I AM NOT A “sexy porn gerl” and other Twitter Mishaps - repeated by popular request

I've received many requests asking me to repeat this post (can't imagine why...) And yes, it hasn't stopped yet...

I AM NOT A “sexy porn gerl” and other Twitter Mishaps.

It started with the Berlin Brothel.  Lord knows why a brothel in Berlin decided to follow me on Twitter.  I don’t live in Berlin.  I’ve never worked in a brothel.  Don’t think I’ve even typed the word ‘brothel’ before now.  I certainly haven’t said it out loud.

Then some wag from Crime Writers of Canada said: “Maybe they’ve read your book Rowena Through the Wall.  That’s it!  The girls who work there have to do something in their downtime.”

Let me do a cyberspace blush here.  Okay, my first book is a little hot.  “Hot and hilarious” as one reviewer put it.  But it’s not x-rated.  It’s not even R, according to my daughter.  (Husband has yet to read it.  We’ve hidden it well.)

But back to Berlin.  I didn’t follow them back.

Somehow, that didn’t matter.  The word was out.

‘Amateurvids’ announced they were following me.  Good, I thought.  I like nature films.  Take it from me, this outfit doesn’t film bunnies in the wild.  Well, maybe a certain type of wild bunny.

I didn’t follow them back.

Then ‘Dick Amateur’ showed up, wanting to connect. Friend Gloria read a few of his posts and then said: “You at least deserve a Pro.”

So I didn’t follow him back.

Next, I got “Swingersconnect” following me.  Swingers?  I get sick on a tire hanging from a tree!

I didn’t follow them back.

Then two days ago, an outfit specializing in ‘male penis enhancement’ turned up.  Now, I ask you.  Do I look like a male in my profile photo?  Is Melodie a male name?  And not to be pedantic, but isn’t ‘male’ in front of the p-word a bit redundant?  Is there any other kind?

Which brings me to the tweet in my twitter-box today:  “Hey sexy porn gerl!” (yes, that’s girl with an e).  Let me state categorically that I am not now and have never been a “sexy porn gerl” (with an ‘e’ or any other vowel).

You wouldn’t want me to be.  No one would.  For one thing, I can’t see two feet in front of me without glasses.  Things that used to be perky now swing south. And my back hurts if I bend over to pick up a grape. 

So I’m not following them back.

Melodie's latest novel 'THE GODDAUGHTER" is "Hilarious" - Ellery Queen, and "Impossible not to laugh" - Library Journal.  

Lecture 27 - "When *I* was Young..." reprinted with permission

For mothers everywhere....

3:30 at the local school and it’s raining like autumn in Vancouver.  In front of me, two hundred Audis and no parking.  I pull my trusty Chevy in behind them and prepare to match up with my offspring.

It’s a funny thing about kids.  They can do gymnastics three times a week, soccer on Saturday morning and cruise the mall for hours.  But don’t ever ask them to walk home from school.  Some can’t even make it as far as the car.

“What took you so long?”  Daughter number one waits until the car pulls directly in front of the entrance before venturing a foot out from the overhang.

“Precious.  It is pouring rain.  I have been doing the complete Dallas Cowboys Cheerleading routine at the side of the road trying to get your attention.  I think the least you could do is walk the distance to the car."

“You want me to WALK?  In THESE shoes?  You’ve got to be kidding.  I might get them wet.”  The door slams shut and we start to inch along the circular drive.  “Besides, I’m tired.  I’ve been in school all day, you know.”

“How come you can cruise the whole of Oakville Town Centre with your friends, but can’t make it twenty feet to the car?”

I can’t help it.  Maybe the drenching has made my brain soggy.  Lecture 27 spews forth of its own accord.

“When *I* was young, we walked to school.  Yup, two miles, in the freezing cold, through four foot snow drifts-“

“Uphill both ways.”  She interjects.

“-uphill both ways,” I finish.  I think she’s heard this one before.  “AND another thing.”  It gets worse.  “About those shoes…when I was young, we didn’t have fancy shoes like that.  No sir, we made do with sneakers, and – by golly – we were grateful.  We even wore them until they had holes in them.”

“You want me to wear shoes with holes in them?” she asks, excited.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“What IS the subject?”

“Genetics.  Natural selection as it relates to the modern world.  How kids today should have been born with wheels instead of feet.”

“MOM!”  She is jubilant.  “You bought me roller-blades?”

WHY BOOK TOURS ARE SO EXPENSIVE - more comedy from Funny Girl

Book tours are expensive.  You travel around to independent book stores and you sell some books and sign them.  It’s fun.  You meet a lot of great people.  But it’s expensive.  And I’m not talking about the hotel tab and the bar bill. 

I should have just stayed in the bar.  It was leaving the bar that became expensive.

Nice night.  We decided to go for a walk.  It was dark, but I had on my brand new expensive progressive eye-glasses, so not a problem, right?

One second I was walking and talking.  The next, I was flying through the air.

Someone screamed.  

WHOMP.  (That was me, doing a face plant.)

“OHMYGOD! Are you okay?”  said my colleague.

I was clearly not okay.  In fact, I was splat on the sidewalk and could not move.  

“Fine!” I yelled into the flagstone.  “I’m Fine!”

I tried to lift my head.  Ouch.

“That must have hurt,” said someone helpfully.

I write murder mysteries.  It may come in handy.

A crowd had gathered.  Not the sort of crowd that gently lifts you off the ground.  More the sort of crowd that gawks.

“Couldn’t figure out why you were running ahead of us.” My colleague shook his head. 

I wasn’t running.  I was tripping and falling.

“That sidewalk is uneven.  Your foot must have caught on it.”

No shit, Sherlock.

By now I had tested various body parts.  Knees were numb.  Hands, scraped.  Chin, a little sore.  

But here’s the miraculous thing.  I hit in this order: knees, tummy, boobs, palms.  My tummy and boobs cushioned the fall and saved my face. 

Yes, this was going through my mind as I pushed back with my tender palms to balance on my bloody knees.

“Ouch!”  I said.  No, that’s a lie.  I said something else.

I stood up.  It was a miracle.  My knees were a bloody mess, but the dress survived without a scratch.  It was made in China, of course.  Of plastic.

The crowd was dispersing.  But the pain wasn’t over.

Next day, I hobbled to the clinic.  The doctor, who probably isn’t old enough to drive a car yet, shook his head.  “Progressive glasses are the number one reason seniors fall.  They are looking through the reading part of their glasses when they walk, and can’t see the ground properly.”

‘Seniors fall?’  I’m not even eligible for seniors discounts yet!

“Get some distance-only glasses,” he advised.

So I did.  Another 350 bucks later, I have a third pair of glasses to carry around in my purse.

Which means my purse isn’t big enough.

So I need to buy a new purse.

And this is why book tours are so expensive.

Renovation? Aggravation! Stand-up comedy from the early years

I wanted to buy a new front door the other day.  This has become necessary because the old front door is no longer functioning as a door in the usual sense.  'Wind Tunnel' or 'Interstate highway for neighbourhood field mice' might be a better description.

But as always, things have changed in the world of destruction and aggravation aka construction and renovation.  Apparently you can’t buy a door anymore.  They don’t make them, according to the sales clerk (excuse me… 'Customer Service Associate.')  Apparently you now buy an 'Entry System.'

“But I already have an Entry System,”  I explained.  “The mice are entering all the time.  What I want is something to keep them out.  Like a door.”

“Let me show you how this works,” he offered.  He then demonstrated how to insert a key in the lock and turn the doorknob to activate the Entry System.  Not unlike my old door, in fact.  I pointed this out.

“But this is a great improvement,” he argued.  “See?  It’s Pre-hung.”

‘Pre-hung' – for construction illiterates – does not mean you have a hunky construction worker standing by, ready and willing.  Nope.  Pre-hung means that you don’t have to undo three hinges to slip the old door off and install the new door.  Instead, the new door already comes with a frame (and sometimes side windows) attached.  To install, you simply demolish the old door frame and rebuild the entire entranceway to fit the new pre-hung frame.  It requires 3 men and a boy, and at least two weeks of labour and Starbuck's runs.  But you don’t have to touch those pesky hinges, which is a big improvement.

Not surprisingly, Entry Systems cost a lot more than mere doors.  This, I pointed out, was not an improvement.

One more thing bothers me about all this fancy renaming business.  If they insist on calling doors ‘Entry Systems,’ just what are we going to end up calling toilets?  Exit Systems?

IT STARTED WITH THE BERLIN BROTHEL - the world blog tour continues!

In the States today, with Dawn Roberto!  In case you are in the mood for zaniness, 

"It started with the BERLIN BROTHEL - I am not a 'sexy porn gerl' (and other Twitter mishaps)"

Guest blog hosted by Dawn Roberto, today (and yes, this is a true story)....note the Consent form before entering this site...

http://dawnsreadingnook.blogspot.ca/2012/09/welcome-guest-author-melodie-campbell.html?zx=eee7e3a47a3249c0

WRITING ZANY COMEDY!

This week and next, I'm on a world blog tour! (guest-posting in Europe, UK and the US!)

For my latest post, "WRITING ZANY COMEDY!" please visit the beautiful country of Estonia:
http://www.ingasilbergbooks.com/2012/09/writing-zany-comedy-guest-post-by.html

My Short Conversation with God re ascending into Middle Age

Okay, I admit it.  I’m middle-aged.  Such a nice, bland term for reaching the middle years of your lifespan.  But it’s a lie. Because that would assume that I am going to live to be over 100...well over 100...

 

But grant me the illusion.  Middle-aged.  Middle-income.  Middle-expanding….

It’s time I had a talk with the Big Boss.  A very short conversation, as it happened.

Me:  God Sir, I have a complaint.  I’m over 50 now, and while it’s really nice not to have to deal with all that baby-making crap, what the hell is happening to my body? These weren’t the boobs I came in on.  What’s that all about?

Voiceover:  My child, I needed to invent gravity to keep you all on earth and not floating up to heaven before your time.  What starts UP must come down.  So I give you this – gravity isn’t a law in heaven.  You get them back when you pass through the pearly gates.

Me:  Oh dear.  You haven’t been paying very close attention to my life lately, have you… So here’s the thing.  Do I get them back if I go the other way?  

Voiceover:  My child, how can you even think of asking such a thing?

Me: It’s all those college science classes.  If gravity pulls things DOWN on earth, does it pull things UP from Hell?  Just so I know my options, you see…

Voiceover:  I’m thinking your options are closing down quickly.

Me:  I’m thinking I’m talking to the wrong Big Guy.

And just because this is an equal opportunity column, I’m suggesting that all you guys out there might want to go to Hell.  Not just because I’ll probably be there.  But if gravity indeed pulls UP…