I crashed the Immortal party and it ended with a surprise encore… a big one.
I thought being a Demon sucked, but being a Demon Goddess is a whole ’nother level. Life had been so much easier when I was just a forty-year-old has-been actress trying to make a comeback in the land of Botox and BS.
For the love of everything absurd, I was just getting used to being a Demon… and BAM… all of a sudden I’m supposed to be one of the two gals in charge? I mean, being the co-star of the show is great until it involves ruling the Darkness with the evil whack job who destroyed my mother.
Pandora is a guiding blight in my world, and I plan to cancel her at all costs. With my Demon love by my side and a gaggle os Immortal nutbags along for the ride, I’ll find the vicious Goddess and put her back in her box.
Ah well, fate is set. Destiny is my performance to command. I plan it improv the heck out of it. Go big or go home is my new modus operandi. Although, right now, home sounds seriously appealing. Either way, I’m strapping in and getting ready for the wildest gig yet.
I did not order the extra slice of Armageddon to go with my midlife crisis. Apparently, if you’re an Immortal, it comes free of charge.
I have until sundown tomorrow to get to a parallel plane of existence, save my family, and kick bad-guy butt all before the world ends.
Impossible, right?
Not according to my posse of whackado buddies. They like to remind me that nothing is impossible as long as I believe.
Well, I’m about to be the mother of all believers.
Armed with nothing but a folder titled “Sh*t Pile” and backed by a few fabulous drag queens, a toothpick-chewing nutjob, a sweetheart with a penchant for sharing disgusting facts, and an ice queen who doesn’t play nice with others, we have our work cut out for us.
Time is not on my side, and I am having one hell of a midlife crisis.
Lately, my life has been a big, fat, hairy midlife crisis. I could really go for a boring day or three.
Apparently, there’s no rest for the over-forty crowd.
Yes, I have fabulous friends.Yes, I have a beautiful baby.Yes, the ghosts are coming back home. Yes, I’m in love with the Grim Reaper.
However, that sexy Demon has got some major ’splainin’ to do … like his possible involvement in the shocking kidnapping of my worst and most deadly enemy.
With a drag queen and an ice queen as my back up, we’re going to sashay away into the Darkness to find the truth and turn a wrong into a right.
Although, I’m learning fast that black and white are often clouded with shades of gray.
Whatever. I’m putting on my rose-colored glasses and going for it. I plan to live midlife in peace … not pieces.
Good luck to me.
Midlife is supposed to be messy, but this is a full-on catastrophic crisis.
Just when I thought life might be getting back to normal—normal being a relative word—I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Marriage proposal from the Grim Reaper? Yes.Beautiful healthy baby? Yes.Friends and family safe? Yes.Ghost of my worst enemy sitting on my front porch? OMG. Yep.
With the ghostly world imploding around me, I’m going to need more than superglue to repair it.
Question? Am I willing to do what has to be done?Answer? I’m about to find out.
To say forty has been an eventful year is an understatement. On the contrary, it’s turning out to be a seriously hard-knock midlife.
What does a forty-year-old former child star do when she finds out she’s a Demon?
A sitcom, of course.
Age is just a number unless you’re an actress of a certain age trying to make a comeback in La La Land. Back in the day, I was the child star of the hit show Camp Bites. Today, I’m still living it down.
After a disastrous soap opera audition and getting fired from a TV show for not having a bodacious enough backside, one would think I’d be smart enough to go into real estate.
Nope.
Just found out from the rudest, meanest, and hottest guy alive that I’m a Demon. The jerk, also a Demon, goes by the name Abaddon—Abe to his friends.
I call him Dick.
He’s come from the Underworld to protect me—insert laugh track—since there’s a bounty on my head. Dick is not a welcome addition to my midlife madness. However, he won’t go away, and now he’s my new boss.
Fine. Whatever. All I ever wanted to do in my life was pretend. I can pretend to get along with Dick. I can pretend that I’m not wildly attracted to him. Not sure I can pretend I’m human anymore, or that a supernatural assassin isn’t trying to cancel me, but I’m going to fake it until I make it. Or I get killed.
As the Underworld turns upside down, so have the days of my life.
A forty-something Werewolf supermodel, five supernaturally screwed up bridesmaids, and a demonic mother of the groom determined to ruin the wedding.
Awesome … not.
How has my life come to this? Not sure who I screwed over in a past life to end up with a heinous mother-in-law who thinks my wedding is for her. If I didn’t love Chance more than myself—which is a lot—I’d rethink the entire hot mess.
Problem—I’ve been instructed to show up in Hell on my wedding day with six bridesmaids. I have exactly two friends in total. The punishment for failure? Electrocution—which would suck.
Problem Solve—Go to a supernatural plasticware party at the community center and blackmail a few gals into being bridesmaids.
New Problem—The gals I coerced bring their own brand of crazy to the party.
Whatever. Chance is the Demon of my dreams. He loves me fur and all. One night of Hell for a lifetime of happiness is a good trade. I hope …
Move over, Bridezilla. I’ve got this covered.
Welcome to my big fat hairy wedding.
Midlife is sheer madness, and the facts of midlife are not taught in school. Unfortunately, some lessons are hellishly hard to learn.
I thought I had it figured out. I was wrong.
Proving I’m the Angel of Mercy is turning into a sh*tshow of epic proportions.
Not too long ago, I was a forty-year-old gal with a stable and boring life ahead of me. Now? Not so much. I have celestial siblings who are no walk in the park. Their decisions can destroy my future.
And of course, my predecessor has given me a month to do the impossible or I’ll lose everything that means anything to me.
Gluing ghosts back together is turning out to be the easiest part of my job.
Fine. If this is my fate, I accept. Nothing is impossible if you believe.
I choose to believe.
Going to Hell has never been on my bucket list … until now.
The fact that I can speak that sentence without laughing or losing my mind is absurd. However, my life has veered into a very tricky tale that rivals any of my books.
The villain has been banished. I’ve written her right into an infernal doom. Unfortunately, a few of my very dear friends, fictional and real, have been caught up in the horror story and they’ve taken the trip down under as well.
It’s my fault and I can only see one way out … a plot twist of epic proportions. The fairy tale is imploding and my imagination has taken flight.
The ending is murky and the stakes are up to me. There is no other alternative.
If I don’t get this ending right, my happy ever after might become a happy never after.
Midlife is madness-magical, messy, and one freaking crisis after another.
With a new job I didn't apply for and an extended family I didn't know I had-midlife has become somewhat problematic. Gluing ghosts back together is easy compared to my new celestial occupation.
The Grim Reaper wants to put a ring on it. Tim wants to be a father. Candy Vargo has lost her damn mind, and Jennifer thinks we're all sparkly vampires. I've been given an impossible task with catastrophic consequences for failure, but it wouldn't be my midlife without another crisis.
What's the saying? When in Crazytown, embrace the insanity or go insane. It's time to lean into the madness. I'm putting down roots, pulling up my big-girl panties, and getting down to business. With one month to succeed, it's time to grow a bigger pair of lady-balls and play in the big league.
The rules are unclear. However, when it's a matter of midlife and death, I'm making the rules. And I will win.
It's all fun and games until someone throws a dirty jumper rollup and you lose out in the Cornhole tournament of life.
According to Baba Yoscarybutt, it's time for me to witch up or step back down into the Cornholio minor leagues. While Cornhole is definitely not my beanbag, I can't stand to lose.
I don't want to be the next Baba Yaga. I'm doing just peachy as the Shifter Wanker who heals the clumsy idiots of Assjacket, West Virginia. I love my life. My werewolf mate is hotter than asphalt in August, my twins are adorable, my dad and brother rock, and I have real friends for the first time in my life.
However, when my evil nemesis, Medusa Jones, steps up to throw a floppy bag and steal the title of Future Baba Yaga from me, all bets are off.
I will challenge the nasty piece of work to win back the job I didn't want in the first place.
With Sassy and Fuc*ing Derrick by my side, I will finally own my destiny. Of course, Fuc*ing Derrick is prone to meltdowns and Sassy is trying to learn Canadian, but one deals with the floppy bags they've been dealt and tosses them anyway.
It will be dangerous.It will be cornfusing.It will be fashionably disastrous.It will be televised on the magical Charm Channel.Whatever. A few four baggers, a couple of woodies, a Bigfoot and spell or two should do the trick.The future of the magical Universe is on the line and I'm the only one who can save us.May the Goddess help us all.
No one in their right freaking mind ever said midlife was magical.Apparently it is.Or at least mine is ...
Once upon a time there was a paranormal romance author who caught her husband in a compromising position. One divorce later, she's free and ready to start her new life at forty-two.
Right?Wrong.
Divorced idiot ex: CheckSaved idiot ex from getting murdered by his new nasty gal pal: CheckIdiot ex accused me of trying to kill him: Umm checkStill seeing my fictional characters: CheckTeeny tiny crush on my lawyer: Check checkTown under siege by dark forces: Of courseCrazy enough to try and stop it: You bet
With the darkness on the horizon, I need to clear my name and get to work. Forming a Goodness Army is on the top of the list. Shockingly, my army consists of my wacky tabacky-smoking aunt, my high school counselor who can shift into a house cat, the town gossip who turns invisible after downing five beers, and a few fabulous others with nefarious talents. And of course, a cast of fictional characters ... who I created and definitely have an opinion on how I should proceed.
What could possibly go wrong?
I'm going on pure gut instinct at this point, and I can't wait to see how the plot turns out.
I may be wrong. I may be write. Either way, I'll just keep turning the pages until I find my happily ever after.
Midlife is definitely a journey. The road has massive potholes.
And the crisis ... it's the gift that keeps on giving.
Being forty is supposed to be freaking fabulous, not fatal.
Taking on a daunting new job minus the description isn't the smartest move I've ever made, even if it was to save a friend. Hopefully, it doesn't turn out to be the stupidest ... or deadliest.
Why can't things stay the way they were? I love my old job. Supergluing ghosts back together and solving their issues is its own reward. Not to mention, I'm seriously good at it. Although, I must say, I'm ridiculously excited for the new Death Counselor's arrival in nine months ...
Adding to my problems, there are four new angels in town who are riding my butt and judging every move I make. Literally. Who knew destroying one Immortal could cause me so much trouble? If I'm found guilty, I'll be pushing up daisies.
Luckily, my nutty friends have my back and the Grim Reaper has my heart. What could possibly go wrong?
Nothing is impossible. I am living proof. Let's just hope I live to prove it.
