Never, EVER ask

What's that you're wearing? Are you a feminist?

As often happens, Mom-101 wrote a very interesting post today. Her thesis is that we should reclaim the word "feminism" as a positive term. Thank you, Mom-101 for rallying the web. Over time, feminism is something that has defied universal description. Did it mean that you hated men? Did it mean that you didn't shave your legs or like nice jewelry? Did it mean that you grew your own vegetables and spent a fortune on bras because you were forever burning them? Equal rights? How can we grant equal rights to girls? They might get drafted. Obviously, the ideals embodied in the word "feminism" will look different on different individuals. To believe that women are as equally entitled as men, that they can be anything that they wish, that they are not impaired in any way for having been born female -- these are ideals that the entire movement can share, even if from woman to woman you find those who do and don't wear makeup, those who do and don't worry about their weight, those who do and don't prefer the opposite sex for a partner, those who do and don't stay at home with their kids. It's shouldn't be such devisive term. I am a feminist. My husband is a feminist. My daughter is one too. And I'm going to resist the urge to qualify those statements. I think that is what Mom-101 was all about.

I've been meming to tell you about myself...

Go see Obey the Purebreed art and posters by Kevin McCormick. This sneaky militant pup looks a lot like my little anarchist. So now you know one thing without me even starting my list. I am the personal assistant to a would-be dictator. And now for our main feature (I was tagged by Sweatpantsmom and Izzymom), Six Weird/Interesting Things That You Didn't Know About Me. NUMBER ONE: I don't get altitude sickness. I climbed to the tippy top of Mt. Kilimanjaro (almost 20,000 feet) and although I cried like a baby when I got to the top, along the way I slept like a baby at night and never really got tired. It took six days to climb because my friend on the hike, an all-that male athlete, chose the most difficult route available short of a technical climb. Guess which one of us DID have trouble with the altitude? I am woman, hear me roar. NUMBER TWO: I LOVED law school. Yup. Loved it. I even took more credits than required to graduate. BUT, every nightmare I ever have is about law school. My professor looks right at me and says, "Ms. Boucher, can you please stand and tell the class about Wanker vs. Tosser? And throw in the bit about why you didn't wear pants to class." OR, it's one of those "OHMYGOD the final is tomorrow and I never even bought the book. I thought I dropped that class. AAARGHH." Small wonder that I'm a writer now instead of a lawyer. NUMBER THREE: I think that ESP is a possibility. (And I sense immediately that you do too. Oh, Grandma? Is that you?) NUMBER FOUR: I have OCD. Oh, not that wussy little, "Gosh, did I remember to take out the trash?" type that strikes in the middle of the night. More like that, "I've got to drive ten miles back to where I just drove from to make DOUBLE, TRIPLE sure that what I assumed was a pothole wasn't me running over the Mayor of Tampa." Of course, I am symptom-free thanks to Big Pharma so it's safe to keep visiting. NUMBER FIVE: I cut my own hair. NUMBER SIX: I feel guilty driving a Mom-van. I want a Prius. Or a horse-drawn carriage. Or a city that isn't in the top five of the Pedestrian Unfriendly. So there you have it, hopefully more interesting than weird but when your're talking about yourself, you've done well to if you've avoided boring. So now I tag, Lisa at My 3 Sons, Addison, The Liberal Banana, L at Random Speak, Life in the Pumpkin Shell, and how about the LawNut in honor of my law school entry.

The Cost of Protecting the Easter Bunny Story

Hey Addison, Me too

Wendy's creature-nemesis:

The Dreaded LORAX

'What" creature will become your nemesis?' at QuizGalaxy.com

The Veterinarian

Girlie wants to be a veterinarian. Not a wussy veterinarian that treats doggies and kitties but a wild animal veterinarian (most likely so that EVERY day she can be at Busch Gardens). So she set up a veterinarian clinic on our back porch. (See picture one.) The tape is used for dismembered worms. The box and the plastic container are for capturing lizards and bugs. I'm not at all sure why she needs scissors. Her plan, and it's a fine one, is to catch bugs, take them to her clinic for an examination, draw their picture, and compare her drawing with a real photograph of the bug in some bug encyclopedia that she imagines we possess. If the bug as drawn by her doesn't match the photo, the bug needs her veterinary services. Very cute and nicely thought out.

Here's the problem. Take a look at picture number two. Girlie drew that last week. It's a picture of a baby owl. I've seen her bug drawings and with the exception of rather easy to draw oval shaped beetles, her representations of bugs aren't much more realistic than this owl. She's seven for cripes sake. But I guess now I know why she has scissors. Poor buggers. They must always have to go under the knife.

More Beautifuller

Girlie got into my makeup drawer today and told me that she wanted to make herself "beautifuller." Apparently, she thinks she would be more beautiful with glasses. This pair was drawn with blue eye crayon. You know, I frequently wear a pair of bluish rimmed glasses. Perhaps she wanted to look like me. How cute.

"The Jealousy Method" - For potty training parents only

Lucinda over at Suburban Turmoil has reminded me about those halcyon days of potty training. I commented on her site about my proven method but it's such an important topic to so many parents, I feel a responsibility to share my knowledge with a wider audience. I know for a fact that at least one of my regular readers has an infant. If I can help even one person..... So, Lucinda, like I did for awhile, is going the naked baby route. Her very funny post illustrates the dangers associated with such a method. When Girlie was two, we tried the naked approach with similar results. Girlie would run around the house shouting, "Nudie! Nudie!" She'd play with her toys, engage me in a game of chase, and occasionally even take a little peek at her plastic safety potty. But the usual result was something like this: she would sit on the potty; do nothing; go play with her plastic toy food; poop while standing up over the plastic lettuce leaf; and say, "uh oh." That really happened. A plastic lettuce leaf spared our carpet. So what's a mom to do? Heh, heh. Find your child's most desired treat. For Girlie it was chocolate chips. Oh sure, you promise her that she'll get one if she does her thing in the potty but that's not the part that works. What you MUST THEN DO, is reward your mommy self with a chocolate chip every time YOU go to the bathroom. Make sure your child sees you eating those chocolate chips and exclaim quite loudly about their deliciousness. Then say something encouraging like, "I sure hope you get to have a chocolate chip today. Mmmmmm." Girlie was potty trained in about a day after I employed that method. You're welcome.

Where's the logic exactly?

Holy Holidays, Batman. It's almost Peaster.

Tonight is the start of Passover and Easter is on Sunday. Thank you Mom-101 for introducing me to the word, Peaster. Her description of Passover with her family is a hoot. My family tradition is to celebrate Easter. When I was growing up, we awoke on Easter Sunday to baskets of goodies and an Easter egg hunt. Good thing, too, or we wouldn't have the classic family story of the Easter egg hunt at the Oregon coast one year. We spent hours decorating two dozen hard-boiled eggs. Then the Easter Bunny hid them outside while we slept. If ANY of you are from Oregon, you'll guess where this is going. In Oregon there are giant slugs the size of hot dogs with Martian antennae. They love eggs. Who knew? They didn't eat them but they sure as hell slimed them. Then of course my gross brothers started putting salt on the slugs and well, Mom threw up, my little sister cried and Dad and I had a terrific laugh. Good times. These days, being your basic godless heathen, I still enjoy Easter for the jelly beans and stuffed bunnies. I feel a little guilty celebrating a holiday that I don't feel religiously attached to but I love the lack of religious tradition in my family. The result is that I had a grandmother who was a Christian Scientist, I have a cousin who is a Buddhist monk, there's the odd Christian or two in the mix, and as I have such a large extended family, there are most likely Jews and Muslims and Scientologists hanging around the family clan too. Girlie attended a Jewish preschool for a couple of years. Hubby was the President of his church youth group as a kid. It's a splendid mix. It wasn't all peace and harmony growing up in my household but the end result is that we're a very tolerant lot full of strong individual personalities. And for those of you who still think that I need saving, here's a short list of why I'm a good person even though I'm an atheist. 1. I never blog about my inlaws even though they are highly bloggable. 2. I give a lot of money to charity, when I have it. 3. I love my husband and daughter and never beat them. Or my pets. (Okay, inlaws, that's a joke. It doesn't mean that I am suppressing a desire to beat them. Sheesh, now I have to erase number 1.) 4. I like most everybody. I'm a bleeding-heart liberal whose best friend in town is a staunch conservative. Ah, tolerance. 5. I eat my fruits and vegetables. 6. I love my life. See? I don't need fixing. Thanks for stopping by and Happy Peaster!

Oh my God, I won! Well, probably. Maybe.

I am actually going to write this post and not draw a cartoon. After all, it's about writing. At the end of last year, I entered a short short story contest at Writer's Digest. I don't typically write short stories. This was probably the first one I'd written outside of some college fiction writing class a long time ago. Just imagine how good it was. All those years of pent-up short storytelling finally flowing from my pen. Oh the drama, oh the characterizations, oh the descriptive wizardry. All in 1,500 words or less. I was sure the moment I sent it off that I would win. Well, I checked on the Writer's Digest site and they say that the winners have been notified. HOLY SHIT! I'm an AUTHOR. I get TONS of crap mail from places like, well, Writer's Digest. I MUST HAVE THROWN AWAY THE NOTIFICATION!!! I just don't know where to begin turning my house upside down. Oh, and I'll need the name of some good computer forensic scientist to retrieve the email notification that I surely deleted without reading. Imagine my embarrassment. Of course, I won't be half so embarrassed as those Writer's Digest folks will be when they have the awards ceremony and the grand prize winner isn't even there. Shoot, it's almost worth passing up just for the great posting fodder. So if any of you know somebody over at Writer's Digest, just tell 'em I haven't received my notification yet and I wouldn't want them to feel bad. THANKS!

The Temptation of Mom

Five Minutes in the Kitchen

Every little thing she said

Some days, Girlie sounds positively scripted. Today was such a day. a.m. Me: "Mornin' Girlie. Are you hungry?" Girlie: "Sure, I could use a well-balanced breakfast." noonish Girlie: "Me and Daddy are working together to do Mother Nature a favor." [by putting the worms Hubby dug out of the gutter onto plants] Girlie: "No time, no time -- this worm needs surgery NOW!" [proceeding to put tape around the body of a worm that had been cut in half] Girlie: "When training to be a veterinarian, you must start with the classics." [worms, apparently] p.m. Me: "I love you so much I could just eat you up." Girlie: "But I'm not on the menu." [just as well, I only have the one kid]

Running and Screaming

We ran across one of Girlie's spelling assignments from earlier in the year. The best part of her spelling work is where she has to use the words in sentences. Without further ado, I present you with Girlie's Words (unedited). I once wrote a story about sponge Bob square pants. I love mommy her kisses are great. I don't have many house erasers at all. If I had a choice of ice cream with lactose, I would choose the other choise. I love the out doors. I'd love to get out of school so I can go to Bush Gardens. I'd love some food right now. Mommy and daddy are great! I love them so much. I'd love to get out of school rigt now then I could play with my toys. I love these parts of Florida. I love to jump up and down on a trampoleen. If it rains will the rain stop? [she wrote the answer upside down] yes. If I was stolen by a stranger would I run or screem or both? [upside down answer] both. So she can't spell but she's got the stranger danger thing down pat. I'm good with that. And there's something decidedly existential about her rain question. Good job, Girlie. I give you a smiley face.

Keep working on it, George.

Bush involved in leak?

Smelling is bad -- acupuncture treatment #2

My second acupuncture treatment was yesterday. Mmmm. Just as good as the first time. We still haven't even started with specific NAET treatments. I think that they were concerned about the fact that I can barely breathe and haven't been able to smell anything since 1992. I don't know how many pins were stuck in my back and shoulders (and arms and legs) but this time one of them was ouchy. They had to take it out. Otherwise, it was all good. I stayed there on my stomach under a heat lamp for twenty minutes and the sensation was simply exquisite. Then I felt great the whole rest of the day. The euphoria is like how you feel when you get a bit of really great news that you were waiting for. So there's the upside. Feels good both during and after. Here's the downside. My dog needs a bath, the fridge needs cleaning, and the cat box could use a little attention. I knew all that but now I can smell all that. Yay, I can smell. Dang, I can smell. Don't ask me how it works. I have no idea. But my sense of smell is returning and all day yesterday I could breathe through both nostrils. You know what gets better when you have a good sense of smell? Shut up, I was talking about taste. That's a good thing, in general, but Hubby won't get away with buying that cheap wine anymore now that I can taste it. Got any recommendations on a good Pinot?

Is "innocent manipulation" an oxymoron?

Girlie arrived at our bedside at 7:15 this morning -- a normal time for her. She was in her jammies, also normal except when aliens are running experiments. Aliens popped by twice in the last -- well, forever -- and didn't realize that getting dressed before being nagged was normal human behavior for Girlie (thusly they were recognized as aliens). Anyway, last night I'd put a stack of clean clothes in her room so this morning I suggested that she go find an outfit for today before heading downstairs. Girlie: "Why do I have to get dressed so early?" Me: "It's not that early. You need to get dressed before school so why not now before we're all in a rush not to be late?" Girlie: "I only got dressed by myself those two times to keep you away from making me do it every day." Me: laughing on the outside but on the inside being VERY afraid of her teenagerhood. She's only in first grade. Okay, it's plain old manipulation on her part, I just called it "innocent manipulation" because she hasn't figured out that she doesn't need to tell us about it.

Will the next election ever get here?

Sitting on the floor eating stale jelly beans, the president speaks to his speech writers about a rallying cry to members of the United Nations about the Middle East.

Desperate Measures

Pokedly Yours...

Today I had my exam and first actual treatment using Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM), more specifically, acupuncture. The first thing I was asked to do was to stick out my tongue. Huh? She looked at it and wrote something down. Maybe it was, "uses Crest toothpaste." Maybe she could read the lines on my tongue and tell how long I was going to live and therefore whether or not to bother treating me. I really can't say. Then she took my pulse, had me stick out my arm and resist pressure, and breathe a little funny at the same time. She murmured something and made a few more notes. Bring out the needles, already, I'm thinking. So she did. (She reads minds too.) Whatever skepticism I had brought with me finally took a lunch break. It doesn't hurt one bit to get the needles positioned and after lying there for twenty minutes under a warm lamp, I didn't want her to take them out. Seriously, it was wonderful. The needles today were mostly in my back and shoulders. We finished up with a shoulder/back Chinese massage and I was high as a kite all afternoon. Now here's the spooky part. My allergies have damaged my sense of smell so much that I can't smell vinegar. Except today I could have. My dog jumped in my lap and I commented to Girlie that stinky doggie needs a bath. Stinky? Doggie? I could smell the dog? I could smell the dog! My next treatment is on Thursday. I can not wait!

The Importance of knowing what motivates your kids

Tribulations

I made Girlie release the lizard. Sob! Sob!! SOBBBBBB!!! "Deep in my heart, it was like that lizard was my own son!" The son she kept in a dark box with no water and little food. We told her that if she saved her money for a month, we would help her buy the extra-large terrarium required for a lizard. Check back with me in May to see if we haven't moved on to other interests.

How do you define "pet"?

For me it's easy. Cat or dog? Pet. Anything else? Big mistake. But I checked Merriam-Webster's and it says: "a domesticated animal kept for pleasure rather than utility." So, going with the broader definition and her original intentions, I think we have to call the beetle, the giant mosquito thing, and the spider (named, in order, The-bug-Mommy-helped-me-catch, Gabriel, and Charlie) pets. She caught them today after releasing Ron the spider who had survived his day of captivity. Okay, they are pets. She got them what she believed passed for food; she named them, she toted them around in a container; and she even put a label on the container just like a dog would wear a tag: If lost, please return to... kind of stuff. If you read yesterday's post, you know that she had burial plots reserved for them already. Enter the lizard. After buying new shoes for the big father/daughter dance tonight, Girlie found herself with a shoe box. Next thing you know, she'd caught her first lizard. The war on nature is escalating around here. Girlie and Hubby read about keeping lizards on the computer and by now you know where this is going. What do lizards eat? Bugs. What did Girlie have a surplus of? Bugs. Only, as I have explained, these were pets. Were. Pets. I hope they didn't know what was going to happen to them. I wont let her bring the lizard into the house so one at a time, she gazed into her little tub-'o-death and said, "Hmm, what are we going to do about you?" Stomp, stomp, stomp out to the kitchen. Door slam! Plop! Into the lizard box they went. The-bug-Mommy-helped-me-get went first but Gabriel and Charlie didn't last much longer. Actually, Gabriel managed to escape but the intent to feed him to the lizard was there. Before long, Girlie's going to need a coliseum. Let's just hope she never gets a permit to keep wild animals. I'll rest easier knowing that my cats outweigh my dog and aren't in any immediate danger should Girlie get any wild ideas.

Look, Nana Banana, My First Pair of Heels

It's all about the shoes, isn't it?

Here Lies Rebecca the Moth

You probably can't read it but it does say, "here lies Rebecca the moth." Apparently, Globulists don't believe in cremation. Rebecca the moth was only with us for less than 24 hours but she made a big enough impression on Girlie that she got a full-sized headstone. Much bigger than those of Sunset, Starfire, Aleeshia, Bob, Carly, and Ron the fish. Trapped today is Rebecca's replacement (mind you the ink wasn't even dry on Rebecca's headstone). Ron the itsy-bitsy spider (not to be confused with Dead Ron the fish) has the misfortune of residing in Girlie's plastic tub o' death today. She put in a couple of sticks so that he could weave a web but I'm thinking he'll lack the inspiration (let alone oxygen). There are a couple of air holes but they are necessarily tiny. I don't like bugs (thus my contract with Terminix). But I don't like squelching Girlie's scientifical (her word) exuberance even more. So I allow the bugs. The pet cemetery is my bigger concern. I'm going to need a bigger side yard. And if you read my blog, you know I'm a long time Stephen King fan. He wrote about pet cemeteries a long time ago and I haven't forgotten the outcome. One of these days we're going to have a night of the living dead around here and it's going to look like decayed flopping fish and a rag tag assortment of buzzing little bug zombies. Fodder for Scream 4, the movie, I guess.

Goodbye Allergies, part one.

Today is my first appointment for my N.A.E.T. treatment. I hope there's no homework. Oh, and to get the above cartoon, you have to visit it's first incarnation.

Okay, best present ever

Just a few minutes ago, a friend of mine from high school surprised me with a happy birthday phone call. I haven't spoken to her in more than 15 years. For some reason, after all this time, she still has my birthday marked on her calendar and this year she tracked me down from our hometown in Oregon. I could cry. Seriously. She has always been an amazing, positive influence to anybody around. We played Little League Softball together on the Southern Oregon Masonry team that my Dad coached. She played second base to my catcher. We had a killer move that caught people stealing from first base on a regular basis. Now? She has five kids, the youngest of them 11 years old and picking her new softball bat for the season online. My Girlie? She has declared that she hates sports with balls. Cripes. Now don't let me digress. This old friend just made my day. If you looked up "upbeat" in the dictionary, you'd find her picture. And that's saying a lot from me -- the slap-happiest girl around in most situations. She's well. Her folks are well. And she has five wonderful kids. Thanks for the gift, S.

At Play

Girlie is a funny little first grader. She can play dumb. Yesterday, Hubby asked her about the amount of wrapping paper that she'd used on my present. She replied, "Geez, what's a kid supposed to know about how much wrapping paper to use?" She can play know-it-all. On the way home from school today she told me that she was doing subtraction flashcards and that she thought that "0 - 1" would be a difficult one. I explained to her that she wouldn't be seeing a card like that and proceeded to give her a five-minute explanation about it. Or I would have if she hadn't cut me off and said, "yeah, negative numbers. I know Mom." So she knows about negative numbers but not how to wrap a present? She can make me believe that she's smarter than the President. In that same conversation, she explained that negative numbers are what you get when you spend more money than you have. I love my Girlie.

Squeal!

That's the sound I made when my British girlfriend, H, gave me my birthday present today. First we got pedicures (a first for me, don't know what I was waiting for) then we got coffee and then I got, hee hee, an umbrella. A Burberry umbrella. Plaid and all. Don't ask me why, but little luxury items just absolutely make my week (month, year...). So next time you're in Tampa, if you see a short-haired chick with jeans and an Old Navy tee shirt spinning a Burberry plaid umbrella in the sunshine, you'll know that it's me. Thanks, H!!!

Orchid Food

I meant to point out in my last post that on my window sill is an old jar of orchid food next to a silk orchid. Tells a story, doesn't it? So do the wine glasses by the sink.

UFO's, Lindsey Lohan, and knitting

My title has nothing to do with my post. I've simply discovered that when others do a google search for something totally unrelated to my blog, if the subject is also in my post's title they sometimes stop by to say "Howdy." So today I plan to capture alien-loving starlet watchers who knit. Wish me luck. As you can see, I'm in a very good mood, in spite of this (see photo of my kitchen sink above). It's my birthday and I'm trying to finish the sentence, "Now I'm forty-three ...." Past versions included, "Now I'm forty-one derful" and "Now, I'm forty-two good to be true." Any suggestions? Oh, but I didn't get you anything. Perhaps you can make both of our days by buying a copy of my fabulous novel, if you haven't already. It's a chuckle, it really is. Oh, and I think today would be a great day to hear from My Agent! about novel number two. But enough about me - what are you up to today? If you're in Florida like me, you should definitely get outside on your lunch break. It's gorgeous today!

Tomorrow is my birthday! So I...

stole my husband's iPod Shuffle. It's been sitting around unused on his desk since Christmas. The statute of limitations has run and I grabbed it before Girlie did. Like those seagulls said on "Finding Nemo," mine, mine, mine. Too bad I scraped so hard on the iTunes gift card that came with the iPod. I can't make out the code I'm supposed to enter to get my (his) $15.00 worth of downloads. Drats. I also found out what he's getting me for my birthday: a course of treatment with a recommended alternative physician (read accupuncturist) to see if I can lessen my allergies to Earth. I will be blogging all about the experience, I'm sure. And now that you know what my birthday present is going to be, surely you can see that my iPod theft was fully justified.

It's what's for dinner

Papa Bear invites sculptor Danial Edwards to a private reception.

Curse of the Dead Monkey

A little background. I'm one of those people who moved to Florida and memorized the only important part of the rhyme that can save your life: Red on yellow, deadly fellow. Coral snakes, people. Uber-poisonous and not at all sporting seeing how they don't rattle or otherwise announce their presence. And yes, you nay-sayers, I have seen TWO out in the not-so-wild. And what does that have to do with monkeys? I'll tell you. Today, I screwed up my courage and took a nature hike, all by myself, in a nature park in Pinellas County. I put on my hiking shorts, brought some water and a bird identification book, and slung some binoculars around my neck. Then, I ventured onto a path that was not one of those safe raised wooden boardwalk things. It was a real path. Through woods. I've lived in Florida long enough not to jump at the sound of lizards scurrying through the brush. I can also readily distinguish the scrape of palm fronds on other trees. But I'm ever vigilant about snakes. I don't like 'em. (Which is probably why Girlie LOVES them, but that's a story for another day.) So, I'm creeping around this path when I hear a loud brushy sound. Yikes! Oh, it's only a senior citizen about forty years older than me looking for a different path out of the park. She's wearing a twin-set (I'm not kidding you) and nice slacks and telling me that the last time she was in the park, she'd climbed somebody's fence looking for a different exit. Ignoring the obvious questions about exits and such, I asked her about snakes. She said, "Oh, I never give that a thought." Hmmph. She took off in a different direction, on her way to the White Rabbit's tea party I guess. I round the bend in the path and see up ahead that there is something dead in the path. Brown, furry, monkey-like and dead. Never mind that monkeys are not indigenous to Florida. In my mind it was obvious -- somebody's poor pet monkey had escaped to the woods and been killed by a Coral snake that was probably still lurking around somewhere. I was frozen. Crikey! WWCHD (What Would Crocodile Hunter Do?). Never mind - he likes snakes too. I wish I had a video of my approach to that poor dead monkey. One step forward, pause, look around for snakes, repeat. Finally, I saw that I was right about one thing. It was a monkey. Hah. A stuffed monkey. Dead (well, abandoned) right there in the path. I claim the out-of-context defense for not recognizing its stuffedness as quickly as I recognized its monkeyness. And I guess the title of this post really should be I Cursed That Dead Monkey. But it did teach me one thing: Coral snakes will attack stuffed animals as readily as live ones. Poor little monkey.

The Alien Invasion Has Finally Begun

I thought that they'd be more subtle. Nope. I knew the second that Girlie walked into my room this morning that the alien pod people had finally arrived. "Mommy? Can I get up now? I hope so because I'm already dressed. And I have my shoes on. Now I'm going to go make my breakfast." Sob! I feel so guilty. I should miss my Girlie but this new alien version is awfully compelling. Let's give it a few days, shall we?

Why people come to Florida in winter

This photo was taken in February. It's for all my relatives up north to remind them to come visit me. All others in harsh environments may avert their eyes. 

More Fun With Wendy

Tomorrow (Tuesday) night at 7:30, I'll be speaking to the Women's Fiction Group at the South Tampa Barnes & Noble. It's a tad north of Kennedy so of course it's not in South Tampa at all but I'm sure you can find it. ANYBODY can come. Anyway -- they read PARVENUE THROWS A PARTY this month and I get to tell them why they loved it. As a bonus, I'm thinking of reading the prologue to the sequel, TEACUP TRAVELS, just to whet their appetites. TEACUP TRAVELS is in the capable hands of My Agent! up in New York and will hopefully get published next year. I hope to see you tomorrow! Wendy

Worse than shopping for a new bra

Here's the thing. I had an appointment this morning at nine o'clock to listen to my options regarding the results of an ultrasound (no, I'm not pregnant). I already know that instead of finding the polyps that they expected to see, they got a three-fer: two cysts (one on each ovary) and a fibroid (in the ole uterus). All are normal -- I'm not harboring weapons of mass destruction. So I sat in the waiting room planning the cartoon I would draw. I pictured the fibroid as a George Bush character. It's small and inconsequential except for the fact that it managed to lodge itself in a position of power (something called the endometrial canal). The cysts I would liken to Irish dancers a la Lord of the Dance. They dance around, move back, and new ones move to the front on a regular basis. I've been staging that show since at least 1990. So imagine my disappointment when the doctor never showed up. I left at ten o'clock. Others in the waiting room were sticking it out. But when I'd gone up to the counter, I'd seen a State required notice that my doctor had elected not to carry malpractice insurance. I'd never noticed it before. SHOOT! I really liked him. I've never sued anybody in my life. But I'm a former attorney and I just can't recommend to myself, let alone anybody else, that I see a doctor who is not insured. And I don't like getting stood up. Crappity, crap, crap. Now I must find a new one. I hate that.

Why don't we do this instead of war?

World Pooh Sticks Championships held.

Is it like a pig in a poke?

Mindy at The Mommy Blog reminds us that she is dating a chef. If she wasn't my friend, I'd have to go poke her in the nose.

Why my cats hate my dog.

Late Night Search

It's late. I should be in bed but instead I'm noodling around on the computer. On a whim, I searched for "nuts" on MSN search. I'm thinking of gourmet nuts, roasted, lightly salted. A bedtime snack. What did I get? Bumpernuts. Gonads for cars. That was the number one ranked thing on my search. Killed my appetite. Good night all.

I'm not having an affair.

This post if for my Hubby. He doesn't like change. Once I moved the couch in our living room and he got nervous. My friend informed me that men just don't like change. Move a couch? You must be having an affair. So yesterday I dyed my hair. I was really just trying to cover up the brassiness from a past dye-job. I wanted it to look dark brown like my real hair color. It came out nearly black. In fact, it's got burgundy mixed in if you catch it in the right light. Rather than freak, I simply cut it a bit shorter so that the color is less noticeable. My hair is short -- it will all grow out very quickly. In the meantime I look sort of Goth and edgy. But to Hubby, dyed hair and a cut must mean something dreadful. He hasn't said "boo" about my hair change but he's twice tried to get me to pay attention to him this morning instead of work. Poor thing. I love you Hubby.

Whatever Girlie wants

For an assignment, Girlie had to list her career aspirations. 1. be an artist 2. run a restaurant 3. be an author and illustrator (one-upping her mother) 4. invent something. That last one is the most curious. Remind me to ask her what type of thing she would like to invent. I'm guessing invisible spray or human wings. You go, Girlie.

I used to be a more fun dinner date.

Books, Blogs, and other alliterative items

My mind has been in the Big Apple a lot lately. My Agent! is there working hard to sell my next novel, "Teacup Travels," a stand-alone sequel to "Parvenue Throws A Party." Naturally I'm distracted by the thought that editors at big publishing houses are looking at my manuscript (maybe even right now!). Also, I'm going to New York next month for a writers' conference. I'm so excited. It's been too long since I paid a visit. Hubby and Girlie are tagging along to take in some sights while I'm at the conference. If you have any suggestions for seven-year-old sightseeing in N.Y., I'm all ears. She loves art museums so we're not completely without a plan but she'll only want to visit one or two. As for blogging, I've been asked to give a talk to the Tampa Writer's Alliance in May about book/self promotion on the web. I'm going to try a few experiments between now and then so that I can relate some more personal experience. I'm open to suggestions for experiments too. Of course I'll be relating my experiences with blogging to the group. Finally, burns. Can somebody recommend a brand of casual dishes that you can put in the microwave and not burn the shit out of your hands when you take them out? Every day it's the same thing. I should be on Candid Camera. I try to use hot pads but I end up dunking them in my oatmeal or dropping the bowl. Help is needed. Thanks.

Fancy? Or Not Fancy?

Last night we took Girlie with us to Roy's to celebrate Hubby's birthday. She put on her fanciest dress and nicest shoes and smooshed her face into a fancy expression. Then she told us how to tell the difference between a fancy restaurant and a not-fancy restaurant. 1. A not-fancy restaurant will have less fancy fish in its tank -- like puffer fish. 2. A not-fancy restaurant will have hot dogs on the regular menu -- fancy restaurants will only offer hot dogs on the kids menu. If she'd also mentioned about the fancy vs. not-fancy bill, then I think she would have summed it all up fairly accurately.

Happy Birthday, Hubby! See what I made you?

It walks like a duck.

From BBC News: "The president admitted there would be tough fighting ahead in Iraq, but after referring to the sectarian violence that followed the bombing of a Shia Muslim mosque in Samarra last month, he said: "Iraqis took a look and decided not to go to civil war." " So what did they decide to do? Play tiddlywinks? Hmm. We, the United States, are a nation at war. But all that violence, killing, bombing, then reprisal violence, reprisal killing, and reprisal bombing between the two factions in Iraq is not war, according to the President. What exactly is it?

Snicker, snicker

It's the last day of Girlie's spring break

I love her. We had fun at Busch Gardens, the beach, the mall, the movie theatre, the park, etc. Tomorrow she's back in school. Cue the Andy Williams: "It's the most, wonderful tiiiiimmmmeee, of the yeeeaaaarrrr." I need to get back to work.

An insight about myself I learned from Harvest Moon

Stupid game. I'm in the fourth year out of five or six, I can't tell. I've bought every farm extension available and I've upgraded my house interior three times. I've made every conceivable hybrid and planted loads of crops. I've bought a sheep and upgraded my livestock herd. Now, there's nothing left for me to buy. I've got a ton of money, but no mall. Boring. Hubby to me: "So basically you're driven by consumerism?" Me to Hubby: "Well, duh." Only in the game, of course.

Translation: Bush wants an early Christmas present

Bush reaffirms first strike doctine.

Gluten is the devil

In the past few weeks, I've been experimenting and quite sadly it appears that I must give up (NO, not cartooning - shut up), something called gluten. It's in wheat and other stuff like beer. No bread. No beer. I'm over the suicidal stage thanks to all the gluten-free products available at many stores these days. I even made GF bread in my bread maker and it turned out great. I'll probably lose weight. What I've already lost is a bunch of physical discomfort. It wouldn't be so bad if I weren't also allergic to dairy and a few other things like apples. I think it's time to try some alternative medicines. The gluten thing is not an allergy but the others are and I believe that a few accupuncture needles will take care of them. I'll let you know.

Sun Worship

Bella likes the new floor. 

More fun with "Paint"

New Threads

Procedure criticized. Gee.

Bad Mix

Oak pollen season and spring break should not coincide. The only allergy medicines that work for me are the ones that leave me totally high. "Mommy, I'm bored. Can I use the electric carving knife?" asks my 7-year-old. "Sure thing, thweetie," I would reply if I hadn't already left her alone to go almost-naked bike riding with the protestors who were on Bayshore Boulevard yesterday (and not today, oops). So maybe that didn't really happen. Who knows? I was high on Benadryl all day. Tomorrow will be the same. I promised Girlie that we'd go see a movie. Somebody puh-leeeze steer me into that dog movie. Thanks.

Soft Bigotry.

A Matter of Perspective

Yesterday, I spent the morning unexpectedly babysitting a six-year-old friend of my daughter's while my Girlie was at school. I spent the afternoon waiting around the St. Joe's Women's Hospital radiology department for my appointment (routine stuff). When I got home, the floor installers were nearly finished but the fumes in my house made me gag. I opened the windows and doors only to find that I'd rather die a slow death from glue fumes than a quick anaphylactic death by live oak pollen. (It looks like yellow powdered sugar outside.) We ended up sleeping at the in-law's house last night, dog and all. I got nothing done. So this morning, my daughter came to wake me and Hubby and reminisced about yesterday. At school she'd had a party and only a half-day because of spring break. Then she'd got to play for a couple of hours with the aforementioned friend. Her grandparents (the in-laws) babysat her while I went to my appointment and although she was bummed out when I picked her up, her spirits soared when I informed her that we were being gassed out of our house and needed to camp back at Grandma's. She sighed this morning and said, "Wasn't yesterday just the best day ever?" Now I have to admit that for her sake, it was worth not getting anything done yesterday if it made her have her best day ever. It's not like I had to go to Disney World or something.

Shucks.

Some mysteries are better left unsolved.

I see Wood and Moons

I'm sky high (probably from adhesive fumes). After several weeks of walking on the cement slab, we are finally getting the wood floors replaced. They're the solid oak, pre-finished, glue it down on the subfloor (which was also replaced) kind of floors that look like the solid oak, unfinished, move out of your house for a two-weeks kind of floors. Never mind. If you have dealt with wood flooring, you'll know what I'm talking about. Oh, the moons. Well, the nicest installer on the planet likes to wear his pants ultra-low. I don't know why, but he always has his backside towards me when I walk through the house. Thus the moons.

Deep Impact

Your son pulled on a tree root and we're all going to die. That was the logic in Girlie's argument/tattle-tale session at the park. She was playing with some boys that she likes in a sand pit when a tree root was uncovered. Boys being boyish, one of them was excavating and that tree root had to go. Girlie being Girlie, she wanted to give it a name and make it the mother in her snake family. Several heart-stopping screams later, she dashed across the playground to inform me and the boy's mommy that he was messing with a tree root; it might hurt the tree; we need trees for oxygen; we're all going to die. I can't help feeling a little pride for my lawyer in training. She put forward the strongest argument available to her and sold it. Watch out boys.