ChaucerianGirl

Moving On

2007-03-07T09:47:00.000-08:00

I've moved. This is the last entry you'll find on this blog. If you want to keep reading my scintillating stories and adventures and book reviews and everything else, you'll need to visit me at the new home of Chauceriangirl. If you link to this blog, please take a moment to update your links so we can keep in touch!

Faith Loves the Letter R....

2007-03-06T13:35:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's another meme. But that's because I'm really busy and have been going back and forth between about 10 different things all at once. Amanda posted this today on her blog; it's one of those fun "get-to-know-you" memes that will probably teach you more about me than you all care to know, however it's fun for me to do! All I had to do was request a letter and once received, I tell you all 10 things I love that start with that letter. I was handed an "R," so here are my 10 items I just love, all beginning with R, in no particular order.

Reading. Well, that just had to come first. You know me. Reading, books, love to read, love to write, read read read read read. R. Reading. I read incessantly. If I'm in the bathroom for longer than I'd planned to be, I've been known to panic if I have nothing to read. In those sad little moments, I'll read the back of the shampoo bottle, the toilet bowl cleanser can, anything. I remember the bathroom at GTE had spare rolls of toilet paper in the stalls, and I'd read the French writing and the English writing, and marvel that the French took so many more words to say the same thing and yet sound so much better than the English. When I was a kid, I remember reading the cereal boxes at breakfast. I always have at least one or two books in my handbag that's really a briefcase, according to Sarah. (It's not. It's just a very large totebag with two binders [one for Gertrude Stein and one for the Juarez project] and a book or two and a bottle or two of water and my money and my iPod and anything else I feel like hauling around. But the most important thing are the books. And the money, of which there is never enough.) Anyway, the #1 R thing that I love is reading.
Red food. Assuming it's supposed to be red, anyway. Cherries, strawberries, watermelon, raspberries, red Kool-Aid, red Jell-O, red velvet cake, strawberry pie, cherries jubilee. . .. Those are the sweet red foods. And then there's medium-rare roast, which is a pinky-red, but I reserve the right to put it in the red food category. And red beans--I love red beans. And I don't know how I almost forgot, but I really like sweet red bell peppers.
Renaissance Festivals, like Scarborough Faire. Always fun. I like mocking the women who use them as an excuse to wear extremely tight corsets so that their breasts are two giant heaving mounds of flesh. They think they're sexy. They're not. It's just kind of gross. And I like heckling the guy pretending to be Shakespeare, by asking him why on earth he left his wife his second-best bed. Of course I have my own theories, but it's always fun to heckle. And I love watching the guys reenact Dante's Divine Comedy. And I like listening to the music and seeing the falcons and watching the jousting and eating sour pickles and being there with people I love.
The Renaissance. The Harlem Renaissance, to be more specific. I like the old European one, too, don't get me wrong. I'm an American, though, and I love seeing the art that came out of the Harlem Renaissance. I'm particularly fond of the poetry of Langston Hughes.
Redecorating. There's nothing like getting a room in your home exactly the way you want it, all beautiful, everything just so. And you enjoy it for a while. And then, well, it's time to do something different. That's why most of the tchockes in my house come from places like T.J. Maxx or Ross or garage sales or flea markets. I redecorate often enough that the accessories need to be inexpensive.
Roaring. Sometimes a girl just needs to roar aloud. "I am woman, hear me roar!" Or, alternately, "I am Reptar! Hear me roar!" Whichever. It's fun. I also like to bark at dogs while I'm taking walks, but that doesn't start with an R so I can't list that here.
Rolling my R's. When I was in junior high school and taking Spanish for the first time, I had the dickens of a time learning how to roll my R's. So my mother taught me this little rhyme: Erre con erre cigarro; Erre con erre barril. Rapidos corren los carros del ferrocarril. I practiced and practiced and practiced. And now I can roll my R's. And it's quite satisfying. Just roll your R's at someone you're annoyed at, and it gets you to feeling better right away. Of course, they'll be staring at you like you belong in a loony bin, and perhaps you do, but that's another matter. You'll still feel better after you've rolled those R's!
Road Trips! I really like taking road trips. Unless it's for something distinctly unfun and there's nothing I can do along the way to make it fun. You pack a combination of junk food and healthy food (apples and grapes and sandwiches in the cooler, and cashews and Doritos and chocolate). You pick out just the right music and books on CD. You plan out the route. You pack your stuff, making sure to leave enough room in the car for the stuff you're going to buy while you're road tripping. Then you go! And it's even more fun if you allow yourself time to do all the weird stuff along the way--stop off at the 50-foot high ball of yarn, or go visit Santaclausland in March. And you have to stop at Stuckey's and buy a pecan roll, even though it's so sticky sweet you can't stand to eat more than a bite or two. And you stop at all the tourist traps and look at all the junk, and get back in the car and laugh at the people who were buying the authentic Hopi souvenirs made in Taiwan.
Rose and roses. Rose is a really fantastic co-worker, and I love her madly. She's always thinking of others, and making sure everyone here is taken care of. And I love roses, too. They can be so prim and proper, and then they can be so wild and blowsy that you know they're just as wanton as could be in their hearts. And they smell good, unless it's rose perfume, in which case yuck.
Rock music, in all its incarnations--hard rock, punk, new wave, pop, southern rock, indie, indie folk rock, you name it. If it has a beat and I can dance to it, I'm happy. And if you can't see me dance, you're happy. Trust me on this one.

Well, this was fun, and harder than it may seem. But if you want to join in the fun, let me know and I'll give you a letter!

The 91,436th Reason I Love My Sister

2007-03-05T12:34:00.000-08:00

In case you can't tell, by reading my posts over the last few weeks, I've been really uncomfortable with my own self image as opposed to what I see when photographs are taken of me. Particularly after yesterday, I started questioning whether I'd made the right choice of costume. So I've been bugging everyone who saw me, my husband, my sister, the director, etc. And they've all been totally awesome.

S. (the director) said that she thought I looked great, but if I want to keep working on my look, to feel free to do so.

My husband said that I looked good. He also recognizes, I think, part of what's troubling me. I've lost 42 pounds now, but my body's not changing as quickly outside as I am inside. And that's part of the problem. I see in the mirror and in the clothes I'm wearing now how much smaller I am than I was 7 or 8 months ago, but when I see a photograph of myself, all I see is everything I still need to lose. I also see the problem areas that I can already tell you I'm going to get plastic surgery to correct. I think he's right about that. I also told him that I was trying to let out my inner rebel with my costume for the show. He said that my inner rebel isn't a goth punk rocker, but that it's more like Chaucer in the movie "A Knight's Tale"--me walking down the road bare-assed and mooning the world. Of course, I wouldn't do that either, but you get the idea.

And my sister said the last thing I needed to finish feeling secure about my costume. I'm pasting it right from her e-mail, because it made me feel so good that I wanted to keep it where I can find it again when I'm feeling insecure again. Because trust me, I will. Here's what she said: You didn't look horrible. I just saw your blog, but haven't responded yet. You looked--I'm looking for the right word here. Hard? I think that's a good word. You looked hard, which is quite unlike how you usually look. And while I do think you are being hyper self-critical, I also think you are prettier in person than you are on film. You have a spark (crossed with a softness, which is interesting) to your face that the camera doesn't quite know how to catch. Don't know if that makes sense or not. But you didn't look horrible.

I've got the bestest sister in the world.

P.S. What I wrote about the glitter earlier, trust me when I say it won't come off your contacts. I thought I'd gotten it off, and wore my contacts to work today. I've spent the day today blinking in an effort to see, taking them out and rinsing them off again, putting saline in my eyes, etc. OW!!! I'm going to go home, throw this pair of contacts away, and wear glasses for the rest of the week to give my eyelids time to heal. They've got to be scratched from the glitter, because when I put saline in, even though I can temporarily (as in for about 5 minutes) see clearly, it burns like a sonuvagun. So just for emphasis, I'm going to repeat this admonition: If you wear glitter eyeliner or eyeshadow, take your contacts out before you wash your face. The glitter will get on your contacts and will not come off. It will scratch your eyelids. It will make it hard for you to see clearly. It will hurt like you can't imagine. And you'll have to throw your contacts away, which is a sad waste of a perfectly good pair of contacts!

Trying to Declutter my Mind

2007-03-05T08:45:00.000-08:00

Some (obviously not all) men can be incredibly vile and vulgar with women they don't know. Yesterday I learned the meaning of a signal that I never would have even noticed before, and I'm completely disgusted that a man would do that to four women who are obviously out in costume for a purpose beyond hooking. And even if we had been hookers, that's still disgusting. It's the kind of thoughts that leads to the behavior of the men who have so horrifically abused and murdered the women of Juarez (and elsewhere obviously, but Juarez is what's on my mind). I know some would probably argue with me that making an obscene gesture to strange women doesn't lead to rape, mutilation, torture, and murder. Obviously it doesn't in every case. But I believe that it's the thought that another human being is less than human, is an object for one's amusement and gratification.
It is very easy for me to start performing on the sidewalk with the other cast members in the play. It is very difficult for me to walk down the sidewalk, in costume, and interact with people on the street. While we were performing, I was so engrossed with the performance and the other cast members that I couldn't even tell you whether anyone even stopped to watch.
It can be very difficult to stay in character and in the moment sometimes, though. A man came up to V. and me, holding up a card that indicated he could not speak nor hear, and asking for money. We couldn't break, and continued. V. was trying to signal her husband to get out his wallet, but he didn't get the message. I think that poor man thought we were making fun of him, and it broke our hearts.
There is a reason there are wide umbrellas over the tables in the courtyard. The four of us were seated at a table while photographs were being taken. Suddenly a huge plop of liquid bird crap landed on the table with a splat as we all hastily pushed our chairs away and got up. So the umbrellas are there for more than decoration.
When you have mousse, texturizer, scrunch spray, hairspray, and 5 colors of hair paint in your hair, it feels really nasty. And if you decide to take a hot soak in the tub instead of a shower, know that you're going to have to change the bathwater before you can get clean. Because all that nasty goop comes off into the bathwater and gets it really nasty. So it's smart to take a quick shower first to rinse the goop off before taking the long hot soak in the tub.
If you use eyeliner with glitter, take your contacts out BEFORE you wash your face. Because if you get glitter on your contacts it's almost impossible to get the glitter off. And it will hurt your eyes. And if you get glitter and soap in your eyes, it burns.
Joe and I went to see "Wild Hogs" Saturday. It's a very funny movie. William H. Macy, IMNSHO, completely stole the show. When I laugh so hard that I can't breathe, I do this funny squeaking thing with my throat until I can catch my breath. Well, I squeaked through at least a third of the movie. And if you go see it, make sure you wait for the end after the credits start rolling. There's a very funny bit that ties everything up at the end.
I wonder if I'll ever see a photograph of myself that I actually like. Joe took a few of me yesterday in my costume and makeup, and I think they're absolutely hideous. I don't look anything like that! I continue to wonder if I'm completely delusional about my appearance, because I think I'm pretty good looking most of the time. But I've almost never seen a picture of myself that looks anything but ghastly.
There is no such thing as too many books. Unless you're a professor assigning textbooks, in which case the fewer the better because textbook companies rob students. Otherwise, though, books are like chocolate: the more the better. There is nothing chocolate can't cure; there is nothing that books can't cure. Yesterday I started reading a really good book at S's place, one that she recommended, and got about 75 pages into it before we had to leave. Page 66 made me cry. As soon as I hear back from her about the name and author, I'll post it here so y'all can read it. And I'll also go buy it. Because there is no such thing as too many books.
Sometimes what you're doing is so interesting and fun that you don't realize you're exhausted until it's completely over and you sit down. And then it hits you. Yesterday was like that for me. I didn't feel like I did anything physically exerting, and for that matter didn't really. And I called my sister, who wanted to hang for a while, but she kept telling me she knew I was tired and I could just go home. But I kept insisting I wasn't tired, and wanted to hang with her for a while. So I went by there and lay on her bed while she put her laundry away, and realized that I was exhausted. Hence the hour-long soak in the bathtub that I mentioned earlier.
I'm having a grand and glorious time participating in this play. I've made some new friends; I've learned a lot; and best of all, I'm doing something I've dreamed of for a long time. It's fun. If any of you are going to be in Dallas the weekend of 3/23 or 3/30, come see our play!!

There's a lot more clutter in my mind, but I figure this is enough for one post.

Banned Book Review #1

2007-03-04T08:40:00.000-08:00

The Figure in the Shadows
John Bellairs

John Bellairs' books are very dark, gothic, and spooky. I remember reading them when I was a kid, and finding them incredibly terrifying. They no longer terrify me, as I've seen enough of the real world to be terrified by it, but the atmosphere is still as dark and spooky as I remember.

Lewis Barnavelt is an orphan, and is living with his Uncle Jonathan in New Zebedee, Michigan. His Uncle Jonathan is a wizard and the best friend of an even more powerful magician, Mrs. Zimmerman, their next-door neighbor. Lewis is chubby and very insecure; he spends his lunch hours hiding out at home because he doesn't want to be picked on by the tough kids at school. His best--and only, other than Uncle Jonathan and Mrs. Zimmerman--friend is Rose Rita Pottinger.

We quickly realize how insecure Lewis is at the beginning of the book, when he sneaks his Sherlock Holmes hat out of the house in a bag. He wants to wear it on Main Street, only for a few blocks. Rose Rita doesn't understand why he doesn't have the self confidence to just wear it whenever and wherever he wants to. But Lewis's fears prove correct: bully Woody Mingo steals it from him and saunters off nonchalantly.

That evening, in an effort to cheer Lewis up, Uncle Jonathan proposes a diversion. Lewis' great-grandfather Barnavelt's trunk is still in the house, and it seems like a good night to unpack the trunk. The diversion works. Lewis is admittedly dismayed to learn that his great-grandfather never actually saw any action in the Civil War, having been shot in the leg after a poker game. But the stories are fascinating, and when Lewis is given his great-grandfather's lucky coin, he hopes that perhaps things will change. Mrs. Zimmerman quickly dashes that hope, however, as she quickly tests the coin and proclaims that it is, unfortunately, not a magic amulet.

Lewis keeps it anyway. At school things get rougher. He catches Rose Rita fighting with Woody Mingo, and is devastated that his best friend--a gu-url--is fighting his battles. He dreams of being strong, brave, of beating the living daylights out of Woody Mingo. He and Rose Rita continue building their balsa galley in their spare time. One night they decide they need to find a Latin motto to decorate the flag, and check out the books in Uncle Jonathan's library. Most of Uncle Jonathan's books on magic have been put away, as he was concerned about Lewis's unhealthy interest in them. But he missed one, and the children find Mrs. Zimmerman's dissertation. They're scanning through it when Lewis finds a passage about testing amulets in another way, a method that will detect extremely rare and powerful amulets. Rose Rita is bored, but Lewis insists they test his lucky coin. Rose Rita holds the books while Lewis performs the ritual. The elements respond to the ritual, and Rose Rita is shaken as she asks Lewis if anything happened. Lewis impassively says no, and they get back to work on their galley.

But Lewis is lying.

The rest of the book carries us along with Lewis as things really begin to change for him. He gets into a fight with Woody Mingo, and a force outside of himself propels his fist into Woody's nose at the moment when he himself was hesitant. It worked; Woody began to leave him alone. Lewis' friends notice that he is different, but chalk it up to his abortive attempts to diet and get into shape. Finally Lewis gets the courage to tell Rose Rita the truth: the amulet did respond to the ritual. She takes it from him and tells him that she dropped it into the sewer. In reality, however, she keeps it, thinking that perhaps it will be of benefit to him when he is an adult.

Bereft of his talisman, Lewis is tormented once more by Woody Mingo who senses that Lewis is his normal cowardly self again. One day Lewis has the sudden thought that perhaps Rose Rita didn't destroy his amulet. He searches for it, and the series of events that follows nearly culminates in Lewis' death. Fortunately, Uncle Jonathan, Mrs. Zimmerman, and Rose Rita save the day.

John Bellairs wrote three separate series of middle-grade stories: the Lewis Barnavelt series(with Uncle Jonathan, Mrs. Zimmerman, and Rose Rita); the Anthony Monday series(with Miss Eels and her brother, Emerson Eels); and my favorites, the Johnny Dixon series(with Professor Roderick Childermass, Fergie, Father Higgins, and some othre assorted characters). There is no question that the stories are dark and frightening, but there is also no question as to where Mr. Bellairs aligned himself. The stories always end with good triumphing over evil. There is a lot of occult mythology in the stories, and perhaps it is this that gets them challenged or banned. It is a pity, though, because the characters are compelling and the stories fascinating. It doesn't matter how many times I've read these stories; I still enjoy them each time.

Mr. Bellairs is dead, and the series was continued by Brad Strickland. The books are available in bookstores such as Barnes and Noble and Amazon in new editions. If you haven't read any, I'd recommend starting with A House With a Clock in the Walls, which is the first book in the Lewis Barnavelt series. Go! Read! Rebel!

The Banned Books Challenge

2007-03-02T06:49:00.000-08:00

Go sign up. You can do it right here. Go ahead; I'll wait.

I signed up to read 10 banned books during the challenge, although knowing myself I'll read quite a few more.

If you know me at all, even a little bit, you know how much I loathe and detest censorship. I could probably find you dozens of quotations to illustrate my point, but I don't have time. So I'm just going to do a quick meme. I don't know if it's already out there, or if it's my own invention, but whichever, it's a fun one. It's like the 100 Books meme I did the other day, but with a twist.

Out of the 100 Most Frequently Challenged Books of 1990-2000 list, which ones have you read? Bold them. Which ones are in your library? Place a + in front of them. Which ones do you want to read? Italicize them. Which ones will you read for the Banned Books Challenge? Make them large. And which ones are you just not interested in reading? Make them tiny. It's okay if you don't want to read a book. Just don't try to take it away from others who do want to read it! And, because I always have to, there will be comments for some of the books.

Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz

Daddy's Roommate by Michael Willhoite

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. That this book gets challenged just seems ridiculous to me. She's writing about her very painful and difficult life. "Gee, lady, your childhood just sucked. You don't have the right to share your lessons with anyone else who might be going through them. And, sorry kids, but I don't care how much you have in common with this woman, you may not read her book to see if you can learn anything from her. So what if she's an allegedly great poet? Have you read her poems? Why, they're just as immoral as they can be!"

The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier. Read it, didn't particularly like it, but found it very chilling.

+The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. This is one of those books I "should" read, and have thus refused to do so. I'm sure I'll read it, but probably not until I'm 86.

+Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling Gosh, rereading this for the Challenge is going to suck. Seriously.

Forever by Judy Blume. I read everything I could find by Judy Blume when I was an angst-ridden teenager.

Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson.

Alice (Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman

My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger I know this book was supposed to be THE book for disenchanted teenagers, but I hated it. I hated it as a teenager, and I hated it as an adult. I haven't read it in a long time, but I would not be surprised to find that I still hate it.

+The Giver by Lois Lowry This is just a marvelous book, as are the two sequels to it that I have read. I can't understand why this would be on a challenged/banned book list.

It's Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris

Goosebumps (Series) by R.L. Stine These are silly little scary stories. Nonsensical bosh.

A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck

The Color Purple by Alice Walker

Sex by Madonna I'm not a Madonna fan.

Earth's Children (Series) by Jean M. Auel

The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson

+A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle Why does this book get challenged? Some kids who have a lot of trouble fitting in manage to save the father of two of the children and, not so coincidentally, find a place for themselves. Gosh, that's just terrible! Better get that book off the shelves, Jed!

Go Ask Alice by Anonymous A dreadful little book, but it scared the stink out of me when I was a teenager.

Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers I read this for a YA Lit class in college. It's an outstanding book!!

In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak

The Stupids (Series) by Harry Allard

+The Witches by Roald Dahl This is a great book! What's wrong with it? Does it promote Satanism and the occult? No, a little boy and his grandmother fight the Grand High Witch and kick her butt!

The New Joy of Gay Sex by Charles Silverstein

Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry Another one I just don't get the banning of. This series is hysterical. There's one book that's actually about Sam, Anastasia's little brother, and he's trying to make a special perfume for his mother's birthday. He collects all the smells she says she likes, and the result is so funny that I literally was rolling on the floor laughing my ass off.

The Goats by Brock Cole

Kaffir Boy by Mark Mathabane

Blubber by Judy Blume

Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan

Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam

We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier

Final Exit by Derek Humphry

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

What's Happening to my Body? Book for Girls: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Daughters by Lynda Madaras

+To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee I wonder why this one gets banned and challenged so much. Is it the unflattering depictions of the whites in this small town in Alabama? Is it the perceived servile attitude of Calpurnia? Becuase if you think Calpurnia's servile, you've got another think coming! This is an awesome book, with some of the greatest characters ever created.

Beloved by Toni Morrison

The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton

The Pigman by Paul Zindel I liked this book quite a bit when I was a teenager, and had it and all of Paul Zindel's other books. I read them ragged. I don't care so much for them now, but they moved me at a time in my life when I needed what they had to say. Their characters aren't plastic dolls who move and act in a way no human would. They're flawed. Just like we are.

Bumps in the Night by Harry Allard

Deenie by Judy Blume

+Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes This is a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. When I talk to book people who haven't read this one, I always either get it for them or encourage them to read it.

Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden

The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar

Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat by Alvin Schwartz

+A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein That this book is banned or challenged just tells me that some people have no sense of humor whatsoever, and have never learned to laugh at themselves. That is a very sad thing.

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by A.N. Roquelaure (Anne Rice) I actually only read the first book in this trilogy. It was disgusting. I felt filthy, and hated it so much that instead of taking it back to Half Price Books to sell, I threw it away. I can completely understand why someone wouldn't want their kids reading it, but no responsible librarian would place it in a school library anyway. So banning it is pointless. If you don't want to read it, don't read it.

Asking About Sex and Growing Up by Joanna Cole You'll notice that I've skipped over a lot of these sex and growing up type books. Well, I know about sex. And I don't have any kids that I need to share these kinds of things with. I'm not being a frigid person who refuses to admit that sex exists. I just don't have any need or desire to read these.

Cujo by Stephen King There are plenty of Stephen King books I like. There are plenty I don't. This is one that I'm just not interested in. So I'm not going to read it. If you want to, please, feel free.

James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl

The Anarchist Cookbook by William Powell

Boys and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy

Ordinary People by Judith Guest

American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis

What's Happening to my Body? Book for Boys: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Sons by Lynda Madaras

Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume A girl explores her identity in reference to her faith. Gosh, better get that one off the shelves!

Crazy Lady by Jane Conly

Athletic Shorts by Chris Crutcher

Fade by Robert Cormier

Guess What? by Mem Fox

The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende

The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline Cooney

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut

+Lord of the Flies by William Golding

Native Son by Richard Wright

Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women's Fantasies by Nancy Friday

Curses, Hexes and Spells by Daniel Cohen

Jack by A.M. Homes

Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo A. Anaya

Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle

Carrie by Stephen King

Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume

On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer

Arizona Kid by Ron Koertge

Family Secrets by Norma Klein

Mommy Laid An Egg by Babette Cole

The Dead Zone by Stephen King

+The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison

Always Running by Luis Rodriguez

Private Parts by Howard Stern

Where's Waldo? by Martin Hanford

Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene

Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman

Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett

Running Loose by Chris Crutcher

Sex Education by Jenny Davis

The Drowning of Stephen Jones by Bette Greene

Girls and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy

How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell

View from the Cherry Tree by Willo Davis Roberts

The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

The Terrorist by Caroline Cooney

Jump Ship to Freedom by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier

The other books I plan to read for the challenge I found at some other Banned Book sites and are:

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein. I've read this many times, and welcome the opportunity to enjoy Silverstein's nonsense and rebel against narrow-mindedness at the same time!

Ulysses by James Joyce. I've never read this one. It seems that I've tried it once or twice, but this is as good a time as any to give it another go.

The Crucible by Arthur Miller. Another one that I completely adore.

The Clan of the Cave Bear by Jean M. Auel. This has been on my to-be-read list for quite some time. It's time to get it off that list and onto the list of books I have read.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl. This is another one that I've read and reread. It never fails to charm and delight.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. I have read this one so many times it's ridiculous. I've given away copies of it during Banned Book Week. This is the best! And what sublime irony that expurgated copies of it were passed out to students!

Figure in the Shadows by John Bellairs. I love John Bellairs, and have everything he published. His books scared the crap out of me when I was a kid. I find them less scary now, but they are no less enthralling.

1984 by George Orwell. When I read that this was challenged/banned due to "pro-Communist sentiments," my first response was WTF? To the people who think that, I have this to say, "Better to say nothing and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."

So what about you? What are your plans? C'mon--be a rebel!

My Deadly Sins

2007-02-28T09:15:00.000-08:00

Greed:	Very Low
Gluttony:	Low
Wrath:	Low
Sloth:	Low
Envy:	Very Low
Lust:	Very Low
Pride:	Very Low

The Seven Deadly Sins Quiz on 4degreez.com

Ow!

2007-02-28T07:50:00.000-08:00

Okay. Well, I didn't really like the look with the funky colors. And I wasn't so sure I liked the black crap going down my face. And after waking up this morning with puffy and extremely tender skin beneath my eyes, after wearing that black crap for what, half an hour?, it's obvious that I'm not going to be going with that look.

So----back to the drawing board.

Playing with Makeup

2007-02-27T22:14:00.000-08:00

I look absolutely ghastly in these photos, and that honestly wasn't the intention. I should've smiled. Maybe that would have helped. And my hair wasn't styled until near the end of my playtime, so having normalish hair with seriously abnormal makeup probably didn't help matters either.

The ones with that show my full face are too ghastly to post. I've got to play some more with the make-up and hair. But I'll finish you off with a fine shot of the back of my hair after M-A and V finished playing with it.

No, I won't. On second thought, that photo looks pretty awful as well. I'm way better-looking than you can tell from my photographs. (Or else I'm extremely delusional!) But I look at these pictures and I look so damned ugly in them that it makes me want to kick something. Do I really look that awful?

I know. You're going to say that there's no way to tell unless I post the photos. Well, ain't happening. But maybe when I get new batteries for my camera, and I'm dressed and made-up normally (no stage makeup), I'll get S. or L. or someone to take my picture. And I'll smile. But if that picture makes me look as--I was going to say homely, but downright ugly is closer to what I feel about them--unappealing as the pictures I took tonight, trust me--no one's going to see them!

100 Books

2007-02-27T14:46:00.000-08:00

I stole this from Amanda. But she seems really nice, so I highly doubt she'll mind. Yes, I have done a few memes lately. It's because I'm a little hyper right now, and my mind's doing 50 things at once. Somehow this seems to help it slow down, at least for a moment or two. Yes, I have ADD; you've asked me that before.

OFFICIAL INSTRUCTIONS: Bold the ones you've read, italicize the ones you want to read, make the ones you wouldn't touch with a 10 foot pole tiny, put a + in front of the ones on your bookshelf, and put an * by the ones you've never heard of. (Note that the instructions I saw were to make the ones you wouldn't touch with a 10 foot pole red, but I don't know how to do that. So I made them tiny. Because I don't want to read them anyway, I crush them beneath my feet. Much like the fear demon in the Buffy Season 4 Halloween episode.)

And, because it's me and I can't resist, there will be comments. Be prepared.

1. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown). The book was better than the movie. That's not saying much.
2. Angels and Demons (Dan Brown). I actually thought this one was better than Da Vinci Code.
3. +Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen). What's not to love about this one? I've read it many times.
4. +To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee). Another one I've read many times. I wanted to be Scout when I was younger. I think I wanted Atticus for my father, but I'm happy with my own dads.
5. +Gone With The Wind (Margaret Mitchell). I'll never forget the first time I read this book. I think I was 11 or 12, and was sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office when I finally finished it. I closed the book and said something to the effect that there would never be another book that good. Hey! I was young then, okay? Gimme a break! It is a good book, but I loathe most of the characters in it, so I don't read it very often anymore.
6. +The Hobbit (J.R.R. Tolkien)
7. +The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (J.R.R. Tolkien). This is where I decided I didn't want to read LOTR anymore. And frankly, had it not been for Peter Jackson, I'm not sure I'd have managed to wade my way through the first two LOTR books!
8. +The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (J.R.R. Tolkien)
9. +The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (J.R.R. Tolkien)
10. +Anne of Green Gables (L.M. Montgomery). Another person I wanted to be while I was growing up. I never had any doubt as to her existence.
11. Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
12. *A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry)
13. + Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (J.K. Rowling). I've read these books more than any other book on this list save one. Keep reading if you want to know which!
14. + Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (J.K. Rowling)
15. + Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (J.K. Rowling)
16. + Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (J.K. Rowling)
17. + Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (J.K. Rowling)
18. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)
19. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
20. Fall on Your Knees (Ann-Marie MacDonald)
21. The Stand (Stephen King)
22. +Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte). This is the one. I could not even begin to tell you how many times I've read this book. It's the book that I may go months without reading, but if I wake up at 2:30 a.m. and want it, I have to have it right then. I love this book.
23. +The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)
24. +Little Women (Louisa May Alcott)
25. +The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
26. Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
27. +The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)
28. +Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte). Not nearly as good as Jane Eyre. But good.
29. +The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (C. S. Lewis)
30. East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
31. Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom)
32. Dune (Frank Herbert) Did you see that awful feature film they made, seems like it was in the 80s or early 90s? Yecch.
33. The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks)
34. +1984 (James Orwell). Magnus Frater Te Spectat!
35. The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
36. The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett)
37. * The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)
38. I Know This Much is True (Wally Lamb)
39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
40. Ulysses (James Joyce). I tried to read this once or twice, but got bored.
41. The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
42. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
43. *The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)
44. Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella)
45. The Five People You Meet In Heaven (Mitch Albom)
46. + Bible
47. +Anna Karenina (Leo Tolstoy). I read a few pages, but again, got bored.
48. +The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
49. Angela’s Ashes (Frank McCourt)
50. The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
51. *She’s Come Undone (Wally Lamb)
52. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
53. +A Tale of Two Cities (Charles Dickens)
54. +Great Expectations (Charles Dickens) I prefer Dickens' shorter novels.
55. +Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card)
56. +The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald) When I was in 10th grade, I fell in love with F. Scott Fitzgerald. I read everything he wrote. I even had a pair of statues I named Scott and Zelda. I hung on to them long after my passion for Fitzgerald had waned, but eventually gave them to a roommate who really liked them. I really liked her, and by then it caused me no pain to give them up.
57. * The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence)
58. The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)
59. The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood)
60. The Time Traveler’s Wife (Audrey Niffenegger)
61. +Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
62. +Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)
63. +The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand)
64. War and Peace (Leo Tolstoy). I think I read about two pages of this one. Got bored. I'm sure it's a masterful book, but I'm no longer in university and no longer feel the need to read a book just because I "should," even if I did major in English!
65. Interview With The Vampire (Anne Rice)
66. * Fifth Business (Robertson Davis)
67. One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
68. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (Ann Brasheares)
69. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
70. +Les Miserables (Victor Hugo). I still can't believe I read the unabridged version of this when I was 12! It's a fantastic story, but yikes, the man blathered on for pages and pages and pages and pages and pages about things that didn't progress the story. And people complain about J.K. Rowling needing to tighten things up. Puh-leeze!
71. +The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery). I've read this in English and French. This is a fantastic book.
72. Bridget Jones’ Diary (Helen Fielding). One of my few forays into the field of chick-lit. I'm not a huge fan of the genre.
73. Love in the Time of Cholera (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
74. Shogun (James Clavell)
75. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje)
76. + The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett). I've read this one many, many times. I wanted to be Mary and help the garden wake up.
77. *The Summer Tree (Guy Gavriel Kay)
78. +A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith). Another one I've read many times. It has such beauty and pathos and strong, strong women.
79. The World According To Garp (John Irving)
80. The Diviners (Margaret Laurence)
81. +Charlotte’s Web (E.B. White)
82. * Not Wanted On The Voyage (Timothy Findley)
83. Of Mice And Men (John Steinbeck)
84. +Rebecca (Daphne DuMaurier). My nomination for the best opening sentence ever: "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again."
85. Wizard’s First Rule (Terry Goodkind)
86. +Emma (Jane Austen). I love Emma. Love it, love it, love it.
87. Watership Down (Richard Adams)
88. +Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
89. *The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields)
90. * Blindness (Jose Saramago)
91. *Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)
92. *In The Skin Of A Lion (Michael Ondaatje)
93. +Lord of the Flies (William Golding)
94. +The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)
95. The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
96. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum)
97. The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton)
98. White Oleander (Janet Fitch)
99. A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford)
100. The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)

A Voice

2007-02-27T10:23:00.000-08:00

Do any of these names sound familiar to you?

Gloria Rivas . . . Juana Sandoval Reyna . . . Esmeralda Juarez Alarcon . . . Violeta Barrios . . . Alma Chavira Farel . . . Elizabeth Castro Garcia . . . Rosario Garcia Leal . . . Rocio Barrazza Gallegos . . . Rosalina Veloz Vasquez . . . Maria Acosta . . . Claudia Gonzales . . . Esmerelda Herrera . . . Guadalupe Luna . . . Barbara Martinez . . . Laura Ramos Monarrez . . . Mayra Reyes Solis . . . Veronica Martinez . . . Silvia Arce . . . Griselda Mares . . . Elizabeth Gomez . . . Laura Inere . . . Lilia Garcia

Twenty-two women. Girls, some of them, barely into young womanhood.

Twenty-two lives cut short in a horrifyingly brutal way.

Twenty-two voices silenced.

Twenty-two people out of the hundreds murdered. Twenty-two people out of a vastly larger number of missing people.

I found those twenty-two names in mere minutes of searching. What will I have found after I have spent hours searching? More names. More faces. More sorrow. More heartbreak.

First come the tears. Then the anger. Then determination.

I am determined to give a voice to some of these women. I appreciate MoMentuM for letting me be a part of its Women of Juarez project.

If you want to learn more about the femicides that have been taking place in Ciudad Juarez and Chihuahua City, you can start by exploring some of the links I've posted to the left.

Whatever you do, don't just look away.

Character Meme

2007-02-26T09:04:00.000-08:00

I stole this from Erin. She didn't tag me or anything, because our meeting was done through comments in Sarah's blog. But I like her Character Meme. I will state categorically, however, that trying to pick just one is almost impossible. I will do my best. But if I have to pick two, that's just the way it is. Okey-dokey? Now that we've got that established, on to the meme:

Character you'd most like to have over for tea? Jane Rochester, nee Eyre, I think. I'd love to have a nice long tete-a-tete with her, see if Mr. Rochester is really as pompous as he comes across at times ("Young lady, I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative tonight."). I'd like to see if she's still happy with the choices and decisions she made in life. And, while most definitely NOT at the same tea, I'd also like to have tea with Bertha Mason one day. Preferably before she went completely off the deep end. It would be interesting to compare notes, you know?

Character you'd most like to have as a sibling? Mr. Darcy. I think it would be nice to have an intelligent, protective older brother to look out for me. And if he were my brother, then I would have Elizabeth Bennett for a sister. See? "Though this be madness, yet there is method in it."

Character you'd most like to be friends with? You won't know her, because I think only one or two people have bought the book. But her name is Celia Pryce, and she's a major character in The Treehouse, a book my sister and I wrote together. Celia was originally supposed to be a not-very-nice girl. But she actually is extremely nice, and extremely cool, and just exactly the sort of person you'd want to be friends with if you're into books and drama, and into not fitting in. Not fitting in has been my theme through much of my life, so it was really fun to help create this person who, on the surface, fits in beautifully, but who really feels as much a misfit in her life as the rest of us tend to do. I know it may seem a little vain to pick one of my own characters, but I don't care. One of the best bits of writing I've ever done was for Celia, and she's very dear to my heart.

Character you'd most like to have as a cousin? Fred and George Weasley. It's been fascinating to watch them grow and develop. They started off wise-cracking funny guys, with a tinge of mean-spiritedness. They are still wise-cracking funny guys, but they've carved out a really respectable niche in the jokes industry, as well as providing a very valuable array of support equipment for the good guys. They'd be fun to hang around with from time to time, most definitely.

Character you'd most like to have an adventure with? Charles Wallace Murry. He has good adventures. And he is another character who just gets more and more interesting as he grows up. I particularly enjoyed him in A Swiftly Tilting Planet.

Favorite quirky character? I'm with Erin. Luna Lovegood. She is either wholly unaware or serenely indifferent to what everyone around her thinks of her. I personally think it's the latter, and admire her indifference. It's something I could never have done as a teenager, and am only now beginning to learn. She has shown herself to be exceptionally quick-witted and a true friend. I was very touched at the end of Half-Blood Prince to learn that she and Neville were the only members of the DADA to show up when called, because they were the ones presumably to whom it had meant the most, and were therefore the ones who would have been paying attention to their fake galleon that Hermione charmed. And now that I've mentioned Neville Longbottom, I have to add that he is one of my very favorite characters in the Potterverse. I've been delighted to see him bloom so beautifully, and continue to look to greatness from him. I'm firmly convinced he will one day be head of Gryffindor House!

Favorite love-to-hate character? Y'know, I think I'm going to have to go with Erin on this one as well, and select the former Hogwarts High Inquisitor, Dolores Jane Umbridge.

Favorite bad guy? Right now it's Reason's grandfather, whatever his real name may be, from Justine Larbalestier's Magic or Madness series. He seems to be thoroughly Iago-like, in that I have not yet seen any reedeming features in him. I assume that, at one point, he must have had some. But his greed for magic and survival has at least hidden those thoroughly beneath the surface, if indeed they are still there at all.

And I'll add one more category of my own:

Character to whom you've most often been compared? And this, my friends, is Hermione Granger. My husband, when Hermione groaned at the announcement that end-of-year exams were canceled at the end of the second movie, said, "That'd be you." Huh! Shows how well he knows me! I've been known to carelessly walk into the crosswalk at the university and with a defiant eye just dare someone to run over me, when it was time for finals. Okay, this teeny little part of me loves taking exams. So I guess the comparison is somewhat justifiable.

TAGGING TIME: I tag Izzybella and Trista. And, of course, anyone else who feels like doing it. (And you should, because it's fun!)

My Weekend

2007-02-26T05:47:00.000-08:00

(Before I write this, please note that I feel like a kid in school being asked to write an essay on what she did over the weekend. But I haven't been asked. I'm thrusting this on anyone who happens to be here reading. And I want to write it. But still. My Weekend?)

Friday night was pretty lame. It involved a quick trip to Subway for a tuna sandwich, the remote control, and my bed. Once the sandwich was disposed of, I turned on a movie I'd never seen before (and how have I gone this long without watching A Nightmare Before Christmas?). I fell asleep right after it was over, but woke up a little while later with a toothache. (Reminder to self: Call dentist, make appointment.) So I sleepily watched an hour of Pop-Up Video before putting in a Harry Potter movie and going back to sleep. For good that time, fortunately, because I was really really tired.

Saturday morning at weigh-in went pretty much as I'd figured. I was up .6 pound. I was NOT happy about it. But I went ahead with my plan to switch back to the flex plan on Sunday. Logically I can tell myself all I want to that I know that could be due to muscle gain or water retention, but I still want to lose pounds as well. If I were 60-70 pounds less than I am now, I could deal better, I think, with the scale not changing while my body still is. But when I'm still a good 80 pounds over my optimum weight, no matter how much my body is changing, I still have a fixed belief that the scale should change as well.

Joe and I went grocery shopping, and then he took me to brunch. But before we went to brunch, I had to change clothes. You see, my rocker husband wanted me to match him. So instead of my cute bright lime Tommy tee-shirt and my sneakers, I put on my New York tee shirt, a black jacket, plenty of black and silver jewelry, and my new black pinstripe sneakers. I admit I looked great. (Oh, yes, it's hard to be humble....)

And we stopped at Borders afterwards, and I bought a new book. Making Faces, by Kevyn Aucoin. I have to just stop right here and say, I heart Kevyn Aucoin. I've been wearing my makeup the same way for 15 years or more, with only slight variations, because I didn't know what to do differently. M-A has this book, and I was looking through it at rehearsal last week trying to get some ideas for makeup for the play. Well, I read it cover to cover this weekend, tried a few things out, and I look great today! I intend to go buy the rest of his books. It is just incredible what he can do for a face, with just a few items of makeup.

And S. and Izzybella and I had our girls' afternoon out. It was somewhat abbreviated for Izzybella, poor kid--she works box office part-time for a theatre in Arlington. The play was sold out; the show started late; and there were, as there always are, computer problems. So she couldn't join us until about 4. S. and I went to Ross and got lucky there--I found a fantastic red shirt with a huge black dragon on front. It's great, and may end up getting worn in the play instead of the New York tee. Our late lunch was fun, and, according to Princess S., calorie free.

That evening I went out and dropped some money on makeup and got Joe's birthday present (finally). And then went back home and read.

Sunday was spent mostly doing housework and some reading. I reread Wide Sargasso Sea. It's a good book--not quite the earth-shattering novel I considered it to be when I first discovered it 14 years ago, but it's good.

And, natch, I watched the Oscars. I like Ellen, and thought she did a nice job.

And that, friends, was my glorious weekend! It probably sounds really tame and boring, but I enjoyed it.

More Dreams and Academy Awards Aplenty

2007-02-26T05:40:00.000-08:00

I watched the Academy Awards last night, like a whole lot of other people. Wow--beautiful dresses! I think my favorite was Helen Mirren's dress, but all that I saw were absolutely lovely.

And then I went to sleep. The whole have-to-get-up-and-go-to-work-in-the-morning thing. You know.

Then I had a dream. I don't remember what it was. But I do remember that immediately at the end of that dream, I was standing on the stage accepting an Academy Award for my role in that dream.

Then I had another dream. And accepted an Academy Award for my role in that dream. This pattern repeated itself throughout the night.

In my last dream I played two roles, and was nominated for both roles. And I won. For both.

It was a highly amusing night. I woke up laughing at the absurdity of it all a few times, but immediately went back to sleep each time, and immediately had another dream for which I won an Academy Award.

Now what I want to know is, why did I win Academy Awards for Best Actress in a Dream? Why did I not win any awards for Best Dreamwriter? Because I wrote all those dreams as well as played the protagonist in them all. And some of them were damn complicated.

I'm just sayin'.

69 Things About Me

2007-02-23T11:47:00.000-08:00

Stolen from Izzybella, who stole it from Spin_Doc, who stole it from Chesney Girl. Trista stole it somewhere along the way as well.

Are your parents married or divorced? They're divorced, and then remarried. They're both much better suited with their current spouses, although I'm glad they stayed married long enough to produce their kids.
Are you a vegetarian? No. But that reminds me of a great quotation I read somewhere: "I'm not a vegetarian because I love animals. I'm a vegetarian because I hate vegetables." teehee
Do you believe in Heaven? I do, although not in the white clouds and wings and harps version.
Have you ever come close to dying? Well, if you consider that every time you go under anesthesia for sugery as close to dying, yes. Several times. Otherwise, no.
What jewelry do you wear 24/7? None, because the thought of wearing anything 24/7 makes me feel claustrophobic. Last night when I got home I was too tired to take off my wedding rings and watch, and at some point during the night I woke up, took them off, and kept them in my bed. When I woke up in the morning, I had a wedding-wings-and-watch shaped indentation in my hip from laying on them. But I do love jewelry, and wear my wedding rings and watch almost every day. I also wear whatever jewelry complements my outfit. Like today, for instance, my right earring is shaped like a black guitar, and my left earring is shaped like a white guitar pick and has the word "Rebel" written on it.
Favorite time of day? 3:45, when I realize I'm about to get off work.
Do you eat the stems of broccoli? Yes. They're a lot more tender if you peel them before you cook them, but who has time for that?
Do you wear makeup? Yes. If I happen to get up in time to put it on before I leave for work.
Ever have plastic surgery? Yes. I had a breast reduction done in 2001. Went from a DDD down to a C. My back feels much better, thank you. My boobs look much better as well, now that they don't hang down to my knees.
If you did have plastic surgery, what would you do? I'm planning to have some--for lack of a better phrase here--rough edges from the breast reduction fixed, and would like to have another lift at the same time. And as I'm losing weight, it's becoming increasingly apparent that I want something done to my chin. I don't know how to describe it, though.
What do you wear to bed? My undies. If it's cold I might wear some sweats or my yoga pants and a tee shirt. Or if I'm really tired, I'll wear whatever I had one when I fell asleep, which could be jeans and a tee-shirt.
Have you ever done anything illegal? Yes, but it was a long time ago.
Can you roll your tongue? Yes, and it's only been fairly recently that I learned not everyone could.
Do you tweeze your eyebrows? No, that's why hot wax and stylists were invented.
What kind of sneakers? I don't know. They are comfortable and I can run in them. Oh, and I bought a cute pair today for the show that are low tops, black with pinstripes, and have white rubber toes. Most excellently cute.
Do you believe in abortions? I believe that they are performed, yes I do. But I'm being a smartass, because I know that's not how the question is intended. It's not a decision I would have ever made for myself. That's all I intend to say about the matter here.
What is your hair color? If you're asking about my natural hair color, I haven't seen it in so long, I have no idea. It used to be dark brown. It's probably dark brown with quite a bit of silver in it now. But now it's a lovely warm medium brownish red. Thank you, L'Oreal.
Future child's name? There are no future children, unless you count the two who are waiting for me in Heaven (see #3, above). Their names are Tadeusz Hayden (nicknamed Tad) and Elinor Catherine (nicknamed Ellie).
Do you snore? Heck yeah! I also grind my teeth and breathe heavily.
If you could go anywhere in the world where would it be? Everywhere in the world. I want to see everything.
Do you sleep with stuffed animals? Well, Molly does sometimes crawl into bed with me right after she's eaten, so I guess I could say yes. Occasionally.
If you won the lottery, what would you do first? Faint. Once I came to, I'd have one helluva shopping spree! In New York City. One that would involve multiple nights' stays. Which would mean multiple nights spent watching Broadway plays.
Gold or silver? Gold.
Hamburger or hot dog? Hamburger. If it's a home-grilled one, it should have a slice of cheddar cheese, some crisp lettuce, a slice of juicy vine-ripened tomato, three bread & butter pickle slices, a thin slice of purple onion, and some mustard.
Only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be? Can I pick soup-and-salad bar? Does that count?
City, beach or country? City, please. But I wouldn't mind if there were a beach nearby.
What was the last thing you touched? My water bottle.
Where did you eat last? At my desk.
When's the last time you cried? This morning.
Do you read blogs? Yes, I do. Linky goodness to the right.
Would you ever go out dressed like the opposite sex? No, I don't really see any purpose to doing so. I'm a woman, and quite happy to be so.
Ever been involved with the police? Yep. I helped put a flasher behind bars when I was 12 or 13. And there's the whole thing about my mother used to be a police officer.
What's your favorite shampoo, conditioner, and soap? I use Redken Color Extend Shampoo and Conditioner. And I heart Dove soap.
Do you talk in your sleep? Yes, I do, but it's never intelligible, contrary to what Izzybella once persuaded me.
Ocean or pool? Depends on what I'm in the mood for. Normally ocean.
Sauna or whirlpool? Whirlpool. Might I remind you that I live in Texas? If I want a sauna, all I have to do is walk outside, at least during 6-8 months of the year.
Starbucks or Krispy Kreme? Starbucks. When it's cold or cool, I like the sugar-free, fat-free vanilla or toffee nut steamers. When it's hot, I like the vanilla bean or strawberry frappuccinos. I also really like green tea.
Window seat or aisle? Depends. If I'm going somewhere I've never been, I might like a window seat. If I'm going home, I like the aisle. If I'm going to see my Mom, definitely aisle. That three seconds makes a big difference.
Ever met anyone famous? Yes, I have. Why, just last November I met Elizabeth Moon, Charles de Lint, Sarah Beth Durst (she may not be famous just yet, but she will be!), JoAnne Whittemore (ditto), Tiffany Trent (ditto), Eric Flint, and Carole Nelson Douglas, among others.
Do you feel that you've had a truly successful life? According to my personal definition of success, I have. I hope to continue the pattern. I have been knocked down, and I have gotten back up every damn time. I have aimed high, and continue to do so. I have written and continue to write. I wanted to act, and am in my first play. I have good friends. I'm happy. I'm involved in causes that are important to me. Yeah, I would say that I'm successful.
Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it? I twirl it. I have an Italian sister-in-law.
Ricki Lake or Oprah Winfrey? Ugh.
Basketball or Football? Well, if you're going to tie me down and force me to watch one or the other, I suppose I'd rather watch basketball.
How long do your showers last? Depends. If it's winter and I'm in my house, about 5 minutes. That's as long as the hot water lasts, until the tank's had a chance to get heated back up again. If it's summer, as long as I want, unless I'm late for work.
Automatic or do you drive a stick? I love to drive a stick; however, when I was working for CPS, all the driving I did messed up my clutch knee. So now I find it easier to drive an automatic.
Cake or ice cream? Why does there have to be an "or" here? Okay, okay, cake.
Are you self-conscious? I'm learning not to be. Just for example, five minutes ago during my break I was so stiff that I was stretching in the breakroom, and even did Downward Dog. I will confess to being glad no one came into the breakroom while I was doing Downward Dog, but I still did it.
Have you ever drank so much you threw up? Not since I was fifteen. That was so unpleasant I never repeated it.
Have you ever given money to a beggar? Yes, I have, but I prefer to give food.
Have you been in love? Yes, and still am, even though there are days when I feel like I hate him almost as much as I love him.
Where do you wish you were? Right now? Honestly, I wish I were at home asleep. I'm so tired that I'm running on sheer adrenaline.
Are you wearing socks? Yes, but they're dirty. I couldn't find any socks this morning because I was so tired when I woke up that I was crying, and I cried because I gained weight, and I cried because I only had 5 minutes of hot water in my shower this morning, and I cried because I was running late for work. So I put my shoes on my bare feet because I knew I had a dirty pair of socks in my trunk (don't ask) and when I got to work I took my shoes off, put the dirty socks on, and put my shoes back on. But they're not TOO dirty. Well, they are now, because I've been wearing them all day, but they weren't too dirty when I first put them on. Only a little dirty. They didn't stink or anything.
Have you ever ridden in an ambulance. Yes. Several times. When I was younger our family was in an accident when we were returning home after an Atlanta Braves double-header. Another time I was in an accident when a pizza delivery guy ran a very stale red light and slammed into our pick-up. Another time I thought I was having a heart attack (I wasn't, knock wood), but it was very unpleasant. Is that all? I think so. I don't like riding in ambulances. Not fun.
Can you tango? Nope. But I can merengue, and cha-cha, and salsa.
Last gift you received? I assume you're not counting gifts I buy for myself, right? Oh, I know what it was! Joe went to a Cheap Trick concert, and he brought me two picks that the lead guitar player threw out to the audience. He thought I could make them into earrings. I will, just haven't yet.
Last sport you played? Water polo, 12th grade, 1981.
Things you spend a lot of money on? Books. Perfume. Clothes. Shoes.
Where do you live? North Texas, near Fort Worth.
Where were you born? Lone Star, Texas!
Last wedding attended? It was the wedding of one of my husband's godsons, in Pennsylvania.
Am I the only person to notice that there is no question #61? So technically this is 68 things about me not 69 things about me. Unless you want to count that I'm pedantic as the 69th thing about me.
Favorite position? I like to take the high road. You can take the low road, or you can take the high road. It's kind of like how I tell you to feel free, or feel expensive, whichever you prefer.
Most hated food(s)? Okra. Slimy, nasty stuff. Unless it's deep-fried. Um, I know there are other foods I don't like, but really, I'm pretty easy-going.
Most hated soda pop? I don't drink soda pop.
Can you sing? Of course I can. I sing a lot. I sing loudly. This question probably means, "Can you sing well?" In which case the answer would be no.
Last person you instant messaged? I don't instant message.
Last place you went on holiday? Austin, Texas.
Favorite regular drink? Propel water. Peach flavor, although every flavor is good.
Current Song? If this question is referring to my favorite current song, that's just not possible to answer. That's like asking my favorite current book, or my favorite Buffy quotation, or my favorite Chaucer story. Well, not quite like my favorite Chaucer story, because that's an easy answer: The Miller's Tale. But I can give you a few choices (note that the word "current" is relative): Painting by Chagall (The Weepies); Bohemian Like You (Dandy Warhols); My Own Worst Enemy (Lit); Nice Guys Finish Last (Green Day); Run, Shithead, Run (Mudhoney), Song for the Dumped (Ben Folds Five), and I guess I'll finish off with a decidedly uncurrent song that's my theme song, Break My Stride (Matthew Wilder).

And now you know a little more about me than you did before, and possibly even more than you wanted to know. My sister, not without cause, refers to me as "The Queen of TMI."

Trista is Evil

2007-02-23T09:25:00.000-08:00

Evil, I tells ya!

Have you read the linky goodness? Why not? Go read the linky goodness. I'll wait here.

Okay. Did you see the part about the Scheherazade Project? See, you might win this really gorgeous brown and shiny gold Italian leather journal:

Here's how it works. Write a story. Or a poem. Or an essay. Just write something, okay? Write a lie. Lie like a yellow dog. (Or, if you happen to have a border collie, as I do, lie like a black and white dog.) It's easy, okay. As Trista reminded me, lying is part of the human condition. I know I've been lying since I was a kid, hence the growing up and becoming a writer, so I can lie with impunity. (Please note that I write FICTION.)

Then post your lie on your blog. If you don't have a blog, you may e-mail it to me at faith(dot)stencel(at)gmail(dot)com and I'll post it here. Then go to the Scheherazade Project, and in the comments section, post the link to your lie. Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy.

Someone's going to win that beautiful journal. Trista can't win it--she bought it and is the moderator of the Scheherazade Project. I can't win it--I'm co-moderator of the Scheherazade Project. So will it be you? Hmmmmm???

Owlie-wow-owww

2007-02-23T06:30:00.000-08:00

Every muscle in my body aches. You think I'm exaggerating, doncha? Well, check this out.

Hamstrings? ache. Gluts? ache. Gluteus maximus? aches. Trapezoids? ache. Deltoids? ache. Abs? ache. Other miscellaneous muscles that I can't identify because I didn't take anatomy? They ache.

When I say every muscle, believe me, I do mean every muscle. Honestly--I didn't know my butt cheeks could ache like this.

And when I say ache, believe me, I do mean ache. Let's just say that while the copier was running, I plopped myself down shamelessly on the floor in the copier room to do some stretches. Helped. For a few minutes, at least. While I was passing out copies, I was able to walk with a degree of flexibility. Of course, now I'm sitting down again, so the stiffness will recur. So at any given moment, anyone could walk into my office today and find me back on the floor doing stretches.

So I shed a few tears this morning when I got on the scale and found that it was up .6 pound. Logically I know that (a) I've been stressed; and (b) muscle weighs more than fat. And I've been building muscle. I have been doing a titch of stress eating, but even with that it hasn't been that bad. Probably if I hadn't been doing the degree of activity I've been doing, I'd be losing. So when I go for my official WW weigh-in tomorrow morning, it may show a gain. But THE SCALE LIES!! because all the scale measures is pounds avoirdupois. It doesn't measure my fat lost. It doesn't measure my muscle tone gained. It doesn't measure my blood pressure (117/70, thank you very much). It doesn't measure the improvement in my lipids panel (I'm going for a physical next Friday, so I'll have those results shortly). So I've got to quit attaching so much importance to the scale.

When I took my shower this morning I was admiring the increased muscle definition in my calves. I've got damn good legs, even if they are far fatter than I want them to be. Damn good legs. I'm just sayin'.

So I have my costume almost entirely figured out for the play. I'm going to wear my black and silver and white New York tee (it shows the NYC skyline pre 9/11, so the Twin Towers are proudly standing erect over my left breast) over a black skirt. The skirt is almost ankle-length, two layers of sheer fabric, but it's very easy to move in. I'll wear footless tights, probably, and they may be black or they may be fuschia or they may be lime green or they may be purple. I don't know yet. And I'm not sure what will be on my feet. Maybe I'll be barefoot. Maybe I'll wear ballet shoes. Maybe I'll wear high-top purple Converse. I dunno yet. And I'm going to wear hot pink panties. No one will see them, obviously, but I'll know they're there. And that's what's important. My hair will have lots of rainbow colors painted on the ends. And the makeup will be most excellently cool.

We're having a makeup rehearsal on Tuesday night, and we're taking the first batch of photos on Sunday 3/4. If I can, I'll post something here so you can see how cool (freaky) I look. 'K?

All right. What else can I rattle on about? I seem destined to throw people on their asses during rehearsal. On Wednesday night, during a game of musical chairs, I was so caught up in what I was doing that I pulled the chair out from under someone and she fell, quite hard, on her ass. Then last night someone else was spinning me around with a yoga strap, and I accidentally let go, and she landed on her ass. So I'm just wondering who I'm going to get next week.

It's also really cool to realize that words don't have to mean what they say. I'm a certifiable verbivore, so for me, that's saying something. Last night, in light of the horrible day I had, I did lose it at one point during rehearsal. But I had a 3-person blanket of love, and the words they were saying ("no bath water") really meant all kinds of different things. They meant, "We love you," "You can do it," "It's going to be all right," "Breathe," and more things like that. I felt, and feel, very loved and accepted. I like feeling that way.

Fun Stuff

2007-02-22T14:33:00.000-08:00

I said there was fun stuff, and I'm going to write about the fun stuff, because it was fun. One can't always dwell on the unfun, can one?

Hey, that's almost a tongue-twister. Not quite, but listen--
one can't always dwell on the unfun
can one?
okay, not even almost a tongue-twister. But it rhymes.

Anyway, one could always dwell on the unfun, but it wouldn't make for a very fun existence. I won't call it a life because it wouldn't be a life. It would be a walking death. A living anesthesia. I choose to live.

So on with the fun:

Gertrude Stein.

Let me say here and now that a life immersed in medieval literature does not prepare one for the intricacies of Gertrude Stein. "Sugar is not a vegetable." Hello! Chaucer said reasonable things. Well, okay, I mean, it's true that sugar is not a vegetable, so I suppose that's fairly reasonable. Let me find another Steinism. "Luck in loose plaster makes holy gauge and nearly that, nearly more states, more states come in town light kite, blight not white." WTF? WTHFF? (That's from "Tender Buttons" in case you're wondering, more specifically, "Lunch." I have no clue what she means by that. No clue whatsoever.

Please don't take that to mean that I believe everything Gertrude Stein said is bosh. Not at all. I like a lot of what she said. Here are only a few of my favorite Steinisms:

“A writer should write with his eyes and a painter paint with his ears.”
"A vegetable garden in the beginning looks so promising and then after all little by little it grows nothing but vegetables, nothing, nothing but vegetables."
“An audience is always warming but it must never be necessary to your work.”
“But the problem is that when I go around and speak on campuses, I still don’t get young men standing up and saying, ‘How can I combine career and family?’”
“Considering how dangerous everything is nothing is really frightening.”
“Everybody knows if you are too careful you are so occupied in being careful that you are sure to stumble over something.”
“I am writing for myself and strangers. This is the only way that I can do it.”
“The creator of the new composition in the arts is an outlaw until he is a classic.”
“There ain’t no answer. There ain’t gonna be any answer. There never has been an answer. That’s the answer.”
“We are always the same age inside.”
“We know that we can do what men can do, but we still don’t know that men can do what women can do. That’s absolutely crucial. We can’t go on doing two jobs.”
“What is the answer? In that case, what is the question?”
“When they are alone they want to be with others, and when they are with others they want to be alone. After all, human beings are like that.”
“You’ll be old and you never lived, and you kind of feel silly to lie down and die and to never have lived, to have been a job chaser and never have lived.”

Get the picture? I could go on and on and on, but I think I've made my point. Woman had a lot to say, and she said it. She didn't always say it in a way that was easy to understand, but she said it.

So the play we're doing, What Happened, A Play, is one of those things that isn't very easy to understand. Reading "Tender Buttons" is giving me a little bit to work on, although that's its own challenge. In the intro to the two plays in Selected Writings of Gertrude Stein (Carl Van Vechten, Ed.), she says this about the play: "And so all of a sudden I began to write plays. I remember very well the first one I wrote. i called it, WHAT HAPPENED, A PLAY, it is in GEOGRAPHY AND PLAYS as are all the plays I wrote at that time. I think and always have thought that if you write a play you ought to announce that it is a play and that is what I did. What Happened. A Play. I had just come home from a pleasant dinner party (elsewhere she tells us this dinner was given by Harry and Bridget Gibb) and I realized then as anybody can know that something is always happening. Something is always happening, anybody knows a quantity of stories of people's lives that are always happening, there are always plenty for the newspapers and there are always plenty in private life. Everybody knows so many stories and what is the use of telling another story. What is the use of telling a story since there are so many and everybody knows so many and tells so many. In the country it is perfectly extraordinary how many complicated dramas go on all the time. And everybody knows them, so why tell another one. There is always a story going on. So naturally what I wanted to do in my play was what everybody did not always know or always tell. By everybody I do of course include myself. And so I wrote, WHAT HAPPENED, A PLAY. Then I wrote LADIES' VOICES. The idea in WHAT HAPPENED, A PLAY was without telling what happened, to make a play the essence of what happened."

So that's Gertrude Stein.

REHEARSAL:

Fun. Just, fun. Warm-ups, trying not to laugh as I watch everyone around me making extraordinarily grotesque faces and sticking their tongues out and knowing that I'm making the same extraordinarily grotesque faces and sticking my tongue out. Trying to keep up with Vanessa in the vocal warm-ups. Failing, but continuing to try.

Sidenote: "I can accept failure. Everyone fails at something. But I can't accept not trying." (Michael Jordan)

Tongue-twisters. I heart tongue-twisters. I stink at them too, but I still heart them.

And then we play. We play with props and space and movement. It amazes me anew each time how intense the play is. We get physical. I'm playing musical chair with another actor; the music stops; she moves to sit in the chair; before I know I'm going to do it, I pull the chair out from under her and triumphantly sit down. She falls on her ass. I pull over a little stool, and gesture to her to sit on it, apologizing in a whisper (we're not supposed to talk) for getting too caught up in the playing.

Another actor is stomping back and forth, back and forth, pacing furiously. I keep step with her, curious. Then I lock arms with her, hoping to slow her down, get into her mind, to without words find out what is troubling her. I put my arm around her shoulder. We slow down. I put my arms around her and hug her. Another actor joins in the embrace. She hugs back and suddenly there are real tears. The emotions that she has been carrying during the day have erupted, and we stop playing for a few minutes. Meanwhile, a fourth actor, feeling left out, goes to sit alone in a corner.

We play again without words. Someone begins beating on an overturned bucket with a rubber arm. Rhythm. Another person begins tootling with a squawking rubber chicken. Music. Another person ties a yoga strap to a hula hoop and begins strumming. We have a band, and we play and dance.

We form a choo-choo train, and chug-a-choo throughout the rehearsal area. When we begin to get tired, we go more slowly. When we feel more energy, we move more quickly, we raise our bodies up. When the train is almost at a stop, someone rushes up and pours coal into the engine, but the train is out of water, and we must stop then.

Someone hangs a hula hoop on the light fixtures on the wall. Another person is transfixed, and carefully lays a rubber hand on the light fixtures. We all work together until every single prop is suspended somehow on the light fixtures on the wall. We appreciate each other's work, and then after a moment of silent appreciation of our efforts, we then shake our heads and begin to undo everything. After working together to create, we then take it apart separately and are off in our own little worlds again.

It sounds crazy. Maybe it is. I love how we start off separately with a prop or two, a thought in our head, and we can all come together to create art. It's very moving to be a part of something like this.

Perhaps that's why my emotions are running high right now.

More Nightmares

2007-02-22T05:19:00.000-08:00

I had more nightmares last night, very Daliesque, á la Un Chien Andalou—which I’ve never seen, because the thought of watching an eyeball being sliced with razors is just a little more than I can stomach.

On a side note, why do people feel compelled to talk about their dreams? Children tell their parents, people tell their spouses, and here I am about to tell you. Just wondering.

Anyway, I was attending the University of Texas, being haunted by a ghost that only I could see. No one believed me. One man pretended to believe me, but somehow I knew that he was going to betray me. And I could see the whole sequence of my gullible belief of him, and the results of his betrayal of me. And I describe it as Daliesque, but it was also reminiscent of the more recent Japanese horror films.

Other nightmares, ones that I cannot escape because they are my life:

Joe’s angry with me this morning because I only put $1200 on my bennies card and it’s all used up. There’s nothing like being screamed and cussed at and hung up on several times before 7:30 a.m. It apparently doesn’t matter to him that I figured out an estimate for my entire year’s medical and dental expenses, including doctor and specialist visits, dental expenses, and prescriptions. When I told him my estimate, which would have been off at least by the $268 I spent on my glasses (because I didn’t know how much extra they cost above our vision benefits due to the fact that I wear bifocals and got the progressives), he insisted that I couldn’t put that much money on my card, because he put extra money on his card. He finally reluctantly allowed me to put $1200 on my card. I’ve done the majority of my dental work for the year, had one doctor appointment, paid for several prescriptions, and bought my glasses. So my card’s virtually empty. I have a neurologist appointment today and asked for his card so I can pay for my appointment. Hence his temper tantrum. Was his temper allayed when I calmly pointed out the facts I’ve just mentioned above? Fuck no. I got sworn at and hung up on again. At this point I feel like I don’t ever want to talk to him again.

I also told him that I want to get a henna tattoo for the play. He refused. Well, right now, the way I’m feeling, again I say, fuck that. If I want to get a henna tattoo, damnit, I’m getting one. The whole point of my costume for the play is that I’m a seething mass of rebellion. Ironic that my husband won’t give me permission to get a HENNA tattoo, one that will wash away in 8 weeks or so!!!!

I feel like I should say here that Joe ate a considerable portion of Belgian chocolate yesterday. Whenever he eats chocolate, it wreaks havoc on his emotions. So does that excuse things? Well, part of me says yes, but the other part of me, the part that’s been yelled at, sworn at, and hung up, says fuck no, because he’s old enough to know that it wreaks havoc on his emotions, and he knows that he takes it out on me, and I’m fucking sick and tired of having him take it out on me. So this morning I say that it most emphatically does NOT excuse things.

He’s also stressed because his employer told him yesterday that the company that has had him on site has not renewed the contract. He may be on site there for up to another two months, but his employer does not know if they will be able to find him another position locally. That could mean relocating. Today I say fine. Let him move. I’m staying here. I know that’s not nice, and I might not really mean that. Then again, maybe I do.

I’m reminded at this point of a Buffy episode. Earshot. She’s telling Jonathan, who has gone up to the tower to shoot himself because his life sucks so bad, that her life happens, on occasion, to “suck beyond the telling of it.” He is marveling because she’s so beautiful and gorgeous and has good friends, and he can’t believe that her life could ever suck. She tells him that the reason no one out there notices him is because everyone is so consumed with their own problems. Unlike Buffy, I’m not beautiful or gorgeous. I’ve got my own style, and I like it. I’ve got good friends, and am making more. I keep myself busy, and I have a purpose to my life that makes me happy. But there are times when my life sucks beyond the telling of it. Today’s one of those days.

There is good to report, and I’ll do that later. Right now I had to get the bad out.

Nightmares

2007-02-21T08:23:00.000-08:00

I dreamed I was going to grad school.

Okay, now see, that may not sound like such a bad thing in and of itself. And it's not. I'd love to go to grad school. But here's the rub:

I was also:
--Working as a GTA
--Working full time at the job I have now
--In a play
--Running late on a publisher's deadline for a book I was writing
--Solving some mystery I was involved in (yeah, I've been reading too much lately)

Overbooked much? And I had a recruiter from another school keep coming into the bathroom where I was trying to take a shower (it wasn't a pervy thing--he couldn't see me) telling me that I HAD to hurry up and get my application in for his school. He knew it was past the deadline for applications, but he had greenlighted my application, and it was just a formality, and I had a full scholarship, and I had to hurry up and apply. There were hundreds of freshmen just waiting for me to introduce them to English Literature!!

Egads! He wouldn't listen to my pleas that I have no intention whatsoever of teaching English Literature to freshmen (or sophomores or juniors or seniors, for that matter). "But you must teach!" he kept saying. "It's your mission in life! You must teach! You must! You must teach!"

I was really glad to wake up. And not only because I woke up an hour late and dashed out of the house with my pants rolled up to the knees so that I wouldn't drag them in the damp grass and with bare feet because my trouser socks were wet and I had to dry them in the car vent on the way to work (that was Joe's idea--I was going to put them on wet, ugh) and I got to work ten minutes late and rushed into my office with bare feet (thank goodness no one saw me) and put on my dry trouser socks and my too-high-heeled shoes and rolled down my pants and booted up my computer and clocked in 13 minutes late. No. I was glad to wake up so that horrible dream could end!

But then I started thinking.

Okay. No, I'm not going to grad school. I have no desire to, at least not unless/until I can afford to go when I'm not also having to work full-time.

But I do work full-time. And I am in a play. And I hope/plan to be in more plays. And I am writing books. And I am sort of late on a publisher's deadline.

No mysteries to solve, though, not exactly, although there is one that puzzles me and I have no possible way to solve it.

Why, yes, I do have ADD, now that you mention it. Do you think maybe that's partly why I type more than 130 words per minute? I broke the typing speed/accuracy record at one major corporation's personnel office here in the Dallas-Fort Worth area--they were stunned. People who see me typing tend to stare dumbfounded. But that's not what I meant to say. I just tend to overload myself. So was my dream telling me that I need to go to grad school (heaven forbid!)? Was it telling me that I'm pushing my luck, and I need to not add anything else (prolly)? Or was it my conscience pricking at me and telling me that there is something I'm supposed to be doing and I'm doing so many things that I'm missing something?

Or was it just a dumb dream?

Reading, Reading, Reading

2007-02-19T07:39:00.000-08:00

I've been doing lots and lots of reading over the last two weeks. Well, I mean, it's been dang cold, and we don't have central heating in our house again this winter. So what else is a girl to do, except come home, turn on the space heater in the bedroom, crawl under the covers, and read? Okay, yeah, I can think of other things too, but no. I've been reading.

Here's what I've read:

Everworld: Search for Senna, K.A. Applegate (Book 1)
Everworld: Land of Loss, K.A. Applegate (Book 2)
Everworld: Discover the Destroyer, K.A. Applegate (Book 5)

I understand there are 12 volumes in the Everworld series. They're interesting enough that I want to read them, but not interesting enough that I want to pay full price for them. So as I find them for 50 cents or $1 at the thrift stores, I'll pick them up to read. Basically a group of 5 teens, one of whom is allegedly a witch, find themselves in Everworld, a world created by the human gods who got tired of living in our world. And, because the gods are nothing without people to worship them, there are a variety of humans as well. But there are also aliens and other non-human gods. Four of the teenagers are living simultaneously in Everworld and in the real world, and they're desperately trying to find the fifth teen and find their way home.

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes:
In the Forests of the Night
Shattered Mirror
Hawksong: The Kiesha'ra: Volume One
Snakecharm: The Kiesha'ra: Volume Two
Midnight Predator
Demon in My View

I found the first book Amelia Atwater-Rhodes wrote, In the Forests of the Night, on the clearance rack at Half-Price Books, for 50 cents. It was well worth that and more. I think I mentioned it here previously, but she was 13 when she wrote it and 14 when it was published. She has since written and published quite a few more. I've got about half of them now, and plan to have the rest before this year is out. She's a fine writer. Each book has gotten better and better. I particularly enjoy the Keisha'ra series.

Spider Dance, Carole Nelson Douglas. Carole Nelson Douglas has dabbled in several genres, fantasy, mystery, and sci fi. This series involves Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes. It's fun--I liked the story and the characters. I'm planning to try to track down the others in the series and read them. I found this to be much better than her Midnight Louie books.

Bloody Bones, Laurell K. Hamilton. The blurb on one of her Anita Blake books describes them as "An R-Rated version of Buffy the Vampire Slayer." Uh, no. Pas de tout. I don't particularly care for Ms. Hamilton's vampire mythology. The book was, I suppose, entertaining enough. But it was really, really disgustingly gross in a few scenes, enough so that I'm not going to keep this in my library, nor am I planning on buying any more in this series.

Cart and Cwidder, Diana Wynne Jones. Loved it. This is the first book in the Dalemark Quartet and, like everything Diana Wynne Jones writes, is enthralling. I do recommend it. The characters are well drawn. I also appreciate that she finishes telling the story of the first book, so that you feel satisfied, even as she has one of the characters depart on another journey at the very end, so you want to know where he's going. I get very frustrated with writers who are writing multi-volume sets but do not tie up the stories at the end of each volume (see A Princess of Roumania, below).

The Homeward Bounders, Diana Wynne Jones. What if the whole world were just one of an infinite series of worlds, and we were all just pawns in war games played by aliens? Hmmm? And what if you were to find that fact out? Once again, this is Diana Wynne Jones doing what she does best.

The Last Templar, Raymond Khoury. This is the type of book that I loathe perhaps above any other type of book. Raymond Khoury, like Dan Brown, has made some money off the fact that one can never lose by underestimating the stupidity of the masses. Gee, let's write a "novel" attacking people's faith. Let's write a "novel" asserting that Jesus Christ was not divine at all and the Catholic church has been oppressing people throughout the centuries despite knowing for a certainty that Jesus Christ was just another poor schmuck, albeit a good guy. I do realize that there are plenty of people who do not believe in Christ, and I'm not attacking them nor demanding that they believe exactly what I do. I just wish that people would quit attacking my beliefs in such a way that they're basically telling me that I'm a huge idiot for believing what I do. That's rude and unnecessary.

Poor guy, though, Khoury's "novel" didn't rouse the the furor that Dan Brown's did. I haven't seen any documentaries about his novel--of course, I haven't been looking for them either, so perhaps there are some that I've just missed. Don't waste your time or your money.

Magic or Madness, Justine Larbalestier
Magic Lessons, Justine Larbalestier

These two books are absolutely superb! I read the first, Magic or Madness, and then read it again. Not cover to cover, like I usually do when I have to re-read a book immediately upon finishing it the first time. No, I had to re-read a particular section. Then another, then another, and so on, until I had re-read the entire book. That is significant. It means that Larbalestier writes in such a way that when you have finished the book, certain things stand out, and you have to go back and see if you understand them better. And you do, and then you go back to check something else, and lo, you understand it better. And so on. So the next day I went and bought the second book in the trilogy. I got home at 12:30 on Friday night/Saturday morning. Knowing that I had to be up at 6:30 to get to my Weight Watchers meeting on time, one would think that I went to sleep. No. I read Magic Lessons. I did manage to restrain myself from reading it a second time, though. I'm now very eager to read Magic Child, the last volume in the trilogy, as soon as I can lay my hot little hands on it.

The premise of the stories is that if one is born with magic, one has to use it, or else one will go mad. There's a caveat, though. Using your magic will burn out your life, so you have to use it with extreme caution. Is there another way? Reason is determined to find out. In the meantime, she's going to make sure that her evil grandmother Esmeralda (or is she evil) can't defeat her; she has to keep her even more evil grandfather away from her; and she needs to save her friend Jay-Tee who is so out of magic that she's about to die; she wants to save her mother Sarafina who is insane; and there's the small matter of her pregnancy. . .

The Changeover, Margaret Mahy. Another excellent YA novel; 14-year-old Laura's younger brother is enchanted by a sinister being. As he lies in the hospital, close to death, she turns to the only source she can think of in order to save his life. She ends up changing over, becoming a witch, and saves the day. The book originally came out in 1984, and was re-released fairly recently. It is contemporary in tone, aging very well, and is extremely compelling. It's one that cries out for a sequel.

Night Wars, Graham Masterton. I liked this one better than I expected--it was one of the freebies I received at the World Fantasy Convention back in November. A motley crew of misfits learn that they are Night Warriors with a mission. They manage to save the world, at some cost, and their success in the world of dreams carries over as they begin to make changes in their daytime lives. I'd recommend it.

Jade Green: A Ghost Story, Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. This is a middle-grade book, and I think I'd have liked it much better when I was 10-12 than I do now. As an adult I found it extremely predictable. Naylor does a good job with setting up a good, eerie atmosphere, and her characterization is well done. The ghostly action is laughable (a severed hand that races around the house scaring the protagonist); also, I was able to identify the villain and the truth behind the death of the ghost almost from the beginning. That's from an adult perspective, again, and something that I might not have caught had I been at the target age.

You: On a Diet, Mehmet C. Oz. I've actually read this three times already, but it bears re-reading. It's an excellent book. I've already started doing several of his tips, including taking two baby aspirin daily. I gave blood on Thursday for the first time since I've been doing that. From the time they stuck my arm until the bag was full was 4 minutes. That's a record. I like that. I'm going to the doctor for a complete physical on March 2nd. I'm down more than 40 pounds, and I'm eager to see how my lipids panel has changed. I'd recommend this book to anyone who wants to get healthier.

A Princess of Roumania, Paul Park. I LOATHED this book!!!!!! And it is such an unnecessary loathing, because I think it could have been such a very good book. It's intended to be at least a two-volume set, perhaps longer, although I'm not interested enough to find out. A young woman who was adopted from Romania by a Massachusetts family learns that she is descended from Romanian royalty. Strange things begin happening in her small town and at school, and one night she and two of her friends are whisked into another dimension where, it appears, the world she has grown up in (the world in which we all live) was just a novel written by her magical aunt in order to protect her from the evil Baroness Nicola Coucesceau. One of her friends, a young man who has been missing part of an arm since birth, has an ill-fitting arm to replace the missing part, and her best friend Andromeda is now a yellow dog. The story hops back and forth from the real world to the other world; from one POV to another POV. It's disjointed, hard to follow. It doesn't really end; it just sort of stops. One is apparently supposed to be invested enough in the story to want to buy the next book to find out what happens. Guess what--I'm not. Not only will I not buy the next book, I will not even retain this one (a hardcover that I received as a freebie at the World Fantasy Convention) in my library.

The Last Safe Place on Earth, Richard Peck. I am vehemently opposed to censorship. I find it incredibly disturbing that people would try to censor the reading material of other people. This novel looks at a family in a small exclusive town where everything is supposed to be just wonderful. But beneath the surface, things are boiling. The best friend of the protagonist is desperately trying to take care of his alcoholic mother, and when she is in rehab, takes care of himself. The baby-sitter who looks after his youngest sister, and on whom he has a huge crush, is a born-again Christian who tells his sister that Halloween is evil, and anyone who tells ghost stories and dresses up for Halloween is going to hell. His sister's now having nightmares, and is persuaded that her whole family is damned. The baby-sitter's brother is hot-wiring and wrecking cars, and has even caused one death; now he's beat up his mother. And a concerned parent's group is attempting to remove The Diary of Anne Frank from the school library because it's not about good Christians. Peck aptly illustrates that no matter where one goes, the same problems exist. The differences come about because of how each person decides to face and deal with those problems.

Escape from Arylon (The Silverskin Legacy), JoAnne Whittemore. I met Jo Whittemore at the convention in November, and she did a reading from this book. I finally picked up a copy last week, and read it. The first few chapters were slow for me to get through--there were a few places where her choice of words was so peculiar as to be noticeably obtrusive, and I almost put the book down because of it. I'm glad I didn't. The problem didn't continue, and the story is very good. This is a trilogy; I've ordered the two other books and they will be shipped to me as soon as the last is released in the summer. I do recommend it.

The Truth About Lydia's Lies

2007-02-16T10:35:00.000-08:00

Another one for the S-Project

The Truth About Lydia’s Lies

Lydia lied fluently, habitually, mellifluously. Lydia lied as easily and as effortlessly as she breathed. Her lies were totally believable, and totally unnecessary. She never knew why she started telling lies, but it had gotten to be such a habit that she did it incessantly.

She couldn’t remember the first lie she’d ever told. In fact, it was probably nonverbal. Perhaps she’d stolen something off her brother’s plate and stuffed it into her mouth; when he’d slapped her angrily, she’d stared, wide-eyed, at him, and then broke into watery-eyed howls of indignation. Her parents would have rushed into the room and seen the red mark on her cheek and punished him despite his protests. Yes, her first lie was probably something of that nature, she thought.

Astounded at how easily she got away with that, she moved on to bigger tales. She learned just what to say to whom. People were so gullible, and almost no story was too over-the-top. In fact, she realized that the more outrageous the story, the more willing people were to believe it.
Lydia even lied when she went to confession. Not out of guilt, not at all. She felt sorry for the priests, having to listen to the same old boring things all the time. She wanted to give them something interesting to hear. So she made up exciting stories for them, with the end result that she was given extra penance (which she gladly did).

She looked on her facility with lying as her special gift. Some people could sing, some could write books, and Lydia could lie.

But then she met Francisco.

Ah, Francisco! He was the most guapo man she had ever met, with deep brown eyes that melted her insides and turned her steely heart to warm goo. He had very firm opinions about many things, and honesty was one of them. He didn’t know about Lydia’s lies—no one did—and he was as much in love with Lydia as she was with him. And he proposed to her one sultry romantic evening, and she said yes of course and wept salty sweet tears of joy.

But her insides were squirming. Francisco did not approve of lying. So that night as Lydia lay in bed, she made a firm resolve that she was not going to tell any more lies.

As fate would have it, she overslept the next morning. When she opened her dazzling eyes and saw that it was 8:23, she smiled dreamily. Today I will tell my boss that … she began to plan her alibi. But then she remembered. No lies. An hour later, she stood penitently before her boss’s desk, hanging her head.

“I am sorry, Charles,” she said. “I overslept.”

He stared blankly at her. “What?”

“I overslept this morning. Francisco proposed to me last night—see, here’s my ring—and I was so happy, and we stayed up so late, and then I just overslept.”

Charles sat back and laughed.

Lydia looked at him with amazement. “What’s so funny?”

“You are,” he said, still laughing. “C’mon, Lydia, what really happened?”

“I just told you.”

“You overslept. Please. Nothing that banal ever happens to you.”

And no matter what she said, he would not be convinced. Finally she just left his office, shaking her head. Throughout the day, he came to her desk three or four times, trying to pry the truth from her, and she kept insisting that she just overslept, and he still would not believe her.

When Lydia got off work that afternoon, she picked up her sobrina, Alicia, who was going to spend the night with her. On the way to Lydia’s apartment, she drove to a touch-free carwash.

“Tía Lydia, how does this carwash work? There aren’t any brushes.”

“Oh, mija,” Lydia said, “the force of the water pressure washes the car. And then after the wash is finished, then a giant vacuum-like thing passes over the car and kind of sucks up all the water to dry the car.”

Alicia looked reproachfully at her aunt. “Tía Lydia, why are you telling such fibs?”

Lydia looked surprised. “I’m not fibbing, mija. That’s how it works. Watch, darling.”

And Alicia watched, and saw that it was exactly how it works. “Lo siento,” she apologized.

When Lydia and Alicia arrived at the apartment, they immediately began to prepare dinner, because Francisco was going to come dine with them. Lydia had a savory pot of moros y cristianos waiting in the crockpot. She and Alicia made fresh corn tortillas, a crisp green salad, and, because Alicia begged so hard, a layer cake with thick fudgy icing.

Francisco arrived about 8:00. When Lydia opened the door, she greeted him with a kiss.

“Mmmm, it smells wonderful in here! Hello, small-fry,” he said, smiling at Alicia. “What’s for dinner?”

“Black beans and rice, salad, and cake!” Alicia said excitedly.

“Well, let’s eat, then!” Francisco said.

And eat they did. The food was as delicious as it smelled, and they had a good time. Afterward they cleaned up the dishes together, because Francisco was a very thoughtful man.

“I’ll put the movie in, sweetheart,” Francisco said. “Where did you put it?”

“The movie?” Lydia looked at him blankly.

“Yes, the movie.” Francisco said impatiently. “You were going to stop at the store and pick up the movie that I asked you to buy, remember?”

Lydia thought back. She could not remember him asking her to buy a movie. When she said this, he got a little angry with her.

“Of course I asked you to buy the movie. You told me that Alicia wanted to see it, and I asked you to pick it up for me.”

She timidly said again that she didn’t remember him saying any such thing.

“Of course I did!” he said even more impatiently. “Do not lie to me! You know how I hate being lied to!”

Lydia burst into tears.

Alicia looked as if she might do the same thing, staring first from Lydia to Francisco, and then back to Lydia.

Francisco looked ashamed of himself. He took Lydia in his arms. “Sssh, sssh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Lydia managed to calm herself down. She rested her head against his broad chest. As she struggled to stop her tears, the little voice inside her head said See what happens when you deny your gift? She had to agree with it.

“You’re right, darling,” she told him, drawing Alicia into the embrace. “I promise I’ll never lie again.”

Bloodshed and Lies

2007-02-13T13:43:00.000-08:00

(I had to write about what happened at Trolley Square Mall in Salt Lake City on 1/12/07; I couldn't write what I wanted to because it wouldn't come out. So I wrote something much, much, much milder for the Scheherazade Project on the assigned topic of lies.)

All I wanted was to have a nice, quiet evening, unwind a little, ya know? Go get some spaghetti, do a little retail therapy. How could I have known what was gonna happen?

You get to where you almost expect it at the schools. Well, maybe that's a little strong, but you know what I mean. You hear about a school on lockdown, your heart stops beating, you think about everyone you know, their children, realize no one you know attends that school, you don't know anyone who works there, and you can sort of breathe again. I mean, it still gets you right in the gut, but at least you know it doesn't affect you personally.

But a mall! Who shoots up a mall? And anyone could be at a mall. Your nana, your next-door neighbor, your Sunday school teacher, your baby-sitter, the punk kids who keep toilet-papering your house, the principal, the mayor, your best friend, you--

Yeah. I was there. I like the Old Spaghetti Factory--they have the best fettuccine alfredo in town. And I wasn't really in the mood for Italian, but I wanted to unwind a little, like I said. And then I thought I'd do a little shopping, get some body lotion, a little candy, try on some clothes. I've been on a diet, I've lost 40 pounds--I see you're looking at how fat I am but it's true. I know I've got a lot more to lose, but I've lost a lot, honest. Anyway, what I'm trying to tell you is that Trolley Square is one of my favorite places. It's not like those other malls, all carbon copies. Well, it kind of is, it's got a lot of the same stores as they do. But it's got atmosphere.

Well, I wasn't really there. But I could have been. I mean, I thought about going. My sister-in-law, Kitty, whenever she visits from Buffalo, we used to go to Schmitt's Bakery and get coffee and eclairs. She always used to say that Schmitt's had the best eclairs. And what if Kitty had been here last night? We would have gone to Trolley Square, because we always go to Trolley Square even though Schmitt's isn't there anymore, because it's tradition. You understand tradition, don't you?

But what I don't understand is all these young people, they're unhappy, and they think they have to go take it out on the world. Well I'm unhappy, you don't see me shooting people. Although Ernie, God rest his soul, there were times I felt like shooting him! Well, anyway, what I'm saying is when you're unhappy, you just gotta deal with it, know what I mean? Because shooting people isn't going to make you any happier. And then you shoot yourself, and there's all that mess, and all those people, and everything's in such an uproar, and nothing gets solved. And then what happens? All those other miserable little punk kids see what you did, and they think, wow, that's a good idea, only they've gotta do it bigger, they've gotta do it better, and it goes on and on. Today Trolley Square, tomorrow the Galleria, next week Mall of America, know what I mean?

My mother, God rest her soul, used to say to me, Nancy, she'd say, these are the best days of your life. Well you and I both know that was a big fat lie. I mean to say, if those had been the best days of my life, maybe I would have felt like shooting myself! But I wouldn't have shot anyone else! Okay, maybe my mother. But you know what I mean. Not really. Because that's not how we did things in those days. We didn't shoot people we didn't even know just because we were mad or hurt or sad or felt bad. We didn't fly planes into buildings either, or blow up buildings because we didn't like our government. Know what I mean? No. Here's what we did: we got over ourselves. That's what we did.

I was watching television the other day, some young person's show called Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Don't laugh at old ladies, it's rude. it's actually a very good show. Anyhoo, this real b-i-t-c-h said something very smart to Buffy and I think all these snotty kids need to hear it. She told her to embrace the pain, spank the inner moppet, but get over it. Something like that. Same thing. Get over yourself. These kids gotta start thinking about something besides themselves.

They think their pain is the only thing alive in the world. And that's the big lie. They think there's nothing else bigger than their pain, and the only way they can find any relief for their pain is to kill themselves. But they gotta make the grand gesture, know what I mean, and take out as many others as they can along the way.

How are we gonna teach these kids the truth? I don't know. What are you gonna do? I'm just an old woman.

Languages (not really, but it sounded like a good starting place)

2007-02-12T08:46:00.000-08:00

I studied Spanish for three years in high school and one year in college. Y yo puedo hablar solamente un poquito de Espanol. Puedo leer mas que yo puedo hablar, pero no es mucho. I know a few scattered phrases. I can pronounce things properly. I know how to say I have a headache. Comprende?

I studied French for the equivalent of two years in college--one year of intensive French. Et je ne peut parler le francais avec mon mari, ni avec ne personne. I know a few scattered phrases. I can pronounce a fair amount of things properly. I have developed a great love for French music. I like to read in French, but it's vastly beyond my comprehension. Even Le Petit Prince or Winnie il Pu is too tough; I can get the gist, but miss the finer things. I know how to say I have to go to the bathroom right now (J'ai envie de fair peepee tout de suite!--at least, according to my professor, in case you were wondering). Comprends-tu?

It's very frustrating to have spent so much time in attempting to learn something that gives me so much pleasure, and yet it's virtually wasted because I haven't taken the time to take the study of the languages far enough to become really fluent, nor have I taken the time to keep up with what I did learn.

But there are soooooooo many things tugging at me. Writing. Acting. Reading. Getting healthy. Work. Home. My husband. And I have only so many hours in the day. How can I possibly find enough time to do all the things that I desire to do? I'm not 19 anymore. I no longer have the capacity to stay up until 3 a.m. and still get up at 6 a.m.

There's a Rod Stewart song I love, even while I feel it berating me. "I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was younger. I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was stronger."

Yep.

It figures...

2007-02-09T08:12:00.000-08:00

Why is it that every time Izzybella and I plan in advance to go catch a movie something always interferes? Tonight we'd planned to go see Epic Movie. My husband was even going to go with us. So of course I have to have an upper respiratory infection (oh, yeah, the doctor confirmed it, gave me a Z-pack of antibiotics and some heavy-duty decongestants) and feel worse today than I did yesterday. I'm at work for another 40 minutes, and then I'm going home for the afternoon. Anyway, I just flat-out feel too lousy to go out tonight. I'm going to stay at home tonight, curled up under my nice warm covers and read and sleep and sleep and read.

So while I'm talking about reading, first let me say that I heart Half-Price Books. They are the bestest!!! I look up all the books I want to read, and then I go armed with my list to Half-Price. Patience and a lot of visits--fortunately, there's a store on my way home--and I usually find much of what I want. And by browsing the clearance shelves, I have made some real finds for 50 cents to a dollar.

The next thing pertaining to books that I heart is librarything.com. If you have a lot of books, like I, and you want to find some way of keeping track of what you own and organizing them at least on computer, this is the way to do it! You just enter the ISBN of the book, and the information on your book comes up. You click it to enter it into your library, and voila! On your older books, you might have to enter the title or the author, but so far I've only come across one book that their system just flat couldn't find. And it's a French grammar book from the 70s that my husband purchased when he was in France. I even have an old horribly-written sci-fi paperback from 1955 that I can't bear to get rid of; I just entered the author's name, and there it was! You can download it to your hard drive in a comma delineated file if you want to export it into Excel; you can access it with your cell phone if you're standing in front of a tempting book at Half-Price Books and can't remember if you own said book already; and you can make fun widgets like the one to the right (random books from my library). So I can't recommend librarything.com highly enough. So far I only have the books from one room of my house entered. It will take me quite a long time to get them all done, but it will be very nice once the project's finished.

New book finds:

Amelia Atwater-Rhodes was 13 when she wrote her first novel, and 14 when In the Forests of the Night was published. It's a well-written vampire fantasy. I read it Wednesday (one of my 50 cent clearance finds), and yesterday I picked up Demon in My View, a sort-of sequel to it. I like it. I recommend it. Go. Find. Read.

Grave Intent, by Deborah Leblanc. I like horror, but not axe-murderer blood-and-guts kind of stuff. It has to be more subtle than that. This was good. I don't like books where young children are in peril, so that bothered me a bit. And one thing that the plot hinged on was complete bosh, but the story was so well-told that it wasn't until after I'd frantically finished reading the book, put it down with a sigh of relief, and begun reflecting on it that I sat up and said, "wait a second! That couldn't have happened that way!" But it's okay. In the heat of the moment I didn't even notice it, so I forgive Ms. Leblanc. There are no vampires in this one, but a shape-shifting ghost of a Gypsy and a real asshole of a father who gets his just desserts in the end.

I like vampire books, and want to read more. If you have any recommendations, I'd be happy to hear them. When I was at the World Fantasy Con in Austin, I went to a breakout session with some vampire writers, and it kind of got nasty. One of the writers whose work I had actually thought of reading began telling everyone that if they stole any of her work she would sue them. (I had slipped out of the session before this happened; Clover told me about it.) Apparently it just came out of nowhere; instead of encouraging all the up and coming writers in the room, the panel were telling them all that there is no room for more writers of vampire fantasy fiction, which is complete hogwash. It got ugly. Fortunately, at one of the panels the next day, the situation was politely addressed (with no names mentioned), and we were all encouraged to write away, because there absolutely is room for more writers of all types of fantasy. Clover--what was that woman's name, do you remember? Because up until she said that, I'd been thinking I wanted to read some of her books because they sounded interesting. But after she just flat-out assumed that everyone is dying to plagiarize her works because we're all pathetic little turds with no minds of our own, I don't want to give her one red cent!

Well, despite having spent a few minutes on this post, I've gotten my work done, and it's about time for me to head home. I'll stop at Half-Price Books on the way home to sell two bags of books I no longer want and buy a few more to keep myself amused in the random hours that I'm not sleeping this weekend.

Stay healthy, everyone, and start writing on your Sheherazade Project theme! (linky goodness to the right!)

Doo'n Doo-doo Feelin' Puny

2007-02-08T06:51:00.000-08:00

Hello, computer, whatcha knowin'?
Can you see my sore throat glowin'?
Got a ragin' earache today
Doo-n Doo-doo,
Feelin' Puny

Okay, okay, I'll quit. But it's true. I'm feelin' puny today. That's what my Monster calls it. Feelin' puny. I was feelin' puny yesterday, but I feel punier today. The earache, see. It started last night, and the sore throat's a little worse today. I'm a whiny brat today. Aren't you glad you're not here? But whenever someone wanders in my office and says, "Faith! How ya doin'?" I perk right up and say, "Great! How you doin'?" all nice-like. I'm only a whiny brat with my friends and family. Don't you feel privileged?

So I'm going to the doctor to get it checked out. I'm prone to upper respiratory infections, and I really don't have time to be sick. But if I'm going to be sick, I need to get it out of the way before February 19th. Hence the doctor visit. When I called this morning, he had exactly one appointment left. 10:45. That works. I'm hoping that he'll tell me that I need to go straight home and get in bed and get plenty of rest and liquids. Of course, that never happens when I want it to. It only happens when I'm so sick that it's patently obvious that I need to be in bed getting plenty of rest and liquids. Never when I just want to be lazy and read a lot.

Changing subject now.

Yesterday I was reading Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog (linky goodness to the right). From there you can find more linky goodness to all kinds of cool tee-shirts and stuff. I found a tee-shirt that I would buy if I could get it in black. Well, okay, I could get it in black, but then no one could read the words, because the words are black, so what would be the damn point, right? So I stole the idea, and made myself a sign that is now hanging on the wall in my office. It says, with a picture of Chaucer astride a gallant steed, "Chaucer is more awesome than pirates, ninjas, and zombies combined." It's true, too!

I mean, have you ever read the Miller's Tale? I was telling it to my husband one day. He's never read Chaucer, but he highly respects my passion for Chaucer. So I told him all about the carpenter who is asleep in a tub hanging from the attic rafters as he piously and patiently awaits the second flood that his boarder Nicholas had convinced him was on its way. Meanwhile Nicholas and the carpenter's much younger wife Alisoun had snuck down to the bedroom and were getting it on. Then along comes Absolon, Alisoun's would-be paramour, who stands outside the window and begs for a kiss. For a prank, Alisoun sticks her arse out the window and he kisses her nether lips, stopping only when he realizes that no woman has a beard. And she and Nicholas laugh about it before they get jiggy with it some more. Absolon's love turns instantly to deep hatred. He goes and gets a red-hot poker, vowing revenge. He comes back, asking sweetly for one more kiss. Nicholas had gotten up to piss, so this time he sticks his arse out the window and farts so loudly in Absolon's face that he nearly blinds the poor guy. Absolon brands his arse with the red-hot poker; Nicholas screams loudly for water; the carpenter, hearing the cries of water, thinks the flood has come and cuts his tub loose, falls down from the rafters, breaking his arm, and all is chaos and panic in the carpenter's house. It's a disgusting fart joke combined with the cuckolding of an innocent pious respectable man by his much younger wife and their wily boarder. (I personally find this one hilarious, given my love of a good fart joke, but that's just me.)

There's one tale even more disgusting than that one, the carpenter's tale, as he's trying to get back at the miller. But they're not all vile. The Wife of Bath's tale is great. The Clerk's tale is as annoying as hell. The Pardoner's tale is decent, but his prologue is far more revealing than his tale. The Prioress's Tale is a frightfully anti-Semitic tale that would make you want to barf.

What I love about Chaucer is that through the general prologue and through the prologues to the separate tales he made these people real. You can believe the tales they tell because the people who tell them are believable. He created great characters to tell time-worn tales. The tales themselves aren't the story of the Canterbury Tales. It is, rather, the characters who tell them. They are the story.

It is the snowy shepherd in the form of the parson, and his brother, the poor humble but pure ploughman who fascinate me. It is the vile pardoner and the equally despicable summoner who make me want to vomit even as I want to know them better. Geoffrey Chaucer, in a few short lines, sketched them so well that I would know them wherever I saw them. I could write about them myself, for I know them.

Chaucer. More awesome than pirates, ninjas, and zombies combined. Amen, brudda, amen!

Lies

2007-02-06T11:56:00.000-08:00

Trista's post got me to thinking about lies I've told. I'm not going to talk about them just yet, because I'm not ready to do my S-Project post. But it just occurred to me that in my response to her post, I told a whopper.

I said I couldn't lie convincingly. Well, not in those exact words, but that was the gist of it.

But that's a lie.

It wasn't intended to be a lie. I thought it was the truth. See, my husband can catch me out in a lie 99 times out of 100. Sometimes he even catches me out in a lie when I'm telling the truth, but I suppose that's a different matter altogether. My sister can usually catch me in a lie, but I don't often lie to her. My mom, well, I haven't lied to her since I was a teenager, but let's face it--anyone in the family could lie to my mother and get away with it most of the time. She wouldn't believe that, but it was the truth.

I can, however, lie to people who don't know me well. I suppose most people can, because it's the subtle things that give away a lie, things that people who know you know to look for. But I can also lie to kids, even kids who know me very well. I lie to Clover's kids frequently. Remember my candy tree? I've also, at various times, told them that I make cookies with baked crickets (adds crispness, y'know), was glued to the chair and couldn't possibly get out (and A's repeated futile efforts to pull me out added verisimilitude to my story), and I forget what all else. They love me anyway, though, because I keep my word when I promise no more zerberts ever, and I bring lots of candy over, and I give loud noisy toys (to the ones who are still interested in toys), and C and I share fart jokes.

One of the women I work with collects angels. The other day I was 20 minutes early for a dentist appointment, so I stopped in at a Dollar General Store that was going out of business. I found a really cute little angel doll for 30 cents. I bought it, and the next morning I snuck it onto my co-worker's desk. Anonymously. As in, I didn't want her to know it was from me. So when she came in later on that morning, I heard her asking around about who left the angel on her desk. Eventually she made her way into my office, and I managed to keep a straight face as I asked what she was talking about. She showed me the little angel, I agreed that it was cute, and said that perhaps the person who left it for her didn't want her to know who it was. She agreed with me, but continued trying to find out. I was amazed, that time, that I managed to lie convincingly, because that's usually the kind of situation that gets me caught.

The most frequent lie I told my husband related to either books or clothing. When I would spend too much money on either item, I would, instead of taking the bags of books or clothes (or shoes or handbags) into the house, I would leave them in the trunk of my car for a while. Then when I decided it was time to clean out the car, I'd take everything into the house and put it away. He'd see me sporting a new blouse or pair of shoes, or see a new book (like how he could notice a new book amongst our piles I have no idea, but he still manages to every now and then), and ask when I got that. "This old thing? I've had it for ages," was my not-so-innocent response. One day in a fit of honesty, I confessed my tactics. Perhaps that's why he thinks he's catching me in lies now when I'm actually telling him the truth. I quit doing this over a year and a half ago, but he is still--naturally--suspicious.

I'm interested in lies, why people tell them. Sometimes I just can't help myself! I have to tell a lie or twenty. That's when it's time to start writing like crazy. I get to lie like crazy, and I don't get anybody mad at me.

I like to tell lies.

Should I be ashamed of myself?

2007-02-05T09:37:00.000-08:00

Not literally, of course, because, ow, and also, hard to do. But still, tearing my hair out!

Hella busy day at work. It's 11:38, still haven't even gotten to the normal daily stuff. I'm taking a brief break to vent. Of course, brief break means I'm ctrl-tabbing every 5 seconds to see if the report I need has loaded yet so I can print it, and get the other report done that I need to do. And it has so I've gotta run.

Like I said, hella busy day.

Shoes Week - Winter 2007

2007-02-02T05:49:00.000-08:00

Save the best for last, right? These are my very favorite shoes. Well, my favorite boots, anyway. I've got at least two other pairs of shoes that I heart as much as I heart these, but these are the ones I wore today. These are my ivory damask grannie boots, and they're loverly. I got them from Newport News, and they were nicely inexpensive. They caused a fair bit of frustration, because when the box finally arrived in the mail, it was much too small to contain my grannie boots. Sure enough, when I opened it, it contained a cute-ish pair of shoes, but they weren't my grannie boots. So I had to go through the rigamarole of returning the shoes I did not order, and waiting once more for my boots to arrive. But they were worth the wait. You see the laces up the front, right? Well, fortunately for me, they have a hidden side zipper. So I don't have to lace them and unlace them every time I want to wear them. Not that it matters, because I would still wear them even if I had to use the laces, but I will definitely admit that the hidden zipper is an asset.

I'm not really dressed up much today. I'm wearing them with a pair of dark blue pants and a cranberry twin set. I'm not even wearing jewelry other than the wedding set and my watch. It's cold out; we actually got snow yesterday. Figures--the one day I decide to wear sandals in the dead of winter on a cold, rainy day, and it starts snowing about 30 minutes before I leave the office.

Shoes Week - Winter 2007

2007-02-01T05:50:00.000-08:00

What possessed me to wear strappy sandals in the dead of winter, on a cold rainy day no less? Heck if I know. Well, actually I do know. See, I've been losing weight, and I'm running short on clothes. Thanks to the generosity of Izzybella, who kindly loaned me 4 pairs of blue jeans, I now have plenty of jeans. But other pants I don't have in such abundance. So today I wore a pair of dark brown corduroy gauchos. Only I can't call them gauchos, because technically speaking I'm not allowed to wear gauchos to work. We can wear pants, capris, cropped pants, skirts, but not gauchos. So if anyone says anything, I'll play innocent and say they're cropped pants or wide-legged capris or a divided skirt or something of that nature. Anyway, the plan was originally to wear them with my lovely winter-white brocade grannie boots. But when I donned said grannie boots, they looked completely stupid with the gauchos. So I put on the sandals. Now granted they would look a lot better if I had some color on my leg and if I had gotten around to doing my toenails and if I weren't wearing nylons. But by the time I realized I was going to wear the sandals, I was running late for being early to work, and didn't have time to undress and take off the nylons. Besides, did I mention it was cold? So I'll just look like a dork today with my nylons and sandals.

Okay. The sandals. They're sexy. You might not be able to tell it from this picture, but they are. They'd look sexier if I had color in my legs and if I had colored toenails. I will by the next time I wear them. They didn't cost me anything. Izzybella gave them to me. She no longer wanted them, for personal reasons, and thought I'd like them. She was right. I heart them. I heart them so much that I'm wearing them today in the dead of winter on a cold rainy day. With nylons.

Sorry. I can't get over the fact that I'm such a dork that I'm wearing nylons with sandals. At least they're the "sandal-foot" toe, instead of reinforced toe. I could be dorkier. Hey! I could be wearing them with white socks, which is the epitome of dorkiness. And I could pronounce epitome like "epi-tome," which I did until my grandmother kindly corrected me, because I read far too much (if there is such a thing) as a kid, and talked not much at all.

The remainder of my outfit is a lovely cream cotton camisole that's way too big for me. I heart it too, and it breaks my heart that this will be the last time I get to wear it because it's way too big for me. And over that I'm wearing a lovely green cardigan with flowers embroidered on the right front and across the back, and a strip of green velvet covering the front placket that conceals the snaps. I'm also wearing a pair of very cheap green earrings.

So there you have it. The dorkiness that is Faith.

What? No Comments at all?

2007-01-31T10:04:00.000-08:00

I can understand no comments on the shoes. It is pretty vain of me to expect everyone else to be as absorbed with my cute shoes as I am, or even to think they are as cute as I do.

But what about my story? My story that I spent longer working on than I care to admit? My story that I'm still not satisfied with, but don't know what to do with?

I know not to expect the number of comments that Trista gets, because I don't have anywhere near the number of readers she has, but c'mon, somebody, comment!!!!!!

Shoes Week Winter 2007, Part 3

2007-01-31T06:57:00.000-08:00

These are my brown grannie boots. I have a thing for grannie boots, and, in fact, own three pair. Two are identical in everything but color. I found these in a catalog about 5 or 6 years ago, and lusted after them so deeply that I had to buy them. So I did. I think I may have gotten the brown ones first, and liked them so much that I immediately bought the black ones that are just like them.

I'm wearing them with a pair of khaki jeans and a pumpkin tee decorated with vaguely Indian-looking swirls of color, sequins, and beadwork. I'm also wearing cheap earrings with huge genuine faux diamonds and amber colored gems.

About Abigail

2007-01-30T10:06:00.000-08:00

Note: My latest for the Scheherazade Project. As always, comments/criticism are welcomed!

"Her father was always over in them furrin' parts, digging in the sand. That's where he got that thing she was allus wearin' around her neck."

The woman leaned forward so emphatically that her rocking chair creaked in protest. "He actually wanted to name her Circe, after some heathen witch woman, can you imagine it? Accourse her mother wouldn't allow that, and gave her a good God fearin' name. No sir, Abigail Grace she was christened and blessed, and Abigail Grace was the name she was buried under. Her tombstone's out there, but you won't find it, no sir, because it crumbled to bits years ago. Iffen you ask me, she shouldn't have been buried in consecrated ground. No sir, the one she served took her to himself, and I'll warrant she's going to be burning forever." She leaned back and smiled smugly.

"Do I have a picture of her? Now why on earth would I have a picture of her? Accourse, I might have one on account of how her mother was my kin and she allus was a good God-fearin' woman. Hand me that album--no, not that one, the one next to it. Yes, that one there. Now lessee, no, no, yes! That's her, right there."

Abigail was still a baby in this photograph, still unshortened, her long gown hanging to the floor as her mother held her, unsmiling. The shapeless baby's face still revealed the beginnings of the strength of character that would become fiercely evident in later photographs.

"Even then she was wearin' that ridikilus thing her father give her," the woman pointed out. "You can just see it there, her mother tried to cover it up with the blanket, but it's just peekin' out of the folds."

And it was, and it was dimly glowing even then.

"What was she like as a child? Well, she weren't like no child I ever saw before, and that's for sure and sartin. No sir, she never smiled unless it were time for her to be sober, and she weren't never sober unless it were a time that most children would be smilin'. She never played with other children neither. No sir, she just played with an old black cat. Her and that cat went everywhere together. She called him Disyus or sommat like that. That cat warn't like no ordinary cat, no sir. He were a devil cat, I tell you. The way he'd look at you! And he'd whisper in her ear, and tell her things, and she'd look at you like she knew things that you never told no one. No sir, she weren't like no child I ever saw before. Not one!"

The woman stopped talking and took a few sips of iced tea as she gazed across her wide porch into the distant past. She shook her head and clucked her tongue pityingly.

"Mind, I don't cotton to what happened to her. No sir. That weren't right. Well, as she got older, she kept to herself just as she allus did. She weren't pretty, not at all, no sir. But she had character. And sometimes when she smiled or laughed, even if it weren't the right time for her to be smilin', she looked better than pretty, she did, and there were always people lookin' for trouble, sir, there were. And she caught their eye. They didn't understand about her. They thought she was just like the other girls, the silly ones who were just gigglin' all the time to get attention. And so when they tried to flirt with her, and she didn't flirt back, they got mad.

"Well, sir, somehow, and I don't say this lightly now, but sir, all hell broke loose. That thing she was wearin' around her neck, well, it always glowed and we was used to it, but it got so bright that it hurt yer eyes to look at it, and the light was shinin' and it almost looked as if it were comin' out of her not that thing, and it got windy, and she got all big and scary and loud-soundin'. And those boys, well, those boys weren't never the same again."

She paused, trying to find the words. Giving up, she said only, "No sir, they weren't never the same again. And neither was Abigail. Whatever that power was that came out of her that day, well, sir, it just took over her. And she sorta shriveled up and gave way to it. I don't reckon she lived another six months after that."

She took another few sips of tea.

"I can show you her grave if you'd like, sir, 'cause like I said, you'd never find her tombstone, 'cause on account of how it's all crumbled. But now that I'm tellin' you the story, maybe I was wrong when I said about who she served. Maybe she was just bein' protected by someone. I dunno."

We wandered through the old graveyard, with the woman pointing out various graves to me.

"That there's Abigail's father's grave. He died over in Greece. I dunno's why they brought him back home. He was never here long enough to do much more'n get his wife with child once every two or three years," she said contemptuously.

"And there's Abigail's mother's grave. Bless her heart, she did the best she could. All her children died young. Abigail's the only one who lived to grow up, and she didn't live past the age of 19. Thank God she didn't live to see what happened to her only darter."

She pointed finally to a crumbled tombstone covered with lovely snowdrops. "There's Abigail's grave."

The two of us stood there silently for a few moments.

Then the woman turned to look at me. "How'd you know about Abigail, anyhow?"
I showed her the tattered old photograph that I'd found in an old book I purchased in a second-hand bookstore.

She held it in her hand, and tears filled her eyes. "That was taken just before all the trouble happened," she whispered. "I'd forgotten."

She then did something that I didn't understand: she ripped the photograph into tiny pieces. As she did so, tears began to stream down her cheeks and a warm glow emanated from behind her shawl. She lifted her head to look at me, and I saw--wondered, in fact, how I'd missed it before--the strong features, the crooked smile, the pronounced cheekbones.

I stared at her, mouth agape. "Abigail?"

She sighed wearily. "Come with me," she beckoned imperiously. The folksy old woman persona was gone.
I obediently followed her. Indeed, I had no choice. I knew that I must follow her wherever she commanded me.

She led me beyond the graveyard into a forested area, and we walked in silence until we reached a clearing.

It was encircled with more snowdrops, and a giant black cat was waiting there. It gazed at me imperiously, as if it were uncertain whether I was to be allowed in.

She inclined her head graciously. "Odysseus, this is our guest."

The cat gave a rusty purr of greeting.

"Are you -- Abigail?" The name didn't suit her at all, and I felt ridiculous using it in connection with her.

"No. I am Circe." She removed the shawl that covered the large amulet that hung over her breast, and it gleamed with power.

"I don't understand."

"Obviously." She removed the hairpins, and as she shook her hair loose, the wispy white hairs turned into a silken waterfall of coppery brown hair that fell to the middle of her back, and her wrinkled face smoothed out.

"My father was a fool," she said contemptuously. "He played with things of power, like they were toys, and thought that he could control them. He brought this amulet to his wife, to make sure that my incarnation would fill the body of his child. And I did, because it was better to have a body than to be without one. But what a tiresome existence it was!"

"I still don't understand," I protested. "Why did you stay here, in this podunk little backwater town for all this time?"

"When I told you about the trouble, perhaps I was a little deceptive," she purred, "about what happened. Perhaps what really happened was that someone recognized me, someone with the power to stop me. And perhaps now that you have come, you have loosened my bonds."

"But--the boys--and, you said they were never the same again!" I stammered.

“They weren't," she said shortly. "I took care of those pathetic fools before I was bound. Now the only remaining question is how to reward you for freeing me."

"I don't want a reward," I said hastily.

She picked up the cat and held it close to her breast, and looked at me narrowly. "You have done me a great service," she said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should allow you to keep your present form." Then, with a cruel smile, she added, "besides, I can always find you again, if you betray me."

Winter Shoe Week Day Two

2007-01-30T05:34:00.000-08:00

These are my bitch boots. I wear them with attitude. And, today, with fishnet stockings, long black skirt, my NYC tribute shirt (that shows the Twin Towers still standing [over my left boob, no less]), and a black blazer. I'm also wearing the warped diamond hoop earrings that Joe gave me for Christmas this year.

I bought the bitch boots at Payless for about $15 this year, so they are definitely on the cheap side. I'm very fond of them, though, and will probably wear them until they fall apart. I wear them with almost everything, because they go with everything, as long as you have the most important ingredient: attitude.

Shoe Week Winter 2007

2007-01-29T11:52:00.000-08:00

Trista inspired me to join in the madcap merriment that is Shoe Week Winter 2007. So here, without any further ado, are is my Day One photo.

As you can see, they are completely utilitarian, non-glamourous, plain-jane black pumps. I got them at DSW Shoe Wearhouse. I do not recall how much I paid for them, but it was probably between $30 and $50. They're extremely comfortable, even if they are completely utilitarian, non-glamourous, plain-jane black pumps.

With them I am wearing a pair of black cuffed cropped pants, black nylons, a black tank, and a black and white striped cardigan (it's mostly white near the top, then graduates to mostly black at the bottom--very cool). I chose to wear the plain pumps because they ended up looking the best with this particular outfit. But now that I get to take pictures of my awesome shoes, I will wear way cooler shoes the rest of the week, she says, rubbing her hands together gleefully.

Want to join in? It's easy! Take a picture of your shoes (a different pair each day), post it on your blog, and tell us about them.

Blathering on about nothing

2007-01-29T09:56:00.000-08:00

I was really gonna post this weekend, honest!
I was really gonna go to the gym after work on Saturday, honest!

Wanna know what happened?

Well, I'm gonna tell you anyway! :>

Work on Saturday whupped my butt as much as a strenuous workout. So I said, "Screw the gym," and didn't go. I cleaned out two sets of cabinets/cupboards; cleaned out the storage closet; went through all the unused desks and got all the crap that had been left behind; and began sorting through said crap and deciding if it needed to be shredded, junked, or put away. I could easily have put in a full 8 hours, but they only let me work 4 hours.

Then after work I went and took a batch of stuff from home to Goodwill (decluttering the office, decluttering the house--anyone seeing a pattern here). Then I went to the other thrift store, Thrift Town, and found a nice pair of black pants for work, along with three tops (one from Ann Taylor Loft, for only 99 cents!, and one from Casual Corner). This is one of the fun things about losing weight: getting to find cute and cheap clothes, second-hand, for next to nothing.

And then I went home and wanted to take a nap because I was tired and had a headache. But I had too much energy. So I helped Joe clean up the debris from the master bedroom. And then we went to the store to buy Propel, Flatout Light wraps, and nylons. The only extra things we got were a bottle of nail polish in a yummy reddish-blackish color and a bottle of OJ. So how's that for sticking to the list? Oh, and for the record, buying nylons is less expensive now that I don't have to buy the plus-size brand. I still have to buy kind of fatso sizes, but not so fatso that I have to buy the plus-size brand, so it's cheaper. Yay!

And then we went to visit Clover and Chase. Some of the other kids were home, but they were upstairs hanging with friends, and the others weren't home. Chase is doing beautifully since his surgery. His stomach is smaller than it's been in quite some time, and he looks healthier than I can recall seeing him in a long time. We had a very enjoyable visit, and talked about everything from my farts to my boobs. With Clover, not with Chase. I'm not sure where Chase was during that part of the conversation. Anyway, the consensus was that my farts smell dreadful (as do everyone's) and that my boobs are much better post reduction than they were in the unpleasant years pre reduction. I'm not sure how we got onto those topics, and I had to specifically request a change of topic, but it was still a fun visit. I was still so energetic that for about half an hour I was standing up practically dancing because I was unable to sit still.

And then we went home. I managed to get tired enough on the way home that I was able to lie down, read a book, and fall asleep.

Sunday was a lazy day for me. I slept in a bit, read scriptures, went to church, took a nap, read some more, and went to sleep. Lazy day. I liked it.

This morning when the alarm went off at 4:40, it jolted me out of my dreams so abruptly that I didn't get time to remember them, which was frustrating because it seemed that they were interesting and I wanted to remember them. For about half a second I thought about not getting up, and just going to the gym after work, but of course I got up and went and had fun. I did half an hour on the elliptical today, and loved it way better than the recumbent bike. I still haven't taken the time to go experiment on the weight machines. That is still going to have to be something I do in the afternoons, because there's just not time in the mornings. I'm thinking that if I just extend my cardio in the mornings from 30 minutes to 50 minutes, and then do weights 3 or 4 days a week in the afternoons, I'll get great workouts without being so rushed in the mornings.

I got the rehearsal schedule from M.A. today. We start rehearsals on 2/19, and opening night is 3/23. I took that day off work, as I feel quite sure I'll have pterodactyl-sized butterflies and won't feel like doing a damn thing that day. Izzybella, who is also in the play, said she'll take off that day as well. We'll get to Addison early and have a late lunch early enough that I won't be puking before the show, and keep each other amused until our 6:00 call. So I'll begin researching Gertrude Stein.

One of my really nice co-workers took me to lunch today, and 4 others joined us there. It was very enjoyable. I splurged a little, eating a handful of chips with some salsa, and two corn tortillas with butter. It was the first time I had any butter since Christmas. And for my meal I got spinach quesadillas light (the menu said they were light on the cheese, and they were)--the quesadillas had fresh spinach, poblano chiles, and fresh mushrooms. Very tasty. I ate two wedges of the quesadillas, and have 4 wedges left.

Sam asked if the dreams that he popped up in were nightmares. No, Sam, they were not nightmares. In the dreams I was at the 2007 World Fantasy Convention in Saratoga Springs, New York. (That would be in my dreams, because right now I don't see my way clear to affording to attend the convention.) And you were there, and I recognized you from the photo you had on your poetry blog. And I said, "Sam?" And you denied being Sam. But I knew it was you. And then later on you came up to mine and Clover's hotel room, and admitted it was you, and you explained why you were pretending not to be you, and it was this long weird dreamlike rigamarole that only makes sense in dreams and that I no longer remember. I dreamed that a few times. I think part of the reason I was dreaming about you is that I was concerned about you. And I think the other part of the reason is because Izzybella and I were talking one day about what we thought you looked like, and then when we saw your photo, we were both wrong, and were very amused by the fact. Anyway, very interesting dreams about a very interesting person I hope to meet someday.

You may notice I have now posted a small snapshot of myself finally. I don't really like it, but there it is. It's the photo from my badge at work. I personally think that I'm much better looking than that photo makes me appear, but at least it gives you a little idea of what I look like.

And now that I've blathered on about nothing important, I'll stop blathering and go see if any of y'all have blathered ona bout anything important.

Movin' On Again

2007-01-26T06:41:00.000-08:00

Okay. I let myself wallow in sorrow and misery and guilt for about 24 hours altogether, perhaps 30 hours, and now it's time to get going again.

I heard my mind say, "It's what she would have wanted," and I laughed. It really is what she would want. Of all people, A. would NOT want us to sit around and wallow in sorrow and misery and guilt. She would want us to live our lives, be happy, be productive, and not make the mistakes she made or even the mistakes we had been making. She believed in living life to the fullest, even if she didn't know how to do it in a positive fashion.

I went to the gym this morning. Getting up at 4:40 was much easier today than it was on Wednesday. I did a 30-minute ride on the recumbent bicycle. I chose a hill workout pattern, level 3. I know, that's such a wussy level. But I got a good workout still. I was definitely sweating by the end. Tomorrow when I get off work I'll go to the gym and experiment on the different machines when I'm not in such a rush, and maybe I'll do it again on Sunday after church. I'm thinking that I'll alternate upper- and lower-body workouts every day after my cardio work. I can afford to spend 50 minutes every morning before I have to get home and shower and dress and dry my hair and get to work. So if I do 30 minutes on the bike or elliptical glider (which I'd love to try out, but they're all taken before I get there at 5--which means that even though the gym allegedly opens at 5, it must open a little earlier) and then spend 20 minutes on the machines, I can get a good workout in every day.

I got my Newport News bathing suit catalog in the mail yesterday. I was drooling over the bathing suits. They have a nice selection of halter bathing suits this year, and I look really good in halters. They play up my shoulders and bust beautifully. Normally I would be burying the bathing suit catalog in the bottom of the recycle bin, but this time it was fun to look at it. Of course, no matter how hard I'm working out between now and then and no matter how much weight I lose, bikinis are probably forever out of the question, between stretch marks and the possibility (probability?) of loose skin. But the one-pieces are still beautiful, and knowing that I'll be smaller than I've been even since I was a senior in high school by this summer makes thinking about bathing suits a positive pleasure.

I haven't written poetry in years, and I apologize for subjecting you to poetry over the last two days. I know I'm a horrible poet, which is why I don't write poetry anymore. But the feelings I had to get out had no other way to express themselves. I'll get a little more upbeat again; just give me a little more time.

For My Sister

2007-01-25T06:24:00.000-08:00

"I forbid you to weep," he proclaims in a stentorian voice,
And I protest.
"You don't understand," I tell him,
and I see your pale face peeping out from behind his shoulder.
You shake your head at me.
"No," you indicate, "You are the one who does not understand."

"I still love her, no matter what she did or didn't do."
My protests fall on deaf ears.

"But thinking of her brings you down, just like she always brought you down,
And I won't have it, and you are to keep going. You've been doing so well,
And I won't have it. You are my wife."
His voice is stone cold.

"You don't understand," I say again,
and again your pale face peeks out from behind his shoulder
and again you shake your head at me.
"No," you say. "You don't understand."

We argue and I tell him I don't want to talk about it and
I hang up the phone and
He calls me back twenty minutes later to tell me
He got me a treat and
He loves me and
I'm his wife and
I've been doing so well
No tears
No depression
So well
he loves me
he loves me
Please no tears for someone who doesn't deserve them
And he doesn't understand

And there you are again, shaking your head at me.
"You don't understand. He does. You do not."

So he came home from the store with warm dinner
and hugs and caresses
and chocolate
and I didn't talk about you because he doesn't understand
and you say it is I who do not understand
and then I went to sleep because I had a long painful day
and I slept and dreamed not of you but of everything else
but really of you

And I woke up and I understood.

You lied to everyone, I never quite knew why,
perhaps you never quite knew why.
You knew I'd forgive you anything.
You knew she would forgive you anything.
You knew they would forgive you anything.
But you knew he would be sternly just, not merciful.
I don't know if you lied to him.
I don't know if you told him the truth.
I don't have to know.
I do know that what you told him was so different
from anything you told to anyone else.
You let him be your judge jury

So in a sense you are right that I did not understand
But in a sense you are wrong because
He does not understand

The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show like God's
When mercy seasons justice.

And you were almost wrong not quite but almost
thinking that I would forgive anything
Because you hurt me so deeply
And it took me so long to forgive
That I didn't get to tell you one more time
That I love you
And now I can't forgive myself for that

And I look at the moment of you and your daughter
frozen in time
sitting on my desk
I watch you forever kissing her freckled face
And I know that I was coming around
just before you died
And I'm mad at you for dying
Before I could tell you that I forgave you

And he's wrong.
You were wrong.
But you're not wrong now.
That pale face of yours that peered from behind his shoulder,
That was just a shadow of you. You're not that pale face anymore
because you are somewhere else now.

I see you bathed in light
glints of gold shimmering off your red hair
warmth and light and life in your eyes and your face
because now you know what you couldn't know before
and you couldn't see before
and you couldn't believe before

you are loved
you are loved
you are loved

Grieving for a life unlived

2007-01-24T08:46:00.000-08:00

my grief cannot be stuffed behind mountains of cookies that leave their sweet crumbs guiltily clinging to the bedsheets
it cannot be hidden behind the smooth porcelain veneer of benefit and clinique cosmetics on my face and the thriftstore clothing finds that finally fit my smaller body
no
it slides down my cheeks leaving trails in my powder and smearing my mascara
it makes my face crumple in violent paroxysms of silent sobs
as i remember a life unlived

oh sure in the first days and weeks i ate the chocolate frosting and laughed and cried
and remembered
the easy-bake oven and felt guilty for being angry
and remembered
the slut shoes and felt guilty for being angry
and remembered
sitting on the front porch with our arms around each other
and felt guilty
for being angry
and remembered
giving the afghan to your son no longer your son
and felt guilty for being angry
and remembered
holding your son no longer your son
and felt guilty
for being angry
and remembered
weeping for the man i never met who now is gone
and felt guilty
for hurting more for you than for him
and wondered why you were there
and if you did it
and felt guilty
because i knew you did not
and felt guilty
because some people did
and felt guilty
because i wouldn't talk to you
the last time you called
and felt guilty
because you'll never call me again
and felt guilty
because i love you and you're gone
and felt guilty
and felt guilty
and felt guilty
and felt guilty

and i still feel guilty as now i think of you
and i wish i could talk to you and tell you how much i love you
and i wish we could sit on my front porch one more time
and put our arms around each other
and lean our heads on each others shoulders
and say i love you
i love you
i love you
and i'd un-throw away your slut shoes
and i'd un-give away the easy-bake oven
and i'd buy you the damn can of chocolate frosting and watch you eat it with your child's glee and joy and watch you savor every bite and i'd smear chocolate frosting on your face and i'd hug you and maybe things would be different
and maybe they wouldn't
but you'd know
you'd know
you'd know
you'd know how much i love you
and i always have
and i always will
because you're my sister
and that's what sisters do
they love each other
like i love you
and i'd still cry when you had to leave but it would be different because we'd know
i hope you know now

Workin' Hard!

2007-01-24T06:21:00.000-08:00

Every tiny little bit of flesh in my body is quivering. I can sit perfectly still and feel it trembling. Is that a good thing?

Perhaps I should back up.

Yesterday after work I went home and changed clothes, and then went to the gym. I immediately got the presentation, and the deal was so good that I went ahead and signed up. I had an 8-week pass from the Discovery National Health Challenge. If I signed up, Discovery paid the initiation fee; I got a reduced monthly rate for two years; and Discovery paid the third year. At least, according to the guy who signed me up. Perhaps it's a deal Bally and Discovery worked out. Either way, I get a good rate, didn't have to pay an initiation fee, and don't have to pay anything during the third year. So I signed up, got a quick tour of the facility, met with a trainer, and signed up for my free training session. We made the appointment for 5 a.m. today.

Yes, you read that correctly. A.M., ante meridian. 5. That meant I would have to crawl out of bed at 4:40, get dressed, put my hair in a pony-tail so I wouldn't whip beads of sweat all over the place, make sure I had my lock and key and membership card handy, drive to the gym, and be there at 5 a.m. I was there at 4:57 a.m., and people were already inside exercising. Mental note: apparently they open before 5 a.m., even though they say they open at 5. That's good.

So I went in, swiped my membership card the wrong way. Swiped it the right way. It still didn't take. Shrugged, went into the locker room and locked up my purse. Tied my key to my shoelace, and found the trainer. She whipped my butt! Not literally, of course, but it might as well have been. She worked me hard for 50 minutes. Then I crawled (again, not literally) to the locker room, got my stuff out of the locker, gave her my membership card, she swiped it the right way--it took when she swiped it--, signed the book indicating that I had received my free personal training session, got home, stripped before I had gotten down the hall to the bathroom, took a shower in the unheated bathroom and didn't even care that it was unheated because I was still so hot, got out of the shower to find that my face was still beet red from the workout, went naked as a jaybird down the hall to the bedroom to get my undies on, and then whined until Joe got up and dried my hair for me.

About the red face: since I changed my diet, my rosacea has cleared up. Apparently my facial skin doesn't like processed food. That's okay, because my body doesn't like it. Well, it does, in the sense that it holds on to it. But when I quit eating processed food, my body lets go of it and I lose weight. Anyway, I don't have to use green primer under my makeup anymore, which is nice. But I do still have the problem about my face turning beet red as soon as I do any physical exertion. Which means that my face probably turned beet red within 5 minutes of starting my workout, and it stayed beet red until my husband finished blow-drying my hair. That's two hours of having a horribly red face. It's not a pretty sight. I'm not talking about a delicate rose blush on a porcelain face. I'm talking about a normally porcelain face that turns a hideous shade of red ALL OVER. I'm not dying, may not even be physically uncomfortable (although I was this morning). I just turn red. On my face.

Anyway, it felt good. But I noticed as I sat down that my entire body, every muscle, is quivering. Not in a "wow that was great sex!" way. In a "wow what the hell did you do to me and are you going to keep doing this because I'm not sure I'm up for it" way.

And the answer is yes, I'm going to keep doing this, because I enjoyed it and I like getting smaller and feeling good about how I look and feel and being healthy. So you'd damn well better be up for it!

2007-01-23T07:57:00.000-08:00

First things first: There's a new theme up at the Sheherazade Project. So go check it out and write on it if you feel so inclined.

Okay, last night's audition was fun. There's no other way to describe it. The play? It's just odd. Bizarre. I've not read much by Gertrude Stein, so I'm not familiar with her work. It didn't make any sense to me, although there were flashes of beauty in some of the images. It's a 5-act play, and the whole script is 5 pages. It's not a typical play with roles and characters and meaning that hits one over the head with a sledgehammer. It's going to be fun to help this unfold and see what comes of it. Assuming, of course, that I do get to help this unfold.

I'm finally going to Bally tonight to redeem my 8-week pass from the Discovery Health Challenge. I can't afford to buy a membership to Bally right now, but free, well, hey, the price is right! A 1-year membership to my city's fitness center is only $70, so I figure I'll take advantage of the free 8-week pass to Bally's, learn how to use everything, and then go to my city gym and continue what I'll learn at Bally's.

Today I'm wearing my tribute to NYC shirt. I bought it shortly after 9/11--it's black and white and silvery and still shows the Twin Towers standing proudly erect. I'm not sure it's quite the thing to wear to my office, as they have a kind of strange dress code, but I am wearing it anyway, with black pants and a black blazer. No one's said anything, so I'm assuming it's kosher. That's one thing that losing 41.4 pounds (thank you very much!) is doing for me--helping me to find the confidence to wear whatever the hell I feel like wearing without worrying more than just a wee titch if I'll get in trouble for it!

The Truck

2007-01-22T12:43:00.000-08:00

(Note: This is my latest for the Scheherazade Project. And yes, it's fictional.)

I don't know why I became so obsessed with that truck. It was just an old pick-up truck. Not a cool shiny, loved, well-cared-for antique, although in years it probably qualified as an antique. I couldn't even tell what color it had originally been. It was coated in rust, and had multiple holes where the rust had eaten through the metal. The tailgate hung askew, missing some of the bolts that once held it securely to the pick-up bed.

The truck sat on the side of a private road next to a barbed-wire fence. It had been there for so long that a sapling had sprung up through a hole in the floorboard and was growing out one window. The springs were visible through the seats, and flowering weeds decorated the interior of the cab from one season to another.

I passed the truck every day as I took the back roads to college. I didn't like getting onto the freeway and inhaling the carbon monoxide and the asbestos from the semis. The back way took the same amount of time, and the cow shit had its own stink, but at least it was an honest organic stink, and once I was past the dairy farms, I didn't have to keep inhaling it. The view was more pleasing as well--to quote Anne Shirley, there was more "scope for imagination."

Something about that truck piqued my fancy. I wondered what the man was like who just got out of that truck one day. He just stopped that thing, kicked it in the door, left a big dent, and said, "Damn you to hell anyway, you son of a bitch," and walked off and left it there. Although that act told me that he was a stubborn man, a man who could be pushed just so far before he would dig in his heels and go no further.

The fields on the other side of that barbed wire fence were lush and fruitful. The barns were neatly painted, and the sweet cream butter that I bought from the smiling woman at the house was delicious. Every time I bought a pound of butter, I wondered if she was his daughter, or his granddaughter. I wanted to ask, but decided against it. I liked the man I had created in my fancy, and didn't want to find the real man, no matter what he was like. In my imagination, I knew him well already. He was a hard man, but a good man, a poet in his own way.

And then one cold wintery day the truck was gone. The weeds were gone, even the sapling had been uprooted. The side of the road had been neatly mowed, and no trace of my muleheaded man had been left. I slammed on my brakes, leaving a patch of black down the center of the road. I stared for a few minutes, not quite believing the sight.

Then, for auld lang syne, I got out of my little red Toyota. I went over to where the rusty old pickup had once rested. I kicked the fenceposts next to the truck's old graveyard, and damned them to hell. I cursed up a blue streak that would have made my sailor-daddy proud (or ashamed, depending).

Then I got back into the car and drove away. Never went back, either. Didn't seem quite right, somehow.

Taking A Leap

2007-01-22T08:47:00.000-08:00

I'm going to audition for a play tonight. For someone like Izzybella, that's no big deal. She's been in dozens of plays. She's a fantastic actor (and I'm honestly not saying that just because she's my sister).

No, I've only auditioned for one play before, and that was at the University of Texas at Arlington. I was hoping to be cast as Mrs. Webb in "Our Town," although honestly I'd have been happy to be playing Dead Woman #4. In the audition my vocal cords got some kind of glop on them, and I could hardly talk. It was hardly an auspicious audition, and needless to say, I did not get the opportunity to even play Dead Woman #4.

I have taken one acting class, and another class called "Fundamentals of Voice and Movement," both at UTA. They were FUN. I learned a lot and had a great time. I had actually planned to minor in theatre until the a$$hole dean at the college where I worked decreed that since some secretaries were unable to flex their time, none of us could. Most of the English courses I needed for my major were only offered in the evenings. Theatre classes, for obvious reasons, are not offered during the evenings. I had to give up my dreams of minoring in theatre, and went for a more prosaic, but still enjoyable, history minor.

Yet here I am, at the ripe age of--oh, yeah, I'm 19, aren't I?--going out to audition tonight. It's a small theatre company, doing very avant-garde type plays. All their proceeds go to different charitable organizations. I like that. Izzybella is one of the founding members of the company. I like that. I know two of the other founding members, and like them very much. They're really cool people. And I'm learning how to be fearless.

See, I've wasted so much of my life worrying about what people might be thinking that I didn't do so many things I wanted to do. And I missed out on so much. So regardless of whether I get cast in this play, I'm excited about taking the time to audition. I know that M. and V. won't laugh at me. They like me. They respect me, and they'll respect my efforts, even if what I bring to the mix isn't what they want. And that's cool

So look out, everybody, I'm about to take a leap of Faith!

I'm just sayin'

2007-01-12T13:45:00.000-08:00

Work: Very dang busy. Unless it's icy tomorrow, I'll be working tomorrow. Gotta come in on Saturday because I need to clean the junk out of the unused desks and clean out the supply room where people dump the crap they find in the unused desks to which they move. It's a messy job, which is why I don't want to do it on a regular workday. Not to mention the whole, I don't have time thing.

Home: Very dang busy. Izzybella doesn't have time to come over tomorrow, which is totally cool, because hey, she's doing me huge favors. But when I said that's cool, she insisted I bring her some laundry that she can do for me. Oh, please, twist my arm. Like I'm going to turn down someone who wants to wash, dry, and fold my dirty clothes?

Fun: Tonight Izzybella is taking me to Jason's Deli for dinner (spinach-veggie wrap, hold the pico, sub fat-free swiss for the asiago [not that I don't love asiago], with steamed veggies) and then to see a hilarious play with her comps at Theatre Arlington. I'll report back about the play tomorrow.

Other stuff: I look damn good today. I'm wearing a black form-fitting sweater with a cowl neck and a wide patent leopard-print belt, with Eddie Bauer denim capris and black pointy-toed low-heeled pumps with a kitten heel.

Other other stuff: The Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex is included in the winter storm watch. It's definitely getting cold tonight, and we may possibly see some freezing rain. And it's supposed to be cold for a whole week. Wow! (You can't see me, but I just did the eye roll to express extreme sarcasm.)

Mysterious, Maybe Prophetic Meme

2007-01-11T11:50:00.000-08:00

Trista tagged me with a fun meme, so here we go!

Find the nearest book.
Name the author & title.
Turn to page 123.
Post sentences 6-8.
Tag three more people.

Since my computer is in my Egyptian room, the nearest book is Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead, translated by Raymond O. Faulkner.

Sentence 6 is the last sentence of the spell For Knowing the Souls of the Easterners and sentences 7 and 8 are the first sentences of the spells The Field of Offerings.

I know the Souls of the Easterners; they are Horkhty, the sun-calf, and the Morning Star.

N worships the Ennead which is in the Field of Offerings, and he says: Hail to you, you owners of kas! I have come in peace to your fields in order to receive the provisions which you give; I have come to the Great God in order that I may receive the provisions which his goodwill grants of bread and beer, oxen and fowl.

And tagging three people is a little more difficult, since few people read my blog. I'll go for Izzybella, Sam, and Clover. Any takers?

Tightening the Belt!

2007-01-11T07:30:00.000-08:00

Budgetarily, I mean. Joe and I sat down last night and worked out our budget. For at least the next year, we're going to have to really trim the fat so we can get rid of the credit cards. They really suck the life out of you, don't they? So good-bye to Netflix, good-bye to eating out two or more times a week, good-bye to my cell phone (which I actually won't miss all that much), good-bye to my wasteful ways. Good-bye to my plans of going to Salt Lake in the autumn.

Don't take that as a complaint. Because, hello--good-bye to Direct Merchant's Bank, good-bye to Capitol One, good-bye to high interest rates, good-bye to interest that keeps accruing 24/7/365! And once those cards are gone, hello to the good life! :)

Okay, I also got to tighten the belt literally as well. This morning I tried on a pair of pants that I bought in late November and they were too small. And they fit. I did the Snoopy dance before I took them off because even though they fit, they only fit when I was standing up. When I sat down, too much tummy smooshed out over the top and looked really ugly. But the free 8-week pass to Bally's starts on Saturday, and I will be going every day except Sunday to exercise, so I'm feeling confident of getting rid of some of that tummy (and butt and thighs and arms).

Panic at the Dentist's Office!

2007-01-10T09:40:00.000-08:00

I'm terrified of going to the dentist. It's nothing against dentists themselves, just fear of needles in my mouth, fear of pain, fear of drills in my mouth, fear of needles in my mouth (did I mention that one already), fear of being flat on my back at the mercy of someone with needles and drills and drills and needles in my mouth. You know. Owieful stuff. So yesterday I went to the dentist's office to get one filling and two temporary crowns. I was brave and bold!

The dental assistant put the numbing gel on my gums. All too soon (I really think it may have been a bit too soon), the dentist came in with his needle and started with the injections. "This may pinch," he said. Ha! I laugh in the face of pinches! But it didn't pinch. It hurt like hell. And he did it again, and again, and again, and again. I think there were five. Or six. I lost count, because I was kind of grunting or groaning or something, because it hurt so damn bad, and then he asked me to try not to make any noise, which is when I barely managed to hang on to the about-to-burst-forth-in-full-panic-attack-mode panick attack until he was finished. When he did finally finish with the bloody shots and left me for a few minutes so the numbing process could complete, I was shaking and crying--it was horrible. NOT what brave and bold women do in the dentist's office. Fortunately the crying was silent, not loud gasping sobbing, and I managed to get control of myself relatively quickly. But I've never experienced something like that before, and it completely freaked me out.

So he did the prep work for the first crown. Unpleasant, but not bad. Then he started drilling for the filling. Um, I don't think I'm supposed to be feeling any actual pain here. I politely raised a finger, and he immediately stopped. "Are you feeling this?" he asked, and I nodded. So of course I got four or five more shots. Damnit! And once again he promised pinches--which I laugh in the face of--and delivered pain. But I didn't have a panic attack that time, and I didn't grunt or groan. No, I bore it stoically, only weeping on the inside. And I didn't complain vocally when he kept telling me to open my mouth wider, even though I tell you all that I have a small mouth, and it can only open so wide, and I didn't whine when they were all finished with me and I discovered a crusty chapped painful spot on the right corner of my lips where the latex and everything irritated my skin.

But I've been whiningly complaining today because my damn mouth still hurts. A lot. Yes, I've taken Advil, and yes, I know I'm being a baby. I'm still on soft foods, because it's still so tender on this side. I didn't get to have the yummy roast last night that Joe so thoughtfully cooked in the Crock Pot. I had sugar-free Jell-O and part of an Odwalla smoothie for dinner.

Anyway, it's all a process. I'm glad to be getting my teeth fixed, even if I am horribly embarrassed about yesterday's panic attack and even if the teeth on the right side of my mouth do hurt today. I'm getting the shakes just thinking about my February 12th appointment, so I'm not really sure how to handle it. On the 12th I get my permanent crowns, and have to get another filling and another temporary crown. Oh joy! More shots! More needles. More drilling. If I'm shaking just thinking about going, what's going to happen when he gets that needle in my mouth? Am I going to fall apart completely?

Me and My Muse

2007-01-09T08:03:00.000-08:00

My muse has a wicked sense of humor. As I write this, I'm sure she is perched on my shoulder, laughing hysterically.

I was sitting here, mindlessly doing my work, and she whispered the BEST idea for a book into my ear. I froze, feeling my mind race with possibilities. I swore, because I'm really busy today and will have no time whatsoever to do any writing. And then I have a dentist appointment where I will get two temporary crowns. I'm not sure if I'll feel like doing any writing this evening or not. Depends a lot on how sore my jaw is. So I very carefully wrote three words on my calendar, hoping it will be enough to keep the idea fresh in my mind, and kept pulling credit bureau reports.

She laughed wickedly.

I typed into the computer. A few details came to mind. I can't lose them. I scribbled seven more words onto my calendar.

I pulled a few more credit bureau reports, while my muse rubbed her hands together with glee. More ideas came. I scribbled 16 more words onto my calendar, and told my muse to shut the fuck up. I've got a lot of work to do today, and while I'm incredibly grateful for her gifts, her timing sucks to hell and back.

Okay, so the fall is a really busy time for my business, and we had major queue changes this month. But things should start slowing down for me at work, and I should really start having time to write. So I'm going to start writing on this at home, and hope like mad that I get time to start writing at work again. Because, really, that's the only reason I took this job.

Oh, and I'm not going to talk much about my new idea, other than to tell you that it's brilliant. Because the more I talk about the ideas, the less I write them. I will tell you only that it relates to my passion, my obsession. Chaucer. And it's brilliant, and it will become a best-seller, and I will make lots of nice, wonderful money, and I won't have to slave as a poor administrative assistant.

Hey! Stop sniggering! I can dream if I want to!

2007-01-08T15:04:00.000-08:00

My awesome sister Izzybella gave up her Saturday to come over and help me. The plan was to help me tear my kitchen apart. I wanted to tear the birdhouses, trellis, and ivy off the walls. Unfortunately, the kitchen was in such a mess that it had to be scrubbed down before I could even think about tearing down the birdhouses, trellis, and ivy. So we cleaned. We washed dishes, scrubbed counters, scrubbed my ancient stove, and cleaned the grody refrigerator. By the time she left, we were both utterly exhausted. She promised to come back next week so we can attack the dining room (it's not a separate room, just the other half of the kitchen area). Maybe next Saturday we can rip down the blasted birdhouses. I'm planning to paint soon as well. I'd hoped to paint the walls a nice cream color, but my husband isn't going to go for that. So I've got to find a color that we can both live with that isn't sky blue!!!!

What else--I'm down another 2.4 pounds as of Saturday's weigh-in. That takes me to 38.2 pounds total, I think. You can see it in my face; I now have cheekbones. I like my cheekbones. And I was a little startled to realize, when I went to buy some nylons on Saturday night, that I had no idea what size nylons I wear. (For the record, I've gone from 3X nylons down to 1X.) I feel great, and have a lot more self-confidence. I got a new Newport News catalog today, and I'm going to really enjoy going through it tonight, because I'm a lot closer to fitting into these awesome clothes than I have been. I'm also a lot more confident that I'm going to achieve my goal. I plugged in all my weigh-in data into a spreadsheet, and it's currently projecting my reaching my goal of 150 pounds in October. That seems a little freaky to me. Just getting below 200 pounds will be a huge, huge milestone.

I went to church yesterday, for the first time in almost a year. It was very difficult getting myself out the door of my house and into the door at church. However, once there it was really nice. The people that I was most reluctant about the potential of seeing weren't there. What was even nicer was that I learned today that they've moved out of our ward. Lest that sound really bitchy and unkind of me, I should say that there are some really unusual and uncomfortable circumstances around the whole situation with them. I've blogged about it in the past, and don't feel like going into it again. I wish them well, but I'm really glad I don't have to worry about seeing them every Sunday. However, I'm also really glad that I decided to start going back to church before I knew they had moved.

2007-01-04T09:05:00.000-08:00

I don't have much to say today. I'm tired. Tired of being strong, tired of being a shoulder. I want to be weak, I want to stay home today and hide from the world. But I'm doing the right thing. I'm at work, working hard, showing a presentable face to the world. And I'll get through this just like I get through everything else. It doesn't make the exhaustion go away, but the world doesn't stop spinning just for my wanting it to sometimes, now does it?

Clover

2007-01-03T06:13:00.000-08:00

Clover's son C. is going to be having his spleenectomy any day now--possibly today, but probably tomorrow or the next day. Please keep him in your thoughts. He's terrified, remembering how much pain he had after his appendectomy. His spleen is so distended that it's pushing everything else out of place; the doctors at Cook Children's Medical Center believe that's why his lung function is so much poorer than usual. Joe spent the evening at the hospital yesterday, and I've been praying for him and his family and the doctors and nurses whenever I'm not actively thinking of something else. He is such a dear boy, and I want to see him be healthy and have a long life. Cystic fibrosis is such a horrible disease, and I've seen him struggle with it since he was diagnosed as a baby. I love him so much. Clover has already lost one child. I don't want her to lose any more children. I want her to see them all grow up and blossom into beautiful adulthood.

If you're so minded, please visit Clover and leave her some good will. Thanks.

This, That, and t'Other

2007-01-02T09:43:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, my parents would take us with them when they were running errands. If we asked where we were going, my mother would inevitably and maddeningly respond, "hither, thither, and yon." Trust me on this: hither, thither, and yon was normally the most boring combination of destinations in the world. It was the grocery store, the liquor store, the bank, the post office, and other assorted places where we kids were forced to sit in the car and wait while the adults were inside doing all sorts of fun things. They were eating, drinking, and partying while we just sat there and waited. We knew they were doing fun stuff, even though when they returned to the car and we asked what they'd done, my mother said, "this, that, and the other."

I have a headache, and it's lunchtime, so I'm going to go to hither, thither and yon to do this, that, and t'other. But I don't have kids, so I can't force them to sit in the car while I do it.

You know, being a grownup isn't nearly as fun as my childhood self thought it would be. Well, sometimes it is, but not often. At least when I was a kid and my parents took us through the drive-through at the bank, the tellers sent candy back for us. Now the teller tells me that she appreciates my business and wishes me a pleasant day, but she doesn't send me candy.

Exercising my rights . . .

2006-12-31T20:33:00.000-08:00

to exercise. Okay, that was a lame one, so sue me. But this morning Joe and I tried to take Molly for a walk. We got halfway down the block, when a stray dog came darting out from between two houses. Okay, we thought, we'll go the other direction. We got almost to our house, when another loose dog darted out. So things got a little interesting. Joe got Molly to the front door while I kept telling both dogs to shoo. Then I took her in while Joe tried to find the owners of the dogs. One dog belonged to a family on our street, but the other did genuinely seem to be a stray. It ran off, and I thought it was safe for me to go ahead and take a very disconsolate Molly for her walk. Big mistake. The dog came back. So Molly and I walked at a very rapid pace while Joe distracted the other dog. I definitely earned some activity points this morning.

Then tonight I got the brilliant idea to watch Morgan Spurlock's Supersize Me. I love the movie, and I love it even more now that I've made tremendous progress in detoxing. I honestly couldn't tell you the last time I ate at McDonalds or Wendy's. I haven't had a soda in months, barring the three or four sips I reluctantly took (at Joe's insistence) of 7-Up on Christmas night. But as I watched the movie, I felt compelled to set up my Gazelle and do a fast-paced 20 minute workout.

It's funny to realize that over the last several months I have come to really enjoy exercising. It's something I look forward to, and enjoy doing. I must also confess that it was really exciting to find that my butt no longer touches both sides of the Gazelle. That was gratifying. And when I plugged in my height and weight into a BMI calculator, it was also gratifying to learn that I've gone from morbidly obese to severely obese. I don't feel severely obese. It's all a matter of perception, I suppose. Someone who doesn't know me at all would probably look at me and be appalled at how fat I am. But someone who does know me would look at me and call me a big loser, or, like one of my co-workers, call me slim and sexy. I'm obviously far from slim, but I feel slim, and I'm feeling confident and healthy and active, and it feels good. So does the confidence and health and activity and good that I feel make a difference in the perception of the total stranger? Would that total stranger perceive me as a little smaller than I actually am, because I feel so self-confident and healthy? Or would it make no difference?

It doesn't matter, of course, because I don't care overmuch what anyone thinks about me. It's too taxing to worry about anyone else's opinion. The people whose opinions matter love me anyway, and those who don't don't matter.

It's 10:43 on New Year's Eve. I'm valiantly fighting the urge to make resolutions. I tried to make anti-resolutions last year, and even that didn't work. I didn't read all the books I could have. I ate oatmeal a few times. And I refuse to go look at that list again to see all the other ways I failed. I could make absolutely no-fail resolutions, like resolving to stay a non-smoker, but I don't want to tempt fate. So I'm going to remain resolutely resolution-free. No resolutions. I'm boycotting the resolutions this year.

Now it's 10:46 p.m. on New Year's Eve. My tender-hearted husband just brought our spoiled dog a bowl of milk. Said spoiled dog is laying with her head on the pillows on the futon on top of my satin cover and on top of the blanket. I'm about to evict her. He is tender-hearted, and I am an evil bit-cah. Bwa-ha-ha-ha.

Dangit! I don't get to be evil. She just heard the neighbors' dogs barking, and jumped off the bed to join in the 10:47 bark. Oh, well. As long as I get the futon back, I don't care how. And besides, my tender-hearted husband also brought me half a banana. And it's okay that he only brought me half a banana, because he also gave me half his tangerine an hour ago. 'Cause he's just sweet like that.

Happy New Year, everybody. Peace, love, joy, harmony, and every good thing to you and yours.

Eragon

2006-12-30T15:46:00.000-08:00

Go see it. You'll love it! :) The movie progresses a lot more smoothly and easily than the book did, and has plenty of eye candy. It was well cast, has beautiful scenery, and was just a good movie. I wanted to turn around and buy another ticket and go watch it all over again.

Went to DSW Shoes, and found an absolutely gorgeous pair of brown satin and lace pumps on clearance. I also found a pair of black high-heeled loafers on clearance. And they were having their clearance sale, which meant everything on clearance was an additional 50% off. And I had a $10 certificate from when they did their system changeover earlier in the year. And I had a $5 certificate that they sent me for my birthday. So I ended up spending only $15 out-of-pocket for both pairs of shoes. Color me very, very happy.

I also went to Barnes and Noble and finally purchased book 7 of the Pendragon series. So I'm looking forward to having a good read later on tonight. I'm nearly finished clearing out the Egypt room, so the good read will be a well-earned one.

And I nearly forgot to report my good news from this morning's weigh-in! I was down 3.8 pounds (for the last two weeks), and got another 5-pound star. I'm up to 36.4 pounds lost, which is very exciting.

Changing the subject here. I feel like I should say something about Saddam Hussein here. I was a little startled at how rapidly he was executed. Joe came into the bedroom last night to tell me that he was dead. I have been thinking a lot about him today. He is responsible for so many deaths; so much evil and horrors have been carried out under his orders and in his name. What is he seeing and feeling and experiencing now? I'm not glad he's dead. I don't mean that I wish he were still here, still in power, still able to do evil, because I'm not. I can't be. But I can't be glad in his destruction either. It's horrible. I know that the things I've done wrong torment me when I allow myself to think of them, and I cannot imagine the torment he must be feeling now. I don't know if I'm making any sense, so I'll stop. I guess I just had to take a moment and try to express my thoughts.

2006-12-29T11:48:00.000-08:00

Still wishin' I were anywhere but here! I walked into the office this morning and my nostrils were assaulted by a really noxious aroma. No one seemed to know what it was, so one of the managers called the non-emergency number for the fire department. They ordered us to evacuate while they got some people over here to check it out. It turned out to be paint thinner; the building management had people painting the elevator last night. To add injury to injury, they started painting again in the common areas late this morning. So my chest is burning and I've got a rip-roaring headache. One wonders (actually, more than one wonders--I've had multiple people stop into my office to wonder) why they didn't do the painting on Saturday, when the building would be empty for three days. And of course our company can't allow us to go home! It's month-end AND it's December. December, for those of you who don't know, is never a good month for collections. December is the month when people would rather buy Christmas presents than pay their bills. So here I sit, trying to keep busy (I'm not a collector--I'm an admin assistant) and trying not to puke from the fumes.

But hey, three-day weekend coming up, always a good thing. And it's the last holiday weekend until Memorial Day, so I really need to enjoy it. I'm going to do some shopping tomorrow morning. And Liz and I have been planning for 6 weeks at least to go to a movie, and we keep putting it off. So we're going to a movie tomorrow, dangit, no matter what! And then I'll go back home and do laundry until I drop.

You think I'm exaggerating, don't you? You don't believe that a fully grown woman (I was about to say fully grown mountain troll, because I watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone last night) could really and truly procrastinate her laundry until she has as much laundry as I tell you that I have. You don't really believe that a responsible mature person could get by only washing enough underwear and wearing the lightly dirtied clothes so that she has huge and enormous piles of laundry, huh? Pardon me while I laugh hysterically.

*************************

Okay. I'm back. See, part of the problem is due to the fact that our house is laid out rather weirdly. The washing machine is in the kitchen. The dryer is in the room that used to be the garage but is now in the room we optimistically call the music room, but is really the hell room (don't know what the hell to do with something? Throw it in there). The other part of the problem is due to the fact that our house is hugely cluttered. That's not news to you, as I talk about this problem frequently. Joe has a lot of stuff piled up that blocks the way into the hell room. That means that it is virtually impossible for me to get a load of wet clothes from the washer into the dryer. If Joe's around, he'll do it for me. If not, then I don't mess with it. I'd rather not break my leg and have to call 911--the paramedics would tell everyone they know how messy my house was! So yeah, doing laundry is a huge hassle, which is why I have tons of laundry to do.

Yesterday Joe dismantled the daybed in the Egypt room and put the futon in there. I am happy with that change. I spent 4 hours in there yesterday moving furniture, throwing out trash, throwing dog toys in the hall (and how many toys does one dog need, anyway? She's got more toys than some people's kids have!), throwing dirty clothes into the hall, sorting through papers to see what was trash and what needed to be saved (and much more of it was trash than I realized), etc. So have you ever seen those huge contractor's trash bags? They're almost as tall as I am, and as big around as a regular black leaf-sized trash bag. Well, I have two of those full of dirty clothes that I have to wash this weekend. I would estimate that of those two bags of dirty clothes, at least half of them are too big for me, which means that some of them will go to my friend and the rest will go into storage. That means that half of those clothes are getting out of my house. That means less clutter.

Okay, yeah, I bought two shirts today during lunch at Target, but I'm still on the positive side here. One huge ginormous trash bag out, two tiny shirts in. And hey, the shirts were purchased in the Misses' section, NOT in the Women's section!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And I also took those handbags I'm getting rid of and put them in my car. I'll stop by the Goodwill drop-off on my way home from work today, and get them out of my life forever. Whee! See? Another big bag of clutter out of the house! And I found the three drastically overdue library books and they're also in my car and are going back to the library today. And I'm never going to a library again. Never. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever again. Never. As in, if I ever tell you I'm going to a library, stop me, with force if necessary. Don't let me do it. That is all.

2006-12-28T06:44:00.000-08:00

I wish I were almost anywhere but here. At home doing laundry, perhaps. At a concert, screaming my head off. At the gym, working up a muck sweat. Shopping, always an enjoyable pastime (and what does that say about me?!). Hauling loads of stuff I don't need off to Goodwill. It doesn't need to be something fun--just something different.

I did get quite a bit of work done at home last night. Threw the piles of laundry that I've been studiously ignoring for the last long bit of time into laundry bags. Went through all the purses that have been cluttering my closet and decided which ones to keep and which ones to give to Goodwill. Argued with Joe about the ones I want to get rid of. Well, maybe argued is a little too strong a word. We didn't quite argue, but I did explain my view and listened to him explain his view, and then made a rebuttal. It's just that we have far too much clutter in a very small house. And I really don't need 30+ handbags. If I had saved the $10-$20 each of those handbags had cost me, I'd have enough to go get the good Coach or BCBG bag that I really want. So when I get home today, I'm taking 15-20 handbags to Goodwill, and keeping 10-15 handbags. It will be a much more manageable pile, and the ones I'm keeping are the ones I really do use. Honestly, some of the ones I'm getting rid of I have never even used, or have used only once or twice. Just a waste.

I also got two bags of clothes set aside to give to a friend who's also losing weight. And as I get the laundry done, some of the clothes will go to her, and others will go into storage. Joe says he's fully confident that I'm not going to regain the weight I have lost and am continuing to lose, but he still wants me to keep some of my favorites just in case, so that if I do perchance regain any of it, at least I'll have some good quality clothes that I like. This is one argument I have learned I won't win, so I'm through trying. I'm splitting up the clothes--half to my friend and half to storage. That will get a good bit of clutter out of the house.

See, it's annoying. He is the first to complain about how much crap we have in the house, and the first to say we just need to throw everything out. He is then the first to get upset when I try to throw things out, give them to Goodwill, give them to a friend or a charity who could use them. I have to resort to subterfuge to get things out. He'd rather pay $38 a month to store junk than let me just get rid of it. Go figure.

Wow. The total shallowness of this post is just seriously underwhelming.

How about some good news? Clover's son got transferred back to the children's hospital in Fort Worth. That makes life a lot easier for them right there, even if it were for no other reason than juggling the commute. But it's also good because they've been working with C. since he was a baby, and have his care very well coordinated, unlike the hospital in Dallas. As soon as I'm no longer snarking up gobs of snot I'm going to go visit him. (And on a completely unrelated note, why is it that I can snark up gobs of snot, but when I try blowing my nose, nothing comes out? I realize now disgusting it is to go around sniffing and making disgusting snarking noises, but I do try to blow, to no avail. So I have to sniff. Sorry.)

2006-12-27T09:19:00.000-08:00

This is a short one, just to ask you to please send some thoughts/prayers/white light, or whatever kind of positive thing you do Clover's way. Chase is still in the hospital, and may be heading to Houston this week to be evaluated for a lung transplant. If so, Clover will be the one going to Houston, most likely, and Pat will remain here with the other kids. Joe and I have obviously offered to do whatever we can to help, but it's not enough. It's never enough.

Joyeux Noel!

2006-12-25T09:52:00.000-08:00

Good morning. It is still morning, at least for 9 more minutes. And Happy Christmas!

It's been a weird weekend/holiday time. I've been sick, with a disgustingly nasty cold. And Liz has been sick as well, with bronchitis, which means we didn't get to do fun sisterly shopping & moviating on Friday. I finished up my shopping as quickly as I could on Friday and then came home and crashed. I went out briefly on Saturday morning to buy some more gift bags, and then wrapped gifts for about 4 hours on Saturday, before spending the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday in bed. This seems like a good place to mention the extremely twisted dreams that Sudafed Nighttime Cold medicine gives me. Bizarre nightmares that include murder of various people, really strange quests (in one dream I was searching for liquor in a Circuit-City type store, and then went to the liquor store to buy the latest season of The Biggest Loser, a show that I've never even watched), various personality twists (I turned into Veronica Mars--I love the show, love the character, but don't want to be her), etc.

But today came, and brought Christmas with it, and Liz came over for the opening of the gifts, and Joe was sweet and Molly was all cute and Mollyful, and it's been a very nice morning. I'm still congested but I'm starting to be able to smell again, and breathe a bit, which is pleasant. Joe's making his famous mashed potatoes, and I've been permitted to taste test every batch. This is significant. He uses three varieties of potato (I did all the peeling--that was my contribution to Christmas dinner) and three varieties of butter (including a French import), and they have a million calories. I only eat them once a year now. So yum!

When Joe asked what I wanted for Christmas, I gave him two or three suggestions. I wanted a jewelry armoire, since my jewelry box wasn't big enough to hold my collection of mostly junk jewelry with the few nice pieces he's given me. I mentioned an iPod nano, since he's been talking about claiming my shuffle. But I was more than happy with my shuffle, so the nano wasn't a huge desire thing. Well, I think that he made it his personal mission to just spoil me rotten this Christmas. I've never had a time that I not only was given everything I could possibly want, but some things that I would never have even imagined wanting. He did get me a jewelry armoire, one far larger and more beautiful than I'd have dreamed of. He got me a lovely necklace and a pair of warped diamond hoop earrings that are so me it's amazing that anyone else thought to make them. He got me the iPod nano. He got me Elizabeth Arden perfume and nailcare stuff from those pushy people at the kiosks in the mall (but it's great stuff, trust me!), and just made me feel like a pampered princess. It's a lovely feeling, but I don't want to get too accustomed to it.

My mother and stepfather sent me a totally delightful gift, one that is so out of character that it just completely blew me away. I totally never lost touch with my inner child, as anyone who has spent more than 5 minutes perusing this blog knows. So I like Archie comic books. I haven't read them in ages, because I think they're ridiculously overpriced. But my sweet Mom went on ebay and bought me a stack of old Archie comics! So I'm going to read them, and then go buy some protective sleeves and keep them stored away. I also collect old Mad magazines (pre "we'll sell out and sell ads"), but it's not safe to give me those as gifts because I have quite a few. I didn't have any Archie comics, and would never have thought of buying them, so it was just a totally delightful gift. I have tried calling to both thank them and wish them a Merry Christmas. I'm guessing that either my mother is still asleep, or my stepfather is feeling extremely cranky, however, because they've taken the phone off the hook.

Well, I need to go curl my hair before we go over to Dad's and the Monster's for dinner. I've been sleeping for the better part of the last two days, and I look like it. I've managed to get myself dressed, but I'm not made up and my hair has been brushed but not styled. I'm not looking pretty yet. I will shortly, though. Once again, happy Christmas to you all!

Boogers, Worms, and Pus

2006-12-21T07:59:00.000-08:00

Boys like disgusting things, right? Izzybella saw some stress balls that, when squeezed, have really disgusting things pop out, like worms, and pus, and cockroaches. So she bought some for Clover's son. I was so grossed out by them, but can totally visualize the look on C's face as he gleefully shows them to all the unfortunate doctors and nurses who stop by. He is really going to have a lot of fun with those revolting balls.

Last night Izzybella and I went Christmas shopping. Have you seen those 20-questions electronic games? We got one of those for C as well. I experimented with it. If you get the chance to pick one up, try it out, thinking of a booger. The questions it will ask you are hilarious. Can it fit in an envelope? Yes. Can you walk on it? Well, yes, but it will stick to the bottom of your shoe. Is it multicolored? Well, that just kind of depends. Can you buy it at a store? No, not so much, unless you're buying Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. And then you're not buying a real one, just a booger-flavored jelly bean. Needless to say, the game did not guess a booger. It guessed a fairy. I had way too much fun.

The creeping crud continues to creep. It is currently still in my nose, throat, and has crept down into my upper chest. I can feel it creeping toward my lungs. If I try to speak, I sound like a frog croaking. I'm at work this morning. Whether I will be at work this afternoon just kind of depends. When I do go home, whether it be at noon or at 4, I'm going to knock back some Nyquil and head straight for bed. It seems like I may have mentioned doing the same thing yesterday, but that so didn't happen. I ended up going Christmas shopping, then having some dinner (a bowl of tortilla soup and 5 french fries), and then having a very serious 3-hour discussion with my husband, and then a long, sleepless night.

I'm scheduled to be off work tomorrow for Christmas shopping purposes. Since Izzybella and I got so much done yesterday, there's not too much to be done tomorrow. And I suspect I felt better yesterday than I will tomorrow, so that works. And she's already kindly volunteered to wrap gifts. Fortunately, I have already wrapped everything I have previously bought up until last night, so there's not too much to wrap. Also fortunately I have a fairly large selection of gift bags, so the actually wrapping may not be as heinous a job as it could be.

Okay, well, I can't think of anything else disgusting to talk about, so I'll start working again. Well, that's not strictly true. I mean, I can always think of something disgusting to talk about. But I really should get back to work, right? Right?

Grrrr

2006-12-20T06:37:00.000-08:00

I hate being sick. I particularly hate being sick at Christmas time. The world around me is full of happy jolly people who are happy and jolly around me. And I feel like shite. My throat's as raw as ground hamburger that, well, hasn't been cooked yet. My nose is stuffy. My head hurts. I don't feel happy and jolly. I wanna cry. I wanna go home and take some nasty disgusting Nyquil and pull the covers over my head and cry myself to sleep.

How petty of me.

Today we're having our potluck and Secret Santa gift exchange. The very manly manager whose name I drew didn't have his wishlist up for several days. Finally, in exasperation, I went to my boss (a senior manager) and asked her to tell him that if he didn't get his list up soon, he was going to receive Hello Kitty stuff for Christmas. She laughed, and made the threat. He believed her, and got his list up a day or two later. Shucks! So I got him a very manly Dallas Cowboys shirt. But I wrapped it in Hello Kitty giftwrap. Because I'm just a nasty bitcah.

My calendar picture this month is the Lady of Shalott. I am enjoying looking at it. In my poverty-stricken college student days at the University of Utah, I had a huge print of this hanging in my basement apartment. I loved this picture. Still do, although I don't think I want a huge print of it hanging in my living room. I need to hit the calendar store right after Christmas when the calendars go on sale for half-price but before they're all gone. I don't think I want another PreRaphaelite calendar. I've enjoyed it this year, but its lush gorgeousness has been a little too much. I'm ready for something a little more austere.

I'm sucking another sugar-free Halls lozenge. This is my second of the morning, and it's only 8:45. I can always tell that I'm really sick when I manage to keep one in my mouth long enough for it to dissolve completely. The things are so utterly disgusting, but so satisfying when I'm sick enough to really need them.

Whimper whine complain gripe. Why don't y'all tell me to just shut up?

Yippee!!!!

2006-12-19T07:01:00.000-08:00

Trista has GREAT news! Kristin didn't even have a ginormous booger. It was a cyst. A huge infection-filled cyst. Such a relief. I was dreading going to check this morning, but so glad to hear the good news.

I've got a monster sore throat today. It's been percolating for almost a week, and it's finally decided that it's going to be good and sore now, dangit, and I can suck on all the yummy Ricola sugar-free lozenges I want to, but they're not going to help. I can eat all the fresh-cut pineapple I want to, but it's not going to help, either. I can drink water and exercise and be as healthy as I feel like being, but I'm going to have a sore throat. So there. Nyah-nyah-nyah. I hate sore throats. Nasty little buggers.

Joe's been grumpy lately. Very grumpy. Very, very, very, very grumpy. He was all sweet yesterday and bought a $19 jar of soup from Whole Foods for dinner. It was made by Mansion at Turtle Creek, and it was good, although I debate whether it was worth $19. I ate a bowl last night for dinner, with a bit of cut-up grilled chicken breast and some shredded fat-free cheese in it. And my throat was hurting and I was tired, so I went to bed and watched an episode of Buffy. Well, technically I watched about 3/4 of an episode of Buffy, because I fell asleep at some point. I woke up at 12:39 when the hall light went on and a sock landed on my face. Joe decided to throw a fit because our house was a wreck. Granted, our house is a wreck, but it's been a wreck for a damn long time. And I'm not the sole, nor even the main, reason that it's a wreck. I was highly pissed at being awakened at 12:39 by my husband's temper tantrum. I shut the door and tried to go back to sleep, to no avail. I got up about 20 minutes later, by which time he was all nice and sweet again. But I was mad, so I told him how the cow ate the cabbage. That got him mad again, so we argued for half an hour. I then went back to bed, and lay there for an hour or so before I could fall asleep again. Since I didn't sleep well the night before, that means that I'm really damn tired today and kind of grumpy.

I love my husband. He can be the greatest guy in the world, thoughtful, compassionate, understanding. But sometimes he just gets on every nerve in my body, and I want to just scream out of sheer frustration. 12:39 this morning was one of those times.

DISCLAIMER: My husband loves me. I can be the greatest wife in the world, thoughtful, compassionate, understanding. But sometimes I just get on every nerve in his body, and he just wants to scream out of sheer frustration. Apparently, leading up to 12:39 this morning was one of those times.

Life, The Universe, and Everything

2006-12-18T10:52:00.000-08:00

First of all, if you're a praying person, please take a minute to send a prayer in behalf of Kristin, Trista, and Julia. Kristin had surgery this morning for what I'm frantically hoping is an ancient World Record-worthy gigantic booger that has gotten stuck up in her sinuses and grown to gargantuan proportions and isn't a tumor and isn't cancerous and is nothing at all to worry about. Regardless of whether it's a ginormous booger, a pearl, a jelly bean, or something far more serious, their family needs your prayers, or your positive thoughts, or whatever type of thing you do in situations like this.

The other family who really needs some positive thoughts or prayers is Clover and her family. It looks as though her son is going to be in the hospital over Christmas, something we were all hoping wasn't going to be the case. On the positive side, he probably will not need a liver transplant. Yay! On the not-so-positive side, he may end up having to go to a hospital in Houston to have his spleen removed and a shunt installed to get the blood flowing where it's supposed to. I've tried calling Clover this morning to find out when I can take Christmas dinner over there, but just got her voice mail. I'll try again shortly.

Liz and I were at her apartment yesterday. We'd hoped to finish clearing and cleaning, but it didn't happen. We did get a lot of the clearing finished, and some cleaning done. Salvation Army is coming on Saturday to pick up the furniture and assorted household items that she is donating, so we are planning to finish things up on Saturday. It is definitely do-able, and we will both be extremely glad to be done with that task.

When I weighed in on Saturday morning, I was down another 2.2 pounds, for a total of 34.6 pounds. I've had people at work tell me that I look slim and sexy. It's nice to hear, and I will admit that I feel slim and sexy. However, with another 96 pounds to go to hit my official Weight Watchers goal, I am FAR from slim! I keep promising pictures but haven't managed to get any taken yet. I was all set to get Joe to take one of me the night we went to see Barenaked Ladies. I had just barely snapped one of him when a security guard was in my face, ordering me to put my camera away because no photos were allowed. I asked if we could take just one more photo, pointing out that it wasn't even going to be of the stage, and the band wasn't out, etc., but she refused. It really pissed me off later on when, during the show, hundreds of people were taking photos and she didn't bother to stop any of them.

Wendy commented on how much my avatar looks like Trista's. I think we have the same hairdo. My hair is a titch longer and fuller, but they didn't have a hairdo that comes any closer to mine. And my hair is reddish brown, but the red is too red, so I chose the brown as I think it's closer. Wendy also said she thought I had blonde hair. I've never had fully blonde hair, although I have, from time to time, had a lot of blonde highlights at Joe's request. Let me state here that I look absolutely hideous with blonde hair, and I think I have finally convinced Joe of that fact. I look great with red hair, or dark brown hair. I look horrible with light brown or blonde hair.

I don't know if you can read the writing on my avatar's tee shirt, but it says Happy Hanukkah. Joe and I aren't Jewish, but we do celebrate Hanukkah every year in honor of Joe's stepfather, who was. We have a lovely menorah, and our candles this year are just lovely. It gives me warm fuzzies every night during Hanukkah when we say the blessing and light the candles, and just watch as they burn down to nothing until the candles are gone. (The warm fuzzies are definitely gone the next day, however, when I have to pry the cold hardened wax out of the menorah so we can put the candles in that night. I'm going to buy an oil menorah next year, I swear!) Anyone who knew Dad Farber loved him, and anyone who didn't get to know him missed out on knowing one of the funniest, warmest, wisest men who ever walked this earth. I swear I never met a man I loved as much as my father-in-law. So we honor Dad Farber every year at Hanukkah as much as we honor the Lord, and remember the miracle that happened so long ago. I was planning to have guests over on Friday night, and cook a lovely dinner with latkes and roasted root vegetables and a slow-cooked London broil (my attempt to mingle tradition with the WW core program). However, I've spent so much time and energy helping Liz that my house has completely fallen by the wayside. (That's not to imply that Liz is a power-hungry slave driver who's been cracking the whip; we've just been on a deadline trying to get her moved out before the lease is up and wanting to get it finished before Christmas. And she even kindly let me bail last week, and I went home every day after work and pretty much crashed in front of the telly and watched How Do I Look?) So instead we're meeting at Logan's Roadhouse and having steak and baked potatoes. Shame on me, I know. But it'll still be a good meal with good friends and family, and we'll have fun.

Gotta run. Remember to send love to those in need!

What Type of Weather Are You?

2006-12-14T11:21:00.000-08:00

You Are Lightning

Beautiful yet dangerous
People will stop and watch you when you appear
Even though you're capable of random violence

You are best known for: your power

Your dominant state: performing

What Type of Weather Are You?

What's Your Celtic Horoscope?

2006-12-14T11:20:00.001-08:00

You Are A Hornbeam Tree

You are a reserved person, looking in from the outside.
Naturally attractive, you take good care of your looks.
You are not egoistic, and you make life as comfortable as possible.
You look for kindness in others - though you are seldom happy with yourself.
A bit mistrusting and unsure, you dream of being swept away by someone unusual.

What's Your Celtic Horoscope?

How Quirky Are You?

2006-12-14T11:19:00.000-08:00

Your Quirk Factor: 71%

You're so quirky, it's hard for you to tell the difference between quirky and normal.
No doubt about it, there's little about you that's "normal" or "average."

How Quirky Are You?

What Art Movement Are You?

2006-12-14T11:17:00.000-08:00

You Are Surrealism

Dreamy and idealistic, you've created a world that is all your own.
It's very likely that you've either dabbled in drugs or are naturally trippy.
You are always trying to push beyond the boundaries of your culture and society.
You believe that art, love, and freedom can change the world.

What'>http://www.blogthings.com/whatartmovementareyouquiz/">What Art Movement Are You?

What's Your Funky Inner Hair Color?

2006-12-14T11:14:00.000-08:00

Your Hair Should Be Purple

Intense, thoughtful, and unconventional.You're always philosophizing and inspiring others with your insights.

What's" Your Funky Inner Hair Color?

Today

2006-12-14T10:55:00.000-08:00

I don't have anything illuminating to say. So I'll just babble for a bit.

At my last weigh-in, I was down a total of 30.4 pounds. So I have my bright-red 5-pound bookmark, and it's bearing 5 shiny 5-pound stickers. I don't remember if I mentioned making my 10% goal a little while back, but I did, so I also have a keychain from Weight Watchers that is shaped like a numeral 10. I also have a 25-pound magnet. So the weight loss is proceeding apace. Never as fast as I'd like, even though I know it's healthier to lose slowly, but it is proceeding. I'm getting compliments, and I even caught my husband checking out my butt. It's been a while since that's happened, which is kinda sad and kinda funny all at the same time.

I'm feeling very guilty over abandoning Izzybella last night. But Joe and I had been arguing quite a bit all day, over stupid misunderstandings. It was around 3 or so before we both apologized and meant it, and I was grouchy and tired and grouchy and sleepy and oh, did I mention grouchy? So Izzybella very graciously let me off the hook. I didn't know about any of the other stuff that happened to her last night until about 10 minutes ago when I read her blog. I did call her this morning, but she didn't tell me about it. She just told me to read her blog.

Okay, well, I really don't have anything to say. I'll leave you with these well-known words from a notable wise man: blubber. oddment. nitwit. tweak.

Izzybella Had a Birthday!

2006-12-12T10:54:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was Izzybella's birthday! She didn't do one dang thing that was fun. Nope. Not a thing. She moved. If you've moved before, as I'm sure you have, you know that moving absolutely stinks. Unlike me, she decided to stick with her calendar age this year, although she said she may choose a different age next year. Whatever age she decides to be, she will wear it beautifully.

Let me tell you a little about Izzybella. She is, with the exception of my husband, and sometimes not even excluding him, my best friend. A lot of people don't get that. They aren't really good friends with any of their siblings, and don't understand how she and I can be such good friends. But we just are. Always have been. When my mother was pregnant with her third child, everyone said it was going to be another boy. My brother was elated at the thought of having a baby brother. My dad was bursting his buttons at the thought of siring a second son. My mother spent hours with her Kreskin's ESP thingie asking it if the baby was a boy, and the answer was always a yes. No one listened to me when I said it was a girl.

They should have listened, dangit, because I'm always right! (Except when I'm wrong, of course.)

So on December 11th, 19??, my sister put in her appearance. She has a very strong personality, and made that known from the beginning. One of my chores from the time she was a wee thing, besides changing her diapers, was to get her out of her crib in the morning. Once she was old enough to stand and scream, she would move to the far corner of the crib, after first snatching a handful of my long, lustrous dark brown hair near the roots, and scream, "No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!" My arms weren't long enough to reach to said far corner of the crib and remove her, so I would usually try to disentangle my hair from her fingers and hope I wouldn't go deaf before my mother or father would come and rescue me. Why the hell my mother would put me through such hell every morning was beyond me at the time, although it occurred to me much later that my mother didn't really want to go through that hell either, and figured eventually I'd grow another inch or so and manage to get her out of the damned crib myself, which of course I did, and that stage of purgatory ended.

Being eight years and three days older than my sister, I was her (usually) willing and devoted slave. I spoiled her rotten. I remember this one dress that I fell in love with at the store, and persuaded my mother to buy for her. It had a long blue skirt with a ruffle at the hem, and a white bodice with large blue polka dots. She looked so cute in it that it was absolutely revolting. Whenever I had any money, which wasn't nearly often enough, I liked to buy her things.

Things weren't always perfect in paradise, of course. She and I had our spats. It was the worst when we had to share a bedroom, because she was a neat freak and I was an utter slob. So on the not-rare-enough occasions when we'd be sent to clean our room, she'd be livid because she'd have to help clean up my messes even though she wasn't particularly messy. Usually these spats would end up in us screaming at each other, red-faced with anger, until the humor in the situation dawned upon me and I'd start laughing. That would infuriate her even more, upon which she'd start stomping around. I'd laugh some more, and say something taunting like, "Stomp a little louder, why doncha?" She would then make every effort to stomp louder, which made me laugh more, which pissed her off even more. She couldn't understand then why I was laughing. She thought I was laughing at her. What I was really laughing at was the fact that these two girls, who loved each other more than any other people on the earth, were screaming at each other like nobody's business, over something as insignificant as who threw something under the bed (I did) and who had to pick it up (she did) and was it fair (of course not, but I was the biggest and deal with it already). I was a rotten stinker, and I admit that.

I remember coming home from school or a friend's house or somewhere one day, and finding her with a too-innocent look on her makeup smeared face. With good cause I immediately got furious with her for getting into my makeup. She denied it, and cried because I was picking on her for no reason, and finally admitted it, and all was well. She never did figure out how I knew she'd been in my makeup until several years later.

I didn't know that she used to wear my clothes to school. I left for school/work before she did, and got home after she did. But then one year she made the mistake of wearing one of my Hawaiian shirts on school picture day. When her pictures came, she tried to hide them from me. When I finally insisted on getting one, because I love my sister, dangit, there she was, wearing my shirt. I wasn't too mad about that, although I pretended to be. (My Abbey Road tee-shirt, however, is another matter. ;p)

Her nicknames include Lizardbreath and Zard. She was called Betsy from the moment she was born until she got tired of it and managed to convince everyone in the family that they were never to call her Betsy ever again under pain of death. She was very convincing. I call her Liz or Lizzy or Lizardbreath or Lizardy or Zard or Bubelah or Sugar or Sweetie or Honey or Bit-cah.

When she was young--I don't quite remember how old she was, but her figure was about 18-18-18--she used to sing "Bill Bailey," and she could put quite a Mae West-like growl in the song. It was so cute, and she thought she was so hot and sex-ay.

She used to think I had eyes in the back of my head. Well, that's partly my fault, because I told her I did. Well, come on now--don't most mothers/older sisters say that? You see the kids come in from the back yard dripping wet, and you know they've been playing in the water. But they're not quite bright enough yet to realize that the evidence supports that conclusion, so you tell them you have eyes in the back of your head and they believe you. What I didn't know was that she would wait until I was asleep at night, and then try to find my eyes in the back of my head. But she never could. She decided they were invisible eyes, which made her even more impressed with me. Bwah-hah-hah!

There are other stories I could tell about Izzybella, but I won't. Partly because she'd kill me, and partly because you'd have to have been there. And you weren't. Nyah-nyah-nyah. Just know that she's the best sister a girl could have, and the best friend. I consider myself amazingly blessed to have had her companionship on my journey through life. If you get a chance, go by her blog and wish her a happy birthday.

All right, already!

2006-12-08T12:45:00.000-08:00

Since Izzybella is so determined to ensure that everyone knows it's my birthday, I'll blog a bit about it.

Yes. It's my birthday. I was born on December 8th, 1963. I'm 20 years old today. The first time I was 20, it was 1983. It wasn't a good year. So I'm going to be 20 again.

I cannot, of course, guarantee that it will be a good year. I can, however, guarantee that it will be different. Interesting.

Isn't that some ancient curse? May you live in interesting times. It could also be a blessing, depending on how one looks at it. May you live in interesting times.

Whenever or wherever I am, things tend to be interesting.

And if you want to see what I looked like in 1979, go check out Liz's blog.

Six Weird Things About Me

2006-12-08T09:07:00.000-08:00

I got tagged by Izzybella, so here goes. Oh, and for the record, how I'm supposed to limit it to only six is beyond me.

When I really like a CD, I listen to it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over until everyone else within earshot totally hates it and me and their lives and wishes someone would just put them out of their misery. So it's probably a really good thing that I have a private office at work so that no one has to listen to Trista's Mix over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over because I've been listening to it almost exclusively since she sent it. I love it! What's not to love about it? It's fantastic! My favorite songs on it are Rowing Song by Patty Griffin, Painting by Chagall by The weepies, Gotta Have You by The Weepies, Useless Desires by Patty Griffin, World Spins Madly On by The Weepies, Volcano by Damien Rice, Comfortably Numb by Dar Williams, The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice, It's Only Fear by Alexi Murdoch, The Deep by Clair Holley, and City Hall by Vienna Teng. Oh yes, and Ship Out on the Sea by The Be Good Tanyas. I like that one, too. And all the other songs on the CD. Sometimes I wake up in the morning singing, "Love is a feeling like a warm black stone." That's a bad thing why?
I argue with people who aren't there. Like this: weird is such a subjective thing. Things that I think are perfectly normal you may think are weird. I mean, I think it's perfectly normal for me to listen to my CDs over and over and over and over and over and over and over, but you might define that as weird. In fact, everything I do is perfectly normal to me, or I wouldn't do it. So I'm going to continue with this completely illogical meme to satisfy my sister who's so totally in trouble for posting a photo of me from 1979.
I decided that from today on, I'm not adhering to my calendar birthdays. I'm not going to do like my mother-in-law, who chose some years ago to remain 39 for the rest of her life. I am just going to pick certain ages at random. I decided today that I'm going to be 20 this year. Why 20? Why the heck not 20? I didn't particularly enjoy 20 the first time around. It was a rough year. I'm smarter now, and a heck of a lot cuter now. I have better taste in clothing. I have more discretionary income. I have a better job. So I'm going to be 20 this year. Is that weird? I don't think so!
I sing to my dog every morning, and every evening, and at various moments throughout the day. I sing special Molly songs to her, and she loves it. In the morning she lays on her back and shows me her tummy and gives me kisses while I sing. Sometimes she growls "I love you's" back to me. Because she loves being sung to. Sometimes she shows me her butt so I can give her bootie scratches while I sing to her. Is that weird? Once again, I say no.
I make up peepee songs when I really have to go to the bathroom really badly and for some reason can't get there. It's usually some variation about how badly I need to pee, and it may or may not rhyme, but I try to make it funny, which seems counterproductive, because one would think that making myself laugh could cause me to lose control. And yet, I do it anyway. I also do the peepee dance, but lots of people do that, so that's not weird even by other people's standards. I also, for some strange reason that's weird even to me, will drink more and more water when I'm stuck in a meeting with a desperately full bladder. I know logically that the more water I drink, the more urgent the need to pee will become. And yet I drink on. I don't know why I do that. And I obviously can't make up a peepee song or do a peepee dance when I'm stuck in a meeting that I can't get out of, so there's no other way to take my mind off my need to go. So yes, I will concede the weirdness of that one. Oh, and one more thing, since I'm on the subject of peeing--I HATE to go to the bathroom. So I put it off as long as possible. I don't get that one either. I'll casually mention to my sister that I need to pee, and she'll call me three hours later and ask if I've gone yet. At least six times out of ten, I haven't. That's weird as well.
When I'm reading a book set in England, my inner voice has to read it with a British accent. But it makes me read more slowly, which drives me bonkers, because I'm a very fast reader. So then I just give up and read it aloud. Unless it's Harry Potter, in which case my need to swallow the book whole overrides my need for my inner voice to read it with a British accent. I guess that counts as weird, even by my definition.

I don't have anyone to tag, because few people read my blog, and those who have either don't do memes or have already done this one. So here's the deal. If you're reading this, and you don't do memes, do this one--consider yourself tagged. 'K?

Wounds

2006-12-07T08:44:00.000-08:00

Last night I received the most unkindest cut of all.

It's nothing I won't heal from, and the scar won't be visible from the outside. I just wonder that there's any space left on my heart that isn't already covered by scar tissue.

Buh-bye, now, NaNoWriMo

2006-11-22T13:26:00.000-08:00

Okay. It was a good idea. Write a 50,000 word novel in a month. Just forge through the writing, don't go back and edit, don't worry about research, just get the writing done.

And I did get 9000 words written during the first week of the month. I even wrote every night while I was at WFC. Pretty impressive, eh?

The problem with it, for me, is (a) that' s just not how I work, and (b) the novel I'm working on requires intensive research. I just can't forge through the writing without getting the research done. I have forged through as much as I can right now. I now have to stop and forge through some pretty major research. I get to study Celtic magic, Celtic history and folklore, herbs, and aromatherapy. I get to take extensive notes. I get to figure out who's who. Then I can forge ahead with some more writing.

It has been a good experience. I learned from it. My muse was kind to me. One of my characters emerged full-grown and completely different from how I had expected her to be. I'm madly in love with her (nothing perverted, though), and can't wait to learn more about her. The protagonist has finally developed a mind and a voice of her own, and she's surprised me more than once as well. The book that I am writing bears little resemblance to the book I had planned to write, and I can thank NaNoWriMo for that. So I cannot call this a failed experiment. That said, I cannot wait to dive into Culpeper's Complete Herbal.

And even though you don't know it yet, you can't wait to meet Erea. So far I actually like her better than my protagonist, but I will admit that I know her better.

Everyone else is doing it.

2006-11-20T13:21:00.000-08:00

You.
Can.
Only.
Type.
One.
Word.
No.
Explanations.
Not as easy as you might think...

1. Yourself: goofy
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend: musician
3. Your hair: beautiful
4. Your mother/stepmother: enigma
5. Your dog: kissiful
6. Your favorite item: books
7. Your dream last night: vampires
8. Your favorite drink: water
9. Your dream car: sleek
10. The room you are in: office
12. Your fear: nonexistence
13. What you want to be in 10 years: alive
14. Who you hung out with last night: husband
15. What you're not: quitter
16. Muffin: verboten
17: One of your wish list items: boots
18: Time: break
19. The last thing you did: walked
20. What you are wearing: colorful
21. Your favorite weather: breezy
22. Your favorite book: Annwn
23. The last thing you ate: apple
24. Your life: exciting
25. Your mood: anticipatory
26. Your best friend(S): stalwart
27. What are you thinking about right now? life
28. Your car: silver
29. What are you doing at the moment?: typing
30. Your summer: hot
31. Your relationship status: married
32. What is on your TV?: nothing
33. What is the weather like?: glorious
34. When is the last time you laughed?: lunch

8.6 Pounds! Squee!

2006-11-18T09:06:00.000-08:00

I know I've blathered on about the WW Core program a few times this week. Well, that's because it works. I have felt so fantastic while eating great food and a lot less than I've been in the habit of eating. And my feelings were reinforced at weigh-in this morning. My leader's face reflected her astonishment: her eyes widened, she gasped, and I eagerly jumped up and down and demanded to know how much weight I lost.

8.6 pounds!

I got another 5-pound star, as I have now lost just over 20 pounds. I'm also 7 pounds away from my 10% goal.

It amuses me that every time I've mentioned the core program to someone at work, they immediately say that it's too limiting. I think that's the perception, but it's not the reality. To the contrary, I have found it amazingly freeing. I have had absolutely no cravings for anything unhealthy. I've eaten only the amount of food I need, and it's less than I ate even on the flex plan. It's all been fresh food, nothing processed. Although last night Joe did buy some ready-made mashed potatoes and gravy and put a little bit on my plate. I ate a few bites, and just about gagged at the amount of salt on them.

Sarah and I have been using our morning and afternoon breaks as opportunities to get in some exercise. We have a route mapped out that is about 1/2 mile, and we walk it twice a day no matter the weather.

I am determined to succeed. I know this isn't something that I will do until I hit goal. This is just how I live now until I die. And I like it. I'm going to die slim and healthy and lookin' hot!

Finding our self worth

2006-11-16T07:39:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Trista blogged about the realization that she derives her sense of self-worth from what she can do for others (here). It took me back to my own journey.

I'd say it started, gosh, probably 23, 24 years ago. I know I wasn't yet 21. I was living on my own for the first time. Mom was living with Liz and our brother near the coast of Texas with our grandfather. I was up in the DFW area. I worked in Dallas at a job I detested. My favorite uncle and his then-wife, who lived in Houston, decided to go to the Kerrville Folk Festival, and invited us to join them. So I made arrangements to fly to Houston, where my Mom would pick me up at the airport, take me to my uncle's house, and we'd all ride out together with my uncle and aunt. I asked one of my few--very few--friends to take me to the airport and then pick me back up.

We had a good time at the folk festival. I loved the music, loved the freedom, loved camping out. I was a little shocked at a few things my uncle said to me, but hey, he was from a different generation, and had different opinions, so I shrugged them off and didn't let them worry me too much. I wasn't particularly looking forward to going back to work, but all good things must end, so I reluctantly boarded the plane that carried me back to Dallas Love Field.

When I got to the airport in Dallas, my friend wasn't waiting for me anywhere. I waited, patiently at first, and then got more and more worried. I tried calling her, but couldn't reach her. Finally deciding that she had forgotten, I called another friend who lived near me in Fort Worth. She left immediately. About 10 minutes later, the other friend arrived. When I apologetically told her that I'd just called someone else, she was furious with me. She could not believe that I thought so little of her to think that she would forget about me. But that wasn't it at all. It was that I thought so little of myself. She didn't understand that, and I don't think she ever talked to me again, despite my apologies and attempts at explanation.

It didn't sink in, then. I kept going my not-so-merry way. Life was hard. It always has been for me. I missed a lot of the bad experiences I hear about that others had, and I'm grateful. But that doesn't mean it was easy or fun. I was desperately lonely, desperately broke, too ignorant to understand how I could go to college without money or family support, and doing a lot of dead-end jobs that provided no enjoyment or satisfaction. Those years were painful then, and I don't like thinking about them now because they bring nothing but painful memories.

So advance forward 7 or 8 years. I'm in Salt Lake City, living not too far from the University of Utah. A neighbor had promised to pick me up for some activity. He was late. (Are you noticing a theme here?) I decided he wasn't coming. Took my clothes back off. Cried. Got a pounding headache. Then I heard someone knocking at the door. I couldn't answer the door--I wasn't dressed fit to be seen, I looked like a wreck, and I had a raging headache. I just lay there and sobbed, pretending I wasn't home. Bless his heart, he knocked for a good 5 minutes before he gave up and left. I felt like the biggest heel in the world. After I was sure he was gone, I got up and threw on some clothes and went to a pay phone and called my mother and stepfather and told them what had happened. They came over to see me, and my stepfather gave me a blessing. Somehow the realization that I thought of myself as completely worthless sunk in that time.

It took a long time and a lot of hard work to learn to realise that I am of worth because I am. God created me, and he created me just the way I am, imperfections and all. I have learned that it is my very imperfections that have created bonds between me and other people, people whom I truly love and admire. It is the imperfections and quirks that make me unique. I think if God had intended everyone on earth to be alike, he could have rolled out some human dough and used one cookie cutter, popped us all in the oven at one time, cooked us for the same length of time, and then we would all have been just the same.

Since he didn't do that, I think it's probably safe to assume that he loves us as we are. I don't think that gives me a blanket excuse to not try to improve myself, but I can improve myself without losing my individuality.

Anyway, sorry to blather on for so long. I've just been doing a lot of thinking since I read Trista's post yesterday. I remember that icy shock of realization, and then the days of stunned pondering that followed it. I've studied enough psychology to understand what led me to that way of thinking, and I do not see any benefit in delving back into it now. I'd rather press forward, with a perfect brightness of hope, with a love of God and of all men (and women!).

Excelsior!

Embarrassing Moments at Work, Part 694

2006-11-14T13:21:00.000-08:00

J. came into my office wanting a retractable badge holder. I looked in the drawer where my keys are usually kept. No keys.

Then I remembered. One of those trips to the bathroom. I had just picked up some office supplies for one of the other managers, and couldn't wait long enough to take the keys back to my office before going to the bathroom. I don't have any pockets. I put the keys in the only available place.

I looked down, and gave J. a panicked look. "Uh, would you mind--"

He took the hint, and looked the other way while I fished the keys out of my cleavage.

I quickly got his retractable badge holder and we both pretended like nothing happened.

What's New?

2006-11-14T12:13:00.000-08:00

A broken tooth. Well, it's not new. The tooth is slightly younger than I am, and it's been broken for a few weeks. But it's just buggin' the stink out of me! I have a huge fear of dentists, and have had one ever since a dentist extracted a tooth when I was 12 or 13 and I got a horrible infection. That means, as you might have deduced, that I only go to the dentist when something is terribly wrong. That further means that my teeth are a mess. Well, my friends, 2007 is the year! When I go to the dentist next Wednesday (yes, the day before Thanksgiving, which means that I'll successfully avoid the feast at work because my appointment is during lunch), I'll also ask for an estimate on what it will cost to get my teeth fixed. And then I'll put that much money in my healthcare account. That means I'll HAVE to get my teeth fixed, because if I don't, I forfeit the money. And then next January, I'll start going to the dentist/orthodontist/other-various-ontists as required, and maybe by the end of next year I'll have a reasonably decent set of teeth in my mouth, or else a reasonably close facsimile thereof. I joke about getting dentures, but part of me really would like to tell him to just yank 'em out, and give me dentures. The other part of me never wants to be seen without teeth in my mouth. And I do mean never. I was a little dismayed that the earliest appointment I could get was next Wednesday, but didn't see fit to complain. I asked if there is something that I can put in the broken tooth to keep food out, and was told that there is something called Tempbond or Dentemp, available at grocery stores or drugstores. Cool! I looked, but never saw any such thing. I suppose it helps to find it if one actually knows what one is looking for.

Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride Holiday HerbTea. Again, probably not new, but I just bought a box last week at the grocery store. It's by Celestial Seasonings, and has milk thistle, roasted barley, orange peel, natural sugar cookie flavor with other natural flavors and vanilla bean. It's really good for quelling those desires for something hot and sweet in the afternoons. I just brew up a cup (or three, depending on how strong those cravings are), and stir in a little fake sugar, and my tummy is happy.

Painting by Chagall by the Weepies. Again, not new, but new to me, so I get to list it here since I'm making the rules right now. I got Trista's Crazy Mixed-Up CD while I was at the World Fantasy Convention, and I didn't get a chance to listen to it until last Friday. I love it!!!! The whole CD I mean, not just this song. She titled it "Songs You Shouldn't Listen to at 3 AM." Good title, by the way. I really like all the songs on this CD, and there are 3 songs by the Weepies. Have you heard anything by them? No? Well, what are you waiting for? Trista wrote in her liner notes that this song (Painting by Chagall) is the song that hooked her. It's a hooky song. It's the kind that I could just keep hitting the back button over and over and over and over. It's that good.

Yet another boil on my face. At least this one's on my chin. The last few have been on my nose. But still. Ugh. Boils. The last one was horrible!!! See, if I avoid squeezing them, they die faster. But the last one came to a perfectly disgusting pussy head, and I had to squeeze it to avoid grossing people out. So then it scabbed up, and bled a lot for about 4 or 5 days. It is still scabby, but it's a tiny scab now. My skin got so much better when I started Weight Watchers. I think it's getting even with me for my indiscretions that caused the 3.8 pound weight-gain. Damn skin! (Why am I cursing my skin? I should be cursing my indiscretions. If you can call Godiva cheesecake an indiscretion. Personally, I call it bliss.) Well, it's getting virtually no toxins from my food, and I haven't been wearing makeup (except to the concert the other night), so I'm hoping that the boils are about finished erupting. Maybe this one will be the last. [wayne campbell]Yeah, and monkeys might fly out of my butt.[/wayne campbell]

Another episode of Veronica Mars tonight. No need to elaborate. Just know that I'll be sitting in front of the television between 8 and 9 p.m. I'll be doing laundry before that, and will go to sleep after that.

I could probably ramble on, but I have to go to the bathroom. And you know how much water I drink, so I can't bold that. It's definitely nothing new.

Trista's Sick

2006-11-12T14:17:00.000-08:00

Trista's down and out right now with pneumonia. If you get a chance, drop by her blog and leave her some positive thoughts. I know she'll appreciate them.

WW Core Plan

2006-11-12T14:02:00.000-08:00

Yep, I made the switch. The last time I seriously considered going on the core plan, I read through the food list, saw that it included no bread or cheese (except fat-free cheese--gross!), saw that I could have either whole-wheat pasta OR potatoes OR brown rice ONLY once a day, and said, basically, screw that.

However, after eating my way through the last two weeks, and a box of Godiva chocolates, and gaining 3.8 pounds in said two weeks, I took another hard look at the core plan. And decided to give it a go. And surprise! I love it!

Here's what I love about it:

I'm not tied to my points calculator/points finder/points list/points whatever. I eat when I'm hungry. When I'm not hungry anymore, I stop eating. That sounds really basic, right? And it is. There have been many days on the flex plan when I got to the end of the day and still had more points to eat to hit my target. So I like not having to worry about that.

No temptation to sluff off my eating plan and go eat out. Why? Because there's not a whole lot that I can eat out, at least not at a fast-food restaurant, which is what I can afford. Or, well, not afford, as the case really is. I'd rather save the money for books and clothes, not spend it on food. Anyway, I can eat vegetables, fruit, lean meat, eggs, fat-free (ugh) cheese, fat-free milk (which I have actually grown to like, so no harm there), certain types of cold cereal only once a day, etc. I can have brown rice or whole wheat pasta or potatoes only once per day, so I have to plan pretty carefully. That means that Chick-Fil-A, for instance, is out. There's nothing I can eat there right now. And that's fine. No McDonald's. Which, again, is fine. It means I'll be sitting in the breakroom at the office reading a really good book and eating some edamame (surprise--I love the stuff!), green beans, bell peppers, whatever, fruit, and soup or whatever leftovers I've brought. Or salad. So basically it means that the money I've been wasting on going out at lunch time can now be wasted on books (which means it's not wasted) or on clothes (which means it's not wasted) or other fun things.

I'm sure that as I proceed through the rest of the week, I'll find more to love. I'm surprised, honestly. I thought it was going to be a more difficult switch. And I know that I can still have a piece of bread if I want one (just have to pull that pesky points calculator out and take the point for the bread out of my 35 weekly points allowance). But honestly, it's easier not to eat it, and with all the legumes I'm eating, trust me, I'm getting plenty of fiber. Or, to use the nickname I've shamelessly ripped off from a Ned's Declassified commercial, let's just call me Fartacus and leave it at that.

Oh, and the fat-free cheese? Well, the Kraft shreds that I got at Target yesterday are acceptable if I'm dying for a little cheese on a salad. Otherwise, they're not that great. I didn't expect them to be. I bought a mild fat-free Mexican at Central Market yesterday, and it tastes much better. Think kind of a Velveeta-ish texture, but not quite so squishy, with very flavorful jalapeno pepper bits in it. Now I'm a fire-breathing Fartacus.

Joe and I are going to the Barenaked Ladies concert tonight. I will look completely adorable in my new shirt (size 18/20--NOT size 24!!!), and I'll put on gobs of eyeliner and mascara. I'll get him to take my picture, so I can post it tomorrow, and you can see how much better I'm looking than I was. But just remember, I still have a dang lot of weight to lose. There's definitely room for improvement.

Happy Anniversary, Baby!

2006-11-08T12:12:00.000-08:00

15 Years!

Dang, that's a long time--Sometimes I didn't think we'd make it that long. But here we are.

And guess what: I'd do it all again.

I love you, honey.

Voting and Elections--Misc. Thoughts

2006-11-08T11:34:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I went and voted after work.

It always amuses me to see the options, at the beginning of the ballot, for a straight ticket. Even in the days when I considered myself Republican, and tended to vote a straight ticket, I still felt it was important for me to vote for each individual candidate.

Those days, of course, are long gone. I voted for Kinky Friedman for governor of Texas. I knew he wouldn't win, and honestly didn't expect him to get many votes at all.

I hoped that of the two major parties, the Democrat candidate would win. I was disappointed that he did not. Yes, Texas is stuck with Rick Perry for another four years. Surely no potential presidential candidate is stupid enough to select him as a running mate.

However, there were some (to me) encouraging results from the gubernatorial election. The independent candidates took approximately 31% of the vote between the two of them. Perry didn't win by as large a margin as he might have desired. It could be argued that a win is a win is a win. I disagree. This shows me that perhaps Texans are getting a little tired of the status quo. Perhaps we're ready to start thinking for ourselves.

Kinky, don't go anywhere. We're going to need you in another 4 years!

Some Cool People I Met

2006-11-06T18:47:00.000-08:00

Sarah Beth Durst (on the left on the left) is an extremely cool person. Her book Into the Wild, a YA fantasy, is coming out in June 2007. She did a reading from it at the convention, and it sounds like a LOT of fun. She likes the fairy tales, and brings them into the modern world in a uniquely entertaining way.

Clover, Heather, and I ran into her and Tiffany Trent, another YA author, at the Cheesecake Factory. Mmmmm . . . Godiva chocolate cheesecake. Huh? What? Okay, back to Sarah. As I said, extremely cool person. I'm adding a link to her blog on the right, so go check it out.

Tiffany Trent is on the right on the left, and she is also an extremely cool person. Her book Hallowmere is due out in fall 2007, I believe. I'll link to her site as well. I didn't get to spend as much time with Tiffany as I did with Sarah, but I'm definitely looking forward to reading her book when it's released. Oh, and be sure to check out Tiffany's book cover. The model is just beautiful, and looks like the unnatural offspring of Scarlett Johannson and Angelina Jolie. I'm not quite sure how they could manage that, without any y chromosomes, but check her out, and you'll see what I mean.

Oh--and even though I didn't meet them, the other writers in these photos, Jo Whittemore and Deborah Millitello, also have books coming out. Based on the excerpts they read for us, I have added them to my list. (I tried finding a website for Deborah Millitello, but was unsuccessful.)

OTHER COOL PEOPLE I MET BUT DON'T HAVE PHOTOS OF:

Eric Flint--my mother likes him a lot, and he has done quite a lot to progress the e-book movement.

Carole Nelson Douglas--she's a HOOT! She was staying on the same floor we were, so we kept running into her. She reminds me of Eliza Dushku (Faith/the dark Slayer) grown older. She wears awesome high heels, and cool vintage clothes, and has great stories to tell. I picked up one of her books on my way home from Austin, and devoured it in an hour or two (Cat in a Hot Pink Pursuit, in case you're interested, and yes, I recommend it highly. It's a mystery, and it's very entertaining. I came in near the end of this series instead of the beginning, and it appears that she has a huge arc in addition to the smaller book-sized arcs, because there were some mysteries that didn't get solved, so she's got me hooked.) I picked up two more of her books today, one a fantasy and the other a non-Midnight Louie mystery, and I expect to be as highly entertained as I was both by the book I've read so far and by her persona. So go read her, if you haven't yet. You'll thank me.

Elizabeth Moon. I honestly had no clue who she was, but was very amused the night I arrived at the hotel. Clover and Heather met me in the lobby, and as we entered the elevator to go up to the room, so did Elizabeth Moon. Clover said, "You're Elizabeth Moon! And you're in the elevator!" Elizabeth Moon said, rather dryly, that she does ride elevators from time to time. I ran into her (not literally, fortunately) on Saturday morning, and she said that she had just finished her bacon and felt like singing. I never felt like singing after eating my bacon, but hey, I say go for it!

World Fantasy Convention

2006-11-06T18:21:00.000-08:00

This may get broken up into several posts, but I'll see what I can do.

THE LOOT:
I was thrilled to find a nice bookbag full of books waiting for me. I was even more thrilled to find the trading table, where people kept taking books they didn't want anymore, and I kept snaring more and more books.

The Black Tattoo - Sam Enthoven
A Princess of Roumania - Paul Park
The First Betrayal - Patricia Bray
Cross Plains Universe: Texans Celebrate Robert E. Howard - Scott A. Cupp & Joe R. Lansdale, eds.
Smoke and Shadows - Tanya Huff
Night Wars - Graham Masterton
The Prodigal Troll - Charles Coleman Finlay
Best Short Novels 2006 - Jonathan Strahan, ed.
George and the Angels - Glenn Meganck
Ancient Fire - Mark London Williams
Thud! - Terry Pratchett
The Mount - Carol Emshwiller
The Vampire Who Loved Me - Teresa Medeiros
Shadow Touch - Marjorie M. Liu
Genetopia - Keith Brooke
The Eyes of God - John Marco
No Present Like Time - Steph Swainston
The Conqueror Worms - Brian Keene

I haven't read any of them yet, although I did start The Black Tattoo. It's a good read, as far as I can tell, but I did only get a few pages into it. I only took one book down to the trading table. It was a horror novel called Pandora Drive by Tim Waggoner. It was well written, but extremely squick-inducing. I don't like anything with child molestation, and there was a child who was being stalked and pursued through a fair amount of the book. Of course, even taking that out of the mix, it was still squicky enough that I don't know that I'd have liked it.

THE HOTEL:
The Renaissance, a Marriott hotel, in Austin. Very nice. The beds in our room were very firm, a little too firm for me to sleep comfortably. But the rooms were nice, and the lobby and meeting rooms were lovely.

I want to post about some cool people I met, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. I'll add some pictures, too, if I can figure out how to format them the way I want to!!!!

It's been a long day.

NaNoWriMo Update

2006-11-06T07:11:00.000-08:00

I haven't had a chance yet to assemble everything to do a grand total word count, but I'm between 9,000 and 10,000 words. The novel is going beautifully. I'm amazed that I got as much writing done over the weekend as I did, but the atmosphere was stimulating and my muse was very active.

I don't have time now to do a huge update, but suffice it to say that the World Fantasy Convention was fantabulous. I met some incredible writers, publishers, etc., learned a lot, just had a superlative time. I'll post more and add photos sometime in the next few days.

Isn't it amazing . . .

2006-11-02T07:16:00.000-08:00

. . . what a good $65 haircolor can do for you? I didn't even have the time to get a cut last night, but just getting a good haircolor job and a blowout, and I feel (and look) hot and sexy. And when you feel hot and sexy, you are hot and sexy. You carry yourself differently. You have the attitude. If someone pays you a compliment, you don't brush it off as a thing of no consequence. You say thank you, or you strut your stuff and show off for the person. It's fun. I know that my husband can go to the drugstore and get a box of L'oreal for between $7-$10 and color my hair, and do anywhere from a poor to a pretty good job. But I never feel as good after his hair color jobs as I do after I go to the salon and get pampered and spoiled for a few hours, and I never look as good, either. And hey, it's just money, right? Granted that I've got at least 10 different places to put every dollar I just spent on that haircolor job, but I need to look good and I need to feel good.

Of course, I wouldn't have gone last night had Joe not experimented with lightening my hair and really messed it all up. I don't get this obsession he has with taking my hair lighter. My skin tones look creamy when I have darker hair, and when I put some red in it, it looks even better. When I go lighter, I get this horrid washed-out look, and it's nasty. If he wanted a blonde, he should have married someone with different skin tones. But he loves me, so he's stuck! Nyah-nyah!

On other subjects, I have to go to new employee orientation at work this afternoon. Have I mentioned that yet? It's so humorous. I temped here for almost a year before they finally made me permanent. They wanted to hire me long before that, but it took them a long time to get through all the red tape to upgrade the position so they could get me the salary I wanted. So yeah, technically, I'm a new employee. But I've been here over a year now. So it's just funny. It's also really annoying that they scheduled new employee orientation when I'm coping with month-end. But corporate doesn't get our schedule, so I just have to deal with it and move on. It also doesn't help that I'm off tomorrow. That means lots of overtime next week, because I'm going to come back to a huge stack of work on Monday. But it's worth it.

When I get off work, an hour later than usual thanks to orientation, I'm going to dash by the house to see if my winter white damask grannie boots FINALLY arrived from Newport News, and then I'm driving straight to Austin. It's WFC weekend, and I'm very excited. Lots of fun sessions to attend. And last night while I was procrastinating packing, I looked up the hotel online. Wow! Nice hotel! If you're interested, check it out. It's the Marriott Renaissance in Austin. I'm sharing a room with Clover and one of her sisters, so it won't be too expensive.

I will continue to work on my book this weekend, thanks to Liz's kindness in loaning me her laptop. I'll post my progress on Monday. So send happy thoughts my way for a safe journey, and a fun time!

NaNoWriMo Update

2006-11-01T13:32:00.000-08:00

Novel Name: Annwn
Genre: Fantasy
Words Written on Day 1: 1725

And we proceed apace!

The hardest thing for me is to just write, and not go back and tweak, tweak, tweak. I think this will be very good for me. I tend to get so hung up on details that I can take forever to do the actual writing. But if I can learn to make myself write, write, write, and THEN go back and tweak, tweak, tweak, I think I can become a lot more productive as a writer.

And I like where I'm taking this a lot better than when I first conceived the notion. In fact, it's barely recognizable from the initial notion. :)

Tongue-Twisters and Novels

2006-11-01T09:56:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was reading Plimco's blog and in the comments on one of the posts we got off on the subject of tongue-twisters. I have a love-hate relationship with tongue-twisters. See, my tongue gets twisted very easily. But I love them anyway. In theatre tongue twisters are used for warm-up exercises.

One of my favorites is a naughty one if you say it wrong. I always loved seeing the panicked looks on the faces of freshmen when this one came up: I am a mother-pheasant plucker. I am the most pleasant mother-pheasant plucker that ever plucked a mother-pheasant.

I came across one in A Midsummer Night's Dream, when Bottom is doing his bit in Pyramus and Thisbe: "Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, He bravely broached his boiling bloody breast." I actually had to recite that in my British lit class when we were acting it out, and I managed to get through it bravely.

If, like I, you enjoy tongue-twisters, I herewith present a sampling for your delectation:

A Tudor who tooted a flute
Tried to tutor two tooters to toot.
Said the two to their tutor,
"Is it harder to toot, or
To tutor two tooters to toot?"

A noisy noise annoys an oyster.

Big bad blood. (Seems simple, but try saying it over and over. Not so simple. Unless your tongue is far more nimble than mine.) Another take on this one is: Good blood, bad blood.

We surely shall see the sun shine soon.

Girl gargoyle, guy gargoyle, gay gargoyle.

Tragedy strategy.

Another naughty one: I'm not the fig plucker, but the fig plucker's son. But I'll pluck figs 'til the fig plucker comes.

Red lorry, yellow lorry

OKAY----enough tongue twisters for now. It's November. NaNoWriMo. I get to write a novel this month! Squee! Ee. Eek. Egad! What have I gotten myself into?!

Halloween

2006-10-31T09:07:00.000-08:00

I think this is the first time I've gone all out and dressed up for Halloween since I was in elementary school.

A few observations:

The cheap wig? Itchy. Extremely itchy. I'm glad that Liz got me the curved hairpins, even though I was cussing her for it at 4:45 this morning. They're hard to work with, see, especially if you have very short fingernails. But judging by how my head feels right now, I'm glad they're curved. I imagine my head would be feeling much worse if I had straight hairpins. The pantyhose on top of the hairpinned hair is uncomfortable. And the combination of the cheap wig, the pantyhose, and the hairpinned hair makes for a real unpleasant itch.

The greasepaint? Well, greasy, as I should have figured, and I get an itch every now and then. The cool thing is that when I scratch it, I just blend a little and it covers everything back up. I've got these cool violet splotches on the sides of my face that look really disgusting. Whenever anyone looks at me and says how cute I am, I laugh and say that Joe refused to kiss me this morning because I looked too dang ugly.

The dress? Pretty, but really hard to go to the bathroom in. I have to hitch up the skirt, tuck in the dangling ribbons of the corset, hitch up the sleeves, etc., and wiping is a real challenge. It's doable, but challenging.

I really like my black fingernail polish. It looks cool. I'm going to keep wearing it, and not just at Halloween.

I had thought of perhaps staying dressed up while I pass candy out to the kiddos tonight. Ha! And again I say, Ha! No, I shall be leaving the office at 4:00. As one of my co-workers says, I'll head out of here so fast you'd think my butt's on fire. And I'll drive home as fast I can possibly drive, given the traffic situation. And as soon as the door is decently shut behind me, I will be stripping off this costume, ripping off the wig, madly pulling hairpins out of my hair on the way to the bathroom, and hopping into the shower to wash the greasepaint off of my face and to rid my hair of the stench that my sister has promised me I will find once I remove the wig, the pantyhose, and the hairpins.

And then I will put on a sloppy pair of stained blue jeans that are two sizes smaller than I was wearing three months ago, and my big Grumpy sweatshirt, put on a scary movie (until Veronica Mars comes on at 8:00 Central), and pass out candy to the kiddos. And eat some, too, because that's what Halloween is all about, right?

Boo!

In defense of my silliness...

2006-10-30T11:15:00.000-08:00

"Mix a little foolishness with your prudence: It's good to be silly at the right moment." --Horace

Splish! Splash!

2006-10-30T07:09:00.000-08:00

Do you know why babies splash in the bathtub? Because it's fun!!!

Do you know why I know that? Because I did it yesterday!!!

Every now and then I get really, really, really silly. Yesterday afternoon I was taking a long relaxing soak in the tub, and for some reason thought about how babies like to slap the water with their hands. And so I did it. And it was fun. So I just sat there and slapped the water with my hands and splashed. And it was really, really fun. And then I sang the rubber duckie song and wished I had a rubber duckie to play with.

Man, if I could just be a kid again, for a little while. Play with toys, play in the bathtub, and no one thinks you're strange.

The Blind Date

2006-10-30T06:43:00.000-08:00

This is for the S-Project. As always, comments/criticism are welcome. I have no idea, of course, what was really going on in his head. For what was going on in my head, I was living in a city where I knew NO ONE. I was lonely, answered a personals ad. Regretted it. Yes, I was heavy. My teeth are crooked. His teeth were FURRY. I'm sure he was a perfectly nice guy and I was a shallow bitch. But I'm really happy with my husband; we've been married for about a week shy of 15 years; so I'm really glad that I was a shallow bitch when I had my one date with this poor guy here. And I hope that he's happily married and has as many kids as he wanted and has a beautiful wonderful life. (And I didn't mind that he wasn't Kevin Costner. His teeth just really squicked me out. I don't mind crooked or yellow teeth. I mind furry teeth.)

*****

My mother talked me into it. "You've got to meet a nice girl," she said. "You don't get out enough," she said. "A nice boy like you should get married, have children," she said.

So I placed the ad. "SWM, IBM Engineer, ISO SWF, intelligent, fun-loving." I didn't know what else to say. I couldn't exactly ask for a supermodel. I wasn't blind. The mirror told me the facts. I knew that I didn't exactly look like Kevin Costner or whoever the girls were drooling over.

I got a few letters, emphasis on the word "few." And of those few, only one really stood out. All the words were spelled correctly; she obviously had a sense of humor. I decided to call her.

She sounded nice on the phone. She didn't have one of those hideous, grating laughs that I couldn't stand. She admitted that she was a little heavy, but I didn't mind that. We decided to meet at the mall, and go see a movie or something, and play it by ear.

I was so nervous that day. I made mistake after mistake at work, and finally gave up and cut out early. I took a shower, shaved, and in my nervousness spilled half the bottle down my shirt. I had to take another shower, but I still just reeked of the stuff. I was about 10 minutes late because of the extra shower. I stunk. I was so nervous that I was sweating. Way to make a good impression, dork!

She was waiting where she said she would be. I could tell that she was worried I'd stood her up. She looked a little nervous, a little antsy. She looked pretty. She was heavy, like she said, but not grotesque or anything. She had dark brown hair, a pretty smile. Her teeth were crooked. She was wearing a dark red shirt and black pants. When I came up and said her name hesitantly, she looked blankly at me for a moment, and then smiled at me.

We went to see some movie she suggested. I thought it was going to be a chick flick, some dancing movie, but it was actually pretty good. It turned into an adventure movie, these people escaping from the Soviet Union. "White Nights," I think it was called.

After the movie was over, we sat around and talked for a while. I really enjoyed her company. She was funny and smart. I like her, I thought. I was already thinking about some fun things we could do together. I walked her out to her car, but as we got closer to her car, she started getting skittish. She practically ran the last fifteen feet, calling her good-byes hastily behind her.

Weird. I put it behind me and went on home, whistling. Maybe she hadn't noticed the overdose of aftershave.

I waited two or three days, then called to see if she wanted to get together the next Friday night. She was busy, she said regretfully. Okay, then, how about Saturday? Well, she was busy then, too. Okay, um, next weekend, maybe? Well, no, she was busy then, too.

I'm a little slow on the uptake, okay? So I guess it's not entirely her fault. I guess I pushed her into it. How about the week after that? No, she was busy then, too, in fact, she was really sorry, but she was going to be pretty busy for the forseeable future.

I hung up the phone, a little stunned. We'd had such a good time, I thought. Bitch!

Happy Anniversary, Baby!

2006-10-27T10:36:00.000-07:00

I love ya so much, I'm givin' you barenaked ladies to look at, for one whole evening!

It struck us both as funny. Our 15th wedding anniversary is on 11/8. On 11/12, the Barenaked Ladies will be at Will Rogers in concert, so we just forked out a tidy little sum of money for a pair of tickets. As we were attempting to justify the cost (he said it was part of our Christmas present to each other, but then I hit on the happy justification of our anniversary), we both cracked up at the thought of giving each other barenaked ladies for our anniversary.

Guess you had to be there, huh?

2006-10-27T07:15:00.000-07:00

I coined a new word: blupdate. It's so much faster to e-mail your sister and say, "I blupdated," than it is to e-mail your sister and say, "I updated my blog." Well, I guess it's not that much faster, but it works for me. Of course, maybe it's been used by billions of bloggers around the world, and I'm once again totally slow on the uptake. Or else perhaps it's been considered and rejected by billions of bloggers, which makes me not only totally slow on the uptake, but totally lame as well. Yay! I'm lame! Woohoo!

Joe said he loves it when I say Woohoo! So I'll say it again. Woohoo! He's not here to hear it, and I'm not really saying it, but it's fun to type. Woohoo! Woohoo! It's Friday!

It's nearly the end of October, which means I only get to look at the picture of Jason and Medea for a few more days. That makes me sad. Medea, as portrayed in this painting, looks like a surly teenager mixing a magical concoction with an air of self-importance. Jason is sitting watching her, barely able to sit still; his muscles are all tensed; he's ready to spring into action as soon as her charm or spell is prepared. His interest seems to lie not in her, but in what she can do for him. His eyes are fixed not on her face or her figure, but on the goblet in her hands. She knows it, and so she is dragging it out as long as possible, hoping that she can impel his interest to her. I have really enjoyed my Pre-Raphaelite calendar this year! Shall I take a sneak peek ahead to see what I get to look at during November? I shall: It's a far less fascinating portrait of Saint Cecelia being serenaded by two angels. I'd rather look at Jason and Medea for another month. Who is Saint Cecelia anyway? I guess it's Google time again.

I'm not sure why I'm so thrilled about its being Friday. I actually have to work an extra two hours today, to make up for having had two doctor appointments this week (one follow-up with the neurologist--everything's fine, see him again in 3 months--and one quick visit to the regular doctor about the sore throat--it's allergies, I have a prescription for an antibiotic in case it turns into an infection). And I have to work four hours tomorrow as part of making up in advance for being off next Friday. But it's worth it, since I'll be going to the Fantasy Convention in Austin.

I'm really looking forward to the convention. The last time I checked the preliminary programming schedule, the majority of the sessions I want to attend actually are taking place on Friday. If I had to choose to miss either Friday or Saturday, I'd have chosen to miss Saturday. I had planned to skip the banquet. Who wants to pay $50 for a dinner? Not I. And I'm still not familiar enough with the world of fantasy that I don't know anything about the award nominees. But my best friend Clover called and said that she and her sister want to go to the banquet and she doesn't want me to miss it. She asked if I would let her buy my ticket to the banquet. I swallowed my pride and said yes. How incredibly amazing is that of her???? With everything that she's got to deal with, she wants to do that for me! I don't know Clover's sister yet, but I'm sure that with the 3 of us sharing a hotel room, we'll get to know each other pretty doggone quickly. And if she's even .001 as cool as Clover, she'll be pretty great.

Work proceeds apace on the preparation for NaNoWriMo. The-character-formerly-known-as-Verity is no longer named Verity, but she is refusing to tell me her name. I've been poring over lists of Celtic, Middle English, and Anglo-Saxon names, and haven't found just the right name yet. I wish she wouldn't be so doggone stubborn about this, but my characters tend to be stubborn. I guess they take after their creator in that respect. I did find a phrase yesterday that might work, and it's one I can actually see her mother saddling her with, but I'm not quite sure yet. We'll see. Now I'm trying to figure out if my Big Bad is redeemable or not. He hasn't told me yet. He definitely has some noble qualities, and is not doing evil for the sake of doing evil. But I don't know yet whether he can be brought to a marriage of true minds, or whether the impediment will remain. I want to have at least a reasonable idea of how this story will play out before I start writing.

Today at work there's a pumpkin carving/decorating contest. I have fantastic ideas. But when it comes to actual execution, I pretty much suck. I went to the Wall2Wall Mart last night, and got a foam pumpkin (I didn't feel like dealing with the mess of a real pumpkin), some Halloween-themed finger puppets, and some crepe paper streamers. When I got back home, I covered a cookie sheet with foil, and then put some styrofoam on top of the foil and covered it with black crepe paper streamers. I drew a door and some crescent moon-shaped windows on the pumpkin, and wrote "Trick or Treat" over the door. And I taped the pumpkin onto the crepe paper-covered styrofoam. Then I got some sticks from the back yard that still had some dead leaves clinging onto them, and stuck them into the styrofoam, and strung some of that fake spider web stuff across them. And I put toothpicks into the styrofoam and put the finger puppets on top of those, to be kids trick-or-treating. It's really cute, in an extremely lame sort of way. If I had my camera, I'd take a picture. But I don't. So just imagine it. Cute, but lame. I haven't seen any of the competition--my pumpkin was the only one up there when I took it over to the judging table--but we have some really creative people here. I'm not expecting to win a prize. I'm just saying.

The Weight Loss gods must love Liz and me. See, she works in Arlington and I work in Bedford. We like to meet for lunch once or twice a month, but the only places that are right in the middle are a fantastic hamburger place called Al's (really, really great food, but not so good for the diet), a Chinese buffet (I like Chinese, but the buffets around here stink), Wendy's, and a southern cooking place (Southern cooking, good, but not for the diet). But just last week a Subway opened up in the same strip center that Al's is in. So today we're going to meet at Subway for lunch. I'm happy about that. Decent food, not too expensive, and it fits in with the plan. Tomorrow's weigh-in. It's been a difficult week, because I've been feeling cruddy with this sore throat/allergy stuff, and haven't been doing well eating-wise. So I'm expecting either no loss or a slight gain, which is cool. It's a process. I have to keep reminding myself of that. It's a process that will take time, but if I just keep plugging away, I'll get where I want to be!

Help!

2006-10-24T13:22:00.000-07:00

Can someone who is more html-savvy than I help me with this? I changed templates because I really didn't like my old one. I need to know how to change the color of my titles from this diarrhea-yellow color to something a little more attractive. I also need to know how to move my sidebar from the bottom of the page up to the top.

It would also be nice to figure out how to put my avatar and my blinkies on, but it's not strictly necessary.

If some kind reader could come to my rescue, I'd be eternally grateful. That gratitude could come in the form of cookies, Godiva, books, whatever. Um, I hasten to add, within reason. Let me know. Bless you.

Music! Music! Music!

2006-10-24T11:20:00.000-07:00

I love music. One of the great things about getting rid of the headaches is that I've been able to listen to music again. I have CDs playing all day at work again. I have the radio or a CD playing in my car all the time again. I have truly missed my music.

I also love discovering new songs. Well, new to me, anyway. They're probably not new to anyone else. I'd say, "Hey, I just heard this great new song! "Political Science," by Randy Newman." And they'd say, "That old thing? It's been around forever." And it has. Apparently I'm the only one out there who never heard it before. So I don't get out much, and I'm woefully lame. So sue me. (Actually, don't bother. I'm not worth the time and expense of suing. I'm just saying.)

The point is, what other fantastic songs have I missed out on? My husband thinks I'm like the music queen of the world because he hasn't heard of a lot of the stuff that's in our iTunes library. I hate to tell him how sheltered I truly am, despite the hundreds of CDs we own.

It's thanks to my sister (I love you, Zard!) that I found the Dandy Warhols and Poe. How banal my life would be if I didn't get to listen to such great songs as “Nietzsche,” “Godless,” and “Bohemian Like You” by the Dandies, or “Haunted,” “Hey Pretty,” or “Not a Virgin” by Poe.

Each time I get a new CD from Crazy Mixed-Up, I listen to it obsessively, picking out the songs that I just have to add to my new list of favorites. And I wonder how I managed to miss those songs before. That's how I found "One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces", which has been around since 1997. And I just met it several weeks ago!

Okay. So I’m begging you—list some of your favorite songs. Tell me who performs them, what feelings they evoke in you, why you like them, whatever you think I should know about them. Give me something to seek out. Expand my horizons. Get me out of this sheltered little isolation chamber I seem to be living in, music-wise.

What will you get out of it? Karma, baby. Sweet, sweet, musical karma.

Twilight Zone

2006-10-23T11:46:00.000-07:00

Okay, I swear I must live in the twilight zone. I looked again before I started the last long post where I tried to rehash a little of the previous lost post, and that stuff wasn't there!

"I'm not crazy!" she screamed, as the men in the little white coats were trying to suppress her.

"Like we've never heard that before," they grunted, strapping her onto the gurney and carrying her away.

Lost Posts, Raucous, and Working Hard

2006-10-23T11:10:00.000-07:00

I wrote a long post on Friday, wherein I waxed rhapsodic on the word "raucous," talked about my love of punk rock when I'm in a foul mood, waxed rhapsodic on the word "foul," and blathered on about I now forget what else. I hit "publish post." It took me to the screen where it showed the progress as it was republishing my blog. It made zero progress for 15 or 20 minutes until I finally, in supreme disgust, hit the refresh button and promptly lost my post. It really pissed me off, and in revolt I refused to blog again until now.

But I really have a lot to say, so I'm going to try again. But this time I'm going to copy and save the text of my post before I hit the publish button, so that when Blogger loses my post, I will still have a copy of it.

Okay--the words first. I love words. I mean, I seriously love words. Raucous is one of my favorites. You've probably seen it more than once in this blog. It sounds so lovely--raw and cuss come together in a brusque joining of emotion. Raucous! raucous raucous raucous raucous. And foul--when I say I'm in a foul mood, that's saying something. It's light years beyond being in a bad mood. Foul. It just a wonderful word. If the day outside matched one of my foul moods, the sky would be black and it would be pouring rain, but the rain would somehow be unable to pour away the muck and mire that one simply could not avoid stepping in, muck composed of horse droppings and the contents of chamber pots that had been hurled out of second story windows, and ankle-deep thick slimy mud, and icy water. And one's umbrella would blow inside out despite all attempts to keep it from doing so. That's what I mean when I say I'm in a foul mood. See why the phrase "bad mood" just doesn't work there?

Punk rock. When I'm in a foul mood, I like to listen to punk rock. It just all goes together. Gimme my punk rock, and stay out of my way. I wasn't in a foul mood on Friday, but I still wanted to listen to punk rock. It happens sometimes. I had one of my pissed-off mix CDs at work, but my boss had borrowed it so he could listen to "Run Shithead Run." So I didn't get to listen to the Clash on the way home. I made up for it by listening to "One Angry Dwarf and Two Hundred Solemn Faces" by Ben Folds Five. It's not punk rock, but it's angry and funny and I love it.

I'll finish up, very briefly, employee appreciation day. It went well. Mostly. I'm not going to talk anymore about it. Let's just say that I'm glad it doesn't come again until next year, and next year I am going to very strongly push for it to be held inside.

Weight loss. I lost another 1.2 pounds, for a total of 16.2 pounds. I am not losing quickly. You might have figured that out by the fact that I've been doing Weight Watchers since July 1st and I've only lost 16.2 pounds. But hey! I've lost 16.2 pounds! See? It's all in the punctuation.

What's the slowest delayed reaction, double-take you've ever seen? There's a reason I ask. On Saturday afternoon I persuaded Joe to take me out to lunch. That's after weighing in and going to my WW meeting. It's also after I spent two hours stripping wallpaper border. I was hungry and tired. So we went to Logan's Roadhouse and split grilled salmon, salad, and a huge baked sweet potato. Very yummy. When we got back into the car after lunch, Joe asked if we needed to go anywhere else, and I said that I needed a pair of shoes. He said okay, and was going to take me to DSW, but I told him Payless would be fine, because I only needed a cheap pair of shoes. I directed him to the nearest Payless, and he parked, unlocked the car, and was halfway out the door. He stopped, got back in, stared at me, and said, "You need more shoes?" I can think of no other way to punctuate his question to emphasize his complete and utter shock. I lost it. I sat there and laughed as I explained to him that I did indeed need a pair of either black ballet flats or else low-heeled dressy black pumps, since the soles of my ballet flats had come off long ago. And hey, since the shoes are Buy One/Get One Half Off, it only makes sense to buy two pairs instead of just one, right? So after unsuccessfully trying to talk him into 4 pairs (I was lusting after a pair of bright red shoes with obscenely high heels), I ended up with a pair of really cute dressy black pumps with low heels and a pair of black ankle boots.

In Joe's defense, I do have lots of shoes. Nowhere near enough, because there is NO SUCH THING as enough shoes. Or purses. But I do have a lot. Oh, and he's going to let me get a pair of red pumps with obscenely high heels, but he wants me to get them from Newport News instead of Payless.

Liz and I took a long walk on Saturday night, and then walked a little more before going to dinner at Mimi's. We shared, naturally, and had salad, blackened chicken, fruit, and a really tasty pumpkin muffin. We each ate a third of the muffin, and I frantically poured salt all over the remaining third of the muffin to keep myself from picking at it. I was full and didn't need to eat anymore, but it was so good I knew I'd keep eating it. I also had a cup of French onion soup. They make such fantastic French onion soup. The meal was so good that Liz suggested we take one home to Joe, so we did.

Yesterday I spent vast amounts of time decluttering. I filled two big black trashbags full of stuff for Goodwill; a regular kitchen-sized trashbag full of clothes for Sarah, and started another one that will be full by the time I finish the laundry; got some more trash out; and in general worked until I couldn't work anymore. Joe was pretty cooperative with my giving so much stuff to Goodwill or dumping it, and didn't make me haul anything back out of the Goodwill pile, as he has previously been known to do.

So I think that's all I feel the need to blather about today. Thank you for reading this far, if you did so. You may now return to your regularly scheduled lives.

2006-10-20T11:38:00.000-07:00

>:< I just spent 30 minutes making a post that blogger lost. grrrrrrrr

The stream that runs with rapid flow from rocks to roses

2006-10-20T11:01:00.000-07:00

Raucous. Raucous raucous raucous raucous raucous. I was reading a few old posts today, and that word came up a few times. I seem to like it a lot. raucous. It describes a lot of the music I listen to when I'm in a foul mood. Foul is another word I like a lot. It's worse than being in a bad mood. When I'm in a foul mood I want The Clash. London's Burning. Don't look at me don't talk to me don't even attempt to intrude upon my personal space go away and for the love of mike don't say faith! You gotta have it! whaddaya gotta have, faith? ya gotta have it! I love bill, he's a sweetie, but there are some days that if he says that to me one more time I'm going to tell him exactly what he's gotta have!
raucous
It's a very satisfying word. It starts with a nice rrrrroowrrrr and then moves into an aww and then finishes with a nice hearty cuss.
raucous

No, I'm not in a foul mood today. I need to go pee again, for the billionth time this week. Only the thousandth time today. That's what happens when you drink a million gallons of water in a week. You pee, pee, pee, pee, pee. What's really scary is when you fall into a nightly pee schedule. You wake up to pee at 11:30 (if you happen to be already asleep at 11:30, which I sometimes am) and 3:30. Only last night I missed my 11:30 pee, and woke up at 1:48. And then I missed my 3:30 pee, so I was dying when I woke up at 5:45. And I've been so tired ever since employee appreciation day ended that when I finished the 5:45 pee, I very foolishly lay back down on my bed. Of course I fell asleep again. I'm not quite sure what woke me up, but I ended sleeping until 6:15. Fortunately, the out-of-state VP is back in his home state, or at least out of my state, so I don't have to be at work at 6:30 in order to have his morning reports printed by 7:30. I get to be at work at 7. I made it on time.

The big event I was working on went very well. Mostly. Almost. Kindof. There were two accidents. One was just a total freak accident. Someone went to the emergency room. Yeah. The other accident happened because someone broke the rules. I feel really horrible about both accidents, even though I had nothing to do with either of them, but having someone get hurt when you were planning a day for people to have fun is really depressing. I don't like people getting hurt. Anyway, I don't wanna talk about it anymore. So I won't.

I have done PERFECTLY on my WW plan this week. I wrote down everything I ate. Followed the healthy guidelines. Sucked down the water, ate whole grains, plenty o' fruit and vegetables, lean proteins, two teaspoons of "good" oils per day, two servings of dairy per day, got in my vitamins, got plenty of exercise. I haven't eaten anything I shouldn't have eaten. I've hardly used any of my weekly points allowance. My scale at home budged beautifully. I finally broke the plateau, got over the same 2-3 pounds I've been playing with for the last month or so. Tomorrow morning I get to weigh in at Weight Watchers. Let's see if their scale cooperates as nicely as my scale at home has. I know the numbers won't be the same; my scale seems to be a few pounds lower, plus I don't get to weigh naked at Weight Watchers, which has to count for a few ounces at least.

When I think that 5 years ago I had lost 70 pounds, to get HALFWAY to my goal, and here I am trying once more to lose the same damned 70 pounds, to get HALFWAY to that same damned goal, I get so ticked off at myself. What happened? Why did I do it? Why didn't I just stop? Why did I let myself get so fat again? I had gotten down to 205 pounds, and now here I am delighted because my scale at home is finally registering down below 260 pounds. It's absolutely disgusting! I HATE being fat. I hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it, hate it. I'm not a fat person. I'm just not. I get surprised every time I look in the mirror and see all this fat blubber, because I'm not fat. The intrinsic person, my essence, the me-ness, the whatever that makes me me, isn't fat. So how is it that I'm fat?

I can say that when I lost the 70 pounds before I never changed my eating habits. I ate less of the same crap, but I ate the same crap. I didn't change the way I thought, I didn't change my focus. That probably has a lot to do with it. I think I also thought of it as something temporary, that I would have to do until I got "skinny," and then I could do whatever I wanted. Which of course would mean that I would get fat again. Now I'm determined that I will go to WW forever. And I refuse to be depressed by the thought. I'd rather go to WW forever and stay healthy and slim than stay away from WW and be a fat depressed old biddy. I'd rather go to WW wearing cute sexy clothes from Newport News than stay away from it and wear ugly clothes from Roamans or Lane Bryant catalog (not that I would wear them anyway, because they're fugly beyond belief).

Moving on to something else, if you're getting tired of water and want a little flavor, Target has these flavored spring waters by Archer Farms. I recommend the apple spring water. Very tasty. Calorie free, of course, or I wouldn't be recommending them. I also like my vitamin waters. They're 3 points a bottle, so I only have one a day, but they're worth it to me. It helps me with the vitamin intake, and they're good, and I like 'em a lot!

Raucous! London's Burning! I've got to go get my pissed-off mix CD back from my boss. I loaned it to him on Wednesday so he could listen to "Run, Shithead, Run." But I need it back, because "London's Burning" is on it, and I need to listen to it. I'm not pissed off today, but I need to listen to it.