Happy anniversary!

Today is my husband's and my 26th wedding anniversary so today the Naughty Nine are sharing wedding and anniversary stories - leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Meg Benjamin's trѐs á propos Wedding Bell Blues! We'll draw the winner tonight.
Here's a photo of my husband and me on our wedding day, looking so young and happy. It was 1984 - the girls all had big hair and big shoulder pads, and the guys all had moustaches (and, in the case of my husband, considerably more hair!)

For your entertainment here's a clip of a wedding first dance. It's not our first dance, but I SO wish it was!



And some wedding/anniversary stories from the Naughty Nine:



It was my sister-in-law's second wedding; I hadn't set my target on the Hub yet.

I met my sister in law years before I met The Hub - we waited tables at restaurants next door to each other, and we ran in the same circles and went on several double dates together. I knew of her brother, but he lived in California at the time. We lost touch briefly when I quit waiting tables and she moved away with her first husband - a disaster.

Then we reconnected through friends. One night I ran into her, her soon-to-be-second husband (whom I also knew very well, because I dated his best friend for a while...) and her brother was there, and we were finally introduced (the Hub says we met before then. He's wrong.)

And it turned out that the Hub and I had friends in common, and we all started hanging out, and when the SIL got married I was invited to the wedding. The reception was in a bar/saloon where we all hung out and where several friends bartended. Halfway through the reception I took off my shoes and danced barefoot - I was wearing a very nice dress, but come on - we were in the Firehouse Saloon. It has a concrete floor.

And when the pictures came back from the photographer, my future mother in law said "Who is that dancing in her bare feet???" She was already appalled/annoyed at the whole reception-in-a-bar thing.

So when Hub and I started dating a few months after that, the SIL said "He's dating an old friend of mine. Remember the girl who was barefoot at the reception?"

I also recall that wedding particularly clearly because the groom's cousins had to kick the groom's mother out - she's a crazy, crazy bitch and she showed up with a couple girlfriends and started talking mean crap about the bride. She's still a crazy, crazy bitch but a little pathetic now so I'm less inclined to get pissed off when I have to talk to her at Mother's Day, Easter, Thanksgiving, etc. She's borderline senile at this point. Her funeral is going to be a hoot (I know how awful that sounds).

And my brother in law's best friend, whom I dated for a while, is now married to my best friend. And that doesn't even begin to describe how tangled and socially (not biologically) incestuous my whole social circle is.




My favorite wedding was one where I did almost nothing but show up and watch—which was quite enough, as it turned out. My husband was doing research in a lab at the U. of Massachusetts and one of the graduate assistants invited us to his wedding. His fiancée was another graduate student. We arrived at the church and were seated on his side of the aisle where most of the other guests were dressed in considerable finery (I was a new mom at the time and getting dressed at all was an accomplishment). The other side of the church looked a little more rough and ready. Later at the reception we began to see why. The groom, as it turned out, was a descendant of Old Money (not that you could tell from looking at him when he was working in the lab). The bride was local. The reception was held at her father’s motorcycle shop. All the bikes had been cleared out so that people could dance inside. The food was set up under the trees. Did I mention bride and groom were both vegan? The Old Money representatives looked as if they’d been transported to their worst nightmare. The locals toasted bride and groom with beer from her dad’s keg and had a great time. So did we.




Ah, it was hard picking just one wedding story to tell. I’ve witnessed a lot of weddings and I’ve seen a lot of crazy things go on at them. There was the wedding where the entire bridal party stopped at a diner for hamburgers in between the ceremony and reception—yes, limos, tuxes, bridesmaids gowns and all. The wedding where guests were placing bets at the reception about who was actually going to end up together in the honeymoon suite (hey, it was the seventies. ‘nuff said.) The wedding that took place on the center alter of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in the heart of Manhattan and was beset with tourists who snapped photos throughout the ceremony, and had to be shooed out of the horse drawn carriage that had been hired to carry the bride and groom to the reception (at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, if you must know). Oh, and let's not forget the wedding where the minister could not remember the bride’s name and the bride had to keep prompting him to the point where, by the end of the ceremony, all the guests were chanting it right along with her.

The story I’m going to tell is none of those. It is, however, one of the funniest things I’ve ever experienced. I just hope I can do it justice.

The wedding took place on a perfect Autumn day in a small, moderately affluent community located somewhere along the coast of Southern California. If you’ve never been, picture the most idyllic Spring day you can imagine and add palm trees. It was a beautiful wedding, elegant, refined, formal…possibly a little on the staid side.

The bride and groom had been high-school sweethearts. They’d grown up in the same neighborhood and known each other most of their lives. Their friends and families (big, close-knit families on both side) were all on hand to witness their union. There was no dissension, no discord; everyone got along with one another. And everyone was in complete agreement: It was a joyous occasion. A very solemn, sacred, religious event.

We were seated on the groom’s side, several rows back and, at first, everything appeared to be proceeding as planned. Then the ceremony reached the point where the bride and groom had to kneel.

It began as a small whisper of sound —like a breath of wind ruffling the surface of a peaceful pond—and it came from the very front row, where the groom’s family was seated. At that point, we really didn’t take much notice. Then the second row became similarly affected. Heads turned. Shoulders shook. The sub-audible commotion grew in strength.

By the time the disturbance had progressed to the third row, guests on the bride’s side of the church began shooting angry looks across the aisle. My husband and I glanced at each other in confusion. Clearly, something was going on, but the source of the problem was nowhere in evidence.

Row by row, it continued; rippling inexorably backward. By this point, everyone in the first few rows on the groom’s side of the church appeared to be afflicted by some mysterious ailment that left them coughing, crying, wiping their eyes and covering their faces.

My husband is taller than I and was seated on the aisle. I was alarmed when he gasped suddenly. The odd, gurgling sound he made had me wondering if he wasn't choking. I looked at his face. It was suffused with mirth. His lips were clamped together and he was obviously trying very, very hard not to laugh.

“What is wrong with you?” I hissed. This was no way to behave at a wedding!

My husband struggled for composure. He took several shaky breaths and at last, in a strangled whisper, managed to speak two words. “His shoes.”

His shoes. Huh.

I turned the words over in my head, but they meant nothing to me. Still mystified, I leaned across my husband and looked down the aisle toward the front of the church where bride and groom still knelt, heads bowed, praying.

I looked at the groom’s shoes. I looked closer. There, in the instep, clearly visible, someone had chalked four letters.

H. E. L. P.

As I collapsed against my husband, vainly trying to stifle my laughter, I heard the first startled gasps hit the row behind me. I don’t remember anything of the ceremony after that…except for one thing. I couldn’t stop laughing. No one could stop laughing. We couldn’t even look at each other without losing it all over again and God forbid we looked across the aisle where the bride’s side was Definitely. Not. Amused.

I don’t know if this is the kind of thing you just had to be there to appreciate, but I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard at anything in my life.



I have not been to a wedding since I was three, and I have only had one anniversary I want to remember (so far!). However, I have very clear ideas of what I want my wedding to be. I could care less about having a big, expensive wedding. I could care less about having The Dress. I want something down-to-earth, an event where I'm not pulling my hair out over little details, one where getting a stain on my dress while partying won't be the end of the world. And since I'm living la vida SoCal, I'd love to get married on the beach. Something simple, immediate family and friends only, followed by a great party with delicious food and dancing.

And as for anniversaries? I don't need a big celebration, either. I want a boyfriend/husband who celebrates our love all the time, not just on one obligatory day. Like my father does for my mother... I want someone to bring me flowers just because he wants to, not because the calendar says so. This is not to say anniversaries are a waste of time--on the contrary, I think they're amazing--but it seems there's so much pressure to do something elaborate and to make the day overly significant. So party and celebrate, yes. Use one day to make up for lost time? No, way. Lucky for me, Phin believes the same thing.


My crazy wedding story is actually from my own wedding, or the night before technically. We were just finishing up the rehearsal at the church and planning to meet at my mother-in-laws for dinner afterward. My husband, his brother and the rest of "the guys" figured they should stop and grab a beer on the way. Just one, they promised. Say it with me now, "Yeah, right."

Anyway, the rest of us all head back to my in-law's place chatting, having a drink, getting really hungry and wondering where the guys are.Then the phone rings and someone claiming to be a cop says that my brother (17 at the time) is in police custody. Now both my husband and my brother-in-law are know for making stuff up and disguising their voices. So my mom starts laughing, refusing to be suckered, and in the background she can hear the guy say, "Maybe you should talk to her. She doesn't believe me."

My brother gets on the phone (also a well known storyteller) insisting he's at the police station. My mother assumes my husband is behind it all and is still laughing. My dad takes the phone and after a minute gets that look on his face. The kind I not-so-fondly recalled from childhood and one that was clearing broadcasting he was going to kill my brother.

Or maybe my brother-in-law. Because as it turns out, it was his brilliant idea to order a beer for my brother--when there was an off-duty detective sitting at the table right beside them. *sigh* So the cop takes in my brother in and my husband goes along with them, feeling a little guilty at least. My parents then had to head back into town to deal with my brother. Two and a half hours later we finally get to eat. Karma kicked my brother-in-law's ass though. He decided to party a little too hard that night and all through the ceremony the next day he was sweating and looking ready to fall over. LOL

But the best part of the whole thing is still my mother laughing at a real cop, insisting he was making shit up.




My mom and her brother decided to throw a huge party for my grandparents' 50th anniversary - nothing extravagant, but lots of guests, lots of food, lots of fun. One of the guests, though, was someone they didn't expect.

See, a year or so earlier, I'd spent a few months backpacking through Europe on my own, and in the process connected with a side of the family we'd lost contact with well over a decade earlier. All we knew was that all those years ago, my grandmother's cousin's son was working for Scotland Yard.

So on my second day in London I marched into what I thought was Scotland Yard (actually, it was a recruiting center for Scotland Yard) and asked the guy behind the counter if he knew my relative. Understand, I had no idea exactly HOW MANY people worked for Scotland Yard at the time. Amazingly enough, the man knew him, and went in the back room to call. (Probably to say, "some crazy American girl is claiming to be related to you.") Long story short, I stayed with his family in London, and came home with that connection reestablished.

And when my grandparents' 50th anniversary was held, he flew to the states to celebrate with them. I'll never forget the look on their faces when they realized who was there.

(Extra bonus? Last November I did the same thing to my parents, when he and his wife flew over to surprise them for Thanksgiving at our house.)




My favorite wedding story is not a mushy-gushy story for sure! One of
my best friends in college (let's call her Lisa) was getting married and
my new hubby and I went to the church early to help out with a few things.

Since we were busy right up until the ceremony we slid into the back pew
as they were lining up for the processional. The grandparents were seated, then it was time for the groom (we'll call him Mark) to escort his parents to their seats before the bride's mother was to be seated.

Suddenly we hear loud, angry whispering behind us. I discreetly turn to find the groom engaged in an argument with his mother. They both had hands on hips, were red-faced and their voices were rising as they argued.

Much to my shock, the next thing that happened was Mark's mother yelled, "Absolutely not!" and Mark slapped her! Seriously. Thank God the musiccovered the whole thing for most of the congregation, but we definitely heard it! Next thing we know, Mark's dad is hurrying his mother away, Mark's best man took him out to another room and the bridesmaids and groomsmen quickly lined up and proceeded in as if nothing was wrong!

Mark's mom and dad watched the ceremony from the back of the church in the pew across the aisle from us. Lisa didn't know anything about it until the reception--thank goodness (she never has liked her mother in law
much).

I never found out what they were arguing about and we NEVER bring it up with Mark and Lisa. But hubby and I still tell that story whenever someone wants a "great" wedding story! :)

Teaser Tuesday

Due to technical difficultes guest blogger Lindsey Faber is unable to be here today! So instead we present Teaser Tuesday...

Out today...Lost and Found

To find happiness, first you have to find yourself.

Krissa has always been the responsible one. Driven to fulfill her mother’s abandoned dreams, to make her husband Derek happy. She’s brought that single-minded determination to the one dream she has for herself—a child. Except she and Derek can’t conceive, and Derek refuses to consider using a stranger’s sperm. The result? Guilt that her desperation is causing their marital rift.

The last thing they need is a long-term houseguest, but Derek’s best friend Nate, a nomadic photographer recovering from a career-threatening eye disorder, has nowhere else to go.

Nate thought his friends’ home would be a temporary haven from the grief that has dogged his heels since his wife died. Instead he’s in the middle of a marriage in meltdown. Soon their friendship develops an underlying hum of forbidden sexual tension. When Krissa proposes a wild idea—that Nate be their sperm donor—Derek has an even wilder proposal: bypass the fertility clinic and accept Nate’s donation straight from the source.

At first, Krissa believes she’s on the fast track to having her dream. But it quickly becomes clear that when the heart gets involved—and secrets are revealed—the simplest of arrangements can become entangled beyond belief. Or repair…

Warning: This title contains a man who’s lost, the woman he finds, sizzling ménage sex, tender romantic sex, love lost and love found.


Coming June 15th...Dark Obsession

Scorching desire...fatal consequences.

Demon slayer Rae McAvoy refuses to let anything stand between her and getting the job done. Especially her ex. Loving Parker nearly destroyed her, and if partnering with him one last time means he’ll be reassigned and out of her life for good, bring it on.

If Parker was the only threat to her heart, tracking down one rogue scientist would be a snap. Except the scientist in question is Rae’s father, and his experiments are hitting much too close to home.

Parker Walsh hasn’t forgotten the passion that once burned between them, and he’s determined to remind Rae every chance he gets. But giving in to more than just lust could mean surrendering to the darkness inside him—the same darkness that once drove her away.

Riding the edge of their rising desire pushes them to the breaking point, until an explosion of passion raises the stakes even higher. Especially when long-buried secrets force them to break the last links to their past—or else be consumed by an obsession so dark it could tear them apart for good.

Warning: Contains a fierce battle of wills between reunited lovers, explosive sexual tension, sarcasm, gritty demon-slaying violence, scorching sex and a love worth fighting for.

The next 3 months will be hot as hell and humid as a rain forest...

and I don't care, because I love summer.

I first wrote this post in longhand, sitting at a friend’s swimming pool drinking beer and watching the kids play at six o’clock on a Sunday night. I could never do that on a school night – there’d be lunch to pack, last minute school work to get done, Diva would have to take a shower and get to bed…dude, I love summer.

If you’re a stay at home mom, maybe you dread it; most of the SAHMs I know do (full disclosure: I’m jealous as hell of SAHMs.) SAHMs suddenly have kids in the house and under foot unless they schedule activities, and then they spend all day ferrying the kids from one place to another. My hyper-organized sister does not enjoy summer break.

Ah, but summer is as much a vacation for us working mommies as it is for the kids, even if we do still have to get up and go to work every day. No homework! (In what grade will Diva start doing her homework unprompted and unassisted? Can anyone give me a rough estimate?) No schedules! Late bedtimes!

I don’t have it that bad; I only work part time. But even just working six hours a day, I have to maintain a tight schedule. Diva has about an hour’s work of homework every night, which takes her between three and four hours to complete, because The World’s Slowest Toddler has grown into The World’s Slowest Second Grader. Plus there’s martial arts twice a week, and I need to work out a few times a week, and I try to cook dinner once in a while, and Diva needs to be in bed by 8:30, and I need to write, and somehow we seem to go from 3:00 to 8:30 in about two hours.

But in the summer, I blow off the bedtime. Diva’s signed up for eight weeks of different day camps, and some grandma time, and a week at my sister’s, and if she goes sleepy a few days a week, what’s the harm? The hours I normally spend haranguing about homework can be spent writing. We eat supper later, we swim at the Y till 9:30, and I don’t yell quite so much. It's a beautiful thing.

I'll be singing a different tune come Labor Day, which in other parts of the country signals the approach of fall but here in Houston means we still have two months of soul-sucking sauna-like conditions ahead of us. But for now...

Happy summer!

Asker or Guesser?

I came across this post on the internet last week that I thought was fascinating. In response to a sort of etiquette question, Andrea Donderi’s theory that we are raised in one of two cultures – the Ask Culture, or the Guess Culture – came up.

In the Ask Culture, you grow up with the expectation that it's okay to ask for anything at all, realizing you may get no for an answer.

In Guess Culture, you avoid putting a request into words unless you're pretty sure the answer will be yes. Guessers put out subtle hints, feelers, and talk around a subject, in the hopes that they won’t have to ask for what they want – they’ll get an offer.

You can see the potential for conflict here (and what writer doesn’t love potential for conflict!)

I can definitely see that I grew up in the Guess culture. If there’s a pathological Guess Culture, my mother would have been it. And her mother, too, come to think of it. It would most certainly have been considered rude to ask outright for almost anything. I still feel very uncomfortable doing that. And guess what? When someone asks me for something, I sometimes (not always but often!) find that rude. However, I also find it difficult to say no, because I don’t want to offend them. And then I feel angry and put-upon.

On the other hand, understanding someone who grew up in the Ask Culture helps with this. That person doesn’t think it’s rude to ask, and in fact, they fully realize they may get a “no”. And they’re okay with that. So I don’t have to worry about saying that “no”. And if I try to avoid it (which I confess to having done when faced with someone asking me to do something I don’t want to do) they don’t understand that – they’re thinking, don’t be so passive aggressive, just deal with it!

I loved this comment: “I'm a Guess too. Let me tell you, it's great for, say, reading nuanced and subtle novels; not so great for, say, dating and getting raises.” Ha! Totally relate to that!

Apparently the subtle “Guess behaviours” like hinting and talking around something, hoping it will lead the person to offer what the “Guess person” wants, only work well with other Guess people. If you’re trying that with an “Ask person” it won’t work. If you know someone’s an “Ask person”, they won’t likely be offended if you just ask for what you want. And conversely, if you’re a Guesser, when someone asks you for something, a request you perceive as pushy or presumptuous, the very fact that they’re asking is a sign that they’re an Asker. They’re half-expecting you'll say no, and have no idea you feel uncomfortable. So say no, and see what happens – likely, nothing.

So - are you an Asker or a Guesser??

Thursday Thirteen Songs from my Playlist

I listen to a lot of music when I write--songs to get me in the mood for a scene or to keep me there, songs to help me nail down my characters motivations and emotions... Sometimes it gets annoying. I'll wake up with a song in my head and it won't go away and I'll have to listen to it for hours--play it over and over again--until something else catches my ear.

Here's a list of thirteen songs, chosen more or less at random, that I've been listening to a lot during the past few months. It was hard cutting it down to just thirteen and, just so you know, they're in no particular order. Some are old, some are new, some are by bands that are now (sadly) defunct. Some come from movies, some have been featured on German soap operas (yes, Kate, you got me hooked)  others I've actually heard on the radio. Shocking--right?

My only criteria for choosing them (other than the fact I've been listening to them obsessively) is they had to be songs I could download and songs I could find videos of. Because the only thing worse than having one of these songs stuck in your head for days on end is having it stuck in your head with no way of actually listening to it--in its entirety. Enjoy!

1. Anything Can Happen (by The Fin Brothers)

2. The Worst Day since Yesterday (by Flogging Molly)

3. Like the Sun (by RyanDan)

4. Rattling Locks (by Josh Ritter)

5. Agony (by Eels)

6. The Story (by Brandi Carlisle)

7. Breakeven (by The Script)

8. I won’t Say Adieu (by The Inertia Kiss)

9. World Spins Madly On (by The Weepies)

10. Call My Name (by Charlotte Church)

11. Broken (by Livingston)

12. The Truth about You (by Roseanne Cash)

13. Shattered (by Trading Yesterday)

"You're Not Busy, Are You?"

I have two of the best jobs in the world. First, of course, is writing. The other one is an online job, administering an educational program. Both allow me to work at home, on my own schedule. I tend to work while the kids are at school and in the evenings, after they've gone to bed. No childcare needed, no business wardrobe, no need to go any further than the basement office to get to work. It's great.

One of my favorite things about working at home is the flexibility. Last week I chaperoned my youngest's field trip to the children's museum, and I didn't have to ask for time off. I just worked extra hours the day before and the day after. When I went to the RT Convention, I told my supervisor that I'd be out of state, and brought my cell phone and computer with me so I could be accessible to students. Most of them didn't even know I was gone.

But one of the downsides of working at home is the perception that your time is always that free. Can you pick that up for me, can you bring this down to the office, do you mind watching the kids for a couple of hours? And I don't mind helping out, but it can be difficult to place limits on my work time and say, no, I can't. No, I really do need to work on my files today. No, I can't run to the town 30 miles up the road to get that item for the classroom. There's an expectation that because my jobs CAN be flexible, I should be available at a moment's notice.

So I struggle with saying no, even though I know I should more than I actually do. Does anybody else deal with this sort of situation? And if so, how do you handle it?

Guest Blogger Crista McHugh - Vulnerability

In this day and age of alpha heroes and self-sufficient heroines, showing moments of vulnerability can be tricky. For example, you don’t want your kick-ass, vampire-slaying heroine to suddenly need to be rescued over and over again by the hero, right? Nor do you want the alpha hero to act like he’s completely pussy-whipped. But if they both keep their walls in place and act tough all the time, where can the romance bloom?

I was at a Mary Buckham workshop in February where she mentioned that in developing a character, an author needed to identify what the character valued most in his or her life. Then, as the romance develops, the character should be willing to part with that thing for the sake of the other person. It could a physical object like Arwen’s necklace in the Lord of the Rings movies. Or, as in the case of so many of my characters, it could be allowing one’s self to become emotionally vulnerable and risk getting hurt.

In my latest release, Heart of a Huntress, Lana lost her former lover to a vampire. His death wounded her so deeply, she hasn’t been able to open her heart up to anyone since then. She focuses her energy into her job (slaying the vampires that plague the Las Vegas Strip) and never realizes how empty her life has become until she meets Byron.

Byron, on the other hand, has a secret, something he’s terrified to share with Lana. Would she still want to be with him once she learns he sprouts fangs and fur every full moon? But the stakes are a bit higher for him because if she rejects him, his broken heart could prove fatal.

Both characters have reasons to keep their walls in place, to protect themselves from getting hurt. But there is no reward without some risk. Once they make the decision to let the other person past these barriers, they discover a new love they never imagined possible. It’s neither simple nor easy. There’s some pushing and shoving and flared tempers as they feel each other out. But in the end, they both learn trust that piece of themselves they’ve guarded for so long to the other person.

Vulnerability extends beyond the paranormal genre. It’s something that can play a role in any romance, real or fictional. For example, I always joke that my husband is the one-night stand who never left. I was always into playing it safe, never hooking up with someone until we’d dated a while, etc. Then I met him at a party. He was not only smart and sexy, but I felt so very comfortable around him that I gathered my courage and asked him back to my place. I’d never done such a thing before. I was making myself both physically and emotionally vulnerable, but I took a gamble on him, and the reward was worth the risk. We got married two years later. :-)

I’d love to hear some of your stories about vulnerability. It could be a favorite scene from a book or a movie, or it could be a real-life moment where you took a chance on another person, opened yourself up to them, and had a happy ending.

____________

Crista McHugh writes paranormal and fantasy romances that are smart, sexy, and anything but ordinary. She maintains her alter-ego as a mild mannered physician during the day and writes during nights and weekends. She refers to it as “therapy”. She lives in the Audi-filled suburbs of Seattle with her husband, her daughter, a 95-lb golden retriever, and a black cat that bosses them all around.

She loves hearing from readers and will occasionally bounce ideas off them. Check out her website (www.cristamchugh.com) for more information.