Blog number 3 – 17 September 2019 –


Hey there, Jaye Hawks, and welcome to Blog uno, dos, tres!

BTW… that’s my fond new moniker for all you rock stars who are awesome enough to spare a few short moments outta their busy-ass days (or nights) to support this fledgling author in her assorted ramblings, and words of unwisdom. I decided pretty much out of the gates that Jaye Birds was just too dang wimpy.

Yeah, no namby-pamby birdies for this gal… I like me some fierce Hawks!

Anyhow, now that we’ve got that shit straight, I’m diving right into this week’s theme, which I will mournfully christen: Summer’s Over. Waaaahhhhhh!

Seriously, can you even believe it? Wha’ the heck happened?
Oh, the cruelty, the hideousness, the utter despair!

Wait, wait… what’s that, ye say?

Drama Queen? Moi?

Well, okay, maybe a wee tad. But c’mon… take a gander at that photo, if you please. Positively bucolic, no? Me and my furry sidekick, chillin’ out in the bright, hot sun. Green, green grass. Pretty flowers. Nice, brimming goblet of vino you can’t see ‘cuz it’s under the chaise, in the shade.

(And yes, good eye… that is a monster bruise decorating my not-so-slender thigh. Some oblivious idiot opened her car door on me while I was biking. Hard. Real hard. And. The. Bitch. Barely. Even. Apologized!)

No worries. JC believes in Karma, bigtime.

Getting back to that despair thing: Come on, I double dawg dare ya to disagree!
I personally contend unless one happens to A): be lucky enough to park their caboose year-round in some tranquil clime, B): possess a doting Aussie auntie who craves their extended companionship Down Under, or C): tout their ass as some kind of alpine sport-loving freakazoid, (unfathomable) you know damned well what I’m talking about. Don’t you dare lie, now!

Newsflash: this is the Northeast, people. The Big Kahuna of blizzards, whiteouts, frozen nostrils, and other assorted evils. In my book? Once September draws to  a close, ain’t much to look forward to, weather-wise, until Mother Nature fast forwards her little tushie approximately six to eight months.

You heard me right. Six. To. Eiiiiiiiiight. And that there is no exaggeration. Born and bred in the arctic tundra, this flurry hater knows of what she speaks.
To quote the wise and wonderful Billy Joe Shaver: “I wasn’t born no yesterday!”

Uh huh, yeah, sure, yep… I know what you’re thinking. There is the pretty autumn, I’ll grant you that. A truly wondrous season. Gorgeous leaves, pumpkins and gourds, brisk walks in cozy sweaters, yadda, yadda, yadda. But that Hallmark crap always ends way too soon. Sometimes, practically immediately!

(Helloooooo… you never heard of THE OCTOBER ICE STORM? Believe you me, if you’re from the land of the Buffalo, you sure as snowflakes have!)

And then, just like that… it’s the W word. No, not Watermelon Mojito, you fool. Haven’t you been listening? WINTER! Yes, dagnabbit, winter. A truly diabolical word in JC’s vocabulary.

Brrr… month after month of frigid temps, treacherous sidewalks, and towering skyscrapers of snow. No bright, hot sun! No green, green grass! No pretty flowers! All that’s gonna make the cut from my happy little snapshot with Hazel is that not-pictured (but trust me, it’s there) glass of vino. Or more like, once the snow starts flying, the whole durn bottle!

Alright, I’ve said my piece. What can I say… the whole thing just sorta snuck up on me. I need time to adjust! I mean, my friggin’ tootsies were freezing last night. Freezing! In fact, they haven’t even thawed out yet. Not hardly at all!

But seriously, I’m good now. It’s off my chest. I’ll survive. I’ll cope. I’ll overcome. And maybe this year, it won’t be that bad. Maybe, I’ll actually get ‘into it’. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll try my hand at a fun, frostbite-inducing snowy sport. One with skis, or skates, or boards. One where I get to pile on puffy parkas, and dorky toques, and awful, shiny pants… all of which succeed in making Yours Truly look approximately seventy-three pounds heavier.


Sometimes, I really crack myself up.

Okay, enough of the doom and gloom. Stop it right now, Missy!

Hawks, starting this very nanosecond I’m gonna quit bitchin’, and morph into a veritable Positive Petunia. From this moment on, I’m gonna think nothing but upbeat, non-subzero thoughts. I’m gonna pray reeeeal hard for a reeeeally long, precipitation-free fall. That’s about all a body can do, I figure, once the lazy, hazy days of summer have dissipated like so many mulched dandelions under hubby’s out-of-control lawnmower. (Lord, that man is nothing short of dangerous!)

Yessiree, JC’s gonna pray for the best. Or better yet, Pray, Eat, and Love. Wasn’t that the name of some popular book, or a hit movie a few years back?

Or wait. Was it Eat, Love, Pray? Nah, that doesn’t sound right.

Pray, Drink, Pray? Nope.

Hmm. Maybe Love, Eat, Sleep?

Eat, Pray, Watch Netflix? Perhaps, but I’d switch out the pray for drink.

Sleep, Screw, Sleep? Hell, that can’t be right!

Eat, Eat, Eat? Sounds fun, but no.

Love, Drink, Shovel? Trying to embrace the season, here!

Ah, bugger it. Let’s just stick with the original: Pray.

And, really… if Old Man Winter does decide to turn into a real bastard?
JC will just have to barricade herself indoors with adequate sustenance, and get a shitload of saucy, steamy writing under her belt!

A brand-new, second trilogy by Spring 2020!

Yes, Hawks, I’m going for it, so stay tuned with me throughout my journey!
*Friend me! *Follow me! *Spread the word!

And thank you from the bottom of my winter-hating, dirty little heart!

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Over and out for now. In humor, love, ‘n lust,