Tuesday, September 29, 2015

WELCOME TO LIARS ANONYMOUS

Hi! My name is Janie Junebug, and I'm a liar.

Yesterday we talked about some people who tell lies so amazing that it's  . . . amazing. Some of us confessed to lying. Now I want to convene this meeting of Liars Anonymous by saying, Hi! My name is Janie Junebug, and I'm a liar.

I lie a lot, and most of it is on this blog. It's part of my shtick. Especially hyperbole.

Not long ago, one of the young servers at the neighborhood diner (yes, it opened back up with a different name, in case I forgot to tell you) told me that she said to the other servers, I want to be Janie when I grow up because everything with Janie is larger than life.

I think that's cool. Everything is fantastic and fabulous and terrible and terrific in Janieland. Inventing a world? Much more fun than reality. In Janieland, Willy Dunne Wooters looks exactly like Ryan Gosling. In Janieland, we have fun, fun, fun, and Daddy never takes the T-bird away.

Oh, yeah.
Definitely the Wooters man.

Something troubles me a bit. I might write on my blog "this is a lie or a joke," and a number of people seem to think I'm telling the truth. The reality is that you shouldn't believe a word I say. This fantasy land belongs to me, and it makes me happy.



Okay. That was a lie. I tell the truth sometimes. I've been pretty open about my problems with depression and anxiety and how much better I feel now. All true. 

But most of my life I lived a lie. I pretended to love someone I hated because I didn't know how to live otherwise. As the years passed, this person accused me of lying frequently--not huge lies like, Bitch, how could you say you were in New York on 9/11? but stuff like, You said you took everything out of the safety deposit box, but you didn't. I'd try to explain that what I had actually said was that I had taken everything I needed immediately out of the safety deposit box, but nothing was acceptable. I reached the point that if I accidentally said the wrong word I would cry because I knew I was in so much trouble, and the reaction would be terrible.

The person who thought my jokes were funny suddenly pretended to believe I thought my exaggerations were reality so I could be caught in more lies. Lies that were nothing but jokes. The lies made the person furious with me, but later I would hear the person repeat my jokes in a gathering because it was clear all along that they were jokes. 

The reality is that the person who accused me of all this lying is a pathological liar, whose lies became so much a part of life that at times the person didn't know the difference between the truth and a lie--or at least I think the person didn't know. I couldn't crawl inside the person's brain to find out, and I don't want to visit that brain anyway.

This person told me not long ago that I am evil, and I see evil in other people because it's what I am.

It shouldn't hurt, but it does. 

The pathological liar in my life received support from someone else who told such ludicrous lies about me that I would have laughed if I hadn't been traumatized. 

And no one seems to understand that being called a liar is painful to me. Yes, I will lie to you. I will lie because I don't want to hurt your feelings. I won't tell you your idea is stupid because you won't follow through on it anyway, and if you do, then you'll figure out it's stupid. Or maybe I'm wrong, and your idea is brilliant. I will decline the invitation to your party and say I don't feel well when the reality is that I can't face being in a group of people, but it's too hard to explain so I tell this small lie. 

These small lies are kindnesses. 

Aren't they?

Willy Dunne Wooters and I have a good system. We live now. We know the basics of each other's painful pasts. We don't dwell on them. Instead, we talk about politics and we watch a movie and we talk about how much we like stuff and we joke and we laugh and we laugh and we laugh. Then we make love.

The one person with whom I have been the most honest no longer speaks to me. I gushed honesty with this person because for some reason I felt I needed to tell the truth. I don't know why. I guess I sensed the person would find out eventually. Better to find out from me. Maybe I hoped this person wouldn't repeat the mistakes I made. The most important relationship in my life vanished, 
and
it
is 
killing
me.

Oh, there I go again with the hyperbole, but it's not for the sake of comedy. It's because I am so miserable and haunted that I don't know what to do. I won't die. Not now. Probably not for a long time. I just want this person to love me again.

Please, please, please tell me I am not evil because the person who told me I am had so much authority over me for so many years that even though I know it's not true, I'm still scared. Yes, I'm kind of fishing for compliments, but it's closer to falling, and I need you to help me stay on my feet.

Play us out, please, Dogs.


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug






I won't be here tomorrow because I need to edit. I plan on returning Thursday, October 1, for The Battle of the Bands. Then on Friday, Franklin wants to make an important announcement. 

Monday, September 28, 2015

WHY DO PEOPLE TELL EXTREME LIES?

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I'm back to our chat about Tania Head, the woman who said she survived the first plane crash into the World Trade Center and received all sorts of attention for it, but it turned out she wasn't there. She never worked there. She was probably in Spain on 9/11. (For more information, see my review of The Woman Who Wasn't There, a great documentary made by my close personal friend, Angelo Guglielmo, who actually tweeted me a thank you for promoting his movie, and I can prove it because I have the tweet. And no, I wasn't in New York on 9/11. I was in Maryland.)

After the revelation that Head wasn't there, weird stuff happened with her. She hung around New York for a while and went to some of the 9/11 observances. Somebody tweeted that she committed suicide. She got a job with a company in Spain. Allegedly, they fired her when the book and documentary about her antics approached their release dates. They felt customers wouldn't trust them if they employed her.

Alicia Esteve Head has never admitted that she wasn't there.

Last week I found an article about this guy,



Steve Rannazzisi, who claimed to work for Merrill Lynch, as did Alicia "Tania" Head. Many times, he credited his presence in the tower with jump starting his career as an actor and comedian because he and his fiancée decided to leave the horrors of New York for the horrors of Los Angeles.


It turned out he's The Guy Who Wasn't There, but he admitted recently that he lied.

My close personal friend Angelo Guglielmo--you know, the guy who directed the great documentary The Woman Who Wasn't There--thinks people make up these stories out of a desire to connect with those who suffered. He says:
I think Tania started to reach out to [survivors] simply as one human to another and ended up becoming a 9/11 survivor,” he told The Washington Post. “She needed that intimacy, that connection. She needed to be part of that community and not an outsider.”

Some experts think people lie about these experiences because they long for attention. More specifically, it can be a form of Munchhausen Syndrome.

One woman who was maybe named Laurel Wilson or Lauren Stratford became a leader in the "repressed memory" community because she wrote a book about her status as a satanic ritual abuse survivor. Later, she took on yet another name and claimed she was a child survivor of the Holocaust.

Then we have Brian Williams, the former NBC anchor. He didn't need to lie to gain fame or acceptance. The Washington Post article cites experts who think he might have had false memories.

I find these cases interesting for multiple reasons, including some that are deeply personal. No point going there.

And you know, don't you, that when I call Angelo Guglielmo my close personal friend because he tweeted me that it's a joke? He really tweeted me, which was nice, but we are not friends in any way. His documentary is great.

Do you know anyone who has told extreme lies? Without revealing your identity, do you want to admit that you've told such lies?


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Friday, September 25, 2015

THE CEPHALOPOD COFFEEHOUSE: VIBRIZZIO BY NICKI ELSON

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

It's time for The Cephalopod Coffeehouse, hosted by The Armchair Squid.





The idea is simple: On the last Friday of each month, post about the best book you've finished over the past month while visiting other bloggers doing the same.  In this way, we'll all have the opportunity to share our thoughts with other enthusiastic readers.

My book for September is Vibrizzio by Nicki Elson of Nicki Elson's Not So Deep Thoughts. I confess I did not read this book during September. I read it several months ago. It suddenly occurred to me yesterday that I had never made Vibrizzio my book of the month for The Cephalopod Coffeehouse!

What was wrong with me? I felt shocked and appalled! Dazed and confused! Dismayed and stunned! Stupored and bewilderfied!

Okay. I'll stop with the synonyms now--some of which I might have sort of invented--and tell you about the book.






Oh, me-oh-my-oh! Nicki Elson has gone and done it again. Her most recent book is the romantically sexy Vibrizzio. Lascivious Lyssa loves and lusts after her lovely lover, Vibrizzio, which just happens to be the name of her vibrator.

From the book:

“Having a good time?” Keith asked, stepping through the bathroom doorway and buttoning his jeans
around his lean waist. “Y’might want to turn that off now.”
“Huh?” Confused as to how he’d managed to bring her to climax from way over there, Lyssa only now
noticed that her hand was still vibrating. Flicking off the device, she reached for the tissues on the side table.
“What’s going on? When did you leave?”
“Seriously?” He scowled as he rummaged around the collection of clothing on her floor and then
straightened to pull his Star Wars T-shirt over his short, dirty blond hair and cover his skinny torso. “I left when you kicked me off the bed.”
“What?”
“When you grabbed that thing out of my hand and swatted me away every time I tried to kiss or touch you,
and then you got your freakishly strong thigh between us and shoved me to the floor.”
Lyssa settled back into the pillow, listening and now remembering. She broke out into a fit of giggles. “I’m sorry."

Ms. Elson never fails to delight me with her writing. She makes me blush, just the tiniest bit, just enough so that it's fun--and funny.

Now Nicki Elson can add Lyssa, Vibrizzio, and at least one man to her list of great characters.


Vibrizzio is available on Kindle, or you can read it on some other device, such as your computer, but don't try to read it on your vibrator. You can purchase it--the book--HERE on Amazon.

Vibrizzio earns The Janie Junebug Seal of Highest Approval.


Happy Reading!


For a list of participants in The Cephalopod Coffeehouse, or to join us with a book review of your own, please visit  The Armchair Squid.

As for a vibrator of your own, don't ask me where such things are purchased. I know nothing!


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BLOG CHILD!

Darling Rachel, Rachel, Rachel,

You are my youngest child. I remember when you looked exactly like this:



Then you got drunk and discovered your toes:



I know the man you love will lunch with you today:



But before you enjoy your dining experience, I want to send all my friends to your blog, When A Lion Sleeps, Let It Sleep, to wish you


Uh, Rachel? I thought you might be dressed more appropriately:


We'll step out the door while you change:


Oh, Rachel. I'm so embarrassed. Willy Dunne Wooters is here, too, to help celebrate your special day:


Mr. Wooters! She's a mere child! Rachel, I demand that you change your clothes:


Raaaaaachel!


You have one last chance. Dress in something decent, or no birthday present:


That's a little extreme, dear. I've seen you look a bit . . . prettier . . . shall we say? But I shan't complain. Mr. Wooters, you may come in again:


Put yer damn shirt on, Willy.

Now, everybody all together:


Yes, you may have one beer, dear, because it's your special day, and you're quite grown up now:


I give up.


Infinities of birthday love,

Blog Mama


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Please stop by When A Lion Sleeps, Let It Sleep to wish Blog Child Rachel a very happy birthday.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Monday, September 21, 2015

YOUR QUEEN CONTINUES TO EDIT

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

To bring you up to date on the daily doings of your Queen, a blog post seems in order.

  1. I continue to edit two books. I remain the glad grammarian, the vixen of the verb, and the abductor of the adjective. An author who will remain Nameless (could she be fishducky's daughter?) said that I'm driving her crazy. I replied, I drive everyone crazy. Ask my children.
  2. Tomorrow (Tuesday, September 22nd) is Blog Child Rachel's birthday. I expect you to leave grandiose birthday wishes for her on her blog, When A Lion Sleeps, Let It Sleep. I'll issue a reminder, so no excuse will be acceptable.
  3. Middle Child married Mike. *sob* *sniffle* *happy tears*
my angel


4.I received a kind Tweet from Angelo Guglielmo:

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

I HAVE A GOOD PROBLEM

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

My good problem is that I have so much editing to do that I don't have time for Battle of the Bands today. I thought I'd make it, but, instead, I'll cut myself some slack and take time to relax a bit before I get back to work.

If you haven't looked at my previous BOOK NOOK post, then please check out The Amaranthine. If you read the post but didn't buy the book, then read it again. You might be in the mood to make a purchase now.

E-bookKindle * Nook * Kobo * IBooks * Scribd * Inktera (Page Foundry) Oyster * Tolino
PaperbackAmazon * Goodreads



Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Monday, September 14, 2015

BOOK NOOK GUEST POST: THE AMARANTHINE

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I'm pleased to publish a guest post by author Murees Dupé about her book, The Amaranthine. I had such lovely interactions with Murees in the blogosphere that I was thrilled when she chose me to edit her first book. 

Working with Murees is a pleasure. She also surprised me by coming up with a plot that includes characters with special powers, but they have the same insecurities from which so many of us suffer. My favorite character is Claire.

Now, take a look at the cover: 




Isn't it great? I'll leave you now so you can read what Murees has to tell you about her work. I must edit tomorrow. I'll be with you on Wednesday, the 15th, for The Battle of the Bands.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug


Here's Murees:

Perfection is overrated


When I first started the rough draft for The Amaranthine, I was unsure of the plot. New characters kept popping up every few chapters and I wasn’t sure where I was going to end up in the end. However, one thing I was adamant about was that my characters had to be flawed and relatable. Why? Because I kept reading books about female characters that were the epitome of perfection, even though they eat what they want and never exercise. Also, they are perfect in every single way imaginable without realizing it, because they have hidden their perfect bodies under frumpy clothes.

Not only is the above scenario unattainable for me, it kind of kicks my ego’s butt. 

So, in The Amaranthine, Claire has curves, which she is uncomfortable with. She thinks curves are unattractive. So, she represents the female who feels she has physical flaws. Alex, however represents the man that has it all. The looks, the brains, the wealth . . . popularity. But guess what? His personality is flawed.

My point? Both my main characters have flaws, but when put together, they balance each other out. To Alex, Claire is perfection and vice versa. If you like characters that are perfect in every aspect, then go for it. Personally, I find that flaws sometimes make characters a little more interesting. However, I really do think we should learn to love ourselves more, not matter what. I know I’m guilty of not doing so. How about you?


Title: The Amaranthine (Thelum Series)

Author: Murees Dupé

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Release Date: 8 September 2015

Blurb

Claire is sassy, human, and an outcast of society―who only wants to know where she belongs. Alex is arrogant, selfish, and an immortal warrior―who thinks he’s prepared for everything. Claire knows the world of immortals is where she belongs. As her guide and guardian, Alex finds it hard to resist Claire’s subtle charm. Can the two overcome their differences and embrace their passion for each other, or will the possibility of true love be lost to both forever?

Find your copy here:

E-bookKindle * Nook * Kobo * IBooks * Scribd * Inktera (Page Foundry) Oyster * Tolino
PaperbackAmazon * Goodreads


About the Author

Murees Dupé was born and still lives in South Africa. When she is not thinking up new stories, she is spending time with her family, playing with her three dogs and cat, watching TV, or overindulging on desserts. To learn more about Murees, visit her website www.mureesdupe.com.


P.S. from Janie: The Amaranthine earns The Janie Junebug Seal of Highest Approval.

I'm sorry. I said I'd be back on Wednesday the 15th for Battle of the Bands. I realized at 11;25 p.m. that Tuesday is the 15th. I'll have my BOTB post up as soon as I can tomorrow, and I'll visit as many other "battle" posts as I can.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

DOCUMENTARY WEEKEND: THE WOMAN WHO WASN'T THERE

Because tomorrow is 9/11, a day of remembrance for us, today I republish a post from September 19th, 2013. Tomorrow I must edit, but I shall return to you on Monday. Please forgive my temporary absence from your blogs. I must take some time off from answering your comments, too, but I read everything you write about my blog and appreciate your insights and opinions unless you're a jackass. 


Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Today I present for your viewing consideration a documentary called The Woman Who Wasn't There (2012, No Rating, Originally Made for TV, Available on DVD and Netflix Streaming).







Because we endured another 9/11 observance so recently, I want to review this documentary, which I watched on Netflix Streaming.

On September 11th, 2001, a Spanish woman named Tania Head, who worked for Merrill Lynch, was on the 78th floor of the South Tower when the first plane hit, making her one of only 19 people on the 78th floor or higher who survived. After six days in a coma, Tania awoke in a hospital burn unit, absolutely devastated because Dave, who was her fiance or kinda sorta maybe her husband, had died in the North Tower.

Tania became a symbol of survival because of all she'd been through. Eventually she helped establish a survivors' network, and became the group's president. She often led tours of the site where the Twin Towers once stood. She became close friends with many other survivors, who felt they could count on her during their darkest times.


Tania Head meets with some of New York's political luminaries –
Michael Bloomberg, George Pataki, and Rudy Giuliani.


Of course, the title reveals the truth, so this review isn't really a spoiler. "Tania Head" was in Barcelona on 9/11. She never worked for Merrill Lynch. She didn't know the Dave who died in the North Tower. She's the woman who wasn't there, who managed to convince multitudes of people that she was.

This documentary is fascinating. No one really knows why Alicia Esteve Head claimed to be a survivor of the attack on New York. Did she long for attention? Did she want to be part of an important group? Was she lonely and found an opportunity to make friends?

Other survivors of 9/11 recount their experiences with Head. She was very popular in their community, and reportedly did not use her story for financial gain. Rather, she donated money to help others.

The film reveals how some of the other survivors became skeptical of Head's story, the details of which changed with various tellings, and how The New York Times eventually reported that her story was a hoax.

But she managed to get away with it until 2007.

The Woman Who Wasn't There is worth watching because it's one darned strange story. I give this documentary The Janie Junebug Highest Seal of Approval.

I hope you find it as interesting as I did.

Happy Viewing!


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug



Wednesday, September 9, 2015

AFTER PAINTING: THERE'S A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

It took a while, but Favorite Young Man finished painting some rooms in my house. They looked pretty bad. The final two to receive the FYM treatment were the master bath and the office.

Here's Favorite Young Man at work in the bathroom:

This is my favorite photo of him.

As you can see, the bathroom ceiling was white. I can't find a "before" photo of the walls, but I described the color as pale piss.


Here's the finished bathroom:


We started with a lighter color on the walls and decided
darker would be better.

I like the bold color choice FYM made for the ceiling:



The walls in the office were the worst in the house. I forgot to photograph them, but I wouldn't even describe the color as pale piss. They were a colorless color. One wall looked as if someone had thrown a drink on it. And no, I did not throw a drink on the wall so just wipe that idea out of your heads this minute.

Why? Because I'm the mom, and I say so.

Favorite Young Man selected the color for the office. I love it!

Faith was a Mother's Day gift from Middle Child.
MOM (I'm sorry it has a glare on it) was a
Mother's Day gift from blog child.
They didn't plan it, but don't the two pieces look
good together?



 
I gave this WVU football thingy to Willy Dunne Wooters for Christmas because West Virginia is his team:

Thank God he doesn't watch NFL games, too.



Here's my favorite artwork in the room. It's on the wall to the right of the chair where I sit when I'm working. I can look up to see it any time I like. It was painted by my beloved Jenny Matlock, who blogs at Jenny Matlock. I wonder how she came up with that title for her blog. Anypainting, it's the first stanza of a poem I wrote for Willy Dunne Wooters. Jenny painted it on two boards so the two are individuals, but they're together.




They say:

Two lovers in love
laughed at the sea,
laughed as the waves
splashed the shore.
The water was cold
and it tickled their toes
and they laughed
and sang la la la laa.

Thank you, Jenny. I love you dearly.

If you would like to read the entire poem, please go to http://goo.gl/fhSBw7.

That's all the painting for now. Favorite Young Man does a great job. Thank you, FYM.


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

BLAST FROM THE PAST: A LIFE FILLED WITH LOSS

I published this post about Mary Todd Lincoln on March 10, 2010. It's had five page views and zero comments. Maybe you can give it some love now. 


Gentle Readers,

She was the fourth of seven children. When she was seven-years-old, her mother died in childbirth.

So she lost her mother.

Her father remarried and had nine children with his new wife.

So, in essence, she lost her father.

As a popular and witty young woman who had learned to talk politics, she left her home and much-hated stepmother in Lexington, Kentucky, and moved to Springfield, Illinois, to live with her sister, Elizabeth Edwards. She became engaged to a lawyer, who then changed his mind.

So, she lost her first opportunity to marry the man she loved.

She waited. One and one-half years later the young lawyer changed his mind again and married her. She said he would be President of the United States, and she worked hard to make that happen. When her husband was elected to Congress, she and their young child moved to Washington, D.C., with him--something politician's wives normally did not do--and lived in rented rooms. But she was in the way. She took too much time and attention away from his work. Mother and child returned to Springfield.

So she began to lose her husband to the political life she had helped him attain.

Three of her four sons died - Eddie at home in Springfield, Willie in the White House, and Tad, the youngest and the last person able to comfort her, as they moved from hotel to hotel, never having a real home.

So, she lost her children.

Her husband was elected President as she predicted. He presided over a nation divided by war and had very little time for his wife and her never-ending worries and headaches.

So she lost her husband, almost completely, to government service.

Because she was from the South, her many siblings were Confederates. She staunchly supported her husband and the Union.

So she lost her siblings. Some even died fighting for the South.

Finally, the North won the war. She and her husband went to the theater for an evening of relaxation, and he was assassinated as they sat close together, she clinging to him as they enjoyed the play.

So she lost her husband and her identity because a woman's identity came from what her husband did and he had made her First Lady of the Land.

Her remaining son, Robert, eventually had her declared insane and placed in a sanitarium. He took control of her money.

So she lost her only living son and her freedom.

But she didn't give up. She retained the services of one of the few female lawyers in the country. She managed to engineer her release from the sanitarium and returned to Springfield to live with her sister Elizabeth.

She's remembered as quite the shopaholic. Apparently, she tried to replace her many losses with Things. It didn't work. She bought fine draperies when she had no home in which to hang them. She bought dresses she would never wear because she wore only mourning black. While in the White House, she bought 300 pairs of gloves over a period of a few weeks. Purchases remained in their wrappings, never to be opened.

She shopped out of desperation. Perhaps she was even a hoarder.

What she's not remembered for, because she did not allow reporters to accompany her, are her many charitable acts. She visited sick and wounded soldiers with gifts of fruit and wrote home for them. She and her closest friend and confidante, Elizabeth Keckley--- a former slave--purchased blankets to give to the contraband, who were runaway slaves living in camps near the White House.

Finally, she died, and she rests with her husband and children in their tomb in Springfield, Illinois.

So, she lost the things that never brought the comfort she sought.

But, oh, what she gained.