Bad Kitty

Hello all! I hope you are all having a fabulous week!

My boss and coworkers left our entire department in the hands of myself and one other person this week. The good news is that we managed to not burn down the building. The bad news is we may have a new spot on the carpet that may never come out (we might just put a couch over it... in the middle of the hallway).

Because it's Spokane, not Spocan't!

During the chaos of this past week, however, I got the awesome opportunity to be on Spokast! Blake, Russell and I talked about dinosaurs, football, homelessness, PEZ Dispensers and of course "Life is a Circus Run by a Platypus!" It was downright magical. If you want to hear it for yourself just click here.

Speaking of "Life is a Circus Run by a Platypus," the book received another five star review on Amazon this week, "I learned quickly not to read this book in a quiet area. I laughed so much, and as I held it in, I started shaking and tearing up. I ended up leaving the office, where I was waiting for my son's test to be over. I hope Allison Hawn writes another book!"

Thank you! I love reading reviews like these, they make my little writer's heart do cartwheels, which is impressive since the rest of me can't do a cartwheel to save my soul.

This week I would like to introduce my readers to my two roommates. They tend to be a bit reclusive, are very concerned with their appearance and poop in a box. That's right, I have cats. Meet Voodoo (the black one) and Santeria (the every color one).

For the most part we cohabitate pretty peacefully. Voodoo spends most of her time being immobile, oftentimes to the point where I have to check to make sure she is still breathing. Santeria vacillates between peacefully staring out of the windows to running from room to room for no apparent reason and meowing at blank walls.

Lately, however, I've noticed that my fuzzy little companions have picked up some less than savory habits.

I have tried talking to them about it, but as of yet, I have not noticed any change in their behavior. They seem to hear me, but do not care.

It is out of desperation that I have instead decided to publicize their offenses in the hopes that this will get their attention and maybe they will stop their negative behaviors:

Now that their crimes have been brought to light, maybe we will see a change in their behavior... Who am I kidding? They're cats, they do what they want.

As always, feel free to follow my exploits on Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads!

Back to the Smorgasbord! (And an Interview Too!)

Hello all you lovely people (or any other lovely that thing happens to be reading this page)! I hope everyone has had a wonderful week in whatever land they are in!

Today's post is a bit of a smattering of randomness. This is what happens when an already devious woman with too much coffee in her system is given the power to write her own blog. Mwahahahahahahahahahaha! (That is the closest to an evil laugh I can get via typing, so here's an additional visual for you.) 

We have a winner in the Facebook based contest to win a signed copy of "Life is a Circus Run by a Platypus!" Jill JP Palmquist was chosen by the mystic Safeway bag! (I realize it's not exactly the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, but it was the only thing I really had nearby that I could pull slips of paper out of... without getting out of my chair that is.) 

Thank you to everyone who entered. If you wanted to win but the mystic Safeway bag did not oblige, don't worry, more contests are on the way! Just stay tuned to the same Bat-station (Bat-time may vary)!

Well I happened upon another independent author whose work deserves some mention; Darrin Mason's e-book "The Wicked Witch of the West Rides Again." 

If that isn't the most Trick-or-Treat oriented cover you've ever seen, then I challenge you to find one that fits the bill better.  This short work is a mix of "Who's on First," "The Jabberwocky" and the random pop culture references of "Whose Line is it Anyway?" 

What's even cooler is that Darrin Mason actually let me interview him, and all I had to do was threaten his garden gnome collection with a sledgehammer to get him to agree to answer my questions! (No actual garden gnomes were hurt in the making of this blog post.) So now, without further ado, I present an interview with author Darrin Mason! 


In writing “The Wicked Witch of the West Rides Again” what was your biggest source of inspiration? 

"The Wicked Witch of the West Rides Again" is the sequel to "The Wicked Witch of the West: Munchkin Killer" which was inspired by the title, "Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters." I am also a huge fan of Stephen King and Gary Larson (The Far Side). I guess I just put two and two hundred thousand, eight hundred and sixty nine together and came up with something that will rock your socks off. 
 

What first interested you in writing? 

It wasn't writing to begin with as much as it was creating. I just did what I did and looking back on it I guess it was my way of escaping a pretty crappy childhood. Come to think of it, most people who escape are sent back to jail with time added on, so I guess my way out is not only a pretty cool one in its own right, but it is also something I can say nee-ner nee-ner about to all those escaped prisoners who are back in jail having been caught while on the run.

If you could have tea with one of your characters, which one would you invite and why?

My version of the Wicked Witch of the West because she don't take no sh*t from no one. She's also a very pretty thing.

Who is your biggest comedic idol? 

Undoubtedly Chevy Chase in front of the camera and Mel Brooks behind it. As a group, Monty Python.

What music do you listen to when you write?

Metallica babeee. Yeah.

Who would win in a fight; a grizzly bear or a unicorn? Why? 

They already did and the bear won. That's how the unicorn became extinct. I mean, duh.

Thank you Darrin for answering my questions, the sledgehammer is going back in my closet and Jimithy the Garden Gnome is safe... for now.

On a final note, specifically C-sharp I think, Life is a Circus Run by a Platypus, has been getting some pretty sweet reviews.

Joybelle60 on Amazon writes:  "What a fun read. Allison is funny, in an off beat way, which meets my needs for a fun read, in its entirety. If you want to read a book that will just entertain you, this is the perfect book. Congrats, Allison on book 1........looking forward to your next endeavor."

As a first-time author I truly appreciate the kind words of my readers more than I, or probably an auctioneer on speed, can say!

As always, if you wish to catch up on the latest of my misadventures I can be found on Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads!

Silver Linings and Hand Sanitizer

This past week I was kissed by the least competent cross-dresser I have ever seen.

I work with homeless youth for a living, and as such, often go to random places where free meals are being held so that I can say things like, “No, really, you do have court today. I don’t care that it’s National Waffle Day, that does not exempt you from showing up.”

I was at one of the early morning breakfast feeding spots for the homeless, when a stubble clad chin with enough make-up to stop a nuclear warhead sauntered up to me unsteadily in a pair of heels that may have been too "out there" for the 1980's.

"Good morning, darling!" the voice boomed from far above my head as a long mane of greasy hair was tossed over a shoulder and jingly accessories danced in a way that would give most small animals a seizure.

I made a small finger wave as I attempted to figure out something to say aside from, "Good heavens! Your eyeliner, it's gone rogue, it's trying to take over your face! Run for your life!"

Then suddenly he swooped down like a hawk going after a legless shrew. I had just enough time to turn my head before he planted a giant sloppy kiss on the side of my head.

Ilsa, an outreach worker from another agency who works primarily with the adult population, reached over smacked him and said, "No! Let her go! What have I told you, we don't kiss people we've just met!"

He let go, and unsteadily sauntered off, winking at me and nearly face-planting into a table. A few minutes later, when I was using enough hand sanitizer on the side of my face to effectively disinfect a beluga whale, the main thought in my head was, "Well, the day can only improve from here."

I find it a little sad that that was my first and only thought. Not, "Holy crap what just happened!?" or "Did I accidentally take some LSD somewhere back there?"

No, my only thought was basically that with the bar set so low for my Wednesday, things could only improve.

I'm not entirely sure what this says about my life. I definitely have a habit of wandering into bizarre situations. Maybe it is kind of like how people who were raised on farms have become desensitized to the smells that make the rest of the civilized world want to yack, I think I have become desensitized to surreal, off the wall, crap happening to me.

I mean, I realize it is not in a person's normal day to watch dancing tweakers, or be delayed getting to work by dancing clowns or be told that they have "lovely lumberjack calves"(I’m still not sure if I want to take that one as a compliment or insult yet).

However, it really doesn't hit me how strange some of this stuff is until I tell someone else about it and they look at me like I've suddenly sprouted antenna and told them that my name is Gozer the Destroyer.

In any case, I wouldn't trade my myriad of crazy situations for the world. Then again, I do sometimes wish they wouldn't slobber as much.

It's Hard to Samba in a Kilt

I cannot dance.

I am not just saying this to downplay an actual ability like when people say, "Oh, I can't sing," and then they belt out an aria from Carmen (Jerks). No, I really cannot dance.

I have what I like to refer to as Caucasian Rhythm Disorder. I am of Scottish descent and we are a people known, at our stereotyped best, for throwing heavy objects, playing bagpipes, producing whiskey and eating haggis, none of which are really activities that bring about a culture of smooth and sensual rhythmic movements.

Even our traditional dance is called " The Highland Fling" and mostly revolves around hopping around like a one-legged bunny on caffeine (Not to disparage any of my dancing kin, it's very difficult to do, but I wouldn't call it smooth by any stretch of the imagination.)

This past week my friend Sarah invited me to go to an aerobic toning class, and always looking for something new to try, I went. Being a few days past laundry day I threw on the only clean piece of workout clothing I had left; my Sport Kilt.

We got through the aerobic class, with me happily sweating along, kilt probably befuddling the rest of the class. The class ended and as we were all leaving a Zumba class began to arrive.

For those of you who have never been exposed to the wonders of Zumba, it is basically Jazzercise on crack.

Zumba participants are devoted, much like the members of a cult, to their classes.  They show up several times a week, often wearing Zumba uniforms, and often chant along with the music.

My friend Sarah turned to me and said, "Hey, we should stay and do Zumba!"

I blinked at her a couple times with the same expression an antelope might have for a cheetah with a jet-pack. I tried to explain to her that I am not a dancer, that the second I am given a beat and rhythm to follow I become a danger to myself and others, but she did not heed my warning and so out onto the gym floor we trundled.

The music started and the first thing the instructor shouted was, "Go to the left!" And I promptly went right nearly crashing into a wall. Correcting my trajectory (because that is all it really can be labeled at this point) did not help much. I had no idea what the Zumba-trons were doing with their feet, much less what they were doing with their hands or hips. I do not samba, salsa, hip-hop or use my hips to tell truths (that's right Shakira, my hips tell terrible, terrible lies). They all moved in a wonderful synchronized form while I did something similar to The Time Warp meets the Highland Fling in a kilt.

I will admit I had fun, even when some older lady lady tried to help me learn some very basic steps, she eventually gave up.  But I can promise I was a dancing tragedy, a fact that was confirmed by the pitying/attempting to be encouraging looks I got from a very adorable gay couple across from me.

What I found fascinating is how into it everyone in the class seemed to be. It didn't matter how big or small the person was, orientation, religion, The Bachelor devotee or not, this was the most accepting cult I have ever witnessed. Though, I will probably not be returning anytime in the near future, I'm pretty sure I almost gave some poor woman a black eye due to directional mishap.

So what lessons did I learn from my boogie-bedazzled enterprise?

1. You can have a lot of fun making an absolute fool of yourself (a fact I already knew, but it's nice to have a refresher course every once in a while).

2. If at first you don't succeed, then do the Running Man for 3 minutes until the song changes and you have some smidgen of hope that you will have some sort of a clue what to do for the next song.

3. Always wear a kilt into new situations, just wearing one increases one's courage, I promise.