Monthly Archives: June 2009

ugh! I know weather is cliche but…

My house is 85. Because of that I was sitting, sweltering, reading the awesome Nora Roberts book, TRIBUTE, thinking maybe I should go do something, anything, but too hot to move AND the TV was on AND Dr. Phil came on AND I watched it. I don’t like Dr. Phil. Sorry if you do. Nothing against you, but DPs from the area and there’s just something…anyway so I’m trying not to watch Dr. Phil and I couldn’t find the remote and my TV’s off button is who knows where, but it would require walking across the living room away from the fan, so I kept watching and now I feel like a crappy mom and I’m still hot and I ate ice cream which is totally not on my TYoDN plan AND I didn’t do Pilates or anything else really. I’m hot, and not in a good way. I have I’m a crappy mom syndrome, and empty nest syndrome and I want chocolate but not really because it would melt.
Ugh.
I gotta get motivated.

Happy Father’s Day

and many, many more.
Only I really can’t have two HUGE meals on the same day ever again.
Not after the year of doing nothing. From now on, that’s what the last year, the recovery from the smashed ankle (WHY DID I TRY TO WALK ON IT right away!?! If I would’ve just sat on the steps of the Colosseum looking pitiful and waiting on the Italian EMT’s to get there, I would’ve recovered a heckofa lot faster) will be referred as:TYoDN.
After TYoDN, I look like it’s been TYoDN. Any muscles I used to have have gone the way of the dinosaurs. And let’s be honest here, I didn’t have that much muscle to start with. I mean, back in the day of physical fitness tests (HELL) I was the poor kid hanging from the pull up bar with the coach saying “Come on, give me one. Just one. You can do one.” And I never said the words out loud but I was thinking something along the lines of “do you think I’d be hanging here giving myself blisters and breaking nails if I COULD give you one &U%&^@#?!
A handful of years ago I figured out there was one (YES, ONE) fitness workout I LOVED. The eliptical. And I like Pilates ok.That’s it.
But I’ve been pretty much eliptical free for the year. AND Pilates, Dear Gahd, Pilates would be scary right now. But it’s time to reacquaint myself with those two activities because if I don’t, I’m gonna have to go shopping again, and Lord knows I’ve got enough sizes in my closet, I don’t need any more.

affirmation

Talked to an agent today who said she thought my writing was strong enough to make it and to send her my longer work when I have something. In the last four months I’ve had some incredible affirmations of my work. I hope the Intrigue editors feel the same way!

Dear Muse

No you’re not Charlaine Harris or Karen Templeton or SEP or Margot Early. You’re not even related. But you do exist, and I’d really like to see you again without doubting your reality.
Thanks and you have a great day!

You think you’ve had bad dates?!?

Bad dates are the topic of Stephanie Bond’s Blaze blog today, and I ended up writing a novel for my response to her question, but I ended up liking what I said, so I’m pasting it here, too.
It started with my hair. See this guy who’d asked me out a few times when we were in speech class at the university together but he was a “good guy” and I wasn’t interested in good guys. Or sweet guys. Or smart guys. Flash forward a couple years and I’d changed a lot. Funny how getting left to raise a precious baby alone by the bad boy you’d been in a long-term relationship will change your opinion on nice guys. It was my first night out in over a year. New Year’s Eve and my friends dragged me out dancing because they said it was time I remember how to live as something other than a mother. So I was out. And I was miserable. And I two-stepped because it was that or sit at the bar and drink one tequila sunrise too many. And there Mr. nice guy was. And he asked me out. Even when he found out about my daughter. And I started to say no because I’d decided to swear off men for anything other than dancing, but my friend grabbed me whispered MOVIE AND DINNER and instead of declining, I gave him my phone number and said, call me and we’ll work it out.
So the bad date and the hair.
First date in forever and I wanted to look good. And good back then meant hilights. At least it did in Wichita Falls. So I gt hilights. When the hairdresser (my best friend’s mom) told me the color was rocket fire read, I should’ve known better. I didn’t. And when she was done, my hair was magenta. I went home and cried and tried washing it out with Dawn, but all that did was turn it a little more pink, a little less purple.
While I was showering with my bottle of dish soap, a freak ice storm blew in. I thought about calling it a sign and breathing a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to go out with my hideous hair, but he said no, he still wanted to take me out.
I dressed in my favorite gold silk dress with a huge metal belt my daughter like to play with. The baby sitter was on her way over when my daughter started crying and crying and crying. One diaper change later, I had to change clothes because…well, if you’re a mom, you can imagine.
When he showed up, I made sure the lights were down low so maybe my purple hair wouldn’t show so much, but I could tell from the way his eyes widened, saw. I really wasn’t surprised. I swear my hair was glowing in the dark.
The ice was a couple inches thick on the concrete so he walked on the grass to get back to the car. He fell and slid down hill to the curb. I remember he was wearing these amazing boots. I got a close-up view of them as he was skidding down hill.
We thought about skipping the date then. It was dangerous and nasty and cold, but he said the Interstate was totally clear. The baby sitter was there. I had on makeup. I figured what the heck. We could go.
We went to dinner at Olive Garden. My hair matched the napkins.
I don’t remember what we talked about other than my hair, but I remember thinking it was going to be horrible and then getting there and laughing until I cried. When we started home, it had iced again, so the 15-minute drive took an hour. He walked me to my door and was a perfect gentleman, just like I’d always known he would be.
When that date ended, I figured that was it. I’d forgotten how to date, how to be sexy, how to be anything other than a mom. I mean seriously, I had mascara streaks down my face, and he’d barely even held my hand. I remember rocking my baby girl and thinking I could live with that. It would be okay. And I cried because it sucked to be a 20-something and to want something more than Cosmo promised but wanting some of what Cosmo promised too. 🙂 And then there was the purple hair. UGH!

We’ve been married 15 years this year.
And we’ve laughed and laughed and laughed.

What I thought…

I thought dd would grow up, go to college and I’d quit worrying so much.
Don’t know why I thought that. I mean it was only 20 years ago I was giving MY mom hell.
It seems like I was surrounded by mom info when DD was little. It didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t a room mom. I wasn’t a Junior League mom. I wasn’t a pageant mom. Nothing wrong with any of those moms, but they weren’t me.
DD wore a blue shirt with a dog applique with real eyelashes and purple and green Little Mermaid pants to school half her second grade year. They were her favorite clothes, and getting her to change was a battle I wasn’t willing to fight. I figured she was clean and well fed, so she’d survive.
And she did.
Even though I wasn’t color coordinating her outfits, baking her brownies, decorating bags and stuffing them with party invites.
It was okay. My stubborn beyond belief daughter was perfectly fine.
And then she went to college.
And suddenly I’m going crazy wondering what’s going on and HOW IN THE HECK can I make a difference.
I think the answer is it’s her life and she’s got to live it. Kind of like second grade with that shirt that totally didn’t match those pants at all.
I hope I’m right.

Week 1 Summer Update

Nothing to report here except a brand new addiction to Facebook Farm Town. It’s led me to call my brother in a panic because crops were dying and I couldn’t stop them.
Don’t understand? Check out the game.
AND my cable box channel is stuck on the number 666.
Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

Thank you, Capital One Chief Executive Rich Fairbank

You don’t know Fairbank? Let me introduce you:

Must be nice to be the king

Must be nice to be the king

You’ve been at the helm of Capital One a few years longer than I’ve been a Capital One customer. Not too many, really, but a few.
In the time I’ve been a Capital One customer, I’ve bought college textbooks, paid for Master’s classes, gone to Europe, played in San Antonio, learned in New York, sent my daughter to Europe, and Vegas, man, I’ve loved Vegas.
I’ve been a great customer. I never missed a payment, paid above the minimum due, paid it off a time or two. My Capital One card was my friend, but I wasn’t irresponsible with it, unlike you and yours who insisted on giving cards to 18-yr-old college kids and credit crazy people with 10 maxed out cards and mortgages they couldn’t afford. Under your leadership, people like my daughter (a college freshman) were encouraged to open accounts and get “free gifts.” She got no less than 20 pre-approved Capital One card offers this school year. A family member of mine who’s deeply in debt to the point of disaster also has your cards. Notice the plural S. She got the cards AFTER her debt crisis.
So back to me.
I’m a great Capital One customer. Put me on your ads as an example of the kind of person you WANT. You make money off of me, but I’m a great risk.
By next week, I won’t be a Capital One risk anymore because today I got my Capital One bill and my interest rate has gone up by over 11 percentage points.
God help the poor person who’s a credit risk!
I called your account managers tonight. They were foreign and pleasant, and they let me know I didn’t really have any options here. Well, they’re wrong.
I don’t know what you and all your banking executives are thinking, but I hope all your good customers, people like me, do what I’m doing. I’m checking out of the Capital One market. Next week, I’m cutting up your card, and my husband is cutting up his business card (it never carries a balance, so you didn’t make much off him).
Once again, let me make sure I say it: thank you, Mr. Rich Fairbank. Under your watch, the US became a credit crazed society, and I joined right in. And under your watch, I’m checking out. You have a great day.

(fitting that this was blog post 1000)