Am writing this on my BlackBerry from the parking lot of the Home Depot. (Cannot deal with shopping for tools with Bob Fletcher Villa.)
Will this actually post? We'll see, provided he ever finishes shopping.
P.S. This message took 20 minutes to type. Apparently my fingers are HUGE.
UPDATE: Thank you all for thinking of my mom - she's gotten over 300 greetings so far and you guys have totally made her day! I'm taking the link down now because I guess we have kind of overwhelmed the volunteer staff. Thank you again!
A lot of you guys have been emailing me about what I've been up to as the site's technically been dark since last year.
But before I get into updates, I've got a request.
My mom's in the hospital recovering from surgery (short version is she's going to be fine, long version is when your doctor tells you to avoid certain foods for the rest of your life OR ELSE, you should maybe listen) and I found a way for people to send her a quick electronic greeting.* She's definitely on the mend because she's getting restless, so I thought she'd get a kick out of hearing from anyone who's interested.
*I'm hoping this hospital has some redundancy/latency built into its network and the act of you guys sending e-greeting cards doesn't cause it to crash or slow down. I admit I'm slightly dubious because this is the same town where my 4Runner broke down back in 2002 and it took the auto repair shop almost six weeks to fix a cracked engine block. (I sensed I was in trouble when the tow truck guy showed up and said something along the lines of, "I ain't never seen no car like that before." Yeah, Toyotas are EXOTIC, ain't they? Of course they charged us $1500 for a repair that would have cost $5000 up here, so it wasn't a total loss.)
Anyway, onward and upward.
As for me, I haven't posted because the only thing I would have written was OW OW OW over and over again. Among other assorted holiday maladies, I had the GENIUS idea to cash out the rest of my 2007 FSA by getting all my dentistry taken care of on New Years' Eve day as I was not about to let that $255 go to waste.
Again, GENIUS, right?
A bit of advice, if I may? If you ever decide you'd like to shitcan all ten million of your silver fillings and trade them in for porcelain ones because you are vain enough to think anyone cares what the inside of your mouth looks like, keep in mind the process will HURT LIKE A BITCH and that doing them all at the same time is EXTRAORDINARILY STUPID.
Also?
NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT WHAT THE INSIDE OF YOUR MOUTH LOOKS LIKE.
So, instead of going to any festive New Year's parties, I spent three days crying every time air hit my teeth and sucking down the Codeine Fletch had previously ferreted away from me because he figured I'd have used it recreationally. (Strong is the force in that one.) I have high hopes to begin chewing again this week.
What else? Oh, yeah, I wasn't even going to address this because it kind of isn't worth it, and yet I've gotten enough email to be annoyed to the extent I have to respond. People, I don't think New Year's resolutions are a bad thing, OK? And if you've made resolutions, stuck to them, and found ways to improve your life, that's great! Good on you! The point of my post was that everywhere I'd gone that day strangers asked me about my resolutions and I thought it too personal a question to pose as a generic silence-filler. Period. So please cease and desist attempting to engage me in an argument about whether or not resolutions are effective and sending me detailed lists of all the things you've accomplished via resolution because I don't care, WHAT WITH YOUR RESOLUTIONS BEING NONE OF MY BUSINESS. Aarrggh. (And no, I didn't respond to each of these emailers suggesting they resolve to improve their reading comprehension.) (I blame the Codeine for taking away my edge.)
Finally, the ratinmyhouse situation... two weeks ago Fletch said there was no way any rodent would still be here, what with the six hungry carnivores we keep. He swore up and down that nothing could survive the killing fields of our house and that the second the guys caught the scent of vermin, their instincts would kick in and it would be over. Dogs and cats would work together to circle and trap their prey, snapping and tearing and rending flesh before going all Lord of the Flies, putting the tiny rat/mouse head on a stake as a warning to any other who dared cross their paths.
Fletch sounded convincing, yet when I looked at the five furry mass murderers, all snoozing comfortably together on the guest bed, I had my doubts. (FYI, the sixth killer was in the guest room closet, curled up on my cashmere sweaters.) Oh, yes, he promised me again and again over the course of his Christmas vacation, that rodent was long gone, so I returned to eating my room-temperature soup and trying not to cry.
A couple of days ago, Fletch had to access a plug in his little back-porch office. I heard him moving furniture to get to the outlet before poking his head into the kitchen to ask me, "Hey, why do you think there's a hundred pieces of dog food behind the couch?"
"Hmm," I replied. "I guess maybe because the ratinmyhouse you promised had left? Didn't."
The good news, and I use the term loosely, is we've definitely determined him (please, God, let it be a him) to be a mouse based on, um, what he left behind. The bad news is he's evaded every means/person we've employed to chase/capture/kill him.
Also, the creature in question is definitely NOT Remy from Ratatouille because he much prefers his traps loaded with plain old Wisconsin cheddar over the more nuanced flavors of artisanal Machego and smoked Gouda. (Yet another unimportant side note? I thought watching Ratatouille would make me less squicked out over the idea of having a ratinmyhouse and yet I swear my heart stopped beating every time I saw the vermin congregate.)
Even worse, this goddamned creature is turning me into Carl Spackler from Caddyshack as I try to get him with non-traditional means and by non-traditional means, let's just say there's been more running around the kitchen banging pot lids together than I care to mention.
Last night I decided the reason we haven't been able to flush him out is because we don't know where he's hiding anymore... so I came up with yet another GENIUS idea. I spread flour out in front of all the places I thought he might be, thinking he'd walk in the flour, leave little powdery footprints and I could ambush him in his home.
Again, did I mention the GENIUS part?
Here's what I learned from this little CSI: Martha Stewart exercise:
Aarrggh.
So... that's what's been happening around here.
Aren't you glad you asked?
I was tempted to publish this entry with the title alone because it sums up my whole life at the moment, but decided that was boo-shit after I thought about it. Instead, I'll use this post put to rest some old business and along the way, try to remember if there's anything that's bugging me.
OK, first, Facebook and Twitter - yes, I removed my profiles from these places. I dug Facebook but two weeks into it, found myself kind of overwhelmed with requests. Due to its more personal/interactive nature (and the fact that I over-think EVERYTHING) I got consumed trying to keep up with every sheep thrown and I worried that I was being rude when I couldn't respond by sending a grow-a-gift or writing on their walls or something because it seemed like kind of an insult because people took the time to do something nice for me and... yeah. You see my dilemma.
As for Twitter, well, I'm simply too nosy to be on Twitter. I just can't read 140-characters of teaser without digging for the rest of the story. Damn all of you for being too interesting. (And damn you, Twitter, for continually RE-posting my profile, despite my deletion. Fuck ups like this are NOT going to help you get purchased by Google or Yahoo.)
Point is this site and my MySpace page aren't going anywhere - and I'm flattering myself here - in case you were worried.
What else? Oh, on Friday Fletch and I returned to Whole Foods for the first time since the moldy birthday cake incident. (And yes, they gave me a gift certificate, DAMN SKIPPY.) We shopped without incident until I pulled my purse out of their double-decker-city-shopping cart.
Apparently one of the geniuses in the back was too stoned to properly apply the lid (my theory, anyway) and when I grabbed my bag, it tipped the open pint of corn-poblano soup which then dumped all over my brand new birthday coat being stowed in the bottom-decker. After an entirely-too-long wait, a couple of employees straight from the set of Dazed and Confused showed up and stood there all, "Whoa, bummer!" until I barked that I needed paper towels right-fucking-NOW and perhaps they should grab a mop.
Long story short, the dry cleaner said my coat should be OK but I fear they're never going to get the smell of poblano pepper out of it and believe every time I walk by someone while wearing it they're going think, "Hey, we should have Mexican food for dinner!"
(BTW, here's the birthday cake my mom had made for me after hearing about the moldy-cake incident. Is this not GLORIOUS?)
(And yes, it tasted even better than it looked. There were layers of vanilla, red velvet, and mocha with a light buttercream frosting between and under the fondant. I cut it into pieces and froze them in separate baggies and now have access to magnificent cake whenever I want. So, again, SCREW YOU, WHOLE FOODS.)
And speaking of birth (this is a terrible segue, but let's pretend it works) did anyone see US magazine last week? I'm still fuming over this. There's a little article with pictures of celebs and a clock telling how long each of them were in labor. Apparently Keri Russell labored for thirty-eight hours, Gwyneth Paltrow for seventy, and Brooke Shields for twenty-four. However, Keisha Castle-Hughes is the big winner because she labored for seventy-two hours, yet it was OK because she "forgot every single minute of it" once she saw her baby daughter.
Nice little article, right? Yeah, except the fact that Keisha Castle-Hughes is SEVEN-FUCKING-TEEN YEARS OLD. Honey, you were in labor that long because you're STILL A BABY YOURSELF. (FYI, I'm not going to go all moral/political/ethical here ranting about how Keisha isn't married because ultimately, her life has no effect on mine.)
(My politics can be summed up by the philosophy that you should do whatever you want, as long as it doesn't cost ME anything.)
(Also, I'm not going to get into the abortion debate because, really, there's a BIRTHDAY CAKE here.)
Castle-Hughes made choices and they're not up for debate. She may be an old soul and a fantastic mother and everything is just fine. My point is that I'm pissed off at Us Weekly. I mean, can we please not have a national magazine glorifying babies having babies here? Considering half their readers are likely teenagers, did US really have to use Castle-Hughes as an example, thus sending the message that it's totally cool to not only have sex but also to give birth while being a junior in high school? Did no one else in Hollywood have a drawn-out delivery? Could they not have found someone else's photo to post? GOD.
Anyway, I'm out of steam and need to get back to work now. Later!
"Pfft, this entry sucks. You'd have been better off just posting the title. And can I have some cake?"
P.S. Loki just reminded me comments will re-open when I have time to monitor them again.
If a tree falls in a forest and no one's around to hear it, does it make a sound?
I haven't a clue.
What I do know is if I have a couple of book events and FORGET TO TELL PEOPLE ABOUT THEM, then it will be exactly as though they never happened.
So...
Friday, October 19, 2007 - The Book Cellar at 4736 N. Lincoln Ave in Chicago, 7:00 PM - ?
I'll be there as a part of the Chicago's Wittiest Women Writers event with the ever-so-awesome Stacey Ballis, Wendy McClure, Claire Zulkey, and Elizabeth Crane. The Book Cellar's website promises we'll regale you with quips and wisecracks all night long. All I know is I'm having drinks beforehand, so possibly slurring, shouting, and sweating Chardonnay should be included in this description. Also, and this can't be stated too emphatically, THE BOOK CELLAR SERVES DRINKS! I mean, my God, a bookstore where you can have wine? Are you kidding me? Why am I not there every day?
Saturday, October 20, 2007 - Joliet Library Author Fair at 3359 Black Road, Joliet, IL from 11:00 AM - 3:00 PM
Likely still sweating Chardonnay from the night before, I'll be there for a signing and meet-and-greet with Laura Caldwell and Stacey Ballis, who has way more self-control than me and will likely not be sweating Chardonnay. On her website, Stacey alludes to the promise of free gifts for stopping by our table at the fair. At the moment, I don't have shit for you. But perhaps I can cobble together my own free gifts from the Galley of Regrettable Hair Care Products and Old, Thick Nail Polishes currently taking up all the real estate in my bathroom cabinet.
On Saturday night, Laura, Stacey, and I will see Kathy Griffin at the Chicago Theater. I only mention this on the slim chance one of you can coerce Kathy into having drinks with us after the show.
In other news, still not done editing right now.
But I will be by this weekend.
Be afraid.
Because I have a manuscript due in six weeks, today seemed like the perfect day to organize all my digital photos. I'm posting not only my favorites here but also stuff you'll recognize from stories in Bright Lights, Big Ass. (I promise this photo obsession will pass soon. Or, soon-ish.)
Enjoy... and thank you for not calling attention to the fact that in so posting, I'm delaying airing the stink out of my house, returning hundreds of overdue emails, paying bills, bathing myself, oh, and writing another ten chapters.
First up, Maisy at eight weeks old on the day we brought her home, looking EXACTLY like she does now, only with straighter ears.
"I will own you, bitch."
Heartfelt emotion in Nowhereville, PA. Because, really? Hallmark is for suckers and true love comes in a spray can.
Wait, no. True love is when you email your wife a photo of the sandwich you made while she's at her temp job because she believes you're incapable of feeding yourself. (Note: This is one of SEVENTEEN shots.) (Bonus points awarded for pickle placement.)
The koi pond/Japanese garden in the enclosed courtyard at a magnificent rental home we considered a few years ago before settling on Loser House. Had I not Googled the neighborhood sex crime database (30 repeat offenders in a two block radius, WTF?), we'd have taken it. Judging from some of the stuff on display, we think R. Kelly owned the house. Oh, the irony.
Tangible proof of the The Holiday Drinking Season, or Why Big Daddy Should Not Hit the Eggnog 'Til After Wrapping Presents.
Check it out - pearls, pajamas, pedicures, pasta, and pets. I'm a cliche of myself in this photo!
Remember when I wrote Rachael Ray was the devil and I described the Frankenmeatloaf Fletch cooked? Yes. It was real. Be afraid because evil never dies and this meatloaf is probably still wandering up and down Racine Ave.
Not Winky. But likely a close relation. Not pictured? Dogs trying to break down the door, SWAT-style.
The view of the city from Fletch's boss's boat. (Not the night of the two-dollar incident, though.)
The shot Fletch and I staged because I thought sending "Come to My Book Signing or the Dog Gets It" invitations would be funny and not, you know, UTTERLY TERRIFYING. (BTW, Lindsay Lohan is a big, fat copycat.)
But don't worry - Fletch is also in touch with his feminine side. Anyone need a button sewn back on?
A party shot from back when we were DotCom Thousandaires. (Seriously, is that not the best jacket ever?)
Finally, the cover Bitter would have had if I hadn't argued successfully that putting a six-foot tall, 110 lb. model up there didn't quite convey the idea of being laid off and getting fat. (But if you'd like to think my legs are this thin and that my ass wouldn't expand across the entire suitcase, please feel free.)
Alright, I've got to try and accomplish something today.
And if it's not a whole chapter, at least I hope it's a shower.
I’m not going to apologize for not blogging recently because… dude. The new book is due in less than two months. Busy. So very, very busy.
Technically, I don’t actually HAVE to lose the whole 50 pounds, I’m just contractually obligated to provide 80,000-90,000 words about the process. However, I don’t miss deadlines OR goals so I’m killing myself right now to make it happen. I mean, damn, on top of the restrictive diet I’m working with my trainer three times a week and also doing cardio on my own. Plus, I went to a “freemotion fitness” group class on Wednesday taught by my trainer, which A) was really fucking hard and B) was probably a mistake on my part as my trainer complimented me on keeping up and determined I’d been holding out on her in our private sessions.
Shit.
My trainer then laughed and said she couldn’t hear me complaining over the music, which I imagine was a pleasant change. Frankly, I was too busy trying not to attract attention from the fit participants during the class, so I kept my mouth shut. However, our dollar-per-minute training sessions are an entirely different story. It’s impossible for me to not provide surly running commentary over each exercise. (I am made for sitting and reclining, not for squatting and sprinting!)
Also, there’s such pain and exertion involved, my body hijacks my brain and invents problems so she’ll take it easy on me, e.g. “These lunges just sprained my prostate, so let’s not complete the set, OK?”
Sadly, I’ve cried wolf one too many times, and now unless we can see bone sticking out, she doesn’t believe me when I beg for a moment to tend to all my “injuries.”
I am so going to buy her a pony when we reach my goal.
That is, if she doesn’t kill me first.
Anyway, until I get back to my regular posting duties, check out any of the following:
My interview with Cindy at Conversations with Famous Writers
Tons of great summer reading recommendations from Trashionista
Finally, for the Jens and Wendy and Roberta and all the other cool ladies sitting on the east end of the table at the telephone bar after the New York signing, I FINALLY remembered the story I was going to tell you about my friend wearing her neighbors sheets! Granted, I totally forget how it was a propos to the conversation, but here it is.
Now there’s an elliptical machine with my name on it. And if I don’t go, I fear my trainer will make my broken ankles go from fantasy to reality...
(P.S. Just found out the new book will be released in May, 2008!)
Next Sunday at 11:00 AM, Stacey Ballis and I are appearing together at Printer’s Row on the main stage. We don’t have a set agenda of what we’re supposed to discuss; rather, we’re simply listed on the program as being “in conversation.”
As Stacey is one of my favorite people in the world, having a chat with her is not exactly a chore. And because of all the traveling she’s done lately to promote her trio of new books, I won’t see her again until that day. So, it’s not like she and I won’t have a zillion things to discuss. The problem I’ve had limited human interaction lately. (Fletch was in Denver for most of May.) Because of this, I’m afraid I will monopolize the conversation with any of the following topics:
Yeah, no one’s coming all the way to the South Loop and paying $20 for parking for this, and that’s why I seek your help. Given the opportunity, what kind of stuff would you want to hear us discuss? The writing process? How we found agents? Fiction vs. non-fiction? What inspires us? Who we read?
Anyway, please let one of us know via email or MySpace what you want to hear. Otherwise, a whole new season of So You Think You Can Dance has begun and I have far too many unexpressed thoughts...
For those wondering, yes, I will shortly return to blogging regularly here, at Mamapop, and at Snarkywood. Just give me a couple of more days to catch up.
As for current events, the best way to describe what's happening here would be to share my task lists.
Yesterday's To-Do List:
Today's To-Do List:
Again, I'll return shortly, and for those of you local, see you tomorrow night!
