Shanna Wynne

Howdy readers!

I figure a good ol’ Texan greetin’ be a mighty fine way of startin’ this here bloggin’ thing-a-ma-jig.

But, since I can’t keep up that Texan accent for the entire course, let’s just move ahead now.

I’ve been debating for a couple days now what to blog about. I’d considered Research and Writing; also Getting Back in the Groove; and a few other miscellaneous writing focused topics. But that didn’t seem to suit my style. Much less do I feel writing a blog about writing excuses me from my writing-absence. (I dare not refer to the time I haven’t been writing as a vacation; it deserves no such excuses.)

I’ve settled for telling an embarrassing anecdote from my personal life. It’s made a couple rounds, proven itself a hilarious tale, so let’s start, shall we?

To set the mood…

Excuse me, Ma’am…

The day was bright, unexceptional in East Texas. I had to run by the grocery store, pick up a few items.

As I’m wandering the aisles, I noticed a man had eyed me. Smiled as I walked past even and said “Hi.” I nodded and said “Hello” back. (I try to be very polite.)

After checking out, I stopped by the Blockbuster Express Box (similar to Redbox, just blue instead) to find a couple movies for me and the kids to watch later while Daddy’s at work.

As I’m standing there, browsing through the listings, the same gentleman walks past, his friend standing close by. He stops and says, “Excuse me, Ma’am, I don’t do this often, but what is that you’re wearing?”

……….. PAUSE…………….

I always have to pause at this part.

For men: If you walk past a woman in a store and ask her this question, what do you mean? What answer are you expecting?

For women: If a man approaches you in a store and asks you that question, what do you think he means? What do you answer?

Now that you’ve thought about that.

………….PLAY……………..

I very casually, and after only a few seconds of hesitation reply: “A black sweater.”

Indeed.

My reply to, “Ma’am, what is that you’re wearing?” is “A black sweater.”

And mentally, I was already cataloging my other pieces of attire to round out my reply with, “Grey tank top, black pants, tennis shoes, socks and under-things.” (Like I’m going to reference my under clothes in conversation with a strange man! At least, not by direct name!)

No, seriously. While I am the physical and feminine embodiment of the Absent-Minded-Professor, I am amazingly adept at cataloging those minute thoughts that pass through my mind in seconds. (I think it was the brief time I spent practicing meditation. I learned to see and hear my thoughts as they run past. Helps with keep track of story ideas, too.)

His reply….

Bent-over-clutching-belly-with-one-hand-grabbing-knees-with-the-other laughter.

And then, “Oh, sweetheart, I meant your perfume.”

In my mind was the glaring neon side: Why didn’t you just say THAT?

I replied, after pulling my mouth from the words Gray tank top, black pants, etc. “It’s just something I got at Walmart. Called Tabu.” (Or Taboo. I can’t ever seem to remember the spelling.)

While still chuckling, he says, “Well, it smells nice.” Then he leaves, a great big grin on his face. I get the movies and skedaddle as fast as short legs’ll take me.

But wait…. there’s more!

So, upon arriving in my drive way, still going over that brief conversation in my head, I keep coming back to:

1) Why didn’t the guy just say “What’s that perfume you’re wearing?”

2) How on Earth under Heaven did he smell it???????????

I started pondering whether or not men had a better sense of smell, because I sure couldn’t smell the small spritz I’d put on hours ago. There was a brief internal debate about the detection of feminine pheromones and sense of smell, and then I realized that I had a man in the house I could just ask!

A few hours later, I wake the hubby up for work and explain to him the situation at the store. I ask if men have a better sense of smell.

……….PAUSE……….

This is just for you average folk out there to really soak this in.

I seriously, very studiously, asked my husband if men had a better sense of smell since this guy at the grocery store could smell my perfume and asked me what brand it was.

Yeah.

……….PLAY…………

My wonderful husband proceeds to laugh, though a gentle chuckle followed by an embarrassed head shake.

He explains that:

1) the man was hitting on me because

2) he more than likely couldn’t smell my perfume but

3) women are usually very proud of the accessories they wear and spray on themselves and

4) perfume is an excellent method of getting a woman to talk about herself which

5) leads the woman to think a man is truly interested in her since he’s listening and not yawning and

6) might get her to either offer her number or willingly give it if he asks.

He then explains why this fails to work on me because:

1) I don’t take particular care in my choice of accessories and tend to forget what it is I’ve put on, whether earrings, bracelet, perfume, or even clothing (as in “Oh yeah, that’s the shirt I’m wearing!”) and

2) I’m naive and

3) I’m innocent.

He then reminds me of the time when I was 22 years old and while driving with him down the road remarked: I don’t know why people paint their lawns that turquoise color. It’s not realistic. Why not paint it green?

Also that he almost hit the brakes hard enough to squeal so he could stop, stare at me, then shake his head in an embarrassed way. (He did inform me at the time that it was pesticide, whereupon I called my sister to tell her that–assuming she still thought it was paint, too, who told me that No, she knew it was pesticide and had known that for a while now. *sigh* I will also freely admit that I have to restrain myself from blurting out “paint” when I see it and remind myself it’s pesticide. Ah, the pieces of youth we cling to.)

I had to ask if other women would have known the man was referring to perfume, and after performing a short survey..

Yes. Yes, they would have.

<fin>

There you have it. An extremely embarrassing story. One I will both enjoy telling and retelling for the laughs it gets, while secretly inside it’s to remind myself that when a man asks you what you’re wearing, unless he specifically asks for your brand/style of clothing, he probably means your perfume.

(I hope that video embed works!)

BTW, I’m Back in Business….

In two days I’ve written half of a short story, which I hope to complete tonight or by tomorrow afternoon. (Doing research for a, er, research project took a few hours longer than I thought it would, so I’ve been left with the option of sleeping very little or not sleeping at all–I will probably choose to get some sleep!)

I’ve got two other projects lined up and ready to start/resume as soon as I’ve finished this one. Editing another complete story before I send it out into the world once more. (It’s been rejected 3 times so far. But, hey, it has been rejected… which means I did send it out!)

I have plans to have new fiction posted to the site within the next week. (Not the current short story in the works. That one is something special. But something new, just for y’all.)

As well as more regular blogging, and a return to such prolific subjects like book/movie reviews (which earn my blog stat keep! At least 10 a day, even when I don’t blog!) and writing tips, and my specialty, funny personal anecdotes.

So, keep an eye out. I’m back in the saddle again. Ready to ride?

Random Paranoid Fear of the Day #48

Late in the Texas night, bugs begin thudding quite heavily upon the windows, attracted by the light (or two) that I can’t resist having on until I go to sleep. One day, several hundred of these bugs, particularly the big ones that don’t go “thud” –they go “THUMP”– will realize that if they synchronize their banging, they’ll crack the window and force their way in. *shivers*

Aaaaiiiieeeee!!!!!

(These, uh, pictures doing anything for ya? Let me know, huh? I put work into that, and if it just drags down the load time, I can just cut it out, yeah?)

Til next time, kiddies….

Just a quick dip in. I know it’s been forever since I last posted. (Sorry. Life started getting busy! Both kids in school, helping the hubby with his college homework, cleaning house, the usual stuff… Takes up a lot of time!) But life is looking to settle down once more. We’re moving… to Texas. Yup. You heard right. Texas.

The Lone Star State

I would’ve blogged sooner, but this last month of preparing, cleaning, packing, etc. has been a real doozy. The final transition is made this weekend. Soon after I will have my own personal office (which means lots of quiet time for writing!! hooray for that!!) and lots of distraction-less time. (Moving to a new place sorta does that.)

Anyway, the blog will be continued soon enough. With lots of new goodies in store!

Have a great Valentine’s Day, y’all! I’m a-gonna be moving that day, but it’s all good here.

Okay, maybe I’m just vain… but I found re-reading this post so funny, I decided to bump it to the front page.  So, here we go again!

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Before you ask me what the hell I mean, I will elaborate.

I was building my “Project Playlist” at that magnificent site you can find here. Which is actually rather addictive. I was looking for a song I wanted to hear but didn’t already have on my computer and ended up searching for and adding songs to my playlist for nearly five hours. Part of the time was, of course, spent trying out links and making sure the song was intact, but all that side, it was a pleasurable experience.

I started out looking for a couple songs and then music I listen to now but don’t have to eventually adding a lot of music that I used to listen to in high school, e.g. a lot of hip-hop. I’d forgotten how much I use to enjoy DMX, Ludacris, Busta Rhymes, etc. Listening to this music was like being sixteen again. I was overwhelmed with memories of driving around in my piece of crap hand-me-down 1992 Ford Tempo with the nice stereo my mom thankfully left in it blazing away.

Geez, what it was to be a teenager. The picture below is me in Dec. 2001, just a short 3 months after I turned 17.

I really miss that body. I was a slim size 6.

I haven’t dreamed of being a size 6 since I had my first kid.

The hardest part is knowing that it was only 6 years ago!

So, since I’m in a reminiscing mood, let’s discuss me at 16-17.

Let’s see.

I was your average teenager, I suppose. Top of my class in academics, part of the fencing team. Also a regular member on the Academic/Quiz Bowl team. I spent my monthly allowance on office supplies (and if you aren’t watching me, I still do!).

Okay, maybe not your average teenager.

I spent a lot of time in my bedroom writing insanely bad poetry and the occasional short story. Which were, obviously, much better. I very rarely went out with friends. I had a 10.30pm curfew. Really. I wasn’t really interested in going out anyway. What do 16 year olds do for fun anyway? Go to the skate-a-rena? See a movie ten times? (Which, by the way, I did have several friends take me multiple times to Titanic. If anyone mentions watching that movie I feel like being sick.) Play putt-putt? Not saying there weren’t the occasional “high schooler” parties I got to attend.

Well, just that one time when my friend’s older sister held a Halloween party where someone spiked the Sprite so me and my friends ended up a little tipsy. And an old, dear friend of mine locked herself in the bathroom because she thought she was drunk. And that one high school guy kept cornering me–I remember hoping that I was finally about to get my first real kiss. But nope. *sigh* That didn’t come for another year. Course, those events were when I was 15, so are those even appropriate in a blog about my 16-17 years?

Eh, who cares. It’s my blog. And it’s 2am. I can write what I want.

I must admit though, I do enjoy being an adult (over 21) more than being a teenager–even if I am twice the size I used to be. At least now I can go to the real club, dance and drink all I want. (If someone else is driving–I am a responsible drinking adult.)

Sitting here, remembering all those crazy parties the said friend above used to hold. The one who locked herself in the bathroom, not the one with the older sister. I remember playing “truth or dare” maybe two, three hundred times over those years.

Although there was one big problem with that. I very rarely got dared to do anything–everyone always skipped me. Maybe they didn’t think I was interested? Probably. I was the “goody-two-shoes” of the group. Not that I nay-say’d them, but I did stand aloof–more an observer than a participant.

But I was told, after high school ended, that the reason I wasn’t… hmm.. how to say?…. admired as much as my girlfriends was because I was intimidating.

Which I found shocking.

Really, I did.

I mean, I’m 4’10″ tall. Or should I say short? I wasn’t a big, blocky kind of girl. (As evidenced above–even now I’m not.) I couldn’t begin to understand what could be intimidating about me. The hobbit of the group!

I was also told that it was the force of my personality–my intellect. Apparentally I’m overwhelming.

That I can understand.

I have irregular mood swings. I’m pretty smart. And I’m an alpha. I dominate most things. Not consciously, I just do. My sister absolutely refused to let me hang out with her and her friends because of that. Still does. I’m charismatic, with an engaging, magnetic personality.

However, I tend to believe I’m one of those people you either love or hate.

But I’ve got insider information that at a lot of those parties, there were guys who liked me and would’ve loved to play “dare” with me. Except they were terrified of me!

How about that?

That’s enough of memory lane. Did you enjoy the insights? Did you get any new knowledge about me? Learn anything?

I sure hope so. Otherwise I just posted an old photo of me for my vanity. And I hate that idea!

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And just for comparison, let’s add in a very recent picture of me now.

Hmmm….. Alright, so maybe I am just a *little* vain!

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Keep an eye out for Part 2 of my series, The Writer’s Online Tool Box. Coming soon!

Yeah, it’s pretty darned late at night. And yes, I have written blogs this late at night before. No biggie.

I’m still up, despite an early morning wake up call, because I was working on a flash fiction (which is 1000 words or less) for a friendly contest among writers. . . . that ended up turning into an over 4000 word short story.

Yes. It is awesome, I know.

Now, with a head full of accomplishment (and if I were to be honest, a bit of narcissism, but who said I was being honest?), I find myself lacking in the tired and overflowing with the “what can I write next?”

Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue. If this were any other night of the summer, this would have ZERO bearing on my inability to sleep. I could stay up until I did get tired and then sleep in some and be A-OK.

Except I need to get the car in the morning so I can haul the laundry to my Mom’s house to wash it (haven’t gotten a washer/dryer for the new digs yet) and Mom has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, and I’m not letting Mom drive my stepdad’s Jeep around in 100 plus degree weather without an A/C to keep her brain from imploding.

So. Hence my dilemma.

Since I can’t really stay up to do anymore writing (I’ve already edited the finished story a bit and will look for a place to submit it tomorrow) I figured I’d run by here, say a few words and then head on to bed.

Here it is.

A FEW WORDS.

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See? Told you. Just a few words.

Aside from that, I wanted to pass on a link to you all that I find helps me fill the empty moments when no one else is online and you can’t bear the thought of taking another quiz/playing a dumb flash game/staring at Twitter and wondering why you aren’t wittier/etc. anymore.

Check out Ill Will Press. It’s a hilarious site where a guy makes little flash cartoons and comic strips about an angry squirrel named Foamy, his assorted crazy squirrel friends and a goth chick named Germaine.

Just believe me. It is funny.

In fact, I just got done watching a toon that summed up my view on horror movies completely. (But only if you’re listening to the squirrel, not the human.) It’s called “Horror Flick Chicks” and for a quick link, click HERE.

Yes. You should click and watch. If not, you are missing out on the funniness.

(That is a made-up word. I will one day have it copyrighted, for it is mine!)

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So….. yeah. That’s all I’ve got. It’s nearing 3 a.m. I’m finally getting a wee bit tired, which is magnificent. I need some rest. My fingers are worn out.

I’ll leave you with a taste of Ill Will Press. It’s funny.

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Oh, and I will be back tomorrow. Got a blog to write about writing. The craft of said art form, not more of this junk above.