The Trouble With Directions
A Conversation between Kealoha and me.
ME: So, your mom will be here soon. We’re driving to Binder Zoo. I want to drive but what if she wants to drive? I mean, will it be okay? Will she go too fast? What kind of a driver is she?
KEALOHA: If you’re asking if she’ll kill the kids, no, she won’t kill the kids. You should let her drive.
ME: Wait. Are you saying she’s a better driver than me?
(Pause as KEALOHA considers how to deftly answer the minefield question.)
KEALOHA: She knows what North and South is and knows where she’s going. You just had to ask me which way to turn to go South.
ME: I hate directions. Why do they have to use directions? They’re stupid. Why don’t they just use left and right? I know left and right.
KEALOHA: Directions are easier.
(I pause as I try to explain.)
ME: Look at me. I’m facing North, okay?
KEALOHA: Yes.
(I turn a quarter-step to my right.)
ME: Okay. Now I’m facing North again.
(I turn another quarter-step.)
ME: And when I turn again, look! This is me, facing North. See? Wherever I turn, I’m facing North! That’s a problem. That’s why I don’t like directions. Wait. When I first said I was facing North, was that really North?
(KEALOHA can’t answer me because he’s too busy laughing at me. He does nod his head though.)
ME: Weird.
*I did actually end up driving, but only because I'd told K's mom I was going to and I had the car seats. I think she probably would've been a better driver and gotten us there a whole lot faster.*
My "This Is Your Life" (on PMS) Week
I’m sitting here almost-crying and I fully realize that it mostly has to do with PMSing. I even have a ridiculous app on my iPod to tell me when I’m PMSing. I check it frequently. just to see if I really am actually angry, vengeful and depressed or if it might have to do with hormones. Today, it’s definitely hormones, but it’s also a smidge of my This Is Your Life week.
You know I’ve been writing a little on my 9/11 “Tumbling” memoir. So that’s made me revisit ten years ago and the person I was and the people I knew and cared about. Some of the people are still in my life. Some of them aren’t. Not because of 9/11. Thankfully, I didn’t lose anyone then. But just because of life.
So I’m a little tender from all of that.
Then I ran into the guy that I just wrote about. He and I tooled around Northern Michigan trying to make a film. We became great friends, and it was because of that connection that I made my trip to NY. I saw him at the sound studio, haven’t seen him in a decade, and it was terrific. He’s such a kindred spirit. It also made me sad. Sad how friends drift apart. It’s natural and good, but it still has that tinge of sadness to it.
I also had the whole Dog Story VIP experience this week.
It was a lot of fun and the actors were terrific in reenacting my life, but it was also a little emotional for me. They asked me all sorts of questions about growing up and I tenderly tried to tiptoe through the questions and share the fun bits of my life, and keep the not-so-fun bits closer to me. But even the fun bits made me a little melancholy.
My mom, brother and I moved a lot when I was young. We were poor and she was a single mom and my brother and I were alone a lot and then my brother got into some 'bad behavior' and on and on. And I was devastated when my brother moved away to Coopersville. I followed him a year later. So my childhood is laced with sadness and loneliness and a whole host of things I didn’t want to share.
The actors brought out the funny/craziness of my childhood and showed my brother protecting me from neighborhood bullies with his bebe gun (true) and my sister as a tough ass cookie who swears like she's in a Tarantino movie (true), and my total preoccupation with pretending I had certain ailments from age 7-17. Also true. I’d walk around with a limp pretending one leg was longer than the other, or pretend I was blind and/or deaf. The thing is, I wouldn’t do this for minutes or even hours BUT ENTIRE DAYS.
It’s why when I limped for a week complaining that I thought I had blood poisoning, that my mom didn’t believe me…until I showed her my purple foot. That prompted a visit to the ER room, and I had to have my foot elevated above my heart for a week. Really. I can’t blame my mom because I also called her one time crying, saying I’d been hit by a car.
It was character research and my attempt at understanding different people so I could act and write about them.
So Dog Story was great, but it also made me revisit most of my childhood.
And we just got some refusals on the wedding. Of course, it’s not personal, but the one that hurt the most was a relative who was going to sing a song for us. I got this image in my mind of how the wedding would be and all the people important in my life being there to support us, but reality doesn't always match up with how you think it's going to be. It’s not personal, but on a week like I’ve had, if someone complains to me about the economy, I’m going to apologize for it being my fault.
Damned PMS. I’m pretty sure it’s PMS. Let me check my app…
pause
pause
Yes. According to the app, I’m at 80% PMS. I love that app. Now I have scientific proof that I need a good cry, and a gigantic bowl of chocolate ice cream.
I can't handle all this "This Is Your Life" stuff. Man, I need to hug my kiddos, BBQ with Kealoha and watch some delightful "Weeds" episodes. Seriously. (All while eating ice cream of course.)
Backstage look at narrating! A video blog!
Thanks to Kealoha, I'm posting my very first video blog. I'm not entirely sure there will be more, so it could also be my very last video blog. I look sorta crazy here. I guess that's just me naturally.
Enjoy the video. Let me know what you think. If you don't want to watch the whole thing, fast forward to the questions at the end. That's my favorite part.
What Kealoha Did For Love
When you’re in a relationship, it’s all about give and take, compromise, communication, etc. In short, sometimes you do something for your partner that you really don’t want to do, would never do on your own in a million years, but you do it for them because you love them. Like me. Going to Lowe’s. I know Kealoha loves me because he sat through “Insidious” with me, and the man hates scary movies. This isn’t the first time he’s endured something scary for me (besides my unshaven legs). The first time was when I wanted to watch “The Crazies”. All I knew is that it had Timothy Olyphant in it and I loved him in Deadwood. It sounded funny. I imagined crazy shenanigans and big punchlines. I honestly thought it was a comedy. About three minutes into the movie, we realized that it was an intense, eat-your-face-off zombie movie and we watched the whole thing.
Here’s the preview: It wasn’t ha-ha crazy, but it was kick-ass crazy. I loved it. Kealoha reluctantly agreed.
Then, this week, I asked him to please join with me in watching a scary movie. I’d heard it was a good one and I was sure it wasn’t THAT scary. I mean, most scary movies nowadays are more gore than anything.
We sat on the couch. Kealoha was a little uncomfortable, but he put his arm around me and said he was doing this for me. The opening credits rolled and a peculiar sound came from Kealoha. It was like a deep man-sob. Then a face flashed in a mirror and Kealoha jumped and did a deep “Arrghhh!” Then he sat there, panting.
I knew this was going to be a terrific experience.
We clutched at each other like scared teenagers. Kealoha curled up in a ball and did deep breathing while I comforted him. It’s good my kids were with their dad because we actually screamed. Several times. Consider the following:
It honestly was a great, scary movie with a good twist on the basic haunted house plot. In fact, I want to watch it again. I asked Kealoha to watch it with me. He looked at me with a “Fuck you” expression. I guess watching it once was enough proof of his love for me. Anything beyond that is really torture.
But I’d really like to hear his terrified man-screams again. They’re so funny. I’ll wait until after he’s married me to make him sit through something like that again. I mean, I don’t want to scare him off. Literally.
Join Me at Dog Story Theater on August 8 at 8PM
Well, I'm not giving a reading...but that's okay. This is actually more fun. (And less stressful for me.) Dog Story Theater invited me to participate in their VIP Comedy Show. Don't worry. I'm not doing the improv part. Basically, they let me sit in a comfy chair and ask me about my life and then they do an improv show about it. For $5, you too can be there to witness embarrassing truths about my past...and see just how they're going to work in the title to my books. I imagine they'll ask me what's so good about sausage.
So. Dog Story Theater. Monday, August from 8-8:50. I'll be there. I'll have extra books. Come to laugh and hang out.
I used to do radio shows and plays at Dog Story when I had a little more free time. Their location has changed since then (for the better). They're now by St. Cecilia Music Center and around the corner from that Chinese Buffet place on the corner of Fulton and Jefferson.
A Philosophical Discussion Between Me and the Blunder Kids
Usually, my mom-time is spent saying things like “Stop it! Do not touch each other! You now need to sit at least fifteen feet away from each other. What’s fifteen feet? It’s a lot. It’s like the size of a giant serpent. I will turn into a giant serpent if you two don’t stop touching each other and fighting. I’ve had enough. Enough. ENOUGH!” In fact, I think I said that exact thing yesterday after my daughter’s twelfth tantrum to which Louis (6) said: “Mom, so, I believe that everyone has good in them, even you do when you’re having a really bad day. Somewhere deep, deep inside you is something good.”
Uh…(That's almost a direct quote from something I told Louis earlier when he asked if I believed in God.)
It was hot yesterday and the kids took turns throwing gigantic meltdowns. First, I had to literally drag Louis to his summer camp at Meijer Gardens. I dragged him to the car, we were rear-ended on the way to Meijer Garden (no damage), then I dragged Louis across the parking lot to check him in, he took off running, I ran after him, he hit my cell phone as I tried to call his dad, it went flying in pieces, then I dragged him back to the check in and he cried for about an hour until I was able to leave.
That’s an example of tantrum number one. There were eleven more that followed throughout out the day. (I had one of them.)
On the way to swimming lessons, we had the following conversation:
LOUIS: So, Ma, do you believe in ghosts?
SIMONE: I don’t believe in ghosts. I do believe in fairies but NOT ghosts!
LOUIS: I’m asking Mom.
ME: Well, I don’t really believe in ghosts. But sometimes I pretend to believe in them because it makes ghost stories better.
LOUIS: What about aliens?
ME: Full stop. 100%. I totally believe in them. I mean, the universe is so huge that to think that there’s no other life forms out there is just ridiculous to me.
LOUIS: Yeah! Me too. My friend Beck and me? We’ve talked about this and we think that like thousands and thousands of years ago there was like these aliens? And then there was a bam! explosion and it blew them all up and turned them into meteors and the meteors hit everything and that’s why there’s spots on the moon.
MOM: Huh. I can see that.
SIMONE: Are there alien ghosts, Momma? Do you believe in alien ghosts?
MOM: No. That seems like stretching it a little bit.
SIMONE: I think so too.
Then the kids went back to poking each other and screaming and general blood-pressure-raising behavior.
I’m hoping that once all these tantrums are done, we can have more conversations like this. They haven’t yet asked me about my theory on sandwiches or my belief system in Sasquatches. I want to tell them that everything I believe in I learned from Leonard Nemoy’s “In Search Of”.
I have BIC. But it's okay. (And it's not a razor)
I think I’m suffering from a serious condition. Well, first, I’m pretty sure I’m a hypochondriac. I self-diagnosed myself ages ago. Mostly, I do okay with being a hypochondriac. I try to talk myself down when I develop symptoms of the bubonic plague, or when I’m certain that my inability to breathe means I have a collapsed lung and not, say, an exercise-induced mini asthma attack. But this condition is real.
I have Blog Identity Confusion, or BIC (not to be confused with the razors).
When I started this blog, I primarily posted excerpts from “Blunder Woman”. It was a way for me to keep writing during a tough time.
Then I left my marriage and my blog became a terrific vehicle for talking about being a single mom, starting over, and all the things that happened that year from radio plays to getting published to the most pathetic Christmas ever.
Then my blog became about bad dating experiences, an ugly tormented dating relationship (if you read my blog regularly then you know who I'm talking about), and then just feeling like a general Blunder Woman.
But now…
Now...
Who am I?
I’m pretty well-adjusted, happily employed, mom to two kids and soon-to-be Kealoha’s wife. Gone are the turbulent dating stories, the stresses of starting over (I’ve started), and the radio plays (sadly).
Now I’m sorta a mish-mash blog of mom-stuff, writer-stuff, narrator-stuff, foodie-stuff, and the random jibberjaw.
And I don’t feel like a Blunder Woman anymore. I feel like I’ve finally gotten my life together.
So. Now what? What do I do with my Blog Identity Confusion?
Nothing. I guess I just whine about it. And then one day I write about being a mom, the next I write about the wedding, the next I write about the crazy characters forming in my mind for the next novel. I'm still wondering whether or not to blog about my time in NYC during 9/11 but I'm wondering if that's too far from my 'blog brand'. Hence, the confusion. Gah.
I’m fairly okay with this confusion. Just thought I’d mention that yes, I’m aware of it, and sadly there is no cure. I’ve never been extremely focused on one thing like politics or mothering or building things from plastic soda bottles. I’m more of a catch-everything (as long as it’s not an STD).
And that’s my deep thought for the day. Now I’ll go back to researching what possible chronic conditions I have and if I can cure it with the new juicer I purchased but have yet to use.
My Million Dollar "Jesus" Idea. (Not a tortilla)
To understand this little story, you have to understand that my 5-year-old is obsessed with ‘lift the flap’ books. Basically, it’s a board book with little flaps in it, and you lift the flap to see the picture underneath. Today while she was at ballet class (in which her underwear kept falling off so I had to take them off her and put them in my purse—she was in a leotard) I picked up some books for her at the library. I tried to only get lift the flap books and found six or so. They’re harder to find than you’d think. So I didn’t care what kind of books they were, I just put them in the bag.
Then I ran errands with Louis and Simone stayed with the babysitter.
On the way to taking the sitter home, Simone said in a rather disgruntled tone “Mom, one of the books isn’t a lift the flap book.”
“Really? That’s weird. I thought they were all flap books.”
“No! It doesn’t do ANYTHING. And it’s a book about Jesus.”
I crinkled my brow. “Wait. Are you saying I got you a plain old Jesus book?”
“Yes!” Simone said, on the verge of tears.
“That must’ve been a mistake. I wouldn’t get you a Jesus book honey.” I turned to the sitter and said “Not that there’s anything wrong with Jesus. I just don’t swing that way.”
Simone continued “It’s a book about Jesus AND NO FLAPS.”
Louis said, “Ma, if it was a book about Jesus AND had flaps, would you have got it?”
Then I started laughing. “Oh! That’s brilliant! A Lift the Flap Jesus Book! He’s on the cross; he’s off the cross. He’s on the cross! He’s off the cross!” I started laughing. The kids started laughing. The babysitter was laughing. “One fish and loaf of bread….fish and bread everywhere!”
The baby sitter said “He’s in the tomb, he’s out of the tomb!”
- My limited understanding of Jesus would involve a sandwich.
I laughed for a good twenty minutes. When we got home Simone showed me the book. “Oh!” I said. “That’s not a Jesus book, honey. That’s some kind of Jewish book. They’re lighting a menorah and when you pull this tab you light a candle. See the candle? And I guess you light a candle on every page or something. I don’t know. But there’s no Jesus in this book.”
Funny thing is, there actually IS a Lift The Flap Jesus Book. Too bad. I really wanted to make a million dollars. I’m trying to pay off our wedding, and eventually this house.
Oh well.
How about a naked wedding?
So the muther humping dresses I ordered don't fit. I'd like to blame the company I ordered them from, but I think instead I'll blame my genetics. When people ask me my nationality, I usually say, I'm not sure but we were a people who birthed babies and carried heavy objects. Hence my hips. And, apparently, my ENORMOUS ribcage. If I wear a cape for a wedding, no one will know that the blasted thing won't close and I can give up my impossible dream of trying to diet myself into thin-dom. I am not thin. I'm no Princess Kate. I'm possibly TWO Princess Kates sharing the same body. Yeah. Each one of my legs is a Princess Kate.
I'm not bemoaning being fat. I know I'm not fat...but searching for a wedding dress is bringing up every single insecurity I've ever had in my entire life over everything.
(Sometimes, a girl needs hyperbole.)
My future mother-in-law is coming over in a few minutes to take my enormous hips out to find a dress. I envision much crying to come. Why is this so hard? Why is it hard to find a dress that is flattering to a woman with hips and knockers? Huh? I ask you, why is it hard to find a dress for a WOMAN, a dress that doesn't look like a mumu, or like I can hide midgets under my skirt, or a dress that is so tight I can't breathe or if I want to breathe then I have to remove some ribs?
This shouldn't be so hard.
If this doesn't work, then I'm sending out new invitations to everyone. They will read as follows:
Please Join Kealoha And Tanya for their Clothing Optional Nuptials. Please note, they will not serve hot food or drinks to cut down on possibilities of burns. They will also not offer a limbo contest (for obvious reasons).
On second thought, if I don't find a dress, maybe I'll just paint one on. The wedding is during Art Prize after all. Maybe we'll make the top ten and win a big prize. Maybe even a trip to Paris!!
*sigh* Let me have my fantasies, please.
Strange but True
So I was downstairs watching "True Blood" and all of a sudden Kealoha's computer came on AND THEN THE MOUSE ON THE SCREEN STARTED MOVING and things started opening and closing and Twitter popped on the screen and then off and then the iTunes store came up while I could see the little arrow on the mouse MOVING ACROSS THE SCREEN and I thought "Maybe I'm doing this with my mind" or "Maybe this is a Ouija board-like computer" or "The computer's possessed! It's like in True Blood! The Wiccans have come!" or "Wait a minute! His computer is moving and opening things and maybe someone from a small island is acessing all of his account information which is now my account information too and maybe they're taking EVERYTHING WE OWN!"
But then I crept up to the computer and discovered that Kealoha was controlling the computer via remote control (there was a note on there that said so. I waved at the screen in case he was watching).
So I guess the power of my brain had nothing to do with it, nor was anyone hacking into our account and stealing our very meager savings and identities.
I'm relieved, but a little sad it wasn't my mind power. That would've been really cool if I could operate a computer just by thinking about it. There are a lot of other mechanical devices I'd like to do that with...uh...like the TV.
Chicago Trip--Part Two
I fully intended to finish this yesterday, but I was narrating by day and momming by late afternoon and evening. Not a lot of time in there to do any of my own stuff. So. We got to Chicago and went directly to the Field Museum. By this time we were already a little tired from a three-hour road trip, but the kids were excited.
(Getting the kids anywhere is always exhausting. I tell my students to avoid words like ‘anywhere’ and ‘always’ but here it’s valid. I’m constantly saying things like “Come on! Let’s move! Let’s go!” I feel like I should wear a whistle and a tacky track and field outfit.)
We parked in the belly of a parking structure. It was dark and moist and dripping with humidity. There were also plenty of shadows. I figured there were probably a dozen or so creepos lurking so I started saying things like “Let’s get out of here fast! We won’t see any dinosaurs unless you move it! Come on!” Finally, we got the kids upstairs, walked to the museum, paid $50 for admission and there we were: Big Sue looking down at us.
I don’t know what I was expecting. I knew that our family vacation wasn’t going to be this perfect vacation of bonding and cheering and general high-fiving. I knew there’d be tantrums and stress and all that. I just didn’t know I’d be the one having a tantrum or feeling stressed. Mostly I just felt old. And fat. So I wrote an opening to a story. Maybe I’ll use that somewhere.
The kids pulled us from exhibit to exhibit. We saw lots and lots of taxidermy animals. That’s a little creepy if you think about it, so I tried not to. Still, the size of those things were pretty staggering and I started to slip into this whole writer-mode thing that sometimes happen. I imagined these animals alive and in their environment and what happened to them and who shot them and what time period was it and was it a safari or an architectural dig and where are those people now….and then Simone had to use the potty.
We loved the evolution exhibit and the animals and the dinosaur bones. My favorite was the skeleton of a giant sloth. I mean, really? They were that big? Crazy to think about.
While the kids tugged us around, I looked at other parents. All the parents had the same expression of fatigue and stress and I could hear random things like “Hurry up! Let’s go! Let’s move it!” and “Don’t touch that!” and “Put that down or you’ll poke out an eye!”
There was a younger couple making out by the stairs and it was nice to see at least two people in the museum not utterly stressed out. (Or stressed out, but in an entirely different way.)
Then we had to take the kids to the gift shop. A mental cash register started tinging off in my brain: Lunch: $50, Tickets: $50, Gift Shop: $30, Parking: $16….and that was just in two hours. That doesn’t include hotel, gas, parking, restaurants, the Cheesecake Factory, and The American Girl Store.
I can’t tell you how much we spent in Chicago. Let me just say that Illinois should thank me. Please send me a ribbon.
The rest of the vacation is your normal family stuff. Lots of walking, tired kiddos, lots of eating and waiting, and jumping on the bed in the hotel.
I took Simone to the American Girl Store and I was horrified at all the creepy dolls in display cases. At least they didn’t all scream “Mommy!” in that scary-doll-voice I sometimes hear in my head. Uhm. Yeah. She loved it though, and I guess when you’re a parent, you do things that make you uncomfortable. She got her first grown-up doll. I talked her into the Emily doll because I liked the 1940s dress. Then I got freaked out because I was actually into that doll and her dress and a little table and cute tea set that you could buy. We didn’t, but it was a close one.
Kealoha took Louis to see The Blue Man Group. Louis came back to the hotel buzzing with delight.
Finally, we came home. Kids passed out in their rooms. Kealoha and I sat on the couch. “Hi,” I said. “I know we were just in Chicago together but I feel like I didn’t even see you.” I guess that’s part of the whole family vacay thing too.
I have to say, even though it was overpriced and exhausting and stressful, I still loved it.
When I was a kid, we were really poor. I cringe when I say things that hint at my poor childhood and some of the stuff that went on. It’s all very old-school Oprah. But it’s true. We never went anywhere and there were too many other issues to ever have a family vacation. It may be average, and everyday and a little bit boring, but this trip was a big deal for me. I was able to give my kids something I never had: a family trip.
We’re going to go again in another six months or so, or a few years, depending on when we can save up enough money.
Chicago Trip--Part One
This weekend, Kealoha and I took the kids on our first Family Vacation. (It deserves to be capitalized.) Of course, we’ve gone up north to visit family for morel hunting, but this was different. This vacation included Chicago, traveling, the Field Museum, hotel, restaurants, and god help me, The American Girl store. Here are some highlights:
ONE
The morning of, Kealoha was so excited. We finally got the car loaded, everyone buckled in, kids hooked up with DVD players and emergency snacks, and Kealoha cried: “Alllll riiiight! Road Trip! Who’s excited?” (Silence.) Kealoha: Okay…who’s excited for their first road trip to Chicago!! (Silence.) ME: Yay.
TWO
Louis makes this begging-face he discovered on the 4th. He wanted more candy from the Hollyhock Parade so we told him to look, you know, like he really needed candy. He tilted his head, made his eyes look real big, and held up his hands to his chin. Then he sort of just sat frozen there and groaned a little bit. He does this all the time now when he wants something and I can’t help but think that people will think he’s ‘special’. Not that there’s anything wrong with ‘special’ kids, but you really shouldn’t steal their candy.
He did this face in the car and Kealoha and I started cracking up. Then Simone says in her 1930s Hollywood starlet voice “Don’t make fun of my bruder!” (I don’t know where she got this accent, but it’s achingly cute.)
THREE
Conversation with Louis in the car.
LOUIS: Mom? Mom! Mom, what’s the biggest hour?
ME: What do you mean what’s the biggest hour?
LOUIS: You know, what’s the longest hour? Like the biggest one ever?
ME: I don’t know how to answer that. An hour is a constant. Every hour is the same. The DEFINITION of an hour is that it’s sixty minute so no matter what country you’re in, your hour is always the same. It’s one hour.
LOUIS: Yeah. Okay. But what’s the LONGEST hour?
ME: (sigh) I don’t know. The longest hour I ever had was last year getting a root canal.
LOUIS: Mom.
ME: Okay. Okay! Louis, the longest hour is fifty-nine. It’s fifty-nine.
LOUIS: Wow. That’s long. Fifty-nine.
SIMONE: Do they speak a different language in Chicago?
(Part two coming later. I've got to get ready to narrate.)
In Search Of The Perfect Font (warning: mildly offensive)
Along with working like mad, writing, exercising, and wrangling children, I’m also planning a wedding. Now, I’ve done plenty of event planning in my day (I have a background in fundraising) so I didn’t think any of this would be a big deal.
I totally underestimated that. There are a million ridiculous decisions to make AND THEY’RE ALL EXPENSIVE. I never thought I was a cheapskate, but apparently I am. I just can’t pay $3,000 for a photographer. Now, I know it’s an important day and all but I can barely look at myself in the mirror in my underwear and I don’t really want a photographer to capture me in my undies pulling a dress over my hips while I repeat “Dear Jeevus, let this bastard fit me”. Nor do I want pictures of jumping bridesmaids, high-fiving grannies, or a picture of my aging hand over Kealoha’s hairy one in an awkward embrace signifying our future together. It just makes me uncomfortable. (Not that Kealoha is hairy. He’s not. That’s just an example.)
We’re pretty much behind on everything….but we’re getting there. I ordered my dresses, planned a menu, we’ve got the venue, fixed a glitch at the hotel so our peeps can actually reserve rooms, and the invitations go out tonight. My mom and future Mother-in-Law are coming over to help me. If we drink enough wine, we’ll all be real relaxed.
I wanted to address the invitations by hand, but Kealoha was hesitant. He very delicately said maybe he could find a cool computer font that would make the invitations look really professional. In my mind, I quickly used my Star-Trek-like Universal Translator to understand the following: “Tanya, please don’t address the invitations. Your writing is just shy of looking like you’re entirely nuts and possibly have palsy.” Kealoha has a point.
So he’s been looking for fonts while I’ve been throwing a hissy fit about a photographer. (Finally found a great one.)
I was on the couch last night watching “Chopped” and then “So You Think You Can Dance” while Kealoha researched fonts. There are a million fonts. Seriously. And each one says something slightly different about you and your wedding and who you are as people. Arrrgggh! Why does it have to be so hard?
This one says we’re more sophisticated than we are:
This one says we drink champagne and are skinny:
This one is disturbing but also makes me laugh:
And then these…THESE are just so wrong, I can’t even describe it!
But they’re also intensely funny. I'm not sure what the 1st and 3rd fonts spell out, but it certainly is, uhm, educational. What is wrong with me? I actually want to write a letter in these fonts! I mean, take a good look at “Cocksure”. This will send a message that we’re kinky and/or looking to procreate. But the idea of sending out invitations like this also makes me laugh. Maybe for my bachelorette party…Hmm.
No. Kealoha assures me he’s found a good font that says we’re stable, fun-loving, non-kinky people and that our wedding will be relaxed and fun and a celebration.
That’s what I keep reminding myself.
Now, back to my To Do List. It involves calling my doctor for some anti-anxiety medication. Ah, wedding planning.
43 Things I Did On My Staycation
Well, my staycation is over. That’s right. It’s done and done. It was really good while it lasted, but I was ready for it to be over. I’m really not the type of person that can relax. I mean, I was on a week-long vacation and I still had to start my day with a To Do List. In my head, I was going to accomplish a lot. I was going to read five novels, find an agent at last, lose ten pounds, and totally change my eating habits, and finally put my telekinetic powers to work. I’m certain I have telekinesis because wherever I go, things fall over.
So. Yeah. Those were my goals.
What did I actually accomplish? Here’s my list:
43 Things I Did On My Vacation
ONE
I read two hundred more pages of that fucking “Sarum: The Never-ending Novel of Fucking England”. I may be paraphrasing that title a little. The blasted thing is nearly 1,000 pages of really small print. It’s like “War and Peace” only I can’t cross it off Harold Bloom’s list of the Western Canon that I should be reading because this is just a regular old book. Muther humper. It’s killing me…but at 357 pages in, I CAN’T STOP.
TWO
I prepped an audiobook.
THREE
I walked fifteen miles (total). I walked while shimmying for .025 miles. Don't ask.
FOUR
I lost three pounds and gained two. So, yeah, 1 pound.
FIVE
I didn’t get an agent, but I did eat a burrito. Not sure how those are connected.
SIX
And this morning a lamp fell over while I was downstairs. I wasn’t even around it. That’s how strong my brain-power is. Feel it? It’s giving you a massage on your back. I’m not very good at it. If you feel slightly uncomfortable and like you’re developing a slight rash, don’t worry. It’s just me.
SEVEN
I played Scrabble with friends and found out they both read my blog but never comment on it. Weird.
EIGHT, NINE, TEN, ETC.
I took forty-two naps.
FORTY-THREE
I did other stuff too, but it’s all random. I did relax. I really did. And at the end while I told Kealoha to pass the chips and dip and rub my feet, I realized…yeah. I need to go back to work. And I needed my kiddos.
-End of List-
They kiddos are back now. Sleeping upstairs after throwing colossal tantrums. Kealoha is downstairs working on wedding stuff. I just had a nice walk with my sister. This isn’t big important stuff like I’d thought I’d ‘achieve’ on my staycation…still, today I feel like I accomplished a lot. Tomorrow…it’s back at it. I’ll be narrating all day long, and touching people in my mind.
I’ll try not to be creepy about it.
Bring on the Dips
I was going to blog today, but I've been too busy setting up my other-blog...a little experiment that's all about dips. Read about it here http://dips.tanyaeby.com/ and make sure your click on About the Dip Master. Trust me.
Scenes From My Life
I am on day four of my staycation and weird things are happening. I think I’m relaxing. Seriously. I know it’s hard to believe but I’m starting to feel the way I feel after taking a Valium to visit the dentist, you know, all loose and totally okay with someone sticking foreign objects in my mouth. Huh.
Maybe that’s not a good comparison. Let’s just say I’m feeling good. I'm "chillaxed". Like this dog:
I’m also accomplishing my daily To Do List of read, write, and work out. I usually throw five or six other things on the list, because, well, that’s what I do.
I mixed a new audiobook demo in hopes I can branch out and get some more work. I’d love to install a home recording studio. Here’s the demo if you’re curious. Oh. Wait. I can't upload it. Damnation! Anyway, it has excerpts from “Exclusive” by Sandra Brown, “Blunder Woman” by some freak, and “Ice Cold” by Tess Gerritsen. I wish I could’ve put her new one on here that I just recorded because I LOVE it. Ah well. *Kealoha rocks! Here's the demo.
I’ve also developed some kind of alien cold. When I breathe, I make this whistling wheezy sound and I’ve started coughing like an old smoker; you know, that kind of cough when you hear someone do it you think, my god, they’re going to cough up a baby. It’s super sexy. Kealoha can’t keep his hands off me, especially when I’m all hooo-waaahh. Yummy.
I took my mom out to lunch to smooth some things over with her. Found a home for one of the cats, and might have a home for our three-legged one…that leaves one more home to find for sweet Mercedes. She’s a cat that likes to sit on your shoulder and stick her butt in your face. Want her? She’s awesome.
And I sent out 5 agent queries on the 4th of July. One of them wrote me back that day and said: “First I have to congratulate you on one of the best queries I’ve read in some time. I’d love to read your novel.” Now, if I can just get her as excited about the novel as she was about the query.
Today it’s Movie Day with a girlfriend, tomorrow it’s Polish Sausage Night with Kealoha’s parents. The excitement just keeps ticking.
Oh. And I bought my wedding dress. I couldn’t decide which to get so I bought two. I’ll wear the one that makes me feel pretty and thin and the other one I’ll just pull a Miss Havisham (as suggested by writer Jennifer Armintrout). Yeah. I’ll put the wedding dress on and go grocery shopping, or to the dentist, or to the allergist’s, and pretend that it’s TOTALLY NORMAL.
Then I’ll hock up a loogie. Just for that final touch.
Loogie. Ew.
That was probably too much information. I should probably go sit in a moist, hot room or something for a while. See if I can birth me an alien baby.
In love and light, Tanya
Bring on the Staycation and Charlton Heston
Tomorrow, I start my vacation—or rather, my STAYcation. I’m not going anwyhere. I’ve had a few days off this week…but nothing like what’s coming. What IS coming? Uh….er….nothing. I mean it. NOTHING.
I have six days with no teaching, no narrating…and no children. They’ll be with their dad and stepmom at some cottage. I haven’t had a week to myself with no obligations in, oh, nearly eight years.
I’m a little terrified, frankly.
I don’t think I know how to relax. I certainly don’t know how to not obsess. I’m obsessing even as I write this. I have a meeting with the company I narrate for on Tuesday. They need to talk to me about some ‘issues’ they’re having with me. I’m already thinking of how I can grovel and plead so that I can keep narrating. It’s like I’m suddenly in a dystopian novel and I will accept responsibility and do whatever they want me to, but please let me be safe. And by ‘be safe’ I mean, please let me keep narrating. Yeah. Just like a dystopian novel. Please keep me safe and don’t feed me people…as in ‘people-burgers’…as in ‘SOYLENT GREEN.’
That makes me think of Charlton Heston.
Man, I love his overacting. Even the Christian epics. Maybe I should watch a marathon of Planet of the Apes, Soylent Green, and then top it off with some Ten Commandments. That’ll fill some time.
Right. Where was I?
Instead, my plan for the week: I have a daily schedule so that the lack of things to do doesn’t freak me out too much. Each day I want to read, write, and workout for an hour each. That’s three hours of the day structured, and the rest I can do whatever. I will try not to make complicated To Do lists like I usually do. (Today’s list has ten or so items on it.)
I plan on going to the gym for three of the six days, even though I’m freaked out by the buff housewives and the scary senior citizen who works out so hard that I’m certain he's going to have a heart attack while on the elliptical. I will brave these intimidating people because I want my body back. The one I abandoned like over a year ago for this hippier body. (Note: I said hippier, NOT hipper.)
So. Reading. Writing. Working out. I’ll throw in a matinee or two, some general napping, and trying to stick to my Eating Healthy plan for the week.
I’m so excited/terrified I can barely stand it.
Bring on the staycation! I’m ready. I really am. I can totally do this. Yep.
(Now adding to my To Do List: #12. Remember to Breathe and #13 Watch Omega Man.)
What A Difference A Year Makes
I just had a birthday and now I look back on the last year.
Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 38. This year, it wasn’t a painful birthday. There was no angst, no tears, no feelings of being ignored. Man, what a difference a year makes.
I like to stop every now and then and look back a year ago to where I was. It helps put things in perspective.
So….
A year ago….
1) I was in a really turbulent relationship. It wasn’t the relationship I wanted, but I felt it was all I deserved. I tried to be okay with not having little things that were important to me. I kept working and working and working on the relationship. I’d break up with him, then take him back, then repeat the process. It was exhausting, and I was miserable, and I stayed in it because I was terrified of being alone. Mostly, I just didn’t think I could have a good relationship, so I should be happy with what I did have.
2) I was five pounds lighter, but my foot still ached every time I walked even a little over a mile. It was like a sharp spear of pain in my foot. (The one I broke.)
3) I just started writing a new book that I posted online called “Tunnel Vision”.
4) I’d been in my new house for just a few months.
5) I was still trying to figure out how to be strong in a relationship.
6) I was teaching summer classes at Kendall.
This year….
1) I’m engaged to a terrific guy who loves me and treats me well, and has all those ‘little’ qualities that are important to me. When I say ‘little qualities’ I actually mean qualities that are a big deal to me. He’s empathetic, kind, emotional, masculine, supportive, and loves me exactly as I am, even with the extra five pounds. I don’t have to work at the relationship because we’re a good match. We respect each other, cherish each other, support each other.
2) Okay. I was five pounds lighter. But I wasn’t happy then. I am now. And happiness is harder to achieve than losing weight. I’m back to working out now and ran a few miles last week. It’s taken over a year and a half for my foot to heal enough to handle this. But finally, after a year and a half, there’s no more pain in my foot.
3) I wrote THE END on “Tunnel Vision” last week. I also finished “Foodies Rush In” in November. I’m rewriting both novels and looking for an agent and publication. Next month, I hope to start on book #6.
4) I’ve been in my home for over a year. I love it. It’s the safest, nicest place I’ve ever lived, and now it’s a home to me, Kealoha, and my kiddos.
5) I’ve finally figured out how to be strong. Not just in a relationship (although Kealoha makes it easy) but in ALL my relationships. I’ve discovered that curious thing called ‘boundaries’. I should get a blue ribbon in therapy.
6) I finished my summer classes at Kendall and for the first time in over two years of nonstop constant working, I am taking a week-long vacation. It’s a staycation, because I’m staying home. I’m reading, writing, re-energizing.
My point is, that no matter where you are in your life right now, it helps to see where you’ve been. So much can happen in a year. Sure, I’m older and a little heavier now, and I still haven’t achieved all the things I want…but I’m happy.
I don’t know what’s going to happen this year, but I do know that Kealoha and I are getting married, I’m going to keep writing and trying to get published, I’m going to keep trying to improve on teaching and narrating, I’m going to hug and squeeze my kiddos as much as possible…and…well….so far, it looks like I’m going to keep on being happy.
Just a year. But, man, what a difference a year makes. And according to Dinah Washington...you don't even need a year. You just need twenty-four hours and your whole world can change. Let's hope for the better. :)
Happy Meal Toy FROM HELL
In which I explain a terrifying ordeal at McDonald's.
Yesterday, I took the kids to McDonald’s. They wanted to go because Louis saw that they had Pokemon Happy Meals and Simone said they had Doll Happy Meals for the girls. I figured, hey, it’s the beginning of summer and let’s celebrate with a trip to Hobby Lobby for some crafts and finish it off with a trip to McDonald’s. This would be like a kids’ Double Rainbow Day. Hobby Lobby went off without a hitch…but McDonald’s…man. Let’s just say that my daughter now has a deeper understanding of the violence of mankind.
As I was driving, I heard Louis say “Yes!” (I imagine with some air-fist-pumping). I waited to hear Simone’s reaction to her toy. She screamed. Really! There was this high-pitched, terrified scream from the back of the car. “What’s wrong?” I cried.
Then she showed me.
I can’t blame her. Imagine opening your bag of heavily processed food to find THIS:
That’s right people. A decapitated Barbie. I guess it’s never too early to introduce kids to that scene in the Godfather. Got to prepare them for life. Life is brutal, man. Brutal.
“Where’s her body, Mom?” Simone cried. (She really was crying, like tears and everything.)
I tried to explain (while navigating the road and 28th street traffic): “Honey, she’s supposed to be that way. You’re supposed to pretend you’re learning to do hairstyles and you just, you know, work on her hair.”
“Oh.” Simone didn’t sound convinced. “Mom, could you go back to McDonald’s and get me one that has a body? I don’t like this one.”
I assured her I would.
Later, looking at the doll, I realized that not only is she decapitated, but she’s black. Now, I’m all for diversity. I’m glad that McDonald’s is now offering dolls in a variety of cultures…BUT SHE’S DECAPITATED. They better have some white dolls decapitated too. What are they thinking? Seriously? I bet you anything that the white dolls have entire bodies that are skinny in trendy outfits and they’re carrying like a puppy and a latte or something.
I’m still shivering just thinking about that. I have now enrolled Simone in therapy. We’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.
But I do have to go back to McDonald’s and see if I can get the rest of the toy’s body. That’s how they get you to keep going back. Fuckers.