My Wedding's Going to the Dogs

Dear Mama,

I don't know where else to turn. I'm getting married soon, and my groom is getting on my last nerve. I want everything to be perfect, but he's thisclose to ruining my Special Day.

Mama, he wants his Rottweiler in the bridal party. I've tried to tell him this is just too tacky for words, but he won't budge. He says it's the only request he has, and that if I don't honor it, it's a bad omen for our married life together.

First of all, Bear smells like he's been rolling in a dead skunk. Second, that dog's breath will clear out the whole front pew of the church, both the bride's side and the groom's. Third, he can't distinguish between a female dog and a female's leg, if you get my drift. He'll jump on anything that moves, and hump it harder than a piston engine.

I've been having nightmares, seeing our sacred ceremony ruined as Bear gets busy with a bridesmaid's thigh, or the bustle on my gown. The image is just too awful for words. Should I make this a deal-breaker, Mama?

Signed, Mustn't Love Dogs


Dear Musn't,

I'm a little bit biased on this particular topic. My middle daughter Mace and I went round 'n' round on the question of including my pet Pomeranian, Teensy, in my wedding. I just knew that dog would be adorable as the ring-bearer, in his little satin vest and doggy top hat. Mace, always a kill-joy, argued that animals have no place in a wedding.

I suspect she just didn't want the attention diverted from her in that beautiful bridesmaid gown. Don't believe Mace for a minute when she says she hated the gown, in a becoming shade of lime sherbet green, along with a matching ruffled parasol and drawstring purse. Everyone in Himmarshee, Fla., said she and her two sisters looked stunning in their ringlet curls and Scarlett O'Hara, sherbet-colored dresses.

Well, at least they looked stunning until the ''incident,'' when the ruckus started and everyone had to hit the floor.

But I digress. I won the argument with Mace (as I usually do). Teensy prancing down the aisle with Sal's and my wedding rings was one of the cutest moments ever, matrimonially speaking. Of course it didn't hurt to have the dog on hand, considering what happened at the reception.

Oh, you can read all about it in MAMA GETS HITCHED.

So, I say let Bear be in your wedding. It'll make your groom happy, and it won't kill you to let him win this argument (That'll change once you're married, hon). Just to be safe, hide a can of Halt! in your bouquet. If Bear tries to get ''busy,'' just give him a little spritz.

Love,
Mama

Gossip Girl

Dear Mama,

I'm at a big mystery novel convention outside Washington, D.C., and I have a problem. It involves you. Suppose I heard something about you -- something negative. Would you want to know? Or, is gossip best left unrepeated?

Just let me say that I don't for a minute believe this woman who's going around claiming how well she knows you. I mean, really. She says you did a stint in jail. You? A Himmarshee, Fla, Sunday School teacher, in the slammer? And multiple marriages? I mean who'd write into a column for advice on love from a woman who'd already tied the sacred knot of matrimony FOUR times???

I won't even mention what she's telling everybody here about your impending nuptials. (Wedding No. 5. Really?) Suffice to say a Gone-With-the-Wind themed wedding is a bit over-the-top, especially with those Scarlett O'Hara gowns and parasols, and a Pomeranian ring-bearer in a little doggy top hat. Not to mention the murder in the kitchen at the VFW.

Well, I won't tell you the very worst of what she says about you. Please say it's not true, Mama. How can you hand out advice when your own life is in such an uproar?

Sincerely,

A Mystery Fan at Malice Domestic
Arlington, Va.


Dear Mystery Fan,

Let me guess: You ran into that snippy author, Deborah Sharp. Don't believe a word that woman says. She's jealous, is all. She wouldn't even have a career without me. But does she give me a lick of credit?

No, she does not.

I won't even respond to those outlandish claims of hers. You do know Miss Smarty Pants Sharp makes up things for a living, don't you? Take everything she says about me with a grain ... no, a whole box .... of salt.

As for those Scarlett bridesmaid gowns . . .honey you'd have to see how beautiful my three girls looked before you said a word against them. When Betty did their hair in ringlet curls at Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow Beauty Parlor . . . well, that was just the crowning touch. Everybody in Himmarshee said so.

You go find that author gal and tell her to quit spreading gossip about me. There is such a thing as slander. You just remind her my nephew Henry is Himmarshee's top attorney. (I know we only have the two, but still.)

Love,

Mama

We've Got a Winner!

I never go back on my word, y'all. That's why I've let Miss Author take over my space one more time. Here's her announcement.

Those who commented on author Deborah Sharp's guest post April 20 at POWERED BY BOOKS were entered in a drawing. Molly Weston's name was picked to win a signed copy of MAMA RIDES SHOTGUN (Midnight Ink, 2009). Congratulations, Molly!

I second that, Molly. Hope you like MY story.
Sincerely, Mama

Honey, You're too Pushy!

Well, the shoe's on the other foot again, y'all. I need your advice, and fast.

I know this author, let's say her name is Deborah S., and she is just the pushiest thing ever. A little while back, she took over this advice column of mine, here on the Wide World of the Web. Normally, I address the pressing concerns of folks needing help with all sorts of problems. But there she was, yammering on and on about some award or the other. She put up a bunch of pictures (The Monkees??), and made up all sorts of lies. Honestly, I stopped reading after the first three or four paragraphs. That poor gal is just plain boring without the wonderful source material provided to her by a certain matriarch from Himmarshee, Fla.

Anyhoo, she's at it again. Now she wants this space to announce that she's running a contest on April 20 over at the blog of an author friend by the name of Deb Baker . (That raises another question. Do all these author gals have the same name?) Deborah S. wanted me to let you know that all you have to do is comment on her post over at Powered by Books, and you'll be entered in a drawing to win a copy of MAMA RIDES SHOTGUN. She's pushed her way back AGAIN into announcing the winner here, on MY spot, on April 23.

Well, I'll go along, since I happen to know that book is a rip-roaring mystery starring yours truly. But somebody tell me, please, how do I get this pushy author out of my life? Y'all, she's just about to pluck my last nerve! I'd appreciate any advice you can offer, short of committing murder myself . . . Help!

Signed,
Mama

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