The little angel wants so badly to be able to spell.
She can't spell.
Her: "Mommy! What does S-E-S-E spell?"
Me: "Nothing."
Her: "MOMMY!!!! What does N-J-F-P spell?"
Me: "Nothing, honey. You know how to spell my name. Why don't you spell my name?"
Her: "MOOOOOOMMMMYY! What does F-E-P-Q spell?"
Me: "Mommy is driving. My head is sort of starting to hurt. I think you're spelling in another language."
Her: "Mommy! You're not a very good speller."
Yesterday I called my publisher to order books for BlogHer. I ordered 150 of them. About half of the contributors are going to BlogHer this year, and we'll be signing and selling these books (cash only -- special BlogHer price $10, no hollah) on Saturday night on the 7th floor of Macy's at the ending cocktail party right after the closing keynote. (!!) If you would've told me two years ago that I would be signing my own book on the 7th floor of Macy's in San Francisco in 2008, I would've punched you in frustration, you lying liar from Liarsville.
Because the book isn't officially in bookstores yet, I had to front the money, which even with an author discount, was pretty painful. I'm hoping I didn't overshoot myself and order too many, especially considering I had to pay to ship them out there and will be lugging or shipping anything left over home. But even the pain of handing over my business account number didn't overshadow the excitement I felt when the book guy told me the books had arrived in the warehouse that afternoon.
That means it exists. The book is sitting somewhere in the world, right now, not an advance review galley, not a PDF, but a real, Dewey Decimal system book.
I e-mailed the contributors to let them know, and Grace wrote me back this totally lovely e-mail, which made me realize I should stop fluttering around thinking about the receipt book I need to buy and calling my accountant to ask how to file a sales tax return and just enjoy the moment. The book is in the warehouse. That means that in a few weeks, I'll be able to hold it in my hands and maybe lick it. And love it and squeeze it and call it George. And take it home and give it a bath, and sleep with it every night for a week.
I'm so not kidding here, people. That is how much I love this collection. I won't lie and say I don't love seeing my name on the cover next to Stacy Morrison's (because she is so real and so cool that I just can't believe she's the editor of a major women's magazine, because I thought you had to be Miranda Priestly to pull that shit off). But I also really love the writing, and the writing is the reason I got the idea in the first place -- because I adore the writing I read as often as possible on the Internet as much as I adore the writing I read on the printed page. The talent of the blogosphere blows my mind on a regular basis. I've always known a lot of great talent goes unpublished because the business of publishing has unbelievably slim margins, but I'm relieved to live in an age when writers can self-publish their work so easily and to so many.
But alas, laptops don't go easily into the bathtub, and they're kind of clunky in an airport or car, and frankly, they look like shit on my bookshelf. Nothing, for me, will ever replace a bound book, so despite the fact that I read online all the time, I'm excited to have some of the strongest work from these writers all wrapped up in 200-odd pages that I can pop in my purse. And also, I'm glad to know that even if the technology changes and something goes horribly wrong and one of the writers loses her entire blog, I'll still have those words safe on my bookshelf. It's comforting.
And it's exciting. I can't wait.
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Pamela won herself some free jeans for her embarrassing jeans story over at Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews.
7 a.m.
"Mommy? Is it a school day or an adventure day?"
"It's a school day, honey. And I have to go to work."
"NOOOO! I HATE SCHOOL! It's no fun. WAAAHH!"
5 p.m.
"Come on, sweetie. It's time to go home."
"NOOOOO! I LOVE SCHOOL! Here are some things I made for you, and I want to stay with my friends, and I found a worm on the playground today, and I love him, and can I bring him home, PLEEASE?"
"No."
"WAAAAHHH!"
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Writing about preventing cervical cancer this week at BlogHer.
I had this post all composed yesterday, but then a bunch of stuff happened, and I ended up having to shut down my computer without saving it. I'm kind of bummed, because that post was better than this one, or at least more sappy. It wasn't done, though, and there is no fast way to write a post about seven years of marriage.
Yesterday was my anniversary. Today is my parent's anniversary. Happy anniversary, Ma and Pa!
Seven years ago, my husband and I stood on a white sand beach in St. Pete Beach, Florida, and exchanged vows. We were 27. At the time, that seemed old to be getting married. (I live in the Midwest, remember.) Now, I can't believe anyone let me DRIVE at age 27, let alone get married. My generation gets married older, has babies older. My parents got married when they were near the same age, but for their generation, they were OLD. Funny how times change. Maybe by the time the little angel grows up, kids'll be getting married right out of high school again - why not, when you can download your college degree onto your iPod?
I remember when we first got married, after a weekend spent driving to Iowa and back (there were many more of them then than there are now), we'd have to each go our separate ways for a few hours on Sunday night. Too much togetherness. We got on each other's nerves. That doesn't really happen as often now, and I think it's because we've had to learn not to annoy each other, because with the little angel around, we have to be together more often. There is no more running off to the gym or sinking into an entire afternoon of napping and sports on TV when we're feeling pissy. There is no more avoidance. We've learned to make adjustments so coexisting is easier. We've learned to step out of the way in the bathroom proactively instead of bumping into each other and swearing.
There have definitely been some hard times, recent hard times, but the hard times overcome make the relationship sweeter. I knew when I married my husband that he was funny and smart and strong and kind, but I didn't realize he would be so resilient, so handy, and so comforting.
Yesterday I had a bad day. There was a bad conversation, followed by a big dose of stress and a bunch of things left unaccomplished. I started leaking tears on the way out of work. S. and The Editor Across the Aisle sent me home instead of to a birthday happy hour that I wasn't supposed to attend anyway, because I was supposed to go home for my anniversary dinner, but I was feeling guilty about missing the birthday and feeling guilty about the bad conversation and not getting my beloved a fabulous anniversary gift even though we said we weren't going to and did I mention I'm always a little upset about things during the ides of the month?
So I drove home. Made a few calls. Cut off my beloved to take a call from my best friend, who I know is better at listening to me vent than Beloved is (he is great, but he IS a man). By the time I got home, I thought he'd be pissed, because instead of being in a great and loving mood on our anniversary, I was strung out and stressed. I pulled in to see him and the little angel getting out of the car, carrying roses.
Seven years ago, he would've been pissed. Yesterday, he recognized that I was just having a bad day and in need of a little pick-me-up. Of course, I melted, and felt bad that I hadn't gotten him anything.
"Ha ha," he said. "I won." And he walked outside to light the grill.
Seven years. Some itchy, some not. Getting better all the time.
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Julie won the Build-a-Bear gift card giveaway and you can enter to win free Lee Jeans capris or pedal pushers at Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews.
Here is an excerpt from my latest book review, available at Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews.
Nobody is stopping us from changing the world. It's a different worldthan our mothers inhabited, that's for sure. We have more power andless. The power we do have, as women, as mothers, can only be found inorganization, and in unification. Yet we fight each other, we drawlines in the sand, we deem our choices the best, the only. The onlyway we can make this world better, easier, for us and for our children,is by dropping the pretenses and helping each other. And by not beingafraid to speak out, even if it garners us criticism from our men orour peers.
It's late, and there are so many things going through my head as the thunder booms and my in-laws are in danger of being flooded out in Iowa by the latest of a series of Biblical storms. I'm thinking of politics, as I'm sure our politics, and the politics of our leaders, are affecting the weather as surely as God is. I don't believe God reigns down terror, rather He lets us sleep in the bed we made.
The woman who might have been president has stepped aside, and though I'd have liked to see her take the highest office in the land, I am confident Obama will fight the good fight. I'm confident another woman will take office in the next 12 years. I'm confident that we as a country are beginning to change, in many ways.
I recently took a poll that asked me if I thought our world would be better, worse or the same in the next five years. I hoped against hope and said I thought it would be better. Not because I necessarily believe in politicians, not even those I like, but because I believe in us. I believe in the bloggers, the writers, the thinkers, the artists, the soccer moms, the single women, and yes, the men. I believe we've had enough of big money and corporate control. I believe we've had enough Animal Farm to last us a lifetime.
The book was great. But what was better was the fire in my belly I once again felt upon putting it down. You have keyboards. Will you use them for good or for evil?
Write what you believe.
Hello, world! My name is Rita, and I really love it when you tell me what a narcissistic idiot I am! Whee!
Now, I don't normally do this, but today I am in a really good mood, because I took today off from my day job to work on the book tour and some other blog projects. (I'm going to give away more stuff! See below!) Also! Beloved got sinus medication, and he no longer snores. BRINGING SEXY BACK.
So, here, without further ado, is the best troll comment I've gotten since the Woman Who Shall Go Unnamed. I do seem to attract me some venom, don't I? It must be my reticence.
OMFG!You actually think you're interesting and have something to say. Ithought it was all some sort of crazy joke. Nope. Just crazy. I plowedthrough this crap looking for a truffle. Alas, there was nothing morethan a little girls diary of private thoughts posted to the world by anarcissistic adult lacking in the good taste to keep private thoughtsprivate.
Commenter name: Mark
Commenter email: bitme@myass.com
IP address: 64.174.52.242
None
Somebody has a case of the Mondays.
Now, hmm. A truffle? At first I thought MAYBE there was a meaning for the word "truffle" of which I was unaware, so I hopped over to Dictionary.com, and no, no, "truffle" means what I thought it meant.
truf·fle
- any of several subterranean, edible, ascomycetous fungi of the genus
- any of various similar fungi of other genera.
- acandy made of soft chocolate, shaped into a ball and dusted with cocoa,or sometimes a three-layered cube of light and dark chocolate.
So, Mark was either looking for fungus or girly candy. Here at Surrender, Dorothy, we deal mostly in herbs and Laffy Taffys. Sorry, Mark. Next time leave your real e-mail address. I'm pretty sure "myass.com" doesn't exist, though I totally could be wrong about that. I'm pretty sure "bitme" is a Freudian slip. BUT I WASN'T WRONG ABOUT THE TRUFFLE.
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My gushing adoration review of the Cricket magazine Ladybug is up at Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews.
I'm giving away a $25 Build-A-Bear gift card at Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews.
In the midst of running to the basement last night (there were tornado sirens going off all night in my area), I saw Barack Obama clinch the Democratic nomination. I admit, being a Hillary supporter this entire primary season, that I was a little disappointed, but it wasn't the mind-bending upset I felt when George W. Bush was elected the first or second time, it was more a wistful, oh, I would've really liked her as president disappointment.
But I totally shook it off. I like Obama. I liked Edwards. I really liked Clinton. I would vote for any combination of these people. So it's shocking to me that more people are not clamoring for what is being called "the dream ticket," with Obama choosing Clinton as his VP. The one issue I had with Obama is his heavy-on-the-rhetoric, light-on-the-firm-plans campaign, and I think Clinton brings not-as-good-of-a-speaking-voice-but-very-well-developed-plans to the game. The combination would be really good. I can't imagine them whispering together over frozen custard, but come on, they're co-workers, not BFFs. I've worked with plenty of people I couldn't stand personally but respected professionally, and I do think they respect each other professionally quite a bit. I also think their goals for the party and for the country are extremely well-aligned. If Clinton had won the nomination, I would've wanted her to pick Obama as her VP, too.
SO. I just signed this petition at Vote Both. Here are a list of prominent Dems who support the "Dream Ticket."
If only WE got to choose both the president and vice-president in the primary process.
Does it seem like there is a black cloud hanging around? I've had a lot of friends and family members with bad news lately. It seems like everyone's company is laying people off, cutting costs, tightening belts and generally making life miserable. The gas prices have finally gotten high enough to make people think twice about traveling. The airlines suck ass. Traveling this summer just doesn't even sound fun. The weather is insane, and heading into tornado and hurricane season is frightening. I have a headache like every damn day from the barometric pressure constantly changing. THE WATER IS TOO WET AND THE ICE IS TOO COLD.
Crabby, crabby, crabby.
Which is bizarre, really, because in my own life things are really good. A year ago, we moved into Chateau Travolta after a horrible experience selling This Old House and my husband's job was miserable. My beloved cat Sybil died of kidney failure. In comparison, 2008 FUCKING ROCKS. So what gives with my headaches and crankiness?
Here's a lightning bolt: I used to think (I know, I know, rookie) that if I were to get a book published, it would change everything. I would never again have a bad day. I would always be on Cloud Nine. I would never fight with my husband, my child would flit from flower to flower like a red-headed butterfly. Everything would be grand, forever and ever, amen. Ridiculous, right?
But how many people really believe that shit? That if only you had bigger boobs or thinner thighs or a million dollars or a husband that everything would be all hunky-dory all the time? I never thought I'd fall prey to that, because after recovering from an eating disorder in my youth I realized that being a size 2 really just meant I was fucking hungry all the time. It didn't fix anything. So I kind of thought I was immune to this sort of fantastical thinking.
I'm elated about my book coming out in a few months. I'm really, really excited about the book tour (widget coming soon with dates). My beloved has been so supportive and wonderful about this dream of mine as it spun toward fruition that I've fallen in love with him all over again in the past few months. We're remodeling the house we always wanted to have, cigarette-burned carpets and all. I have a new cat, who, while not Sybil, is a very loud purrer and quite cuddly. My husband has a different job that he really enjoys and whistles a lot. The little angel has adjusted to her new daycare and is looking forward to going most days. She can draw a rabbit and write any word if you tell her the letters to use. She can read certain names and short words. Things are good.
But you know what? There are still bad days. Tonight I came home with this killer barometric-pressure headache, knowing I had some reviews to do and that I was overwhelmed at work and it was only Monday. The little angel wouldn't eat her dinner and the old truck wasn't starting very well. When I went to fill the bathtub, the shower was left on BY ME and drenched the top of my head. Not the front, not that back, just the top, which looked totally cool and felt EVEN BETTER. I couldn't find the Advil. I tried to find the swimming suit and water shoes for tomorrow's "water play day" at my daughter's school, but she wanted the Crocs and I could only find one goddamn Croc, and she insisted the Dora shoes WOULD NOT DO and I wanted to tell her about all the little children in the world who don't have shoes and get parasites through their feet, but then thinking about those little children made me want to cry and it isn't even that time, seriously. I'm just low on batteries this week. And the IRS sent us a letter saying we messed up a box on our 2006 tax return and we owe them $390 yesterday.
So no, getting a book published didn't fix everything. It just felt really good to achieve a life goal. The end.
In a way, though, it's freeing. I mean, if that's the case, if realizing a dream I've had my entire life didn't fix everything, that means that nothing will fix everything, and this is as good as it gets, these little minutes, and maybe I should stop worrying about the big, grandiose achievements I always think will finally make me happy. Maybe I am already happy, or I would be, if I could just find the damn Advil.
Or something.
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Teach your teen to stop hating her thighs. Read the book review at Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews. Also! I wrote about oral sex today at BlogHer. Seriously.
So today I took the day off to work on the book tour events and a bunch of posts for a new site I'll be writing for (hint: preschoolers and what to do with them in Kansas City -- more details soon). In the morning, before I started my marathon 3,000-word writing bonanza, I headed over to a friend's company (okay, they make jeans) to talk a little bit about blogs and blogger outreach.
We had a great old time, even though I was 15 minutes late and totally lost because the directions I printed out actually FLEW OUT THE WINDOW as I was driving. Yeah, I'm cool. Anyway, when I finally found the building, I went to the wrong entrance, cursed profusely, and jogged around to the right entrance. When I arrived, my buddy told me he'd seen the whole thing. "You run like a girl," he said.
But! I got some really cool free jeans out of the whole affair, which I'll review shortly. Although I've only tried on one pair so far (testing the old "gap protection" - think it can hold up to an 11-inch hip-to-waist ratio?), so far, I'm kind of shocked at how nicely they fit considering I totally guessed at what size I would wear. And we all know how shocking THAT is.
So! I totally forgot to announce the winner of my edu-software contest. So hurry on over to Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews to find out. And stay tuned, because one of these days I'll get organized enough to put all the book signings into a widget or something equally informative. If only I could figure out how to use widgetbox. If anyone's in the know, please e-mail me. I'm pathetic.
