Whoa. I've totally been skimping on my blog writing duties. But I've been in novel writing mode, so nothing else exists instead of writing. And I mean nothing, like not my husband, not my dog, not . . . anything.
So I am taking a 15 minute breather while my Word program stares evilly at me form the task bar.
I'm happy to announce that I've finished my YA Urban Fantasy novel (edits and all) and it's out on query now. Got some agent interest (Yay!), got some agent rejection (Boo), and have about 5 halfs/partials out there pending after a partial reject. So cross your fingers, toes, arms, and legs for me.
I'm also knee deep in two WIP. (Sigh, why do I do this to myself?) One is a YA dystopian novel, which is something totally new to me. It's taking a lot of research. Who knew ending the world and starting it over took so much work? Gah. The other is a YA paranormal (don't make that face! There are no vampires that sparkle and shiz) but centers around a teenager girl who can't touch another living creature without killing it. Sucks for her, huh?
So Anyway, I just recently ate a dilly bar from Dairy Queen for the FIRST TIME EVER the other day,and I just had to share my experience. Yes, I said the first time. It is not longer on my list of things I have not ate. A few examples of said list would include: apple pie, chilly dog, a blizzard of any kind, and yeah, you get the picture.
First off. The dilly bar equals orgasmic bliss in your mouth.
What the hell have I been thinking by never trying one of these low calorie chocolate treats before? My parents have raised a deprived (I almost typed deprave- Freudian) person. That stuff just melts in your mouth like little chocolate babies of goodness. GOD I WANT ONE NOW!
*This is where you insert creepy stalker slash severely obese breathing in to get the whole picture.
So my coworkers asked me to swing by one day and pick up some since they knew I never had one before, and they only seem to get them when I am conveniently out of the office. So I was more than happy to oblige.
I was practically bouncing in my seat thinking about how I was going to have myself a Dilly Bar. I didn't really care that is was an above normal temperature day in September and around lunch time. I was willing to wait in line.
And a salty DQ hot dog sounded good too.
But this fast food trip wouldn't be like any that came – and there are many- before it. This would be the day that I actually flipped off an elderly person while laying on my horn like some degenerate cracked out hoochie coochie momma.
Now picture this: in front of me was this beat up rag tag Honda Civic that probably hadn't been insured since the day it was made. Inside I could see three passengers, some middle age woman was driving, in the backset some grubby hand kid who should have been in school, and in the front passenger seat a kindly looking elderly woman.
They place their order and I smiled to myself when I heard that they were ordering two Dilly Bars (aww Dilly Bars) along with three orders of large fries, three double burgers, two hot dogs, (smile turning upside down at this point) order of chicken strips, two diet cokes, and one small coke.
Are you kidding me? Is their a midget in this car that I can't see?
So we inch around and I quickly place my order for some Dilly goodness and I move around to the peeps in front of me. DQ was cooking and processing money with a purpose that day and before I knew it the people in front of me were handing over their money.
The driver leaned over to grab some the drinks, car rocked a little and I made a face that my mom would have been ashamed of, and I see something that startled me. The passenger door was slowly and painfully creaking open.
Me: What… the … hell?
The old woman in old woman flowered shirt hunched out of the rusty arse car, holding onto the door for obvious support. I wondered if she was having a heart attack or a stroke. Either one seemed like the only plausible explanation of why you would be exiting your car in a busy packed fast food lane as you are being HANDED YOUR WEEK'S WORTH OF FOOD.
I watched, mouth attractively gaping open as she struggles with the back door and finally opens it, almost knocking herself over in the process.
Me: What … the … frig …
The old lady then began to fiddle with the seatbelt that apparently hadn't been on the kid. I swear I could hear her back creaking from all of her efforts.
I started to get annoyed after I saw the last bag of food being handed to her to the driver and I glanced behind me and saw the same expression that was on my face. Disbelief, anger, impatience, and HUNGER.
What the hell was this person doing? Who in the hell gets out in the middle of a fast food lane to buckle a kid in when it obviously wasn't too much of a concern before?
I was really starting to get upset when I saw the girl who probably spit on my hot dog lean out the window curiously. I started to watch the clock. One minute had gone by since they were handed the food
Me: Curses. Lots of profanity at this point.
Another minute goes by as the Crypt Keeper (yeah. I'm going to hell) continues to fuss with our future generation. I have never seen anything like this before.
Without thinking, I slammed on my horn. The old woman jerked up, almost tumbled over, and I gave two more little toots on the horn for good measure.
I WANT MY DAMN DILLY BAR!
She then, with surprising agility, slams the door and throws her arms up at me.
What? What did she just do? Threw her arms up at me like some gangsta ready to throw down when its her butt that is standing outside of her car in a lane while good honest open parking spaces a few feet over?!?!
Then rising up, both my hands in glory, a double F YOU for the ride home.
Yes, it was immature and totally unacceptable to flip the bird at the age of 30 but cut me some slack. Who in the right mind does that with complete disregard to everyone else?
Why should I or anyone else care if baby Kid Rock in the back is safely secured in their seat in a fast food line when it was okay for them to be free wheeling on the interstate? Why would the younger driver sit while the one person who moves at turtle speed gets out? Why in the hell didn't they just drive over to the parking spaces?
Grrr. I am still angry about this. Time has not healed this festering angry wound. There is nothing more than people who think DQ revolves around them. I understand road rage sometimes. You just want to get out, scream like an idiot, and shake my fist.
Okay. Deep, calming breaths. Deep . . . calming breaths.
By the way, the Dilly Bar was the bees knees