I think you're just what I needed

I got a pleasant surprise yesterday just as I got home from work and was beginning to freak out about having my story finished for tomorrow.  I was sitting there, enjoying my after-work cigarette, when I heard the distinct sound of the patio gate being opened. 

I immediately jumped up and swung open the door before the visitor had a chance to knock, with a look on my face that said something like, "Rawr!!! Who dare step on the porch of the Isrut???" And lo and behold, it was a writer friend from the writer's group who had spent the day writing in Rittenhouse Square. 

She came in and had a beer and I told her all about how stressed I am about the story, how utterly OBSESSED I am with it, and all kinds of other writing-related crap. 

And she, wise woman and full-time writer that she is, offered some advice.   She suggested that I simply revise a previously-submitted piece for tomorrow and get it one step closer to being "finished."  This is a good idea, because it will help me actually finish something I can use to keep my promise of trying to publish, and will buy me a few more weeks to work on my new story. 

This thought had occurred to me, but for some reason I was being stubborn about wanting to offer something new for my first submission.  But, being that most of the group members are new-to-me, it doesn't really matter.  She convinced me that it wasn't just a good idea, it was the right thing to do. 

And wouldnt you know it- as soon as I took the pressure off, new ideas for the story started to flow and what was missing was suddenly revealed.  The 'motif' I guess you would call it, had been there all along. 

Oh yes, she didn't just show up to have a beer, but to deliver a message to me from the universe.  I truly believe that. 

I still have a lot of work to do tonight to revise the other story, but I feel so much better.  It's quite strange, what this whole writing thing does to me.  I consider myself fairly laid-back, and nothing ever stressed me out like this before.  I didn't know that I even had it in me to work this hard or care this much about something. 

Things that make you go hmmm...

It was also good to just sit down and have a beer with someone.  My social life has disappeared.  I want my boyfriend, my karoake boys, my rock n roll friends, and most of all- my girls.  I hadn't realized how much I rely on social interaction to keep me sane and happy.  I am human, and humans need people.

Wait for me, people!  I shall return.

I got my...

...babyback babyback babyback! Chiliiiiii's Baby Back ribs.  My man got a clean bill of health yesterday and the ok from the doctor to go back to work.  Yay!!!

Oddly enough, just as he got the green light to drive again, the dealership that had been searching for his new car for a month finally called and said they had it.  It was perfect timing and I cant wait to go for a cruise in his new ride. 

But of course, I can't actually see him yet until I finish the awful story I'm writing for the group.

I always hate my stuff while I'm writing it and shortly after I finish it, but I'm starting to believe that this story actually does suck, and that it isn't just my skewed perspective.  It doesn't have any heart, it doesn't have any gut-wrenching emotion or capacity to draw tears.  And that's fine sometimes, as long as the story entertains...but I'm not sure it does that either. 

Who the hell knows.  Either way, it's a good exercise for me since its yet another story written in past-tense and 3rd person omniscient, both of which are outside my comfort zone.  The first for this piece is that its written from a male perspective, which I have never attempted before.

I wasn't too worried about that for various reasons I will not elaborate on, but I will say however, that a psychic I met at Ray's one night told me that I was a man in a past life.  You should have seen the look of horror on Tim's face when he overheard me telling the guy, "That makes perfect sense!"

I'm also in the midst of writing another article for work about architecture.  Architecture! God, how I loathe it.  But I'm getting paid to write, so I can't shouldn't complain.  The dork in me loves the research, and its always nice to get out of the office to take photos of beautiful historic buildings that are crumbling from within. 

I always meet other writers who claim to "love" writing, which has to be absolute bullshit unless they are either idiots or masochists.  Writing is probably the unhealthiest habit I have.  I'll continue to do it because I am compelled to, but it wont stop me from hating every minute of it.

Write, write, write, bitch, bitch, bitch...such is my life at the moment. 

Anyway, here is a 100-year old Philadelphia building, the subject of my next article: 

Swamp People

My poor neglected blog!  It's the busiest time of year at work, RWG deadlines are looming and I've been spending every available moment of the last two weeks zipping over to Delco in zipcars to visit my man, who is still stuck there recovering. 

I had so much work to do this weekend that I skipped Easter with my family.  I didn't see them on Christmas either, and I feel so guilty about it. 

Note to self: skipping holidays is depressing- don't do it again.  


I worked most of the weekend, but took a few hours on Saturday night to drive to the swamps of Delco, where Tim's brothers threw an impromptu party around the fire pit.  At one point I was cruising around in a convertible with the top down and music blasting, the driver just as drunk and stoned as everyone else and all of us with full beers in hand.  Adult Me was terrified of getting pulled over, but Young Me was reminded of going to the illegal street races back in high school with my sister's friends. 

Such white trash fun to be had in the swamp if you're willing to give yourself over to it. Still, I miss my man and our life in the city. 

In the meantime, I am so stressed about this deadline that its carrying over into sleep and giving me strange dreams.  Last night I slapped Mila Kunis across the face because she gave me a cocky look when I asked her a question. 

Sculpey business is failing miserably- I have been cancelling custom orders left and right and considering closing up shop on the website.  "No time!  There's never any time!"

But- at least the summer office is back, and I have a welcome sunburn on my shoulders.


Next goddamn deadline: Friday, 4 p.m.

A Quick One

I may be beginning to lose my mind.

For the past couple of days there has been an epic battle raging between Scooter and I.  He hasn't been around in awhile so when I heard him in the kitchen, I put out some traps.   Every night before I went to bed, I would call out, "Gonna get you tonight, Scooter!" and then in the morning the bait would be gone, but Scooter would have escaped.

Well, the other night I was sculpeying when that old 80's classic, An American Tail, came on the TV.  Somehow I ended up watching the whole thing.  I was trying to hold back my tears, and feeling quite ridiculous, at the end when Fievel is reunited with his long-lost family, when SNAP! I got Scooter.

And I cried.  Because I killed Fievel.

That was a fun weekend...NOT

Delco highlight!

I decided to spend this past weekend in Delco so that I could easily get back and forth to Tim's parent's house to visit him while he was recovering.  I slept in my old bedroom (now my little sister's who is away at school).  It's been a long time since I slept in that little twin bed staring up at the hippie flowers that Spoony and I painted and stuck to the ceiling so many years ago.

A sinkhole appeared in front of the house last week, and my father has spent most of his time since its discovery, A- talking about it, B- staring down into it and C-calling people about it.  Apparently, it indicated some kind of sewer problem and Saturday's heavy rains caused it to back up into the basement.  Pops was furious.  Needless to say, it was unpleasant.

The highlight of the weekend was going to Ruby Tuesday's on Saturday night and watching my Uncle Robbie, who has Downs Syndrome, motorboat the hostess on our way out.  

(I'm smarter than you think)

The whole thing took me back to high school, especially since I was getting phone calls like, "Hey, can you borrow your mom's car to come over and watch the game with me?  My parents aren't home..."

I missed the city, and my little apartment, and the life I have when everything is fine.  I'm going to try very hard to stay appreciative of it when everything gets back to normal.

Two things I wanted to mention before everything went to hell last week:

1. My good friend Cawola's baby shower last Sunday was fantastic.  It was so nice to spend time with all my girls- my real friends- and talk about real shit.  No chit-chat for us, but actual conversations.  I enjoyed it so much.

2.  My thanks to those who encouraged me to post that video of the chapter reading to Facebook.  I was totally overwhelmed by the response, which included private messages, emails, phone calls, etc.  I heard from some of the most random people regarding it.  I was really surprised and touched by how many people took the time to watch it. (100 views on YouTube!) People said such nice and encouraging things, and it has really re-motivated me to get working on the book again. 

If you missed it and want to check it out, go to YouTube and do a search for my real name. 

Next Deadline: April 29

The Wonder Years

Tim is on the mend.  Painkillers helped him through the beautiful service for his grandmother yesterday. Afterwards we spent the day with his family, mostly outside on the deck.  The weather was awesome, and I think it did him a world of good.  

We looked through old photo albums that his grandmother made a long time ago.  As disturbing as it is that photos from the 80s look so dated now, I love seeing pictures of Tim when he was a little kid.  I never met his grandmother, but I still enjoyed paging through her memories, secretly grateful to her for her part in bringing the man I love into this world.

Looking at people's old family photos always reminds me that in some ways, my life hasn't really begun yet.  That some of the people who will be the most important to me have yet to be brought into existence.

This notion is usually abstract, but yesterday as I was thinking about it, my eyes fell on Tim and I thought- there is my future right there.  My family, my life.

They say that "when you know, you know"- but I have never in my 30 years on this earth felt something with so much certainty.

Dude- it was so fucking weird.

Anyway- a note on my last post:

I've been thinking about what I wrote about- those ex-boyfriends and their health issues, and I guess I was being a little paranoid.  I couldn't shake the feeling that I was the common denominator that was somehow contributing to their physical destruction. Do I stress them out so bad that it causes their organs to fail, rupture or collapse?

I hope the convalescent exes I mentioned never read that- especially BillySchwaan, who I failed to mention nursed me through major surgery...and was still a good boyfriend to me when I looked like a swollen monster for six months. He deserved more credit than I ever gave him and I feel bad about it. Especially since I recovered ten years ago and he never did. Schwaan, if you're out there- I still pray for your lungs. 

I can see now that it's just a coincidence.  Our bodies fail us- it happens.  I've come to the conclusion that, (unless you're really lucky) if a relationship lasts long enough, it will inevitably someday require this from one or the other:

("Yankee bean, yankee bean- I like my yankee bean...")

Thanks for the well-wishes, everyone!

Vestigial Memories/Organs

Yesterday morning I was at work and just about to lift the first spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth when my cell phone rang.  The caller ID said, "Tim" and I knew immediately that something was wrong.  He never calls me at work.

It was his father on the other end of the line, clearing his throat from the embarrassment of me answering the phone by saying, "Hey, honeybun."

He told me that Tim was being wheeled out of surgery- and that he had his appendix removed, and that he would be fine.

I left work and went straight to the hospital- Taylor Hospital, not my favorite place on this earth, but thank God for Septa. 

This part of Delco brings back strange memories for me.  The train station is across the street from the restaurant where I had my first real date.  As I walked across the parking lot I remembered that the boy, my first real boyfriend, had a bouquet of roses for me in the front seat of his piece of shit car- and that when he opened the door for me, the passenger side window fell out and shattered on the pavement.   I hadn't thought about that in 15 years.

And of course I thought about my friend of the same name, who years later kissed me one night in high school.  We weren't supposed to be kissing, and it was never a big deal.  We weren't that close to each other, but still- a few months later I remember leaning over to give him another kiss on his cold cheek as he lie in his casket.  The accident was in the front yard of the hospital, and still I will never forget the headline, "Tinicum man, 19, dies when truck hits pole."

God- I was in such a state when I got to that hospital yesterday!  I wondered why all these memories came back to me- and what they meant.  I couldn't help thinking about my past relationships, two of which frequently brought me to these occasions of being at someone's bedside at the hospital, helping them recover from emergency surgeries.  (They both developed chronic illnesses they didn't have when I met them... I don't seek this out or anything). 

But at least I knew what to expect.  He would be cranky and irritable. He would make me feel like I don't belong there, yet require me to be there, stuff like that.  I thought he might cry, and I steeled myself in preparation for that. 

But- my man was entirely different.  He was alright, if not a little out of it.  He had a long and complicated surgery, but it isn't really appropriate for me to elaborate more than that.  He smiled when I came in and motioned for me to hold his hand, which I did while he went in and out of sleep.  To my surprise he was in a good mood when he was awake, which wasn't very often.  He charmed the nurses and shook hands with the surgeon even though it hurt him to do so.  He thanked everyone over and over for taking care of him.  And he was still sweet to me.  I noticed his fever spiked and I said, "You're so hot! You're burning up!" and he said, "You're so hot! Give me a kiss."  Of course he said a lot of other things too, like "get the shoe, get the shoe!" which made no sense, but I like to think he meant the part about the kiss.

He was such a trooper, so brave.  It amazed me that he still managed to hold on to his sweet personality during everything he was going through.

What an amazing person he is...I think that was why I became so flooded with memories of bad moments in bad relationships.  I am supposed to compare.  I am supposed to remember.  It makes me realize that, wow- I have a great man now.  The right man- the best one.

My poor guy had a rough week- we bury his grandmother tomorrow.  But he will recover from both of these events, and we'll move forward knowing that even in the bad times, the stressful times, the sad times- we'll still be good. 

I am overjoyed that he got to the hospital in time, and overwhelmed by how nice everyone was.  They took such great care of him.  Thank you, God and the Universe, that he is going to be alright.  He was released this morning, and I am finally back at work.  My hunger left me the instant the phone rang, and didn't come back for over 24 hours.  I just snapped back into reality sitting here at my desk.  Where was I?  Oh yeah- oatmeal. 

End of an Era

Well, I got some bad news yesterday... the store that sells my sculpey stuff is going to close.  Kind of a bummer since I'll surely miss those random sculpey checks showing up in the mailbox... 

But, it's all good.  It was sorta always hanging over my head making me feel guilty, so no more pressure there.  And, of course, I make more money if customers go directly through my website instead of giving a cut to the store. Also, I used to give everything to them, so I had no inventory to do craft shows and things like that.  

I think that having stuff in the store really did serve its purpose for me.  It was the thing that took this hobby and made it legitimate.  It was good to hear someone I didn't know tell me that they would sell, and then prove to me that they would.  I never would have had the balls to do that by myself, so I am very grateful to them for all the opportunities it created.  And, it was just really fun and exciting to have my stuff in an actual store.  It was a great experience, but, like all good things...

Isrut Designs will live on.  Right now, I am raking in the custom orders including and not limited to:

2 pairs guinness cufflinks
1 pair krimpet earrings
1 pair septa bus cufflinks
1 Philly skyline tie bar
1 cheesesteak/krimpet/pretzel pin
1 pair restaurant supply cufflinks
1 wedding cake topper (my first one!)

(mini utensils, polymer clay and mica powder)

Maybe this will give me more time for other sculpey ideas, like sending things to companies and celebrities...and there will be other stores, eventually. 

Or maybe this is just the Universe's way of saying, "hey asshole- focus on writing."

Uncut and Commercial Free

Now that I'm back in the writing group, launching a new initiative at work and way behind on custom sculpey orders, I'm looking for all kinds of new things to do in the sake of procrastination.

I've been applying for part-time Craigslist jobs I don't necessarily want, cooking up a storm, cleaning the apartment, sending ideas to One Great Idea, working out to Denise Austin DVDs (it hurts to laugh), scanning the course catalog for undergraduate linguistics courses, etc...  Last night I was sitting there thinking that I really want my own giraffe blog...

It got me thinking about school.  I am driving one of my professors nuts because I can't decide whether I want to apply for summer or fall.  School is good, but is it just another distraction?  Another thing to postpone the real work of writing fiction?

This prof asked me to send him an old paper, and when I found it and I read it, I was completely surprised by it.  I wrote this?  I once knew all this stuff?

I really enjoyed that work, really loved the research- and as if I needed more of a sign, when I came home from the RWG on Monday night, Gone with the Wind was on TCM.

Also, I noticed yesterday that the reading I did a while ago of the first chapter of the novel is now online for the world to see.  In the beginning of the video, I talk for almost ten minutes about my "journey through the program" and my Gone with the Wind research.

Another sign?  Or am I just looking for them?  And then there is this question:  Should I post the video to facebook?  It's entirely too long (20 minutes) for anyone to actually watch, but I do have folks who may be interested, people who have begged to 'read my stuff', family and the like... 

I sound so monotone in the video, probably because I was so freaking nervous.  By the way, friends- I want to sincerely thank (most of you) for never making fun of my lisp, which I never really believed I had until I watched that video yesterday. 

Anyway, last night I made a big batch of tortilla soup- and it turned out beautiful- very tasty and authentic.  I'm going to serve it to my man tonight with some chicken quesadillas, and homemade salsa and guacamole. 

 (A simple recipe of 500 ingredients...
spot Spoony's ketchup drawing in my kitchen!)

Only problem: I only have one bowl in my house.  Looks like I'll be stopping by the dollar store on my way home, which is right next to the liquor store, which has tequila that would go very nicely with the soup. 

And away we go!

Fat weekend, and yet I wonder why Denise Austin Hit the Spot Abs isn't working yet...  On Friday night, Tim took me, his sister and brother in law out to dinner at 20 Manning.  The food was awesome, as usual, and the drinks even better.  Cute waiter kept the margaritas flowing for 4 and a half hours.  When I woke up on Saturday, I immediately rolled over, picked up my phone and ordered chicken fingers- and then I walked half a block in my pajamas to pick them up- cured!

I took the bus up to Wissahickon to go to a baby shower, and even though I was dreading it, had an absolutely lovely time.  All the girls were very welcoming, and it was a pleasant surprise that warmed my heart.

More drinking followed that with some fun girls at Tavern on Camac- a gay piano bar where they played showtunes all night. Drinking a beer while surrounded by well-groomed men singing along to Defying Gravity from Wicked?  Yes, please.

On Sunday I wrote, I sculpeyed, I proofread my pages, did laundry, watched the Phils and finished my critiques.  Then I had a perfectly wonderful date with Tim.  Sometimes I am just overwhelmed by the amount of support he gives me, and how truly he believes that I can actually accomplish all these things I'm trying to do.

He has good ideas and gives good advice... andilovehimandiwannamarryhim.  

He alone is making it possible for me to participate in another 8-week session of the RWG, which starts tonight. I am so excited, and grateful.  And since he has chosen to 'invest' in my writing- I agreed that by the end of these 8 weeks, I am going to submit something and try to get it published.

No fear, no excuses, no rationalizations.  I'm going for it.  Even a rejection letter would be a big and positive step in my writing career. 

I also want to welcome a brilliant writer-friend of mine who is joining the group tonight for the first time.  It's been way too long since we've been in a workshop together, and we are going to kick so much ass and have so much fun.  I hope she is looking forward to it as much as I am.  Welcome Jaime!

Happy Baseball Season to all!

As primitive as can be

Last night I had a lovely dinner and entirely substance free evening with my preggo Cawola, one of my best girl friends.  On the train ride there, I was so engrossed in reading Robinson Crusoe on my kindle that I nearly missed my stop. 

I do occasionally read the Classics that I somehow managed to miss in high school and college, mostly out of obligation or English major guilt.  I seldom enjoy them, but this time- I am obsessed.

This book is right up my alley, but then again I have a penchant for survival stories.  I love everything about them- the rationing of food, the hunting and gathering, the building of shelters, the fashioning of crude tools- and most especially, shipwrecks.

But why am I so drawn to these types of stories that have little or nothing to do with my own life? 

I don't quite know, but the story I am presently working on is going to explore this question of why we like the random things we like, and the idea that we are much more than what we appear to be. I hope to have it ready in time to be my first submission to this round of the RWG.

I wish that I had the time/money/balls to go off into the wilderness alone to research my story.  I can't help thinking as I read that Crusoe's predicament isn't all that bad, and that if I was in his position, I wouldn't be half as miserable.  Four years on his deserted island and he is still complaining for want of a pipe to smoke the wild tobacco?  Any stoner could have told him that Coconut+bamboo shoot = bong. 

Defoe's story involves fate and premonitions, but mine is moving in the opposite direction.  Innate instincts, past lives, reincarnation.  At least, I think that's where it's going.  This all may be just an elaborate excuse for me to watch more Man vs. Wild, Survivorman, Out of the Wild, Into the Wild, Castaway...

Who the hells knows?  But dinner with my pregnant friend did help me decide one thing.  I've been going back and forth about the character's gender.  I know that I need to continue to push myself out of my comfort zone, and writing from a man's perspective is next on my list.  As we sat in my friend's car at the train station, she let me feel her belly.  It is so amazing to me that there is a little boy in there, someone we all love already even though we haven't met him yet.  And it struck me: If all my friends can grow little penises, then so can I.

It's a boy, ladies and gentlemen!