I just have so much to do right now. Not that I’m complaining; I’m the luckiest girl in the world. Thank you all, again.

Hey, speaking of bastard husbands, how pissed must Letterman’s wife be these days? Yesterday I was talking to a co-worker about the whole “men with power” dynamic and we were wondering if women with power act out in a similar way. You never hear about it, if they do. Do you think powerful women are more monogamous? Or are they just more discreet?

Geez, Dave…

My birthday wish -- for you

Today is my 52nd birthday. I know--holy shit, right? So here I am in Boise with Mom and Stepdaddy and let me tell you how happy I am to be 52 years old and still have my mother, and in good health. Well, physical health.

I woke up today to the hum of the mixer and there was Mom in the kitchen making my birthday cake. On the kitchen table was a big-ass plate of brownies.

Me: "You made brownies, too?" Yikes, is Mom going a bit overboard on the sweets or what?
Mom: "Oh, they were supposed to be your birthday cake. I knew something wasn't right when I was mixing it up. The boxes look alike, you know. Not that I'm gonna make anything from scratch--ha!"

At least the physical health is still intact. Poor Mom, though--imagine what it must be like to have a kid who's 52? I'm freaked out that my kids are 30 and 31.

Birthdays are traditionally a good time to assess where you are in life and how close you are to where you want to be. But I'm gonna say F that. Why? Because when you frame your birthday in that way, it's nothing but a perfect opportunity to make yourself feel inadequate. Like surely you should have accomplished more by this age.

So let's shake the Etch-a-Sketch and erase any notions of how your life "should" look at this point. Instead, think about how it still can be.

Over the past several months, I've been doing some editing for Rudy Ruettiger, the man behind the hit movie, Rudy. He lives here in Las Vegas. One of Rudy's favorite lines is,

"What would you do if you knew you could not fail?"

Most people don't dig deeply enough within themselves to truly consider and come up with an answer to this question. But if you really think about it, you're sure to uncover a true desire. And under that, I'll bet you anything, lies a true God-given talent.

Talent. I believe we've all been blessed with it. But for any number of reasons, this talent often gets suppressed. A while back, I heard from a reader who said she always wanted to write, but gave up that aspiration long ago when a teacher told her she was no good at it. And I'm telling you, the email she sent to me was beautifully written. Forgive that stupid teacher and shake the Etch-a-Sketch, sister. And start writing.

Finally, finally, I've come to realize that my God-given talent is my writing (though Mom could have told you that years ago). I'm 52 and finally have a book for sale, an outlet for my writing, my humor, and a way to motivate others to make the most of their own lives by looking at mine. I've said a million times, "Everything in its right time" and I do believe that--the universe unfolds in divine order. But we also have free will, so why not make "the right time" sooner rather than later?

So my birthday wish is for you to take some time today to consider

What is your God-given talent? What do you do better than almost every person on earth? How can you share your talent with the rest of the world?

These are not rhetorical questions. I'm really asking you; I expect answers (even if you answer in your own head). I want you to tell me what your talent is because by telling me, you're also proclaiming it to yourself.

Think about what makes you wonderful and have yourself an incredible day, knowing that in your own unique way, you kick ass. That, beloved readers, is my birthday wish for you.

Okay, I’m all set for pre-orders

Well, I think I’m ready if you are. It’s still going to be another month or so before I’m good to go on Amazon, but I’m all set up with PayPal to start taking orders for Bastard Husband: A Love Story right here from my blog. The price is $15.95 (no tax) and for you, my dear readers, I’ll pick up the postage.

Another benefit of handling the shipping myself until I have the Amazon system up and running is that I can sign each book before it goes out. If you’d like yours signed to a particular person, just type the person’s name in the field under “Sign my copy ‘To:’” before you click the Buy Now button.

You don’t need a PayPal account to purchase through PayPal. You can pay with a regular ol’ credit card; all you have to do is click the Continue link on the line above the little credit card icons. As you go through the payment process, you’ll notice another link that says “Message to seller.” If you have any special instructions for me, you’ll see a field where you can type them in.

I should have books in hand next week at this time, and I’ll get them out to you the minute I receive them. At this point, I’m sorry to say, I’m equipped only for U.S. orders, but that will change as I refine the process.

If you have any questions, feel free to email me at Linda@AgingNymphsMedia.com.

Thanks to every single one of you for supporting this crazy hobby of mine. You mean the world to me. No shit.

Bastard Husband winner (yay!) and why Courteney Cox needs to gain some damn weight

First, thank you all so much for entering the “Win a Copy of Bastard Husband: A Love Story” contest. It’s nice to see such an interesting cross-section of readers, and I cannot begin to tell you how much I appreciate your enthusiasm for this little book of mine. Well, at 260 pages, it’s not that little. (I know—can you imagine reading 260 pages of my voice???)

And the lucky winner is.... Hoopswife, age 40 from Ohio. Congratulations, Hoopswife! Please send your mailing address to Linda@VegasLindaLou.com and I’ll get that book out to you the minute it comes in. I talked to the printer on Tuesday and he assured me I’ll have books in hand by the end of next week. I'll be taking orders from this site very soon--I'm thinking by Saturday. Oh, I hope you like it!

I got an email from beloved BH in New Zealand yesterday; I said him I'd send him a book and he wrote back saying if I send him three, he'll sign two and mail them back to me. So there'll be another giveaway down the line. Just imagine how valuable a book signed by Bastard Husband himself could fetch you on eBay!

I'm just being an a-hole. As always.

So last night I was on my way to an event at the library— Screeching halt!!! Oh, for Christsake, can you believe I live in Las Vegas and I start a sentence like that? WTH? (That’s the rated PG version of WTF.) Anyway, I was walking through the library and my daughter, Courtney, called to say doesn’t Courteney Cox look like hell? (Yes, she calls just to tell me important stuff like that.)

“She looks plastic or something,” the Kim to my Kath said.

Court had just watched Cougar Town on the east coast and I when I got home from my very. exciting. event. I tuned in. I kind of thought it sucked last week, but sometimes shows take a while to kick in, which I’m hoping is the case with Family Guy’s spinoff, Cleveland, which debuted last Sunday night. Yes, I watch cartoons at age 52 on Saturday.

Anyway, I think Courteney Cox is beautiful, but she is too goddamn skinny and it shows in her looks. I wish to God I could remember which actress said that after a certain age, a woman has to choose between her ass and her face because they’re simply not going to both look good at the same time. I’ve told you before, I’m choosing my face and I’ll make that clear to any guy who’s interested in me, including the two who asked me out last week. (Yes, they were younger, but no, I’m still not a cougar.) (And oh, yeah. I never heard from Mike about my retainer idea.)

Anyway, they have C.C. wearing a million little outfits on the show and all I could think was how goddamn sick I am of these size 0 actresses who look like they’ve been vacationing at an internment camp. Courteney Cox is 45 years old—she needs a little meat on her. It’s a sitcom, not a CARE commercial. Who in Hollywood do I need to smack some sense into? And any guy will tell you that the bag-of-bones look is so not sexy.

Now, back to my Courtney. Look at this picture she sent me the other day. She said I could post it as long I tell you that she’s not wearing any make-up. Can you believe she’s only 3 months pregnant?


I was like, what are you, Octomom 2? Don't worry--yesterday’s ultrasound showed only one baby in there. So exciting…

I’ll tell you what else is exciting—I’m heading up to Boise tomorrow to see Mom minus her gall bladder and Stepdaddy. Mom’s already said she’ll make me a cake and I’m holding her to it, post-op or not. Maybe we’ll even get to go to the movie theater with the microbrews. Yup, life is good.

And again, congratulations, Hoopswife!

Denis Leary and retainers… they’re not just for teeth and lawyers

Unless this is your first time landing here, you know I have this thing for Denis Leary. And just for the record, this attraction started long before Rescue Me came out, before everyone started jumping on the Denis bandwagon. I don’t usually go for skinny guys, but I’ve had a thing for redheads ever since I first laid eyes on Billy Mumy in Lost in Space, and don’t even get me going on Prince Harry—I so want to party with him. (But I repeat: I am not a cougar.)

I don’t know if Denis Leary actually is a redhead; he looks more blond, but who knows because you can definitely tell he gets his hair streaked. The thought of him sitting in the hairdresser’s chair with foil and bleaching paste all over his head kind of takes away from the macho image, so I try not to let my mind go there. I prefer to associate him with handcuffs and whipped cream.

Anyway, I’m reading his book, Why We Suck, and though parts of it are like OMG, no wonder why some people hate you, overall it’s an amusing read. He’s really not the asshole you might think he is, and you God bless him for staying with the original wife for twenty years. And though I think Rescue Me can sometimes be pretty self-indulgent—I mean, every beautiful woman wants him and lesbians are everywhere—I have to give him credit for this advice he gives to women about their looks.

“Giggles, guffaws, and shrieks of laughter last a whole lot longer than legs and other assorted things men like to look at… If you’re dating a guy who’s more interested in the size of your chest than the length of your laugh—maybe you’d better start shopping around.”

It’s nice to hear that guys value a sense of humor, especially since I may have to start dating again. Beloved boyfriend Mike’s lack of regard for my time is driving me out of my fucking mind. No, there hasn’t been much progress since the Mystery Date incident last month. Okay, he was actually a few minutes early for a date a couple of weeks ago, but last Sunday he just didn't show up. No call, no nothin'. That's a deal breaker, and I’m about to check out.

But you know what? To use his own words, everything has a price. So maybe it’s not over after all. I think I've found a way to salvage our union.

Here’s the deal, honey:

I’ll need a $500 deposit for every date or meeting we schedule. If you’re 15-30 minutes late, I keep $100 of it. More than 30 minutes, I keep half. No-shows will cost you the whole $500. Want to schedule something else? That’ll be another $500.

Want more than just dating? That’ll be $10,000. Yes, I’m charging you a $10,000 retainer to continue our relationship, to continue to be your girlfriend. That will be my compensation for all the aggravation; it will help pay for the blood pressure medication I'm gonna need. But don’t worry—since you always say we’ll be spending the rest of our lives together, I promise I’ll leave $10,000 to you in my will. If I go first, that is.

A “relationship retainer.” Do you think he'll go for it? Believe me, I'm totally worth it.

See, this is exactly why people always tell me I should be a life coach. Because I so many brilliant ideas.

Cougar Town and more

Hey, thanks to everyone who sent kind sentiments and positive vibes to Mom. Her gall bladder surgery earlier this went well.

Screeching halt!!! Oh, you are so not reading a post about somebody’s mother’s gall bladder operation, are you?

Moving on…

Wow--what a great response to my book giveaway contest! Very encouraging, and thank you so much, but now I’m like, damn, this book had better be good. It’s not too late to enter—see Thursday’s post for details.

Alright, so I was able to retrieve most of the cougar post that I started to write before my Word file went into the Twilight Zone. A couple of weeks ago my blogging buddy Hurricane Mikey did a post answering a bunch of questions I had about the male perspective of things. Questions like, how young is too young? And how old is too old? Check out what he has to say (Mikey goes for cougars), as well as his readers’ comments. Very enlightening.

Did you see the new TV show, Cougar Town, Wednesday night? Oh, it was horrible! Truly awful, and I don’t mean fun awful like in a Kath and Kim way (God rest their souls). But Courteney Cox is gorgeous, don’t you think? I mean, she’s no Beverly D’Angelo, but she’s pretty hot. I thought the guys would dig this picture of her in her underwear. More so than one of Beverly in hers.

Despite whatever you may have heard from Hurricane Mikey, I am not a cougar, though I think I told you that back in the late 90s, I had two kids and a boyfriend all in their twenties. I admit that’s kind of weird, and it wasn’t even a brief dating thing; we went out for two years. Then beloved Bastard Husband and I got together; he was 34 and I was 42, but an 8-year age difference isn’t that bad, do you think?

I’ve always gone for younger guys, only because I’m so immature myself. Whenever I told my mother I was seeing someone new, I could hear her roll her eyes over the phone as she asked her first question: “How old is this one?”

But I’m not a cougar, I tell you. Since BH, I’ve stayed consistently within my own age group with the exception of one Iranian med student who I went out with just a couple of times. I think he was 16 years younger than me. My sister Lori met him when she was visiting one time; she just shook her head and said, “You need a gatekeeper.” And there I was all proud of myself for finally trying out a minority, since I’ve never gone for anyone darker than Italian. But yeah, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking with that one.

You have a couple of those "What was I thinking?" episodes in your dating history, right?

Anyway, I really do prefer men my own age, and by that I mean about three years either way. Beloved boyfriend Mike is six months younger than me, and it’s perfect. We have things in common, the same reference points. I can be totally like, “Remember when you heard Gomer Pyle’s singing voice for the first time? Wasn’t that freaky?” and he knows exactly what I’m talking about, and not from Nick at Nite programming. Yep, that’s the type of conversation I treat him to.

Hmmm…

I should probably explain that obsession with Beverly D’Angelo sometime, huh? In the meantime, is it me or does Amy Poehler remind you of a young Bev?


Just sayin’.

So how about you? How young is too young? How old is too old?

Win a copy of Bastard Husband: A Love Story!

Oh, man! I had a whole post nearly written and then my Microsoft Word file seized up and don't have time to recreate it before heading off to work today. Goddammit--I hate it when that happens!

So here's my Plan B, something that came to my head earlier this week when I did a presentation about blogging to the Henderson Writers' Group. I talked about how a blog is a good way to gauge who your audience really is, and sometimes the results may surprise you. When I started to write Bastard Husband: A Love Story, I thought my target audience would be women about my age, but now I get the sense that I have more younger women and men in my audience than I imagined. But I don't really know...

So here's the deal. Everyone who comments on this post is going to be eligible for the very first "Win a signed copy of Bastard Husband" contest. Just leave your age, sex, and state and next Thursday I'll announce the winner. Anonymous entries are fine, but if you win, you'll have to email me your address (duh) so I can get your book to you.

Last night I sent in the final edits, and I should have my first run of books soon--maybe by the end of next week. Details coming on how you can order, but in the meantime, leave a comment and you might get your copy for free.

This isn't quite as good as the post I had almost written about cougars. Damn!

Now go ahead--leave your comment now!

St. Peter's roll call at the Emmy Awards

Okay, this is the crap that came to mind while I was half-watching the Emmy Awards Sunday night.

First, did you see Sarah McLachlan singing “I Will Remember You” during St. Peter’s roll call of all the celebs that died this past year? That song, which by the way, was played at my hospice volunteer training session years ago, is like the anthem for everything death and dying. It’s a cliché at this point, no? She’s also behind one of those sappy animal rights commercials on CNN that brings tears even to my eyes and I’m not an animal person by any stretch of the imagination. McLachlan’s a good songwriter, but yikes, is she a major bummer or what?

You know I love to give advice, so Sarah, let’s liven things up a bit, shall we? You’re getting typecast with all the “in the arms of an angel” stuff. You need a career booster, something peppy like “There’s a party in my pants, you’re invited.”

You know what’s weird? I read an article in Rolling Stone years ago in which McLachlan admitted she likes to burp and can burp really loud, and so every time she sings these sad, sappy songs I imagine her rattling the windows like Barney on The Simpsons after downing half a pizza and a Coke. Yeah, that’s how I will remember you.

The whole photo montage thing is kind of weird, like I always feel sorry for the people who get only the polite golfer’s clap, especially when their picture comes right before or after a megastar who everyone goes wild for. And there’s always someone who I didn’t even know was dead, or worse, I thought died years ago. Which reminds me, Abe Vigoda still is, in fact, still alive. But when his photo is finally up there, I imagine a room full of decked-out stars during to each other and going, “Really? Just this year?”

And I want to know just who comes up with the order of the dead folks displayed in the montage. They had to have a meeting about this, right? It’s like the person whose face is up there when the music runs out gets the award for Dead Person of the Year. This year the honor went to Walter Cronkite, but let me tell you, if I were on that committee, it would have been Farrah, Farrah, Farrah. And if I didn’t get my way, I’d scowl and swear and then clear all the crap off the conference table with one dramatic swoop of the arm. Just like I do in meetings at work when people don’t agree with me.

And on a much happier note, the season premier of Curb Your Enthusiasm didn’t disappoint. There’s nothing that makes me happier than sitting all by myself on my 15-year-old couch with stains from my kids’ beer parties laughing out loud like a freakin’ idiot. Long live Larry David!

Five things I’m happy about (but it’s only a matter of time until something pisses me off)

This isn’t a meme or anything, I just feel like spouting off about a few things I’m happy about.

1. Yesterday I got the proof of my book in the mail from the printer. I’m like, Holy cow! I have a book! Like, what did I think? I’ve only been working on the freakin’ thing for five years. I mean, where’s the surprise? There’d better be a book at the end of all this!

I should have my initial run of books in about a week or so. It will still be a while before it’s available on Amazon (I’m going through a separate print-on-demand vendor to handle that), and I don’t quite have my website together yet, but pretty soon I’ll be set up to take orders from my blog readers (that means you) right from this site. Of course, they’ll be personally signed and I promise to use my best handwriting, which is already very neat.

You know, the people in my writers’ group have said over and over that writing the book is the easy part; the real work starts after it’s written. When I was toiling over my manuscript, I didn’t really think that could be true. Now I know it is. I’m going to be busy as hell with the promotional aspect, but I have to do something with my time, right? I mean, it’s better than sitting on my ass watching Family Guy reruns.

2. I’ve been asked to speak about blogging. I love to speak, and that’s good because speaking is an essential skill for authors. And of course, I love blogging!

A while back I asked for your input on what makes a good blog. Thanks so much for your feedback—it’s going to come in handy Monday night when I present to the Henderson Writers Group on the joys of blogging and why writers might consider creating a blog even if they think they don’t need one. Anyone can come to the HWG’s meetings, so if you’re in town, stop by the Clark County Library at 1401 E Flamingo at 6:30 p.m.

3. The new season of Curb Your Enthusiasm starts tomorrow night. It’s no secret that I love Jews, and Larry David, the genius behind this show, is about as Jewy as they get. This season we’ll be treated to a Seinfeld reunion of sorts; it’ll be awesome.


I don’t usually go for older men, but I could totally have a miserably joyful life with L.D. We’re both so picky and annoying, we’d be perfect together—in the train wreck kind of way. I love it when Mike says, "If bet if Larry David picked you up late, you wouldn’t close the door on him.” I don't say anything because we both know what the answer would be. (Larry David would never be late.)

4. Work isn’t sucking like it used to. God knows I’m not cut out to work at a job, period, but at least I’m no longer darting out of there like my ass is on fire.

5. My mother is having gall bladder surgery on Wednesday. I know, this doesn’t seem like an obvious thing to be happy about, but hear me out. Last Sunday morning an ambulance came for her because she thought she was having a heart attack. As it turns out, it was only a gall bladder attack, which is great because that’s something that can be handled with an outpatient procedure and once it’s over, it’s over. It’s not a chronic condition or anything, so yippee!

But still, the experience was quite scary for Mom. She said, “There I was in the bathroom thinking I’m having a heart attack, and what goes through my mind but, ‘I’d better get up. My kids can’t have both parents die on the toilet.’”

That’s my mother—always putting the kids first.

So what are you happy about these days?

R.I.P. Guiding Light

Goddammit, those bastards at CBS canceled my beloved Guiding Light and today the final episode is airing. I’ve been watching GL since 1978 and the only reason I’m not TOTALLY FREAKED OUT is because I’m in total denial.

I’m not kidding; it’s not real to me. That’s because I’ve been so goddamn busy lately, I have like 24 episodes backed up on my DVR. But when I go through them… people, there’s going to be a serious crash.

Speaking of crashes, there’d better not be any kind of plane crash, natural disaster, act of terrorism or any. f*cking. thing. that would necessitate any “We interrupt this program…” bullshit. No, the president cannot come on today. I don’t care if the f*cking Dow tanks to 300. If a transmitter goes down, if my power goes out, if any. f*cking. thing. happens other than a beautiful, but sad, final day in Springfield, there’s gonna be freakin’ hell to pay.

Now I’m depressed. Goddammit.