Blog de la Isrut

Uh...writing?

2012-02-02T00:14:00.000-05:00

So much writing. Holy shit.

Today was a really good day at work. There is a new head honcho- and I got to meet with her to talk about my job and my career trajectory and all this stuff. She is awesome. There are very powerful women all over the place over there. This is horrible, but I had to stop myself from tearing up when I was talking to her. I am very grateful to have this job. I was actually having fun doing the work today. I hope it lasts...

When I told her I write fiction she asked if I would be willing to share anything with her. And I said- absolutely. I'm going to give her a story or two- and I'm not going to change or clean them up at all. Whatever is in there is in there. To me that is a far better measure of progress than even getting paid to write- just unapologetically owning my stuff and putting it out there. (Although I did kind of already apologize/warn her that it isn't safe for work'). Oh well. I'm still giving it to her...on Friday, after I triple check it for typos.

Also writing a new chapter- but that is kind of fading away into this other pain in the ass fucker of a story that keeps popping up in my head. It wants to be presented on February 13 to the group, but I would rather live my life. This story has always been there, but I never wanted to write it. I just don't want to go there. But I have to, because I have a deadline- and I am finally starting to get ideas, and more importantly - pages.

Writing begets writing. Or any kind of art, and I got to see some beautiful music tonight at World Cafe Live. My friend had an extra ticket to Kathleen Edwards. It occurred to me that I rarely go out to see women perform- and I need to do it more often.

And now its time for sleeping.

Wine is Wonderful

2012-02-01T23:31:00.000-05:00

Why have I been mad at it for so long? It's actually quite helpful.

Now that I write this from this place, I can almost guarantee that none of my future blog posts will be written while sober, so why not this one, after a very long day and a few glasses of wine?

Sometimes the writer's group leaves me exhausted and sometimes it leaves me energized. Tonight it's the latter. It can only be a good thing to have these people around me. I can imagine how lost I would be without them.

The weekend was good. I stayed home on Friday night, which I thought I deserved after a week of the utter adultness that is my new job. I stayed at work for an extra couple of hours and then I came home and made soup. My friend had a baby. Mexican food is probably not the best choice for someone who just had a baby, but I left out the cayenne. I had visions of baked ziti or lasagne, but I tested them and I realized that I just suck balls at making Italian food. I used to have the touch, but it left me. My late grandmother must be displeased with some aspect of my life. She is haunting the shit out of my meatballs.

Saturday was particularly amazing. Tim and I went to see Gobblesmom and her new baby girl. She is adorable- and so impossibly tiny. I'm so glad I got to meet her. Little Gobbles came right over to Tim to give him a hug. I nearly died. Little kids always engage with him right away.... But Gobbles said my name! And he called me by my last name which just cracked me up. He looked up at me for the briefest moment, so shy- and said, "Goodbye, Isrut." My heart was broken into a million pieces.

And then we went to a Beef and Beer for my pseudo-cousin, who is really sick. It was such an awesome event. It was packed- probably about 500 or 600 people came out to support him. The whole night just restored my faith in humanity and all that is good and pure in this world. My family was pretty well-represented and my buddy Sue came out, which was awesome since I've only seen her a handful of times since Oktoberfest. My rock n roll boys were there, gradeschool people, old co-workers - all kinds of randos.

The weirdest part was seeing Tim's old roommate, who we basically hang out with every weekend, talking to my pseudo Uncle. I was all, "Why are you here? Why are you talking to my Uncle?" and he was all, "No... that's my Uncle." It was oddly incestuous.

Here's a short story: Back in high school, my sister's friends were setting her up on a blind date. They had a polaroid of the guy, but they wouldn't let me see it. I had to wrestle her for it- and she's lucky I did, because it was our second cousin George. I only ever met him because I was in a youth group with Spoony. My family is too big to do second cousins. So the moral of the story is: beware- anyone you meet in Delco could be your cousin.

I ran into one of my homeless buddies from Rittenhouse on the subway this morning. Ray Lewis! He is alive and well. Even this city is a small world.

Stuff

2012-01-26T23:29:00.000-05:00

I haven't looked forward to a weekend this much in a long time. I feel exhausted physically and mentally.

Work is going great so far and I am acclimating. It is very serious business and a lot more like my first job out of college than my last job. Numbers, money, VIPs...business time. I rather like it. I have so far succeeded in arriving early every day and dressing professionally. I have a buddy who is joining me in this semi-new-year resolution, which helps. I hope it lasts much longer than I was able to keep my copybooks neat at the beginning of the school year.

I am writing for the first time in a long time, a brand new chapter of the novel. This chapter will precede the one I read at my last reading and I hope to submit both to the group...next week. I also did some restructuring of the whole outline and I think I have a much firmer grasp on the actual plot, which I suppose is important.

Right now I am reading Steven King's On Writing. I have never actually read any of his work, but I like his advice. It is the lecture I need to hear every once in a while.

Update- the author I planned to stalk on Christmas Eve accepted my friend request and sent me a nice note and the following list of recommended books:

Blueprints for Building Better Girls by Elissa Schappel
Other People We Married by Emma Straub
Vaclav and Lena by Haley Tanner; Use Me by Elissa Schappel
God of Animals by Aryn Kyle

Side note: twice in the past week Facebook stopped my heart. The first one: "People You May Know": How does it know who I fell in love with in Wildwood when I was nine? The other was a dramatic change in relationship status. My life doesn't need this stuff. I'm thinking about that a lot as I go back to the book.

There is a rape scene in the book- and all the character does to set this in motion is start thinking bad thoughts, click a few buttons and type two seemingly harmless words. It's fucking scary how easy technology makes it to change (or lose) everything in your life.

My computer is beginning to sound like a helicopter about to take off, so I'm putting it to bed. I came here to write about the singing boy, but we havent gotten there yet. A post for another day.

Goodnight!

The end of a very long day

2012-01-23T23:46:00.000-05:00

First day on the job. It was good. Then I went to the writer's group-also good. My brain is possibly a bit fried at the moment, so please forgive me for the writing if I even actually publish this. Captain Caveman is writing this.

I am glad that the group and this new job are happening at the same time. Tonight I was asked to move up to next week, which means a deadline of this friday, which means I will have to submit something already written- which means submitting chapters of the book.

So now I must re-visit, re-write and basically re-live 7,500 words of my novel by Friday at 4 o'clock.

The novel...the goddamn novel that will not go away.

Part of the reason I am writing this post is because this blog is supposed to be about my journey of writing this book.

I wont be writing this during the day, so this blog will change, inevitably. The perspective of my studio is much different than the place these entries normally come from.

Also I see having this new job as my opportunity to start working really hard, both in my career and with my writing. And that means writing here at night no matter how long the day was, no matter how tired I am, no matter how many explosions I hear coming from the TV downstairs- even if it only amounts to a rambling post on this blog.

I feel good today. I didn't freak out about the job. It seems weird to be proud of that. I think it really helped that I woke up yesterday to really great news. One of my best girls had a baby- the first girl in our whole group. I was very distracted all day thinking about my friend. Knowing that a new job is nothing compared to the complete mindfuck (sorry) that having a baby- a new person to love for your whole life, who will change your whole life- and giving birth and everything, all in one day- could possibly be. It made a new job seem like piece of cake. So thanks, Gobblesmom! I can't wait to meet this little one and watch her grow up because the women in her family are all very special and cool and awesome in their own ways.

That brings the number of preggo people I love down to three. Three more adorable people coming very soon! Make room on the wall of babies!

I must sleep. To publish post or not publish post?

publish post.

Peace!

2012-01-19T13:28:00.000-05:00

Well, here I am in the very last week of this job. Yesterday, the girls gave me a very nice card, a pretty journal and pen from the University Museum, a good luck bamboo plant- and a big ass bag of M&Ms for my M&M man.

I have worked here for the longest, strangest, worst -and in some ways, the best four years of my life.

When I had my first interview here, I remember slipping my engagement ring into my pocket. On my first week on the job, my ex called off our wedding. Not only was I completely devastated, but also faced with the prospect of carrying the weight of the rent and the bills by myself- while suddenly making a lot less money.

I was a complete mess for a long time. I would walk home every day, linger over the bridge- and cry my eyes out. I was so self-destructive during that period... a few bad things happened- but good things happened too. I met a lot of really cool people and put myself in a lot of interesting situations during my phase of not-giving-a-shit.

In time I got stronger. My friends and family lifted me up. People surprised me. I hung out with my rock n roll boys and my karaoke boys. I made my own friends in the city. I went on dates. I wrote my book. I graduated from school. I went back to Europe. I joined the RWG and kept getting closer and closer to being a writer. And then, most importantly, I met Tim. Even though I was sure it was impossible, I fell in love again despite everything.

Since I have already left my old apartment, this job is the only aspect of my life that still ties me to that whole dark period. I have always kinda viewed taking this job as a mistake...but now I think that I needed this low paying, but low-stress gig while I was healing and rebuilding my life. It allowed me leftover energy to use for writing and sculpey - and being social- and I needed to do all those things to get better. In terms of my actual career, maybe this job is finally becoming the stepping stone I hoped it would be all along.

I have the sense that these past four years were a cocoon to get me from one life to another.

Either way, I am ready to leave everything, everything, everything about all of it finally behind me.

It's been real, folks. But me and my M&M man are movin' on- and we aren't looking back.

Onward into the future!

Swamp Robbery

2012-01-17T13:32:00.000-05:00

My sister's apartment got robbed over the weekend. This is my older sister, who lives in a swamp near the airport and thinks its ridiculous that I prefer to live in the city when I can get a huge swamp apartment for the same rent.

Here is what happened according to her:

She and her boyfriend have just returned from 'Jam Cruise' aka spending six days dancing on a boat with 3000 other dirty hippies. They are tired. They are cruise-ship sick (she claims an impossible 106 degree fever) and they are, needless to say, a little out of it.

She goes to my parents house to retrieve her cat and when she gets back to the apartment, has a ton of stuff to carry inside, like her luggage and all of the "cat's crap." So she leaves her car unlocked- with her pocketbook inside.

The next morning- she goes out to her car to find that her pocketbook is gone. And so is her boyfriends wallet, which was inside their apartment- and his car keys, also inside the apartment. They look outside to discover that his car was stolen as well.

To me, this story sounds seriously shady. If the robber already had the keys to her car, why break in to their apartment just to steal keys to a different car?   I found it odd, but the police have since recovered the car and caught the guy, so it all worked out.

It's pretty creepy that criminals were in their apartment while they were asleep and my sister is rightfully freaked out. So her brilliant solution to all this? Get a puppy.

Not a big dog that can actually protect her- but a puppy that will wake them up the next time someone is in their house, even though she recognizes that it is probably a good thing that they didn't wake up to confront the guy.

Christ. She drives me nuts. She offered the whole "getting sick" explanation as to why she left her pocketbook in the car- but that move is so typical of her. That woman has gone through more pocketbooks than Paris Hilton.

"Dude, you wont believe this. I get to the bar and put my pocketbook down, come back four hours later and it's gone- can you believe that? Someone stole my pocketbook!"

It has always been that way with her.   She is just one of those people who is always in the midst of a disaster. By the way, this cat is one that she found under a parked car in the street a few years ago. We have never been pet people, but she and her boyfriend at the time brought the cat in. I got a call the next day:

"We found this half-dead cat outside and decided to save it...the poor thing was so hungry it ate 2 cans of food. I think it has fleas and worms... By the way, I'm going to Vegas for a week, so can you watch my new cat?"

This whole thing started with the stupid cat- now she wants to fix it with a dog. She is fucking insane. I spend so much energy worrying about her. My poor parents- I can't even imagine...

Anyway- that was the big excitement of the weekend. I am just glad that they're ok. As for me, I had a very chill and relaxing weekend. I stayed home and organized my closet, did a little shopping (finally got those shoes- on sale) and had lunch with my cousins and my grandmother, all in between reading, writing and doing my critiques for the group. It was a wonderful 3-day weekend.

The following is tonight's agenda:

2012-01-11T12:38:00.000-05:00

Monthly insanity has briefly returned. Some enraged psychopath nearly drove my bedmate to sleep on the floor, or the couch last night. Finally sleep came but I woke up so angry - my first thought of the morning was, "God Damnit! Stop mailing potatoes to my house!" The psychosis is often accompanied by strange and vivid dreams...

In culinary news, I've been on a soup kick lately. Chicken tortilla over the weekend, and last night- a Tuscan style white bean soup of my own invention with sausage, ditalini and spinach. It came out surprisingly good.

(Soup de la Isrut)

Yesterday at work I interviewed a potential candidate to fill my job. Not sure why I need to be involved in this process, but whatever. Girl said, "I wanted to ask you about the culture of the office, but I can see that it's pretty casual."

I said, "Oh, I don't usually wear sneakers...there is something wrong with my foot."

Complete and utter bullshit. Desperately need new shoes for the new job- absolutely dreading it. I despise shopping for shoes. I think it goes back to the time at Buster Brown's when the salesman terrorized me with a balloon.

Also- the Writers Group started again on Monday. It was my Christmas present from my very supportive boyfriend. It's going to keep me fairly busy for the next 8-9 weeks.

For the past couple of months I have been wracking my brain trying to come up with a new story idea. I wanted to have something ready so that I'm not scrambling before the deadline, like I usually am. I couldn't come up with anything- at all.

After one night of being back in the group- I suddenly know exactly what I need to write about. There have been signs all over the place. I need to dip into the treasure trove of trauma that was my Catholic School experience when I was a kid. There are images that I need to get out of my head and down onto the paper. It isn't going to be fun. I don't know why it took so long for it to strike me... I wish I understood more about my own process.

I'm so happy to be writing again. It's time to put my new studio to work.

Next Deadline: February 11.

P.S. Would you like to meet the newest member of the Isrut Family Zoo? Check out my newest giraffe- a gift from my good friend Sarah, professor, coach, yoga instructor, momma of both an inside and an outside baby- and author of this blog. A big thank you to Sarah- and a warm welcome to Boris.

(Boris)

The Garnet and Gray

2012-01-09T15:48:00.000-05:00

I took a day off on Friday, so I wasn't at the ready to blog when some big news broke in my hometown: The Archdiocese is closing my alma mater- and a lot of other schools.

My high school was an all-girls Catholic School seated high on a hill, where on clear days you could see the skyline of Philadelphia. Mostly all of the women in my family went to this institution- my mother, aunts, my sisters- and most of my little-girl cousins. They are closing our brother school as well, the all-boys school that shared the campus, the hill, the skyline, the trolley stop.

I wasnt surprised by the news, but I was surprised by the depth of my sadness. I'm not big on "old shit" but the tears did come when I turned on the local news and saw current students in those familiar uniforms crying and consoling each other.

It's very sad for the kids who will have their high school experience interrupted like this. High school is hard enough already. I feel for the teachers too, many of whom considered teaching in a Catholic School a sacrifice. Now they are being rewarded for it by losing their jobs in a tough economy.

It's very sad.

Not surprisingly, alums are up in arms- planning all kinds of protests and petitions to save the school. But we have already learned the hard way that these efforts will be in vain. I can mourn- but I cant join the fight. If I did I would be a hypocrite.

I had never contributed to the place as an alum and I never planned on sending my future children there if it could have been avoided.

These days I am still a huge proponent of single-sex education. I believe that it helped me find my voice and my self. They did everything right- except the education part.

I never knew it at the time, but it wasn't a good school. Looking back, I wish it would have been more challenging. I remember struggling my freshman year of college- trying to write a program in javascript that would draw a snowman. All of my classmates had taken programming in high school- in our school- Mavis Beacon taught us how to type.

Creatively inclined kids at our school could take a generic class called "Art." Some public schools have photography, printmaking, ceramics, painting, drawing, metals- you name it.

Same thing with languages. I was the only kid in my Intro to Italian classes in college to never have taken the course in high school. Where I came from, "intro" meant you never took it before...go figure.

They claim they are closing the schools so that they can improve the quality of Catholic education in our area. I have my doubts, but I sincerely hope that this is true. Education is what is most important to equip these children- not traditions or legacies - not uniforms or rings or old buildings with sagging slate steps worn down over the years by tens of thousands of women.

Nostalgia isn't enough to make me join the campaign. I will miss seeing that building as I drive by it- but that isn't a good enough reason for hundreds of kids to have a shitty education. I don't even drive by it all that often. I have moved away, like so many other alums.

For me, the best thing about that place was the people. My girls. My girls who are still my girls even after more than a decade. I met some of my best friends there. Some of my most favorite people on the planet.

I got to see some of them on Saturday night at a very impromptu gathering at my house. We planned on grabbing a quick drink at my house before heading to the bar- but then we just stayed around drinking, eating and yes, laughing at old scrapbooks of our high school days.

For the first time since the move- I am glad I didn't throw them out.

It made me realize what was really important, even more so than the memories, which mean less and less as the years go by. The only thing that matters is that we have each other. Knock the building to the ground- burn down the entirety of Delco- I don't care. Just leave me the people I love.

Remember ladies, in US traditions live.

Happy New Year

2012-01-04T15:41:00.000-05:00

Well, I'm back. It was a wonderful holiday, despite the awful cold I had for about five days of it. In retrospect, the cold kept me from doing what I usually do over the break: shopping, drinking and finding other ways to spend money.

But now its over- and it's back to reality, a temporary one this time since I have only a few weeks left here before I start my fancy new job.

Speaking of the new job- I must send this out into the universe: Thank you!

I announced my news on Facebook and over 60 people "liked" it and sent me congratulatory comments. I am so overwhelmed and grateful that I have so many wonderfully supportive people in my life.

And one more thing- thank you so much to those of you who sent Christmas cards. I am a lazy bastard and neglected to do them this year. I love and treasure the ones I recieved though, and I put them all up on the Wall of Babies. I love all the babies on the Wall of Babies!

To summarize the break, we spent a lot of time partying with family and friends in Delco. I did not get to meet the author I was planning on stalking at the Christmas Eve party, but I did get a real (not kindle) copy of her book and permission from her boyfriend to stalk her via the Internet.

I got lots of kitchen stuff for Christmas- a cookbook, two Calphalon pans, a food processor, meat thermometer, giraffe salad tongs and a Rachael Ray "Casseroval."

My mother also gave me a gift basket that included two place settings of her grandmother's china- and two wine glasses that belonged to my paternal grandmother. It is really special stuff- and she cried when she gave it to me, which of course, made me cry.

I am to use these fancy dishes to celebrate special events with Tim. My mom used to tell my Dad she was pregnant with a special dinner on the good china- and I can imagine that is what she hopes I will use it for as well - someday. Before all that there will be other special occasions to celebrate- but until then, I am storing these things in the empty cabinet above the refrigerator that nobody can reach.

Apparently I am the only one inheriting the wine glasses, since my sisters are both prone to losing and breaking things. It's quite strange to have something so valuable and irreplaceable in the house. The heating system in our apartment started to make a burning smell the other day and in my initial moments of panic I did briefly think about those dishes.

That basket was definitely the gift I was most excited to receive. The gift I was most excited to give was the scrapbook I made for Tim's parents of our Ireland trip. His mom loved it- she kept using the word "awesome" over and over again. She later pulled me aside and told me how special it was and how she couldn't wait until the next day when the house was quiet and she could look at it by herself with a cup of tea.

It ended up being 40 pages long- it was a true labor of love. I am still finding little cut-up bits of paper all over the place. I never would have done that for the parents of some chump. I really do love Tim.

We rung in the New Year together at a very fancy wedding in the city with a reception that overlooked City Hall. I got my midnight kiss and the next day we went to a bunch of parties and participated in the 2 street madness. This year is already off to a great start.

I also bought myself a smart phone- so I'm hoping this will be the last post of 2012 that is totally devoid of pictures.

Happy New Year!

Aunt Helen

2011-12-23T12:00:00.000-05:00

Last night I went to a Christmas cookie exchange on the Irish side of the family. It was women-only and so nice spending time with my mom, aunts and little girl cousins.

My mom and her sisters have always told me stories about their Aunt Helen, who was actually their great aunt. She was a cool widow who always wore dresses with matching hats and gloves and hung out with Grace Kelly's brother. She was apparently very fabulous- and also crafty. She used to make these ornate beaded Christmas ornaments with velvet ribbons and all kinds of fancy stuff.

They all really loved her- and she was one of the only adults who spent time with them and took an interest in them when they were kids. After she died, the five of them (my mom and her sisters) used to pass The Aunt Helen Box of Craft Shit back and forth- and sometimes when my sister and I were little, my aunts used to let us come over to their cool apartments to hang out and make crafts, which always made us feel really special.

So last night my aunt who was hosting the party put out all kinds of pins and beads, trims, ribbons and sequins- and let all the drunken aunts and the little girls make Aunt Helen Christmas Ornaments.

It was wonderful hearing them laughing and telling stories while they worked on their ornaments. It made me so proud to be a part of them- all the awesome women in my family, who are so often dwarfed by the sheer volume of men and people.

I know the spirit of my great, great aunt was with us last night- and that she was happy.

So far it is shaping up to be a very special Christmas. A few more hours and then the real celebrations will begin. I'm going to savor every minute of the time I'll get to spend with my family and the people I love.

Friends, strangers, random lurkers who read this blog- I hope you all have a wonderful and joyous holiday with your loved ones.

Dog Days are Over

2011-12-22T15:40:00.000-05:00

I can finally announce to the world via this blog that...(drum-roll please)....I got a new job! I got a new job! I got a new job!

Yay!!!!!

I am so, so, so happy. If you have been a regular reader of this blog you know that I have been trying to make this happen for a very long time.

My current position is not that horrible- and I know that very soon I will come to miss it. I have had the benefit of working in a relatively stress-free environment for the past four years, something that I recognize is very rare. But still- it is time to move on.

I am moving to another department within the larger institution where I work. It was important to me to stay and try to build a career here. As cheesy as it sounds, I believe in this place- and at some level, even love it.

This institution does so much good- both here in Philadelphia and all around the world. It doesn't work only for money, but also for the good of humanity. That fact makes it (somewhat) easier to get out of bed everyday and come to work. Not to mention how much this place has helped me personally. I needed its help to reach my own goals, and I am fully convinced that I couldn't have done that without it. My degree is not worth half as much as the confidence I gained as a student here. It has helped me take what was once a dream and make it a concrete reality. Four years ago I wanted to be a writer- and this place has made me into one.

For the longest time I have said that my goal is to get paid to write. Now I will need to set a new goal. Starting sometime in mid-January, after our wonderful 9 day vacation- I will be an official professional writer.

"Her dream had come true- she was a folk sing-er"

2011-12-20T15:31:00.000-05:00

Oh my goodness. My poor blog.

You may have noticed that I deleted my most recent post- too sensitive a subject- and things are happening in that department, so blog-integrity be damned, the fact that that post was out there was keeping me up at night.

Anyway this past weekend my man flew home on Saturday night and we had a little birthday celebration for him. I got him the Playstation move bundle, but also made him a handmade birthday card featuring our favorite Family Guy character, the genetically mutated pig:

Special thanks to the Bag Lady for printing him out and bringing him to the Gallery for me.

Then, a naughty schoolgirl came downstairs with a birthday cake in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. Am I the world's best girlfriend or what? My cake decorating skills definitely leave a lot to be desired though... was told the cake looked like genetically mutated pig barfed on it.

Shortly thereafter we got a phone call that some friends were in town, so off we went to meet them - at a club. I am always so fascinated that these clubs even exist- who knew they were even there and that there is this whole other world going on inside them?

I generally avoid South Street even though we live so close to it. After midnight it is a shit-show. As we were leaving my friend decided to inform some little hoochie that her "vagina was out earlier!" so I had to assist in keeping a brawl from breaking out.

Then we went to another club where we were the only white people in the place. We received not a sideways glance- but did get patted down like we were getting on an airplane. I danced and danced and was reassured that black guys are still fans of my butt.

Around 3 a.m. we came home, put on Christmas music, slow danced in the living room and decorated the Christmas tree. It was the most random night I've had since moving to the new apartment.

The next day a buddy came over to give me Christmas party supplies and watch the Eagles win. All in all, an awesome weekend.

This week is crazy and jam-packed with functions. I am almost ready, but really regretting promising my uncle a pair of custom kaiser roll cufflinks- and also my very cute idea to make Tim's parents a scrapbook of Ireland. What the hell was I thinking?

I'm also supposed to bake 14 dozen cookies for Thursday night's family cookie exchange...

And speaking of cookies- I have been eating them for at least one meal a day for the past week.

I decided that I'm taking a temporary hiatus from this whole diet thing. Eff that- it's Christmas.

Anyway, this post might seem like too much information, but I really am holding back. I am hoping that in the next couple of days I will have big and happy news to share.

Until then,

Something Sexy

2011-12-07T19:39:00.000-05:00

I found out last night that since my man's travel plans for this week have changed, I will have to accompany him to his company Christmas party held at his boss's house this Sunday.

Needless to say, I am pretty nervous about it. Social situations like this are not my forte. My darling also works with a bunch of men- and he, (I assume), wants all these men to respect him. Flattered though I am that he is bringing me to an event like this, I was told to "wear something sexy."

No pressure or anything.

I went out at lunch today and bought a shiny little red cocktail dress. Will it be too much? Probably. Will I end up wimping out and wearing something frumpy and end up being under-dressed? Probably. Which is better? Being over or under? Since I am always terrified of being over, I have many, many times been under.

Either way, I'm not really looking forward to being judged by a bunch of nerds while also having to miss part of the Eagles game.

Something else I'm not looking forward to: Getting our photo taken in front of a holiday scene for our office Christmas cards tomorrow. I was just sent an email: "Reminder: wear festive, colorful clothing."

Reminder: kill yourself before tomorrow.

What else? Things in the food department haven't been so great lately. Trying to diet has sort of sucked all the joy out of cooking. Tuesday's pork roast-utter disaster. Last night's attempt to make a healthy version of chicken quesadillas (and to use up leftover tortillas- thrifty!) went to hell after I realized that I only had one leftover tortilla. We ended up having nachos. I did, however, master the technique of caramelizing onions. Caramelized onions are now my bitch.

One more thing about food. After I got the dress I only had 5 minutes to grab something for lunch. Went to Cosi and got a sandwich- and they asked me if I wanted carrots or chips. Instinct took over and I said chips. Then I walked all the way back to the office in the rain thinking about god damn it- I should have said carrots. I don't even like the chips there... but I will eat them anyway. If I know I'm trying to eat better I should have said carrots and all this. Then I finally got back to work and opened the bag and there were no chips and I was pissed. It did not occur to me until just now as I am writing this that I should have been happy they forgot the chips.

So, yes...my gratitude about the chips.

Update: Showed Tim the dress. It is too much. Must return it. Feeling stupid for interpreting "something sexy" as something so chiche as a red satin cocktail dress. Whomp whomp. I'm going to wear a sweater dress with tights and boots. Next time will ask one of my stylists- or my momma.

Mutombo is wearing a ruched cocktail dress in red.
(Dress is not actually as short as seen on Mutombo.)

2011-12-06T14:39:00.000-05:00

That was probably the last relaxing weekend of the season before the holiday bustle starts.

I'm going to do my best to enjoy it again this year. That means getting shit done before the last minute. That would be a great Christmas present to myself if I can swing it.

I keep wavering on whether or not to get a Christmas tree...we have a fireplace, so it kind of seems like we need one. Although- most of my holiday decorations didn't survive the move, so I'll have to start over again. To decorate or not to decorate?

Should we have a Christmas party or just go to a bunch of them? I need sparkly dresses.

I'm making a homemade gift this year: a scrapbook of our Ireland trip for Tim's parents. I used to be the biggest scrapbooker of all time, but I don't think I've done it since high school. Tim brought me over to AC Moore before football on Sunday so I could get some supplies in addition to the tons of crap I already have in my craft box. I got my pictures printed awhile ago and I saved all kinds of maps, pamphlets and ticket stubs from the trip. I was so excited to get started. Six hours later I remembered how much of a pain in the ass it is and how much of a mess it makes. I only hope they like it and that it doesn't end up looking like a teenager made it.

In reading news- I spent my morning commute yesterday all wrapped up in the first chapter of The Wind Up Bird Chronicle following a mini kindle shopping spree on Sunday night. I went outside at lunch so that I could read on the step and I discovered that my Kindle was smashed. I was so very sad as I am pretty damn attached to it.

Thankfully, they all come with a one-year warranty so I called Amazon and they agreed to replace it for free. Thank God. Catastrophe averted. In the meantime I am reading an old-school book: The Fran Lebowitz Reader- a gift from my best friend Spoony!

Tim's birthday is next week. I have a plan but it requires me to lose 5 pounds. I am now realizing that I have picked the absolute worst time of the year to try to lose 5 pounds.

Here is a game we invented on Saturday night.

Trivial Pursuit: Drinking Edition

For each wrong answer - drink

Opponent gets a 'roll again' - drink

Opponent gets a wedge - drink half a shot of tequila

I got my ass kicked.

Vacation Countdown: 18 days.

Santa, if you're listening- I need a protective case for my kindle.

Mucho Rejecto

2011-12-01T15:45:00.000-05:00

I'm starting to get used to rejection. I heard from the woman who interviewed me about the job yesterday...they "decided to go in a different direction." Why don't I consider applying for this other job that's about to be posted? GOD- will this cycle of apply-interview-get rejected never end?

Also got another rejection letter from the literary mag I've been targeting. I gave them the first chapter of the novel as a short story. I consider it my strongest, most workshop-ed, most edited and complete piece. Rejected!

Meanwhile I found out that someone from my program just got a book published. It's a cookbook for dogs. As much as I would love the graciousness to be happy for other people...a cookbook for dogs? I'm sorry, but if you have enough spare time on your hands to cook fancy meals for an animal that would rather eat its own shit- your life is just sad.

What else? A childhood friend who grew up down the street from me is now a choreographer. I've been following his progress via facebook for awhile and he just had a big show. I decided to drop him a little note of congratulations, along with wishes that former kids from our little town would eventually take over the arts world. He responded and said that he loves my sculpey stuff and remembers playing with it at my kitchen table when we were kids.

I felt the need to respond again- saying that sculpey is just a hobby. I am writer. I am novelist of unpublished novel. It was sort of a pathetic moment.

Here are some things I hate on Pinterest: Owls. The Elf on the Shelf. Inspirational Quotes...except this one:

Continued: People who like Tim Tebow for no reason other than the fact he likes Jebus. People who want to "organize the fridge." Dude- if it has food in it- it is organized. Get a friggin life. Also- Keep Calm and Carry On. Why? What is that? Why is it everywhere?

In other news...this place. The thermostat that people keep touching despite my passive-aggressive "do not touch" sign. The person who leaves me pamphlets from the 1980s about how to quit smoking even though she is the person who loudly coughs and clears her throat all day. The person who sent a smug, self-righteous email about the difference between "principle" and "principal." I hope you feel good about yourself. (As a professional editor- I never correct people's grammar or spelling. Although I did ask the owner of one of our favorite new restaurants, "what's a buscuit? Is it a special kind of biscuit?" And he was all, "Oh shit- it says buscuits?")

I am amazed at people's tolerance of my huffs and puffs, my slamming down of the phone, my curt one-word answers. I have reached a new and dangerous level of completely not giving a fuck.

This is me on a bad PMDD month- with four days to go.

Tim: Are there supposed to be tails on the shrimp?

Me: The tails give it more flavor. Would you like to go back in time and ask the Italian person who invented shrimp fra diavalo? Would you like to start making dinner every night?

I am so depressed and angry today. Life is so good, so beautiful- I must keep reminding myself this isn't real- just chemicals. Just a deficiency of serotonin. Just a temporary thing.

If I ever emerge from this seemingly unvanquishable darkness, I'll be back.

Stupid blog!

2011-11-28T15:57:00.000-05:00

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

2011-11-18T15:27:00.000-05:00

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.

2011-11-16T14:33:00.000-05:00

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

2011-11-15T16:32:00.000-05:00

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...

2011-11-10T17:00:00.000-05:00

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

2011-11-09T16:36:00.000-05:00

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

2011-11-08T15:53:00.000-05:00

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

2011-11-03T10:57:00.000-04:00

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.

Serves 16 people...or one floor

2011-10-31T16:41:00.000-04:00

I cant believe it's October 31st. It just isn't halloween without the weeks of crafting frustration that goes with making a homemade costume.

I decided I was going to skip halloween this year- and now I am regretting it. I went to the grocery store at lunch in the hopes of finding a pumpkin to carve up during the football game tonight, but they are all gone. The store is full of Christmas crap!

I'm going to look for one on the way home...and maybe some apple cider...and some rum.

If I didn't already eat all the candy that I got for potential trick-or-treaters, I might have been in the market for an on-sale slutty schoolgirl costume just to have in the closet, but it doesn't look like this will be the year.

I was bad this weekend. I did a lot of crap-eating and beer-chugging in Manayunk on Saturday night and then had a southern feast on hand for the Eagles game last night.

I made about ten pounds of pulled pork, potato salad, cornbread muffins and baked beans. I was so excited about the beans. I used this recipe, which supposedly feeds 16 people. So what if I was only having 7 people over? They came out awesome. (Actually I substituted ketchup for the bbq sauce, because I love ketchup and that's how my momma makes them- and I put fresh garlic in everything whether the recipe calls for it or not).

Oddly enough I had a premonition that I was going to drop the beans. I saw a flash of them spilled all over the kitchen floor- like a snapshot in my mind. I was so paranoid about the beans that I ended up dropping the entire bowl of coleslaw on the floor as I was taking it out of the fridge.

Oh well. The Eagles played awesome, so that definitely made up for the lack of cole slaw.

First dinner party- 95% percent success.

Plan for this week: survive.

Question.

2011-10-28T12:52:00.000-04:00

Why the fuck can't I cook a meatball? Has my trip to Ireland atrophied my Italian-ness? I swear I made them once and they came out perfect- but the last two times have been utter disasters. What am I doing wrong? Why are they falling apart? I wish my Mom-mom was still around to show me...

I ended up turning them into delicious gravy, so no harm, no foul, no complaints from my hungry man.

I've noticed that I am starting to become very territorial about the kitchen. In my head, I own it. It's mine. My kitchen!

Some things require Tim's help though. It seems like all the cabinets in the apartment are really high up, so I'll ask him to get stuff down for me, especially if I forget to do it before I turn on the stove. He is also useful for opening jars. I believe that men secretly love to open jars for women. Also- the pepper grinder is forever getting jammed- and he is good at un-jamming it- usually.

He insisted on grinding the pepper directly above my meatball mixture of meat, fresh diced onion and garlic, breadcrumbs, water and an egg- and of course the top came off and all the peppercorns fell right into it. I had to pick them out- and he got banned from the kitchen. Mmm....peppery.

So that's all...made some moves last night career-wise at that event. Sculpey due tomorrow and might cut into my partying time this evening, depending on how well my will power holds up, but I'm going on a big domesticity kick this weekend.

The Eagles have the Sunday night game this week against the Cowboys, and I am having my rock-n-roll buddies and my brother over to watch the game. I'm going to cook up a big Southern feast: Pulled pork, baked beans, potato salad, coleslaw and cornbread.

I'm pretending it's still summer. Go Birds!

Linkage

2011-10-25T14:48:00.000-04:00

I rarely ever write two posts in one day, but this afternoon requires a brain dump of sorts before I end up having an anxiety attack.

I got confirmation today that I didn't get the new position I was really excited about. I'm a little upset- more over the fact that I was told that someone would contact me either way- and no one ever did. To me, "I'll call you early next week." shouldn't mean, "I will never call you and will ignore every effort you make to follow up with me." In real life, or in work life- that's just rude. But at least now I can stop being paranoid that potential employers are reading this blog.

Lesson learned: Don't tell the world that you might be getting a new job until you actually get it.

Ah well... the good news is that I pretty much exhausted my anguish over this last week, and once I'm over something, I'm over it. (Take note, ex-boyfriends who still occasionally harass me.) Even as I write this I feel better. Plus I treated myself to a giant burrito from the best burrito place in the city today- and that helped too.

And just as I was typing this I got a really nice and encouraging email from the woman who originally recruited me. She sees the force of a deep-seated motivation in me that is not easily exhausted! So that is good. Allies are good. Networking is good.

Weirdness: I was just having a conversation about LinkedIn this past weekend. I was saying how I should probably be on there, but that I regret not doing it years ago when I had a million corporate connections and used to run an annual event for the 100 fastest growing companies in the region. That event was a networking goldmine.

Today I got a call from my boss at my old job. They need help with the event this year- am I interested?

Let's see- a chance to wear my corporate slut-gear? make some extra money? reconnect with old business contacts? open bar? You bet your ass I'm interested.

The timing is very strange. A buddy of mine came over after work on Friday for smokes and beers, but ended up giving me a frank lecture about how I need to get my little business legitimized for tax purposes and all these other very convincing reasons.

My involuntary physical response to this information was to curl up into a little ball and start gasping for air. That is how much I HATE thinking about this kind of shit. But the logical part of me told myself that I would get back in touch with the organization of Philly entrepreneurs that my old company managed, since they are, in fact, entrepreneurs- and I guess I am too.

And that organization just happens to be the same one who puts on this annual event that I can now attend without an expensive ticket.

Serendipity?

Enough for now- the motivational force within me wants me to eat the other half of that burrito.

Jiminy

2011-10-25T11:10:00.001-04:00

Latest writing difficulty- first sentences.

I am beginning to hate them like titles, so lets start in the middle.

The apartment is coming together! Last night saw the arrival of couch and loveseat and combined with the coffee table, end table and other assorted crap we picked up this weekend- it is really starting to look like a home. Just in time for the arrival of true autumn weather. Watching football last night with my ass on an actual couch was pure bliss.

The weekend was good. I learned how to play cricket with some of the boys on Friday night (victory). Played my roommate in a little Trivial Pursuit (victory). Borrowed his car on Sunday and had a long day of shopping and driving around by myself (double victory).

I never thought Tim would ever let me drive his new ride, but it turns out that he would rather sacrifice his baby than go with me to Pier One and Ikea. It was also wonderful to go food shopping: big-ass thing of paper towels, a gallon of milk, cans upon cans of tomatoes- all things I hate carrying through the city.

I'm thinking about maybe buying a car... true independence requires one's own vehicle.

When I came home we went for a walk and found this quiet little craft beer bar to watch the rest of the 4 o clock games. I love my new neighborhood.

And now an update on the subjects that this blog is supposed to be about:

On the business end of things, I am having a hard time getting my stuff together. I made only three ornaments for the store so far this year- and have 5 days to make whatever else I'm planning to sell. On a positive note- I sold a piece via my website, the first one to somebody who is not a family member or friend. One up.

As for writing- I am thinking about designating a writing day each week, it's just hard to find a day that works. I should be attending a cocktail party with my fellow writers this coming Saturday, but got nervous and bailed out. Mad guilt.

Yesterday I got some more information regarding the First Person Arts Fest, where I will be doing a short reading sometime in late November. I really admire some of the other writers participating, so I am very excited about it.

That's all for now- I shall return.

2011-10-21T15:08:00.000-04:00

I missed a few days there as I was on my deathbed, trying to recover from an illness that I know I got from that crowded, steamy bus full of sick people that I ride to work everyday.

The bus is driving me to become a subway girl. Some people in my life do not like this. But I do not like the bus. The subway is good. I like the subway.

I had a bit of a breakdown yesterday due to devastating career news, or rather, lack of news. I was basically on the ledge by the time I got home from work, but then I sat down in my new studio to write- and I felt better.

I had to look at the prospect of the "new job" for what it is, which is an excuse not to write.

I am always looking for such excuses- and this would have been a good one.

I realized that when I'm regularly writing, especially with the group, my 9-5 doesn't matter so much. My hopes and dreams of the future are pinned on writing, not on my j-o-b. But when I'm not writing, all I can see of the future is endless hours of mindless labor that is not important, or enlightening- or my own in any way- and it makes me miserable.

To make matters worse, I had this whole new job thing all twisted up with having babies - the timing, the money, etc. I have this plan of making just as much, or more money than my partner when I ever decide to embark on this marriage/family thing.

Tim couldn't understand what the career issue had to do with having a baby, but when you are a single, 31 year old woman- everything seems to circle around this all the time. It's just the way it is- and it sucks.

But then he suggested that we go to Twisted Tail for some southern food and live blues and bourbon- and after that, the world seemed a little less unfair. Maybe we will be one of those couples who never gets married or procreates and we just do whatever we want, spend all our money on ourselves and never have to give up our tobacco habits.

This sounds perfectly logical and acceptable to my brain, but we'll see what my hormones have to say about it in a few weeks. It's a vicious cycle- no pun intended.

The word this weekend is: furniture.

Biznazz- Mind Your Own

2011-10-17T16:10:00.000-04:00

Today a vegetarian who I see every weekday of my life sent me an article about the campaign to ban foie gras in California. First of all, I don't live in California. Secondly... why is it any of your business what I eat? Do I ever send this person articles about how vegetarians probably aren't getting enough protein? Or that an all veggie diet makes some people flatulent?

I don't mind vegetarians. I really don't give a shit what people eat. But I do mind vegetarians that have the attitude that everyone would feel the same way they do if everyone was as educated as they are.

I know how they make foie gras- and I don't care, because it is a delicious special occasion treat. I'm sorry, but while there is still human suffering and injustice in this world- I'm not going to work for the rights of ducks and geese. Also- a little research.

This wasn't even prompted by a conversation or anything- it was just an out-of-the-blue, you're-an -asshole-for-eating-meat email. This was the same woman who kept leaving pamphlets on how to quit smoking on my desk.

There is only one person in this world who can give me shit for smoking. So unless you're my mom, dont' mess with my indulgences! Isrut Smash!

I try really hard not to blog about work related things, but I am beginning to reach the breaking point with my current situation. I apologize.

Moving on, the weekend was wonderful if only too short. We attended a fancy engagement party for one of my favorite cousins on Saturday night. I might have had a little too much fun.

But I walked right up to my grandmother, a strict Irish Catholic- and told her that Tim and I are living together in sin. She was pretty deep in the gin at that point, but she held my hand and told me that she was proud of me, that I've been through enough bullshit when it comes to love to make my own decisions and that she is genuinely happy for me because she can "see the love in our eyes."

This after years of my entire family telling me to "make sure Nana doesn't find out!"

The blessings- she gives them out if you have enough balls to tell her what's up. Who knew? It made me extremely happy.

The next day- the Birds got a much needed win. The makings of a good weekend.

Goals for this week: Kick this cold; Make Tuscan white bean soup; get some goddamn furniture; sculpey up a storm.

Looking forward

2011-10-13T13:34:00.000-04:00

Trying really hard today to avoid post-vacation depression.

I never did get my career news that was promised to me weeks ago. I still have the tiniest, teeniest sliver of hope left, but I am trying to comfort myself with thoughts that maybe it isn't meant to be and that my mentor thought it was a bad idea anyway.

Living with the man has really started to make me feel the pressure of a future that is coming way too fast. This job has me feeling ill-equipped to face things like the prospect of getting married and buying a house and all that stuff. I wish I could put on the brakes.

Strange that today would have been my four year wedding anniversary and still I am not ready for such things. I wonder how many years will go by before I forget the significance of this date.

In other job news, my baby brother got one. Good news for him since he has been looking since May. I am very proud. He had been getting depressed, eager to start his life, frustrated by the whole process of applications, interviews and rejections. He doesn't know that crisis will hit him again a few weeks from now, when he realizes that he will have to go to work every day until he is either dead or too old to enjoy living. But big sister will still be there to lend an ear when the time comes for that.

We are still getting into the swing of things at the new apartment- hoping to get some furniture this weekend and cover some of the windows. I love having a kitchen. I love my new pot rack. This week I made Chicken Divan and Chicken Tortilla Soup. Tomorrow we are having flounder in dill butter sauce and sauteed garlic spinach on the side. It's still fun to play house. It feels oddly like some kind of practice.

I did a bit of writing yesterday- a flash fiction piece. I desperately miss my group.

I've been reading Irish myths, a play called Dancing at Lunaghsa by Brian Friel. Loved the short story "Someone's Uncle" by Allison Espach and looking forward to reading her novel on my kindle. In the middle of Shanghai Girls by Lisa See at the moment.

Huge sculpey deadline on the 31st of October for any Christmas items I'm planning to sell. The extra money really helped last year- and we have a bunch of weddings coming up- including one in Jamaica.

Also booked the summer vacation for 2012- and already counting down the days even though we just got back from Ireland. I am eager to show Tim how my family rolls when we pile up the cars and caravan down to the Outer Banks for a week of drinking with the cousins.

(Booked!)

It's never too early to look forward to summertime.

2011-10-11T16:41:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm back. And I have returned with such a deep appreciation and respect for the heritage which I have never been prouder to claim. The motherland is so much more green, majestic and beautiful than I ever could have imagined. It's people are so welcoming, hardworking, creative and talented. The culture is so much prouder and richer than the watered-down vestiges of it we celebrate in this country.

I am in awe, Ireland. I am in love.

We had the most wonderful time, the most awesome food, the most unforgettable experiences.

Forgive me, but I must recap:

We spent our first three nights in Dublin, eating in fancy restaurants, drinking in local pubs and seeing authentic Irish fiddlers and dancers. We did all the must-see touristy things: the Guinness brewery, the Jameson distillery, Kilmainham Goal (an old panopticon-style prison) and Trinity College for the Book of Kells. The Book of Kells was beautiful, of course- but the library above it took my breath away. I seriously fought back tears when I entered this room:

(Long Room, Trinity College)

(Kilmainham Goal)

(The Voyagers)


(Beef and Guinness Stew)

Soon we were checking out of our Dublin hotel and heading to the train station for a cross country ride over to Galway. It felt so great to get out of the city. I stared out the window at the little cottages in the green countryside and all the hillsides dotted with sheep.

When we arrived, a man named Marty picked us up in a van and took us to a lodge outside of Ashford Castle in a tiny ancient village called Cong. This was a 5 star resort with servants attending to our every need, each room individually designed, views of the surrounding lake and mountains, the whole deal. I had no idea we were even doing this. It was like being on a honeymoon.

(The feathers on the pillows reminded me of Snuffleupagus's eyelashes)

That evening we had dinner at the Ashford Castle, which was built in the 1200's and later owned by the Guinness Estate. I had the venison- and I'm not sorry. It was delicious.

It was a fantastic dinner...but there was a woman playing the piano- and she played a song that always makes me cry- twice. I held it together the first time, but by the second time she played it I had had enough wine in me to burst into tears, which I did, at the table.

It was the only time my Italian side came out on the whole trip. (Wine makes us emotional.)

The next morning we went horseback riding on the castle grounds- my first time on a horse if you can believe it.

(Barnacle, or Barney for short)

(Enchanted Forrest)

It was Tim's first time on a horse too, so we both got to ride these little Connemara ponies. Mine was the perfect size, but Tim's was disproportionally small for him. It was hilarious. I don't think I will ever forget the sight of him sitting on top of that poor horse in that stupid helmet. Adorable.

Later that day, we went to the School of Falconry for a one hour hawk walk along the castle grounds and through the forrest. This was one of the coolest experiences of my entire life. Our hunting party went out with three Harris Hawks who flew through the trees but stayed with us the entire time and came to us whenever we called for them. These birds are so incredibly intelligent and powerful- they were amazing.

I finally realized why so many sports teams are named after birds of prey- birds are badass.

(Falconry glove)

(Errach perched on my glove)

We also got to explore the nearby village and the remains of an old abbey complete with old tombstones and high crosses. It was right up my alley.

After our stay at the lodge we moved about an hour away to the seaside resort of Galway Bay. There were lots of awesome pubs to visit- and lots of delicious food to eat- and whiskey to taste. I think I did my father (a founding member of the Delco Irish Whiskey Appreciation Society) very proud.

For the record: Jameson Crested Ten; Macgilligan; Connemara; Greenore; Loche's 8 year; Spirit Safe; Kilbeggan and Tyrconnell (to name just a few).

(Chicken liver pate)

(Galway Bay Oysters)

Finally, we took a day long tour from Galway to County Clare and the Cliffs of Moher. The cliffs were unbelievable. Even Tim actually gasped when we got our first glimpse of them. They are literally breathtaking.

Unfortunately, there were hurricane force winds on the cliffs and I was forced to hold onto Tim the entire time to keep from getting blown away. In between holding my glasses on my face and screaming bloody murder, I would remember to look at the spectacular cliffs before me.

It was so dangerous out there that we lost a couple old ladies on our tour who got blown over and had to be taken away on backboards. I was terrified, but of course the boys decided to use the wind to test their strength. We had the most terrible wind burns on our faces the next day, but it was so memorable and definitely worth it.

We spent the rest of the day touring the Burren and the rocky coastline, old churches, ancient forts and burial grounds and of course- local pubs.

(The Burren!)

All too soon, it came to an end. After one last night out in Galway, we headed back to Dublin by train. We squeezed in all the things we didnt get to see in the first half of the trip (including a pint in Ireland's oldest pub) and then went out to one more dinner with the whole wonderful group.

(Corned Beef and Cabbage- not as good as Mom's!)

It really was the most incredible trip. It made me so proud to be Irish. Although- I recently learned that my family was not famine Irish who were forced to emigrate in the 1840s. As it turns out, the Irish side of my family came to America generations before that. Apparently my great-great-great (insert bunch of greats here) grandfather was a horse thief - and emigrated here to escape his hanging.

So we are Americans- and have been for a very, very, very long time. But still I think I sometimes recognize this man's spirit in my some of my uncles and cousins- and even in myself. And I did feel some subtle sense of belonging and home-ness over there- however much of it was wishful thinking, because I am certainly more Irish now than I have ever been before.

That's all for now. Thanks for indulging me if you lasted this long.

Irish Weekend Miracle!

2011-09-26T17:00:00.000-04:00

It worked out beautifully. After weeks of telling Tim that I didn't care whether or not we made it down to Irish Weekend, we had a bit of an emergency on Saturday.

It seems that although Tim informed me that the trip was cancelled, he neglected to inform his buddy, who, by the time he got the news, was halfway down the AC Expressway with a full bar packed in his luggage.

He knew he screwed up pretty bad, so he ended up asking me if I would be willing to go down there for the night.

My response: ran upstairs, put on Irish shirt and beads, shuffled to The Hills of Donegal on iTunes and began (badly) dancing around the room.

My sister had been texting me earlier that day to say how much it sucked that we weren't going to Irish Weekend, so it was fun to call her and tell her to get ready because we were on our way to pick her up.

Yay, Irish Weekend!

Tim drove like the wind- and we ended up in the tent, beer in hand, by 6 p.m. We did all the IW usuals: drinking, dancing, talking to randoms and running into people from Delco. It was awesome. I even met some authentic dubliners, who gave me some tips for the Ireland trip and drew me this handy napkin map:

At one point on Saturday in between day drinking and night drinking, our house people were playing a game of poker. I do not play poker because a.) 'dont know how. b.) never really cared to learn. c.)gambling makes me cry and d.) I have a really expressive face.

Drunk and bored, I walked out of the house and down the stairs at the same time some kid was coming out of the house next door. Next thing you know I am partying with these 24 year old kids for about 45 minutes until people started looking for me. They hooked me up with party supplies and I hooked them up with advice- because that's they wanted from me when they found I was 31. I ended up encouraging this little tattooed WT chick to go back to school while her boyfriend gave me dirty looks from the other side of the room. Old much?

Anyway, I am so glad we went- and I am now ten times more excited to see the real deal, especially with Tim, my greatest Irish Weekend hookup of all time.

Ladies- I hope we all get back there together someday. There is no such thing as being "too old" for Irish Weekend. Um...have you ever been to Wildwood? It is a goddamn retirement home down there.

Ginger Snaps and Pumpkin Beer

2011-09-23T14:50:00.000-04:00

Happy Fall everyone!

Usually at this time of year, I am desperately hanging on to the last dregs of summer, but since I wont be attending Irish Weekend this year, I am just going to let it go and embrace the hoodie weather.

We've got a box of ginger snaps in the office and I had my first pumpkin beer of the season last night with my music buddy. It felt good to get out of the house on a weeknight. I don't want to start a bad or boring after-work routine, so last night after dinner I said goodbye to Tim and hit the sculpey studio for a few hours, met my buddy at midnight and crawled into bed around 3 a.m. My roommate didn't mind at all- he is awesome like that.

It's been a good week. My whole family came to the new hood on Tuesday to see the apartment and have dinner at Marrakesh. It's probably been over a year since all six of us have been in the same room at once, so my mother was thrilled. I was really touched that everyone came down just for me, because we don't really make a big deal out of birthdays in my family. Tim even caught an early flight home from wherever he was that day so that he could make it. I felt loved.

Speaking of that, my mom gave me the most awesome birthday present: a big bag of pantry items: olive oil, balsamic vinegar, cooking wine, bouillons, evaporated milk, wondra flour, soy sauce, worchesterhire, the list goes on. It even included a Delco all-star: a container of Tweedy's roast pork seasoning. Thankfully, she tucked a bunch of her recipes inside too, since I have practically exhausted my repertoire already.

I made kebabs with pineapple, peppers and bacon-wrapped chicken on Monday and last night ginger glazed Salmon with scallions. It's so nice to have a kitchen and I get a kick out of the pleasantly surprised look on Tim's face every time he takes that first bite. "Holy Shit! This is delicious!"

I told him bitch can cook, but he did not believe.

I'm thinking that a bigass crock of chili is in order for the Eagles/Giants game on Sunday.

In other news:

Met someone who was openly HIV+ for the first time yesterday, surprised to hear that people refuse to shake his hand- still- in 2011. Very interesting.

The sexiest member of the Eagles mentioned me on Twitter this week when I replied to one of his tweets. Ooooooo.

Forgot myself for a moment yesterday when Tim asked, "How was the dentist?" and I said, "handsome." I don't think that's what he meant.

Not-so-patiently awaiting career news I was supposed to have 2 weeks ago; confidence beginning to wane.

Mailed out a sculpey order today.

Still reading The Help and bitching about it to everyone who will listen.

Gearing up to be in Ireland this time next week!

I'm alive!

2011-09-20T11:00:00.000-04:00

And I've been that way for 31 years! It really sounds like a lot, but I don't feel it at all.

I had a great birthday. We were actually down the shore over the weekend, barhopping around Wildwood in a fancy limo for Tim's brother-in-law's birthday. (I had to keep my birthday a secret so that I didn't steal his thunder.)

The birds couldn't pull out a win for me, either. Oh well.

I was thinking about last year, how at midnight I was at Hofbrauhaus in Munich drinking giant liters of beer and a bachelor party full of Scottish firemen sang to me and lifted me up on their giant biceps.

The next morning, my actual 30th birthday, we took a train ride through the foothills of the Alps and then took a cable car to the top of the Zugspitze, the highest peak in Germany. It was something that I have always wanted to do and it was amazing.

At midnight on my 31st birthday, I was brushing my teeth.

But then I went downstairs, looked around our new apartment and walked over to Tim. He wished me a happy birthday and put his arms around me, and I thought, "this birthday is already better than the last one."

Awwwww.

Tonight my family, including my two younger siblings, are coming to the city to go out to dinner. My mother wants to go to Marrakesh, so I will pretend that I wasn't just there a week ago. It's the kind of place where you eat with your hands from a communal dish- and I know my father is going to hate it. The man is the biggest germaphobe I have ever met. It's going to be hilarious.

Thank you, everyone, for the birthday wishes. I got a bunch of cards, texts and emails and about 85 happy birthdays from my facebook friends, which made me feel very special. It meant a lot that all those people took the time to wish me a happy birthday.

In other news...another epic failure in the sculpey department. I had to tell that woman that I cannot make her cake topper in time for her daughter's birthday party. I must learn to stick to my own rules- I need six weeks, plain and simple.

I started reading The Help this week.... currently number 1 on the NYT bestseller list. It is entertaining- I'll give it that, but man, did it make me angry. I am only ten chapters in and already there are two digs at Gone With the Wind and not only Gone With the Wind- but Margaret Mitchell!

I can tell you that this Stockett woman either didn't read the book or didn't understand it. Her digs should be aimed at David O' Selzick, not Margaret Mitchell, because this woman is talking about the movie- not the novel.

Not to mention- The Help's message is that these Southern black women need this educated white woman's help to get their story out. That is more racist than Gone With the Wind could ever be. Mitchell was a lot smarter and certainly a hell of lot braver than Stockett. Her message is hidden (it had to be in 1936 Atlanta) but it is still there.

Now millions of people are reading this crap claiming that Mitchell's book was racist, when my whole thesis argues that it wasn't. Poor Margaret Mitchell. Obviously Stockett needs to re-read Gone With the Wind- and read my book on it (once it is finished and published).

Margaret Mitchell- I'm going to redeem you someday. Kathryn Stockett- watch out.

Baby Likes the Blues

2011-09-16T12:45:00.000-04:00

Last night Tim and I were looking for a quiet place to have some food and beer while watching the Phillies game. We ended up wandering into the Twisted Tail, a new bourbon bar in Headhouse Square.

We planned on eating and getting out of there before the live music started, but as soon as dinner was over, a bunch of older guys came in and started setting up their equipment. They ended up being a fantastic blues band.

I leaned over to Tim and asked, "Do you like the blues?"
And to my surprise, he replied "My favorite genre."

Yay! It's so fun to learn new things about him, especially if its something we have in common. We ended up staying there for most of the night, just rocking out and ordering flights of bourbon. Never mind that we were after a low-key night, never mind that Tim "gave up" whiskey a few months ago - We had so much fun.

I was reminded of Paul, the lead singer from my favorite local band. Every once in a while, he will cradle the microphone and lean out in the audience and say in his smooth, sweet voice, "Does anyone out there like the blues?" And you scream back, "yes, Paul yes! Give us the blues!" because you know you are in for a treat.

It's been a long time since I've heard some decent, live, true rock n' roll the way that only seasoned 'dads' can play it.

"OOooo I want a big legged woman...a queen-size-pantyhose-wearin' woman, baby!"

It was so good- and very exciting to find a cool spot in the new hood I can take my musical friends.

By the way- the first thing I'm going to do when I come into some disposable income is buy a phone that isn't ancient and has a decent camera....and possibly stop getting my haircut by beauty school students. You should see the jacked up cut I have at the moment. Bitch, turn in your teasin' comb and go back to high school.

Thank GOD it's Friday...and apparently it is fall. I'm headed to the shore tomorrow. Gonna go home and pack up a giant bag o' hoodies.

Enjoy the weekend everyone!

Venting

2011-09-15T16:21:00.000-04:00

Is it just because it's my first week of playing housewife, or is this week excruciatingly long?

It's still going really well, what with the living in limbo and having no furniture and all of that. But truth be told, Tim and I have probably bitched at each other more in the past four days than we have in the past four years.
There are so many aspects of living with someone that I simply forgot about. For example, screaming bloody murder every time you don't hear the person enter the same room you're in. (He is winning the scare war 2-1).

And how absolutely ANNOYING it is when I go to, say, open a window in my fourth floor studio and find it locked. Last night I finally told him... "dude- it's fine to close the windows in my studio when you put the air on, but I don't want them locked."

"But the AC is more energy efficient when the windows are locked..."

Guess what? Don't care! My God- the man is obsessed with the thermostat- the windows- the vents!

I never knew... I never knew...

We have had near-arguments about what is safe or isn't safe to put down the garbage disposal. He admitted to getting secretly angry with me every day for not locking the deadbolt when I leave for work in the morning. Also he has asked me to please stop telling him when he does things that remind me of my father.

"You're washing the dishes before you put them into the dishwasher?...my dad does that."

I'm worried about the slump factor as well. We used to go to the bar if we hung out together during the week, but that can't be an everyday thing. And it's hard to go upstairs to work if I know he is downstairs. I can feel his energy drawing at mine, if that makes any sense. I am used to treating time with him as a treat- not sharing it with mundane things like cleaning or doing laundry or even sculpting and writing.

It's going to be a challenge.

At the end of the day though- it's pretty great having him around. He fixed the clock on the microwave. He fixed the pepper mill. He killed a big bug that was in the hallway- and unlike my father, didn't taunt me with its squished carcass.

And he appreciates the things I have done for him, washed a couple loads of his laundry, made dinner the past three nights in a row (Tacos, Chicken Parm - and last night- my first attempt at homemade crab cakes with dijon aoli served with baked potatoes and asparagus). All were actually pretty good. She's still got it, folks!

So what if the crab cakes burned a bit and filled the apartment with thick smoke because I couldn't find my spatula in time? It gave Tim a chance to go around fucking with all the windows and vents.

And it earned me a night out on the town tonight. Woohoo!

2011-09-13T15:09:00.000-04:00

It was a good weekend. I hung out with a new buddy on Friday night and then helped Tim move on Saturday. So many steps! How long should it take for my ass to reap the benefits of all this stair-stepping?

I missed a friend's baby's first birthday party on Saturday. I was pretty bummed because I have really been missing my girls as of late. Maybe its because Irish Weekend is on the horizon, but everything is reminding me of them. I had to send Cawola an email because an Angolan woman winning Miss Universe reminded me of her. That bitch loves Angola!

I did get to have some fun with some other cool chicks though- Orange Cappuccino's bachelorette party at the lovely Marrakesh! That place is just so much fun. The food was awesome and I was so happy to represent the grad school portion of the bride's entourage. Plus, I'm pretty sure the belly dancer was flirting with me.

After that I met up with Tim at a house party at his friend Cheesy's condo. It's so odd, but some of his friends from high school still have that "cool kid" aura about them. Like, star quarterback who was dating the head cheerleader turned into hotshot lawyer with the model girlfriend. It's cheesy.

The next day we orchestrated perfect timing in getting our asses out of bed, to the cheesesteak place and to Tim's old apartment in time for kickoff. This whole not having a couch or TV thing is starting to get a little old, but I would have watched the Eagles destroy the Rams from a cardboard box and still been happy. WooHoo!

So even though Tim is technically moved in, football has been bringing us back to his old place for the past couple of nights. During Sunday night football, he literally sprinted to wawa in the middle of a thunderstorm to get me some Ben and Jerry's. (I swear I am not pregnant) So I have been trying to make his life easier as well by cooking and doing laundry. I've even been making the bed. I'm sure its going to get old, but for now it is kind of fun, like playing house.

Last night we had ourselves a fun little taco night. Yeah, I know- I'm already resorting to tacos- but the kitchen is limited at the moment- and I made fresh salsa, so that shit counts as cooking.

By the way, I am finally starting to figure out how to effectively use twitter.

For example posting, "#taconight was almost as fun as watching the Eagles destroy the Rams yesterday" led me to discover other #taconight tweets, such as this gem "u gonna get in dat kitchen make them tacos...you gone clean... #taconight" I think I get it now.

I'm going to use it for sculpey and writing- and the occasional smart-ass football comment. Speaking of those things, I started working on the mockup of the zebra ballerina cake topper last night and also submitted a new piece to the same literary journal that just rejected me. #puttingmystudiotowork.

My sister reminded me this morning that on this day last year we were on our way to Munich for Oktoberfest. I'm trying to get her to come to the city to have a couple of kartoffelpuffers and liters of Paulaner with me tonight.

Prost!

Up in the Air

2011-09-09T14:26:00.000-04:00

Choppin' Cotton; Thomas Hart Benton, 1931.

That is my life at the moment. Living in limbo in home and career, but it's an exciting time for me.

I had a big interview on Wednesday and I am under the impression that it went very well. My rock n roll buddy gave me a big pep talk the night before which really gave me some much-needed confidence. He reminded me that no one gets to decide my fate besides myself. It's amazing how easily I tend to forget things like that.

I should get some news next week, but as of now I am at peace with whatever happens. I'm thrilled just to have it out of my hands and know that I did my best.

I hope it doesn't end up being serendipitous, but this morning was a pleasant reminder of why I occasionally get to love the job I currently have. I went to a press preview at one of the art galleries here- and it was almost completely empty.

I walked around looking at the collection, which included works by Mary Cassatt, Winslow Homer, Thomas Cole, Andrew Wyeth, etc. I sat down and watched a video about Jack Warner, who owns the collection that is considered to be one of the finest in American art. On the video he is shown at Sotheby's next to his fabulous wife, bidding the millions of dollars required to own these masterpieces.

And then, suddenly, in walked the man. I got to walk with him, slowly around the gallery, while this 94-year-old, world famous collector pointed with his cane and told personal stories about each piece. Why he bought it, why he fell in love with it, what it means to him. It was pretty incredible.

I was unworthy of the experience. I don't know a lot about art and I stood there nodding like an idiot pretending I understood the curator as she slipped in and out of French. Spoony should have been there instead of me. She would have loved it. Spoony knows everything about art.

And now the day is half over and the weekend is almost upon us! It's going to be a good one. (I am purposefully neglecting to include something here. I have already done my observance of this dismal anniversary and am a bit over saturated with it at the moment.) So I say again, the weekend is going to be a good one. Tim moving in, bachelorette party fun- and finally, finally, finally- the first Eagles game of the year.

They are playing the Rams, and they better damn well beat them. Go Eagles!

Ya know what really grinds my gears?

2011-09-08T12:04:00.001-04:00

Picture this: you are at some sort of work/networking event. You are talking to some man about business shit. You act polite. You smile. You give this man a few minutes of your attention and one of your cards.

The next day you get: a movie invitation, a dinner invitation, a friend request, a request to play on some random volleyball team.

Seriously? What the fuck.

I don't mean to sound like an asshole. Everybody likes getting hit on- every once in a while we all need that little boost that reminds us that we 'still got it.'

But really- when I am in a suit- I expect to be taken seriously and treated like a professional. It really makes me angry that some guys use these things as an opportunity to meet women. Because-as women, we all know when to have our guards up. If someone approaches you at a bar- you know what his intentions are and you can choose whether or not to give him your attention.

At a work event- you have no choice but to speak to everyone. Your guard is down. You are expecting them to ask you about widgets or whatever your business happens to be, not about whether or not they can stick their dick in you.

Listen buddy- do you see my vagina on the table along with the pamphlets, flyers and promotional pens? I don't think so.

Is that too harsh? I don't know... Some men really need to be schooled on what counts as sexual harassment- either that or grow some balls, and meet women in an appropriate place where they can straight out reject you if they so choose. This is called networking- not speed dating.

This has happened to me too many times, but I have always had jobs that require me to attend things like that. And its not like I think I'm hot or anything- but maybe I am in comparison to Betty and Doris, the 85 year old secretaries. This is known as being "environmentally hot," or as my musical buddies call it, "delco hot." So it's not even good for an ego boost.

Yesterday was my worst experience with this ever- and it happened right in front of my boss, who later asked me about it. So embarrassing and unnecessary. What a bunch of bullshit.

End rant.

2011-09-06T12:43:00.000-04:00

It's the craziest day on the calendar! PMDD is acting up...and the manic last post I wrote should have been some kind of indication, because the next day I was low, low, low.

Tim picks up on the subtle warning signs better than I do.

Me: "Know what I'm in the mood for?"
Tim:"What?"
Me: "A grilled chicken sandwich with pesto, roasted red peppers and melted provolone on crusty bread."
Tim: "Uh oh..."

Apparently specific cravings are a red flag for him. I hadn't noticed that. I am more likely to notice the impulsive behavior of dropping whatever I am doing to go get the ingredients for said sandwich right fucking now. Seriously, try it. It's damn good. Tim even pronounced it 'restaurant quality.'

Last night I had the worst anxiety attack I ever had and seriously contemplated going to the ER. It came completely out of the blue while I was by myself watching the King Corn documentary on Netflix. After a few minutes of literally preparing myself for death, it passed and I was completely back to normal. Stupid PMDD!

And one more thing: Upcoming trip to Ireland with Tim's entire family and crazy time are going to overlap next month. I think it is absolute BULLSHIT that I won't be able to take my doctor-recommended 'medicine' with me on the plane.

"But don't worry. I'm not gonna do, what everyone thinks I'm gonna do, and FLIP OUT!!! man..."

This past weekend Tim suggested the possibility of skipping Irish Weekend because we are leaving for Ireland four days later. Dude- that makes no sense. It's Irish Weekend-we're going. I am going to miss my girls though. I will drink a cold one for you, ladies, if you all kiss those babies for me.

Anyway, Labor Day funs for us meant hanging out at a Conshohocken house party and playing many games of flipcup. On the homefront, since we have zero furniture, we spent some time sliding around the hardwood in socks a la Tom Cruise in Risky Business.

Check out this website for awesome party planning by a very talented friend. Woman, may your business be far more successful than mine.

BIG BIG Career Day for me tomorrow and going to be needing some prayers and positive energy around 10:30 a.m.

Send it on down.

Delirious

2011-09-03T01:51:00.001-04:00

It's midnight on Friday night. What better way to get into the habit of writing in my brand new studio?

I love the new apartment. The commute is a breeze and its such a good feeling to come home to a nice place. Moving all my crap was a marathon because we're on the 3rd and 4th floors. My legs are still shaky and I am still utterly exhausted. Probably because we spent last night at the Temple/Villanova game.

We lost- and it was an epic ass-kicking that was reminiscent of the Eagles/Seahawks Monday Night Football game of December 5, 2005. I was there, it was snowing-and we got spanked 42-0 in the worst shutout loss in the history of Monday Night Football. It was a bad fucking day for the Eagles- and for Villanova, because Westbrook got injured in that game.

At least Nova got on the board (42-7) and we got to sit in the front row at the Linc.

And my Dad was there too, which brings me to my next topic. I found out yesterday that the story I submitted was rejected. I am slightly relieved because I know the story needs work and I am still proud of myself for submitting it. I am actually pretty excited about my first rejection. It is all part of a writer's life- every single one of them- and it made me feel like a real writer.

Although, since its an online system, I didn't get a letter I can use to start my rejection letter wallpaper. It just said, "complete." But I'm still going to print it out and probably hang it up in my studio.

So I didn't get any feedback from them. I did, however, get some from my Pops at the game last night. Of course he said he loved the story, but he also told me what he didn't like about it-the exact two sentences I predicted would make him cringe. At first I rolled my eyes thinking he was just being a dad about it, but he pointed out that the story could appeal to a much wider audience without those two sentences, and that the story didn't really need them. They were a reference to the character's childhood- but the only one in the whole thing, which means it either needs more or needs to be cut. Pops has a point. I will revise and resubmit-and I think I have a pretty valuable reader in my dad, which is both awesome and surprising.

Am I rambling?

I am so scattered that I just spent ten minutes trying to use my key to get into the apartment next door. This afternoon I tried to plug the little metal thingy on the end of my hoodie string into the headphone jack on my ipod. By the way, I am simultaneously writing this and spending a fortune on itunes. Adele, Zac Brown Band, The Fire Theft, The Pretenders and Huey Lewis and The News are rounding out tonight's purchases so far.

I think that life is going to be good here. Oddly enough, I haven't missed my old apartment for one second. Even the sushi is better in this neighborhood.

Smell ya later, Rittenhouse.

Tim hasn't moved in yet. There was no way we could have moved both of us and he still has his apartment for awhile. All my anxiety and nervousness has given way to excitement. I am so excited to live with him and see him every day. I think it's going to be awesome. Even during that bitch of a move he was smiling and laughing, and being the same old Tim, making fun of me for having so much crap.

He decided to give me an early birthday present today and pay my way to Ireland. We leave in 25 days. I am one lucky bitch. I really feel like a spoiled brat.

Why does it feel so wrong to write about happiness? Why does it feel slightly obnoxious to say, "I am really happy right now! I am in love! Good things are happening?"

Anything can come along and change it at any moment, so I try to recognize and enjoy it when life is good. My friends have exciting things going on- they are creating art and announcing pregnancies and planning weddings- so many things to celebrate and lots of positive energy going around. It's good stuff.

"Cherish the upswings, for they are rare." - Isrutian Proverb

I'm in desperate need of sleep. You done well, studio.

Big week comin' up...and hopefully some fun on this lovely labor day weekend for all of you.

Goodnight from Studio de la Isrut.

Goodbye!

2011-08-31T09:54:00.000-04:00

One Day More

2011-08-30T11:18:00.000-04:00

another day, another destiny...

Getting very close here, but it still hasn't hit me yet. I tried to give my apartment a nice little sendoff last night. My brother, sister and cousins came down and we all headed to Tritone to see our guys.

They sounded incredible and I saw a lot of people I knew. We got awesome t-shirts. The soundman took me by the hand to the middle of the dance floor and made me dance in front of everybody. My cousins are hilarious. Later on we closed down the Good Dog. By 3 a.m. my brother and I were sitting on the living room floor eating cheese fries and chicken fingers. All in all- a good night.

I am surprisingly upright today- most definitely the work of the cheese fries. Isn't it strange that sometimes the most responsible thing to do is to eat fried food at 3 in the morning?

God. I just remembered getting a nice rousing chorus of "good luck to you!" "we will miss you!" from the foreign guys who run the pizza place at the top of the street. I can't stop telling everyone that I'm moving. Soon I begin a new quest for a pizza place, Chinese food and sushi.

Also- mad props to Coinstar. Yesterday I dumped all the change jars I had laying around the house into a big-ass bag and then lugged it to the Fresh Grocer at lunch. I'm not that broke, I just didn't want to move all that change. If you can endure the laughs, stares and 9% cut, it's totally worth it. Guess who had sixty extra bucks in her pocket last night? Of course its all gone now- but still- for a few hours I had what felt like free money- and it was glorious.

Moving day tomorrow!

Isrut vs. Wild

2011-08-29T12:15:00.001-04:00

I'm a pretty good hermit. I came home from work on Friday and didn't leave my house again until this morning.

It actually didn't bother me at all. I'm looking forward to being a shut-in and getting cards that Catholic school kids will make for me out of construction paper.

I'm not usually rattled by such things, but I am kind of a storm wimp- and I just couldn't stop thinking about hurricane Katrina and all the 9/11 documentaries I've been watching lately.

I've been spending so much time carefully rooting through my belongings, it would have been appropriate and ironic if I ended up stranded on my roof trying to flag down helicopters with nothing but the clothes on my back. An urban environment is not the most ideal place to be when the shit hits the fan- and after the earthquake and too many hours of watching the news, I was freaked the hell out.

Despite this, I didn't do much in the way of preparation besides getting myself a pack of hot dogs, a loaf of bread, an extra pack of cigarettes and half a case of high life.

I did have some amount of social interaction though. A buddy came by to drop off some supplies and he ended up hanging out for awhile on Saturday. He usually just leaves his truck running in the street, so we never really spent any time together before. But everything was all weird with the terrible rain and the city shut down, so he just stayed around.

Now...I know this probably wasn't the best idea. I am too old to believe that men ever want to 'just be friends' but I knew that I wouldn't do anything to disrespect Tim- and I knew that this guy wasn't going to make a move. We had a good conversation, we laughed a lot, he gave me some advice about my business ventures and taught me how to splice wires together. 'Nothing wrong with that. Besides, I am really going to miss the freedom and randomness that my little apartment allows me, so I had to have one last night of it.

By the time he left I was pretty drunk, so I went to bed and ended up sleeping right through the hurricane. The power stayed on the whole time- no problems whatsoever. Hooray for High Life.

Oh yeah- and I had more social interaction on Saturday morning too- when I was woken up by my apartment's next tenant, 3 of his friends- and a freakin' U-Haul. We had agreed that he could put some stuff in a closet before I was out of there, but this was pushing it. I had no choice but to be a bitch about it. Sorry dude, but you can't move in until I move out.

One more thing- I watched the VMAs last night. In high school we used to have parties for them. I can distinctly remember watching them at Spoony's house with the guys and a bowl of Doritos. I was probably wearing combat boots and a flannel shirt and worshipping bands like Nirvana, Soundgarden and Stone Temple Pilots. Those were the good old days...

These days, I hardly recognized any of the nominees. But I must say that I enjoyed the Amy Winehouse tribute- and Adele's performance was incredible. It nearly moved me to tears. Definitely worth a visit to YouTube. Also- Katy Perry with a fuckin' cube on her head? Really?

Tonight: Real music– My last weeknight out in Rittenhouse as the rock n roll boys play Tritone!

It's always rainy in Philadelphia

2011-08-25T14:41:00.000-04:00

What the hell is going on with this wild weather? Weeks of crazy storms, an impending hurricane- and an earthquake. I am proud to say that I experienced the earthquake- and that I knew it was an earthquake as soon as it happened. No big deal. The people evacuating the third floor made the building shake more than the earthquake did. I was unfazed. Our building is almost 150 years old and I knew it wasn't going anywhere. Overall, a very cool experience.

Moving on...

Reading and writing habits are stalled at the moment as I try to spend my free time packing and I absolutely hate the book I'm reading right now. I am still relentlessly checking to see if my short story will be published and thinking about entering the first chapter of the novel into a short fiction contest sometime in the next couple of days. Never did hear from Pops regarding the story I sent him...so I'm just going to go ahead and assume that he hated it.

Slow progress on the career front, accompanied with anxiety related to the fact that I told a million people I might be getting a new job- and now may not get it and end up looking like an idiot.

Great strides in the world of sculpey last week as I got lots of shoutouts from Shannanigans regarding the work I did for the totally awesome gnome party she threw for her son's first birthday. I am already getting new business from it- including one woman who wants a custom sculpture of a zebra wearing a tutu.

The randomness of the requests is perhaps the greatest aspect of this business. I am planning on doing a couple updates to the website this week.

I'm looking forward to watching the Eagles play in the rain tonight.

By this time next week, I'll be blogging from my new apartment. Woohoo!

Meet My Giraffes #5

2011-08-19T15:05:00.000-04:00

It's time once again to meet some more of my giraffes. These are the living room collection- and I wanted to remember them in their rightful places before they get packed up and moved in ten short days.

They were all Christmas gifts from my momma, who always keeps an eye out for interesting and unique giraffes.

Metal giraffe


Side view

One of my favorites

close up.

homemade giraffe ornament

This giraffe is near the front door for a reason: I always imagined I would use him as a weapon if anyone ever tried to break in. He doubles as a football holder.

Ceiling fan giraffe

Click on the giraffe tag to see the rest of the collection.

commanding the night brigade

2011-08-18T11:10:00.000-04:00

I had what will most likely be my last weeknight hurrah in Rittenhouse last night. I took a shower at 11 p.m. and then waited for my rock-n-roll boys to get done work. We indulged at my place before heading out to meet some people at P&K.

By midnight we were having Flying Dog Old Scratch, oysters, cheese, chicken liver mousse, brisket, fries, cole slaw, baked beans and fish and chips, with shots of whiskey for dessert.

We talked about music- and food. I listened to a 15-minute debate about which cheeses to order. My buddy taught me about oyster farming. Damn, those boys know their cheeses and oysters.

I had a lot of fun and tried really hard not to be sad. My neighborhood! I'm going to miss it. And I don't really see myself having my guy-friends over to smoke and drink on a schoolnight when I'm living with Tim (although he probably wouldn't mind because he is awesome like that.)

Besides, if I get the new job I'm after, I won't be able to roll in around 3 in the morning and then roll into work hungover a few hours later.

I will have to grow up at last.

Speaking of growing up, I'm getting myself to the dentist today for the first time in a shamefully long time. Words cannot describe how much I do not want to go.

Tonight: I'm torn between watching the Eagles preseason game or seeing some bona fide Irish music with my cousins at World Cafe. That is, if I survive this hangover- and the dentist.

Dear Isrut,

2011-08-17T11:51:00.000-04:00

I've gotten a lot of advice from people regarding the process of moving lately, and the main thing I keep hearing is this: Be heartless. Detach yourself from sentimental objects and get rid of them.

Yesterday I made an attempt to do exactly this. I unearthed my big blue box of old shit and went to town. Of course I wound up just going through it and not actually ditching anything. The main thing I managed to save all these years? Correspondence. Letters from family, friends and of course, boys.

The process made me very emotional, but also very grateful. I've been on this earth for 30 years. If I managed to accumulate one box of meaningful shit, what's so wrong with that? And I realized something else. None of the stuff is actually about me. It's all about connections to other people, and...um...isn't that what life is?

Love letters are another story, and people have strong opinions about this. I know people who threw them out when they got married, but I don't think that I'll ever be one of those people. What is so bad about remembering how you once loved someone- and that they once loved you? Letters are art. Letters are history.

Case in point: my friend Dennis. He was an American law student I met when I was studying in Italy. I was young, I was drunk- and I was in a foreign country. What we did on a dark narrow street in Siena was extremely uncharacteristic of me, so much so that the next day I tried to go to confession. I only met this man once in my life, but I will never forget him because for the next couple of years he wrote me letters- and they were beautiful. They weren't romantic, but they were thoughtful, well-crafted, insightful- and honest. They had a distinct rhythm and they sang to me as I read them. They read like essays: him describing what it felt like to wear his trusty blue hoody and listen to his favorite song in his drafty apartment. The man was a hell of a writer. He loved life. He had passion. His letters restored my faith in men, and in humanity. Why should I throw them away?

Same thing with my old journals. My little notebooks I used to write on the train back in the days when I had a commute. They are the chronicles of my early twenties- and man did I write some explicit shit. Even my writing mentors have told me to burn them and that they are useless. But I can read them now and see that I wanted to be a writer, that I accomplished some of the goals I set. Most of all I can remember the turmoil of those times and appreciate the life I have now.

Forgetting is overrated- and my memory (surprise, surprise) is not very good on its own. So I have decided...I'm not going to put my past in a dumpster just to avoid hauling it across town and up two flights of steps. Fuck that.

Home Sweet Home

2011-08-15T13:48:00.001-04:00

We have an apartment!

I did a lot of packing yesterday and it made me realize that I am a hoarder of books. 5 boxes packed and still 2 more bookshelves to go. I just cant bring myself to get rid of them. I always bought books even when I was poor because I saw them as an investment and I imagine that my future children will someday wander into our home's library and pull them off the shelves.

We never had books laying around our house growing up. My parents are readers, but they don't like clutter, so they do the library thing. Library books gross me out because I envision people taking them into the bathroom.

Oh well, it's just one day of them being a pain in the ass...

Speaking of stuff I need to get rid of, can anyone use:

A gas grill?
An outdoor bench?
A playstation 2 with none of the cables or anything?
An electric fondue pot?
A bigass old school TV?
A TV stand?
An air conditioner?
A pink backpack?
A 6-foot hoop skirt?

God, I have so much crap.

Back to School

2011-08-12T11:11:00.000-04:00

College is making a comeback in my life, and I don't know why. I'm not talking about going back to school, I let the deadline pass me by 12 days ago, I'm talking about original college, old-school college, ten-years-ago college.

There must be some explanation, right? I don't know why I'm being so paranoid, but I keep thinking that its a sign that I'm going to die soon. Pieces of life are flashing before my eyes. Or is it just a coincidence?

First- there was the scrapbooks. Easy enough.

Then- on the Real Housewives of New Jersey, Melissa compared Theresa to Ursula from The Little Mermaid. And as soon as she said that- a long-forgotten memory surfaced of me, Cawola and Tato performing a rendition of "Poor Unfortunate Souls" in our junior year apartment. We danced around the living room singing our hearts out while simultaneously doing shots of vodka, and by, "Flotsam, Jetsam, now I've got her boys, the boss is on a ROOOOOLL!" we were completely hammered.

Then- I had to reload all my music onto my iTunes. College-era music was on some old CDs, along with the sound files I used to customize my Instant Messenger (Pinky from Animaniacs laughing, the Swedish Chef singing, Ace Ventura saying, "Alright now, bye bye then.") Also on those tapes- voicemails that my electrical engineer buddy converted into sound files. Drunken voicemails of the girls crank calling our other friends with us laughing in the background.

And then!- football. 3 of my male college buddies texted me last night. I never hear from them. I never see them. Then, when preseason rolls around, it's all, "Isrut- what did you think of Vince Young?"

But this morning takes the cake. A facebook message from an ex-boyfriend's old roommate. I used to hang out at his house, where he lived with this rock and roll band. These guys are all accountants and analysts now- married with children, most of them. The message said their new band is playing a show in NYC this weekend. They want a "rare crew." They want all the people from the old house to come, including me.

Now, I already said a few days ago that I'm not into 'old shit.' College was not my glory days. Mean girls, rich girls, sorority girls, loving boys who didn't love me back...looking like a swollen slobbering monster with my jaw wired shut, carrying around an extra 30 pounds or so... We did our best to survive it and have fun at the same time, but it wasn't easy. It isn't like I sit around reminiscing and yearning for those days, but all this stuff in the same week is just too weird.

The Universe wants me to look back for some reason...but why? Who has a message for me? What do I need to learn? What do I need to remember? And finally- who will venture to New York with me on Saturday night?

2011-08-11T12:57:00.000-04:00

Hello. No word on the apartment and I found out that I wont get any job info for another couple of weeks, so on to other topics.

Football starts tonight! I'm excited. But no one who reads this cares, so I'll keep it to myself.

It's a slow day at work today, so I am printing out recipes. I plan on cooking a lot more in the (nonexistent) new place. I have a whole folder of stuff I am preparing to embark on this mission, which I have dubbed Operation Make Tim Fat.

I have all kinds of grand delusions about it, but he doesn't, as he recently admitted that he fully expects us to be living on wawa sandwiches. Ahh...see? He forgets. I used to regularly cook for a family of six. I used to feed a man dinner every night. I was thisclose to going to culinary school. He could be right, or it could be manipulation because he knows I'll try to prove him wrong. But either way, I laughed hysterically when he told me that. At least there is no pressure.

(...not unlike my attempt at urban farming:
this is the single tomato I got this summer)

On a related note- my apartment now has a brand new kitchen. New cabinets, countertops and a big giant sink that actually fits a whole dish. It looks fantastic...and I'm incredibly bitter about it.

But let's get back to writing for a minute. My dad sent me an article today about The Help. He had to call and ask for my email address first, that's how rare this is. Apparently, the novel got turned down 60 times before it got picked up by an agent. Now, that's persistence!

But what is incredible to me is that I actually have the support of my parents with this whole writing thing. They don't think it's a silly little dream any more. They like the book and they believe in it. They believe in me. It's all very strange, but wonderful.

Even weirder- my father believes that my book should be a movie and he has chosen Anne Hathaway to play the protagonist. He said she is "America's sweetheart." Now, the fact that he even knows who Anne Hathaway is is even stranger than him using the phrase "America's sweetheart." If you knew my dad, you would know that it is by far the weirdest, most uncharacteristic thing he has ever said. Bizarre.

But since he took the time to send me that inspiring article, I decided to send him a copy of the short story I currently have out for publication. He's told me several times that he would like to read it and I always said that I'd send it to him even though I had no intention of ever doing it.

I read it again first, cringing at some of the stuff that I would never want my father to read. (The phrase: "wetness between her legs." The word: "nipple") But then I decided to get over it and just send it anyway.

And now I am anxiously waiting to see what he says...and writing this post provided a wonderful distraction from that.

Tonight: E-A-G-L-E-S- EAGLES!

Crickets

2011-08-09T12:11:00.000-04:00

I got nothing. No news of any sort whatsoever regarding the job or the apartment. I am dangling out here on a string while others decide my fate... it's a little unnerving, but I am trying to go with the flow.

My landlord is installing new cabinets for the next tenant today, so I had to pack up the kitchen last night. Shit is getting real!

I am amazed at all the barware I own that I didn't know I had. It was all stowed away thanks to my tiny kitchen, but apparently we are all set in terms of martini glasses, wine goblets, champagne flutes and cordials. I wrapped them all up in copies of the Philadelphia Gay News.

Some other stuff I've found while unearthing forgotten cabinets and closets:

2 broken nintendos, complete with classics like the original Zelda, Rad Racer, RC Pro Am, Rampage, Contra and Bubble Bobble;
Yellow mustard that expired in 2006;
My ex boyfriend's drivers license;
Jesus planter;
over 15 scrapbooks documenting my life from 8th grade through college.

Scrapbooks. I guess I thought I would always be nostalgic for the good ol' days and figured that someday I'd be glad that I saved the program from the school play and authentic pieces of confetti from the prom (and the napkin from the restaurant we went to afterwards). But the truth is- I'm not into old shit and I really don't care. Although, some of them do contain surprises, like my scrapbook from Italy has a pressed bouquet of real Tuscan wildflowers and my scrapbook from my cross country trip contains pages from our logbook that say things like, "Sidney, Nebraska - If I was a hick bastard, I'd live here." "Driving west across Texas- Tato down to one eye." and who could forget, "Outskirts of Las Vegas-M. Lo. takes fiery dump of passion on the side of the road."

These are my memories. I guess I have no choice but to haul these bastards away with me... to wherever I end up.

I hope I'm not homeless and jobless by the end of the month.

<a href="http://www.7is7.com/otto/countdown.html?year=2011&month=8&date=30&hrs=0&ts=24&tz=local&min=0&sec=0&lang=en&show=dhms&mode=t&cdir=down&bgcolor=%23CCFFFF&fgcolor=%23000000&title=Isrut%20Hobo%20Countdown">Isrut Hobo Countdown</a>

Momentum

2011-08-05T15:17:00.000-04:00

We have it- and its good.

This week so far has been an eleven on the awesome scale. It started off with Tim getting really good news at work. He is happy and I am so proud of him. He works really hard so its very satisfying to see it come to fruition. Satisfying for him, but inspiring for me. It sounds cheesy, but loving him gives me motivation to work hard so that I can contribute significantly to our future, which is looking pretty goddamn bright at the moment.

Things are kind of on hold as of right now- but I am hopeful. I am expecting word by the end of the day that we have an apartment, the lovely one I wrote about on the other side of the city.

Moving is going to present a good opportunity for me to change my routine. In small ways, such as having to go down 2 flights of steps if I want to smoke a cigarette, and in big ways, like having a dedicated space to do the work that is so important to me.

Big changes are afoot- and if they happen all at once, so be it.

4 years ago, I accepted this job (and significant pay cut I've been bitching about) on the same week I began living as a single person out all on my own.

If all the stars align, I will soon be starting a new life with a partner around the same time I will be starting a new job with a significant pay raise. It's a big "if" and I hope I am not jinxing myself. I had a very promising meeting today with a powerful lady who thinks she can make this happen for me.

The money will be great, God knows I'll never underestimate its importance ever again, but even better is that its a job I think is important. It's a job that helps people to genuinely make a difference in this world for the better. I won't be selling out to work for an evil corporation, but working for a place that does an incredible amount of good. To top it all off- I will be getting paid to write- and to write interesting and inspiring things.

Oh man, am I excited.

I really hope that posting this prematurely isnt going to come back to bite me, but I am all about thinking positive. If I believe that it will happen- it will happen.

Onward and Upward.

Moving sucks

2011-08-01T13:54:00.000-04:00

It's time I just admit it: I am having a hard time with the whole moving thing. Not only am I worried about how its going to change our relationship, but I am just downright resistant to change altogether.

There, I said it.

We found a great place this weekend. It's the right price. It has 2 bedrooms. It has 2 bathrooms. It has a washer and dryer and a good layout. It even has a working fireplace that we will probably never use.

We decided to sleep on it, but by 10 p.m. I was convinced it was the right place for us. I slept on it. I felt good about it. I woke up the next morning thinking that I could really see us there.

Then 5 p.m. rolled around and something happened. I started having doubts. Whether or not they are unfounded, I don't know.

Con: #1- its on the complete other side of the city and will add another 20 blocks to my commute requiring me to spend an hour per day riding a septa bus.
Pro: #1- its on the complete other side of the city, pushing me out of my comfort zone and allowing me to experience living in a different part of the city.
Con #2- the 2nd bedroom, my studio, has an open wall above the staircase to the living room, allowing TV and other living room sounds to invade my studio when I'm trying to write.
Pro #2- The room is otherwise good for writing- it's up high, has lots of windows and lots of light. (and perhaps the fact that its open will keep me from feeling completely isolated while I work.)

I realize that I am completely spoiled when it comes to my current commute situation. Technically, I can live anywhere in the city and still get to work relatively easily. I knew that my days of waking up at 8:30 were numbered.

Also, we've seen so many bad places that are laid out really weird. I am realizing that a lot of places that claim to have 2 bedrooms really just have an extra room in the basement. I walk into these basements and know immediately that I wont be inspired to work in them.

I'm not practical enough for this. I have been judging places by how inspiring they are. Meanwhile Tim is walking around checking the windows and hot water heater and asking if we have access to the circuit breaker.

I'm worried that if we get this place, I'm going to regret it on a daily basis. I'm worried that if we lose this place, we wont find anything better. Mostly I am worried that since the decision is up to me, I am going to make the wrong decision.

I know one thing for certain: this whole thing is a giant pain in the ass.

P.S. Sculpey on Shannanigans today!

We all live in a Yellow Submarine

2011-07-28T16:30:00.000-04:00

Last night the majority of the family headed to Rose Tree Park for a free concert. Beatlemania Again, a beatles tribute band, was on the bill.

The name is appropriate because it truly was Beatlemania again. We sat in traffic for an hour and then had to ditch the car on some random grassy knoll miles away. Clearly, most of Delco thought that the actual Beatles were performing instead of four guys with costumes and fake British accents.

It was absolutely mobbed with families with screaming children and...it was an alcohol free event.

Sounds like hell- but it wasn't. For one reason: Uncle Robbie.

Uncle Robbie is my special uncle, and it was his birthday. Uncle Robbie doesn't like things. He either loves them to the point of obsession, or completely doesn't give a shit about them at all. The Beatles are one of his obsessions. One of his favorite things to do is to put on a Beatles album and jam along with them on his drum set.

My grandparents, strict Irish Catholics with 14 children, were known for keeping a very quiet house, but I have to give them props for letting their Down Syndrome child play the drums. As you can imagine, Uncle Robbie is not the world's most accurate drummer.

He is, however, totally awesome. Everyone in my family has a "Robbie Story." My mom will tell you about the first time she introduced him to her future mother-in-law, and he promptly patted her on the ass.

My favorite was shortly after my wedding was cancelled and the family was still tiptoeing around me. I handed him his birthday present and he shook the box and said, like a smart-ass, "What's in here? Your wedding dress??"

He is still furious with me for cancelling the wedding. To him, a wedding means a prime rib dinner, and years later, he is still claiming that I owe him one.

He has, in one way or another, outsmarted everyone in the family. Recently, he traveled to Paris to represent the US for special olympics bocce ball. He also dumped his long-term octogenarian girlfriend for a younger lady because, "she lets me touch her boobs...it's inappropriate!" He knows Ringo Starr personally, and he always flies first class. Screw the guy from the Dos Equis commercials. Uncle Robbie is the most interesting man in the world.

He LOVED the concert. He sang along the whole time and even got his dance on during Shake it Up Baby. Hands down the most entertaining concert I've ever seen in my whole life.

Happy 44th Birthday Uncle Robbie!

Are you ready...

2011-07-26T14:40:00.001-04:00

...For some football!!!

Football is back! Along with some of my college buddies who I only hear from during football season or when something interesting happens in the off-season. Unfortunately, football is also an excuse for people who aren't supposed to be contacting me to randomly text me.

Dude. Seriously. Find someone else to talk 'ball with.

Anyway, I am excited that things are finally underway for the season. This year my cousins are organizing a family fantasy league and even though I am fundamentally opposed to fantasy football- I have joined, and I'm going to win. Those little boys are going to be very surprised when The Philadelphia Isruts take the championship (and I take all their money).

Anyway- not much else going on. The awesome apartment I was excited about last week turned out to be in a not so awesome neighborhood. Tim is out of town this week so that will put the search on hold for awhile. I'm so over the apartment hunt.

Last night me and mah music buddy hit up the Good Dog. We tried the Habenero Sculpin from Ballast Point, which was...interesting. And their IPA, which was good, and the Hoppy Lager from Coronado Brewing, which tasted like dirty dishwater. We also ate good food and talked about art shit.

You know what? I miss his ex-girlfriend. He has moved on and I haven't. I spent a lot of time bonding with her. One of Tim's brothers recently broke up with his girl too. She called me at work yesterday to tell me what happened and I felt oddly in the middle. She was a down-ass bitch, a very fun girl and my go-to person at their family functions. It really sucks. Next time I'm not getting attached until they have rings on their fingers.

This post is completely disorganized.

I'm upset about Amy Winehouse.

I managed to severely burn my finger with the office water cooler. Don't ask me how.

I'm hoping it doesnt prevent me from finishing my sculpey project tonight.

Tomorrow: Beatlemania at Rose Tree Park for Uncle Robbie's birthday.

Uncle Robbie reminds you to take advantage of Hoagiefest while you still can!

Family Weekend

2011-07-25T14:23:00.001-04:00

We did lots of family stuff this weekend.

On Friday night I hung out with Tim's family, and lucky for me that means lounging poolside, drinking beer and watching Tim do impressions of various sea creatures. (He does a mean 'salmon swimming upstream.')

The next day I wavered back and forth about whether or not to go to my cousin's housewarming party an hour away. I realized that since I missed Christmas and Easter this year, I really haven't seen the extended family in quite a long time, so we went.

I'm not supposed to write about my family but I have been thinking about this past Saturday so much that I had to write about it.

We are going to my cousin's housewarming party. My cousin, who is a still a little kid in my eyes, and now has a real job, a wife, a house, a dining room set. It's so very strange.

I walk up to the house, Tim behind me carrying the shrimp dip. Standing outside is an uncle I haven't seen since I was 23. He hugs me and thanks me for my seven years worth of letters. I was worried about what to expect of him, but he is still the same. He is rounding up the little ones to take them for a ride in the back of his pickup, the same way he would take us for helmetless motorcycle rides around the block when we were little.

A little one toddles by. She is the first of the next generation. I tell her father, the oldest of my cousins, how big she is getting. He tells me that she will be a big sister in February. I congratulate him and his wife.

I admire the newly acquired diamond that another cousin's fiance wears on her finger. This one grew up a few houses down from me and spent his childhood farting and burping and throwing dead bugs on me. I consider him my brother. I find it bizarre that women fall in love with my cousins and want to marry them.

I see an aunt for the first time since her chemo and double mastectomy. She looks beautiful and healthy. Her littlest one interrupts us. She lived her first three years in London and learned to speak with a British accent that is so misplaced in Delco that it makes us all laugh.

I disappear with another aunt to have a long overdue conversation that will stay between us. We speak of secrets that are sixteen years old. We lock ourselves in the bathroom and cry and hug each other. My mother tells Tim that my aunt and I are in the bathroom 'having a moment' and he assumes that we are in there smoking weed.

He meets my grandmother for the first time. He sits with her and laughs at all her stories. He tells me afterwards, "wow- she is so with it." And I don't know if he is surprised at this because she is old or because she's been drinking straight gin for the past several hours.

I apologize for stranding him, but he doesn't care. He can hold his own. He talks to my father, or my uncles and cousins that he knows. He throws the football around with the kids. He grazes around the appetizer table. He stands with me in a corner and points to people, guessing their names and who they belong to. He tries hard. I love him for that.

Our family can be overwhelming. I was even overwhelmed. So many people. So much drama. So many stories. On the way home I was trying not to cry. They were grateful and happy tears- and sad tears, because I know that it wont always be like this. People are getting older and moving farther and farther away. People will pass away. Bad things will happen even though we've been so lucky thus far.

I feel bad about the post I wrote about having too many cousins and not knowing how to manage them. These events are the most important use of my time, even if I don't always realize it.

I wont be missing any more holidays from now on.

"It is sheer good fortune to miss somebody long before they leave you. " - Toni Morrison

300

2011-07-22T12:26:00.001-04:00

Good Morning! It's Friday- and quite a fine day to be at work because I am the only person in the building. My strapless bra was hurting me so I took it off and put it in my pocketbook. On 103 degree days like this I am happy to be a "small-breasted woman."

I have no AC downstairs and Tim lives on the 4th floor, so we had to go find an air-conditioned bar last night to escape the heat. We talked about the move. We are seeing a place on Sunday that looks really good in the pictures. Its in our target area and price range and has all the things we want and then some. I have a feeling that this is our place. I know I shouldn't get my hopes up, but I cant help it. Cross your fingers for us on Sunday!

I am so excited to start our life together. We need to start making special memories and all that stuff, which is why we are going to Ireland with Tim's family in October. We were going to skip it due to the moving expenses, but life is more important than that. It's just time for us to start doing these kind of things.

We didn't pick the dates, so unfortunately I am going to miss 2 weddings for this trip. One on the day we leave and one on the day we come back. One is my cousin's wedding...we were very close growing up and I am supposed to read. I feel terrible about it and I know that my family is going to be so pissed at me for missing it.

But here is the thing. I have 45 first cousins. It is extremely difficult to keep up with them. Last night as I was getting home from the bar, one of my Irish ones had an hour to kill before his train so he stopped over my place (this is why I always keep beer in my fridge).

The last time I talked to him one on one he was he was still in college. I handed him a beer and asked him when he was going to turn 21. "I'm 24" he said. "I'm starting law school in Nashville in 2 weeks." What!! Where the hell does the time go? The youngest of them turned 2 yesterday. Another one has a housewarming party on Saturday night. On and on. It never ends. I try my best to be there to support each and every one of them, but sometimes I have to put my own life first.

I hope they'll understand.

This evening: Nightswimming.

This is my 300th post on this little blog of mine. Thanks to everyone who reads this thing.

~El Isroto

caliente

2011-07-21T14:51:00.000-04:00

It's 100 degrees in Philly today and I cant help but be reminded of the time I was walking down my alley on a day like today and saw a completely naked hobo chillin' on the sidewalk.

Ghetto air conditioning at its finest. Oh, how I am going to miss my street!

So far we have made zero progress finding an apartment. I've been running all over the city seeing crappy places and being stood up by landlords. It sucks. I'm not in panic mode yet, but getting close.

I haven't done much preparation aside from collecting a bunch of recipes and trying them out. Right now I am eating a bowl of roasted brussel sprouts, yellow zucchini, eggplant, onion and garlic.

It tastes like sculpey. I'm going to need a toaster oven for sculpey purposes in the new place.

The store is waiting on me to give them new stuff, but I am in the midst of completing a big custom order for a friend. I stayed home from work yesterday and sculpted so much that I dreamed about it.

I haven't been writing at all. Saw a writer friend this morning while I was waiting for the bus and totally ducked him.

That said, I recommend this book: Little Bee

Anyway, thanks for all the nice comments I got about my Pop-pop/glasses story. I forgot to mention this, but I had a near death experience the night before.

We were playing beer ball, which is this super fun drinking game. You need a beer pong table, a ping pong ball and canned beer. You throw the ball at the can- if you hit the can, you chug your beer until the opposing team retrieves it and puts it back on the table and says 'stop.'

The object is to finish your beer before the other team.

So I throw the ball, hit the can and start chugging. I feel something cold flow out of the can, into my mouth and down my throat. ice cube, i think. Then I realize that there wouldn't be an ice cube in my can o' beer. I start choking, but still manage to swallow the beer. Everyone around me is alarmed, and then I pull the pull tab out of my mouth. It was really scary and embarrassing. My parents would have been so pissed if I managed to kill myself chugging a can of Miller Lite.

Unfortunately, it's on video, so now I can never be president of the United States.

And OH MY GOD, the university is closing due to the extreme heat.

I'm out of here. Peace bitches!

Lost and Found

2011-07-18T11:59:00.002-04:00

Hola! I spent the weekend in Sea Isle City with Tim and some of his football buddies and their wives/girlfriends.

We spent all day at the beach on Saturday and then grilled on the deck and spent the night playing beer ball and flip cup. At some point in the early morning hours while we were all still hammered, someone decided to start a drunken philosophical conversation with Tim about life and death.

As a couple, we generally avoid this topic and agree to respectfully disagree. I sat there smoking with a friend and listened while Tim told his buddy that after we die, he believes that nothing happens and we basically become mulch. He used this word- mulch, and for some reason it really bothered me.

Most people who know me well know that I have sort of twisted my Catholicism into a strong belief that my paternal grandfather, who I lost when I was 14, is watching over me and guiding me. This is why I never miss the bus or forget an umbrella. This is why I have "good luck." It isn't really luck- it is help, it is cheating, it is divine intervention.

So, after drinking purple panty droppers in the sun all day and chugging cans of Miller Lite all night, I decided to jump into the conversation.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that my Pop-pop is mulch." I said.

"Your Pop-Pop is mulch." he said.

I am ashamed of this, but this comment caused me to grab his sunburned face and squish it. After that, yadda, yadda, yadda, the subject was changed and the night continued on.

The next day, after the beach and reading my book on the deck from happy hour until dinner time, I noticed that my glasses were missing. I have never lost my glasses before, or my wallet or keys for that matter. I don't generally lose my important shit. After about an hour or so of looking around the house, I started to panic. Maybe I left them at the beach. Fuck!

The sun was already setting, so Tim and our friend Vinny walked me down to the beach. I was glad for their help because the trouble with looking for your glasses is that you cant effing see. We tried to find the spot where we were hours ago and kicked the sand around to no avail. Vinny went back to look at the house and Tim and I combed the beach. He went one way and I went the other.

I quieted my mind. I looked at the ocean and up into the sky. Pop-pop, help me find my glasses. Pop-pop lead me to where they are.

(guide my sword)

It didn't help. We couldn't find them. We gave up and started to walk back toward the house. I wasn't upset about the glasses. They are only a thing. It would be a pain in the ass, but I could get new ones. It wasn't that big of a deal. But I was very quiet as we walked back. I was thinking about my Pop-pop and the conversation that we had the night before. Tim's logical and rational beliefs vs. mine.

Tim took my hand and asked me if I was alright. I said, "yeah, no big deal." He said, rather surprisingly, "Did you ask your Pop-pop for help?" and I said, "no- he's mulch."

And then I burst into tears like a giant baby, completely out of nowhere. It was kind of ridiculous. Tim stopped on the sidewalk and gave me a hug and I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to get it together. Just then Vinny came running up the street.

"Found 'em!" he said.

Turns out they were sitting on the bed, completely blending in with the pattern of lighthouses and little boats on the bedspread.

Yeah. And my faith lost and found just as easily. It shouldn't have been that easy to shake. I need to work on that. To a logical person, me leaving my glasses on a bed doesn't exactly count as a miracle, but to me it does. Now I can see! Thank you, Pop-pop.

Blue Light on the Avenue

2011-07-14T14:39:00.000-04:00

Everyone is all hyped up for the big U2 concert tonight. A friend offered me really cheap tickets and I had to decline them. I am, however, grateful to Bono, because if they hadn't played a show in Munich last year, I probably wouldn't have had the opportunity to go to Oktoberfest.

My friends went to Germany specifically for the show, and I tagged along even though I didn't have a ticket. My sister and I could hear Beautiful Day clear as a bell from our open hotel room window, so we walked a mile or two to the Olympiastadion. There were tons of Germans camped outside drinking beers and we joined them. We could still see the screen and hear the music.

I'm a little bummed that I'm missing out on the fun tonight, but I would have wanted to see late-80s U2 anyway. I'm not too keen on their new stuff. Give me The Joshua Tree or Rattle and Hum. Give me Angel of Harlem, the kind of songs I know from the backseat of my dad's old Toyota.

If you're going to the show, have fun.

Three small news items:

1. This week is the longest. week. ever.

2. I put a new post on Isrut.com yesterday, about the custom cake topper I made for my friend's wedding.

3. I got an email from the guy who directs my masters program. They want some alums to do a short reading at the First Person Arts Festival at Christ Church in November, and they want me. It's pretty cool and I am slightly flattered, but even more exciting is the progress I've made in my own head.

When I got the email, I didn't brood about it for a few days or freak out or anything like that. I read the email and replied right away that I would do it.

Confidence, bitch!

Privacy

2011-07-12T13:05:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I came home from work and my landlord was at my front door with some guy, letting him into my apartment to look at it.

How did this make me feel? Enraged, embarrassed, uncomfortable.

A little notice would have been nice. 5 minutes even to make sure that there werent any dishes in the sink, panties on the floor, pipes on the coffee table. I am not used to having my privacy invaded like that. I could barely stand it. I graciously decided to leave them alone and take a walk to the bank.

When I came back, the guy was sitting on my couch and leaning over my sculpey desk signing the lease. Just like that! I'm out!

I couldn't even make eye contact with this guy who is going to step onto my patio, open my front door, shower in my tub, sleep in my bedroom. It's all too weird for words.

Oh! and on the way out, my landlord goes, "nice penises" pointing to a pile of mini-penises on my sculpey table. How dare these strangers view my exposed penises!

I guess I am being a big baby, but the whole thing was very upsetting. I think I'll be less traumatized about it once we actually find a place.

Moving on... thanks to those who came out on Friday night. It was a fantastic night of Delco. I partied with my cousins until 4 a.m. and then my little brother made me some food for the first time ever. He even drove me back to the city the next ~~morning~~ late afternoon. Good man.

On Saturday night a certain DocFish managed to get a babysitter and head out to Philly with her man for the night to celebrate their anniversary. Tim and I crashed their celebration and made them drink Guinness and eat fried oreos.

The next day we had an awesome brunch and then watched a bootleg Ben Affleck movie that Tim got from one of his buddies. The Town. It was awful- and crashed right before the end. Epic waste of precious hours of weekend time. Major compromises in the TV department will have to be made when we get our new place. If I'm saying goodbye to the Real Housewives, I shouldn't have to listen to explosions in surround sound.

In other news, I have absolutely nothing on the horizon this week. I'm going to be laying low for awhile scraping up pennies for this move (and potential trip to the motherland in the fall).

I am assuming at this point that I didn't get that job, and this whole place- the whole world in fact- can suck a giant bag of assholes.

For those of you who asked, flesh flies are apparently big giant flies that feed on flesh. We used to call them horse flies. Exterminator came into the office and said, "Yup, somethin's dead. You got flesh flies." Then he sprayed something and they all dropped (like flies), leaving about 100 dead fly carcasses on the rug. He didn't bother trying to locate what else was dead.

I dont want to end this post on that note, so a completely unrelated story:

My sister and her girlfriends had a spa day the other day. One of them has a three year old. They had a fun day and posted all these pictures on Facebook. In one photo is the cute little three year old making a funny face at the camera. In the background, my sister, in a chair at the spa, clearly getting wax applied to her upper lip.

Is that not your worst fucking nightmare? And people wonder why I have never, ever been to a spa in my life. Then again, since it didn't happen to me, probably the funniest thing I have ever seen on Facebook.

In closing, remember to always keep your apartment tidy, wear clean underwear and check your facebook settings.

Happenings...

2011-07-08T14:45:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure what to write about today. I could tell you about work, where an epic, passive-aggressive thermostat battle is raging between the 3rd and 2nd floors and the bizarre swarm of enormous "flesh flies" in the office foyer, which is unlike anything I have ever seen.

Technology is finally on my side again at Isrut International Headquarters, as my little netbook dying turned out to be a good thing. (Dell had to send me software to fix it and I used my ten-year-old leftover troubleshooting skills to fix my big laptop which has been out of commission since my graduation in 2009.) Funny how it got a virus the very week I finished paying it off, and the tech support people tried to convince me that I needed to buy a new one. I have been using it as an excuse not to work on the book for almost 2 years. Now I have two working machines, so Eat That, Dell! Fuckin bastards.

Also- there is this. I am moving. No turning back. I notified my landlord and need to be out by the end of August. Tim has done the same and now we are apartment hunting and preparing for co-habitation.

It is a huge deal for me. I have lived in my apartment for six years, four of them by myself. It wasn't easy, but it was something I needed to do.

My feelings about all this change according to my mood. Of course I am very excited and happy about it, but I am also sad. I love my little apartment. I love my neighborhood. I really, really love living by myself. I'm also reluctant to make any changes to a relationship that is already good. If it ain't broke...

I hope I don't fuck it up.

We don't know exactly where we will end up, but we have agreed on the following stipulations. The apartment must:

Be in Center City
Have a washer and dryer (never again will I take laundry facilities for granted)
Have two bedrooms

Lucky for me, Tim understands how important it is for me to have a dedicated place to write. I am so excited about my first studio. I have been dreaming about it and decorating it in my head. Sculpey on one side, writing on the other, giraffes everywhere.

Also- we watched Despicable Me last night. I'm not usually one for 'kid shit' but I absolutely loved it. If you're in a grumpy mood and need a laugh- check it out.

And- this may be TMI, but I write about it alot anyway: Absolutely symptom-free premenstrual week this month! And I know exactly why- Vacation= no stress= no symptoms. It gives me hope that I can get a handle on it if I learn how to be more zen.

Tonight: Bag Lady and I are heading to Delco to see the Rock n Roll boys play their first headlining show at Tony's Bar in Collingdale. They are called The Yuzh. I had the honor of being the first to hear their new sound, and I wrote a post about it way back when I started this blog. They have been working so hard these past few years and now (see below) they are even getting well wishes from Neil Young. It's a big night for these guys. It is a free show and a guaranteed good time. If you're in the area anytime after 10, please stop by!

Wildwood Days

2011-07-06T15:53:00.000-04:00

Hello blog world! I just got back from 5 beautiful, much-needed vacation days in North Wildwood. We had a fantastic time. We played on the beach every day and partied every night.

I was very inspired, and did a lot of writing as I smoked on the top step and looked out over the ocean. Of course its all escaping me now that I am back in the office. Sucks for my blog, but I am saving all my good lines for a story that is set there.

In my first-ever writing workshop, I wrote an amateur story about a young couple walking the boards. In short, the protagonist hoped that her man would propose to her at the top of the ferris wheel, but when they took a ride, she became terrified. This led her to the conclusion that she was no longer a child and that her fun was over. At the end she asks him to marry her with a Cape May Diamond (polished beach quartz).

Urgh. By the end of the semester, I had a ring on my finger. Pretty good indication of where my head was at the time.

Five years older and wiser, I know that Wildwood is still an exciting, magical and romantic place. It is still fun- it will always be fun. It wasn't my age that had taken the magic away, it was the person I was with at the time.

This past weekend I celebrated four years of independence. I had a lot of time to reflect on how lucky I am to have this wonderful second chance at life and love.

That story desperately needs to be re-written.

And now, before office life destroys this fleeting feeling of refreshment and happiness: a photo summary...

Ate: Dogs and Burgers, Russo's sandwiches, Mack's pizza, Curlee's cheese fries, Ice cream, fudge, crabs on the bay.

Drank: Harp Lager, Corona, Miller Lite, Margaritas, Soco and Lime, Tullynuts!

Played: Trivial Pursuit, beach wiffleball, Kings, VinnyFingers (a drinking game), skill crane.

This is what happens when someone makes a stupid rule in Kings

I won my man an Angry Bird...

Impressed the boys with my wiffle ball skills

Rode: Waves, the log flume, the condor, the sea serpent, the great nor'easter, some hot boy.

Saw: 2 bunnies, bay sunset, a skunk, my favorite cousin, fireworks over the beach, lots of randoms, lightning storm over the ocean.

Until next time...

Bring on the rejections!

2011-06-24T15:47:00.000-04:00

Since this is my writing blog, it must be documented that I have finally submitted one of my stories to a reputable literary magazine.

I wont know for several months whether or not it is accepted or rejected, but that doesn't really matter. I do know that I have a much better chance of being published if my work is floating around in the world and not just sitting in a file cabinet in my living room.

I figure if I make it a habit now, eventually something will happen. If I keep writing and submitting for the next ten years, chances are something will be published sooner or later.

It was the easiest thing in the world to do. I have no idea why the hell it has taken me this long to do it. Sometimes I just need a little help getting over the hump with these things.

In other news- it's less than two hours before the slowest workday in history comes to an end and my vacation officially begins!

Have a great week, everyone!

2011-06-23T12:38:00.000-04:00

Last night I was sitting alone at the bar, having a Stella and waiting for my mentor to show up, when some cute little guy approached me and said, "Hey baby, are you enjoying Sips?" And me, being old as shit, said, "huh?" and he said, "Uhh...Center City Sips? Are you having fun?"

Christ. I was even walking around wondering why there were so many drunk young professionals roaming the streets. We used to be the queens of happy hour. Us bitches used to own Center City Sips. And I was there for a meeting? What the hell happened? And why are there men in the bar that are 10 years younger than me? And why can I never stop myself from asking them how old they are?

Thank God for them and their indiscriminate ways though, because to be old and ignored would be even more depressing.

But the older I get, the older I can go. Gray hair? Suddenly sexy. Jon Huntsman? Hot as shi-at. I guess we are at some kind of awkward in-between stage right now. Seems complicated...I'm glad I'm not single.

Anyway- good, productive meeting last night and guidance on some of the next steps I need to take. Man mentor does not approve of the fancy new job I am pursuing. Money and career be damned- he thinks I should be concentrating on my fiction.

I agree but that's easier said than done. I've got side by side careers, but only one of them brings in the cash. I even have side by side hobbies- and still, ironically enough- one makes money and the other doesn't.

There is, of course- the option to try. So today it's query letters to a list of agents that I hope can help me sell this fucking book. The process takes a couple years, but hey- the years are flying by anyway.

Gotta start somewhere.

2011-06-21T14:37:00.000-04:00

This blog seems to be dying a slow death. Sometimes I am just too preoccupied with thoughts that are not blog appropriate and it becomes hard to write. Yesterday I wrote a post about "top ten reasons I cant blog anymore" then I deleted it because I cant blog anymore.

Still nothing new on the job front.

I'm mad at this blog for reminded me that last year at this time I was gung-ho on all this career stuff before it stagnated again for another year. But it's odd. This morning we toured a new print facility (my ears are still ringing) and I thought about how strange it is that I landed in this industry, which runs in my family. I checked out all the hard-working old guys that man the presses and they reminded me of my Pop-pop, who was once one of those men. I really wonder if he could see me walking around the warehouse in my little corporate outfit watching the guys work the presses and trimmers and bindery machines. Is he trying to lead me somewhere? Or I am just so lost that I am looking for signs in everything?

Last week I had lunch with the remaining people at my old company... My old boss gave me a caricature that was drawn of me and her with our old boss, who died of cancer a few years ago. Back then it was just the three of us running the whole show. Today I noticed the company we toured had taken over some of our larger corporate accounts.

I suppose it doesn't matter anymore, but there is still loyalty there. It made me... I don't know- sad.

The whole work thing is so depressing that I decided to take a vacation. I took off all next week. I am headed to land of love and sunshine, of roller coasters and pizza and canned beer - Wildwood, NJ!

I think it will get me writing again.

The Waiting Game

2011-06-17T12:47:00.000-04:00

I guess if anyone is actually reading this they are wondering how the interview went. Well, so am I. Its so hard to tell with these things... Sure, there are some things I wish I hadn't said and even more things I wish I had said.

I remember on my very first interview, I kept saying the word "yeah." I never even use that word, but it just kept coming out of my mouth. In my head I was freaking out about it, but I was so nervous I just couldn't stop saying, "yeah, yeah, yeah." I still got the job though.

In my interview for this job, I bought a brand new suit. I had it hung up and all ready to go and about an hour before the interview I noticed that this huge anti-theft device was hanging from the right armpit. The cashier forgot to take it off. For the first 2 hours of the 3-hour interview, I held a big pocketbook under my arm to hide it. Eventually I just told them, "look, I didn't steal this suit but it still has this thing on it." They thought it was funny- and I still got the job.

Yesterday the interview lasted for an hour and a half. The woman spent the majority of the time telling me how difficult the job is and how hard it is to keep people there. "People think they want to be writers, but they don't realize how much hard work is involved."

Hopefully I convinced her that I am well-aware of how much hard work is involved in writing. I hope she gives me a chance to show that I am willing and able to do the work. I am ready to be challenged and I want to spend my energy writing. Not spend my energy doing a j-o-b and then not having any energy left to write. I want to make my living with my pen, and I want to do it by writing something meaningful. Opportunities like this don't come around every day.

But I have done my best, and all that I can do at this point. Now its time to wait and see.

P.S. Next time I have an interview I am going to dye the rest of my hair gray.

Find a Penny

2011-06-13T13:54:00.000-04:00

pick it up...all day long you'll have good luck.

We went to a beautiful wedding on Saturday. This happy couple is special to me because they represent the idea that true love is possible, even in unlikely circumstances and after heartbreak. It was an outdoor wedding in a beautiful setting, wildflowers in mason jars, cotton dresses, homemade details (like the cake topper designed by yours truly). It was so lovely.

Tim is a great wedding date, by the way. He makes friends with everyone and is awesome on the dance floor. We had fun.

This couple has a penny thing. The groom collects them because they remind him of his grandmother, and the bride created a special jar to hold all the "nanny pennies" they find. As soon as we got on the bus to go to the ceremony- the groom found a penny. His eyes teared up and it was a really special and symbolic moment.

Cut to the next day, as I am freaking the hell out to prepare for this job interview today. I missed out on a fun party to stay home and make sure all my writing samples were absolutely perfect. I bought a fancy new outfit and tried it on about 500 times, I got my application materials and portfolio in good order... but I still couldn't get my heart to stop beating out of my chest.

The older I get, the more physical my response to stress becomes. Hence my mantra as I was getting ready: dont throw up, dont throw up, dont throw up.

So I went outside to calm myself down and have the last smoke of the evening on the patio next to all my beautiful flowers. I said a couple Hail Marys, took a couple of deep breaths and then I looked down and saw a penny.

It could only be a sign.

I am carrying it with me today as a good luck charm. Good vibes, well wishes, good lucks and prayers to give me the strength, confidence and words I need to get this job are all appreciated around 3 p.m.

Here goes nothing.

Progress!

2011-06-09T15:46:00.000-04:00

I feel a million times better this week.

I had a nice random Tuesday night out for tropical drinks with my Bag Lady and then the Phillies game last night with Tim and his family. We had so much fun.

Afterwards we stayed up late just hanging out and talking about the night we first got together. I had such a painful crush on him back then. Almost four years later, it still hasn't gone away. Yeah... I pretty much decided that I am going to marry this boy. Nobody tell him though.

In sculpey news, I got a $25 check from the store today. They are not closing and they want more stuff. More stuff! Suggestions for summer foods are most welcome. Right now I'm cookin' up some ice cream cones, water ices, popsicles...and a huge pile of penises. My friend I made the cake topper for stopped by last week with a very generous gift cert to Dick Blick, so there is a sculpey shopping spree in my future.

Also - Bitch needs a new suit. I got some major stuff brewing on the career front this week. I have been very aggressively pursuing a fancy new job and am meeting with the woman on Monday to "talk about the position." I don't know if it is an interview or even if I am being considered- but fingers crossed. Any good vibes around 3 p.m. on Monday would be very much appreciated.

And now (forgive me) some shameless self promotion: Follow me on Twitter! (there is a link to the right under the ads) and speaking of ads- do me a flavor and click on them. And if you have something to buy on amazon, feel free to enter their site through this blog. I get money and it doesn't cost you any extra.

I tweeted about the earless rabbit.

(I love him)

Since this post is a completely disorganized and caffiene-fueled, I might as well mention that I have an unhealthy obsession with the Casey Anthony trial. I was so excited when I found out that Arpad Vass, the decomposition expert, is the same guy profiled in Mary Roach's book Stiff, which is one of my favorites. Every since I was on the jury for that damn murder trial I have been into this courtroom crap. I feel so guilty that I am entertained by it.

Anyway- I am looking forward to a relaxing evening tonight and making a huge pot of chili.

Who makes chili when it is 99 degrees in Philly? Your local Isrut.

Moon Storm

2011-06-07T11:48:00.000-04:00

I had a real struggle with my PMDD this month, so I lost a couple of days there.

I sort of hunkered down this past weekend, mostly staying in my bed waiting for the sun to go down so that I could be unconscious. I am trying to stay grateful that is isn't always that bad. It isn't every month I get the urge to kick innocent people in the face or fling myself over the Walnut Street bridge, but it is scary. The amount of damage I can do to my life in one day is pretty alarming.

Not sure what I'm going to do about it. I hate the idea of being back on meds, but I'm not sure how much longer I can continue to put my safety, career and relationships at risk by letting this thing run wild.

I might have to join the gym again. Noooooo!!!!

It's over now though, and the moon goddesses have once again blessed me with sanity. I am lucky that I only have part-time crazy and not full-time crazy. lucky lucky lucky.

In other crap, I have been doing a lot of job hunting lately, which comes with its own brand of crazy. Resumes, cover letters, writing samples, locking down facebook, calling in my big-gun connections to put in good words for me. Its very difficult to keep from getting frustrated and discouraged, but I am trying to put the power of positive thinking to work. I will get a phone call. I will get an interview. I will get an offer.

It's almost my four-year anniversary of working here. Time to move on.

I did make it out to a nice dinner with my man on Saturday before the evening went south. We went to Nola and I had a cranberry and bourbon drink called a Scarlett O'Hara. Could be a sign from the universe that I need to get back to school. Could just be a drink... The deadline is August 1.

In my writing life I have been avoiding my mentor's phone calls and I have been getting really annoyed at Tim for bringing up our little agreement about sending my stuff to magazines.

But I also got stories from two writing group people I really respect, who have asked me for comments. This says something about the quality of my critiques- and it gives me two people who can critique the final draft of the joe story outside the realm of the writers group, something I desperately need.

At work I have been tasked with writing historical articles to be stockpiled for the next volume of the publication. Writing is writing. I'll take it.

Looking forward to a good week with lots of fun events- Phillies game, wedding, Christening- 90 degree temps. Back to good.

2011-06-03T09:40:00.000-04:00

Little bit of chicken fried

2011-05-31T15:11:00.000-04:00

I almost don't want to write today because I am so sad that my lovely five day vacation is over. The time went so fast. Time here at the office, since I wont have an actual job to do until mid-July, moves at a snails pace. But, the holiday was so good.

On Friday night we went to Harrahs to bet on the ponies, eat dinner and see the fireworks. How did I not know how awesome this place was? An outdoor band, cheap beer and harness races? Awesome, except for the fact that I am a terrible gambler who has been known to burst into tears on the casino floor.

Every single horse I picked came in dead last. If they let me bet on which horse was going to lose, I would have been in the money.

On Saturday I went to a jam band show with my sister- The Heavy Pets, who were pretty good. The highlight of that night was watching all the people. None of those unwashed hippies could dance, but that didn't stop them. There was also one guy walking around handing out glow-in-the-dark bracelets and headbands to all the ladies. He had a ridiculous outfit, flashing sword and a light-up bubble rifle he was shooting everywhere. I think I may have to hire him for Tato's bachelorette party.

On Sunday we started off having fun in Tim's sister's pool. That feeling of floating on a raft and the warmth of the sun soaking into my skin felt so good, like summer had finally arrived. The sister is warming up to me, and so is her dog, who hung around me most of the day and even kissed me on the lips. My first dog kiss, which was just as gross as I imagined it would be.

After that it was onto the BBQ of a certain Irish Weekend staple. In the course of the afternoon I held all the newborn babies, consoled a heartbroken buddy, and then dominated at horseshoes, baggo and beer ball. By 10:30 we were speeding our way down to Delco to see my rock n roll boys perform at Maggies.

Goddamn Maggies. I knew everyone in there. A prendie girl, an old softball teammate, city friends, my boys, some family members and my sister's drunk ex who bought me a shot and told me that he should have been my brother-in-law. I have so many would-have-been-brother-in-laws scattered all over the place, but this one is my true long-lost brother. I rooted for him for so long.

Yesterday we hung around South Street and had lunch, then I went home and dreaded going back to work. I was up half the night reading Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese. I could not put it down. What a beautiful, amazing, magnificent work! He has the kind of mastery that makes other writers want to quit. Every sentence was beautiful, and what a story. Highly recommend.

I want to be buried with my kindle.

It's a four-day week, it's a four-day week, it's a four-day week.

2011-05-25T17:01:00.001-04:00

I got some very disappointing news today...It's a bummer but not entirely unexpected. I requested two vacation days for today and tomorrow, which will give me a nice 5 day break with the holiday on Monday.

I'm going to use the time to do some sculpey-related things (and make more stuff since I just got word that the store is not going to close after all, yay!). And I'm going to read the pile of recommended short-stories prescribed to me by my man-mentor, and write.

A little vacation- why the hell not?

I got a surge of creative energy after midnight last night and finished the cake topper:

The bride-to-be loves it, so I am happy.

Going around to sex boutiques in the city and trying to sell them my penis jewelry seemed like a really good idea around 3 in the morning...

I'll be really mad at myself if I lay around watching Lockup for the next five days, but for right now- it's 5:55, I have 5 days off, the summer is here and I have a hot date tonight.

Lovin' life.

Meatballs Are the New Flowers

2011-05-24T16:58:00.000-04:00

And the summer has begun. This morning we published the last issue of the year at work, and last night's writing group was the last meeting of the session. Today marks the beginning of smooth sailing, not being busy, and hopefully the revitalization of my social life. Hooray!

The big news over the weekend was Cawola's baby coming into the world on Saturday. Little Anthony! He is so cute, and I was so honored to be able to hold him on the very day he was born.

It is so strange to see my close girlfriends as mothers, especially Cawola, who has tried to start pregnancy rumors about herself since high school. She joked so many times about being pregnant that I didn't believe her when it was the real thing. On some level, I believed that she doctored the ultrasound photo and was walking around with a basketball under her shirt for the past nine months. But no, she has a baby boy and he is real, and he is perfect.

He has the best name in the world as well. I have always said that if I ever had a baby boy I would name him Anthony, after my grandfather. Tim thinks that name is too Italian for a kid who is going to be 75% Irish, but I don't see him volunteering to knock me up or anything, so he doesn't really have a say in what I name my imaginary children.

I have been known to fall briefly in love with men for no reason other than their strong Italian names. If I was a single girl, I would be on the lookout for Dantes, Aldos, Giacomos, Giovannis & Nunzios for sure.

But only for kissing purposes. I never envisioned marrying an Italian man, even the one I loved. He was Jersey Italian though, and always trying to get me to tease up my hair. My family refers to him as the only boyfriend I ever had (except for my current) who was, "not an asshole."

I ran away from him, but it's OK because I would have made him miserable and been the shittiest Italian wife ever. I took no pleasure in feeding him, and even now when I see his wife's chubby brown-eyed babies on Facebook- it does not move me- at all.

What a fucking tangent this has become, but talking about babies brings my mind to the strangest places. I suppose its easier to look to the past since I have no idea what the future holds for me and my ovaries. But since I'm on the subject of all things Italiano, I have to brag that I have finally made a decent batch of meatballs. It only took me 30 years.

Been Caught Sculpeyin'

2011-05-19T16:52:00.000-04:00

Who wants to buy me a new computer? I'm starting to realize that this blog is not the most efficient way to keep the books for my little business. Nothing like wading through endless blog posts to figure out that I made $12.50 from sculpey in November of 2010...

This month I made $62.50- movin' on up!

Last night I started working on a custom cake topper for a friend's wedding... I am really screwing myself on these custom orders. I don't think I'm going to take them anymore after I fulfill the ones I already have. They take way too much time, and I either don't get paid for them at all, or I don't charge what I'm supposed to be charging, which is $10 an hour plus cost of materials. Once again, a confidence issue that is entirely my fault.

Here is a sneak peek:

It doesn't look like much, but that letter "e" took an entire episode of the Real Housewives of New Jersey plus an hour of Top Chef Masters to make. I still have two more complicated parts to complete, plus the bases...so another 4 hours at the minimum.

The "Dear Abby" of my family has told me that it would be in poor taste to charge my friend for these commissioned pieces, and that they should be part of my wedding gift to her. I sort of agree, but six hours of my time?

I don't know- this has to end at some point.

Thoughts?

2011-05-18T14:50:00.000-04:00

Today I am blogging to distract myself from the uncomfortable feeling of sitting at work in soaking wet pants and shoes. I had a very pleasant lunch date, but now am suffering from the condition known as "wet sock," which feels gross.

I got good feedback from my story on Monday night. One writer got absolutely praised, another got absolutely destroyed, and mine was somewhere in the middle. Most of the criticisms I got were on things that are easy to fix. Most people liked the concept and complimented my ability and the growth of my confidence, since most of these folks have witnessed its evolution.

On the way to the bar, my man-mentor pulled me aside and told me that if I was serious about this (which I am) he believes that it is a possibility, provided I work very hard. I appreciate the message, because I do need to be reminded to work hard, and it will be a challenge to continue without the help of the group. One week left, and then it will be a long time before I go back.

At home I have started to organize all my writing stuff, with files for each story containing all the various drafts, comments and notes. It amounted to an impressive amount of stuff, so now I am on the lookout for a filing cabinet. I'm excited about the prospect of amassing a collection of stories. I just have to keep going, and keep working as hard as I can.

It's so easy to get distracted. Ehhh wet sock! I hate it!

Per my agreement with Tim, I have only one week before I have to send out a story- and he isn't letting me forget it. It is way past the fall deadline for many literary mags, but that isn't really the point. Putting something in an envelope and sending it out- whether its accepted or rejected- is going to be a really big step for me. I laugh in the face of rejection. I welcome it! It's an inevitable part of a writer's life and will not discourage me. I am one hundred times more terrified of being accepted, if that makes any sense.

Tonight: staying in for the first time all week, cleaning the apartment, kindle and Itunes shopping spree and leftover Chinese food while watching Top Chef- and I am so excited. "Ew, adultness, get it off!"

Blogger's note: The sock pictured is not mine. I found it on the internet.

Way Below the Rim

2011-05-16T12:34:00.001-04:00

If this weekend is any indication of how this summer will be- I'm excited. Highlights included seeing my little brother graduate from my alma mater and a long-overdue trip to the Good Dog with my long-lost rock n roll buddy.

On Saturday I was at Fairmount park by 11 a.m., reading my kindle under a tree and watching my man play his last football game of the season. After that we went to the bar for lunch, and after that- some park in Conshy, where I played a completely unexpected, full-on, three on three game of basketball for the first time in probably fifteen years.

I was perfectly content to watch Tim play with his brothers and sister, but they were all whining for me to make the teams even. I never used to be a sit-on-the-sidelines kind of girl, so I reluctantly joined them knowing that at some point, my glasses were going to be knocked off my face.

It started out like a friendly game- until Tim's sister decided she was going to steal the ball from me. Oh no she didn't try to show me up! I was all- Bitch, I grew up playin' Delco sports just like you. All my old competitiveness came out- and the game got rough. I was on her ass like Bruce Bowen for the rest of the game. I nearly broke her husband's nose and I bow'ed Tim pretty hard in his appendectomy wound.

Guess who still has a decent jump shot and had more points on the board than Tim's sister's husband?

I had forgotten how fun it can be to play sports. It felt great. Of course, I got nailed in the head, which I knew was inevitable and one collision made a really loud crunching sound that came from somewhere near my collarbone... but I am excited about this rediscovery and to play again, especially if it means I get to watch Tim out on the court doing what he does best.

He was a star in his high school and college days and still plays with his boys all the time. All these years I've heard the stories, but I never actually saw it for myself until Saturday. Wow- he is really good. I could have watched him all day. He was so happy and so in his element- it was wonderful to see (not to mention sexy as hell).
Someday I'm going to buy that boy a big house with a gym and a bball court. In the meantime I am still hurting. My entire body is sore and I think I need one of those collars...

(Sir Charles, the round mound of rebound, at my bro's graduation)

It's my turn at the RWG tonight, so I might be getting beaten up even more- time will tell. I submitted my survival story, which was supposed to be about reincarnation but ended up being about Arby's roast beef. I'm not sure what happened.

Beef and Beer

2011-05-11T13:25:00.000-04:00

Hi People. Let's have a normal post today.

I can't possibly continue without mentioning the fact that I spent Friday night at the Collingdale Fire House for a Special Olympics benefit. It was a beef and beer for us, Spring Dance for them, and let me tell you- those special people put me to shame out there on the dance floor.

That was my Pop-pop's old firehouse and some of the old guys who were hanging around the bar remembered him, which was really nice. We drank budweiser all night and Tim slow danced with me to Frank Sinata being belted out by one of the special people. Afterwards we got the whole family to go to Tony's Bar, where we ran into some more cousins. The night was the epitome of Delco, and it was perfect.

On Saturday I picked Tato up in my zipcar and headed out to Wayne to see the Cawola one last time before she becomes an official momma. My core group of bitches has gone from food fests to drink fests and back to food fests again. I love seeing my ladies and watching their little boys play together. Those kids, I think, are both going to be professional baseball players.

On Sunday I spent the whole day in the sunshine of my summer office; reading RWG submissions and doing my critiques, proofreading pages for work and writing my new story, all while working on my tan and getting harassed by the homeless. By night, Tim and I had pizza and beers at Pizzeria Stella.

I hope all the mommas out there had a great mother's day. My family has postponed ours until the end of bridal shower/graduation/first holy communion season, which becomes fairly nuts when have you a big family like ours.

The weekend is positively booked with family obligations, but at least they are always fun. I feel so terrible for people whose families or in-laws dont drink. God Bless the Irish.

Next Deadline: Friday, 4 p.m.

2011-05-10T13:43:00.000-04:00

Suddenly, this blog seems very silly. All my grumblings about writing- completely unnecessary. Sculpey-beyond utterly worthless and stupid.

My perspective is changed. I see things more clearly than I did yesterday.

A friend of mine has lost her husband, suddenly and unexpectedly. They were a young couple with two young boys, one of whom only 3 months old. Just this weekend, I got a birth announcement from her- a smiling photo of her little family of four, and I put it on my fridge. The next day- I got a phone call.

It's basically the worst story I ever heard. The most tragic circumstances I can imagine. My heart is just broken for her, and for those boys. Its just one of those events that make the world seem insensitive simply because it kept on spinning.

After the initial shock wore off, I started to think about all the worrying I do about things that are beyond my control. All this stuff about biological clocks and having babies and trying to plan it all out. Why am I so worried about a future that holds absolutely no guarantees?

I owe a debt of gratitude to this couple. They gave me my start, practically handed me a career on a silver platter. They fought for me, helped me, gave me something to be proud of, taught me innumerable things. I did not deserve any of it. I was young and only cared about myself. I had no appreciation of what they were going through, had been through, what was to come.

I wish I had been more kind.

We all know from experience that these revelations only last for just a shamefully short amount of time, but I hope I can remember this forever: Be kind to people. You never know what they are going through.

These are the kinds of things that shake your faith, but oddly enough- they also bring you back.

I did not have these words yesterday. I could only shake my head in disbelief. I couldn't stop thinking about my friend, the impact this will have on her life and on the lives of her children. I fumbled my way through work and then through class. I had a few drinks. And then I came home and did the only thing that makes any kind of sense to me in these circumstances. I prayed.

I think you're just what I needed

2011-04-28T16:09:00.000-04:00

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...

2011-04-27T16:37:00.000-04:00

...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

2011-04-26T11:11:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-20T16:28:00.001-04:00

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

2011-04-18T16:12:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-15T12:38:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-13T16:36:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-08T10:56:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-06T15:56:00.000-04:00

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!

2011-04-04T14:22:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-01T12:04:00.001-04:00

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!

I love Lucas Barton

2011-03-29T15:55:00.001-04:00

This weekend was kinda boring, but there were some highlights. For example, The Wizard was on Friday night and I stayed home to watch it. I then spent a few hours digging in my closet trying to find an old school nintendo and cursing my mother for giving away all my old NES cartridges. Very productive.

On Saturday I worked on some custom sculpey orders, including a set of cufflinks for a guy who owns a restaurant supply warehouse. I'm going to make him miniature copper pots, so I treated myself to a set of expensive mica powders that I've always wanted. Exciting!

On Sunday I whined that I didn't get to have any fun during the whole weekend, so Tim took me glow bowling in Jersey. We had SO MUCH FUN. I was convinced that I would beat him because he doesn't have a lot of bowling experience (or so he claims) and I used to bowl in a league when I was a kid. Yeah...he bowled 5 strikes in a row and totally blew me out of the water. He is gaining on me in our Trivial Pursuit tournament too. (he gets all the easy questions). There has to be something I can beat him at...I must kick his ass.

That's all the news that's fit to blog, because my life and mind have been occupied with things that are not blog-appropriate for the past week or so. So instead I write these trivial tidbits...today is my brother's 22nd birthday...tonight I am going to make stuffed peppers...I cut my nails really short and painted them black...

In writing crap- the furniture article (collection of glorified captions) came out today and got picked up by 2 other news outlets, which is good news for me because it means I will get to write more features.
And after much debate, I decided to go back to the RWG for another round starting on Monday- and maybe hold off on school until the Fall, or until never.

I hope inspiration strikes me soon, because at the moment, I got nothin.'

It happened again

2011-03-24T14:33:00.000-04:00

Or did it? A few weeks ago when I was still working with the group, I had a couple conversations with an old-man writer. We talked, of course, about writing. My strengths are his weaknesses and his strengths are my weaknesses, so we had a lot to learn from each other. Plus, he's old- and therefore full of all kinds of knowledge he'd acquired over the many years he lived before I ever existed.

I am always appreciative of established people who want to take me under their wing, so when he asked for my address, I gave it to him. A couple people witnessed this exchange, and afterward my male mentor pulled me aside and asked me what the hell I was doing.

He proceeded to lecture me about my tendency to make myself vulnerable to these Pop-pops who have less-than-innocent intentions.

Men are still men, no matter the age, he told me, and he brought up the fact that we'd had this conversation before regarding another man old enough to be my father. It was established that I have a certain naivete when it comes to the elderly because I loved my grandfather so much.

But I was offended, not because I object to being called naive, but because I strive for the respect of my work. Is it so hard to believe that an elderly man would try to help me because he believed I had talent? That they offer their services and suggestions to me because they are impressed by my writing ability? And what about the women who have similarly adopted me? Should I assume they all want to sleep with me too?

It just makes me mad. He assures me that my writing is a part of it- that it increases the attraction. It was pointed out that I treat the younger men in the group much differently, that I am more wary of their advances and more likely to dismiss them completely because I don't want to lead them on. But the old guys, since I do not see them sexually and assume they don't see me that way either, I give them my respect, my full female attention- and they see this as reciprocation.

Apparently, I practice my flirting with the men I perceive as un-threatening. I giggle at their attempts at humor, I blush when they compliment me. I do these things, or so I am told by the people who observed this with a mix of concern and amusement. It's probably true, although completely unintentional.

And so I reflected on some of our conversations, and flashes of inappropriate jokes and suggestions were recalled- and I was horrified and disgusted.

Then I had to be gently reminded that these men are not child molesters. I am not a child. I am not even in my 20s. I am in their range. I am too old myself to be bound by the, "respect for elders, be seen and not heard" mantra of my childhood. I am an adult. I am old. God, it sucks!

Anyway, on Tuesday evening, a package arrived- a gift from my elderly suitor. It was a book that he had suggested for me, a very precise technical manual about the craft of writing. Enclosed was a handwritten note- all about writing, very formal.

Since Tim agrees with my mentor on this subject, I shoved the note in his face. "See? He doesn't suggest anything further than that I read this book."

Tim wasn't convinced, and predicted that when I contact him to thank him for the book, he will respond with an invitation. And goddamn it- he was right. He invited me to join him for soup, of all things, a denture-friendly date.

And so the jury is still out. I don't really see any danger in this for me. There is no way it would ever get physical with my consent. If I was interested in old men, I would have long ago been a kept woman in the lovely one bedroom Rittenhouse apartment my octagenarian architect used to tempt me. (Which I admit I think about sometimes when the heat doesn't work or scooter the mouse makes an appearance). This man isn't strong enough to rape me or hurt me in any way. More than one person has warned me about him, but I hate to assume that someone "likes" me unless they make it unmistakably obvious.

So whats the harm? And the book- it's fantastic. It's already been incredibly helpful. I may be able to learn a lot from this guy. And I'm always hungry...so is it absolutely horrible that I'm considering the soup?