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Just for a Laugh

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Someone sent these to me claiming they were sentences typed by real emergency room receptionists in Glasgow. Don’t know if that’s true but they made me laugh so I thought I’d share them.

1. The patient has no previous history of suicides.

2. Patient has left her white blood cells at another hospital.

3. She has no rigors or shaking chills, but her husband states she was
    very hot in bed last night.

4. Patient has chest pain if she lies on her left side for over a
    year.

5. The patient is tearful and crying constantly. She also appears to
    be depressed.

6. The patient has been depressed since she began seeing me in 1993.

7. Healthy appearing decrepit 69-year old male, mentally alert, but
     forgetful.

8. Patient had waffles for breakfast and anorexia for lunch.

9. She is numb from her toes down.

10. While in ER, she was examined,  x-rated and sent home.

11. Occasional, constant infrequent headaches.

12. Patient was alert and unresponsive.

13. She stated that she had been constipated for most of her life
      until she got a divorce.

14. Examination of genitalia reveals that he is circus sized.

15. Skin: somewhat pale, but present.

16. The pelvic exam will be done later on the floor.

17. Patient has two teenage children, but no other abnormalities

18. When she fainted, her eyes rolled around the room.

19. The patient was in his usual state of good health until his
      airplane ran out of fuel and crashed.

20. Between you and me, we ought to be able to get this lady
      pregnant.

21. Patient was seen in consultation by Dr. Smith, who felt we should
     sit on the abdomen and I agree.

22. The patient was to have a bowel resection.  

      However, he took a job as a stock broker instead.

Have a great weekend

Sami

Guest Blogger Caitlyn Nicholas

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Today we have another guest blogger, a VERY special guest and all round cool chick. I first became aware of Caitlyn Nicholas when I saw her book for sale at the Samhain Publishing website. I emailed Cait straight away in one of my blustering messages that went something like ‘Hey you’re Australian too and we’re both have our first books coming out with the same publisher at almost the same time! How cool are we?’. It was something along those lines I’m sure. This was one of those times when making a bit of a fool of myself paid off—I’ve kept in contact with Cait ever since and I so enjoy reading her hilarious blog posts on parenthood, writing, life in general and growing vegetables. I can so relate to all of it… except the growing my own dinner part. I don’t know how she has the patience for that.

I’m not alone in my appreciation of Caitlyn’s unique take on modern life. She’s been nominated as one of Australia’s 50 top bloggers by kidspot.com.au, and voting is still open so if you want to pop over and read her blog and subsequently become a HUGE fan (it’s absolutely bound to happen just like that), please take the time to vote for her.

Along with her enormously popular blog Cait writes wonderful romantic adventures. So without further ado, here’s Cait!

WELL HELLO, I’m a first time poster, and a long time reader :).  A bit about me before we get onto today’s perplexing blog topic. I’m Caitlyn Nicholas, I blog over here and I’ve known the Divas for more years than I’d like to admit.  Three things brought us together; living in Australia, taking to e-publishing back when everyone said it’d never catch on, and being published with Samhain Publishing.  They’ve been a wonderful group of writerly friends, and I am just thrilled to be asked to blog for them today.

 So, the beardy hero.

 I write romantic suspense, and at present am planning my next novel.  It’s pretty much at the beginning-to-write stage, but, I was out on my walk the other evening when an idea popped into my head; what if the hero HAD A BEARD???

 A beardy hero. But wouldn’t that mean…

Ew. Shudder.

So I did a little googling and discovered… 

 Hmm, warming to the idea

Argh. NO. 

Well, hello Mr. Clooney. Purr.

A beard, it seems, is in the eye of the beholder.

 Still, I’m not convinced about my romantic suspense beardy hero.  Yes, Mr Purr Clooney is hawt, but could I convey his hawtness to a reader, who might see the word beard and think of her Uncle Robert (the one who always keeps bits of dried up egg yolk in his).

 And then there’s the research dilemma. See hubs has no beard, in fact I lived my wild youth in the 80s and facial hair was along these lines

And it doesn’t matter how many Bacardi and cokes you’ve had, you ain’t going anywhere near that at the age of 18.

So HOW am I going to research beardy kissing??

Gah, it’s a dilemma.

Cait

Note from Sami: Actually I’ve always had a highly inappropriate thing for Sam Eliot :).

Thanks to Cait for coming over today. If you’re interested in reading a fabulous romantic suspense, check out her books at her blog.

Care to Blow Off A Little Steam?

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It’s here. Blowing it Off, my fifth Ellora’s Cave book, my second m/f/m menage and my second erotic contemporary release* The title for Blowing it Off has been in my head since May 2011 when I was sitting in on the editor’s session at the Romantic Times Reader Convention in Columbus Ohio. I remember thinking about my most current release at the time, Copping a Feel, and playing around with the verb/noun structure of title. Then I gave myself a challenge to see if I could come up with one as naughty as Copping a Feel. Ten minutes of chewing on the end of my pen (and watching Kelli Collins, my EC editor, talk about what makes brilliant erotic romance) and the title, Blowing it Off came into my head.

It would take me a year to write it (sorry, Kelli) but eventually I did. Yay! Blowing it Off is the first book in the Stimulated series, a five book series all containing a verb/noun title structure. I’d love to share with you the other four but you know me, I’m a terrible tease. Suffice to say, the next four heroines’ occupations include motorcross rider, assassin, professional gamer and either news anchor or sex toy tester (I haven’t decided on that last one yet *grin*)

But enough carry -on. Reading World, I give you Blowing it Off. Enjoy.

Stimulated, Book One

A fire has destroyed the studio of glassblower Phoebe Masters. And she knows what that means—a visit from the arson investigators. The two men who reduced her heart to cinders. Men she’d hoped never to see again.

One wild weekend with Phoebe overwhelmed Will Bradley and Damon Hunt. Like wankers, they blew it off, burning any chance for a future with the talented beauty. The investigation gets them back in her life, but now they have to prove the three of them were meant to be together. Their strategy?

A body-blazing inferno none of them will ever be able to extinguish.

Excerpt

“Head’s up, Tiny, we’ve got a job.”

William Bradley spun on his desk stool to glare at the tall man crossing the room toward him. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Tiny?”

Damon laughed, dropping into the low, beat-up couch sitting in the middle of their cramped office. “Well, seeing as it’s been eight years now since I first met you, I’m guessin’…” he affected a pensive expression, crossing his ankles on the cluttered coffee table and lacing his fingers behind his head, “a lot. Besides, you’re a short-arse. What else am I going to call you?”

Will shook his head and rolled his eyes, giving his partner an exasperated look. “I’m two inches shorter than you.”

Damon held out a hand. “There you go. Short-arse.”

“You’re six foot three!”

Damon grinned. “My point exactly.”

Will threw a tennis ball at him. “Yeah, yeah, Stretch. Tell me about the job.”

“You’re going to love this. It’s in Morpeth.”

Every muscle in Will’s body tensed. He drew in a slow breath, leaning forward on his stool. “Morpeth?”

Damon gave him a single nod, his brown gaze steady.

Will pulled in another breath. Morpeth. The village pretending to be a town north of Newcastle was populated by entrenched, born-in-the-blood locals and artisans inspired by the timeless beauty of the place. Not the kind of place an arson investigator usually found himself. But then, he’d felt an almost palpable urge to jump in his car and drive north more than once since a particular artisan took up residence.

Damn, his heart shouldn’t be thumping as hard as it was.

He narrowed his eyes, refusing to acknowledge how dry his mouth had become. “What’s the job?”

If possible, his partner’s eyes grew mischievous and intense. “Investigating a suspicious fire that destroyed an art studio.”

Will’s heart thumped harder. “What kind of art studio.”

Damon’s lips curled. “A glassblower’s art studio.”

“I take it by the smile on your face the artist wasn’t in the studio when it went up?”

Damon shook his head. “Not according to the report from one Captain Keith Kilgour of the Morpeth Bush Fire Brigade. The owner of the studio was, to quote Captain Kilgour, ‘extremely agitated and reluctant to notify the Newcastle Arson Investigation team’, end quote. Reading between the lines, I suspect Kilgour wonders if the artist is pulling an insurance job.”

The wind left Will’s lungs in a gush. He slumped back on his stool, dragging his hands through his hair. Fuck. He’d spent the last six months doing everything to convince himself what he and Damon had shared with a certain glass artist now living in Morpeth was nothing more than a weekend fling. He’d tried his hardest but now, here he was—palms sweaty just thinking about the possibility of seeing her again, of more than seeing her, when he should be thinking of nothing else but a fire scene.

Easier said than done when Phoebe Masters was involved. Bloody frustrating pain-in-the-arse woman. Knowing her, the moment they walked into her studio she’d walk out the other door.

But what if she’s happy to see you? It’s been six months since she left. Six months to forget how monumentally you and Damon fucked-up the last time all of you were together. What if she’s calmed down? Changed her mind?

Damon cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re thinking one of two things, Tiny, and both are going to send you crazy.”

Will’s own eyebrows rose up his forehead, his gut churning. “What are they exactly, Stretch?”

Damon returned his feet to the floor and leaned forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. “One, the second we cross the threshold of Phoebe’s studio, she’s going to throw herself at us and beg us to pick up where we last left off—in bed together, fucking each other senseless.”

It wasn’t just Will’s stomach that reacted to Damon’s first scenario—his balls and dick tightened, the image his friend painted affecting him with the subtle blow of a sledgehammer.

“Or two,” Damon went on, his stare locked hard on Will’s face. “She’s going to tell us to fuck off.”

The sledgehammer slammed into Will’s gut again. Damn Damon and his keen insight into the human mind. Made for a bloody brilliant arson investigator, a great boss; made for a bloody annoying best mate.

The man studying him hadn’t started out his best friend but somewhere over the last eight years of working together, that’s exactly what he’d become. Which meant Damon knew just about everything going on in Will’s life, and was involved in just about everything going on in his life as well. Sometimes Will had to wonder if that was a good thing. He bit back a curse. “And how did you arrive at those options, boss?”

Damon gave him a wry grin. “’Cause I thought the same fucking things the second I read Phoebe’s name on the report.”

The confession jerked a humored snort from Will. “So much for being the detached wankers Phoebe accused us of being the day she left.”

Damon laughed. “No, she accused you of being a detached wanker. She called me a flippant, indifferent arsehole.”

Will scrubbed at his face with his hands. “She’s not going to be happy to see us, is she?”

Damon laughed again. “After the way we behaved? Not at all.”

“So what do we do?”

Damon flashed him a broad grin. “Hope to fucking God we can change her mind.”

“Tricky.”

“You better believe it.”

“She told us what we did together was never going to happen again.”

“True.”

“That after the pair of us blew it off as a simple been-there-done-that fuck-fest instead of acknowledging what it really was, the pair of us could kiss her arse goodbye.”

“You’re right.”

“Plan?”

Damon laughed a third time, the sound far more deprecating than any Will had heard from his friend before. “Be our charming, lovable selves?”

Will rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s going to work.”

“It worked the last time.”

“Until she accused us of being indifferent arseholes and detached wankers the night before she moved to a whole other town.”

Taking my heart with her.

A heavy pressure squeezed Will’s chest at the thought. That’s exactly what had happened. None of them—neither he, nor Damon nor Phoebe—had anticipated a night out for drinks to celebrate Phoebe’s new, dedicated studio in Morpeth would turn into a weekend in bed together. But it had. Three years of knowing each other, of relaxed flirting, friendly banter and good-humored mocking over other boyfriends or girlfriends had unexpectedly and surprisingly led them to a situation so unbe-fucking-lievable, the shock had sent them all for a spin.

A bloody big spin. Because Will knew after two mind-blowing days and two equally mind-blowing nights of watching his mate fuck Phoebe, of fucking her while his mate watched, of all three of them fucking each other at the same time, that two days and two nights wasn’t enough. He’d had no idea what Phoebe expected after the weekend ended, but he knew what he wanted—more. And he knew Damon wanted more as well. Not just sex, but…more.

It had scared the shit out of Will, big time. The knowledge that he was prepared to commit to a relationship society deemed unacceptable with his two best friends left him reeling. And even though Damon hadn’t admitted it at first, it had scared the shit out of him as well. So they’d acted like it was nothing, like it was just a bonk to say adios. By the time he’d seen the truth in Phoebe’s eyes, the proof that she wanted more than just a goodbye fuck, that her silence was wounded embarrassment, it was too late. They’d brushed off something incredible and swept Phoebe’s heart away with it. Dickheads.

“We were chicken-shit cowards the last time.”

For a second time, Damon’s unexpected confession made Will snort. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“So this time, we’re not. We don’t pretend otherwise. We don’t pretend the whole thing is just a same-old, same-old.”

“And how are we going to do that? Considering she doesn’t want jack-shit to do with us?”

Damon flashed a grin—the same grin Will had seen him use more than once when on the scent of an arson, the grin that said I have you in my sights, buddy, and you are going down. “We hit her with both barrels and let her know without doubt what we want…

“Her. Forever.”

***

So…who noticed the little * in the beginning of this post? Hee. The little * means Blowing it Off is actually my THIRD erotic contemporary. Crooked Triangle was in fact my first, but it is a Quickie length tale available from Changeling Press I don’t think anyone in the word has read. Which is a pity, because its a damn fine, funny, twisted exploration of the power-play of a high powered executive couple. Oh, and it has a glass dildo ;)

Ah, yes, the good ol’ autocorrect function

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Last week I blogged here about all those things I thought I could live without, but later realised I couldn’t.
One of those things I included was my wonderful, marvelous, incredible, fantastic iPhone.

One of the reasons I love my iPhone is the ease with which I can text. See, despite loving the iPhone, I despise, with a passion, actually talking on a phone. Any phone. For that reason, text messaging has become an indispensable part of my life. If you wanna get hold of me, don’t phone. Just text. My friends all know this, my family all know this. Many of them rant and rave about how they can call me five times in a row, and the call will not be answered, but text me immediately after trying to phone, and within a minute, they will have a response.

The only problem with all this brilliant new modern technology, that makes texting so easy, is a little function known as autocorrect. Don’t get me wrong. The function is wonderful. I make so many spelling errors while texting, my messages would be unintelligible without it.

But every now and again, without realizing it, my phone autocorrects with a word I never had any intention of using. And sometimes, I don’t notice it until it’s too late. Which usually means my first text message is quickly followed up by a second one stating:

ARGH! Didn’t mean that at all. Darn autocorrect.

Yeah, come on. Admit. It’s happened to all of you. I know it has.

Anyway, a few days ago, a friend sent me this email. I knew I had to post it to the Divas blog.

Enjoy.

😀

LOL,

Jess

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