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April 29, 2007
Welcome Guest Chick Kimberly Llewellyn
I'm just home from RT and completely exhausted from meeting all the wonderful readers and booksellers (pics here) and so pleased to announce our special guest for May, my friend Kimberly Llewellyn!!!
Not only is she brilliant and beautiful, she used to be a professional wrestler!! I'm so not making that up!! Please feel free to ask her about it. :) But here's the official scoop:
Kimberly Llewellyn, aka "the wedding writer," writes for Berkley Books, part of Penguin Putnam in New York. Her recent releases include two humorous comedic women’s fiction novels in trade paperback, Tulle Little, Tulle Late (Aug. 2006) and the Quest for the Holy Veil ( March 2007). Prior to that, she’s written three short contemporary romances (Avalon and Kensington).
Over the years, she has written various articles for newsletters and the Romance Writers Report and stories for the confessions market. She’s given writing workshops and online chats. She also enjoys promoting "fiction for women" to the media, as well as to organizations of all kinds (e.g., arts councils, Miss Florida State Pageant for Miss America, bridal expos, etc.). She makes guest appearances on television, including the shows, Your Turn, Daytime, and Mornings Around the Bay, for its weeklong Apprentice Authors Series.
Tulle Little, Tulle Late made the Book Sense Notable Pick List, is a Cataromance Reviewers Choice nominee, and is a finalist in the Oklahoma More than Magic contest.
And don't forget that with guest Chicks, there are always prizes for the Chicklets!! Kimberly will be announcing those soon - details to follow. Please join me in giving a big LC welcome to Kimberly!!
hugs,
Alesia
Three winners will be getting signed copies of The Quest for the Holy Veil! Just send an e-mail with your name and address and the subject line "I'm on the Quest!" to giveaway at literarychicks dot com. Winners will be announced in Kimberly's farewell blog on May 22nd. Good luck!
Posted by Alesia at 10:17 PM | Comments (9)
April 27, 2007
High speed and lowbrow
but my resting pulse rate is excellent
So yesterday I was—much like Fergie--up in the gym just workin’ on my fitness via the elliptical trainer. My gym has a slew of cardio machines crowded together in one giant room, the front of which is lined with TV monitors airing 24-hour news channels. As a general rule, I hate watching TV while exercising, especially grim broadcasts about war/disease/global warming/corporate corruption/senseless violence. There is a time and a place for sober reflection on the state of this crazy, messed-up world, but sweating on the Stairmaster ain’t it. I work hard to get the endorphins flowing—I don’t need cable news killing my buzz. Why can’t the powers that be change the channel to, say, VH1 so we can all watch “I love the 80s” marathons while we toil on the treadmill? Or TLC? Or even the Food Network? Tantalize me with something delicious to motivate me to work off all these calories!
But I digress.
Anyway, I usually plug into my iPod and do my best to ignore the televisions, but yesterday the networks interrupted their regularly scheduled programming to bring us a high-speed car chase live from the L.A. freeways.
That was the fastest hour I’ve ever spent doing cardio.
High-speed car chases are the official pastime of Los Angeles, and they happen A LOT. There’s an actual subscription service you can sign up with that will send an alert to your cell phone every time there’s drama on the 405. People sit around in Pasadena sports bars and place bets on how long the rogue driver’s gas tank can hold out. (I think this has something to do with the fact that all Angelenos are secretly jealous that they can’t ever escape traffic and go above 15 mph on any area highway. It would almost be worth it to have your tires shot out and get thrown into jail if you could have all six lanes cleared in your honor.)
Twenty minutes into the chase, all the weightlifters, personal trainers, and front desk staffers had left their posts to cluster around the TVs and ooh and aah. No one bothered to disguise their prurient fascination. The stationery bikes and treadmills closest to the screens filled up in 3 seconds flat. I guess everyone loves a parade.
Just imagine how membership would soar if they’d start tuning in to NBA playoff games or "Sex and the City" reruns. Wow. I think I may have singlehandedly solved our nation’s growing health crisis!
Posted by Beth at 11:42 PM | Comments (7)
Digging the Dirt
A Confession.
The other day I was at my computer, surfing away on the Internet, when George crept up behind me.
“I can’t believe you’re looking at that,” he said reproachfully.
I jumped, and quickly closed the screen.
“You know, you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” I snapped.
“I just never thought you’d be into that,” he said.
“What? I’m not. I was just . . . you know. Browsing.”
“It’s like I don’t know you at all,” George said, shaking his head sadly.
I waited until he left the room, and then quickly pulled the screen back up, ready to indulge my guilty little pleasure.
And, no, I wasn’t looking at porn. Get your minds out of the gutter, smut hounds. It isn’t that bad.
Okay, maybe it isn’t much better.
I was browsing through celebrity gossip websites. You know the ones: who’s dating, who’s divorcing, who’s secretly gay and pretending to be straight, who’s secretly straight and pretending to be gay. Whose life is Paris Hilton screwing up . . . why is Britney Spears shaving her head . . . and why did Prince William break up with that cute girlfriend of his?
I can’t help myself. I know, I know -- it’s trashy, and sensationalistic, and a complete waste of time. Half of it’s made up, and the other half is fed to the columns by the publicists.
And yet . . . I can’t help myself. I continue to read. And George continues to mock me for it.
So what’s your guilty little indulgence? Come on, I know I’m not alone . . .
Posted by Whitney at 6:00 AM | Comments (9)
April 26, 2007
We got to go to the aquarium
But at such a cost!
I figured I'd better update all of you. I'm sure you were all at the edges of your seats, worried about me having to drive for miles and miles to go see Queen Califia's garden. Well, after all my anticipation of the big sight-seeing show down, there turned out not be any fight at all.
Sissy One got sidelined, big time, and let me tell you, it put a scare into all of us.
At seven-thirty Friday morning, Sissy One's cell phone rang. It was her daughter (my treasured niece with whom the sun rises and sets) who is traveling in South America with a college chum. They were camping on an island in the middle of Lake Titicaca. How cool is that?
Apparently, not so awesomely cool when your friend starts running a high fever, has convulsions and has to be carried out by yourself and taken to La Paz to a hospital. Even less awesomely cool when you yourself spike up a fever and have muscle aches so intense that you're in tears.
All Sissy One wanted to do after that phone call was sit by her cell phone and wait for Treasured Niece to call again and tell her what was happening, if she would get to see the lovely doctor in La Paz who had treated her friend and who just happened to have graduated from Johns Hopkins, whether the fever was under control or getting worse, whether the pain in her lungs was keeping her from breathing.
Honestly, all I wanted to do was sit there by the cell phone, too, but Sissy One shooed us out the door to the Aquarium which was awesome and where Sissy Two and I chose special Aquarium Names. Please refer to me henceforth as Sticky Mucous Trap (did I mention I got a cold?) and Sissy Two is Split-Nose Lumpsucker. Thing One is too diginified for such things.
Just so you know, Treasured Niece is doing fine. She's been pumped full of antibiotics and is on her way again. We are all breathing deeply (well, I can't through my nose, but I'm sure that will pass and why oh why do none of the decongestants have that lovely pseudophedrine in them anymore?) and are vastly relieved.
So has that ever happened to you? Have you ever been all geared up for a fight just to have it not happen?
Posted by Eileen at 7:00 AM | Comments (4)
April 24, 2007
Animals and Silly Game!
Because I feel like it!
So, here I am in Rotterdam with a sinus infection and, as the day progresses, a lot of a headache and a bit of a fever. Which is why (because of being a bit out of it due to the meds) I've decided to talk about animal stories, and challenge you, my dear chicklets, with a frivolous game. Also, Lani inspired me with her Raving Rabbids.
Today on the BBC one of the top UK stories that caught my eye was about Gertie the Goose and How She Brought to a Grinding Halt the train service between London and Stansted Airport. How sweet that the train company didn't just, you know, allow its trains to squash her, but instead company representatives were instructed to save her and take her home. Who said we live in an uncaring consumer society? Not me...
Now for the silly game. I saw it on a forum I visit regularly, and I immediately thought that the chicklets would love it. I hope I'm right. It's called Corrupt a Wish. You make a wish, then someone grants it, corrupts it, then makes their own wish. And the next person does the same...
Family Cunnah played earlier, and here's what happened...
Oh Patient One: I wish that Michelle could develop a sense of direction and never get lost again.
Me: Granted. I never get lost again, but I develop a severe case of agoraphobia and never leave the apartment ever again. I wish I won the lottery.
No-Longer-Teenager-No #1: Granted. You won a million dollars in the lottery, but because of your severe case of agoraphobia you never leave the apartment to partake in your favorite retail therapy: outletting. I wish I'd never eaten My Little Pony.
Teenager #2: Granted. You didn't eat My Little Pony. You ate slugs, instead. I wish I won Medieval II Total War.
Me (I'm cheating a bit giving myself a second turn): Granted. But the forthcoming expansion pack for Medieval II Total War was just a concept (and not a real game at all) invented to tease you. I wish that I could eat whatever I wanted without gaining weight.
You: ??
Over to you, chicklets...
Posted by Michelle at 3:57 PM | Comments (11)
April 23, 2007
It's Rabbid Time
Like Hammer Time, only a lot more ominous sounding.
Good morning, Chicklets! It's been a while, so sorry, all my fault. I have a thousand excuses, none of them good. I forgot to blog once. Then we had technical issues. I had kids home for Spring Break. Then a snow day when they were supposed to go back. The dog ate my blog. No, I don't have a dog, I'm just running with a theme.
But that's all just incidental stuff I'm pointing to because I don't want to share the real reason why I haven't been around. Which is that mostly, I've just been playing Rayman Raving Rabbids on the Wii.
Now, you might ask yourself... why is a grown women with two kids, two jobs and one husband wasting her time playing a silly game about weird rabbits who kill you with toilet plungers? Well, the answer really comes back to the "one husband" part.
Fish is something of a kid at heart. He grew up on computer games and loves them. Which is cool. Well, not cool in the sense that Fonzie was cool and I just totally dated myself yargh but cool in the sense that, "It's okay. I live with it, the way he lives with my constant obsessions with imaginary people." Anyway, when I leave for a booksigning or conference or whatever, he buys these games to play with the girls so they can all have fun together, which is a nice Daddy thing to do. But the thing is, the girls lose their interest in these things pretty quickly. After that one weekend, Fish is the only one left playing, and he can't have that.
For the first six weeks after he bought it, at least once a day, Fish asked me if I had played the Rayman Raving Rabbids game. To which, my answer was typically something along these lines:
"Have I played the bunny game? Well, let's see. I have two kids, two jobs, one blog, one podcast, a book on deadline, two more in proposal stage, a house which has seen neither broom nor mop in a frightening period of time, and my brain is about to explode. So... have I played the bunny game? My answer is, no."
Sorry. I'm kind of a bitch when I'm on deadline.
Anyway, I finally handed in that book, got the house mildly organized, and had a few spare moments to myself one day. So, I thought, "What the hell?"
Let me tell you something. The game is gross. Crazy, gap-toothed rabbits scream at you and kill you with plungers. In one challenge, you have to keep four stall doors shut whilst they poop. I'm not kidding. In another, you have to pull worms from their rotting teeth. Yes. Seriously. But there's one challenge in which you have to disco dance to the beat and knock the rabbits off the platform in time with the music and when you do it well enough, you get little rabbits dancing behind you on a Saturday-Night-Fever-glowing-squares dance floor.
I'm on level three, where the rabbids sing a high-pitched, Alvin-and-the-Chipmunks style cover of Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."
I'm just not sure there's much more to say about that. So, make me feel better, Chicklets - what's your craziest obsession?
Posted by Lani at 8:58 AM | Comments (12)
April 22, 2007
Saying Goodbye to Cable
... and hello to television!
I've had a great time blogging here this month! Thanks to the Literary Chicks for inviting me.
And in keeping with the Internet blogging thing, my farewell blog is about computers. (How's that for a smooth segue?)
Well, actually, it's about television. Or television AND computers. Because I've suddenly realized that the two go together like, oh, peanut butter and jelly.
This is because I've recently become an iTunes fanatic. (Let us count the ways that Julie can procrastinate writing her current book, shall we?)
Seriously, I didn't realize all the cool stuff one could do with iTunes ("one" being me). Did you know that you can buy episodes of Time Tunnel and Battlestar Galactica? Not to mention The Shield?
This is incredibly exciting news to me because my husband and I decided to cancel everything except basic cable. So now we have network television (and the TV Guide station. Which I watched this morning. How scary is that?). Just network television. That's it. No The Soup. No FX channel. No late night HBO. No –
{ahem. I'm not really mourning the loss of cable. Truly}
We did it because a) we have two kids and who has time to watch TV, and b) because most of our TV watching (because, hey, you really can make the time if you try hard enough) was DVDs. Like all 7 seasons of Buffy. You know. The Essentials.
So bye bye channels. And it felt so liberating. And, no, I'm not falling into a rut by ordering MORE television on iTunes. Truly. I'm "expressing by newfound liberation." Truly.
Here's the trouble with iTunes, though: I have a 13 inch (I think) iBook. You really need to be looking at it straight on to watch a show. And our living room TV is a big, honking flat screen. Not that I don't love my husband, but I really don't need to watch television with him with our ears pressed together. But (as I learned) you can't burn your iTunes shows to DVD and watch them on your television. Which means we share the screen on my laptop, or we don't watch at all.
Bummer, man.
Fortunately, Apple has invented Apple TV. It basically broadcasts your iTunes content to your TV. All for the low, low price of $299.
I can handle that, I think. I will buy that, and our life will be golden. Cherubs will dance on our ceiling. Life will be good. (Even more, my husband can catch up on Heroes so that he can watch with me when the show comes off hiatus on Monday without having to watch the webcast, and we can both catch up on this season's The Shield, which I miss desperately.)
Off I go to the Applestore (cyber-ly, anyway) and am about to order when I decide I should ask exactly why something that only broadcasts needs a hard drive. I still don't understand the answer, but the guy at the Apple Store did tell me the thingie won't work without one of the Intel Macs (or a PC).
Major bummer, man.
But, hey, I've been meaning to buy a new Mac anyway. I bought this one on a whim when I was on a book tour and my PC crashed for the 875 thousandth time. In desperation I went to the mall between a tv appearance and a booksigning and begged the clerk to help me with this impulse purchase. Not surprisingly, he was very cooperative. I ended up with an iBook because I swore I only wanted to write books and answer email and light websurfing.
Of course, I LOVE my Mac, and now wish I'd bought the biggest, baddest machine they had. So the idea of buying the MacBook isn't foreign to me. And my husband wants my old Mac. So, hey. Maybe it's a sign.
I manage to convince myself of this to the point that we are actually planning to drive to the Apple Store to buy the thing. Then I realize that I'm actually contemplating spending about two grand so that I can watch television. Honestly, it would be more economical to just re-order cable.
We mentally apply the brakes. This is no big deal. We do not need to see my iTunes content on our television.
Except ....
Except now the idea is in my head. And I'm like a dog with a bone. I will figure this out, gosh-darn it!
And you know what? About two in the morning, I do. Two words: External Monitor.
Yes, it turns out that our television has a PC port. It's all set to be an external monitor. So I take the monitor cord from the desktop computer (who really needs to see the screen there anyway?) and basically hang upside down and backwards to plug it in. Then I plug in the travel speakers I have (brand: Creative. And they ROCK). I turn it on and ... am I a friggin' genius, or what? Houston, we have liftoff! Beautiful picture, great sound. And the husband unit is most impressed (not with how late I've stayed up dealing with this non-problem, but the solution definitely impresses him).
Only one problem: the cord is only about 4 feet long. So the computer has to sit right next to the television. Which means we have no way to start and pause without (gasp) standing up and walking to the television.
I have that problem under control, though, too: tomorrow – first thing – I'm buying a wireless mouse!
Hey, by the time I'm done, I may be writing novels in the recliner with my words spread out over the flat screen on the far side of the room! Stranger things have happened ...
What's not strange is that we have four winners! (Yet another cool segue, eh?) Yup, here are the winners of my book give-away:
Receiving THE GIVENCHY CODE and THE MANOLO MATRIX (the two books leading up to this month's release, THE PRADA PARADOX):
O.A.
Joan Roberts
And receiving GOOD GHOULS' DO (the sequel to THE GOOD GHOUL'S GUIDE TO GETTING EVEN):
Tara Kennedy
Kathy McGuire
Congrats, y'all!
And thanks again for hosting me! I've had such fun!
Posted by Julie Kenner at 1:15 AM | Comments (9)
April 20, 2007
To have and to hold…
…and to agree to forever share your bed with a ragtag assortment of dogs
Wedding season has officially begun—I’ve received three invitations in the mail this week alone. I love going to weddings, not only because it gives me an excuse to go out and shop for fetching new dresses, but also because I love to celebrate romance and family and friends. And cake.
Anyway, when I did my media tour for Nearlyweds, a lot of interviewers wanted me to dispense sage marital advice. Apparently, because I A) am married and B) have a background in psychology and writing, I am supposed to have some profound and piercing insights into how the hell love works.
(Side note: I recently chatted with a server at the Melting Pot, which is a very popular destination for anniversary dinners. He says he asks everyone who has been married 10+ years what their secret is, and most of them look at each other, laugh, and say, “I have NO idea.” I find this oddly comforting.)
But here is my best shot at words of wisdom for newlyweds:
1. Never go furniture shopping together if you can possibly avoid it.
2. Ladies: Marry a man who genuinely likes women (but not in a skeevy, philandering way.)
3. Never, ever let these words escape your lips: “You know, that’s not the way my mom/dad does that…”
4. Make sure you can at least tolerate—if not enjoy—your spouse’s quirky and expensive obsessions (e.g., fixing up “vintage” golf carts, weekend-long fly fishing trips, Civil War re-enactments, pilgrimages to Star War conventions…what have you.)
5. Try to get some one-on-one time together every day that does not include the TV or Internet, even if it’s just a quick after-dinner walk with the dogs or carpooling on the morning commute.
6. Don’t put too much pressure on yourselves during major holidays. Martha Stewart does not live at your house. Nor does Norman Rockwell. Nor does the advertising team from Hallmark. Sometimes, grilled cheese and a giant glass of wine is an excellent alternative to the perfectly prepared turkey feast with all the trimmings.
In other words: “I have NO idea.” But I’m always open to suggestion. What’s the best relationship advice you’ve ever heard?
Posted by Beth at 11:51 PM | Comments (6)
Today’s Topic: People Who Are Pissing Me Off.
Why? Because I need to rant.
I’m giving you the Lani warning: there will be expletives in this blog. So if you’re faint of heart, stop reading now.
Consider yourself warned.
Lately, people have been annoying me. More so than usual, I mean. And I don’t think it’s just me. I refuse to believe that I’m an asshole magnet, or that all of the most irritating people have suddenly moved into my zip code. I think it’s them.
You know who I mean: them. You come across them every day. The line cutters, the movie talkers, the tailgaters of the world. The people who slap “My Kid Can Beat Up Your Honor Student” bumper stickers on their cars. Yeah, them.
They’re out there. And they’re spreading their assholiness, like some sort of cursed virus.
I haven’t watched Survivor in years. (It jumped the shark sometime after the season of the Fat Naked Guy and before the season of awful Boston Rob, Part One.) But I’ve always loved the concept of getting to vote the people you don’t like off the island. Because right about now, I’d like to vote several (thousand) people off MY island.
For example:
(1) Male Drivers.
I don’t mean all male drivers, of course. Just the really aggressive ones who try to intimidate female drivers. You know the kind – they cut you off, zig-zag dangerously in and out of traffic, and, at the slightest provocation, roll down their window and start screaming profanities at you.
Yeah, those guys.
Did you know that they don’t do that to other men? Well, they don’t. They just do it to women, probably so as not to risk an actual physical confrontation. Look at it from their assholish point of view: they can scream every horrible, nasty thing they can think up at the mom in the minivan with two car seats strapped behind her, and the odds are pretty good that the woman won’t climb down out of her minivan, roll up her sleeves and crack their head against the windshield.
The other day, I was driving my son to preschool when a guy suddenly made a dangerous turn in front of me, nearly hitting my car while doing so. Which was bad enough. But then he proceeded to make an abrupt and incredibly illegal u-turn on a side street, and pulled back in front of me without slowing down or apparently even looking. Had I not slammed on my brakes, I would have crashed right into him. And did I mention this all happened in a school zone?
So I honked at him, to point out that he was (1) an asshole, and (2) driving dangerously.
A half block later we hit a red light. The guy opened his door, leaned out, and screamed back at me, “What’s your problem, lady? Don’t your brakes work?”
At this point, my husband would like to believe that I remained cool and unflappable, and didn’t engage the lout in conversation.
“You can’t fight the crazy,” George always tells me.
Yeah, well. What I actually did was roll down my window and yell back, “What’s your problem? Don’t you have a license, you asshole?”
I think I stunned him. He sputtered for a minute, and then yelled back, “Well you have a nice day.”
I was wounded, I tell you. Not.
So I want all of them – those guys, the ones who go out of their way to try to intimidate female drivers – off my island.
(2) Neighbors with Barking Dogs.
I’m a dog lover. I have a dog. In fact, we’ve had a Dog in Residence here at the Gaskell house for years.
But as much as I like dogs, I don’t like it when they bark.
One bark is fine. An “I have to go out and tinkle” yap -- acceptable. A welcome bark to one of the neighborhood dogs out for their daily constitutional -- fine. The “there’s a large man with a crowbar attempting to break into the house” warning bark -- welcome, really.
It’s the constant, non-stop yammering bark of the variety that makes you want to drive an ice pick into your temple that I’m taking about.
My neighbor has one of those dogs. This is how it generally goes down: He lets her out. She presumably has a nice, leisurely tinkle. Maybe she makes a poo. Then she decides she wants back in. So she barks . . . and nothing happens. She barks again. Still nothing. Then she barks for four hours straight.
I work at home. I have a job that requires a certain level of concentration. I find non-stop, high-pitched stress barking to be a bit of problem.
So we’ve called the neighbor. (And by “we,” I mean “I’ve made George call him and tell him to stop leaving his dog outside all day.”) And the guy is always surprised to hear that his dog is bothering me. Because he apparently can’t imagine anyone not loving the sound of a dog barking non-stop for hours and hours and hours and hours on end.
Yeah, that’s right, buddy. I’m the freak here.
So I want him, and all of the other owners of barking dogs off my island, too. That’s right: the tribe has freaking spoken.
So now it’s your turn . . . who do you want off your island?
Posted by Whitney at 6:19 AM | Comments (11)
April 19, 2007
Family family everywhere
And being driven to drink
I'm leaving tonight (yes, on a jet plane) for my cousin's wedding in San Diego. Thing One is coming with me. Cowboy and Thing Two are heading to Nevada for a soccer tournament that was inconsiderately scheduled for the same weekend that my cousin has decided to join his life to a woman who, from all reports, is beautiful, intelligent, kind and delightful. It's supposed to snow in Nevada. It's supposed to be sunny and sixty-five degrees in San Diego. I do not want to begin to think about what I'm going to owe in marital capital by the time the weekend's over.
But that's not what I want to blog about. I want to blog about the fact that my sisters are insane and are locked in a fierce battle over our itinerary and Thing One and I are clearly going to be drawn into the fight completely against our will.
We'll have most of Friday to ourselves and there are so many fabulous places to go and things to do in the San Diego area it's hard to decide. Well, it's hard for me to decide. It's apparently quite easy for Sissies One and Two to decide and then start an insidious behind the scenes battle to try and each get their way.
In case you haven't guessed, neither of my sisters ever read this blog. I don't encourage them to do so either.
Anyway, the campaign started last week when Sissy One e-mailed me pictures of a fabulous sculpture garden full of wild ceramic pieces and dedicated to Queen Calafia (the fabulous black queen after whom California was named . . . don't say I never taught you anything, 'kay?). Wouldn't I just love to go see that? Well, of course! Who wouldn't?
Sissy One neglected to tell me that the garden is an hour and half drive from where we're staying. Trust me, Sissy Two filled me in along with her proposal of going to something close by and then maybe while our mother is napping, going for a little shopping.
So I mention to Sissy One that it seems a little far to drive to look at sculpture and she dangles the prospect of the Wild Animal Park in front of my dazzled eyes. I love the Wild Animal Park. Sissy Two counters with the possibility of Sea World and no time appreciating art at all. I love Sea World! Splash me, Shamu! Splash me!
At any rate, they've spent the past week playing me against each other and, as usual, I've only just caught on and stopped playing. Sometimes it's tough to be the swing vote.
So does your family do this to you? How do you handle it?
Posted by Eileen at 7:00 AM | Comments (8)
April 18, 2007
A time of tragedy
We at the LC would like to extend our heartfelt condolences to the families and loved ones of those who died in this week's senseless tragedy at Virginia Tech. Here in Virginia, I know we are all reeling in shock and grief at the unbearable extent of this loss. Please know our thoughts and prayers are with you all.
Alesia, Beth, Lani, Michelle, Whitney, and Eileen
Posted by Alesia at 9:06 AM | Comments (0)
April 17, 2007
Ten Things I Hate
Or rather, ten things I either hate or that make me squirm
There I was in the kitchen earlier planning what to cook for dinner (the chicken thing--don't ask) and as I used a sharp knife to pierce the pack containing the chicken breasts, then used a fork to place the chicken breasts on a ceramic chopping board ready to dice the chicken (because I don't trust wooden chopping boards with meat products), I realized that I go to great pains to avoid actually having to touch the chicken.
Which made me wonder about other stuff...
So, here we go...
1. Touching or handling any kind of raw meat products. I hate touching raw meat. I don't know why because I have no problem touching it when it's cooked. Possibly because it feels slimy and cold? Or because it was indoctrinated in me at a young age that raw meat could possibly equal food poisoning?
2. Eating raw mushrooms. I love the flavor of mushrooms, I just don't like the chewy texture of them raw (rather how I feel about tofu, too).
3. Haphazardly hung laundry. I don't have a clothes drier so I hang the clean, wet laundry on a stand in the shower room. I smooth it for wrinkles first, I hang it it a certain way. I really hate it when the laundry isn't hung, you know, right.
4. Ironing. I hate ironing with a passion and avoid it at every opportunity (Oh Patient One and Teenager #1 will attest to this--they know that if they want something ironed, they are the ones who will be doing the actual ironing). Which is probably why I go to such lengths to smooth my wet laundry in the first place.
5. People infringing on my personal space. You know, you're standing in line and the person behind you gets closer and closer. I'm not paranoid about this, but I'd rather not feel their breath in my hair or on my neck - am I alone in thinking that is too close for strangers? This is where I usually instigate the pointy elbow reflex. Place hand on hip, have elbow sticking out backward. Jiggle about a bit. It works, mostly...
6. Driving too close. It's kind of irritating when I maintain a good distance from the car ahead and other drivers feel that they can pull in front of me with a few inches to spare, simply because I've left plenty of room. I don't like it when the car behind me is close enough for me to invite the driver in for a cup of tea, either. Especially when the ambient speed is 70 miles per hour (which it is mostly on the main routes over here). What can I say? I'm a safety kind of gal.
7. Garden gnomes. I mean, why? Why?
8. People talking with their mouths full of food. Can we say ick here?
9. People clearing their throats and nasal passages, then spitting on the sidewalk. Can we also say ick here?
10. Last but not least, dog poo. I love the Dutch, I really do. They're so laid back and in favor of equal human rights, and so welcoming and open. They really are! I love them! But I don't understand their mentality when it comes to dog poo and the noncleaning up thereof. It's on the sidewalks, it's on the streets, it's in the grass (any grass, any time, anywhere), it's a health hazard! But the Dutch have this attitude: I pay my town taxes, I pay my (quite expensive) dog license fee, it's up to the town to clean up after my dog...I can kind of see why they do this, but still...don't.
So come on chicklets - what pisses you off or makes you cringe? Curious literarychicks want to know :-)
Posted by Michelle at 12:06 PM | Comments (11)
April 16, 2007
Spazzing out.
The multi-tasker's curse
So. I've discovered the downside to working at home while your husband works a get-in-the-car-and-head-out job. Want to hear the details of my discovery? (That was rhetorical, by the way.)
I lose all track of time when anything goes off the rails schedule-wise. ALL track of time.
Here I was, sitting in the recliner, catching up on MySpace messages and emails, when I noticed the email to myself reminding me to post a blog here on Sunday. I smile. I sip my coffee. I am not in a hurry because, hey, it's Saturday.
Only problem – it's not Saturday. It's Sunday. More, it's Sunday night. Oops.
So for my next trick, I'm blogging about my spazziness.
The thing is, I've been spazzing about other things, too. What kind of spazzes? Well, for one thing, I find myself saying things that aren't in my head. To my daughter: "Can you hand me the thermometer, please?" A normal enough request, except that I put the thermometer back in the bathroom a good fifteen minutes before, and what I want her to hand me is the remote. Or, "Give you sister the brush, she wants to brush her ... {{insert circular hand motions here}}}" Her hair, Mommy. Sigh.
So here I am, saying nonsense and thinking it's the wrong day. Naturally, I share with my friends, who immediately inform me that it's not the fact that I'm a few months past 21. It's not even my busy writing schedule. Nor is it my kids. It's mommydom coupled with book-birthing. A whole plethora of hormones and stressors working in unison together to make sure that I fit the profile of an absent-minded writer.
Now, that's actually not that bad a profile when you get right down to it. The absent-minded writer archtype usually suggests something cool. Like a huge library in a turret, and a spooky old mansion. (I live in a ranch style house built in the 80s. No turret for miles.)
Even without the turret, though, I think there's something to the theory. Not because of any particular hormones, but because my mind is off doing writing things. Or running the house things. Women are naturally multi-taskers, right? But even my lovely little laptop starts to freak out if I have too many programs going at once. And since there is ALWAYS the Current Book program running in my head, and often the Next Project Research running in the background, then clearly I'm running a bit show on cerebral RAM. A theory proved in part by the fact that I spazz more when I'm under a killer deadline or trying to do copyedits and write and clean the house for the social worker who's coming for the 6 month post placement report to send back to our adoption agency. You know. Multi-tasking.
So I'm wondering about the rest of you? Am I the only spazz out there? Other writers find themselves answering their kids in nonsensical ways when their mind is mostly on the book? Readers, do you do the same when you're deep into reading a story?
Come on, folks. Share! At the very least, lie and tell me I'm not the only one....
Posted by Julie Kenner at 11:23 AM | Comments (8)
April 13, 2007
“The more you do, the more you do”
And other words of wisdom from my dad
It’s very indicative of my current mental state that when I first sat down to write about paradoxes, the first thing that popped into my mind was, “The worse a food product is for you, the better it tastes.” But trust me, right now a post about Ben & Jerry’s Marsha Marsha Marshmallow and dark chocolate Easter bunnies would be starting down a dangerously slippery slope.
So I’m going to pour myself a big, tasty bowl of organic granola, take a deep cleansing breath and blog about my dad and home improvement projects. (This month at Literary Chicks was apparently brought o you, by Lowe’s, Home Depot, and Ikea!)
The thing about my family is that we’re all very verbal. My mother, sister and I are all former English Lit majors who love to read and write and thumb through our dogeared copies of Jane Eyre when we have the flu. My brother is a lawyer who basically gets paid to debate all day, which is his dream career.
The odd man out is my dad, the engineer. He loves numbers, theorems, logical chains of cause-and-effect. You’d think at least one of us kids would take after him, but nope. He long ago resigned himself to being constantly inundated with the flimsy abstraction of words, words, words. So my dad and I have never been able to connect about how much we both love Newtonian physics or the latest Nick Hornby novel.
Instead, we bond over our shared loathing of home improvement projects.
That’s one of the perks of being a former engineer: my dad knows how to fix everything. I don’t think he has ever called a plumber or a contractor, and to suggest that he do so would be akin to spitting in his face. He knows how to replace a toilet, hang a door, rewire an entire house. He is capable of building bookcases, installing a truck engine, and resuscitating a flatlining computer hard drive.
He just has to curse like a longshoreman the entire time he’s doing it. In this respect, I am truly my father’s daughter.
Here are some of his more quotable sayings:
Referring to anything as “a shoemaker job” (i.e., substandard to the quality of work he himself would have done. See also: hiring a professional plumber or contractor.)
“A blind man would be glad to see it” (i.e., it ain’t pretty, but it works. See also: rewiring an entire house.)
“The more you do, the more you do”
This last is his favorite, and it has basically become our family motto. If we had a family crest and shield, these words would be scrolled under them. Any time Mr. Tall and I break out a hammer or a can of paint, at least one of us has to intone darkly, “The more you do, the more you do.” Meaning, you start out innocently enough, intending to paint the guest room, and next thing you know, you decide that as long as you’re at it, you may as well replace the ceiling fan, sand down the closet doors, get the carpet steamed, and hey, that window screen has a pretty big tear in it, and you know, if you’re going to spend all this time and effort spiffing up the guest room, you might as well go ahead and give the same treatment to the master bedroom…
Next thing you know, it’s two months later and you’re making three trips a day to Home Depot with no end in sight.
The more you do, the more you do. So simple, so contradictory, so very true. (Love you, Dad!)
This blog was brought to you by The Prada Pardox, Julie’s hip, funny novel about sex, adventure and fashion – not necessarily in that order.
Posted by Beth at 11:39 PM | Comments (2)
The Paradox I Have Pondered
Does everyone have a trust fund but me?
First, a great big welcome to the marvelous Julie Kenner, who has graciously agreed to guest blog at the L.C. this month. You should stop whatever you’re doing, and run right out and buy a copy of her new book, The Prada Paradox. In fact, buy several copies, and pass them out to your friends!
To celebrate Julie’s new book, this week we’re talking paradoxes. And Prada. Which, put together, brings me to something I've always wondered about – the marketing of over-priced clothes to the 20-something crowd.
If you’ve ever picked up an issue of Lucky, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Almost all of the chicks they feature in the magazine – they call them Lucky Girls – are in their 20’s, and all have sexy (but not necessarily lucrative) jobs in expensive cities like New York and L.A. And yet every last one of these Lucky Girls apparently has a limitless budget for clothes, accessories and make-up.
How is this possible? I spent the first half of my twenties in college and law school, and the second half praying I’d have enough money left over after paying off the greedy student loan company to make my rent.
Five thousand dollar cocktail dresses? Don’t make me laugh. I didn’t even spend that much on my wedding dress (which was a very cute white silk BCBG cocktail dress I bought on sale).
And then there are those “budget” outfits the glossies like to feature -- which actually cost more than my monthly car payment -- and are supposed to convince you that $200 flip flops and $800 cotton skirts are really great deals.
Please . . . sell crazy somewhere else.
And nowadays, when I actually have a job and a bit of pocket money – okay, perhaps not enough to frequent the Prada store, but at least I no longer have to purchase my t-shirts in 6-packs from the men’s underwear section of Target – the last thing I’d spend my hard earned cash on are overpriced designer clothes.
For one thing, I have a preschooler, which pretty much requires that everything I put on be wash and wear and impervious to finger paint. For another, I work at home, which means that most days find me wearing sweats, my hair in a pony tail.
So if I had a few extra grand kicking around, I certainly wouldn’t blow it all on a single dress. I’d rather spend it on a fabulous trip, or replace my fugly kitchen cupboards.
So, seriously . . . how do all of these fashionable 20-somethings do it? Or is it all just a mirage?
This blog was brought to you by The Prada Pardox, Julie’s hip, funny novel about sex, adventure and fashion – not necessarily in that order.
Posted by Whitney at 6:00 AM | Comments (2)
April 12, 2007
The Paradox of Perception
Or that's a nice pair you've got
More than once in the past few weeks, the topic of self-perception has come up. At one point, a friend told me she wished I could see myself as others see me. Not more than a few days later, Sissy Two told me she wished she could see herself how I see her.
I wish she could, too.
Julie said that a paradox is a statement or proposition that seems self-contradictory or absurd but in reality expresses a possible truth. It seems a little absurd to me that we would have to see ourselves with others' eyes to see ourselves honestly. I mean, who looks at me more than me? No one else has to spend two minutes three times a day in front of the bathroom mirrror brushing my teeth and don't even get me started on blow-drying. That's a lot of self-looking just there.
Yet I know for a fact that my sister - who is much better about brushing and flossing than I am and so must spend even more time in front of the mirror than I do - has absolutely no idea of how beautiful she is. In fact, the more she looks at herself, the less she seems to know what she really looks like, but the fact that she doesn't see herself as beautiful expresses a possible truth about how she thinks of herself. Paradoxical, eh?
The discussion I had with my friend had to do with breasts. We run together and her trim lithe little figure is a lot better suited to bouncing up and down the bike paths than my somewhat curvier physique (okay, my whole lot curvier physique) which I see as curse most of the time and she seems to think would be great. Of course, she's never had to strap herself into a running bra (or worse, two running bras at certain times of the month) to avoid giving herself a black eye while running a 5K. I have no idea what that reveals about me. I shudder to think.
So how clearly do you think you see yourself? And precisely what truth do you think that may reveal about you?
This blog was brought to you by The Prada Pardox, Julie’s hip, funny novel about sex, adventure and fashion – not necessarily in that order.
Posted by Eileen at 7:00 AM | Comments (6)
April 10, 2007
A Plethora of P-words
from the queen of Procrastination
Yes, I am the queen of lame, in fact if you look up "lame" you'll find my name and picture right there in your Webster's, but this is NOT the week for me to try to be witty and clever and I'm not sure I can even spell parad . . . pair -of . . . whatever that word was in Julie's book title. But I can tell you firsthand that Julie is a lovely person and a talented writer and I just snapped up her new book today and can't wait for the actual chance to sit down and actually get five freaking minutes to read.
Because this week is:
1. (P is for) Punishment aka Spring break, aka the week teachers all over the country (or at least in my part of the world) get to relax and put their feet up because we have to put up with our own children full time. Don't get me wrong, I love and adore my children, but spending two hours at the pool, an hour at the bookstore, an hour out to eat and two hours at the theater watching FIREHOUSE DOG might not have been my FIRST choice today, when I'm THISCLOSE to finishing my book, especially since this week is:
2. (P is for) Pain aka Week four of Navy Guy being out to sea. Now, you might think that, him being Navy Guy and all, I'd be used to this and handle the single parent thing like the (P is for) Proficient Professional Parenting Person that I've had to grow to be.
You'd be wrong.
Especially since this week is:
3. (P is for) Another week that begins with the letter P and involves Advil and the heating pad and me trying to explain to Science Boy why the offer of Sprite and crackers is appreciated but not exactly helpful. "Nuff said. But bad and worse, especially since this week is:
4. (P is for) Pressure wash the house week. Which involves stuff I don't even want to think about, especially since this week is:
5. (P is for) Pollen week. Which, here in Virginia Beach, involves hideous yellow stuff from hell, aka tree pollen, aka the miserable substance that makes my eyes water and swell shut, my nose run, my sleep interrupted by hours of sneezing, the roof of my mouth itch, and even my poor (P is for) Pug Daisy have allergies. (Yes, dogs get allergies. Who knew? Move to Virginia for proof. aargh). Which leads me to my final P, which is:
6. (P is for) pathetic pity party, which is what I seem to be doing, so I'll just (P is for) prove myself wrong by admitting that:
My kids made breakfast for themselves, yay!, Navy Guy may be home soon, yay!, my book is going brilliantly and I love it, yay!, and . . . well, that's all I got in the glass half-full department. The advil and claritin issues still stink.
But, in what may be the WORST SEGUE IN THE ENTIRE HISTORY OF THE PLANET, Julie's books SO DO NOT STINK!!! They're terrific! And allergy free!! And don't need pressure washing!!
Hey. I warned you about lame back at the top of this entry, what do you want from me? How about this: go check out Julie's website and buy her book!! 'Cause it's pretty darn great. And tell me your favorite P word in the comments. (P is for) Please.
hugs,
Alesia
This blog was brought to you by The Prada Pardox, Julie’s hip, funny novel about sex, adventure and fashion – not necessarily in that order.
Posted by Alesia at 11:01 PM | Comments (7)
April 8, 2007
A PLETHORA OF PARADOXES
Or How That Devil Murphy is Alive And Well
paradox
1540, from L. paradoxum "paradox, statement seemingly absurd yet really true," from Gk. paradoxon, from neut. of adj. paradoxos "contrary to expectation, incredible," from para- "contrary to" + doxa "opinion."
Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2001 Douglas Harper
Okay, that's rather a mouthful of a definition. Especially if one (i.e., me) happens to not be an etymologist. But it's not as if you have to discuss the Greek roots of the word to understand its basic nature. After all, I stumble across paradoxes all the time. Murphy's Law, you might call it. But I say Murphy was a Greek etymologist. No. Really.
Here are just a few examples:
The more free time you have, the less time you have That's my paradoxical thesis, and I'm sticking to it. As proof (to mix linquistics and geometry), I can offer up my weekend. A long weekend, actually, because my husband was scheduled off for both Good Friday and Easter Monday. Yay, we thought! We can get things done around the house! (Actually, I was probably more "yay" than he was, but he's a sport and was willing to pitch in.)
The shelves I blogged about last week have, in fact, created a monster. For a long while, we've hated the carpet in the back of the house, particularly in the bedroom. (My husband has bad allergies. Carpets are evil. 'Nuff said.) So the plan was to pull up the carpet and tack, and sand down the glue lines on Friday. On Saturday, we'd prime. On Sunday, stain. On Monday, seal.
To that end, the girls and I made yet another one of our infamous trips to Home Depot, where I followed the guy from flooring around like a puppy as he told me how to do all this. (And, no, my life doesn't really revolve around Home Depot, but I'm in a redecorating sort of ilk at the moment. What can I say?)
Friday comes. We sleep in. We realize we're out of groceries. We realize we're 1 day shy of the 30 day expiration of my husband's Lenscrafter's Guarantee.
We go out and run errands. And, because we have two small children, the quick errands take a long, long, long time.
We get home and decide that relaxation makes more sense (who wants to move a king size bed in the evening?).
One day gone.
Saturday blooms bright and early. We move the bed. We pull up carpet. Immediately, my husband starts having a nasty attack (and, lest you are the suspicious type, it really was an allergic reaction). This is good, I think. Proves we need to get rid of this yuck. But then: This is bad, I think. Now I have to do this stuff by myself.
No problem! I have tools. How hard can one small room be? SEVEN HOURS hard. But I got up all the carpet tack, filled the divots, sanded the glue lines, and cleaned up. I'm stiff and sore and calloused, but reveling in a sense of accomplishment. Yay me!
But not so much yay for the schedule. The last divots were filled at 6. They need 24 hours to cure. That means priming has to wait until Sunday night. Which puts us completely off schedule!
In other words ... suddenly my leisurely weekend of working on the house isn't nearly a long enough weekend at all!
See? Tons of time, and yet not nearly enough time! A paradox. Plain and simple.
There are other paradoxes cropping up in my life, too. Here are a few of my top examples:
-- The more you clean the house, the more frustrated you will be when your children track dirt in and spread toys all around! Best to just let it stay messy, then!
-- The more work you put into a meal, the less interested your kids will be Best to stick with the uninventive basics ... and eat out a lot!
-- The week that you are pacing by the phone waiting for your agent to call about a proposal is the week the entire publishing community decides to go to Florida for a sales conference. No silver lining for that one. It just sucks.
-- When you are DESPERATELY trying to finish a book, that's the day that copyedits will arrive, needing a two-day turn-around. Worse, galleys.
-- And if you're in a huge hurry, that's when the galley's will be a huge mess.
-- And, of course, there's the Number One Universal Paradox of All Time ... the more pairs of socks you own, the more single, unmatched socks will be in your sock drawer!
Cliche, maybe, but oh, so true ...
This blog was brought to you by The Prada Pardox, Julie’s hip, funny novel about sex, adventure and fashion – not necessarily in that order.
Posted by Julie Kenner at 2:16 AM | Comments (8)
April 6, 2007
Man Plans, God Laughs
I need a vacation from my vacation.
Sam’s spring break from pre-school has been a bust.
I had big plans this week – outings to the beach and zoo, lots of climbing and swinging at the playground, and, best of all, a day trip to Disney World.
Instead, Sam and I have spent the week stuck inside the house coughing, hacking and snotting. About once a day or so we stagger outside for some fresh air for a few minutes, before returning back to our positions on the sofa. For excitement, we’ll half-heartedly piece together a puzzle.
And then there was my Big Plan – this week, I was going to once and for all get Sam potty trained.
As the older generations of women in my family tell me – constantly – that at the age of three-and-a-half, it’s time Sam started using the potty.
“It’s time,” my mom said firmly. “We have to do something about his potty training.”
“Great,” I replied. “Be my guest. If you can get him to use the potty, more power to you.”
My mom just looked at me. When she said, it’s time we do something, what she really mean is it’s time you do something. It’s a subtlety I did not miss.
And it’s not like I haven’t tried. I started off this week with the best of intentions: we said good-bye to the diapers, I pushed fluids, I marched Sam into the bathroom every twenty minutes, I tried to bribe him with M&M's. But so far, Sam won’t have any of it. In fact, at one point, when I was attempting to wrestle him into training pants, he threw an all-out hissy.
“I. WANT. A. DIAPER,” he bellowed. And then he ripped off the training pants, waved them over his head, and stamped his hobbit-like feet. “DIAPER! DIAPER! DIAPER!”
Have I mentioned that I have the flu?
So that’s my week: no Disney, no success on the potty training, and I haven’t gotten any work done on my new book. Frankly, I’m ready for the vacation to be over, so I can return to the grind of daily life.
Posted by Whitney at 6:00 AM | Comments (7)
April 5, 2007
iLeen’s iPod Update
Or How Technology Rocks Except When It Doesn’t.
You may remember the untimely demise of my iPod Shuffle. Despite the fact that it was my own damn fault that I shorted the poor little thing out with sweat (everybody else can manage to get a little dinglehopper to put their iPod in, but no, I had to tuck it in my waist band like an idiot), Cowboy who is now officially being nominated for Best Boyfriend Ever got me an iPod Nano.
It wasn’t even my birthday.
I loved my little shuffle. It was very straightforward and easy to use and at first I thought getting me the Nano was total overkill. I mean, he already scored all kinds of points by buying me a new gizmo for no reason except he loves me and wants me to be happy, how much more relationship capital did he need? It actually made me a little paranoid that he was planning to do something heinous. Apparently that was not the case, but I digress.
I have to admit it was exciting to put both of the music libraries I had on the Nano and be able to choose between them. Then Whitney said something about listening to audio books on her iPod! A revelation! How cool would that be? So last week when I was going to be driving around California for hours at a time by myself, I bought a book on CD. I hadn’t quite finished it when I got home, so I PUT THE REMAINDER ON MY IPOD!!! I can now listen to a book while I’m running or cleaning or peeling potatoes. It is so awesome.
On little hint for anyone who tries this. . . remember to turn off the “shuffle” function. For a little while, the very tightly plotted, suspenseful book I was listening to completely fell apart and got really confusing before I realized my iPod was jumping randomly from chapter segment to chapter segment with no real regard for any kind of linear thinking.
Then this week, I figured out how to download Podcasts! Oh. My. God. I downloaded all four of Lani’s Will Write for Wine episodes and have been listening to them at the gym. If you haven’t listened to these, run run run to Will Write for Wine and start listening right away.
One little hint for anyone who tries this . . . be very careful what you’re doing while listening to the Inauguratory episode. Yes, I meant to type Inauguratory. You got a problem with that? If so, talk to Lani. It’s her word. Anyway, near the end of the episode when Lani’s been drinking for about forty-five minutes, she tries to say “Walter Cronkite” and I almost killed myself falling off the elliptical at the gym because I was laughing so hard.
Posted by Eileen at 7:00 AM | Comments (5)
April 4, 2007
Happy thoughts
aka things that make me happy
Dashing in for a quickie today, am on a mad deadline crunch, but I have been a blog slacker lately so wanted to show my deadbeat self and thought I'd be all cheery and upbeat with "things that make me happy." Feel free to weigh in with your own!
1. My socks. Lani knitted me a pair of lovely blue and hot pink socks and they keep my always-frozen feet toasty warm and I love them and can almost feel the creativity pouring though me from them.
2. My dogs. (Of course, my family makes me happy, but that kind of goes without saying, plus they're all gone right now so I can't take pics). This is baby Peanut in the doll carriage (she is much larger and rounder now, kind of like a big furry, snoring teddy bear)
3. My book. ATLANTIS AWAKENING is on the final stretch and I love it in a madly crazed way. I love Ven and I adore Erin and it's so wonderful to have the writing YIPPEE back!
4. New York. You can see Lani's blog here and Jenny's blog and my blog for details, but what a great week of fun and friends and business.
Now, how about you? What is making you happy today?
hugs,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 1:12 PM | Comments (6)
April 3, 2007
Babies, Passports and Glitter
Not exactly a match made in Heaven?
A BIG HELLO from Sheffield, dear Chicklets, where I am currently spending quality time with Super Mum and the rest of my Sheffield Family! (And eating fish and chips, cheese and Branston pickle sandwiches, take out Indian curry, and pork pies and pasties - my waistline is grumbling very loudly, but I am determined to ignore it until I arrive back in the Netherlands next week.)
Yes, yes, I hear you all cry, but what does that have to do with babies, passports and glitter?
Well...
Babies (Don't you just love 'em?)
A few weeks ago Oh Patient One's brother and his wife had Baby No 1 - the first baby on either side of our families in seventeen years. We're off to Australia in July to visit with them (although I am extremely trepidatious of the spiders and snakes). And on Saturday, when I arrived chez Super Mum in Sheffield, I was greeted by the news that by niece had just given birth to Baby No 2 - the second baby on either side if our families in seventeen years.
When I arrived at the hospital I very sincerely thanked my lovely niece for conveniently timing her labor with my arrival :-) (And what a lovely, lovely baby Baby No 2 is!)
There was a labor horror story, of course, but I can't tell you my niece's, because that's her tale to tell. But I can certainly tell you about mine. No Longer Teenager No 1 - 3 days of start-stop start-stop labor. Three trips to the labor ward. The third time I went, the midwives promised me that I would not be going home without a baby! With Teenager No 2 my plan was to, you know - because everybody knows that second babies just pop out - drop into the short-stay labor unit, give birth, then have a photo op a few hours later featuring me, the radiant mother, complete with wonderful hair and an immaculately made up face. 24 hours labor later I couldn't care less about my scarecrow hair or lack of makeup (and I didn't allow a video camera or any other kind of camera in the room, either)!
So go on, Chicklets, feel free to share your own labor stories if you'd like to. I want to hear them!
Passports
So, I'm here in Sheffield and The Plan was for Oh Patient One to join me on Thursday night. Teeanger No 2 opted to stay in our Rotterdam apartment with the company of a few friends. But on hearing of his new second cousin he decided that he wanted to come after all. Yesterday I booked the flights online, it was all arranged, until...
Oh Patient One called me last night to tell me that Teenager No 2's passport had expired, and there was no way the British Consulate could renew it in 2 days! (I called the Consulate this morning...)
Glitter
Well, glitter doesn't have anything to do with babies or passports, but I did promise you a photo of the glam rock jacket I very quickly threw together for Teenager No 2 last week. Here it is!
I think I hear Super Mum and The Greatest Grandma calling for more tea...got to dash!
Posted by Michelle at 4:09 PM | Comments (4)
April 2, 2007
Life Lesson #237: Never Put Pearls on a Dog
No matter how much she begs. It's just not right.
Hello, all! I just got back from a fabulous weekend with Jenny Crusie and Alesia Holliday in wonderful NYC and... I'm flippin' exhausted! It was almost too much fun to be legal, we had a wonderful time, although Jenny has a disturbing fascination with ugly dogs. I won't link directly because I don't want to be responsible for the shock to your system, but if you do a Google search for "world's ugliest dog" then it's your own damn fault. That's pretty much all you need to know.
Although if you go to Jenny's blog, you'll understand the title for this blog.
Anyway, I'd like to tell you that the whole weekend was spent sipping tea with pinkies out, discussing fine literary concerns, but it was a lot of Diet Coke and chocolate and laughing so hard we wept, which is also a lot of fun. I also made some important discoveries this weekend:
One, that I make sound effects when I type. I didn't notice this little quirk until Jenny was teasing my by doing it on her laptop and I said, "Do you always make sound effects when you type?" and she and Alesia burst out laughing. Apparently, I'm very low on self-awareness.
Two, there's almost nothing that anyone can say that you can't make dirty by adding some homemade "bow chicka bow bow" porn music after.
Three, that if you want to scare your writer pals during a girls' weekend, just say, "That's going on the blog, bitch," after everything they say. The unfortunate flipside of that is that, despite the fact that we weren't even drinking, I've forgotten most of the things I said were going on the blog. Either that or they're just not as funny and damning now, which is definitely a possibility. It's entirely possible that both Alesia and Jenny behaved with total class and decorum, and it was only me that was so plotzed from laughing that I thought everything they did would make a great blog entry. Now, after a long train ride home and a full night's sleep, the only embarrassing stuff I can remember is stuff I did or said, and that's not going on the blog, bitch. At least not mine.
All in all, it was an energizing and hilarious weekend. I tried to explain to Fish when I got home about how rejuvenating it is to sit around with a girlfriend and just talk. He doesn't believe you can have fun doing that, because it's a guys' idea of the perfect torture. I'm telling you, the next time Jack Bauer wants to elicit information from a bad guy, all he has to do is pull his wife in and have her say, "Let's talk! All weekend!" and he'll turn over like a cheap penny.
Sorry. That's an aside. I tend to go off on tangents, especially after having a great girls' weekend! So... tell me about your best girls' weekends! Essential activities, foods, and discussion points. I say - sitting on the couch in a Greenwich village apartment, eating Cheetos and Diet Coke, and discussing really ugly dogs. What about you?
Posted by Lani at 9:34 AM | Comments (6)
April 1, 2007
HOME DEPOT, IKEA, AND A CELERY GREEN WALL
Or, why it's dangerous for a writer not to have a deadline breathing down her neck!
I feel a bit reluctant to mention this after Beth's fabulously flattering intro ("Phenom," she says! I must share that with my 5 year old. As in, "Your mother the phenom says to clean your room!" Might work ...), but my next contractual deadline isn't until September. Considering some of the deadlines I've hit in the past, September feels like eons away! Especially since I'm already part way into the book, thus lessening the daily page count required for maximum sanity retention.
In other words, I'm not currently under that horrible malady that writers call "deadline dementia." Which means
that I have guiltless hours that can be spent doing something other than writing. It means I have time to play with my kids. It means I have time to take out the trash and do laundry (that, perhaps, is technically a downside). It means that I have time to think about fixing up the house.
Seriously, for the last few years I've had a pretty heavy writing schedule (and before that, a pretty heavy lawyer-plus-writer schedule). But last year, I knew that I wanted the first part of this year to be relatively deadline free. My reason? We adopted a three-year old daughter last October, and I wanted the first chunk of this year to be about home and family, not work, especially since I wasn't sure how easy the transition would be for our new daughter, our five year old, or the family as a whole. As it's turned out, everything has been wonderfully easy, seamless, fabulous. But since I didn't know that seven months ago, I planned for downtime. That, frankly, is one of the things I love about being a writer. I may not be in charge of covers or print runs, but I do at least of the illusion of control over my schedule.
Also in anticipation for the arrival of Daughter Number Two, my husband and I sacrificed our master bedroom. We moved to one of the smaller rooms and turned the master into a playroom. Unfortunately, the spare room we moved into had previously been the "extra" room. And into the extra room had been dumped all of our extra stuff.
And since I'm a writer and my husband is a librarian, our extras tend toward books. Tons of books. Books that take up four walls of bookshelves. In the smallest room in the house. Now with a kingsize bed.
Yikes.
Double yikes when you realize that getting into bed requires shifting sort of to the left so as to avoid whacking your side on the bookshelf. So one of my major "to do" projects has been to buy a bazillion bookcases, make a wall of books in the living room, and make the bedroom for the bed, a dresser, and a tv. Period. (I should probably add that giving up the huge room to be a playroom was no sacrifice. I'm happy with just a bed. That part of the equation was fine with both me and my husband. The contortion aspect, though ... not so much. And we were about negative 27 on the aesthetically pleasing scale.)
The trouble with "to do" projects is that I've had a list of them ever since we bought this house in 2004. But who has time? Certainly not me.
Not, that is, until now.
So there I was with some deadline downtime. And a new Ikea about ten miles away. And a Home Depot just around the corner. Honestly, what's a girl to do?
Apparently, a girl is to paint her living room.
I mean, bookcases are clearly a priority. But I can't be expected to put bookcases up on the icky white walls that were apparently painted by the previous owners in drab, flat white just to sell the house. How dull. How tedious.
I settled on green because the five-year-old gave me a thumbs-up when I suggested it (what can I say--she has a good eye), and then I schlepped me and the girls off the store, where they played sword fight with the wooden paint stirrers while I looked at paint samples, finally settling on one I thought was perfect, but the nice stranger in line beside me said was too light. Since she seemed to know what she was talking about and I'm so clueless about this stuff I usually drag my mom along, I took her advice, bumped up to the next color level, and went home with two gallons of "celery green." (The lady was right; the color looks fab. I really should have gotten her phone number for future consultations!)
After a morning of taping and covering floor and furniture, plus a visit from mom to watch little helpers, and Wall Number One was painted and dry before my husband got home from work. And you know what? It was easy. Truly. Even with the kids under foot and painting their own little section of wall.
So easy in fact, that I think I created a monster, with the monster being me. I painted the opposing wall, too, the next day, even without Mom there to child-wrangle (am I brave, or what?). And I picked out a color ("Rosily") for the other two walls. I even picked out a color for the library and the playroom, and I'm serious toying with painting our long, dark hallway. More terrifying, I find myself eyeing the wallpaper in the kitchen with the same disdain in which I hold the ugly, ugly cabinets.
I mean, if it only took one day to paint a wall, in just a week I could have a new kitchen and maybe even new bathroom fixtures! Maybe I could even screen in the back porch! Heck, I can probably figure out how to fix the wood rot on the back porch cover. How hard could it be to --
{Ahem}
Ah, excuse me. I get a little carried away sometimes. And the living room was no exception. Although we'd planned to wait until April (two books means two "publication date" checks) to fund The Great Bookshelf Buy, I just couldn't resist. So once again, me and the kids schlepped to a store (this time Ikea) and after filling up on Swedish meatballs and mac & cheese, managed to buy five of the things, along with glass doors, height extenders, and the various knickknacks that one is forced to buy if one wanders through Ikea.
One day later, with the help of the girls, the furniture in the living room was completely rearranged and the shelves were assembled and installed. Unfortunately, the black backing looked hideous (way too dark for the room), so I removed it, letting "celery green" shine through. I love it, and it got the seal of approval from husband and kids.
By lunch the next day, most of the books from the bedroom had been transferred (though not properly arranged). Bringing the sum total of days for total living room transformation to about 2.5.
Whew.
(Have I mentioned I tend to go a little overboard with the project thing at times?)
My friend Julia London came over to lunch with her camera, because, of course, I'd been giving blow-by-blows to our friends in New York, Kathleen O'Reilly and Dee Davis. So courtesy of Julia L, here's a picture of the fruits of my efforts (but without all the books, as only a portion have made it so far). And, hey, as a bonus you get the girls' pictures, too. (The marks on their faces are kitty cat whiskers. I am, apparently, raising a litter.)
So this is what happens when I don't have a deadline. Yes, my dirty little secret is that I procrastinate by redecorating.
Honestly, I need to dive headfirst into a heavy daily page count. I mean, if I don't I might find myself stripping wallpaper, steam cleaning the carpets, or drywalling the attic.
Worse, I might actually do a load or two of laundry.
Posted by Julie Kenner at 1:40 AM | Comments (13)
