Stupid blog!

It only feels like one of the many things I need to start doing again because it's Monday.  A pleasant surprise, however, when I got to work this morning to find out that I am the only person who decided to show up. 

But someone will show up...and the anticipation of it is almost as annoying as somebody else actually being here.  Still- it was two hours to read a novel I am completely absorbed in. 

The long weekend was a whirlwind of family events.  Eating with the Italians, drinking with the Irish cousins.  We've been doing a lot of entertaining.  My friends.  Tim's friends.  My friends.  Tim's family.  I am so sick of dip and appetizer food.  I am so fat that I dreamed that a long-ago friend's mom was driving me somewhere- and when I got out of her car she put her hand on my abdomen and said, "what's this?"  Someone told us that the way to avoid all this entertaining is to have a housewarming party.  That is the very point of a housewarming party.  I never knew this- but it makes sense.  Of course, I love having my people over...Tim's chili-devouring, gassy, drunken basketball buddies- not so much, but at least the apartment is clean. 

I realized this Thanksgiving that if I sat there and said nothing the entire time, nobody would have noticed and I could have gotten away with it.  After all, I'm not a man- and I'm not engaged or pregnant, so I'm clearly not doing anything with my life. 

At the Thanksgiving Table:  A cousin in her early twenties has just gotten engaged.  When my sister (32 years old) informed her that she knows "so many engaged couples right now"  my cousin said that was surprising because, "you guys (my sister and I) are way past the marriage age." 

Watch the smugness, I thought...you never know.  I even warned her!  I am older- I have had diamonds taken away from me by 3 boyfriends.  Only one was a ring, but still- there is no need to be an asshole because you feel like everything in your life is falling into place.  At the time I was thinking about how I'd have to go back to work and write an obit for a 21 year old kid.  What will I say to my 28-year-old friend with stage four lung cancer when I see him on Christmas?... these things sometimes cloud my vision.   I heard this somewhere:  How do you make God laugh?  You make plans.

I was proud of myself for biting my tongue.  They are planning a Penn State-themed wedding. "An anal-rape themed wedding?  How tacky!" 

I'm not actually as bitter as this post sounds...just tired.  I have much to be thankful for this year.  My family's health.  The little ones.  The new apartment and neighborhood.  All my buddies.  Good news. Alcohol, tobacco and other consumables.  This unbelievably beautiful weather. Not being poor anymore.  Leftovers. The upcoming Christmas vacation.  Tim, Tim, Tim, Tim, Tim.    

I have so much more to say- about family things...and getting older and Christmas wishes and how I seem to be developing a problem with letters and emails and written correspondence of all kinds.  Coffee- I shouldn't drink it.  I cannot organize my thoughts.  The Eagles suck.  More tomorrow, perhaps.

It's Over

Yay! Everything went well. The interview was great- and even if I don't get the offer, I may have gained another ally who is willing to shop out my resume.  That's how this interview came along, after all.  I'm just going to keep chipping away at this career thing until something positive happens. 

The reading was a success.  Of course I got myself all worked up over it- practicing, cutting and editing until the very last minute.  I showed up almost an hour early and peeked into the room, where there were maybe 10 chairs set up. 

I felt like an idiot.  In the end, I read to my piece to a rapt audience of six people.  Oh well. 

Afterwards an older black gentleman told me how much he enjoyed it and that he would love to read the novel.  It sort of amazed me that someone like that would be interested in my story, my viewpoint, my experience- not only because he was African American- or because he was older, but because he was a man.

All in all, nothing but positive feedback- and a renewed sense of confidence in my work.

I found out that they are thinking about doing events like this on a larger scale- using writers like me and some of my classmates to advertise the program to folks who are interested in writing.  Would I be interested in helping them do that?  Yes, yes and yes.

I'm flattered that my work was chosen for this kind of thing.  It means that people think my stuff is good- and that's good, because Lord knows I can't tell the difference between crap and brilliance when it comes to my own writing.  Other people's perspectives (whether they should or not) sometimes mean a lot more to me.

So, small though it was- it was a positive experience that lifted me.  Next time - and there will be a next time- I wont discourage people from coming.  

Thank you, everyone who encouraged me and wished me good luck- it came in handy. 

Afterwards Tim took me to my favorite margarita place.  I had been avoiding this restaurant because of a negative experience I had with the bartender, but this time we walked in to find a friendly face behind the bar.  This guy called us by our first names all night, talked football with us and assured me that since they were under new management- the big scary bartender was gone for good.  Hooray!

Tonight we are hosting Tim's sister and bro-in-law and some others, all who could possibly be considered foodies/yuppies.  We are going to check out a new restaurant that opened about 500 feet from the apartment. 

Yesterday I was nervous about this- today I am looking forward to it. 

The apartment is clean (if not decorated), the fridge is stocked with martini olives and snob beer (Tim drank the last of our canned High Life to make room) and all the appetizer ingredients are on hand.  We're going with a veggie tray, hummus and pita, and fresh homemade salsa and guacamole.  I'm eager to get home and get to choppin'.  

Also- overwhelmed today by strong feelings of happiness and gratitude- for my friends, for my family- for my incredibly awesome man who supports all of my crazy dreams. 

Just in time for Thanksgiving. 

Let the weekend begin! 

Oh my goodness.

Tomorrow is going to be a big day- a big, nerve-wracking day.  I'm just found out that I have a job interview in the afternoon- and then my reading at night. 

On Friday night we are hosting Tim's sister and friends, which means we'll have to get the house ready tonight, not to mention think of appetizers that wont kill someone with a severe dairy allergy. 

No cheese?  I don't even think it's possible. 

It appears that I haven't yet learned my lesson about not advertising new job prospects until I actually get an offer... but this time I'm not going to let myself get caught up in the whole job thing and start thinking about how great it would be to get it and start making a crapload of money.  I wont start thinking about all the cool things I'm going to buy- like a new phone, exotic vacations, fireplace tools, awesome Christmas gifts, an herb garden, a file cabinet for my studio...etc.

Not to mention a closet full of nice clothes so that when occasions like this arise, I won't have to worry about not having anything appropriate to wear. 

I got absolutely nothing accomplished last night- besides building up Norune Village in Dark Cloud, which I played for 3 hours.  I am now beginning to understand why my mean ex-boyfriend took my last Playstation 2 away from me. 

I'm glad I put the reading stuff up on facebook- I got some warm-fuzzies from writing friends that were definitely needed. And while I'm on the topic of writing- that thing pictured is a TUIT.  They are tokens to remind you of something you've been meaning to do whenever you get around to it.  It's in my jacket pocket and every time I reach in there and touch it, I think, "Shit! I have to finish that damn novel."  Very annoying. 

Anyway- send me some positive energy tomorrow if you have any at all to spare. 

Right now I am eerily calm... but there is always the possibility that come tomorrow I will completely FREAK OUT. 

Either way I have my eye on 8 p.m., when everything will be over- and I can have a cocktail. 

No Promises

Time seems to be slipping by so quickly ever since we changed the clocks.  This weekend flew.

There are no new developments in my life.

I just ate an apple and hated every minute of it.  I have gained six pounds since the move.  Six!  I have been a lucky bastard for the past four years when it comes to my weight, but now I suppose I'll have to start watching what I eat- and cursing at Denise Austin as I work out to her DVDs.

Tim has gained weight as well.  He thinks the scale needs to be calibrated. 

We are thinking about attending a destination wedding in Jamaica at the end of January- and it's my sole motivation at this point. 

In my writing life I am preparing for the reading I am doing on Thursday night.  I timed the piece I wanted to read- and it is exactly 5 minutes and 3 seconds.  A sure sign that its the story I'm supposed to present.  Preparation also included a little shameless self-promotion on Facebook- and Pinterest.  Linked-In and Twitter are going to get it as well.

Now, more importantly, what am I going to wear?

It totally isn't a big deal, but I am already starting to get nervous.  Add to that the fact that I know I'm going to see a certain man... a certain very creative, passionate, brilliant, not to mention gorgeous (and very married) man, who the universe keeps putting in my path despite all efforts to avoid him.

I would never do anything to jeopardize what I have with Tim, but I don't really appreciate being tempted either.  Last week I received a date invite by a cute guy from the work-world that I obviously had to decline.  I asked my co-worker to send him a work-related email on my behalf and explained the situation to her.  She suggested that I wear a promise ring to avoid situations like this.  A promise ring.  A promise ring???

Umm...I believe I'm old enough for a diamond.  And I'm certainly not in any rush- I am loving this time to enjoy my current situation- but I'm not wearing any goddamn high school promise ring.  Eff that.  Eff that ten million times.  I am still technically single.  Hence my holiday policy: until I have official in-laws to worry about- I'll be celebrating Thanksgiving and Christmas with my family. 

That actually sounds kinda bitchy...probably why I am still single. Ha!

Tonight: Probably going to spend 3-4 hours playing games from the year 2000 on Tim's old Playstation 2- a new addition to my studio and probably the worst idea ever.  Dark Cloud, bitches!

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts...

Last night I met the bride-to-be who drove all the way from Northeast Philly to pick up the cheesesteak cufflinks.  It was the last thing on her to-do list before tonight's rehearsal dinner and Saturday's wedding.

This girl was so cute- and she looked so happy.  She told me that she was going to give her groom the cufflinks at the rehearsal dinner, "so that everyone can see them."  She also promised that she would get her photographer to take a picture for me. 

I'm a little over-emotional as it is these days, but the whole encounter just made me want to cry. I felt so blessed to be a part of this woman's happiness.  I couldn't believe that a stranger would want to incorporate something I made into such a special day.  I gave her a discount for driving all the way down here to pick them up, but I felt terribly guilty even charging her at all.  I really am the shittiest businesswoman on the planet. 

Afterwards I made pepper steak for dinner.  When I make things for the first time I am always shocked when they come out right.  Halfway through the simmer I was like, "Oh my god! the house smells like my mom's does when she makes pepper steak!"

I don't even like pepper steak- but it tasted right.  I'm trying to make healthy meals so I don't get fat because I'm living with a boy.  We decided that we are going to start walking after dinner, but last night walked directly to Haagen Daz...

Oh well.  Other than the addition of a couple of extra pounds, living together is wonderful.

Tim cracked a couple ribs playing football last week and ever since then he's been holding his hand over his heart like the pledge of allegiance whenever he laughs.  It sucks that it hurts him, but it has really made me notice how often we laugh.

Also- I've been trying so hard to keep my opinions on this whole Penn State scandal to myself (even though I have the perspective of someone who works at a University) and I do feel really horrible for the victims (of course) and even some of my cousins and other family members who worship at the altar of Penn State football. 

This is horrible, but every time I hear the name Joe Paterno I think of the obscure reference to him in the 1994 film version of Friday Night Lights, when Boobie Miles goes to the doctor and the doctor is from Penn, but Boobie Miles is all, "Ooooo Joe Paterno" and the doctor is all, "no, that's Penn State."

Great fucking movie.  Boobie Miles!  What a name. 

Please Mr. Postman

Is there anything better in the world than getting fun mail?  Thank you notes, invitations, pictures of babies- I love it all.  Something about having the front of the fridge full of save-the-dates and the like just makes me happy. 

Yesterday I got the best kind of fun mail- information about the upcoming session of the group and a note from James.

"The days run away like wild horses over the hills" (Bukowski)

It made my heart skip a beat.  I have been waiting for this.  I have work to do.  I have deadlines.  I have...nothing written and no good ideas! 

But it's back-to-work-time and I feel alive again. 

Also: Cheesesteak cufflinks I baked up last night for the stranger-bride's wedding this weekend: 

But, since you already follow @PhillyIsrut, you already know this. 

Next Deadline: January 9

Why Eagles Why

Well, the Eagles are playing like shit and my fantasy team sucks.  Thanks a lot, Tony Homo. 

Oh well.  There are better things on the horizon.  Thanksgiving- and the long weekend that accompanies it, for one.  Since I now have a real kitchen, I am making this year's batch of my favorite side dish: spinach casserole. 

Sounds healthy doesn't it?

Ingredients: 8 blocks frozen spinach, 1 block sharp cheddar cheese, 2 bigass containers of sour cream and 2 envelopes of onion soup mix.  (cook spinach in water, drain well, combine ingredients- bake at 325 for 20 minutes, stirring halfway through). 

It's so effing bad for you, but it is delicious enough to use as a dip for chips.  

What else?  The weekend was good.  Double dates and family functions.  A stranger approached me and absolutely raved about the chapter of the book I have online.  Tim was standing next to me at the time. 

When I got home I was a little tipsy and started rambling to him about all the things I'm gonna do: make the little clay business legitimate, make more things, maybe take an art class at this little art school that opened around the corner, get another master's degree...an academic one from here or maybe just bite the bullet and get an MFA somewhere else...go back to the group, maybe just take a random undergrad course for the hell of it...I'm thinking linguistics would be interesting...

And he stopped at me and said, "Jesus Christ! Finish your fucking book!"

And then he proceeded to point out all the times that people wanted to help me get it published- but I wouldn't give them the manuscript because "It isn't finished yet."

He's right- that bastard.

So I spent the last two days crafting a query letter to this old man agent that James (my mentor) thinks will take a liking to my style (and because I generally get along really well with old dudes.) It's another step in the right direction.


Tonight: I must finish a pair of cheesesteak cufflinks that a bride is giving to her fiance.  She is a stranger, so that is exciting.  She is going to meet up with me before her rehearsal dinner, which sounds a little crazy to me.  Is she thinking this guy is going to wear them at the wedding?  I have half a mind to stop her.  It feels like too much of an honor to have this guy wearing my cheesesteaks while he gets married. 

Meanwhile: My heart is heavy with sad news- but again, a story that isn't mine to share- although it sort of explains the lack of recent blog posts. It's hard to write this pointless drivel when I have real shit on my mind. 


Elsewhere: Twitter is amazing.  Pinterest is interesting.  Both are Isrut-approved. 

A counter-offer

Here's a little something I'm pondering.

I have a writing thing coming up- a short reading, 5 minutes- of something in the first person.

I just got confirmation and details today, so I came home and started digging through my writing stuff looking for the story that I imagined I would read at this thing.

I found my files and pulled them out of the closet- only they weren't my files.  They were empty- empty file folders and some old shit.

I don't know where else the files could be.  They are the past two years of my work- and while I have a million different versions and copies of everything I write on the computer- the files have all the handwritten comments of all the brilliant writers in the group- and I need them.  Especially if I'm going to be reading something in front of a crowd.

So, I cant find the story I was planning to read.  I kept imagining it as the only first-person story I've written, because I've been falling out of love with first person.  And then I started thinking that the story is kind of safe, and cute- and feel-goody, and that it doesn't really represent my writing.  It would be very easy.  General nervousness aside, I feel pretty comfortable with the idea of reading that story at an event, which isn't really a good thing. 

And then it hit me.  Somehow I forgot that I have a whole book of stories written in first person. And that maybe I was asked to read at this thing because the guy wants something similar to what I read at the last one. 

So, there is Option A: read the cute and easy story that has no balls to it whatsoever.

or

Option B: read an excerpt from one of the chapters in the novel. 

This particular chapter is not going to be easy to read in public. There is the f-word.  There are drugs.  There is a rather brutal and graphically-described rape scene...and the word penis appears about 65 times.  It's angry- it's gritty- and it's raw as hell.  It has a comical storyline that runs alongside it- but it is the darkest chapter in the book. 

I've asked a couple people for their take on this...and I may call the guy who runs it too, to find out what kind of audience is going to be there.  I don't want to traumatize kids or anything like that. But I think that it needs to be done, even if it doesn't suit their tastes, even if people hate it, even if people tell me it sucks. This is the way I write.  I'm at the point now where nothing is going to change it.  I just have to stand up with it without wimping out. 

Yeah.

Thanks for the listen.  It helped.  I think I'm going with Option B.  Kicking your ass and collecting the $200.