Monthly Archives: October 2013

Feral Kitten Wi-Fi



feral kitten, Alica Mckenna-Johnson CocteauBoy, Kitten

Photo by CocteauBoy

Sometimes my Wi-Fi acts like a feral kitten. You know the mangy, flea-bitten, hissing little thing hiding under your porch, and it’s just so  SAAADD and CUUUTE, and we must save the nasty little thing.

So there you are on your hands an knees, making that stupid tongue-clicky noise that all humans make at animals. It reminds me of the old Westerns where the white guy would hold up his hand and say “How” to the noble savage. This empowering sound would stave off their attack. So this is what we are doing, making the universal human-to-animal tongue-clicky noise, and we think we are letting them know everything is fine and that we are its friend.

But the kitten, arches her mangy kitten eyebrow at me, with a look of disdain. The question  “Are you a total idiot?” psychically  floats through the air. The same thing I think as I see the white cowboy halt the attack of a group of white men painted to look like Native American people in the old westerns.

Alica Mckenna-Johnson, Old West. Old Western Movies

Photo by inkknife_2000

But of course I have no  other skills, so I’m on my hands and knees clicking and cooing, and trying to get this kitten out from under the porch. I promise love, and affection, and nummy things to eat. And the kitten comes a little closer, then puffs up (which is just so darn cute) and scoots back. And we do this for a while. Finally I decide to appeal to its baser nature, and I get some damn food. I leave small pieces of cheese on the ground (I’m a vegetarian, it’s all I have a kitten would like. Stop judging me!) and slowly coax the kitten out. And this is when I learn the kitten will do anything for food; basically it’s a prostitute. I have lured a mangy, flea-bitten feral prostitute kitten out from under the porch.

Go Me!

And this is exactly how my Wi-Fi is. I have to sit in just the right position and for a few moments I can get Wi-Fi, if I don’t sneeze.

But like my little whore kitten, if I try to load Amazon or any other site that has money, it loads just fine. I could sit in a steel-lined bomb shelter a mile away, and I bet Amazon would load!

Does this make my computer a pimp?

Alica Mckenna-Jonson, Pimp, pimp costume

Photo by Sparr0

Women Who Make Me Purr


So I post pics and videos of beautiful men sometimes, a lot, as often as I can get away with. And I thought it would be nice to post some videos of women who make me wish to be them, or fall at their feet in worship. 🙂


This is the first Shakira video I ever watched, and I was addicted instantly. When she is doing chest pops and looks down at herself, so sexy.



The control Rachel Brice has over her body fills me with awe, and I kinda want to lick her stomach 🙂



Suhaila Salimpour another amazing belly dancer. When I see her I feel inspired and lustful.



Of course I can’t mention Suhaila without showing you her ass, OMG, doing butt bumps right now.



When I imagine myself being all badass in the Zombie Apocalypse Michonne from The Walking Dead is who I see myself as. She is intelligent, fierce, and her arms are amazing.



So give me more intelligent, sexy, powerful women to covet. Who inspires you? Or gives you lustful thoughts 🙂


It’s Raining Men


So the other day I saw this video-

And after watching it a few dozen times I wondered what other videos people had made to It’s Raining Men, and I found these, hope you enjoy.

SPN Gag Reel season6




Pics of pretty actors 🙂

Yoga pants—the 24/7 pants.

yoga pants, Alica Mckenna-Johnson, Herban Devi

Love these yoga pants by Herban Devi

I love yoga pants. They are the perfect pants. They fit no matter what; they always make my butt look good; and I can wear them all day long. YES—all day long, thereby saving tons of time in switching pants.

“Um, Alica,” hubby says, looking over my shoulder at what I just wrote, “it only takes a few seconds to switch pants.”

“Have you watched me get dressed???”

“Yes, but my brain short circuits when I see you naked.”

Awe, isn’t he awesome and such a little liar.

“It takes forever to pick a pair of pants,” I explain, maybe still blushing. “First I have to decide if I am going to wear one of the three pairs of pants I know fit.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Oh, how little my hubby knows. “By choosing one of the pants that fit I am admitting defeat. I am admitting that I still haven’t lost weight, I am saying yep this week is a bust, I shall look this way forever, I am doomed to wearing only one of three pairs of pants because my love for cheese is greater than my desire for fit thighs.”

My husband groans and buries his face in is hands. “Well, why not just pick one of the other tens pairs of pants in the closet?”

“If only it could be that simple. First I have to check them all. Can I even remember which pair fit last time I tried them on? Then once I choose, I have to try them on. If they fit, then everything is fine. But if they don’t fit, depression sinks in. I have just proven to myself that I am fat and even though losing weight has been a goal for the past six years, all I’ve actually done is gain weight. Then in shame, I hang the too-tight pants up and put on a pair I know will fit and spend the rest of the day mentally berating myself for being such a failure.”

“But,” my hubby wails, “they are just pants.”

“No they are little cocoons of ego-destroying cotton. Which is why YOGA PANTS are awesome. They fit, they always fit, and I don’t have to change all day long. After my shower I put on a pair of forgiving, loving yoga pants. I can then curl up on the couch, chair, bed, or floor without any problems.”

“Yoga pants enable me to do my Writers Butt exercises through the day without evil, pinching waistbands cutting into my delicate belly. IF I don’t spill anything on myself I can sleep in them, so no drama with too tight sleep pants.”

I think Hubby whimpered at this point.

“And when I wake up in the morning I am ready to work out, if I so choose. Nothing can stop me in yoga pants.”

“What if you have to go somewhere nice?” Hubby asks.

Herban Devi, Alica Mckenna-Johnson, Yoga pants

See the lace makes them dressy and sexy 🙂 Photo and pants by Herban Devi

“Then I put on a nice shirt, one that falls below my butt.”

“What it it’s really fancy?”

“Then I get fabric glue some toddlers and sequins and let them have fun.” Did he really believe I didn’t have all the answers? “Or I could buy some yoga pants from Herban Devi.”

“So you need more yoga pants,” Hubby says.

“Yes, but in different styles and colors. I don’t want people to think I wear the same pair of pants all the time.

Alica Mckenna-Johnson, Herban Devi, yoga pants

I need these!
Photo and pants by Herban Devi

Hubby walked off muttering under his breath. Poor man, maybe I should get him some yoga pants?

My brain is mush.


Sorry I’ve been gone, but at work I got the 13mo old and he is teething- but only at night 🙂 joy, and he is super cute and sweet, but I haven’t had a good nights sleep in over a week and I’m so not used to functioning at this level.

I do find it fascinating how quickly everything ha degraded. My self talk is awful, I don’t care what I eat, I’m depressed all because I’m being woken up several times during the night. So when people say important sleep is, they mean it! Oh and to top it off, the six pounds I lost gained back in four days, yeah super fun.

Going back to basics, squats and push-ups after each bathroom break, using Sparkpeople to track calories, and napping during my time off, which sucks because I’m 90% done writing book 3 but I haven’t found time to write in days.

*deep sigh*

Anyway trying to get back on track and because you don’t just want to hear me whine here’s a funny video I found on youtube. Well I think it’s funny but my brain is sleep deprived. 🙂

Writers Have a Special Brain

Kilian where are you???

Kilian where are you???

So just now I had a moment of sheer and utter panic, and I am sharing it with you because:

1. Everyone is fine and
2. Those of you who are writers can pass this onto non-writers so they understand us better.

My dear friend and editor Kilian was supposed to come and pick me up about 10:30 so we could go to Mary’s house for critique group at 11:00. She normally calls to let me know when she leaves her house—mostly because I’m always running late. So, no call. Hmmm. Maybe she is running late, or maybe she lost her phone again. I open the door to listen for her car.

10:40 I call her, no answer.

10:45 I check her Facebook—she hasn’t posted anything in twelve hours!

I look outside; what ifs start to whisper in my ear.

10:50 I call again, no answer. The what ifs get louder and I realize a key plot point, I don’t know where Kilian is staying. You see she is house sitting, and all I know are cross streets, major cross streets, not enough to go on.

I call Mary, who is calm for now, but my panic will spread like the flu through a daycare. We post a note on Facebook and see if anyone responds and each try calling her again.

Now you, as a rational person, might think I’m over reacting. However if this was a movie or a book you’d be yelling at the main character to check it out, and something is wrong.

“But Alica, this isn’t a book or a movie,” says a rational person who is no longer my friend.

In my head it is ALWAYS a book, not a movie because the book is always better. I am always prepared for people to burst into song, for dinosaurs to run down the street, for Thor to declare his undying love for me.

Alica Mckenna Johnson, Thor, true love

Art by marvelous Roland

“No, Thor, I mustn’t. I’m married.”

“Alica, I’ve tried to stay away but my body burns for you. My heart breaks every moment we’re apart.” He clasps my hand placing on his chest. I do my best to feel his breaking heart through those hot, firm, muscular pectorals.

Oh, um, sorry, anyway. . .

I have, at this point, imagined poor Kilian in a multitude of scenarios, waiting for someone to notice she is missing. Hoping a dear and true friend will notice her unusual behavior and rescue her.

The only clue we have is the couple she is house sitting for are part of her Mah Jongg group, at least I think they are. And her group is from her temple. But I don’t know what temple she goes to.

Alica Mckenna-Johnson, Mah Jongg, Kristen Shoemaker

Photo by Kristen Shoemaker

Facebook saves the day! Kilian was tagged in a photo reading Torah at Temple Emanu-El, and the temple has a Facebook page. Yes! Kilian, I’m on my way!

I call the temple and do my very best impression of a rational person. The lovely woman on the other end of the phone wants to wait an hour before calling the Mah Jongg group, does that seem reasonable? I say yes, because it does and it is, but my brain isn’t reasonable and I keep imagining Kilian hanging on for dear life waiting to be rescued!

I call my husband, who has put up with my crazy for 15 years. He is calm but understands my worry. Says it sounds like I’ve done what I can, but if I’m still worried, I could start calling hospitals.

I’d love to say I didn’t go that far. I’d love to pretend I was calm and rational and together enough to also be thinking, she could just have forgotten, maybe out with other friends having fun.

That would be a lie, I called them. No, Kilian, which means she could still be needing rescue!

Mary calls the Temple this time, the lovely lady has now been infected with my panic, but I’m sure a much milder strain, and agrees to start calling the Mah Jongg group.

And we wait. I suck at waiting. My brain goes a mile a minute, but I do my best.

Then Kilian calls. I want to cry with relief.

You see her phone was on vibrate and had been on a table when she lay down to nap, but was in the middle of the floor when she woke up—a clear sign some frantic, possibly deranged, person had been calling her repeatedly.
Kilian simply forgot to put the meeting in her calendar (the date had changed a few times in her defense and unlike me she has a social life). So Kilian was napping safely.

Not on the floor unable to move because a tiger had snuck into the house.

Photo by L E Carmichael

Photo by L E Carmichael

Aliens weren’t holding her hostage making her teach them proper grammar so they could blend in better and take over the world.

Kilian hadn’t been hiding from zombies in the closet, her phone on the other side.

No she was napping. I wonder if she was dreaming of weird buzzing insects from the incessant phone calls someone, not me, was making?

Anyway there is a look inside a writer’s brain. Scary, I know. But now hopefully you understand why we freak out when you’re late and forget to call. Or why we get upset when someone says something and we aren’t sure if it was a joke or a dig at us. Our brains create plots faster than the speed of light, and the more dramatic, the better.