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Upcoming Event
I hope to make an appearance at the Ottawa Romance Book Fair, when a date is officially announced for 2027. This is a one-day event held at the Conference Centre, so check back soon for updates.
I hope to make an appearance at the Ottawa Romance Book Fair, when a date is officially announced for 2027. This is a one-day event held at the Conference Centre, so check back soon for updates.
2025-05-29
Each day of the week is viewed in a wholly different perspective by each individual, all depending on the kind of work they do, and with what frequency they adopt to carry out their role. I've stated openly many times that I'm a Monday to Friday gal who observes a 37.5 hour work-week, according to my submitted timesheet, yet I rarely take breaks or a lunch. I'd rather work through my lunch to keep up with the workload, rather than have to remain later in the day or to work during the weekends. All to say, I observe a reasonably regular routine when it comes to my work schedule.
And yet, I view each week day as its own entity and I regard this standard based on my emotional state of mind which fluctuates like a breeze curling in between the leaves of trees, swaying non-stop. At least for the past four years I've been posting a morning greeting on X and elsewhere with regard to the week days. I try to be amusing, despite my frame of mind on some days, all the while attempting to be original with these brief posts. So, here for your amusement are observations on each weekday, and some minor comments about our glorious weekends.
Monday: What Holy hell is this? Who in their right mind ever thought that Monday would be embraced as a fruitful day during the week. Surely not me. I'm not oblivious to the fact that most professionals arrive into work, triage their email, and then very quickly arrive at the conclusion they're swamped. Enter freak-out mode. Yet, oddly enough no work day during the week goes as quickly as does Monday, you slippery bastard. There was a song written about how much Mondays are disliked, based on an elementary school shooting that took place in 1979, where the gunman (female) when asked why she killed, had tersely replied, "I don't like Mondays!" This flippant response inspired Bob Geldof of The Boomtown Rats to write his famous song 'I don't like Mondays'. That expression became part of pop culture when graffiti showing these very words was flashed in the movie, The Breakfast Club. Perhaps everyone can relate to this expression, though maybe not the urge to randomly take lives. Oh Monday... it's nothing personal but you are truly, sincerely, unabashedly disliked.
Tuesday: Sleep feels better because the night prior to Monday is often fitful at best, which means your exhaustion on Monday will work with you when it comes time to sleep, rather than against you. And so you begin Tuesday hopeful that it will pass without drama, and if the weather is nice you'll be able to end it by enjoying a meal with friends, partners or family, a work out, a walk outside, or pretty much anything that suits your fancy. Decades ago this cherished day of the week was reserved for Tuesday night movies, when theatres slashed prices in half and theatres were packed. I miss these days. Back then, I loved Tuesday night movies. I'd hit my favourite theatre, the Somerset in Ottawa, which had capacity for 750 people, and was equipped with a massive 70 mm Dolby sound system. The Somerset played first run movies. I saw Lawrence of Arabia for the first time at the Somerset Theatre. This awesome flic was originally released in 1962 and then re-mastered, by the time it was shown at the Somerset in 1997. The theatre was packed, and I know this movie is the sole reason for my fascination with visiting the desert in the Middle East. Watching the movie on a massive screen made you feel like you were in the desert on a camel alongside Peter O'Toole, whose piercing eyes were like a beacon of ocean-blue.
Wednesday: The hump in the middle of the week that won't go away because we need it, we want it, and we love to drop sexual innuendos about Wednesday's horniness. There appears to be no end in sight for this tired-old joke. I make this associative link myself pretty much every time we hit on Wednesday. Is there no end to the imagination when it comes to naughty innuendos? I think not and I hope not. Wednesday also represents the mid-point of the work week that once reached a sigh of relief is audible, knowing there are fewer days to survive before the weekend.
Thursday: In like Flint! This lovely day of the week is often viewed as Throwback Thursday or junior Friday and I see why. Many will make their weekend longer during the summer months by taking Friday off, which makes Thursday feel like a Friday and, who doesn't need this kind of morale boost? Thursday therefore is also regarded by me and others to be Thirsty Thursday when the patios call out to you in summer; they are packed with people and seating is at a premium. But there is no mistaken the clear message: "Oh just have one! How can one frosty cold beer hurt on a patio with your loved one?" Answer: It cannot hurt. You've earned it. Go out and do it!
Friday: You are my fantastic bastard and we love you! We love you! We love you! I had one friend who worked at a local area hospital on shift work, and he did so for years, handling multiple shifts from early morning or to begin working at midnight. He never understood what it meant to bask in the glow of Friday, until he changed jobs and worked for a transportation company during the week day. For me, Friday in some ways feels better than Saturday because I've endured the slings and arrows of work, only to survive to the end of the week, knowing Friday evening will welcome me with open arms and a kiss. Yes! We love you Friday! Let us all agree. đź‘Ź
Saturday: Familial obligations and household chores often derail the beginning of a perfectly good Saturday morning. I speak with many people when I go about my business on weekends, if I have to visit multiple stores to pick up things, to take advantage of lower prices where offered. When I chat with cashiers in grocery stores, who attend Uni full-time, they tell me that Saturday is just another working day. They need to earn money for next year's tuition. Saturday night, however... well, Saturday night is an awesome feeling knowing the afternoon and night are yours to do with as you please. Some head out Saturday morning to their cottage or trailer, and let the fun begin once they've removed themselves from their regular life.
Sunday: If I told you the number of people who tell me that their dread sets in on Sunday evening, knowing that the work day begins early morning, it shouldn't come as a surprise. Sunday morning is a perfect day for a brunch or a cycle, which is how I like to spend my Sunday afternoon, weather permitting. But come early evening, I, too, begin to feel the worry that settles into my stomach like a slow-cooked oatmeal that hasn't digested properly. I compartmentalize all the work I know that is coming down the pike.
Whether you co-exist with a Monday to Friday life or a shift-work kind of life, know that CEOs work all the time, even when they're on vacation. I've supported many Execs in my career and I can guarantee you that their work doesn't recognize days of the week, not days, not evenings. Their high-level work thrives on a keen-eye to pay attention to detail, and precious details cross barriers when it comes to truncated blocks of time.
Tick tock. Tick tock. The clock is ticking! The days are speeding by your nose. Hurry up and get busy!
And yet, I view each week day as its own entity and I regard this standard based on my emotional state of mind which fluctuates like a breeze curling in between the leaves of trees, swaying non-stop. At least for the past four years I've been posting a morning greeting on X and elsewhere with regard to the week days. I try to be amusing, despite my frame of mind on some days, all the while attempting to be original with these brief posts. So, here for your amusement are observations on each weekday, and some minor comments about our glorious weekends.
Monday: What Holy hell is this? Who in their right mind ever thought that Monday would be embraced as a fruitful day during the week. Surely not me. I'm not oblivious to the fact that most professionals arrive into work, triage their email, and then very quickly arrive at the conclusion they're swamped. Enter freak-out mode. Yet, oddly enough no work day during the week goes as quickly as does Monday, you slippery bastard. There was a song written about how much Mondays are disliked, based on an elementary school shooting that took place in 1979, where the gunman (female) when asked why she killed, had tersely replied, "I don't like Mondays!" This flippant response inspired Bob Geldof of The Boomtown Rats to write his famous song 'I don't like Mondays'. That expression became part of pop culture when graffiti showing these very words was flashed in the movie, The Breakfast Club. Perhaps everyone can relate to this expression, though maybe not the urge to randomly take lives. Oh Monday... it's nothing personal but you are truly, sincerely, unabashedly disliked.
Tuesday: Sleep feels better because the night prior to Monday is often fitful at best, which means your exhaustion on Monday will work with you when it comes time to sleep, rather than against you. And so you begin Tuesday hopeful that it will pass without drama, and if the weather is nice you'll be able to end it by enjoying a meal with friends, partners or family, a work out, a walk outside, or pretty much anything that suits your fancy. Decades ago this cherished day of the week was reserved for Tuesday night movies, when theatres slashed prices in half and theatres were packed. I miss these days. Back then, I loved Tuesday night movies. I'd hit my favourite theatre, the Somerset in Ottawa, which had capacity for 750 people, and was equipped with a massive 70 mm Dolby sound system. The Somerset played first run movies. I saw Lawrence of Arabia for the first time at the Somerset Theatre. This awesome flic was originally released in 1962 and then re-mastered, by the time it was shown at the Somerset in 1997. The theatre was packed, and I know this movie is the sole reason for my fascination with visiting the desert in the Middle East. Watching the movie on a massive screen made you feel like you were in the desert on a camel alongside Peter O'Toole, whose piercing eyes were like a beacon of ocean-blue.
Wednesday: The hump in the middle of the week that won't go away because we need it, we want it, and we love to drop sexual innuendos about Wednesday's horniness. There appears to be no end in sight for this tired-old joke. I make this associative link myself pretty much every time we hit on Wednesday. Is there no end to the imagination when it comes to naughty innuendos? I think not and I hope not. Wednesday also represents the mid-point of the work week that once reached a sigh of relief is audible, knowing there are fewer days to survive before the weekend.
Thursday: In like Flint! This lovely day of the week is often viewed as Throwback Thursday or junior Friday and I see why. Many will make their weekend longer during the summer months by taking Friday off, which makes Thursday feel like a Friday and, who doesn't need this kind of morale boost? Thursday therefore is also regarded by me and others to be Thirsty Thursday when the patios call out to you in summer; they are packed with people and seating is at a premium. But there is no mistaken the clear message: "Oh just have one! How can one frosty cold beer hurt on a patio with your loved one?" Answer: It cannot hurt. You've earned it. Go out and do it!
Friday: You are my fantastic bastard and we love you! We love you! We love you! I had one friend who worked at a local area hospital on shift work, and he did so for years, handling multiple shifts from early morning or to begin working at midnight. He never understood what it meant to bask in the glow of Friday, until he changed jobs and worked for a transportation company during the week day. For me, Friday in some ways feels better than Saturday because I've endured the slings and arrows of work, only to survive to the end of the week, knowing Friday evening will welcome me with open arms and a kiss. Yes! We love you Friday! Let us all agree. đź‘Ź
Saturday: Familial obligations and household chores often derail the beginning of a perfectly good Saturday morning. I speak with many people when I go about my business on weekends, if I have to visit multiple stores to pick up things, to take advantage of lower prices where offered. When I chat with cashiers in grocery stores, who attend Uni full-time, they tell me that Saturday is just another working day. They need to earn money for next year's tuition. Saturday night, however... well, Saturday night is an awesome feeling knowing the afternoon and night are yours to do with as you please. Some head out Saturday morning to their cottage or trailer, and let the fun begin once they've removed themselves from their regular life.
Sunday: If I told you the number of people who tell me that their dread sets in on Sunday evening, knowing that the work day begins early morning, it shouldn't come as a surprise. Sunday morning is a perfect day for a brunch or a cycle, which is how I like to spend my Sunday afternoon, weather permitting. But come early evening, I, too, begin to feel the worry that settles into my stomach like a slow-cooked oatmeal that hasn't digested properly. I compartmentalize all the work I know that is coming down the pike.
Whether you co-exist with a Monday to Friday life or a shift-work kind of life, know that CEOs work all the time, even when they're on vacation. I've supported many Execs in my career and I can guarantee you that their work doesn't recognize days of the week, not days, not evenings. Their high-level work thrives on a keen-eye to pay attention to detail, and precious details cross barriers when it comes to truncated blocks of time.
Tick tock. Tick tock. The clock is ticking! The days are speeding by your nose. Hurry up and get busy!
2025-05-27
Two Thursdays past, I enjoyed a pub burger with a long-time friend and former colleague. We've known each other for 28+ years and anyone who's enjoyed a friendship for any length of time will tell you that one of the obvious benefits is being able to be yourself, to let it all hang out, so to speak — all the good, and all the bad too.
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2025-05-26
Will he want me, still,
when I age and wrinkle,
pills and creams, foolish magic,
I think, to stave off the inevitable.
Will he want me, still,
and remain in morning,
when sleep corners my eye,
with ruffled hair in unruly style.
Will he want me, still,
when my flesh grows ill,
by his absence,
in my bed of after all?
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
when I age and wrinkle,
pills and creams, foolish magic,
I think, to stave off the inevitable.
Will he want me, still,
and remain in morning,
when sleep corners my eye,
with ruffled hair in unruly style.
Will he want me, still,
when my flesh grows ill,
by his absence,
in my bed of after all?
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
2025-05-22
It seems of late my sleep debt is slowly being whittled down to a manageable level. I attribute this to eyeing my cozy bed much early than before, heading off to slumberland between 9:30 - 10 PM during the work week, and on the days when I'm beyond exhausted, I'll head to bed earlier. Pillows, too, are vital and I searched for years before I found just the right pillows; ones that can be regularly washed and thrown into the dryer, and are made from a microfiber that is hypoallergenic for those with sensitivities to allergens, but also because they are less likely to be made a home by dust mites and mold.
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2025-05-20
Life is not an illusion because we have senses: smell, hearing, sight, touch and taste. Well, for most of us, there are five ready senses, notwithstanding those born without one or more or those who lose them in later years. Some suggest there are at least nine more senses, to include proprioception (body awareness) and thermoception (temperature awareness). For the sake of this post, let's agree that the five main senses are considered our top ones. I am fond of my senses. I've tried to imagine what it would be like to lose one and I can't conceive of giving up even one. I've played this game with myself since I was a girl that if I had to choose which sense to relinquish, if it meant inheriting another special gift in return, I could only arrive at the conclusion that my sense of smell would have to go — this would be the only option, and still I'd be bereft if I could no longer smell my favourite smells.
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2025-05-19
Howling wolves,
such a thing exists
of hard, vigorous coitus and
primordial urge.
Wrapped in a frenzied craze,
of devotion to her lips
and belly, all alone
to claim his territory,
He will absorb her into
the wilder beast,
that runs and lives
between his legs.
Enamored with her scent
of passion and song,
he is her nightly victor
of male appendage.
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
such a thing exists
of hard, vigorous coitus and
primordial urge.
Wrapped in a frenzied craze,
of devotion to her lips
and belly, all alone
to claim his territory,
He will absorb her into
the wilder beast,
that runs and lives
between his legs.
Enamored with her scent
of passion and song,
he is her nightly victor
of male appendage.
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
2025-05-15
Knock, knock, knock... "Good evening, this is Mr. Wolf and I've come to nibble on your fresh, moist loins," he offers, bearing a smile of piercingly white fangs, and a very long tongue. And she, Mrs. Wolf, the unwitting recipient of this gracious offer, secretly wishes that Mr. Wolf would be more like Wily E. Coyote, Super Genius, because then she wouldn't have to state the obvious — Mrs. Wolf wants to be wined and dined before he plunges his body parts into her quivering pudding.
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2025-05-13
The creative mind is a force unto itself because the more you flex your creative muscle, the more stretched and strong it becomes. Creativity is literally in the doing, not in the wanting to do, or the intention to do, or the act of procrastination in wanting to do but not actually doing anything. I can think about being creative all I want but if I don't actually put my creative ideas to the test, they might as well sit in the bottom of my cereal bowl along with the cold oatmeal.
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2025-05-12
He is allied to autumn,
a kaleidoscope of colour,
answering all questions about his type of man,
of bone, of flesh.
His taste is the orange in red,
dripping from withering leaves,
he lingers in my memory, a cloudy day,
when the sun hung only shortly.
To my heart, he speaks as light as a breeze,
that rustles the trees,
until sleeve is uncovered from leaf.
I give to him my all,
and he, to me, his delicate body,
is warmer in winter, when we are together,
we turn in the seasons
of lovers changing.
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
a kaleidoscope of colour,
answering all questions about his type of man,
of bone, of flesh.
His taste is the orange in red,
dripping from withering leaves,
he lingers in my memory, a cloudy day,
when the sun hung only shortly.
To my heart, he speaks as light as a breeze,
that rustles the trees,
until sleeve is uncovered from leaf.
I give to him my all,
and he, to me, his delicate body,
is warmer in winter, when we are together,
we turn in the seasons
of lovers changing.
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
2025-05-08
I prefer the company of hooligans over holier-than-thou moralizers and squeaky clean-freaks.
Rarely, will you catch me wearing a perfectly coiffed hair-do, a perfectly ironed below the knees skirt, black-paten leather shoes with sharp points, dark seamless nylons and a phony smile that says I want to be your best back-stabbing buddy. Nope. Not me. I am a jeans kind of gal, or a black-leggings kind of gal, a pair of loose-fitting capris kind of gal who slinks into work wearing bright-red polish on her toes, and blue sun-glasses, plus a cami-top that sometimes has a bit of a plunging neck line (but only sometimes). I'm the type of gal who cares diddly-squat about what I wear or how much wine I've drank, or how much my friends have consumed, or smoked, or ate, or whatever - so long as I don't have to clean up after them! Ha!
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Rarely, will you catch me wearing a perfectly coiffed hair-do, a perfectly ironed below the knees skirt, black-paten leather shoes with sharp points, dark seamless nylons and a phony smile that says I want to be your best back-stabbing buddy. Nope. Not me. I am a jeans kind of gal, or a black-leggings kind of gal, a pair of loose-fitting capris kind of gal who slinks into work wearing bright-red polish on her toes, and blue sun-glasses, plus a cami-top that sometimes has a bit of a plunging neck line (but only sometimes). I'm the type of gal who cares diddly-squat about what I wear or how much wine I've drank, or how much my friends have consumed, or smoked, or ate, or whatever - so long as I don't have to clean up after them! Ha!
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2025-05-06
I've never been one to purchase lottery tickets on a regular basis, not like some who shell out $20-$100 every freakin' week, buying up heaps of tickets that basically go absolutely nowhere real fast. The odds, as we all know, are not stacked in your favour, in some cases hundreds of millions to one. A person is better off saving that money into an investment account that would accumulate interest.
Funny thing about money: it grows or it spends, which all depends on how you handle it.
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Funny thing about money: it grows or it spends, which all depends on how you handle it.
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2025-05-05
I am whole, when he strokes me tenderly,
my creative energy is sustained,
for hours, it never ends,
because his touch is designed to last,
forever, when I sigh and lie back on my side,
I see him there, sweetly unkempt.
And I want to roll over, and have him again,
while the music plays,
I will be there one hour from now,
with his hand between my legs,
feeling my liquid wet,
like strumming strings with expertise.
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
my creative energy is sustained,
for hours, it never ends,
because his touch is designed to last,
forever, when I sigh and lie back on my side,
I see him there, sweetly unkempt.
And I want to roll over, and have him again,
while the music plays,
I will be there one hour from now,
with his hand between my legs,
feeling my liquid wet,
like strumming strings with expertise.
COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy
2025-05-01
These are the dreaded words that are heard pretty much by anyone and everyone when seeking a new employment situation. And, as much as no one wants to be expected to offer an answer to this query or that at some time in our lives we'll have to face it, to come up with a reasonable reply, this very query is the ideal benchmark to help determine a potential employee's suitability. When people are in the enviable position of The Interviewer, The Powerful, and you're in the position of The Interviewee, The Bullshitter, you can be assured that this is going to come up, and others—queries that are designed to test and annoy you.
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