Thursday, May 22, 2014

Confessions of a Bad Aunt

I’ve said this a few times in my tweets, but I’ll say it again for good measure. I don’t want kids. I’m an aunt, that’s enough. I can’t really see myself doing this gig full time—maybe like two hours on the weekend, but that’s about it. And it’s not that I don’t like children, I just value that return policy that comes with borrowing other people’s property. 

        So yeah, I have this niece who’s about 14 going on 25. I call her “Monk”, because when she was a baby she would climb all over the place like a little monkey and the nickname just stuck. I rarely use her real name (rhymes with Sailor) and all her friends give her crap over the baby-ness of it all. It’s all part of the perks of being a “bad auntie”: picking them up from school in a bathrobe and hair rollers just to embarrass them, recounting tales of that weird baby blanket fetish in front of potential crushes, or laughing as they receive that well-deserved spanking that had been five years overdue. The humiliation of those you love is its own reward.

Anyway, Monk’s at that weird age where you’re a teenager only by numeric count and you:
a)     Have no job
b)    Have no driver’s license
c)     Have no respect for anyone’s free time and demand to be chauffeured everywhere at a moment’s notice.
d)    Have no means to contribute to the gas expenses for desired excursion.

         I’m usually the one holding the bag as far as taxi duties because, you know, “writers have no lives.” On one of the many drives to one of her many girlfriends’ houses, Monk’s telling me about her relationship woes. It takes me a minute to fully digest what she’s saying because she’s talking at eighty miles per hour in a dialect that, I swear to God, she’s making up on the spot and clapping a lot to emphasize her words.

I don’t know if she’s practicing for the step team or what, but from what little I could translate, she’d somehow found herself in a love triangle. Typical, if not cliché, but I listen anyway in case there’s some good material I can use in my writing. Oh, and that caring, supportive adult thing. This is the most she’s spoken in three weeks to something that wasn’t an Apple product, so it had to be a big deal.
During this ten-minute clap-happy monologue, she presents enough drama to fill a 30-minute slot on a MTV reality show. The stars of this teen soap opera is a boy named I-can’t-spell-it-Quan, who Monk is “talking to” but isn’t serious enough to declare a boyfriend. Then comes the Jacob Black antagonist named Dante/ Devonte/ Cool Ranch Dorito—whatever, who already has a girlfriend, but is expressing amorous feelings toward Monk via text and tweet. After finding these impassioned messages, the girlfriend is voicing her outrage on the web and has challenged Monk to a duel. Now, Who-Named-This-Kid-Quan is willing to defend Monk’s honor under the condition that they date exclusively. All blackmail and threats aside, Monk’s main concern is that Di Vinci/ Divergent/ One Direction may not be sincere in his affections. Otherwise, why does he still have a girlfriend?
Confused? You’re not alone.

Monk says, “Yo, I’m so caught up.” 

And I’m like, “Yo, when did you start dating? Where does homework come in on this? And when did your life become juicier than mine?”

This just goes to show that I would not make a good parent. I’m not only losing track of essential items like car keys and sunglasses, but I’m also losing track of time. I could’ve sworn that when we pulled out of the driveway I was strapping her into the rear car seat, and now as I glance sideways, I see a young woman wading through the rough waters of adolescent stupidity. 

I secretly long for the days when she was cute, nibbled on her own toes, and earned her namesake. I don’t want her hurt, but there are some things that she’ll have to learn on her own. I could give her my take on the situation, which is all kinds of WTF, but I can tell that she just needed a non-judgmental sounding board. Nothing I say will stick anyway, at this point her head’s buried in that stupid iPhone again and she won’t come back up for air for days . . . or until she needs a ride home.


Monday, February 17, 2014

Not Another Vampire Diaries Rant!

Yes, it is and this was a long time coming. I'll sum it up like this...


Let me see if I have this right, TVD. So basically you’re telling me that Bonnie gave up her life to resurrect Jeremy, not for the sake of being with him again, but to make Elena happy? God forbid if this girl has one selfish desire in her life.
Everyone knew that Stefan was leaving town after he dropped Silas’ body in the quarry, yet no one even batted an eyelash about Bonnie’s abrupt “summer plans” and that she didn’t say goodbye in person? 

So you’re saying Bonnie had been dead for three months and no one bothered to investigate why they hadn’t spoken to her or seen her face to face? Skype and video chat is suddenly off the table though it was done in season 2? 

You’re telling me that her overprotective, vamp-wary father would be okay with his troubled child traipsing off cross-country and he not double-check with her mother? You want me to believe that NO ONE raised an eyebrow in suspicion when Bonnie didn’t show up to her father’s funeral? 

Are you so bold to admit that the only reason anyone actively searched for Bonnie is because Stefan lost his memory and they needed a witchy favor?

Are. You. Serious?

If this doesn’t prove my case for Bonnie being a worthless character then nothing will. Not worthless as in ineffective, I mean worthless as in no one gives a shit about her unless they want something. She has no motivation other than to make her friends, namely Elena, happy, no matter the cost. And even in her death, Bonnie was still seeking her friends’ happiness. Yet none of that effort is reciprocated. Bonnie goes on about how kind and self-sacrificing Elena is, yet we’ve seen none of that “kindness” given to her. 

Even when Elena’s humanity was turned off and she tried to kill her at prom, everyone came rushing to immortal Elena’s aid, leaving the very human Bonnie in the dust and she still forgave her! When Bonnie was being brainwashed by Silas, no one helped her fight it off or offered support against tapping into dark magic. Hell, no one thought to knock her out or lock her up in the Salvatore dungeon to keep her from killing 12 innocent people! 

All the other characters had a “bad monster rehab” session at some point. (Stefan = ripper, Caroline = new vamp, Elena= new vamp/ humanity switch, Jeremy = emo phase/ hunter’s curse, Tyler = new werewolf/ sire bond, Damon = Damon)  But let Bonnie have an “Evil Willow” moment and she gets no intervention, no pep talk from her friends; just a “Witches be crazy” quip from Damon. 

Her parents stepped in and Bonnie lashed out on them as if they were the bad guys. (Side note: this goes to show that the writers did NO research on ethnic characters.  Powers or no powers, there is no way in unholy hell that two black parents are going to let their kid talk back to them like that. It’s not a stereotype. It’s FACT!!!)
Getting to the point of this rant, that funeral was bullshit. The only one that had the slightest hint of credibility was Jeremy, but that’s beside the point. 

Speaking of “I Gotta Be Shirtless All The Time” Gilbert, if Jeremy can only see the dead people he knows, why can’t he see Matt whenever he dies, or catch a glimpse of him when he returns to his body? Just saying.

Back to the funeral…

The grief seemed forced as hell, but at least Damon kept true to his character and shed not one tear during the service. He’s not the crying type, but it’s interesting how he had a mental breakdown when Rose, a vamp he knew all of five minutes, died of a werewolf bite. And the only reason Damon came up with the plan to get Bonnie back was… you guessed it, to make Elena happy. I would’ve even been cool with Damon’s motive leaning towards self-preservation, regaining a powerful ally/weapon in the fight against all things that want to kill them. But no, he did it because whenever Elena cries, God kills a kitten.

Just to drive my point about the “I don’t give a crap about Bonnie Bennett” case. Silas, the big bad of the season, barely acknowledged there was a witch named Bonnie despite the fact that he’d been stalking her and playing with her head all last season. Even Qetsiyah, an ancestor who can see everything from the Other Side and likely conversed with other dead witches, is like “Bonnie who?” Continuity glitch or proof of Bonnie’s lack of relevance? You make the call. 

And now that Bonnie is the anchor to the Other Side, not only does she have to endure the pain of every supernatural creature who dies, her powers are gone, making her even more worthless than before. And she’s not even good at that because she didn’t notice if Katherine was really dead or not. Unless doppelgangers/ travelers aren’t magical enough to go to the Other Side? Whatever, I don’t care.

Now that Bonnie and Jeremy are back together, she STILL keeps it on the DL because she doesn’t want to upset Elena, who’s banging the guy who was responsible for the death of her mother, grandmother and sometimes, whenever Damon’s cranky, her boyfriend. Are you kidding me? Give this bitch a spine! 

I don’t know if this was fan service or some affirmative action quota, but they should’ve just left her dead. They were so close. But nooooo, Bonnie is now playing Dumbledore for the new witch in town because the monster squad is too inept to handle their own problems without a proper witch around. 

Remind me why Bonnie doesn’t have her powers again? What about those witches that lurk around that old spooky house, the ones that were burned alive back in the day? You know, that haunted, magical place where Stefan hid the originals’ coffins from Klaus? Yeah, those witches were dead yet they were able to do enough magic beyond the grave to ward vampires off their property. Wouldn’t Bonnie’s powers be connected with where she died? Maybe she can only do magic in that one location? 

Maybe she somehow steals the magic out of her new pupil. I’ll believe anything at this point, just throw her a bone. As it stands now she’s just going to continue to suffer and then go crazy just like the last anchor. Fun times.
I’m done.

Oh and P.S. Where is Bonnie’s body? She’s a ghost now, but did anyone even bother to bury her remains? Was she buried under that tree stump at the funeral? Inquiring minds want to know.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Holiday Giveaway

Hey guys! Here’s a quick update before the holidays. I’m giving away 3 copies of Living Violet book 1 of the Cambion Chronicles on Goodreads. Follow the story of Samara and Caleb in the summer of love, death, demons, and an abundance of sugar. 



    Goodreads Book Giveaway


        Living Violet by Jaime Reed



          Living Violet


          by Jaime Reed


            Giveaway ends December 20, 2013.

            See the giveaway details
            at Goodreads.




      Enter to win

Living Violet summary:

He's persuasive, charming, and way too mysterious. And for Samara Marshall, her co-worker is everything she wants most—and everything she most fears. . .

Samara Marshall is determined to make the summer before her senior year the best ever. Her plan: enjoy downtime with friends and work to save up cash for her dream car. Summer romance is not on her to-do list, but uncovering the truth about her flirtatious co-worker, Caleb Baker, is. From the peculiar glow to his eyes to the unfortunate events that befall the girls who pine after him, Samara is the only one to sense danger behind his smile.

But Caleb's secrets are drawing Samara into a world where the laws of attraction are a means of survival. And as a sinister power closes in on those she loves, Samara must take a risk that will change her life forever. . .or consume it.

The contest ends Friday, Dec 20th. I hope you enjoy reading the Cambion Chronicles as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Good luck!

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

The Halloween I Once Knew

To put things into perspective, I was born at the tail end of generation X, right at the cusp of what is known as the MTV Generation. Basically scraping the waterlogged wood at the bottom of the barrel as far as cool childhoods go. Looking back, I can’t help but weep for kids today and what they consider a fun Halloween. I look at my 13-year-old niece and think back on the nights of walking and whoring my cuteness for free candy. Ah, the good ole days.

It was in the late 80’s. I was about 9 or so at the time and I had a huge crush on the Corys, and I remember feeling guilty for cheating on my husband, L.L. Cool J. The girl who lived next door had an unhealthy obsession with New Kids on the Block and owned all the dolls, accessories and the bed spread. The Jheri Curl was awesome and I hated my mom for not letting me get one. The first Bush was president, AIDS and crack was a thing and there was some sort of recession going on, but I couldn’t care less. Why? Because I was 9 and it was friggin’ Halloween y’all!

I wanted to dress up as Betty Boop that year, but my mom wasn’t going to have her kid parading around the neighborhood in slutty fishnets, so I wore a Betty Boop t-shirt and a plastic mask that was hot enough to melt my face off and would cut my tongue when I dragged it through the mouth slit.

I lived in a pretty big neighborhood and there were plenty of kids and parents with flashlights crowding the streets. But my mom was paranoid and watched the news religiously, so I had to go out with my sister. She was about 16 at the time, so one would think she’d be way too old and too cool to go trick-or-treating with her baby sister. Oh NO, this girl pimped me out and demanded a 25% cut of the nights earnings, including but not limited to, ALL Reese’s Peanut Butter cups, fireballs and Sweet Tarts. Highway robbery!

As I said, my neighborhood was big and it would take about two hours to hit every door. If a house had some good stuff, we’d double back hours later and hit them up again. My sister wrote down the addresses in case we forgot. Yeah, my pimp was thorough and we made a good team, equipped with coats and proper footwear for this five-mile marathon. No plastic pumpkin buckets, but the black Hefty trash bags that were full to bursting by the end of the night. 

The only thing that slowed our momentum was us having to check in every hour on the hour. Cell phones were considered myths back in the day and everyone used beepers. Plus, going home would allow us time to cool our heels and unload our bags of candy for my mom’s inspection: caramel apples with razor blades, baked cookies made with weed, ripped candy wrappers, and cards laced with Anthrax. Again, my mom was paranoid and she always used rubber gloves.
By the end of the night we would gather the bounty: three trash bags worth of goodies and subsequent tooth decay. Once my mom inspected the merchandise with a fine-tooth comb and my sister took her cut off the top, I got what was left. 

After tossing out all the butterscotch and candy corn—yuck—I’d have enough treats to support my sugar habit until Christmas, where I would find a random Dumdum or Tootsie Roll in the couch cushions.

Those were the Halloweens I remember. What they have now is a watered down version polluted by the sick crimes of few that spoiled the whole evening for everyone. I mourn those nights knowing that I will never see them again. Even if there was a way to revive the dying holiday, it wouldn’t be the same. I can’t fit my Betty Boop shirt anymore and I lost my mask years ago.


On My Emo Days...

On My Emo Days...
Some days are blacker than others