Oxymoron Diaries | Numb Feeling

Oxymoron Diaries|Numb Feeling. I've had this one in draft mode for awhile now, simply because I was too ticked at myself to write it. Ticked at myself because the oxymoron "numb feeling" I'm talking about is inspired by my own thumb. Yes, my thumb.

Okay, so here's the story ... I was making a vat full of spaghetti sauce about a month ago. When making a VAT of anything, you need BIG cans of ingredients. On this particular day, that would mean a can of tomato puree the size of a footstool. Kinda hard to get one of those suckers open, but I gave it my best shot. Unfortunately, my best shot ended with blood splattering the backsplash of the sink and me screaming obscenities. It also ended with my thumb now having a numb feeling over most of its surface.








I'm thinking if after a month I still can't feel a dang thing when I touch my thumb, that perhaps the can lid that sliced through my thumb must have severed a nerve.

Hence the numb feeling. Hence the numb thumb.

Hence the oxymoron. Hence the blog post.

Clean House is an Oxymoron at My House

I admit it. My house is a mess. In fact, my house is such a mess that the minute you walk in the door, the phrase "Clean House" turns into an oxymoron.



Clean House is an oxymoron at my house right now.



A Domestic Goddess, I am not. Even on a good day my home is not spotless. The only time it really bothers me is when my mother is coming over. But I have a plan for that - I simply tell her the grandkids spent the week with us. Yeah, I blame it on the grandkids.

Oxymoron Diaries - Wedded Bliss?

My husband and I are arguing about whether or not his memory
is his shortest feature ...

Wedded Bliss?

Lyrics with an Oxymoron flair ...

Lyrics with an Oxymoron flair ...

 It's everything you wanted, it's everything you don't

It's one door swinging open and one door swinging closed

Some prayers find an answer

Some prayers never know

We're holding on and letting go

by Ross Copperman
(I heard this on an episode of The Vampire Diaries on The CW)

The Oxymoron Diaries

Oxymoron Diaries | Working Vacation

Oxymoron Diaries | Working Vacation. Jeff Foxworthy the comic and actor once said that "you must be a redneck if you live anywhere where the temperature varies 50 degrees in one day."

Well, I live in NW Ohio and usually in late March it averages around 44 degrees. Yesterday it hit 84 degrees and the low was low fifties. Not quite a fifty degree variance, but darn near close! In fact it's been in the low to mid eighties for almost a week. And the week before that it was in the seventies. Most years we have 15 inches of snow right about now!

So, what to do, what to do ... today, what to do. I don't wanna work. But I gotta.

So, I have mapped out my day to include relaxation AND work. I've done my Top 5 Things To Do Today and those five include "play in the garden dirt" and "sit on the patio doing nothing." The other 3 are business-related.

Unfortunately, one of the 3 that are business-related includes "finish up paperwork", so maybe the garden and patio will have to wait. Not enough hours in the day my friends.

In my defense, I am way behind because we had a major electrical issue that could have burned the house down, so most of this week has been spent with large portions of the house in darkness before our favorite electrician could decipher the problem. I'm told it's not good when you turn on a lightswitch and all the lights blink furiously while simultaneously making a SIZZLING sound. Not good at all. Did I mention that they then simply went dead?

Turns out we have two problems. The sizzling circuit has been corrected. The electrical panel that was manufactured by a company that's been nicknamed "Fire Pacific" has not.

Hmmmm, I think I forgot to add to my Top 5 Things to do today the following ... purchase more smoke detectors. Right after I finish my paperwork.

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Oxymoron Diaries The Video

Hope you enjoy the very first Oxymoron Diaries video! I made it just for YOU! Love ya, Didi O'Neil.   http://animoto.com/play/OQLmmwHX9alRZOhqQouWGQ

Thanks for watching!

Oxymoron Diaries | Light beer

Oxymoron Diaries |Light Beer. I have never been fat in my life. Never. A little above what all the charts say is my ideal weight, but nothing too outrageous. In fact twice when I was pregant I gained 20 pounds and still weighed under 125. Well, this past year was a bit different. And I couldn't figure out why. Then I realized several items of note.

One, my office is now at home and we live in a ranch home. A sprawling ranch, but a one-story just the same. No stairs to work off calories. No stairs when I lug laundry to the utility room. No stairs anywhere.




Two, our beloved dog Belva Dear Holyfield developed a massive infection that antibiotics could not cure and we had to put her to sleep. I walked Belva every morning and every night almost every day we had her, almost 5 years. We have since adopted two goldendoodles who were supposed to be only 40 pounds and have turned into 80 pounds and 65 pounds respectively and are still growing. I don't walk them, they walk me. In fact, just this morning I landed face down in the back yard when Izzy decided to make a run for it while I had her leash in my hand. My knees are currently muddy, my chin is muddy, my pride is muddied for sure. So, as of today, they don't get walked much. Hence, I don't get walked much.

Three, beer. Yes, beer. I have never been a beer drinker. I always drank one of two options - Dewars Scotch with water or Skyy Vodka on the rocks. I don't drink a lot, but when I do, these are my preferences. Then the economy took a tumble and I needed to economize somewhere. My husband is an avid beer drinker, so I thought I'd try that route. I have never liked beer. Never. Well, maybe a cold Corona or a Dos Equis at a Mexican Restaurant. But never ever at any other time would I ever drink beer. Hated the stuff.

Then I discovered ale. Ice cold, creamy, dark ale. So cold it turns into a slushie. And I could have a couple pints for under six bucks usually. So for the past year I have primarily ordered cold ale. Also known as BEER. And now I have what might be described as a beer gut. I woke up one morning and voila ... beer gut.

I'm not making this up.

The funny part is I'm talking to my mom yesterday and she brings up that she has a "thick middle" going on. Now, my mother has always been pretty tiny. Not scrawny, but she is petite and prides herself on her diet and the way she takes care of her body. She's terrific. She's over seventy, swims at the Y, does aerobics, walks like crazy. She's a dynamo. Like I USE to be!

So when she mentioned her thickening middle I blurted out, "Have you been drinking beer?"

She hesitated and said, "LIGHT beer!"

I laughed and said, "Mom, when it comes to beer, it ain't about the calories, it's about what it's made of. Notice how people that drink hard liquor are skinnier than people who drink beer?" I don't know if this is true or not, and I know some of you are gonna yell at me, but hey, just an observation on my part.

I continued, "Hence the term "beer gut". You've never heard of a "vodka gut" or a "scotch gut" or a "wine gut" have you?"

She didn't argue with me, which means she is mulling this over.

So, I am mulling over swearing off beer until I lose some weight.

In fact, I'm back on the Dewar's Diet.

Oxymoron Diaries | Twelve Ounce Poundcake

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Happy St. Patrick's Day from The Oxymoron Diaries | Drink Responsibly

Happy St. Patrick's Day from The Oxymoron Diaries | Drink Responsibly.

I don't know what you all are doing this fine St. Patty's Day, but I am being a bit of a bore. No green beer. No Guinness. No Irish whiskey. No nothin'. It's been a crazy week after a crazy Las Vegas weekend last week, so I am layin' like broccoli (veggin' out!) At least broccoli is a green vegetable, so I am borderline in the party mood, right?

As for drinking responsibly, I know I'll get arguments with this one. There are several viewpoints. Some say that a wee nip here and there, even daily, can be beneficial to your health. I suppose I agree.

Awhile back there were so many who disagreed with the above statement that the entire country went dry. Constitutionally dry. That view had a more religious basis to it, but would have made drinking resposibiliby simply drinking illegally.

So, what do you think?

Me? I believe everything in moderation. But when it comes to alcohol, my view is that a single drink is a waste of calories and a waste of money. If I'm gonna drink, I'm gonna drink.

Consequently, I don't drink very much, because i don't have the time nor the energy to drink copious amounts of alcohol and feel like garbage afterwards or waste time that I could be doing something else more productive.

Like BLOGGING.




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Oxymoron Diaries | Homeless Households

Piggy backing on yesterday's Oxymoron Diaries | Short Sale, today I've added Oxymoron Diaries|Homeless Households. This was brought to my attention when doing a search on twitter for #oxymoron. The tweet had a link to a BBC Mobile article on Housing in England. Here's the link to the article. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/education-17298906.

I really hate to do back-to-back posts on such un-funny things as short sales and homelessness, but inspiration comes from all sorts of places and sometimes God throws it right in your face so you'll pay attention.

Not that I need a push to think about the housing crisis, as nearly a decade in the real estate business has put that subject matter smack dab in the front of my brain.

So back to Homeless Households.

Yes, apparently that's an oxymoron, as households living in a home (with or without a mortgage) is the American Dream. And the British Dream. And the World Dream, in fact. Doesn't matter if that dream is a brick two-story, a bungalow, a hut in the jungle, a farmhouse, a cave, a commune, or a cardboard box.

So, maybe Homeless Households isn't an oxymoron in this housing crisis. Maybe it's actually becoming a redundancy?

All I really know is that we need to make sure that the phrase Homeless Households isn't redundant for any more families than necessary.

We need to help make sure that Home is where the heart is.

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Oxymoron Diaries just got a Featured Post on the Activerain Network

Oxymoron Diaries just got a Featured Post on the Activerain Network. Check it out here. It's titled Oxymoron Diaries|Short Sale.

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Oxymoron Diaries | Comfortable Stilettos and Just back from Vegas, Baby!

Oxymoron Diaries | Comfortable Stilettos. I'm just back from a meeting in Las Vegas and boy, oh boy, was it ripe with oxymorons. In fact, I have a new appreciation for the term Oxymoron.

First on my list is Comfortable Stilettos.

Hard as a tried, my feet were a hurtin' from the git go.

I needed to wear heels for my meetings so I had no choice. Plus my new blue suit was a bit conservative and the length on the skirt was about an inch too long. The only thing I could do to change that quickly was to up my heel height, right? Yeah, right. Ouch.

Below is evidence of the crime scene. Believe me when I say these suckers were 5 inches if they were an inch. Only a three quarter inch platform though. They looked fantastic. My legs were gorgeous. Problem was my toes were fire engine red when I took them off.

Platinum Stilettos

You would think I'd learn my lesson, but no. Heaven forbid I hit the Strip in comfortable shoes. Not with all those long legs, micro mini skirts and sky high shoes going on all over the place. I refused to look like I was from Ohio.

So, pair #2 looked like this ... even higher and with a 1 inch platform. Plus peep toes, so all that height made my toes try to squish out the little peep toe. Double ouch. Double red.

Black Stilettos

I finally resorted to my foldable flat ballet slippers that I never leave home without. I looked like a dork, but I wasn't screaming and wincing with every step I took. I did, however, put on my favorite cap so no one would recognize me looking like a dork. If I had been wearing capri jeans or a skirt I could have pulled it off, but I had on long flared brown dress jeans and had to tuck three inches of fabric into the back of the flats. "Dork" was probably an understatement. The people I was with made me walk in back of them ... way in back of them.

Foldable Flats

My only relief before I resorted to foldable flats was to sit down and try my luck at the penny slots.

Hence, my next post will be titled ... Oxymoron Diaries|Frugal Gambler.

I did notice at the airport on the way home that pretty much everyone, every man, woman, and child had flip flops on and their toes were fire engine red. So I don't feel quite so stupid or vain.

Stay tuned for Frugal Gambler, Delicious Buffet, and perhaps a few other Oxymoron Diary entries.

Later ... I gotta go soak my feet.

Seriously.

Epson salts and the whole nine yards.

Love ya ...

If you enjoyed what you read up there in Comfortable Stiletto Land, you might just like a work of fiction called The Oxymoron Diaries "Twelve Ounce Poundcake". Check out the right side bar for info on how to download from Amazon. It's a full length novel.

Click here to find out even more.

The Oxymoron Diaries | Easy To Follow Directions

Oxymoron Diaries | Easy to Follow Directions.

Yeah, right.

I can remember years ago in my previous life the dryer broke down. This was way back. Way, way back. I was 22 years old, two little kids, our first house and we were broke, broke, broke. And like I said, the dryer broke down.

Did I mention that we didn't use disposable diapers? No? Well, we didn't use disposable diapers. For those of you out there scratching your head about that statement, that means that all those diapers were cloth and I had to wash and dry after use.

Yea, wash and dry after THAT use. So not having a working dryer was a bit of an issue with two little ones still in diapers.

In an effort to save money (did I mention we were broke, broke, broke?), instead of calling a repairman, we went to the part store and purchased a dryer belt to change and install ourselves.

Couldn't be all that hard, right?

Right. (By the way, I did not resemble that perfectly put together lady on the right. My hair probably hadn't been combed in 3 days and I'm sure I had on sweat pants. Dirty sweat pants, since the dryer was broken.)

Unfortunately my husband at the time, God love him, he tried for three straight days to get that damn dryer belt on, but to no avail. I was really starting to feel sorry for him. No, actually I was starting to feel sorry for myself, as those dirty diapers were piling up. If it had been summer I could've hung them outside on the clothesline, but to complicate things further, it was winter and my babies preferred their diapers not to have icicles hanging off of them. Although that nice warm baby pee would've melted those icicles in short order I'm sure.

Ewww. Too much information.

Anyway, about the third day, my husband trudges off to work and I decide that I am not giving up until I get that damn belt on and some diapers washed.

I pull out the directions and give them the once over. They seem simple enough, so I give it a whirl.

Five minutes later the belt is on the dryer, the dryer is pushed back against the wall and I've got load number one of dirty nappies agitating in the Clorox.

I am so proud of myself that I actually call my husband at work to say "Honey, don't worry. I fixed the dryer."

His response was a quick, "How did you manage that?"

I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm, but frankly didn't care because my diapers were ready for the drying phase and we were good to go. My reply to his question was an excited, "It wasn't all that hard. I just followed the directions."

Slight pause. No, a lengthy pause and then his response. "What directions?"

It should have dawned on me when the directions were still folded up in the bag that perhaps they were never actually used. Silly me. I was young and naive.

In all fairness, I am not, in any way picking on husband #1, since husband #2 would have been the exact same story except for the dirty cloth diapers part.

It's just a guy thing.

Another version of Easy to Follow Directions is the opposite of the above scenario.

We have two great big Goldendoodles who like to drag my butt down the street. So we buy these "gentle leader" collars that are supposed to prevent them from dragging my butt down the street anymore. The problem is these things are not intuitive at all. That's why they come with both paper directions AND a DVD! Plus the clerk at the pet store even showed us what to do. That should have been our first clue to hang those packages back up on the display rack.

You see where I'm gong with this? Right.

Even though we have multiple resources and have watched the DVD forward, backwards, and repeatedly, those collars are still not on the dogs.

So, NOT easy to follow directions.

Hence, I am dubbing that phrase an oxymoron.

If you liked the post above, perhaps you'll also like a work of fiction titled
The Oxymoron Diaries ...

About The Oxymoron Diaries ...

Abigail Nutter has walked a fine line between the apathetic urge to hang out a welcome sign for blood relatives, in-laws, out-laws, kissing cousins and stray animals or digging in with cold emotion and a quarantine sign, boarding up windows and padlocking doors against intrusion. The Oxymoron Diaries' Twelve Ounce Poundcake (Life is an Oxymoron), tells the story of Abigail Nutter,a local writer temporarily forced into multi-generation serfdom, disrupting her daily life in sadly amusing, mildly psychotic ways. As evidenced throughout the telling by random sprinklings of oxymora, she routinely takes her inspiration from everyday life, causing her family to frequently prefer she write her column in invisible ink. From 'plastic glasses' to 'nice and sleazy' and 'cold as hell' to 'safe sex', each chapter is subtitled by a relevant oxymoron, subtly teasing readers with the upcoming possibilities.

Abby's mother, Eve, a control freak, and her editor, Kemper, a sixty-something nymphomaniac and plastic surgery junkie, add to the endless instances of oxymoron humor, but no one more so than Belly, her nearly ninety-nine year old grandmother and self-proclaimed living fossil, who has been dropped on her doorstep for the winter.

Abby's husband, Bryan, who she fondly calls Moh, except when he's in trouble and she calls hiim Mohby Dick, is dismayed when two months later Abigail suggests their uninvited guest live with them permanently.

Hence ensues many emotional ups and downs, laughter, tears and heartbreak before the Nutter family realizes that with a touch of humor and a sprinkling of unconditional love, they can turn burdens into welcome loads. What surprises them the most is how Belly does not fit into the burden category as much as they anticipated. Broken marriages, broken families, and broken bonds turn out to weigh so much more than a ninety-nine year old sprite of a woman.

Click here to download to your Kindle from Amazon.  Only $2.99 through March 2012.

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Oxymoron Diaries | Disposable Plastic

Oxymoron Diaries | Disposable Plastic.

We recycle. Truly we do. At least we try our best to try our best. Unfortunately, I just walked into our family room and took one look at the two Golden Doodles, Cappy and Izzy, and realized that our efforts at re-cycling may be a bit, shall we say, for naught.
Cappy and Izzy are the true recyclers at our home since there isn't much left to throw away after they've chewed on everything in sight. If you want proof, click here for my blog post titled Things My Dog Ate This Week.

The problem is that even they are having trouble with their own version of recycling.

For example, take a peek at this photo of a 2 liter soda bottle. After 3 days of constant
gnawing, it still looks pretty much like a 2 liter soda bottle, just a bit squished.
Keep in mind that somewhere on this bottle it used to read something like "Disposable Plastic" or "Recycle-able" or words to that effect, but if these dogs can't even hurt this hunk of plastic, is anything else gonna turn this into either something re-useable or something that disintegrates in a landfill? I think not.
One more thing ... I don't remember any stamp anywhere on the bottle stating that it was dog-proof either. But it obviously is.
I guess the only solution is to give up soda pop, since everything else I own of any value is somewhere inside one of my dogs.

By the way, getting rid of the doggies is not an option.
Besides, if we take them to the pound they will simply become "recycled" dogs and start this vicious cycle all over again. Or shall we say this vicious REcycle?
Gotta run ... time to check on what's hanging out of the dogs' mouths. Since it's a spring-like day of almost 70 outside in NW Ohio and they're playing outside right now, the likely answer to that question is probably one of my hostas.

About The Oxymoron Diaries ...

Abigail Nutter has walked a fine line between the apathetic urge to hang out a welcome sign for blood relatives, in-laws, out-laws, kissing cousins and stray animals or digging in with cold emotion and a quarantine sign, boarding up windows and padlocking doors against intrusion. The Oxymoron Diaries' Twelve Ounce Poundcake (Life is an Oxymoron), tells the story of Abigail Nutter,a local writer temporarily forced into multi-generation serfdom, disrupting her daily life in sadly amusing, mildly psychotic ways. As evidenced throughout the telling by random sprinklings of oxymora, she routinely takes her inspiration from everyday life, causing her family to frequently prefer she write her column in invisible ink. From 'plastic glasses' to 'nice and sleazy' and 'cold as hell' to 'safe sex', each chapter is subtitled by a relevant oxymoron, subtly teasing readers with the upcoming possibilities.

Abby's mother, Eve, a control freak, and her editor, Kemper, a sixty-something nymphomaniac and plastic surgery junkie, add to the endless instances of oxymoron humor, but no one more so than Belly, her nearly ninety-nine year old grandmother and self-proclaimed living fossil, who has been dropped on her doorstep for the winter.

Abby's husband, Bryan, who she fondly calls Moh, except when he's in trouble and she calls hiim Mohby Dick, is dismayed when two months later Abigail suggests their uninvited guest live with them permanently.

Hence ensues many emotional ups and downs, laughter, tears and heartbreak before the Nutter family realizes that with a touch of humor and a sprinkling of unconditional love, they can turn burdens into welcome loads. What surprises them the most is how Belly does not fit into the burden category as much as they anticipated. Broken marriages, broken families, and broken bonds turn out to weigh so much more than a ninety-nine year old sprite of a woman.

Click here to download to your Kindle from Amazon.  Only $2.99 through March 2012.

Click here to download to your Nook from Barnes and Noble. Only $2.99 through March 2012.

Click here to Like The Oxymoron Diaries on Facebook

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Click here for an excerpt of The Oxymoron Diaries "Twelve Ounce Poundcake".

Click here to purchase The Oxymoron Diaries on Kindle.

Click here to purchase The Oxymoron Diaries on Nook.

Reviews:

If sarcasm and an acid-tongue top your list of fiction prerequisites, then look no further. What I thought would be solely a work of fiction for the kinder and gentler sex turned into one laugh after another, with more than ample cringes thrown in for good measure for this macho man. Ms.O'Neil's use of oxymora as inspiration is brilliant and highly entertaining. In between the humor is pain and sadness, but never far behind is another humorous jab in the funny bone.

Meet the Author

DidiO'Neil walks a fine line similar to that of her characters, teetering between straight-laced and a straight jacket. She has written fiction for years for self-medication and is now delighted to entertain and medicate the general public. Nicknamed "The Human Sponge" she has the ability to pull out of a hat random bits of useless information that can be applied to the moment at hand and often, her writing. Her unofficial status as an accomplished wordsmith spurred her to use oxymorons as the theme of her first published series, The Oxymoron Diaries.

Her professional life also includes that of a National Real Estate Coach and Speaker.

Coming Fall of 2012:

The Oxymoron Diaries Vol. 2
A Little Pain Never Hurt Anyone

by Didi O'Neil

Excerpt from The Oxymoron Diaries Vol 1|Twelve Ounce Poundcake:


prologue     half dead

     The floor tile was the most unattractive and ordinary I’d ever seen, but I was tired of staring non-stop at her monitors and being mesmerized by their beep, beep, beeps. No, I was only mesmerized until those beeps turned into silent screams resounding off walls of the shabbiest flocked wallpaper I’d ever seen.
                 She would be mortified.

     Mentally tracing the lines of genuinely fake marble tiles was mildly tranquilizing; however, each drip of her IV had long before begun to feel as though a sledgehammer was pounding a five-inch nail into my belfry.

     I wondered briefly if her brain was feeling anything. Was the sledgehammer sharing time between the two of us? Or was it only pounding at her brain and I was simply having sympathy pains, as a queasy expectant father often did with a nauseous, pregnant wife.

     Genuinely Fake and Silent Screams. Ha! My mind wasn’t so clouded with worry that I couldn’t still identify an oxymoron or two drifting through the cerebral mishmash of emotions and fears I was experiencing. I knew those contradictory phrases were a gentle, subconscious reminder that I needed to keep focusing on my work. My lifeline. Not on the multitude of machines keeping her alive. Not on my family wearing scared, vacant stares - and definitely not on the beep, beep, beeps.

     I’d visited the maternity ward earlier that day in search of peace, but found no comfort, since it had dawned on me that newborn babies - who had no useful vision capabilities - were resting peacefully in a nicely decorated nursery, yet the Intensive Care Unit wasn’t decorated at all, looking like death, warmed over; drab and depressing. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to decorate the ICU? If she woke up and glanced down at the grungy floor, she’d think she’d died and gone to hell already! Or at least to the zip code in Purgatory reserved for sinfully tacky decorators.

     Enough! I remembered my deadline; affirmation that Life went on, even if Death perhaps lingered so nearby.

     I shook my head slowly, almost imperceptibly, thinking of how she would’ve rolled her eyes at my thoughts, since she’d always viewed my weekly column as trivial; simply a glorified fulltime hobby. Maybe if she’d known I was wasting time on The Oxymoron Diaries at that very moment, she would’ve been annoyed enough to will herself to consciousness and yell, “Get a real, job, Abigail!” At least we’d know she was well on her way back to normal.

     Normal for her, that is.

     Fulltime Hobby - yet another oxymoron. I was on a roll. Creative juices were flowing as freely as the saline drip in her intravenous tubing. Who would’ve thunk it?

     I had long before thankfully come to grips with her slightly askew and under-appreciated view of my attempt at mental masturbation - a way of preserving my sanity without going blind. I was resigned to her never understanding why My Other Half called me his Gorgeous Geek.

     I groaned when I realized the beep, beep, beeps were back, knowing I should’ve kept focusing on the oxymora - the unbelievably numerous oxymora. Not on her perspective of my state of mind.

     I re-focused again, as the floor tiles triggered the contradictory word pairs of Genuine Fakes, Clean Dirt, and Dull Shine; uncomfortable chairs were instantly synonymous with Plastic Wood. The beep, beep, beeps reminded me of Bad Health, Half Dead, and Cheerful Undertaker. I digressed toward Hilarious Funeral, but remembered Gorgeous Geek and was uplifted once again. I knew my odd form of mental therapy wasn’t logical when Artificial Intelligence focused my attention on the beep, beep, beeps, and once again propelled my mood into the abyss.

     I was visualizing plenty to write about, practically oozing oxymora from my pores, but would be doing it from The Psyche Ward if I didn’t stop. Me, in a psyche ward, would not make my editor happy, since Kemper preferred the level of lunacy that inspired my creative juices to be safely tucked away, out of public view. She preferred I exude Gorgeous Geek twenty-four/seven.

     So, back to the genuinely fake marble floor tiles. No, back to the beginning. The beginning of Life as I once knew it. The beginning of Life changing.

     Back to the beginning of Belle.

     Back to confirmation that Life is an Oxymoron.

Oxymoron Diaries | Teasing with Chapter Titles

Teasing with Chapter Titles ...

prologue     half dead

chapter one     extinct life
chapter two     random logic
chapter three     distant relatives
chapter four      good news
chapter five     uninvited guests
chapter six     compulsory volunteer
chapter seven     balanced insanity
chapter eight     recent history
chapter nine     big sip
chapter ten     cold as hell
chapter eleven     safe sex
chapter twelve     only choice
chapter thirteen     rolling stop
chapter fourteen     nothing much
chapter fifteen     the living dead
chapter sixteen     hard liquor

chapter seventeen     clean toilet 
chapter eighteen     quiet riot
chapter nineteen     computer jock
chapter twenty     pure filth
chapter twenty one      melted ice
chapter twenty two     plastic glasses
chapter twenty three     intimate murder
chapter twenty four    hard water
chapter twenty five     wedded bliss
chapter twenty six      nice and sleazy
chapter twenty seven      firewater
chapter twenty eight     tough love
chapter twenty nine      limited lifetime guarantee
chapter thirty     water landing
chapter thirty one   terribly pleased
chapter thirty two     secret rumors
chapter thirty three     guaranteed forecast
chapter thirty four     bad health
chapter thirty five     terrific headache
chapter thirty six     demanding patient
epilogue     serious humor

Overview

Abigail Nutter has walked a fine line between the apathetic urge to hang out a welcome sign for blood relatives, in-laws, out-laws, kissing cousins and stray animals or digging in with cold emotion and a quarantine sign, boarding up windows and padlocking doors against intrusion. The Oxymoron Diaries' Twelve OuncePoundcake (Life is an Oxymoron), tells the story of Abigail Nutter,a local writer temporarily forced into multi-generation serfdom, disrupting her daily life in sadly amusing, mildly psychotic ways. As evidenced throughout the telling by random sprinklings of oxymora, she routinely takes her inspiration from everyday life, causing her family to frequently prefer she write her column in invisible ink. From 'plastic glasses' to 'nice and sleazy' and 'cold as hell' to 'safe sex', each chapter is subtitled by a relevant oxymoron, subtly teasing readers with the upcoming possibilities.

Abby's mother, Eve, a control freak, and her editor, Kemper, a sixty-something nymphomaniac and plastic surgery junkie, add to the endless instances of oxymoron humor, but no one more so than Belly, her nearly ninety-nine year old grandmother and self-proclaimed living fossil, who has been dropped on her doorstep for the winter.

Abby's husband, Bryan, who she fondly calls Moh, except when he's in trouble and she calls hiim Mohby Dick, is dismayed when two months later Abigail suggests their uninvited guest live with them permanently.

Hence ensues many emotional ups and downs, laughter, tears and heartbreak before the Nutter family realizes that with a touch of humor and a sprinkling of unconditional love, they can turn burdens into welcome loads. What surprises them the most is how Belly does not fit into the burden category as much as they anticipated. Broken marriages, broken families, and broken bonds turn out to weigh so much more than a ninety-nine year old sprite of a woman.

Editorial Reviews
Neil Nofziger

If sarcasm and an acid-tongue top your list of fiction prerequisites, then look no further. What I thought would be solely a work of fiction for the kinder and gentler sex turned into one laugh after another, with more than ample cringes thrown in for good measure for this macho man. Ms. O'Neil's use of oxymora as inspiration is brilliant and highly entertaining. In between the humor is pain and sadness, but never far behind is another humorous jab in the funny bone.

Meet the Author

DidiO'Neil walks a fine line similar to that of her characters, teetering between straight-laced and a straight jacket. She has written fiction for years for personal enjoyment and self-medication and is now delighted to entertain the general public. Nicknamed "The Human Sponge" she has the ability to pull out of a hat random bits of useless information that can be applied to the moment at hand and often, her writing. Her unofficial status as an accomplished wordsmith spurred her to use oxymorons as the theme of her first published series, The Oxymoron Diaries.

Her professional life also includes that of a National Real Estate Coach and Speaker.

Click here to purchase on Amazon Kindle.

Click here to purchase on Nook.

The Oxymoron Diaries | Twelve Ounce Poundcake|Didi O'Neil

Abigail Nutter has walked a fine line between the apathetic urge to hang out a welcome sign for blood relatives, in-laws, out-laws, kissing cousins and stray animals or digging in with cold emotion and a quarantine sign, boarding up windows and padlocking doors against intrusion. The Oxymoron Diaries' Twelve Ounce Poundcake (Life is an Oxymoron), tells the story of Abigail Nutter,a local writer temporarily forced into multi-generation serfdom, disrupting her daily life in sadly amusing, mildly psychotic ways. As evidenced throughout the telling by random sprinklings of oxymora, she routinely takes her inspiration from everyday life, causing her family to frequently prefer she write her column in invisible ink. From 'plastic glasses' to 'nice and sleazy' and 'cold as hell' to 'safe sex', each chapter is subtitled by a relevant oxymoron, subtly teasing readers with the upcoming possibilities.

Abby's mother, Eve, a control freak, and her editor, Kemper, a sixty-something nymphomaniac and plastic surgery junkie, add to the endless instances of oxymoron humor, but no one more so than Belly, her nearly ninety-nine year old grandmother and self-proclaimed living fossil, who has been dropped on her doorstep for the winter.

Abby's husband, Bryan, who she fondly calls Moh, except when he's in trouble and she calls hiim Mohby Dick, is dismayed when two months later Abigail suggests their uninvited guest live with them permanently.

Hence ensues many emotional ups and downs, laughter, tears and heartbreak before the Nutter family realizes that with a touch of humor and a sprinkling of unconditional love, they can turn burdens into welcome loads. What surprises them the most is how Belly does not fit into the burden category as much as they anticipated. Broken marriages, broken families, and broken bonds turn out to weigh so much more than a ninety-nine year old sprite of a woman.

Click here to download to your Kindle from Amazon.  Only $2.99 through March 2012.

Click here to download to your Nook from Barnes and Noble. Only $2.99 through March 2012.

Reviews:

Neil Nofziger

If sarcasm and an acid-tongue top your list of fiction prerequisites, then look no further. What I thought would be solely a work of fiction for the kinder and gentler sex turned into one laugh after another, with more than ample cringes thrown in for good measure for this macho man. Ms.O'Neil's use of oxymora as inspiration is brilliant and highly entertaining. In between the humor is pain and sadness, but never far behind is another humorous jab in the funny bone.

Meet the Author

DidiO'Neil walks a fine line similar to that of her characters, teetering between straight-laced and a straight jacket. She has written fiction for years for self-medication and is now delighted to entertain and medicate the general public. Nicknamed "The Human Sponge" she has the ability to pull out of a hat random bits of useless information that can be applied to the moment at hand and often, her writing. Her unofficial status as an accomplished wordsmith spurred her to use oxymorons as the theme of her first published series, The Oxymoron Diaries.

Her professional life also includes that of a National Real Estate Coach and Speaker.

Coming Fall of 2012:

The Oxymoron Diaries Vol. 2
A Little Pain Never Hurt Anyone

by Didi O'Neil

Excerpt from The Oxymoron Diaries Vol 1|Twelve Ounce Poundcake:


prologue     half dead

     The floor tile was the most unattractive and ordinary I’d ever seen, but I was tired of staring non-stop at her monitors and being mesmerized by their beep, beep, beeps. No, I was only mesmerized until those beeps turned into silent screams resounding off walls of the shabbiest flocked wallpaper I’d ever seen.
                 She would be mortified.

     Mentally tracing the lines of genuinely fake marble tiles was mildly tranquilizing; however, each drip of her IV had long before begun to feel as though a sledgehammer was pounding a five-inch nail into my belfry.

     I wondered briefly if her brain was feeling anything. Was the sledgehammer sharing time between the two of us? Or was it only pounding at her brain and I was simply having sympathy pains, as a queasy expectant father often did with a nauseous, pregnant wife.

     Genuinely Fake and Silent Screams. Ha! My mind wasn’t so clouded with worry that I couldn’t still identify an oxymoron or two drifting through the cerebral mishmash of emotions and fears I was experiencing. I knew those contradictory phrases were a gentle, subconscious reminder that I needed to keep focusing on my work. My lifeline. Not on the multitude of machines keeping her alive. Not on my family wearing scared, vacant stares - and definitely not on the beep, beep, beeps.

     I’d visited the maternity ward earlier that day in search of peace, but found no comfort, since it had dawned on me that newborn babies - who had no useful vision capabilities - were resting peacefully in a nicely decorated nursery, yet the Intensive Care Unit wasn’t decorated at all, looking like death, warmed over; drab and depressing. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to decorate the ICU? If she woke up and glanced down at the grungy floor, she’d think she’d died and gone to hell already! Or at least to the zip code in Purgatory reserved for sinfully tacky decorators.

     Enough! I remembered my deadline; affirmation that Life went on, even if Death perhaps lingered so nearby.

     I shook my head slowly, almost imperceptibly, thinking of how she would’ve rolled her eyes at my thoughts, since she’d always viewed my weekly column as trivial; simply a glorified fulltime hobby. Maybe if she’d known I was wasting time on The Oxymoron Diaries at that very moment, she would’ve been annoyed enough to will herself to consciousness and yell, “Get a real, job, Abigail!” At least we’d know she was well on her way back to normal.

     Normal for her, that is.

     Fulltime Hobby - yet another oxymoron. I was on a roll. Creative juices were flowing as freely as the saline drip in her intravenous tubing. Who would’ve thunk it?

     I had long before thankfully come to grips with her slightly askew and under-appreciated view of my attempt at mental masturbation - a way of preserving my sanity without going blind. I was resigned to her never understanding why My Other Half called me his Gorgeous Geek.

     I groaned when I realized the beep, beep, beeps were back, knowing I should’ve kept focusing on the oxymora - the unbelievably numerous oxymora. Not on her perspective of my state of mind.

     I re-focused again, as the floor tiles triggered the contradictory word pairs of Genuine Fakes, Clean Dirt, and Dull Shine; uncomfortable chairs were instantly synonymous with Plastic Wood. The beep, beep, beeps reminded me of Bad Health, Half Dead, and Cheerful Undertaker. I digressed toward Hilarious Funeral, but remembered Gorgeous Geek and was uplifted once again. I knew my odd form of mental therapy wasn’t logical when Artificial Intelligence focused my attention on the beep, beep, beeps, and once again propelled my mood into the abyss.

     I was visualizing plenty to write about, practically oozing oxymora from my pores, but would be doing it from The Psyche Ward if I didn’t stop. Me, in a psyche ward, would not make my editor happy, since Kemper preferred the level of lunacy that inspired my creative juices to be safely tucked away, out of public view. She preferred I exude Gorgeous Geek twenty-four/seven.

     So, back to the genuinely fake marble floor tiles. No, back to the beginning. The beginning of Life as I once knew it. The beginning of Life changing.

     Back to the beginning of Belle.

     Back to confirmation that Life is an Oxymoron.