Too Close to His Mama

Well, finally!

I put out the word a while back that what with planning my own wedding and all, I'd be glad to take your ''wed-iquette'' questions. I just got my first letter, and I sure have something to say:


Dear Mama,

I'm supposed to get married next summer, but I'm having second thoughts. His mother wants to be involved, which is all fine and good, but she wants to be a little too involved, in my opinion. For example:

Instead of me walking down the aisle with my dad, she wants to walk down the aisle with my fiance, Norman. She wants to give him away.

She wants my bridesmaids to wear this putrid puce color, because that's the color she looks good in. She's already chosen her mother-of-the-groom dress in the same shade, and she wants all the flower arrangements to play off her dress.

We're buying things for the home we'll share, and his mother insists that this clunky wooden rocking chair come with us. My tastes run more to elegant modern furniture. The chair looks like something my great grandma would have stored in the attic.

Finally, I want a home with a nice master bath and big whirlpool tub. But Norman's mother insists a shower will do just fine, and won't take up as much space.

The worst part is, he wants to spend all his time with her, and he never stands up for me. I tell you, it cuts like a knife when he takes her side against me. Do you think I should go ahead with this wedding, Mama?

Signed, Concerned


Dear Concerned,

I have four words for you, darlin.' Rent Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho.

I'm all for children showing respect to their mamas (Mace falls a little short sometimes, to be honest). But your man is waaaaay too close to Mama. That's just going to bring you heartache, honey, or maybe something worse. Forget the rental hall deposit and run for the hills.

If you decide to not take my advice, and marry anyway .... well, just make sure you don't settle for the bathroom with that little shower.

Love,
Mama

Which Are the Lies?

Hey, y'all ...

As promised, I'm making Miss Fancy Pants Author Deborah Sharp fess up today as to what's the truth and what's pure fiction from the claims she made (below) for that Bald Faced Liar Award. I will tell you one thing: Picturing her on that nude beach in her birthday suit on her 50th is enough to ruin my dinner.

Sincerely, Mama

1. I worked as a street mime in Paris the summer after high school. (False ... but it would have been a good fit, since I can't SPEAK French. )



2. I went, sans swimsuit, to a nude beach on my 50th birthday. (True, and I froze. Even though the beach is in Miami, my birthday is in January.)

3. I was a DJ at my college radio station and my stage name was Sexy Sadie. (False)

4. I was a finalist to be a contestant on the first season of ''Survivor.'' (So False)

5. I was an Egyptian queen during one past life; a witch at the Salem trials in another. (False, but would be cool, no? )

6. I won a Hot Bod bikini contest during college Spring Break in Fort Lauderdale. (True. It involved the ingestion of several Rum Runners and a crocheted string bikini. 'Nuff said. )



7. I was selected to be the first journalist in space before NASA's funding dried up. (False)

8. I was arrested for violating a restraining order in a dust-up with the Monkees' Davy Jones. (False, but I did doodle Davy's name on my book covers, convinced we'd marry someday ... Daydream Believer, indeed. )



Congrats to Dru Ann Love, Sue Ann Jaffarian, and Glen Allison, who each guessed correctly on one out of my two truths. Thanks, too, to Alan, Julia, Deb and Victoria for playing along.

Get Friendly, Y'all

Well, I just tallied up the friends that snippy author has on her Facebooks. I'm no math genius, but even I can see she's way ahead of me.

How is it that the most popular person in Himmarshee, Fla., only has 47 Internote friends? I think that smart-aleck Deborah Sharp has done something to sabotage me. I bet she crossed the wires on the Wide World of the Web so that when people try to sign up to be Friends of Mama, they wind up on her page instead.

It's just not fair, y'all. I'm nicer than she is, and I'm a more interesting person, too. I was the head cheerleader AND homecoming queen at Himmarshee High back in .... well, a few years back. It's not braggin' if it's fact! What'd she ever do in high school? Dressed like a hippie and hung out at Surf Beach, that's what. I'm surprised any college would have her.

I'm ready to take things into my own hand. You know how that Ellen De-Something gal on TV has her own flag (and I'm not talking about the Rainbow Flag). Here's what it looks like:



Well, if Ellen can do it, I can too. I intend to conquer Ms. Sharp with a whole slew of new friends on Facebooks. So spread the word. You can sign up here, at Friends of Mama.

I'm declaring war, y'all. It's going to be just like Ellen's quest for world domination. Except all I want is 10 times as many friends as that unnamed author has.

Flattered or Insulted?

Well, y'all ... I don't know whether to take this as a compliment or a dig. Why don't you tell me?

Seems that glory-hogging Deborah Sharp has grabbed another award, created by Lesa Holstein at Lesa's Book Critiques :




Creative Writer ... sounds nice, right? But look what's crossed out: Bald Faced Liar. And Deborah's friend, Sue Ann Jaffarian, nominated this little advice column of mine, not Miss Fancy Pants' boring old author blog, Mystery Gal.

So, does that make Deborah or me the liar? And, do I owe Sue Ann a thank-you?

Well, I'll play along. No one can call Mama a bad sport. Here are the rules:

1.Thank the person who gave this to you. Hmm, thanks (?), Sue Ann.

2.Copy the logo and place it on your blog. Done

3.Link to the person who nominated you. See #1 above.

4.Tell us up to six outrageous lies about yourself, and at least one outrageous truth. Since the Bible tells us to always be truthful, I'm letting Deborah take over here (Lying doesn't seem to bother Miss Fancy Author):

1. I worked as a street mime in Paris the summer after high school.
2. I went, sans swimsuit, to a nude beach on my 50th birthday.
3. I was a DJ at my college radio station and my stage name was Sexy Sadie.
4. I was a finalist to be a contestant on the first season of ''Survivor.''
5. I was an Egyptian queen during one past life; a witch at the Salem trials in another.
6. I won a Hot Bod bikini contest during college Spring Break in Fort Lauderdale.
7. I was selected to be the first journalist in space before NASA's funding dried up.
8. I was arrested for violating a restraining order in a dust-up with the Monkees' Davy Jones.

5. Allow your readers to guess which one or more are true. Go for it, y'all.

6. Nominate seven "Creative Writers" who might have fun coming up with outrageous lies.

Victoria Allman : Following My Stomach
Alan Williamson : Unauthorized Insights
Glen Allison : Fat, Bald and Studly
Julia Buckley : Mysterious Musings
Deb Baker : Inside Looking Out
Pamela James and Terri Parsons : Mayhem & Magic
Mike Befeler : Author of ''Geezer Lit'' mysteries


7. Post links to the seven blogs you nominate. Done, see bloggers above.

8. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know you nominated them. All set.

Okay, y'all ... I'll ask Fancy Pants Deborah to announce here two weeks from today which of her statements above are whoppers.

Sincerely,
Mama

Wedding Etiquette: What to do with a Dead Caterer

Well, hey y'all! Long time no see. Sal and I are finally back from our honeymoon in Branson, Missouri, with a side-trip to the casinos in Gulfport, Mississippi. Sal rolled snake-eyes, but I had a good night at the nickel slots.

While I was gone, the new book cover arrived for my next story, MAMA GETS HITCHED. (It doesn't come out 'til July, but you can jump the gun and order it now before they run out!) You'd think that snippy author, Deborah Sharp, might have asked for my input before the publisher went ahead and put the cover together . . . but, no. She's all about being the boss and grabbing all the glory, even though she just writes down what I actually live. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have had those Slim Jims and pickled eggs on the bar. I did NOT serve pickled eggs at my wedding!

Getting around to my point: I've just been through the whole wedding thing, so I'm advertising myself as an expert now. I've always gotten letters asking for advice on love, fashion, and family feuds. But now y'all can write in with wedding questions, too.

I mean once you start off your nuptials with a murdered caterer, there's not a whole lot that can throw you. Looking back, I might not have had my Pomeranian, Teensy, as the ring bearer, considering what happened .... but you can read all about it in MAMA GETS HITCHED (Midnight Ink, July 2010).

Now, send in those letters, y'all!

If Only BUBBA Got Run Over by a Reindeer

Dear Mama, Here it is almost Christmas, and I still don't know what to do about my husband's drunken uncle, Bubba. He's managed to ruin every holiday dinner his family has ever had. This is my first year hosting at our home, and I flat-out do not want that sorry loser at my dinner table.

It'd be one thing if the man was a cheerful drunk. But he gets meaner than a rattlesnake with every swallow, and just as likely to strike. Last year, he told Donnie's cousin Toya she ought to lose some of her excess baby weight, and the only way to do it was to quit stuffing her face like she was still eating for two. PS: Toya was never pregnant.

When her boyfriend stood up to defend her, Bubba knocked him into the just-carved turkey. When the poor boy hit the floor, he brought down the bird and three side dishes. Donnie's mama was picking giblets and creamed corn out of her shag carpet for a week after. Should Bubba be banned, Mama?

Sincerely,
Doesn't Like Drunks


Dear Doesn't,

Honey, I have been there, done that. Husband No. 2 was an awful drinker, and three of his brothers were alkies, too. When those four got together, it was like backsliders' night at the Halfway House. One Fourth of July, those mo-rons brought two cases of fireworks to set off. I'm here to tell you Jack Daniels and explosives do not make a good match.

No. 2's youngest brother blew off his right thumb. After the ambulance took him away, the oldest two got into a fight about whose fault it was. One pulled out a gun and started shooting. Everybody dove for cover, including that sourpuss Ida, who nearly fractured a hip trying to hide under the picnic table.

So, my answer is yes, lock your door and hide the key. Tell Bubba he's banned from your family table until he takes those 12 Steps. Of course, that's no reason the rest of y'all can't enjoy a little nip of holiday cheer. I always say the worst parties come down to either too much liquor or not enough. Believe me, a little glass of pink wine is about the only thing that makes my sister-in-law Ida tolerable.

Love,
Mama

What Goes Best with the Red Carpet?

Oh my stars, y'all! I'm getting an award!!!!

Somebody on this Wide World of the Web has decided my little advice column is one of the Top 100 Mystery Novel Blogs. Check out the logo on the upper right hand portion of this page. That makes it official!

I'm pretty sure they meant the Top 10, but I'm not going to quibble .... I'm sure before the red carpet ceremony in Hollywood, they'll get all the figures straightened out. I bet the same accounting firm that handles the votes for the Academy Awards is going to tally up our votes, too, to see who's No. 1.

But enough of this boring talk about math. What in the world am I going to wear? Now, here's where I can use y'all's help. Being the best-dressed woman in Himmarshee, Fla., is one thing. But Hollywood? That's a whole 'nother universe. I do not want to end up as a red-carpet fashion victim, like that poor gal from Iceland who draped the swan across her neck and called it a dress. Here's a picture, in case you don't remember (though, honestly, how could you forget?)




I just hope when I'm up there at the podium, accepting my award for the Top Blog on the whole Wide World of the Web, that they don't let that rapper fellow, Kenny West, anywhere near the stage. Did y'all see the way he grabbed the microphone away from that sweet Taylor Swift the other night? Poor girl looked like she plucked the biscuit with the hair out of the bread basket.

All I can say is thank goodness Beyonce's mama taught her some manners. I got a tear in my eye when Beyonce's turn came at the podium, and she called Taylor up to have her say. And I sure did like that red dress Beyonce had on, too. Hey, if any of y'all happen to see her, tell Beyonce to drop me a line at Ask Mama. The high heel is on the other foot. I could sure use some of her advice on award ceremony fashion do's. This is my moment on the red carpet, and I do not intend to be a fashion don't.

(Note to Mace: Honey, have those Hollywood people called yet? I do not understand why they're waiting 'til the last minute to iron out the details of when and where I'm getting my worldwide award).

Somebody Needs a Good Slappin'

Well, hello friends! I'm not that great on the computer, and I don't talk directly too much to all my readers. But listen, y'all, somebody is going to have to speak to that author gal, Deborah Sharp.

She's supposed to be working on my fourth story -- MAMA SEES STARS. It's all about how a Hollywood movie company comes to Himmarshee, and I get myself a speaking part. There was a spot of trouble over a murder, and a couple of near misses, too ... but I absolutely nailed (that's how the Hollywood actors say it: Nailed) my role as Ruby, a beautiful dancehall gal. You can ask anybody. And wait until you see me in Ruby's red dress. I don't look a day over 50. (Mace: erase that 50 to say 40, would you honey?)

Anyhoo, this is the problem: Miss Fancy Pants Author is not working on my latest story. Oh, no. Says she's too busy promoting the first two books. Oh, she had to take off time from writing about me to go all the way to New York City and be on TV. Maybe you saw her on the Today Show? That Natalie Morales is cute as a button, but Miss Too-Big-for-her-Britches barely mentioned ME. She's been flying off to Chicago, then to something called Killer Nashville (I'd like to kill something, and it ain't Nashville!), and then she's going to Vero Beach, and then north to Indianapolis.

And, 'promoting??' Hons, my stories sell themselves. That's how good they are. She makes it sound like she's having to coerce the Baptists to serve beer in their fellowship hall.

I want y'all to show up at one of them signings or talks or panels or whatever it is she has scheduled and give Miss Big-time a talking-to. I wouldn't even mind if you speak forcefully, if you get my drift. I've always thought she could stand to have a little sense slapped upside her head.

You tell her she better get back to work on STARS. There are thousands upon thousands of people (well, a hundred or two, at least) on the edge of their seats to see what's gonna happen next in Mama's life. You tell her authors are a dime a dozen, but there's only one Mama. And since that's me, Mama, I just might find me another scribbler to finish up properly what Litte Missy started on MAMA SEES STARS.

(Mace, you'll be sure to fix that typo about looking 50 before you mail this to the Wide World of the Web, won't you?)

Would you believe: Iguana Urine a Form of Welcome?

Dear Mama,
An iguana just let loose on my mother-in-law. Maybe you heard the scream all the way up in Himmarshee? She was relaxing in the shade of a palm tree on the dock behind our house, when all of a sudden: SPLASH. This was a BIG iguana, so it was a veritable tsunami of reptile pee rolling down from the palm fronds.

I tried to tell her this is life in south Florida ... a sweet manatee and calf meander by in the river one moment, a river of iguana ick rains down the next.

She's convinced, however, I somehow arranged for the iguana to be positioned high in the branches of the palm tree, right over the lawn chair she'd decide to use. Have you seen the claws on those suckers? I wouldn't try to position one ANYWHERE.

So, Mama, what should I do now? How does a daughter-in-law make right what nature has wrought?

Sincerely,
Iguana Fan


Dear Iggy,

Well, honey ... are you sure you want to make it right? I've had 4 mother-in-laws, including one that moved in for a year. What I wouldn't have given for an incontinent iguana or two.

But if you really do want to get back on her good side (she does have a good side, right?), then you have to cook her a nice meal to make-up. That, and some fragrant soap and shampoo to get rid of the stench of iguana pee.

I went on the Wide World of the Web (it's amazing, really, what-all you can find on that Infonet). How 'bout some Iguana Stew? They say it tastes like chicken. This St. Petersburg, Fla., newsman, Jeff Klinkenberg, writes all about it here.

Good luck, honey. And watch out for those claws. I mean your mother-in-law's, not the poor lizard's.

Love,
Mama

Rodeo Wear?

Dear Mama,

I'm going to be in Okeechobee, Fla., on Sat., July 25th, to celebrate National Day of the American Cowboy (Who knew we had one?) I know that's pretty close to your hometown of Himmarshee, so I'm hoping you have some advice for me on what to wear.

I have to be comfortable, since I'll be at the Agri-civic center rodeo grounds for several hours, talking about and signing my book, MAMA RIDES SHOTGUN. It's very hot this time of year in middle Fla., I know. May I dress accordingly?

Sincerely,
A Fan in Fort Lauderdale


Dear ''Fan,''

Honey, you aren't fooling me one bit with that young gal you sent a picture of. I know who you are: Deborah Sharp, Miss Snippy Author. Plus, that little gal in the cowgirl mini is young enough to be your granddaughter.

I know we've had our issues, what with you stealing all my stories for your books and all. But I'll do the Christian thing. I forgive you. And, I'm big enough to offer you my fashion advice. Lord knows you need it.

First of all, yes, it's warm. July here is hotter than two rats getting it on in a wool sock. But no short shorts (please, not in any setting, not at your age) and no halter tops (Gravity, honey. 'Nuff said.) You'll need a cowboy hat. And jeans are always in style in Himmarshee. One last thing, if your husband comes with you, tell him no Bermuda shorts and NO sandals. Those ''mandals'' will mark y'all as outsiders faster than trying to order a cappuccino at the Booze 'n' Breeze Drive-thru.

PS: It might have been nice, since I'm so close to Okeechobee, if you'd have invited me to be there for the big signing for OUR book. It's okay. I forgive you for that, too. But honey, you are pushin' your luck.

Love (?),
Mama