I am super excited to announce the release of, Best Friend For Christmas. It is the first book to the series of tales of Promise and Snow-po.
I am super excited to announce the release of, Best Friend For Christmas. It is the first book to the series of tales of Promise and Snow-po.
I am excited to announce my first children’s book called ‘Promise and Snow-po.’ It will be a series. I have another one soon to publish and am currently working on one. These books are about a small boy named Promise and his little dog Snow-po. I hope you have the chance to download or order one. The watercolor illustrations are bright and beautiful.
Don’t forget to purchase a print, pillow, t-shirt, bag or more of an image from your favorite new book Promise and Snow-po at:
The past week, my husband and I spent our entire time cuddled on the couch watching back to back episodes of Entourage. I am talking all eight seasons. It was easy for the both of us to get caught up in the show, because we never heard of the show before the movie. The show definitely sucked us right in.
As a couple, we both understood how Ari could simply take his wife for granted. It is hard to balance family life with work.
We also loved the way Ari built, clawed, fought and negotiated strategy to get to the top of agents. Ari did not have the best ethics, but he worked hard and never let “no” stop him for getting what he wanted.
Finances of the star Vince and his friends pretty much sums up life. Money comes and money goes. It seems like there is never enough and when you have it life is a hell of a lot better than when you don’t.
My husband enjoyed the negotiations and strategy throughout the show along with the wide variety of tits, asses, hot girls, hot cars and the appearances of real directors, writers, studio executives and actors. For me, my favorite part was the writing. I enjoyed the dialogue. I thought it was a well written show. I enjoyed how scripts were evaluated on the show. I have always dreamed of being a writer, even with the frustration of Final Draft software. I know what I want to write. I know what I like to write about. I even know my limitations on what I can and cannot write. It never really occurred to me that all that shit doesn’t really matter. What really matters is what the audience of movies and television want.
In reality I could write the best movie ever about a cat that can crotchet small hats to be sold on Etsy, but in reality no matter how well that script or novel is written not many are going to pay a dollar to read or see it.
I just want to tell the casts, directors, and writers of “Entourage” thank you. Thank you for letting me to finally understand the business. If it was not for me sitting on my sofa ordering pizza multiple times with my husband for the past seven days, I might still be trying to sell my handcrafted piece of shit. Now, I am a wishful writer with nothing, but hey at least I am not wasting anyone’s time.
If you want to know more at Entourage please check it out at: http://www.hbo.com/entourage/about/video/entourage-hbo-first-look.html?autoplay=true
Good bye old resolutions. You can let the door kick you in the ass on your way out. It is less than 6 hours away to 2016. If you are reading this, you are more than your resolutions. Life happens. Fat happens. Shit happens. Accidents happen. Most of all, you are more than any resolution you write down on paper.
F*&^% me, of course I do believe that one must have goals, but hey like I said earlier life happens. If you lost your job, got sick, had an accident, lost a loved one then it is going to affect your ability to knock down and achieve your resolutions.
My 2015 was pretty good. I did not achieve one goal on my list. I am still over weight. I still have a shit load of student loans. I lost my job, but hell I made the best with what I got. Family, friends, passions, and humor are what made my year great. I spent my time making memories and enjoying the moment. I did not focus on the stupid list of resolutions on my refrigerator; instead, I just focused on what I did have.
If you don’t have money, life can suck and throw you down and spit in your face. I’ve been there. If you have a sense of humor, maybe a sick one, you can use that to motivate you to not let life keep you down.
Stay positive. Ask for help. Take hand ups, but do not suck the life from your resources. Most of all focus on the one goal that has stuck in your fat stressed out head since you were little. That voice, that one in the back the one you try to hush with doubts, well, that is your passion.
You might just suck when you start doing whatever it is that you want to do; however, in time, I am talking shit loads of time, you will get better. Don’t give up. Your passion is the spark in you that will give you that boost of mojo to get through those shitty days. I am taking about one of those days where you are on your knees wondering where the hell to go next. Again, FU resolutions and hello long term goals.
Visit my gallery at Fine Art America
Losing my Christmas Spirit
This year I began my holiday preparations early. I started my holiday layaway in July. Making payments every week even though I had lost my job after returning from summer vacation. I would not let the economy foster or predict Christmas of 2015.
I began to put holiday lights on the house two weeks before Thanksgiving. It was nothing elaborate, but after recovering from a very painful injury, surgery, three weeks of bedrest, crawling up and down the stairs of my home on all fours and scooting on a scooter, while my neighbors continued to park in front of my house I would not let the last Christmas before my son went off to college to be ruined.
Hours of watching holiday movies on the Hallmark Channel, hours upon hours of baking for the troops in my spouse’s Army unit my spirit level was in the high marks. The holiday season was full of bonding with my son and husband as we went to dinners, visited Christmas lights and as they helped me packed the baked goods for the troops.
Sounds perfect, so how did it all just go to shit?
It all began with the best of my intentions for the Senior holiday party my son asked me to make my grandmother’s recipe of rocky road fudge or my own chocolate chip cookies. For some wild crazy reason, I did not do either; instead, I went out to purchase one of those fancy cookie cakes with a colored icing drawing of a Christmas tree and the message of “Merry Christmas Class of 2016.”
Unknowing that this would upset him, as each day passed he got more and more passive aggressive towards me. Then Friday night before Christmas, I pushed my family again to do more holiday events. We piled in the car to see the live Nativity scene. My son was rude, but quiet, my husband was distracted, but we went even with the family dog.
As we drove through the holiday light displays my son and husband began to spout out knowledge of the Angels in the bible. I began to interject, but only to hear from my husband, “I am Catholic. I know about Angels. I am not sure what bible you read.”
I am Methodist. I am the smartest person to attend service and often I don’t, but I do read the bible almost every day. Then my teenage son began to spice things up with his own comments.
Once out of the park, my husband exclaims, “Let’s drive by the movie theater to see the turnout on the Star Wars movie.” Which we did. We drove around the parking lot. Across the street from the movie theater was a home with beautiful lights. I demanded with great energy, “Let’s drive through to look at the lights.” We did. Then out of the conversation, my son and husband begin to exclaim how I have nothing positive to say about the movie theater. I try to defend myself, but under the two I felt very attacked. I wept. Then my weepy tears became small rivers. My perfect holiday was coming to a crash.
The battle continued to the point where my son was telling me how he was disgusted with my political point of views. Over and over I felt battered with each verbal blow. Back at home, I took my dog and retreated to the bedroom to cry myself to sleep.
The next morning we woke up at 7 am to go watch Star Wars. The viewing of this movie was more important to my husband than anything I had ever witnessed in our ten plus years of marriage. After the movie, like every good battle never completed, it pressed on with more verbal attacks on one another.
My son, mad, upset and ashamed of me came to me to resolve the underlying issues that caused all his frustrations towards me. One after another fault of mine that came from his lips hurt but were true. I did not view the world’s problems the same as him. My fears of guns was real from my own experiences as his were not, because he never been in similar situations. My kind acts were not his wishes. My views of the holiday, bible, and religion were not the same. All these were true. Then I said, “Son, I am only a portion of your views. You were born of a man that no longer visits, talks or writes to you, but genetically you have some of his characteristics. Your step father has been nurturing you into a young man for over ten years, of course you are going to value his opinions and such. I don’t want you to be like me, or even like the same things I do. I just want you to be able to tolerate that I am who I am based on my experiences through life. My views are my own, but don’t judge me for them.”
Now, today is Sunday, four days before Christmas. My family has been shaken apart from our holiday spirit by our points of interest, actions, views and history, but I will not let the negativity destroy our holidays. Instead, I will not lose heart. Galatians 6:1-10 talks about in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.
For any of you readers who have had Christmas stolen from you by loss of job, surgery or illness, miles apart, politics, financial hardships, deaths, injustices or anything else do not give up on your holiday spirit. There are so many places to fill up your spirit and break down the walls that separate us from our loved ones. My gift to you, is I love you all. I wish you all a Merry Christmas!
This is one of my recent oil paintings of my little Shih-Tzu sitting on a bale of hay with pumpkins. As most of you know, my best friend, my former dog, Molly passed. This little white and black puff ball has filled my heart with joy. She knew Molly and they were very close, but now this dog has the splendor of making me feel again. I love her so much!!
Molly will always be in my heart. To get past the healing, I picked up a paint brush and this came out. Ever since, I have not been able to stop myself from creating paintings of my loves. Visit my gallery at www.ArtPal.com/Jennifercvazquez
There once was a little girl named Sara. She lived in an apartment building in Manhattan overlooking Central Park. Her mother was busy with social engagements while her father worked many hours as a pilot. During the war, Sara’s father flew commercial jets for the military transporting soldiers to the battlefield in the Middle East.
One day two pristine dressed military men arrived at the apartment. Sara’s mother sat solemnly in the living room talking to the two men decorated with ribbons and medals pinned to their chest. Sara was curious, but she stayed in her room till the men left.
Over the course of the following week Sara attended her father’s funeral, assisted her mother with packing all their belongings and moved from New York City to a small cabin in the Rockie Mountains of Colorado. The house had no internet, no cable or satellite television and no telephone except for her mother’s cell phone. It was summer time so Sara spent most of her time coloring or playing with her dolls, but she missed her father, her friends and looking out her old bedroom window watching Central Park. New York City glistened with lights, sidewalks were full of people and streets are adorned with rows of traffic. Now, in the mountains Sara was feeling incredibly lonely without her father, the quietness of her mother and her new view from her cabin window.
One day from Sara’s window she watched humming birds dance around the flowers. Attracted by the small birds Sara went outside to play near the rocks of the Colorado River. She tossed rocks into the water, chased a frog and watched birds play. As Sara was getting up to walk back home, something glistening in the grass caught her attention. She walked over to the object. It was a very small bird egg. It was partially covered by broken pieces of what looked like a bird’s nest. Sara looked around for a mother bird. There was no sign. It was getting late so Sara picked up the little bird egg and gently wrapped it in some leaves to carry it home. She showed the small egg to her mother. Together they made a small home for the egg in an old shoe box. They borrowed a heat lamp from the veterinarian to shine on the small abandoned egg. Sara and her mother were now busy taking care of the small egg. One day they noticed the egg beginning to hatch. The next morning a baby bird was born. Sara and her mother fed the bird with food drops from the local veterinarian.
Before long the small baby bird began to walk in the box. Sara and her mother bought an antique bird-cage from the flea market to make as his new home.
“Momma, the bird’s feathers are turning yellow.”
“Let me see. Hmmm, they do look rather yellow compared to the gray they used to be. I’m still not certain what kind of bird it is, but in time we will know.”
Over the following days the baby bird grew more and more yellow feathers. “Momma, I think the bird is a Canary.”
“Sara, I don’t think Canaries are native to Colorado.”
“Can I name it?”
“I’m wanna name it Lemon Drop.”
“That is a very odd name.”
“I know, but It’s yellow feathers remind me of daddy’s favorite candy, lemon drops. Will that make you sad?”
“No honey, I think Lemon Drop will be fine.”
Lemon Drop grew in to a strong beautiful Canary. Through out the year, Lemon Drop sang songs, talked, and perched on her Sara’s shoulders. Lemon Drop brought joy back in to Sara and her mother’s life. The two of them were once again happy.
The following fall, Sara went to bed with the window open. A rain storm with gusting winds blew into her room chilling Lemon Drop. The next morning he had a cold. Lemon Drop sat at the bottom of his cage looking ill instead of singing, talking or perching. All day long he did not eat or drink. Sara and her mother took Lemon Drop to the veterinarian. She prescribed him medicine drops. The following days Sara and her mother gave the medicine to Lemon Drop, but his health was not improving.
“Momma, is Lemon Drop going to leave us like daddy did?”
“Sara, daddy did not leave us. He passed away.”
“I don’t want Lemon Drop to pass away. I miss daddy. I’m going to miss Lemon Drop.”
“Lemon Drop is not going to leave us.”
“Then where is he going?”
“Lemon Drop is going to shed his wings for larger wings. His new wings will be so grand he will fly above the clouds and among the stars and back down to us.”
“But, I won’t get to hear his song.”
“If you listen closely you will hear his song among the whistling winds.”
“But, I won’t get to feel the warmth of him perched on my shoulders and the tickles of his feathers on my neck.”
“If you go outside the rays of the sun is the warm touch of his love.”
“Momma, I’m going to miss Lemon Drop like I miss daddy.”
“Sara, Lemon Drop might be fine. Give the medicine time to do its work. Your daddy never left us. Your daddy like Lemon Drop has grown wings to soar the sky and stars. His love is in the warm touch of the sun’s rays. Daddy’s voice is scrambled in the winds. Daddy never left us, he ascended. He is above us. Daddy is here and will always be here for you. Let’s go to bed. Tomorrow Lemon Drop may feel much better.”
The next morning, Sara woke up to find Lemon Drop perched on his swing singing.
“Shut up and get in the fucking car!” shouted her husband out of the car window as she stood on the curb.
She stopped arguing with her son for a moment to catch a glimpse of her husband sitting in the car. She mumbled, “I’ll leave one day. I’ll go somewhere where I’m wanted and loved,” as she was getting in the car.
“No one loves you,” mumbled her son.
She sat in the front seat of the car looking out the passenger window. She silently cried all the way home. She was not mad at her husband as much as she was at her son. He might have not meant it, but her whole life she had felt that way. Teenagers are supposed to push our buttons, but this was more like a nuclear launch.
Lexy had always felt like a piece of shit on one wanted. It could be because her mother always reminder her how she attempted three homemade abortions to kill her, but failed. Her mother found out she was pregnant at four months gestation and was unable to qualify for a medical abortion, so instead they were both cursed for a life a misery.
Back home, her son went upstairs to play on the computer. Her husband sat in the living room watching golf. Lexy went to sit outside on the back porch stairs. She tried silent tears till they stopped flowing. She always knew raising a son without his natural father would be difficult, but not personal. It did not help that his stepfather had a short temper. Lexy and her son were broken but wouldn’t be for long.