Damn! No sooner do I make an attempt to do real work today - when everyone else is still in a food coma - then everything malfunctions. Or does something I don't understand. Or some window that I need disappears completely from my computer screen and I am much too tired to get up from my desk to find anyone who can help me - not that anyone is here, of course. Hmmph. That's what I get for my efforts to be a model employee.
I did, however, achieve the following:
1)Arrived promptly at the San Jose airport at 4:30 a.m., TWO hours before my flight back to Seattle, AS INSTRUCTED by all airport literature.
2)Wait until 5:10 a.m. for those lazy-a*s Alaska Airlines employees to get behind the counter and check me in. At least I am first in line, thereby avoiding the conflict that ensued on my way out of Seattle when I "cut" in line in front of a shrill and moronic couple who had been in line at LEAST ten minutes less than me - a conflict that might have escalated to violence had I not simply ignored their piercing accusations to all around us: HEY she CUT in FRONT of US! They finally sicced an Alaska Airlines employee on me - the same one who had "split" the line in two so that simpering, fat fools could unfairly move ahead, and when I told the airline employee my reason for "cutting," (i.e. I had been ahead of them when she split the line in two), they shrieked "LIAR!" at me, and I was summarily deported into the other line, which then proceeded to take at least another half an hour even though there were only two people in front of me.
3)Survived flight.
4)Screamed at a hapless mail-order pharmacy employee who told me they would not be able to mail me my next batch of of anti-depressants because I had received "two shipments" in October. HELLO? I so did NOT! After telling me repeatedly that she would not be able to send me another batch, I screamed at her "I don't care what happened; all I know is I NEED MY MEDICATIONS!" Clearly.
May you be as filled with the holiday spirit as I am!
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Monday, December 20, 2004
I have the holiday doldrums! Yes, moi, for whom everything is going perfectly. You know, the one with the book contract, hot men wooing me with lavish gifts, and a sleek condo with views of the Puget Sound!
Not only that, I have this entire week off - paid! I am wearing an adorable pink blazer purchased with discretionary income from my generous salary, and am a size 4 (even a size 2, if I shop at Banana Republic)!
My life rocks.
Why, then, pray tell, do I feel like a gelatinous, jellyfish-like blob? (Despite being pumped to the gills with Happy Pills?)
The chaos, I believe, is getting to me. The change. The upheaval. All good, of course, or mostly: but my God. On the same day, one month ago, my condo closed and my book deal went through. Suddenly I had a mortgage and a deadline. A(nother) new relationship had just lifted off the runway for the most dangerous part of its flight.
And now? I'm just seasick on this sea of change, waiting to get my legs. Waiting for a moment again when I can appreciate my good fortune rather than feeling like I'm about to vomit.
With that, happy holidays, all! I'll be gone from December 23rd through December 28th (and much longer, of course, if my plane crashes), so posting even less than usual.
xo
BB
Not only that, I have this entire week off - paid! I am wearing an adorable pink blazer purchased with discretionary income from my generous salary, and am a size 4 (even a size 2, if I shop at Banana Republic)!
My life rocks.
Why, then, pray tell, do I feel like a gelatinous, jellyfish-like blob? (Despite being pumped to the gills with Happy Pills?)
The chaos, I believe, is getting to me. The change. The upheaval. All good, of course, or mostly: but my God. On the same day, one month ago, my condo closed and my book deal went through. Suddenly I had a mortgage and a deadline. A(nother) new relationship had just lifted off the runway for the most dangerous part of its flight.
And now? I'm just seasick on this sea of change, waiting to get my legs. Waiting for a moment again when I can appreciate my good fortune rather than feeling like I'm about to vomit.
With that, happy holidays, all! I'll be gone from December 23rd through December 28th (and much longer, of course, if my plane crashes), so posting even less than usual.
xo
BB
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Well, darlings, all your adoration is much appreciated. Though I have to say I feel sorry for you newbies who joined the fun just when the fun went away and BB became all "family-friendly" and sh*t. Yeah, it's not as fun for me anymore either!
As for the NYT, they can -- well, I won't say anything impolite here because, of course, I don't want to alienate the New York Times. Niiccee NYT, c'mhere, c'mon...
Oh, whatever. Fame isn't everything, now is it?
One clever commenter suggested that I interview MYSELF and I thought that sounded like tons of fun, so here goes:
BB: So, BB: you earned your notoriety by writing about your love life. Aren't you afraid that you're going to lose fans now that you've decided to censor yourself?
BB: Hell, yeah. Even my best friends have told me how much "less interesting" the blog is now. Hmmph.
BB: Well, is there any way you could give us out here in cyberspace just a little hint of what is going on with your love life? I mean, are you dabbling in man-land, are you on the marriage track, are you staying celibate for the sake of Art?
BB: (Laughs. Tosses sexy bangs out of chocolate brown eyes.) It's true that I write better when I'm angst-ridden and h*rny. Right now I'd have to say I'm angst-ridden but NOT h*rny.
BB: (Interested.) Hmm. Can you say more?
BB: (Looks around the restaurant furtively. Takes a sip of expensive Syrah and lowers her voice.) Well. I -- (Starts to say something then stops. Looks around the restaurant again, then shakes her head ruefully.) No, I really can't. Unfortunately.
BB: Oh, come ON. For two years you dish like there's no tomorrow and now suddenly you get just a little bit "famous" and forget about us, the fans, who made you what you are. Who NEED TO KNOW! Listen, what if I ask you yes or no questions?
BB: Hmm. Maybe. (Stares into her glass of wine.)
BB: Would your "angst" have anything to do with that statement, buried in your comments a while back, that Library Boy asked you to get back together?
BB: (Grimaces.) Maybe.
BB: AHA! But you're still dating that longtime object of lust, Sexy Boy, are you not, with whom you immediately and impulsively got together after breaking up with Library Boy because 1)you'd liked him for so long and 2)you didn't want to feel the broken heart you knew you were going to feel about LB?
BB: (Hangs head). Maybe.
BB: But you're confused, are you not? Things are perhaps not going exactly as you planned are they, and this offer from Library Boy has thrown you into a bit of a tizzy, has it NOT?
BB: (Quietly. Not making eye contact.) Yes.
BB: (Gleefully). Aha! So -
BB: (Snappishly). OK - interview's over!
BB: But --
BB: Hey, I have a book to write OK? (Stands up suddenly, nearly knocking wine over. She is dressed, as always, in the most stylish of thrift shop clothing, striped beret atop her head, red lipstick perfectly applied.) If you'll excuse me, I have to go meet with Jake Gyllenhaal now - he's been pestering me for some face-time to try to get an audition for the movie. (More cheerily now). Later, all!
As for the NYT, they can -- well, I won't say anything impolite here because, of course, I don't want to alienate the New York Times. Niiccee NYT, c'mhere, c'mon...
Oh, whatever. Fame isn't everything, now is it?
One clever commenter suggested that I interview MYSELF and I thought that sounded like tons of fun, so here goes:
BB: So, BB: you earned your notoriety by writing about your love life. Aren't you afraid that you're going to lose fans now that you've decided to censor yourself?
BB: Hell, yeah. Even my best friends have told me how much "less interesting" the blog is now. Hmmph.
BB: Well, is there any way you could give us out here in cyberspace just a little hint of what is going on with your love life? I mean, are you dabbling in man-land, are you on the marriage track, are you staying celibate for the sake of Art?
BB: (Laughs. Tosses sexy bangs out of chocolate brown eyes.) It's true that I write better when I'm angst-ridden and h*rny. Right now I'd have to say I'm angst-ridden but NOT h*rny.
BB: (Interested.) Hmm. Can you say more?
BB: (Looks around the restaurant furtively. Takes a sip of expensive Syrah and lowers her voice.) Well. I -- (Starts to say something then stops. Looks around the restaurant again, then shakes her head ruefully.) No, I really can't. Unfortunately.
BB: Oh, come ON. For two years you dish like there's no tomorrow and now suddenly you get just a little bit "famous" and forget about us, the fans, who made you what you are. Who NEED TO KNOW! Listen, what if I ask you yes or no questions?
BB: Hmm. Maybe. (Stares into her glass of wine.)
BB: Would your "angst" have anything to do with that statement, buried in your comments a while back, that Library Boy asked you to get back together?
BB: (Grimaces.) Maybe.
BB: AHA! But you're still dating that longtime object of lust, Sexy Boy, are you not, with whom you immediately and impulsively got together after breaking up with Library Boy because 1)you'd liked him for so long and 2)you didn't want to feel the broken heart you knew you were going to feel about LB?
BB: (Hangs head). Maybe.
BB: But you're confused, are you not? Things are perhaps not going exactly as you planned are they, and this offer from Library Boy has thrown you into a bit of a tizzy, has it NOT?
BB: (Quietly. Not making eye contact.) Yes.
BB: (Gleefully). Aha! So -
BB: (Snappishly). OK - interview's over!
BB: But --
BB: Hey, I have a book to write OK? (Stands up suddenly, nearly knocking wine over. She is dressed, as always, in the most stylish of thrift shop clothing, striped beret atop her head, red lipstick perfectly applied.) If you'll excuse me, I have to go meet with Jake Gyllenhaal now - he's been pestering me for some face-time to try to get an audition for the movie. (More cheerily now). Later, all!
Thursday, December 9, 2004
Oh NO! It's OVER! Blogger has dropped the link from its front page, and my hits have dropped precipitously and I was even going to be in a New York Times article about bloggers who got book deals (or some such fluff), and they "dropped" me due to "lack of space."
Waaahhhh! That's right - yours truly was ready to go public. Ready for my coworkers to read about my sex romps, ready for the men of my past to weep and sue, ready to come clean with a picture and everything!
Imagine the thrill yesterday when I get a call from the Times Photo Desk asking me if I want to get my picture taken today. DO I WANT TO GET MY PICTURE TAKEN TODAY? Do birds fly? Does Bush lie! YES OF COURSE I WANT MY PICTURE TAKEN FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES!
But the photo shoot never happens because I am summarily deleted. HMMPH. All I can say is that those other flash-in-the-pan bloggers better watch the f*ck out, because when I finally do break onto the scene, they're gonna have to run with their little books and hide! Who is more camera-ready, more charmant, more ready to be presented to an adoring public than BB? No one I tell you.
WHATEVER. I have a book deal and no one can take that away from me. Except, er, of course, my publisher. But let's not think about that.
Meanwhile, as my celebrity slowly ebbs away, as my readership shrinks back down to the faithful few, know this: I am working hard on that book. And it is going to be GOOD.
Waaahhhh! That's right - yours truly was ready to go public. Ready for my coworkers to read about my sex romps, ready for the men of my past to weep and sue, ready to come clean with a picture and everything!
Imagine the thrill yesterday when I get a call from the Times Photo Desk asking me if I want to get my picture taken today. DO I WANT TO GET MY PICTURE TAKEN TODAY? Do birds fly? Does Bush lie! YES OF COURSE I WANT MY PICTURE TAKEN FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES!
But the photo shoot never happens because I am summarily deleted. HMMPH. All I can say is that those other flash-in-the-pan bloggers better watch the f*ck out, because when I finally do break onto the scene, they're gonna have to run with their little books and hide! Who is more camera-ready, more charmant, more ready to be presented to an adoring public than BB? No one I tell you.
WHATEVER. I have a book deal and no one can take that away from me. Except, er, of course, my publisher. But let's not think about that.
Meanwhile, as my celebrity slowly ebbs away, as my readership shrinks back down to the faithful few, know this: I am working hard on that book. And it is going to be GOOD.
Tuesday, December 7, 2004
Ouch! The archive scrub has begun! The original breakup of Breakup Babe is slowly but surely disappearing. (But many more will stay, so never fear!)
The first entry I deleted - oh, it practically killed me. My baby! It was the young heartbroken me pouring my soul out onto this blog, not knowing if anyone would listen or care, knowing only that it made me feel better to *eviscerate* the man who had eviscerated moi. (Revenge. It's so sweet, isn't it?)
After the first one, it got easier. Not only did I delete him, I deleted her. Oh yes, my catty rants -- all gone! It will all be in the book - of course (heh heh) - but for now the L. twins have made their shuffling departure from Breakup Babe. Bah-bye. Sniff.
In other news, what else can I tell you about the Great Publishing Journey? OK - here's a tip. Do you want to get published?
Write every day.
You've heard that one before, I know. But it takes a long time to sink in. In my long and not-so-storied writing career, it wasn't until a year ago, when I did Nanowrimo that I got into the habit of writing every. single. day. I had to, to get that damn book done in a month.
I'd been relatively disciplined before. Writing a few times a week. But writing every day was a whole new thing. It got into my blood. It became a habit. I couldn't live without it. And I got shit DONE. Oh sure, I didn't excercise quite as much (though I did manage to slip a little climb up Mt. Rainier in there, thank you very much), or get to work at the crack of dawn, but mostly everything fell into place because I was doing the one thing I wanted to do most, and I was doing it every day.
Even this description makes it sound too easy. It took me years to GET to the point where I had the confidence to write at all. I spent many post-college years mooning about, wishing I were writing and not doing a damn thing about it.
More on how I got that confidence later. Hey - that was the subject of my first book - which is NEVER gonna get sold!
Oh, that's another tip: write that first-never-to-be-published book and get it out of the way.
(Hey, that sounds bleak. I didn't mean it to. Encouragement will be forthcoming, I swear.)
xo
BB
The first entry I deleted - oh, it practically killed me. My baby! It was the young heartbroken me pouring my soul out onto this blog, not knowing if anyone would listen or care, knowing only that it made me feel better to *eviscerate* the man who had eviscerated moi. (Revenge. It's so sweet, isn't it?)
After the first one, it got easier. Not only did I delete him, I deleted her. Oh yes, my catty rants -- all gone! It will all be in the book - of course (heh heh) - but for now the L. twins have made their shuffling departure from Breakup Babe. Bah-bye. Sniff.
In other news, what else can I tell you about the Great Publishing Journey? OK - here's a tip. Do you want to get published?
Write every day.
You've heard that one before, I know. But it takes a long time to sink in. In my long and not-so-storied writing career, it wasn't until a year ago, when I did Nanowrimo that I got into the habit of writing every. single. day. I had to, to get that damn book done in a month.
I'd been relatively disciplined before. Writing a few times a week. But writing every day was a whole new thing. It got into my blood. It became a habit. I couldn't live without it. And I got shit DONE. Oh sure, I didn't excercise quite as much (though I did manage to slip a little climb up Mt. Rainier in there, thank you very much), or get to work at the crack of dawn, but mostly everything fell into place because I was doing the one thing I wanted to do most, and I was doing it every day.
Even this description makes it sound too easy. It took me years to GET to the point where I had the confidence to write at all. I spent many post-college years mooning about, wishing I were writing and not doing a damn thing about it.
More on how I got that confidence later. Hey - that was the subject of my first book - which is NEVER gonna get sold!
Oh, that's another tip: write that first-never-to-be-published book and get it out of the way.
(Hey, that sounds bleak. I didn't mean it to. Encouragement will be forthcoming, I swear.)
xo
BB
Sunday, December 5, 2004
OK, so that's the way it's gonna be, huh? I've been instructed by several bossy new fans that I must now write every day.
I can try, but I can't promise. I have a book to write, after all! And very little time to write it in, lest you forget.
Also, it is a sad fact but true that my sex life is temporarily off-limits to the blog. YAWN! Same old blogger story; everyone finding the blog, etc etc. Given all that, I'm sure there are a few things we can chat about, like this:
The time is approaching when I'm going to have to scrub my archives. Yes! Read them while you can! Tales of lust and deceit, hope and despair!
Because it seems I might be going public soon and well...I won't say more. Insults have been made that need to be retracted - for the time being, anyway.
(My GOD, you're saying, could she get any more boring? No sex! No bitchiness! What next? Is she going to tell us she's gone into service for our Heavenly Father?)
So any day now you'll be seeing a family-friendly BB. But don't worry, those archives aren't going to disappear for good.
One more thing, all you lovely people out there who've sent me e-mail congratulating me etc - thank you! I do appreciate it and will try to answer your e-mail one of these days.
(Note: Any of you Seattleites out there who can recommend good places to go hang out, eat, and drink coffee with a laptop for hours on end, do let me know. I have a few faves, but am always looking for more. Wireless access not a necessity. After all, the Internet is sooo distracting!)
I can try, but I can't promise. I have a book to write, after all! And very little time to write it in, lest you forget.
Also, it is a sad fact but true that my sex life is temporarily off-limits to the blog. YAWN! Same old blogger story; everyone finding the blog, etc etc. Given all that, I'm sure there are a few things we can chat about, like this:
The time is approaching when I'm going to have to scrub my archives. Yes! Read them while you can! Tales of lust and deceit, hope and despair!
Because it seems I might be going public soon and well...I won't say more. Insults have been made that need to be retracted - for the time being, anyway.
(My GOD, you're saying, could she get any more boring? No sex! No bitchiness! What next? Is she going to tell us she's gone into service for our Heavenly Father?)
So any day now you'll be seeing a family-friendly BB. But don't worry, those archives aren't going to disappear for good.
One more thing, all you lovely people out there who've sent me e-mail congratulating me etc - thank you! I do appreciate it and will try to answer your e-mail one of these days.
(Note: Any of you Seattleites out there who can recommend good places to go hang out, eat, and drink coffee with a laptop for hours on end, do let me know. I have a few faves, but am always looking for more. Wireless access not a necessity. After all, the Internet is sooo distracting!)
Monday, November 29, 2004
Friday, November 26, 2004
Oh my, the attention! Can you see me basking in it? Turning this way and that in my fashionable sunglasses, waving at the paparazzi?
People, people, thank you. I know you’re all going to forget about me as soon as that link drops off Blogger’s front page, as soon as you have to settle for that year-plus wait until the book actually comes out. But for now, well whoohoo! Hello! Yes, thank you – of course you can have my autograph/take my picture/adore me. I adore you too!
I know, too, for my regular fans that the blog has been somewhat of a bore lately. No XXX action! Because, as I explained, everyone and their f*cking mother (including mine) reads this blog now (not that I’m complaining, oh no!), and that includes the current object of my affections, the one-and-only Sexy Boy.
Oh yes, since we’ve been friends (-plus) for so long, he got access to the blog way back in the innocent days before I had much to say about him. Now that I want to dish, well, I can’t really, lest I begin to use the blog as a passive-aggressive communication tool. Which I have done, in the past, with varying degrees of “success." That is, I have alienated at least two people I’ve dated by saying unkind things about them on this here blog. Bad girl.
I tried, with Library Boy, to be kinder. I wrote only the positive things about him – and there were many – knowing that it was likely he would someday read the blog. And he did eventually find it, after we broke up, only to tell me that it “touched” him to read what I had to say. He realized the depths of my feelings for him, read things I’d been afraid to express since I could see him backing away. Then he asked me to get back together.
Yeah. I know.
But it was too late because a week later I’d already gotten together with that longtime object of lust, SB. This time, I hoped, for good.
Yeah. I know.
But I’m not talking about that. I’m not talking about #($~@)% anything anymore. Oh, except how I’m going to become a rich and famous drug-addicted novelist. Yes, I’ve gotten quite boring.
But I will post something soon for all you writers out there who want to sell a book (because, you know, I'm such an EXPERT now!). The gist is, of course, work hard for years, get rejected repeatedly,feel like a complete loser but keep writing anyway, and get your heart broken many, many times. But I’ll give a little more detail than that.
The scary thing is I still have a lot of writing to do. In a short amount of time. But am I complaining? Nooo, I'm not! I'm dancing! That is, when I'm not sleeping late or drinking too much Syrah or bitching about my job or revising my book with a double Americano in hand while thinking "This is complete and utter sh*t! Why would anyone want to publish it?"
Being scared is good. I think we all function best when pushed just beyond our limits, don't we?
People, people, thank you. I know you’re all going to forget about me as soon as that link drops off Blogger’s front page, as soon as you have to settle for that year-plus wait until the book actually comes out. But for now, well whoohoo! Hello! Yes, thank you – of course you can have my autograph/take my picture/adore me. I adore you too!
I know, too, for my regular fans that the blog has been somewhat of a bore lately. No XXX action! Because, as I explained, everyone and their f*cking mother (including mine) reads this blog now (not that I’m complaining, oh no!), and that includes the current object of my affections, the one-and-only Sexy Boy.
Oh yes, since we’ve been friends (-plus) for so long, he got access to the blog way back in the innocent days before I had much to say about him. Now that I want to dish, well, I can’t really, lest I begin to use the blog as a passive-aggressive communication tool. Which I have done, in the past, with varying degrees of “success." That is, I have alienated at least two people I’ve dated by saying unkind things about them on this here blog. Bad girl.
I tried, with Library Boy, to be kinder. I wrote only the positive things about him – and there were many – knowing that it was likely he would someday read the blog. And he did eventually find it, after we broke up, only to tell me that it “touched” him to read what I had to say. He realized the depths of my feelings for him, read things I’d been afraid to express since I could see him backing away. Then he asked me to get back together.
Yeah. I know.
But it was too late because a week later I’d already gotten together with that longtime object of lust, SB. This time, I hoped, for good.
Yeah. I know.
But I’m not talking about that. I’m not talking about #($~@)% anything anymore. Oh, except how I’m going to become a rich and famous drug-addicted novelist. Yes, I’ve gotten quite boring.
But I will post something soon for all you writers out there who want to sell a book (because, you know, I'm such an EXPERT now!). The gist is, of course, work hard for years, get rejected repeatedly,feel like a complete loser but keep writing anyway, and get your heart broken many, many times. But I’ll give a little more detail than that.
The scary thing is I still have a lot of writing to do. In a short amount of time. But am I complaining? Nooo, I'm not! I'm dancing! That is, when I'm not sleeping late or drinking too much Syrah or bitching about my job or revising my book with a double Americano in hand while thinking "This is complete and utter sh*t! Why would anyone want to publish it?"
Being scared is good. I think we all function best when pushed just beyond our limits, don't we?
Monday, November 22, 2004
OK, I am officially freaked out.
I'm moving in two days. I've spent the last day dismantling my beloved apartment in Capitol Hill, with its scuffed hardwood floors, leaded glass, arched entryways. The beautiful top-floor apartment with a view of Mt. Rainier that sheltered me when you-know-who booted me onto the street. The apartment that embraced me as I grew from lost, heartbroken soul to kickass author babe.
And now what am I doing to it? I'm disemboweling it! I'm reaching into its innards and scooping them out! Pulling coffee cups and first-aid kits and boxes of old birthday cards out of closets. Little pieces of string and maxi-pads and single earrings that have long been missing a mate. Putting everything out for embarrassing, gaudy display that was so nicely hid for two years in my apartment's five spacious closets (my new condo has a grand total of ONE closet)!
When I finally do move it all, the scars will be left behind. Oh the poor hardwood floor! There will be long scratches from my furniture. Water stains from my plants. The spots on the bookshelves that I burned with candles. The holes in the walls.No doubt my landlord will lasso all my deposit, but still, I can't help but feel sorry for the apartment that loved me, and who I loved back but abused in so many ways.
And now I'm leaving it. Because I'm an "adult," apparently. With a condo in lower Queen Anne that has a dishwasher AND a washer/dryer! But I will dearly miss this shabbily elegant place, this bittersweet home that saw so much drama. So many tears and so many loney nights and so many strange boys!
Goodbye little apartment.
I'm moving in two days. I've spent the last day dismantling my beloved apartment in Capitol Hill, with its scuffed hardwood floors, leaded glass, arched entryways. The beautiful top-floor apartment with a view of Mt. Rainier that sheltered me when you-know-who booted me onto the street. The apartment that embraced me as I grew from lost, heartbroken soul to kickass author babe.
And now what am I doing to it? I'm disemboweling it! I'm reaching into its innards and scooping them out! Pulling coffee cups and first-aid kits and boxes of old birthday cards out of closets. Little pieces of string and maxi-pads and single earrings that have long been missing a mate. Putting everything out for embarrassing, gaudy display that was so nicely hid for two years in my apartment's five spacious closets (my new condo has a grand total of ONE closet)!
When I finally do move it all, the scars will be left behind. Oh the poor hardwood floor! There will be long scratches from my furniture. Water stains from my plants. The spots on the bookshelves that I burned with candles. The holes in the walls.No doubt my landlord will lasso all my deposit, but still, I can't help but feel sorry for the apartment that loved me, and who I loved back but abused in so many ways.
And now I'm leaving it. Because I'm an "adult," apparently. With a condo in lower Queen Anne that has a dishwasher AND a washer/dryer! But I will dearly miss this shabbily elegant place, this bittersweet home that saw so much drama. So many tears and so many loney nights and so many strange boys!
Goodbye little apartment.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Whoohoo, I'm a star! Gimme a swig of that vodka! Pass the cocaine, baby! After two years, Blogger finally put me on their front page! Where are my groupies? The free designer clothes?!
Oh shit, what? You mean I can't become one of those drug-addicted, alcoholic celebs yet?
I've got too much work to do? I've got to finish the book FIRST? I've got a good year and a half of working at Geeksoft left before I can join Courtney in rehab and make out with Madonna?! Meanwhile, it's gotta be clean'-livin', early-risin', 11-hour day bullsh*t.
Damn.
Well, as promised, I now have to dish about my love life again because someone made a *lucky* guess about who the *lucky* man is! He appeared way back when, becoming the first acronymed boy on this site (Sexy Boy) after he strode into a party of mine right after you-know-who had flushed me down the toilet. And oh, how did my drunken, on-the-rebound self fall for him! As I say in Chapter 5 (soon to be rewritten, but never mind that):
I’d also unexpectedly developed a crush on Jack.* When he’d walked in to the party, I took one look at him and he went into soft focus. My legs became weak and I felt sparkly little stars shooting out of my eyes à la Davey Jones of the Monkees (for whom, at age 6, I’d declared my true love).
Maybe it just was the big shot of tequila I’d tossed back, but still – the feeling was so novel, yet also so familiar. That pow feeling I got in the pit of my stomach, the high that took over when hormones mixed with hope. I’d always thought Jack was cute but now that I was single, I saw him in a whole new way. God, he was sexy. Those green eyes! That strong yet comforting-looking body!
*Names have been changed to protect the not-so innocent, of course.
Two years and two months later I've actually gotten to know that "strong-yet-comforting-looking body" and mmmmm, it doesn't disappoint.
But more on that later. I've got a book to write.
Oh shit, what? You mean I can't become one of those drug-addicted, alcoholic celebs yet?
I've got too much work to do? I've got to finish the book FIRST? I've got a good year and a half of working at Geeksoft left before I can join Courtney in rehab and make out with Madonna?! Meanwhile, it's gotta be clean'-livin', early-risin', 11-hour day bullsh*t.
Damn.
Well, as promised, I now have to dish about my love life again because someone made a *lucky* guess about who the *lucky* man is! He appeared way back when, becoming the first acronymed boy on this site (Sexy Boy) after he strode into a party of mine right after you-know-who had flushed me down the toilet. And oh, how did my drunken, on-the-rebound self fall for him! As I say in Chapter 5 (soon to be rewritten, but never mind that):
I’d also unexpectedly developed a crush on Jack.* When he’d walked in to the party, I took one look at him and he went into soft focus. My legs became weak and I felt sparkly little stars shooting out of my eyes à la Davey Jones of the Monkees (for whom, at age 6, I’d declared my true love).
Maybe it just was the big shot of tequila I’d tossed back, but still – the feeling was so novel, yet also so familiar. That pow feeling I got in the pit of my stomach, the high that took over when hormones mixed with hope. I’d always thought Jack was cute but now that I was single, I saw him in a whole new way. God, he was sexy. Those green eyes! That strong yet comforting-looking body!
*Names have been changed to protect the not-so innocent, of course.
Two years and two months later I've actually gotten to know that "strong-yet-comforting-looking body" and mmmmm, it doesn't disappoint.
But more on that later. I've got a book to write.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Breakup Babies,
Thank you so much for all your congratulations! You rock.
Now, on to other important matters. Such as tax deductions. Now that I am raking it in as a writer who writes about dates gone bad -- can I deduct my dating expenses? This idea was put forth by L'il Sis, who,as it may be obvious, has an MBA!
Dating expenses would include dinners that I pay for, bottles of alcohol I buy to seduce unsuspecting dates, "mood" music, and skimpy clothing. Linens too - you know how fast they get "dirty." Gas money for my numerous rendezvous, condoms, and...oh, the deductions are endless!
If only I could put a price on the broken heart that got me this deal. Yes, I would say at least one-quarter of my heart was fully broken; what kind of deduction would that be? I must get my accountant on the phone immediately!
Oh wait, you don't want to hear about tax deductions do you, you want to hear about S*X! And when my book is coming out!
All right then. Should all go according to plan (and whatever goes according to plan?) the book will come out, um, year after next. Give or take a year. Then you will buy it immediately as well as a copy for EVERY SINGLE PERSON YOU KNOW so as to make it an immediate bestseller. Voila!Instant happiness for all!
Then s*x. Ahem. Whatever gave you the idea that I would talk about that? But you must be feeling so deprived. Poor things. An astute commenter had it right when he said that the current object of my affections was "buried in the archives" somewhere. Guess who it is and I'll spill all.
When you guess CORRECTLY that is.
Thank you so much for all your congratulations! You rock.
Now, on to other important matters. Such as tax deductions. Now that I am raking it in as a writer who writes about dates gone bad -- can I deduct my dating expenses? This idea was put forth by L'il Sis, who,as it may be obvious, has an MBA!
Dating expenses would include dinners that I pay for, bottles of alcohol I buy to seduce unsuspecting dates, "mood" music, and skimpy clothing. Linens too - you know how fast they get "dirty." Gas money for my numerous rendezvous, condoms, and...oh, the deductions are endless!
If only I could put a price on the broken heart that got me this deal. Yes, I would say at least one-quarter of my heart was fully broken; what kind of deduction would that be? I must get my accountant on the phone immediately!
Oh wait, you don't want to hear about tax deductions do you, you want to hear about S*X! And when my book is coming out!
All right then. Should all go according to plan (and whatever goes according to plan?) the book will come out, um, year after next. Give or take a year. Then you will buy it immediately as well as a copy for EVERY SINGLE PERSON YOU KNOW so as to make it an immediate bestseller. Voila!Instant happiness for all!
Then s*x. Ahem. Whatever gave you the idea that I would talk about that? But you must be feeling so deprived. Poor things. An astute commenter had it right when he said that the current object of my affections was "buried in the archives" somewhere. Guess who it is and I'll spill all.
When you guess CORRECTLY that is.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Dearest readers,
I have some good news for you. I do not want to brag. I do not want to gloat. I do not want to prance around the rainy streets of Seattle, exulting because after years of hard work and frustration and discouragement and rejection and perserverance:
I SOLD MY BOOK. TO RANDOM HOUSE.
Look at me - I am so calm. Sitting here in my windowless office telling you that I SOLD MY BOOK.
Thank you mom, dad, Li'l Sis! Thank you all you noncommital boys - you know who you are! Thank you Geeksoft for letting me come in at noon! And thank yooooouuu you-know-who for begetting The Great Unpleasantness and the ascendancy of Breakup Babe. I never knew how well I could write until I got my heart smashed into a zillion pieces, thenn stepped on, and ground into dust (then again, you always did believe in me when I didn't believe in myself).
No! I'm not gloating! Really.
Oh, and you, readers, thank YOU for tirelessly reading, commenting, and making me feel kick-ass about myself (except when you were insulting me). This book is going to be a lot about you, and you better believe that! And most of all, I'd like to my fabulous agent, and of course, Random House!
More details to come.
xo,
BB
I have some good news for you. I do not want to brag. I do not want to gloat. I do not want to prance around the rainy streets of Seattle, exulting because after years of hard work and frustration and discouragement and rejection and perserverance:
I SOLD MY BOOK. TO RANDOM HOUSE.
Look at me - I am so calm. Sitting here in my windowless office telling you that I SOLD MY BOOK.
Thank you mom, dad, Li'l Sis! Thank you all you noncommital boys - you know who you are! Thank you Geeksoft for letting me come in at noon! And thank yooooouuu you-know-who for begetting The Great Unpleasantness and the ascendancy of Breakup Babe. I never knew how well I could write until I got my heart smashed into a zillion pieces, thenn stepped on, and ground into dust (then again, you always did believe in me when I didn't believe in myself).
No! I'm not gloating! Really.
Oh, and you, readers, thank YOU for tirelessly reading, commenting, and making me feel kick-ass about myself (except when you were insulting me). This book is going to be a lot about you, and you better believe that! And most of all, I'd like to my fabulous agent, and of course, Random House!
More details to come.
xo,
BB
Tuesday, November 9, 2004
Thursday, November 4, 2004
Well, everyone, I'm back. And none too happy about it either.
Oh let me rescind that. I am ecstatic to have survived my flights, the last one of which rocked and bounced into Seattle like a Super Ball(R) in a dryer. I am ecstatic to be back in my cold, moist city, now covered in a canopy of yellow leaves. To be back in the company of my GalPals, whose sweet doses of support are like cream-filled chocolates in shiny wrappers.
But this vacation was an idyll and life is not. Especially now that you-know-who is president again.
Especially because most major aspects of my life are up in the air right now. Book? Condo? BF? (And oh yes, how I have tried to love the journey and not worry about the destination! But sometimes you just want to arrive!)
I spent the last week driving, sleeping, exploring the canyons and byways and higher-class motels of the Southwest. Wandering along the Rio Grande river lined with flaming fall colors. Driving the mountain roads between Taos and Santa Fe; stopping in the artsy towns on the way to Albuquerque, seeing the Grand Canyon covered in a foot-and-a-half blanket of pillowy snow without another tourist in sight, camping in a deserted, snow-covered campground.
And then, in the final stop, Albuquerque, I did what I had come to do. I monitored a polling station on the outskirts of town as part of a non-partisan group called Election Protection. I thought it would be easy. I thought it would be boring. I thought maybe my presence might be superfluous.
I was wrong. That poll was a mess. Half the voters were frustrated, confused, irate - after being told that yes, it was true, they had voted at this particular site for 45 YEARS OR MORE, but their polling station had been switched without them knowing it! So yes you made a special effort to get here before work or on your break or with your five little children in tow - but guess what? You have to go somewhere else now!
Not only that but the poll workers, for some reason or another (confusion? misinformation? malice?) did not tell aformentioned voters that of course it would be preferable for them to vote at their assigned station despite it being a huge hassle, BUT that if it was a hardship for them to drive the f*ck all over town, well they COULD vote right here by provisional ballot.
Yours truly, in fact, got kicked out of the polling station for telling one young, distraught woman with two small kids that she did have the right to vote right there if she wanted to. I was, apparently, "obstructing" the process by clarifying to voters what their rights actually were. Meanwhile, the poll judges were arguing with each other about what these rights were, each of them telling their voters different things.
And still the people came. They voted. Then went to that other polling station to make their voices heard, even if it was a monumental hassle. They waited in line and dealt with the surly poll workers, and the unreliable computers, and the frustration of not being able to find their names on the list, of finding out that the voter registration they filled out six months ago had not gone through and that they had to vote at their old location or risk having their provisional ballot not be counted.
It was an eye-opening experience, I tell you that. Eye-opening, dismaying, and rewarding all at once. Because me, apathetic old me, was there helping these people to vote and they were doing it, despite everything. And in the end, I knew I'd made a difference, even if we didn't get the outcome I wanted. But of course I can't help but wonder - how many votes were lost by this kind of confusion across the country?
And now, after all the excitement, I'm back at work, in body if not in spirit, waiting for the unknowns in my life to resolve. Attempting to focus my mind and do my job.
But lemme tell you, it's not workin' too well.
Oh let me rescind that. I am ecstatic to have survived my flights, the last one of which rocked and bounced into Seattle like a Super Ball(R) in a dryer. I am ecstatic to be back in my cold, moist city, now covered in a canopy of yellow leaves. To be back in the company of my GalPals, whose sweet doses of support are like cream-filled chocolates in shiny wrappers.
But this vacation was an idyll and life is not. Especially now that you-know-who is president again.
Especially because most major aspects of my life are up in the air right now. Book? Condo? BF? (And oh yes, how I have tried to love the journey and not worry about the destination! But sometimes you just want to arrive!)
I spent the last week driving, sleeping, exploring the canyons and byways and higher-class motels of the Southwest. Wandering along the Rio Grande river lined with flaming fall colors. Driving the mountain roads between Taos and Santa Fe; stopping in the artsy towns on the way to Albuquerque, seeing the Grand Canyon covered in a foot-and-a-half blanket of pillowy snow without another tourist in sight, camping in a deserted, snow-covered campground.
And then, in the final stop, Albuquerque, I did what I had come to do. I monitored a polling station on the outskirts of town as part of a non-partisan group called Election Protection. I thought it would be easy. I thought it would be boring. I thought maybe my presence might be superfluous.
I was wrong. That poll was a mess. Half the voters were frustrated, confused, irate - after being told that yes, it was true, they had voted at this particular site for 45 YEARS OR MORE, but their polling station had been switched without them knowing it! So yes you made a special effort to get here before work or on your break or with your five little children in tow - but guess what? You have to go somewhere else now!
Not only that but the poll workers, for some reason or another (confusion? misinformation? malice?) did not tell aformentioned voters that of course it would be preferable for them to vote at their assigned station despite it being a huge hassle, BUT that if it was a hardship for them to drive the f*ck all over town, well they COULD vote right here by provisional ballot.
Yours truly, in fact, got kicked out of the polling station for telling one young, distraught woman with two small kids that she did have the right to vote right there if she wanted to. I was, apparently, "obstructing" the process by clarifying to voters what their rights actually were. Meanwhile, the poll judges were arguing with each other about what these rights were, each of them telling their voters different things.
And still the people came. They voted. Then went to that other polling station to make their voices heard, even if it was a monumental hassle. They waited in line and dealt with the surly poll workers, and the unreliable computers, and the frustration of not being able to find their names on the list, of finding out that the voter registration they filled out six months ago had not gone through and that they had to vote at their old location or risk having their provisional ballot not be counted.
It was an eye-opening experience, I tell you that. Eye-opening, dismaying, and rewarding all at once. Because me, apathetic old me, was there helping these people to vote and they were doing it, despite everything. And in the end, I knew I'd made a difference, even if we didn't get the outcome I wanted. But of course I can't help but wonder - how many votes were lost by this kind of confusion across the country?
And now, after all the excitement, I'm back at work, in body if not in spirit, waiting for the unknowns in my life to resolve. Attempting to focus my mind and do my job.
But lemme tell you, it's not workin' too well.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Hear ye, hear ye, I can no longer write about my personal life on this olde blogge!
Why not, you ask?
Well, because nothing is happening in my personal life.
OK, that was a pathetic try. We know that as long as you have a red blood cell in your body, you will be in heat, which generates flames and explosions and all those things we loove to read about!
How about this? My personal life is personal – that’s why!
Oh come now, we know how addicted you are to telling it all online. You wouldn’t even exist if we readers weren’t here to validate you! To tell you what to do as we voyeuristically poke our big noses in your business!
Hmm, can’t argue with that. What about this one, then? I can’t write about my personal life anymore because every boyfriend past, present, and future now reads this blog!
There, got you stumped, didn’t I.
Yeah. HA.
Sooo....how 'bout about those Red Sox?
Why not, you ask?
Well, because nothing is happening in my personal life.
OK, that was a pathetic try. We know that as long as you have a red blood cell in your body, you will be in heat, which generates flames and explosions and all those things we loove to read about!
How about this? My personal life is personal – that’s why!
Oh come now, we know how addicted you are to telling it all online. You wouldn’t even exist if we readers weren’t here to validate you! To tell you what to do as we voyeuristically poke our big noses in your business!
Hmm, can’t argue with that. What about this one, then? I can’t write about my personal life anymore because every boyfriend past, present, and future now reads this blog!
There, got you stumped, didn’t I.
Yeah. HA.
Sooo....how 'bout about those Red Sox?
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
I feel like I’ve been hit with a truck today, yes I do.
Book? Condo? Boyfriends?
They all suck.
Thank God for my boring, high-paid job, where I can get in at noon, close my blinds, cancel my meetings, and do mind-numbing work for the next six hours without having to exercise a brain cell.
Sometimes I long to be one of those people who just sits on the sidelines, never getting bloody.
Then, unfortunately, I get a good night’s sleep and I’m ready to fight again. Where in the world did I get this resilience?
I miss my dad.
Book? Condo? Boyfriends?
They all suck.
Thank God for my boring, high-paid job, where I can get in at noon, close my blinds, cancel my meetings, and do mind-numbing work for the next six hours without having to exercise a brain cell.
Sometimes I long to be one of those people who just sits on the sidelines, never getting bloody.
Then, unfortunately, I get a good night’s sleep and I’m ready to fight again. Where in the world did I get this resilience?
I miss my dad.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Emotional availability is such a funny thing, isn’t it? Sometimes those people who make themselves out to be the most “available” – who throw themselves into your arms with wild abandon – are the ones (Library Boy, for example), who, in the end, don’t really have what it takes.
If I had to choose, I’d rather take someone who commits slowly but surely. Not that this is easy for an impatient and passionate girl such as moi.
I suspected, when I looked into Library Boy’s googly eyes in that long-ago, red-hot month of July, that he was deluding himself when he gazed at me (drooling ever-so-slightly).That he was the victim of his own unrealistic infatuation, and that I, probably would be too. Because what girl can resist all that he offered me?
Well, things are different around here now that the leaves have turned and the air is crunchy and delicious like a Braeburn apple. The universe is smiling on me, if only momentarily.
For one, there is interest in my writing from two major publishing houses. Second, I put an successful offer on a fabulous condo that was accepted: a place of such style and light that it befits a soon-to-be-bestelling-if-still-not-that-rich author.
I walked into that place and I knew. Knew, without a doubt, that I was ready to start hemorrhaging money to live there. So here I go!
Third, well. I’m not quite ready to talk about that one yet. Let’s just say he’s got soft lips and sexy eyes and he is one of my best friends. So I see him with eyes that are loving but lucid, which means I have hope but not illusions.
And finally, I am wearing a feather-boa bedecked sweater that makes me look like Liza Minelli in her heyday, and yes, people, that is a good thing.
If I had to choose, I’d rather take someone who commits slowly but surely. Not that this is easy for an impatient and passionate girl such as moi.
I suspected, when I looked into Library Boy’s googly eyes in that long-ago, red-hot month of July, that he was deluding himself when he gazed at me (drooling ever-so-slightly).That he was the victim of his own unrealistic infatuation, and that I, probably would be too. Because what girl can resist all that he offered me?
Well, things are different around here now that the leaves have turned and the air is crunchy and delicious like a Braeburn apple. The universe is smiling on me, if only momentarily.
For one, there is interest in my writing from two major publishing houses. Second, I put an successful offer on a fabulous condo that was accepted: a place of such style and light that it befits a soon-to-be-bestelling-if-still-not-that-rich author.
I walked into that place and I knew. Knew, without a doubt, that I was ready to start hemorrhaging money to live there. So here I go!
Third, well. I’m not quite ready to talk about that one yet. Let’s just say he’s got soft lips and sexy eyes and he is one of my best friends. So I see him with eyes that are loving but lucid, which means I have hope but not illusions.
And finally, I am wearing a feather-boa bedecked sweater that makes me look like Liza Minelli in her heyday, and yes, people, that is a good thing.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Thanks, Gentle Readers, for recommending this book, “He's Just Not That Into You : The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys.”
It’s heartwarming that you want me to understand HE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO ME, and rather than fight that verdict, I will just lay down my arms and say, OK, fine. He’s just not that into me.
Though I do think there’s such a thing as timing, and the timing, in this case, was just not right – but when it comes down to it, it just doesn’t matter. It’s over. Oh, he did call me this week to say how much he’d missed me, but he’s not going to come crawling back. Because we weren’t right for each other anyway.
Sure, we ignited the bedroom each and every time. And I don’t regret that I gave up my virtue this time around, because I trusted him, and he never lost that trust, and boy was he f*cking hot – nosehairs and all.
But, for one, he didn’t want kids, and for two, the intellectual connection was just not there. We didn’t spark that way, and to my everlasting detriment, I need that. I’ve tried to live without it before, to go on a strong friendship or a strong physical attraction, but either one of these alone was not enough to sustain me. Nor is an intellectual attraction by itself enough to get the juices flowing.
I think, alas, that I need all three, and me and Library Boy, we had only one.
Now, well, my life’s in limbo. And rather then let myself feel sad, I’ve been rushing around til all hours of the night, socializing with random men until yesterday, when I stopped dead in my tracks and got sick. (And can’t you tell from the lackluster tone of my writing today?)
There is a love interest lurking behind the scenes, but I can’t even write about him, for fear that if I do, he will instantly disappear. So that’s what I will do now too, since I can’t seem to come up with a single clever thing to say.
It’s heartwarming that you want me to understand HE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO ME, and rather than fight that verdict, I will just lay down my arms and say, OK, fine. He’s just not that into me.
Though I do think there’s such a thing as timing, and the timing, in this case, was just not right – but when it comes down to it, it just doesn’t matter. It’s over. Oh, he did call me this week to say how much he’d missed me, but he’s not going to come crawling back. Because we weren’t right for each other anyway.
Sure, we ignited the bedroom each and every time. And I don’t regret that I gave up my virtue this time around, because I trusted him, and he never lost that trust, and boy was he f*cking hot – nosehairs and all.
But, for one, he didn’t want kids, and for two, the intellectual connection was just not there. We didn’t spark that way, and to my everlasting detriment, I need that. I’ve tried to live without it before, to go on a strong friendship or a strong physical attraction, but either one of these alone was not enough to sustain me. Nor is an intellectual attraction by itself enough to get the juices flowing.
I think, alas, that I need all three, and me and Library Boy, we had only one.
Now, well, my life’s in limbo. And rather then let myself feel sad, I’ve been rushing around til all hours of the night, socializing with random men until yesterday, when I stopped dead in my tracks and got sick. (And can’t you tell from the lackluster tone of my writing today?)
There is a love interest lurking behind the scenes, but I can’t even write about him, for fear that if I do, he will instantly disappear. So that’s what I will do now too, since I can’t seem to come up with a single clever thing to say.
Saturday, October 9, 2004
Sigh. Thank God the rains have come at last. We will now be socked in for the next nine months, but this is for the best.
Because I can write and sleep and cry and furrow back down under those down blankets that were stuffed into the closet while my apartment stifled in the summer. In other words, I can relax again and be my melancholy self, not always under pressure to smile and dance like the sun demands.
Whether or not there will be a male heater somewhere in this winter, I don't know. Library Boy and I mostly called it quits last night, sitting on my Red Couch o' Love (and Loss), where I've made out with so many boys these last two years and broken up with not a few.
I cried and cried and got his t-shirt all wet and couldn't believe how handsome he looked with his scruffy beard and his necklace, and the sad, sad expression on his face as he tried to figure in his brain some way to fit me into his overloaded life, but in the end, he just couldn't. Which is what I expected. What I didn't expect was for this to be as hard for him as it was for me.
And though I did attempt to convince him that loved belonged in a person's life no matter how busy they are, that fact - so true to me - is not to him. He's a man on a mission, and that mission - right now- is about making himself.
I don't hold that against him. Or the fact that he spent two months months successfuly sweeping me off my feet, only to do an about face and realize he'd gotten in over his head. He's a wonderful and soulful person and he brought so much to my life.
So please excuse me if I'm crying all over my keyboard right now, and not only that, in a public place. It's been buses, meetings, cafes, sidewalks all week.
Watering everything with my tears. As if anything needs it with all this rain.
Because I can write and sleep and cry and furrow back down under those down blankets that were stuffed into the closet while my apartment stifled in the summer. In other words, I can relax again and be my melancholy self, not always under pressure to smile and dance like the sun demands.
Whether or not there will be a male heater somewhere in this winter, I don't know. Library Boy and I mostly called it quits last night, sitting on my Red Couch o' Love (and Loss), where I've made out with so many boys these last two years and broken up with not a few.
I cried and cried and got his t-shirt all wet and couldn't believe how handsome he looked with his scruffy beard and his necklace, and the sad, sad expression on his face as he tried to figure in his brain some way to fit me into his overloaded life, but in the end, he just couldn't. Which is what I expected. What I didn't expect was for this to be as hard for him as it was for me.
And though I did attempt to convince him that loved belonged in a person's life no matter how busy they are, that fact - so true to me - is not to him. He's a man on a mission, and that mission - right now- is about making himself.
I don't hold that against him. Or the fact that he spent two months months successfuly sweeping me off my feet, only to do an about face and realize he'd gotten in over his head. He's a wonderful and soulful person and he brought so much to my life.
So please excuse me if I'm crying all over my keyboard right now, and not only that, in a public place. It's been buses, meetings, cafes, sidewalks all week.
Watering everything with my tears. As if anything needs it with all this rain.
Friday, October 8, 2004
This has been one crazy week.
One minute I’m crying on the bus all the way home because clearly I am an unlovable pariah, and if I were just the least bit lovable, Library Boy would actually love me instead of being so consumed with his rocks and his dirt and gazillion Power Point slides.
The next I’m rocking out in my car, on top of the world, certain that I’m about to become the next Helen Fielding AND find true love all in one month. Later that night, I’m lying wide awake in bed at 2 a.m. then waking up with strangled screams at 4 because of some David Lynch-like nightmare where what you can’t see is the scariest thing of all.
One minute, I’ve found the perfect condo for me, the next I find out there are seven offers on it already, and how could I have been so STUPID as to wait a full TWO days to look at it? Oh, but it only gives me an excuse to keep hanging out with my real estate agent – only the hottest real estate agent in Seattle – and I already see him way more than I see my so-called boyfriend, and we’re about to run off together to New Mexico (whither that will take us, no one knows), so let’s just say this:
Things are definitely on the move here in BB Land.
The book is opening eyes in New York City (while my own eyes hardly close anymore), and though I adore Library Boy, I'm not feeling loved and adored the way I want to. I’m going to mention this little fact to him, and then who knows what will happen. Maybe it will snap his head out of his a*s (and wouldn't that be great?) but my feeling is that I'm the one who has to take it or leave it.
What I do know is this: there is a man out there who will love me, and want to spend time with me, and want to have kids with me so that we can bask in the warmth that only a family can provide. Library Boy, alas, disowned his own parents when he was 14. And though he talks to them now, his own vision of “family” is colored by the trauma of not feeling loved when he was young.
But me - thanks to my own, mostly fabulous family - I just have too much love inside me to not to share it with a couple of noisy, messy, but delightful children, and a no-doubt-occasionally-annoying but mostly loving and funny and kind husband who will go on adventures with me and ground me when I need it and change diapers in the middle of the night.
And with a horoscope like this for October, is it any wonder I’m feeling hopeful, despite the less-than-stellar turn of affairs with Library Boy?
Dear Gemini, it has been over a dozen years since you have had the kind of glittering aspects at play in your chart today. Last month Jupiter, the giver of gifts and luck, moved into your fifth house of love, romance, creativity and children, giving all these areas a huge push forward. Jupiter will work hard for you not only this month, but for a whole year-your golden period will last until October 25, 2005.
One minute I’m crying on the bus all the way home because clearly I am an unlovable pariah, and if I were just the least bit lovable, Library Boy would actually love me instead of being so consumed with his rocks and his dirt and gazillion Power Point slides.
The next I’m rocking out in my car, on top of the world, certain that I’m about to become the next Helen Fielding AND find true love all in one month. Later that night, I’m lying wide awake in bed at 2 a.m. then waking up with strangled screams at 4 because of some David Lynch-like nightmare where what you can’t see is the scariest thing of all.
One minute, I’ve found the perfect condo for me, the next I find out there are seven offers on it already, and how could I have been so STUPID as to wait a full TWO days to look at it? Oh, but it only gives me an excuse to keep hanging out with my real estate agent – only the hottest real estate agent in Seattle – and I already see him way more than I see my so-called boyfriend, and we’re about to run off together to New Mexico (whither that will take us, no one knows), so let’s just say this:
Things are definitely on the move here in BB Land.
The book is opening eyes in New York City (while my own eyes hardly close anymore), and though I adore Library Boy, I'm not feeling loved and adored the way I want to. I’m going to mention this little fact to him, and then who knows what will happen. Maybe it will snap his head out of his a*s (and wouldn't that be great?) but my feeling is that I'm the one who has to take it or leave it.
What I do know is this: there is a man out there who will love me, and want to spend time with me, and want to have kids with me so that we can bask in the warmth that only a family can provide. Library Boy, alas, disowned his own parents when he was 14. And though he talks to them now, his own vision of “family” is colored by the trauma of not feeling loved when he was young.
But me - thanks to my own, mostly fabulous family - I just have too much love inside me to not to share it with a couple of noisy, messy, but delightful children, and a no-doubt-occasionally-annoying but mostly loving and funny and kind husband who will go on adventures with me and ground me when I need it and change diapers in the middle of the night.
And with a horoscope like this for October, is it any wonder I’m feeling hopeful, despite the less-than-stellar turn of affairs with Library Boy?
Dear Gemini, it has been over a dozen years since you have had the kind of glittering aspects at play in your chart today. Last month Jupiter, the giver of gifts and luck, moved into your fifth house of love, romance, creativity and children, giving all these areas a huge push forward. Jupiter will work hard for you not only this month, but for a whole year-your golden period will last until October 25, 2005.
Let the golden period begin! Please?
Monday, October 4, 2004
Now if you recall, the latest love object in BB’s life is that sex god known as Library Boy (who, thank God has at last trimmed his nosehair, making him into even more of a sex god). The one who, for the first month and a half, made every effort to sweep BB off her feet – including much bringing of flowers, cooking of gourmet feasts, and writing of romantic e-mails?
Can BB be blamed for thinking that perhaps she has found a guy who is emotionally available? Of course, she knows deep down that he is infatuated with her and that infatuation is soon knocked aside by reality, but nonetheless – Anxiety and Loneliness disappear for a few short weeks as she’s swept into his Cancer spell.
Oh but it happens so much more quickly than she’d hoped! No sooner does that two-month mark roll around, the Library Boy suddenly becomes all business, and we’re talking ALL business.
Because, after all he is starting his own (landscaping) business, and going to school, and working 7 days a week, and well, it’s time to make sure BB knows where she is on this priority list. Which is low. Because, after all, who knows where this relationship might go, and he has to invest in his future. A future, which, he also makes clear, will not involve any little Library Boys, thankyouverymuch. Although he makes a point of telling her - many times - that he "loves being with" her and is "very attracted" to her.
Well. Right about now you’re all saying WTF? Yeah, he sounded great to begin with, but don’t you deserve better than that? We know you deserve better than that! You’re a kickass writer girl with a great day job and a hot bod and a soon-to-be-bestselling book that’s going to get bought ANY DAY NOW by publishers!
Yes, yes, you’re probably right. But as you know, when you’re in them, these things are not always so black and white. Especially when the time comes that you do see your busy busy boyfriend and he puts you back under that romantic spell. Then you’re like a junkie, and all you can live for is the next fix.
And then the rationalizations start. I’m an independent girl, I can handle seeing him only a couple times a week – as long as he makes me feel good, as long as he’s committed (and so far, he still seems to be, though who knows for how long?) maybe it’s my own demons I’m dealing with here (anxiety and loneliness), and maybe this is a good chance to DEAL with them, and maybe this is WORTH it, but the thing is this:
I just don’t know.
Can BB be blamed for thinking that perhaps she has found a guy who is emotionally available? Of course, she knows deep down that he is infatuated with her and that infatuation is soon knocked aside by reality, but nonetheless – Anxiety and Loneliness disappear for a few short weeks as she’s swept into his Cancer spell.
Oh but it happens so much more quickly than she’d hoped! No sooner does that two-month mark roll around, the Library Boy suddenly becomes all business, and we’re talking ALL business.
Because, after all he is starting his own (landscaping) business, and going to school, and working 7 days a week, and well, it’s time to make sure BB knows where she is on this priority list. Which is low. Because, after all, who knows where this relationship might go, and he has to invest in his future. A future, which, he also makes clear, will not involve any little Library Boys, thankyouverymuch. Although he makes a point of telling her - many times - that he "loves being with" her and is "very attracted" to her.
Well. Right about now you’re all saying WTF? Yeah, he sounded great to begin with, but don’t you deserve better than that? We know you deserve better than that! You’re a kickass writer girl with a great day job and a hot bod and a soon-to-be-bestselling book that’s going to get bought ANY DAY NOW by publishers!
Yes, yes, you’re probably right. But as you know, when you’re in them, these things are not always so black and white. Especially when the time comes that you do see your busy busy boyfriend and he puts you back under that romantic spell. Then you’re like a junkie, and all you can live for is the next fix.
And then the rationalizations start. I’m an independent girl, I can handle seeing him only a couple times a week – as long as he makes me feel good, as long as he’s committed (and so far, he still seems to be, though who knows for how long?) maybe it’s my own demons I’m dealing with here (anxiety and loneliness), and maybe this is a good chance to DEAL with them, and maybe this is WORTH it, but the thing is this:
I just don’t know.
Friday, October 1, 2004
I’ve Said It Before and I’ll Say it Again
I love Banana Republic.
Not because they’re reasonably priced. We all know they’re not. Not because they pay their impoverished sweatshop employees well to make their clothes. No, nothing so noble as that.
It’s because, people, I bought a pair of pants there yesterday, which were a size 2. Yes, size 2. That is almost a size 0! Which means I’ve almost disappeared (which is a whole different theoretical alley we won’t explore just yet).
Banana Republic makes big old pants. That’s why women will pay $148 for a pair of jeans! So they can say they’re a size 2! (For the record, I did not pay $148 for my SIZE TWO pants, because they were on sale for $40, but I would have been tempted.)
Now, listen. Let’s get things straight. I am not a size 2. It’s true that over the last two years, due to the Heartbreak Diet, I have been known to be a size 4. At times, a snug size four, but a size four nonetheless. At times, a size 6. But not without the constant fear that I will wake up the next morning and suddenly be, once again – gasp! – a size 8.
See, this is the thing. We’re all taught to dream of being a size 6. But it’s not all that. Once you’re there, you still think you’re fat (not that you were ever really fat before). You fret constantly about the possibility of gaining a pound. Two! Of no longer being able to fit into those $148 pants you just bought!
In any case, I have certainly not shrunk since the last time I bought a pair of Banana Republic pants. If anything, I have gained weight – possibly a whole 2.5 pounds. But their pants have clearly gotten bigger!
For those of you really are that teeny-tiny, I’m not sure what you’ll do. As far as I could tell they were not yet making negative sizes. And if they did, would that make us feel good or bad to be a -2?
In other news, depending on the weather, the amount of sleep I’ve gotten the night before, and what paragraph I’ve just read in “Fear of Flying,” I drift in and out of hope or cynicism about my future with Library Boy, alternating with the (fleeting) sense that life is adventure to be lived now, and by God if I’m not living it, and the future will take care of itself!
If only I could hold on to that one.
I love Banana Republic.
Not because they’re reasonably priced. We all know they’re not. Not because they pay their impoverished sweatshop employees well to make their clothes. No, nothing so noble as that.
It’s because, people, I bought a pair of pants there yesterday, which were a size 2. Yes, size 2. That is almost a size 0! Which means I’ve almost disappeared (which is a whole different theoretical alley we won’t explore just yet).
Banana Republic makes big old pants. That’s why women will pay $148 for a pair of jeans! So they can say they’re a size 2! (For the record, I did not pay $148 for my SIZE TWO pants, because they were on sale for $40, but I would have been tempted.)
Now, listen. Let’s get things straight. I am not a size 2. It’s true that over the last two years, due to the Heartbreak Diet, I have been known to be a size 4. At times, a snug size four, but a size four nonetheless. At times, a size 6. But not without the constant fear that I will wake up the next morning and suddenly be, once again – gasp! – a size 8.
See, this is the thing. We’re all taught to dream of being a size 6. But it’s not all that. Once you’re there, you still think you’re fat (not that you were ever really fat before). You fret constantly about the possibility of gaining a pound. Two! Of no longer being able to fit into those $148 pants you just bought!
In any case, I have certainly not shrunk since the last time I bought a pair of Banana Republic pants. If anything, I have gained weight – possibly a whole 2.5 pounds. But their pants have clearly gotten bigger!
For those of you really are that teeny-tiny, I’m not sure what you’ll do. As far as I could tell they were not yet making negative sizes. And if they did, would that make us feel good or bad to be a -2?
In other news, depending on the weather, the amount of sleep I’ve gotten the night before, and what paragraph I’ve just read in “Fear of Flying,” I drift in and out of hope or cynicism about my future with Library Boy, alternating with the (fleeting) sense that life is adventure to be lived now, and by God if I’m not living it, and the future will take care of itself!
If only I could hold on to that one.
Monday, September 27, 2004
Egads. Remind me never to come back from vacation again, would you?
I am currently on Day 2, post-vacation, otherwise known as when-everything-fell-apart-at-work-and-in-my-personal-life-and-why- didn't-I-just-buy-a-house-on-the-Oregon-coast-when-I-was-down-there-where-it-is-actually-affordable Hell.
OK,OK, I exaggerate.
Things did not completely fall apart with Library Boy (who still has not trimmed his nosehairs by the way, despite me giving him a nosehair trimmer, and I don't CARE if he reads this, so THERE!) He merely told me last night that after some "soul-searching," he's decided he does not want to have children. This was after I put a wee bit of pressure on him several weeks ago, by blurting out, apropos of nothing, "I don't wan't to fall madly in love with you only to find out you don't want children!"
Ahem. Granted, this would be enough to make most men run screaming. But it had to be said, people!
Maybe I only want children because I have been brainwashed into thinking I do, because, after all, who wants to be awash in diapers and poop and vomit and drool for years on end when you could live in a nice home with nice furniture that isn't covered in strained peas, but damn it, it has nonetheless been in my general life plan since I was oh, two years old, and swaddling my teddy bears in diapers!
OK, maybe I didn't actually do that. It's just that I saw J. and A's superstar three-year old putting diapers on her Elmo doll and I thought it would make a good example of how we females are PROGRAMMED FROM BIRTH to put diapers on!
While we're on the topic of the superstar three-year old, I'll add that the high point of my vacation came with her. It was lunchtime at yet another beautiful empty Oregon coast beach, oh somewhere halfway down the coast. While the other adults milled about on the bluff above, we wandered to the beach to check out the scene.
Of course what does she want to do but take off her shoes and run in the waves? I, jaded and weary as I was, tried to resist the taking-off-shoe-plan, but when it was clear that she was hell-bent on touching that marble-green oceanwater with her toes, I was forced to.
Well! Never, I tell you, never have I seen a person be so happy or laugh so hard as did Superstar Child as we ran in and out of that water, which chased us and retreated like some crazy animal on that sparkling beach.
Those peals of laughter so packed with joy just broke right through me, people, and lo and behold I was happy too! Pure and simply happy to be there in that perfect moment. Feeling like I, too, was being chased for the first time by that big blue thing called the ocean.
So there you have it. One reason I want to have kids.
And now I have used up all my creative energy on that digression so let's forget about the rest of this dilemma til tomorrow, shall we?
Oh except to say that after that lovely discussion with LB, I then proceeded to have the best s*x of my life with him. Go f*cking figure.
I am currently on Day 2, post-vacation, otherwise known as when-everything-fell-apart-at-work-and-in-my-personal-life-and-why- didn't-I-just-buy-a-house-on-the-Oregon-coast-when-I-was-down-there-where-it-is-actually-affordable Hell.
OK,OK, I exaggerate.
Things did not completely fall apart with Library Boy (who still has not trimmed his nosehairs by the way, despite me giving him a nosehair trimmer, and I don't CARE if he reads this, so THERE!) He merely told me last night that after some "soul-searching," he's decided he does not want to have children. This was after I put a wee bit of pressure on him several weeks ago, by blurting out, apropos of nothing, "I don't wan't to fall madly in love with you only to find out you don't want children!"
Ahem. Granted, this would be enough to make most men run screaming. But it had to be said, people!
Maybe I only want children because I have been brainwashed into thinking I do, because, after all, who wants to be awash in diapers and poop and vomit and drool for years on end when you could live in a nice home with nice furniture that isn't covered in strained peas, but damn it, it has nonetheless been in my general life plan since I was oh, two years old, and swaddling my teddy bears in diapers!
OK, maybe I didn't actually do that. It's just that I saw J. and A's superstar three-year old putting diapers on her Elmo doll and I thought it would make a good example of how we females are PROGRAMMED FROM BIRTH to put diapers on!
While we're on the topic of the superstar three-year old, I'll add that the high point of my vacation came with her. It was lunchtime at yet another beautiful empty Oregon coast beach, oh somewhere halfway down the coast. While the other adults milled about on the bluff above, we wandered to the beach to check out the scene.
Of course what does she want to do but take off her shoes and run in the waves? I, jaded and weary as I was, tried to resist the taking-off-shoe-plan, but when it was clear that she was hell-bent on touching that marble-green oceanwater with her toes, I was forced to.
Well! Never, I tell you, never have I seen a person be so happy or laugh so hard as did Superstar Child as we ran in and out of that water, which chased us and retreated like some crazy animal on that sparkling beach.
Those peals of laughter so packed with joy just broke right through me, people, and lo and behold I was happy too! Pure and simply happy to be there in that perfect moment. Feeling like I, too, was being chased for the first time by that big blue thing called the ocean.
So there you have it. One reason I want to have kids.
And now I have used up all my creative energy on that digression so let's forget about the rest of this dilemma til tomorrow, shall we?
Oh except to say that after that lovely discussion with LB, I then proceeded to have the best s*x of my life with him. Go f*cking figure.
Search for true love over? Yeah, right!
What kind of drugs was I on anyway? Oh yes, many, I forgot.
I've been on vacation my darling ones, and I suppose I forgot to tell you. But I am back and I have dirt.
Namely about the Two-month Talk I had with Library Boy last night. And why must there always be a Talk? I thought, maybe, for ONCE, I could get by without a Talk!
But you'll have to be patient just a little longer as I worm my way into grim, gray Seattle reality here after sunny biking soujourn on the Oregon coast.
Stand by.
What kind of drugs was I on anyway? Oh yes, many, I forgot.
I've been on vacation my darling ones, and I suppose I forgot to tell you. But I am back and I have dirt.
Namely about the Two-month Talk I had with Library Boy last night. And why must there always be a Talk? I thought, maybe, for ONCE, I could get by without a Talk!
But you'll have to be patient just a little longer as I worm my way into grim, gray Seattle reality here after sunny biking soujourn on the Oregon coast.
Stand by.
Monday, September 13, 2004
Now that the search for true love is over, at least for the week, I have a new obsession: real estate!
Egads, wait a minute. Is that actually me speaking? Ms.Free Spirit-who-likes-the-idea-of-being-able-to-leave-town-on-a-moment's-whim-and-move-to-Guatemala-even-though-she-won't-unless-there's-a-cute-boy-to-go-with-her?
Something strange is happening to me this month. I have been craving a 1)dog and a 2)house, in that order. A baby? Eh. Well, I think the dog - a golden retriever puppy, thank you - will be a substitute for that. And at least if I DO have a baby EVER, I will be able to trust my golden retriever with it, unless the baby has the misfortune to have a tennis ball anywhere near its being, in which case there is no telling what disasters may ensue!
Jesus, I'm old and boring now.
No. I'm not, really! Because, after all, I haven't found true love YET. I mean, so yes, I feel like I'm falling in love with Library Boy, but in the immortal words of Tina Turner, "What's love got to do with it?
He could yet turn out to have marriage- or children-phobia, or be a psycho of the first order (like the last two men I had the misfortune to fall in love with).
Just because so far he's been nothing but loving and sweet and into me - reminding me that relationships don't always HAVE to be hard - and just because I am now irretrievably swept up in his aura of sexy romance, and just because we spent last Saturday night singing John Denver songs in my kitchen while he played guitar, doesn't mean anything except that I am - once again! - in a position to get my heart broken.
A golden retriever will never break my heart, I can tell you that. Although I would be lying if I said that when I saw my dream townhome last night - a dramatic, beautiful place hip enough, light enough, and spacious enough for any writer to call home-I did wonder if Library Boy would like it. If there would be enough space in the backyard for the garden he would want to grow.
Of course, when I told him all about it, I didn't mention that little fact. I just told him how pretty it was, and how there was a park across the street, and how I loved the high ceilings and the way dining the area was lofted over the living room. I mentioned how there would be plenty of room for a dog, but I didn't say there would be plenty of room for him - which there would be. And for our darling infant.
Funny, though, how last night and today, I thought desperately of that townhouse, and felt that no other place would be right for me. But I don't have my loan yet, and others have made offers, and it's probably too expensive for me anyway - but still, I want it. It's PERFECT for me.
Just like so many other boys in the past were PERFECT. And then they were not. I went online searching desperately for another place today, but nothing, of course, looked as good.
Undoubtedly though, my real dream home is out there waiting for me. Patiently.
As for the dreamy boy, well, I've got my earnest money in my hand, but damn if I'm scared to put it down. I have made such bad investments in the past. Obviously, dating has prepared me for adventures in real estate. But are there any tips from the real estate world that could help me with dating?
Egads, wait a minute. Is that actually me speaking? Ms.Free Spirit-who-likes-the-idea-of-being-able-to-leave-town-on-a-moment's-whim-and-move-to-Guatemala-even-though-she-won't-unless-there's-a-cute-boy-to-go-with-her?
Something strange is happening to me this month. I have been craving a 1)dog and a 2)house, in that order. A baby? Eh. Well, I think the dog - a golden retriever puppy, thank you - will be a substitute for that. And at least if I DO have a baby EVER, I will be able to trust my golden retriever with it, unless the baby has the misfortune to have a tennis ball anywhere near its being, in which case there is no telling what disasters may ensue!
Jesus, I'm old and boring now.
No. I'm not, really! Because, after all, I haven't found true love YET. I mean, so yes, I feel like I'm falling in love with Library Boy, but in the immortal words of Tina Turner, "What's love got to do with it?
He could yet turn out to have marriage- or children-phobia, or be a psycho of the first order (like the last two men I had the misfortune to fall in love with).
Just because so far he's been nothing but loving and sweet and into me - reminding me that relationships don't always HAVE to be hard - and just because I am now irretrievably swept up in his aura of sexy romance, and just because we spent last Saturday night singing John Denver songs in my kitchen while he played guitar, doesn't mean anything except that I am - once again! - in a position to get my heart broken.
A golden retriever will never break my heart, I can tell you that. Although I would be lying if I said that when I saw my dream townhome last night - a dramatic, beautiful place hip enough, light enough, and spacious enough for any writer to call home-I did wonder if Library Boy would like it. If there would be enough space in the backyard for the garden he would want to grow.
Of course, when I told him all about it, I didn't mention that little fact. I just told him how pretty it was, and how there was a park across the street, and how I loved the high ceilings and the way dining the area was lofted over the living room. I mentioned how there would be plenty of room for a dog, but I didn't say there would be plenty of room for him - which there would be. And for our darling infant.
Funny, though, how last night and today, I thought desperately of that townhouse, and felt that no other place would be right for me. But I don't have my loan yet, and others have made offers, and it's probably too expensive for me anyway - but still, I want it. It's PERFECT for me.
Just like so many other boys in the past were PERFECT. And then they were not. I went online searching desperately for another place today, but nothing, of course, looked as good.
Undoubtedly though, my real dream home is out there waiting for me. Patiently.
As for the dreamy boy, well, I've got my earnest money in my hand, but damn if I'm scared to put it down. I have made such bad investments in the past. Obviously, dating has prepared me for adventures in real estate. But are there any tips from the real estate world that could help me with dating?
Tuesday, September 7, 2004
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
The last couple days I have been dragging my emotional baggage around like an unwanted appendage.
I tried to write up my whole sob story for you yesterday, and just couldn't put the whole thing into words without sounding melodramatic (because really, my friends, it was.)
About how Library Boy and I had our first minor conflict this weekend - which was really hardly a conflict at all - and how it ended up blindsiding me with feelings of insecurity and self-doubt.Soon enough, though I realized these feelings had nothing to do with him, but were all about being cheated on in my past and about how that relationship ultimately made me not trust myself either.
After all, how can you trust yourself when you go along thinking everything is fine, but meanwhile the person you love is storing up all their grievances against you, only to unleash them in a spectacular display passive-agressive behavior that ultimately ends your relationship?
It's nearly impossible to trust yourself - or another person - after all this. But it's what you've got to do. Learning what you can from the past, but trying not to let it drag you down.
One thing I've learned is that I do NOT get along with passive-aggressive people. I am much too assertive for them- they don't stand up to me when they should and then we all regret it in the end.
So far Library Boy does not seem to be that kind of boy. He's so giving and sweet that I worry about it, of course. About him giving and giving (like some exes who shall remain nameless), and then turning around and saying how much I take from him. But time will tell, won't it?
At least, this weekend, it all worked out in the end. In fact, I even heard Library Boy refer to me as his girlfriend last night.
And you know what? I liked it.
I tried to write up my whole sob story for you yesterday, and just couldn't put the whole thing into words without sounding melodramatic (because really, my friends, it was.)
About how Library Boy and I had our first minor conflict this weekend - which was really hardly a conflict at all - and how it ended up blindsiding me with feelings of insecurity and self-doubt.Soon enough, though I realized these feelings had nothing to do with him, but were all about being cheated on in my past and about how that relationship ultimately made me not trust myself either.
After all, how can you trust yourself when you go along thinking everything is fine, but meanwhile the person you love is storing up all their grievances against you, only to unleash them in a spectacular display passive-agressive behavior that ultimately ends your relationship?
It's nearly impossible to trust yourself - or another person - after all this. But it's what you've got to do. Learning what you can from the past, but trying not to let it drag you down.
One thing I've learned is that I do NOT get along with passive-aggressive people. I am much too assertive for them- they don't stand up to me when they should and then we all regret it in the end.
So far Library Boy does not seem to be that kind of boy. He's so giving and sweet that I worry about it, of course. About him giving and giving (like some exes who shall remain nameless), and then turning around and saying how much I take from him. But time will tell, won't it?
At least, this weekend, it all worked out in the end. In fact, I even heard Library Boy refer to me as his girlfriend last night.
And you know what? I liked it.
Friday, August 27, 2004
Phew. That was a long haul. Yesterday I sent the first ten chapters of my book, along with my proposal ("my book is better than Book X because Book X is a piece of crap!") to my agent. If all looks good, after one more round of revisions, she wil start the process of trying to sell my little baby.
These chapters should have gone out the door weeks ago. Not least because they've already been picked over by a panel of talented (and unpaid) editors (GalPal #1, GalPal #3, L'il Sis), not to mention one fine paid writing coach, and aformentioned agent.
Let me stop for a moment and tell you about my agent (oh, and to thanks to Deb for referring me to her!). Though she lives in Greenwich Village (naturally), I got to meet her about a month ago when she flew out here for vacation. Now I liked her from the first time she e-mailed me, bubbling with enthusiasm, and saying she wanted to read my book based on the title alone.
But I liked her even better after I met her, and then still more after drinks at the Pink Door. She is tall, blonde, and fabulous, and stepped off the plane looking twenty times more stylish than the cave-dwelling Seattleites around her. But she's also down-to-earth, warm, and best of all, knows how to make a writer feel good about herself.
"Fantastic!" she said about the last batch of chapters I'd sent her, holding her glass of Riesling aloft. "They were fantastic!"
Now, never mind that it took me over a month to incorporate the changes she then suggested, one of them a structural change spanning three chapters, which I wrote, rewrote, and then rewrote again (times 4). That "Fantastic!" (even if I only half-believed it) was enough to spur me on through the endless revisions.
Things have also been slow here in LatteLand because yours truly has not been able to get up early this entire summer. And since I do all my writing in the morning, this has been a problem.
Gone are those charmed months of winter where I got myself into bed at 10:30, went to sleep at 11, and arose, like clockwork at 7:30, refreshed by my 8.5 hours of sleep, with time to write for almost two hours before cruising into work at 10:30-11 (I salute you, oh greatest company in the world, for letting us keep whatever schedules we like!) And yes, it was tough to stay at work til 7, but worth it.
But as the days grew longer, my restlessness bloomed. I started to go out more. Stay out later. Stay up later. Bedtime jumped to 11:30, midnight, 12:30. Wake-up time suffered accordingly, until the average was 9 a.m. 9:30 even!
Because the morning writing habit is so ingrained, this just meant my writing sessions got shortened to an hour, and that - even then - I still didn't get into work until the lonely noon hour, when everyone has been here for at least two hours already (or, in the case of my boss, four).
And just try telling someone who doesn't work at The Company that you've been getting in at noon. They gasp and say "Really?," partly in jealousy, and partly in disbelief, that you - such a slacker - have not yet been fired.
But around here, there are plenty of people who keep crazy hours. So no one seems to mind, especially since I then (try to) stay til 8, but Lord, it's just discouraging. No time to work out. No plans before 8. No time to practice piano (though with a keyboard now in my office, I sneak some time in because, after all, I have to help Sexy Blue-Eyed Boy become the next Bruce Springsteen).
It was all dragging me down. Until yesterday. When three exciting things happened. The Company gave me good review, with a generous bonus. I sent the whole shebang off to my agent. And I also started getting up earlier again.
Now, just a little self-congratulory pat on the back for managing to simultaneously write a book (however slowly), and turn in a good performance at work, and I'm off - perhaps to make it in by the ungodly early hour of 10:30 today!
These chapters should have gone out the door weeks ago. Not least because they've already been picked over by a panel of talented (and unpaid) editors (GalPal #1, GalPal #3, L'il Sis), not to mention one fine paid writing coach, and aformentioned agent.
Let me stop for a moment and tell you about my agent (oh, and to thanks to Deb for referring me to her!). Though she lives in Greenwich Village (naturally), I got to meet her about a month ago when she flew out here for vacation. Now I liked her from the first time she e-mailed me, bubbling with enthusiasm, and saying she wanted to read my book based on the title alone.
But I liked her even better after I met her, and then still more after drinks at the Pink Door. She is tall, blonde, and fabulous, and stepped off the plane looking twenty times more stylish than the cave-dwelling Seattleites around her. But she's also down-to-earth, warm, and best of all, knows how to make a writer feel good about herself.
"Fantastic!" she said about the last batch of chapters I'd sent her, holding her glass of Riesling aloft. "They were fantastic!"
Now, never mind that it took me over a month to incorporate the changes she then suggested, one of them a structural change spanning three chapters, which I wrote, rewrote, and then rewrote again (times 4). That "Fantastic!" (even if I only half-believed it) was enough to spur me on through the endless revisions.
Things have also been slow here in LatteLand because yours truly has not been able to get up early this entire summer. And since I do all my writing in the morning, this has been a problem.
Gone are those charmed months of winter where I got myself into bed at 10:30, went to sleep at 11, and arose, like clockwork at 7:30, refreshed by my 8.5 hours of sleep, with time to write for almost two hours before cruising into work at 10:30-11 (I salute you, oh greatest company in the world, for letting us keep whatever schedules we like!) And yes, it was tough to stay at work til 7, but worth it.
But as the days grew longer, my restlessness bloomed. I started to go out more. Stay out later. Stay up later. Bedtime jumped to 11:30, midnight, 12:30. Wake-up time suffered accordingly, until the average was 9 a.m. 9:30 even!
Because the morning writing habit is so ingrained, this just meant my writing sessions got shortened to an hour, and that - even then - I still didn't get into work until the lonely noon hour, when everyone has been here for at least two hours already (or, in the case of my boss, four).
And just try telling someone who doesn't work at The Company that you've been getting in at noon. They gasp and say "Really?," partly in jealousy, and partly in disbelief, that you - such a slacker - have not yet been fired.
But around here, there are plenty of people who keep crazy hours. So no one seems to mind, especially since I then (try to) stay til 8, but Lord, it's just discouraging. No time to work out. No plans before 8. No time to practice piano (though with a keyboard now in my office, I sneak some time in because, after all, I have to help Sexy Blue-Eyed Boy become the next Bruce Springsteen).
It was all dragging me down. Until yesterday. When three exciting things happened. The Company gave me good review, with a generous bonus. I sent the whole shebang off to my agent. And I also started getting up earlier again.
Now, just a little self-congratulory pat on the back for managing to simultaneously write a book (however slowly), and turn in a good performance at work, and I'm off - perhaps to make it in by the ungodly early hour of 10:30 today!
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Well! Now that I'm not dishing about my evil ex OR my current beau, what the hell, I ask you, am I supposed to talk about. Sheesh! When did I become so virtuous anyway?
Is it because I'm in loooooove perhaps? Is that why I took down that post with those two *just very slightly* negative comments about Library Boy, whereas I normally have no hesitation in ripping my various useless boytoys to shreds?
No! I swear! Not yet anyway. And I am not - hear this - NOT FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN UNLESS ITS FOREVER AND EVER!
Oh crap. Who am I kidding? Most love lasts a few years at most before something horrible happens - someone has an affair or contracts a wasting disease, or declares that they actually love goats.
But anyway, I want Library Boy, if he somehow does turn out to be the Man of my Dreams (not that such a thing exists) to be able to read this blog someday and feel good about it.
Because I certainly can't keep it a secret much longer. Not least because in a month I'm speaking on a panel at Richard Hugo House with a few other tres accomplished people, and I want to tell him about it! And too, let's not forget about the book, shall we?
If all goes to my evil master plan, the world will soon know about my blog! "Breakup Babe" will be feted and toasted the world round! "Hear hear for Breakup Babe, who added something to the chick lit genre that was not completely idiotic, and who taught us something about loss, love, and laughter in the process!"
Ahem. So in conclusion, Library Boy is going to find out about the blog sooner or later, and if we're still together when that happens I don't want him to read bad sh*t about himself. Because this guy, believe it or not, is one hell of a nice guy -- which will probably spell our doom but a girl can hope, can't she?
Is it because I'm in loooooove perhaps? Is that why I took down that post with those two *just very slightly* negative comments about Library Boy, whereas I normally have no hesitation in ripping my various useless boytoys to shreds?
No! I swear! Not yet anyway. And I am not - hear this - NOT FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN UNLESS ITS FOREVER AND EVER!
Oh crap. Who am I kidding? Most love lasts a few years at most before something horrible happens - someone has an affair or contracts a wasting disease, or declares that they actually love goats.
But anyway, I want Library Boy, if he somehow does turn out to be the Man of my Dreams (not that such a thing exists) to be able to read this blog someday and feel good about it.
Because I certainly can't keep it a secret much longer. Not least because in a month I'm speaking on a panel at Richard Hugo House with a few other tres accomplished people, and I want to tell him about it! And too, let's not forget about the book, shall we?
If all goes to my evil master plan, the world will soon know about my blog! "Breakup Babe" will be feted and toasted the world round! "Hear hear for Breakup Babe, who added something to the chick lit genre that was not completely idiotic, and who taught us something about loss, love, and laughter in the process!"
Ahem. So in conclusion, Library Boy is going to find out about the blog sooner or later, and if we're still together when that happens I don't want him to read bad sh*t about himself. Because this guy, believe it or not, is one hell of a nice guy -- which will probably spell our doom but a girl can hope, can't she?
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
It might be sign of age that I find this sexy, but I have to say it really turns me on when a guy makes me dinner with food from his own garden (Library Boy).
Can we say good provider? Can we say guy (who like the Ruby character in Cold Mountain, who helps the heroine connect with the earth for once in her life), might ground me a little - literally and figuratively?
Too early to say, of course. And I must run to catch the bus so must leave the details for later. More soon!
Can we say good provider? Can we say guy (who like the Ruby character in Cold Mountain, who helps the heroine connect with the earth for once in her life), might ground me a little - literally and figuratively?
Too early to say, of course. And I must run to catch the bus so must leave the details for later. More soon!
Wednesday, August 4, 2004
OK, you're in luck. I've had way too much coffee, am stuck at the office, and am bored out of my f*cking mind.
Sigh.
As I know I've been light on details lately, I'll give you the scoop on how the whole Charming Canadian (non-) drama played out.
I stayed true to my word, and never made contact with him again after our "friendly" Instant Message exchange of two weeks ago, when he was up in Canada doing whatever it is those heathens do up there.
I thought, ok, this is probably doomed, downgraded the crush to Mostly Hopeless, dated three million other boys, and waited to hear from him. Figuring, at least that he would have the decency to tell me if he had a girlfriend and was henceforth blowing me off, seeing as we did go on two dates and were engaged in heavy flirtation.
Well, silly me! Why would I have expected such a courtesy?
So. Demonstrating the utmost patience, I wait for an entire week after he returns from his two weeks with that Canadian ho'. I do not IM. I do not e-mail. I do not call. I just wait, and I wonder, with only the remotest stray tendrils of (quickly-withering) hope left.
Fine. He doesn't want me? There are plenty of boys who do! Now if I could live with that complete lack of closure, I would. But I can't. Especially given that he works in the same division, one building over, and I could run into him at any moment. I would like things to be friendly when we see each other. I would like, even to be friends, because he is a cute boy. That is always a suspect thing to suggest at this stage, but you know what, I do it anyway.
I send him a short e-mail last Friday that says hey, don't worry, whatever happened with you I hope that you don't feel awkward, and I hope that we can, at the very least be friendly, and at the most, be friends.
He takes three days to write back and when he does, he's just plain cold. In other words, he does not let me down gently, with kind words. No, he apparently feels the need to be harsh so as to push me far, far away and ensure that he doesn't find me hiding behind his file cabinet with a hatchet.
Something to the effect that now he has a girlfriend; must focus all his attention on her; can't be friends with me because that would make her feel "threatened," and - here was the kicker - he "hoped" I can "respect" that. He ends by saying but of course we can still be friendly, and talk about "work-related stuff" (yeah, right).
WTF? As IF. As IF I am some kind of stalker who doesn't know rejection when it slaps me on the face! As if I LOVE him SOOOO much that I will visit his house in the middle of the night and cook his f*cking pet RABBIT for dinner!
Get over yourself buddy.
Anyhow, as much as I would like to crucify him and his little Canadian cow, I have to say I saw him at a party today (yes- at a 500-person event, I accidentally seat myself five feet away from him!) and he made a special effort to come over and say hello, and then to say goodbye when he left, going so far as to touch me on my tanned, supple shoulder.
At least I looked sexy as hell today and was surrounded by admiring men at the time.
F*cking bastard.
Sigh.
As I know I've been light on details lately, I'll give you the scoop on how the whole Charming Canadian (non-) drama played out.
I stayed true to my word, and never made contact with him again after our "friendly" Instant Message exchange of two weeks ago, when he was up in Canada doing whatever it is those heathens do up there.
I thought, ok, this is probably doomed, downgraded the crush to Mostly Hopeless, dated three million other boys, and waited to hear from him. Figuring, at least that he would have the decency to tell me if he had a girlfriend and was henceforth blowing me off, seeing as we did go on two dates and were engaged in heavy flirtation.
Well, silly me! Why would I have expected such a courtesy?
So. Demonstrating the utmost patience, I wait for an entire week after he returns from his two weeks with that Canadian ho'. I do not IM. I do not e-mail. I do not call. I just wait, and I wonder, with only the remotest stray tendrils of (quickly-withering) hope left.
Fine. He doesn't want me? There are plenty of boys who do! Now if I could live with that complete lack of closure, I would. But I can't. Especially given that he works in the same division, one building over, and I could run into him at any moment. I would like things to be friendly when we see each other. I would like, even to be friends, because he is a cute boy. That is always a suspect thing to suggest at this stage, but you know what, I do it anyway.
I send him a short e-mail last Friday that says hey, don't worry, whatever happened with you I hope that you don't feel awkward, and I hope that we can, at the very least be friendly, and at the most, be friends.
He takes three days to write back and when he does, he's just plain cold. In other words, he does not let me down gently, with kind words. No, he apparently feels the need to be harsh so as to push me far, far away and ensure that he doesn't find me hiding behind his file cabinet with a hatchet.
Something to the effect that now he has a girlfriend; must focus all his attention on her; can't be friends with me because that would make her feel "threatened," and - here was the kicker - he "hoped" I can "respect" that. He ends by saying but of course we can still be friendly, and talk about "work-related stuff" (yeah, right).
WTF? As IF. As IF I am some kind of stalker who doesn't know rejection when it slaps me on the face! As if I LOVE him SOOOO much that I will visit his house in the middle of the night and cook his f*cking pet RABBIT for dinner!
Get over yourself buddy.
Anyhow, as much as I would like to crucify him and his little Canadian cow, I have to say I saw him at a party today (yes- at a 500-person event, I accidentally seat myself five feet away from him!) and he made a special effort to come over and say hello, and then to say goodbye when he left, going so far as to touch me on my tanned, supple shoulder.
At least I looked sexy as hell today and was surrounded by admiring men at the time.
F*cking bastard.
OK, I am in that zone. The addicted zone.
And Library Boy is the drug.
The Red Couch O' Love has seen a lot of heavy makeout action these last few days, and the drugs are flowing heavy through my veins. I sent Corliss Boy the Lets Just Be Friends e-mail, Jet Ski Boy has disappeared off the face of the planet, and the "Charming" Canadian not-so-politely slammed the door in my face.
Instead, I seem to have gotten this Christmas present of a cute boy who seems to unquestioningly, unequivocally, like me -- one who is open and warm instead of cagey and closed-off.
I don't know, of course, what the future holds. The physical attraction is there, that's for sure. But for me, Miss Gemini, the intellectual spark needs to be almost - if not equally - strong. With Corliss Guy, the intellectual spark was there, but the chemistry was not.
And so, as I'm swamped by a rush of hormones and hope, I'll be trying to figure that out. Can Library Boy keep my mind - as well as other parts of my body - stimulated for a long time to come?
Stay tuned.
And Library Boy is the drug.
The Red Couch O' Love has seen a lot of heavy makeout action these last few days, and the drugs are flowing heavy through my veins. I sent Corliss Boy the Lets Just Be Friends e-mail, Jet Ski Boy has disappeared off the face of the planet, and the "Charming" Canadian not-so-politely slammed the door in my face.
Instead, I seem to have gotten this Christmas present of a cute boy who seems to unquestioningly, unequivocally, like me -- one who is open and warm instead of cagey and closed-off.
I don't know, of course, what the future holds. The physical attraction is there, that's for sure. But for me, Miss Gemini, the intellectual spark needs to be almost - if not equally - strong. With Corliss Guy, the intellectual spark was there, but the chemistry was not.
And so, as I'm swamped by a rush of hormones and hope, I'll be trying to figure that out. Can Library Boy keep my mind - as well as other parts of my body - stimulated for a long time to come?
Stay tuned.
Monday, August 2, 2004
This is what I have to say about Library Boy for the moment:
He is one hell of a kisser. And I like kissing him more than I've liked kissing anyone in a long time. One might say it feels dangerously good to kiss him.
So not only does the new Seattle Public Library offer Wi-Fi, coffee that you can bring to your tables, and an immense, airy space that lets your imagination roam free, it also offers up hot, professional, available men, right at your table.
Go there. Immediately.
He is one hell of a kisser. And I like kissing him more than I've liked kissing anyone in a long time. One might say it feels dangerously good to kiss him.
So not only does the new Seattle Public Library offer Wi-Fi, coffee that you can bring to your tables, and an immense, airy space that lets your imagination roam free, it also offers up hot, professional, available men, right at your table.
Go there. Immediately.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Here are a couple things NOT to do when you're trying to pass the time at work, because they will either thoroughly distract or depress you:
Google hopeless crushes you had in high school and/or boyfriends who've dumped you and find out that they are now fabulously wealthy movie producers, and way hotter than they were even back when they rejected you. (On the other hand, it can be a good thing if they turn out to be fat and bald).
Peruse the online personals just to see which of the guys whom you are currently dating has recently refreshed his ad and/or has been "active" recently, OR to see which of the guys that has previously rejected you is still online looking for Ms. Right. Then, as you're doing that see your most recent unrequited crush (that would be the Charming Canadian) log on via Instant Messenger (and NOT message you, just like he has NOT messaged, e-mailed, or called of his own accord in the last 2.5 weeks. And yes, I swear, I'm going to delete him from IM. Any minute now. Really.)
You can however, try to do this:
Remind yourself that there are no less than three boys currently interested in you! (So what if one of them - that would be Corliss Guy - is still prowling the ads?)
Fondly remember that kiss that Libary Boy gave you on your front stoop last night. He might not be *quite* as good a kisser as Corliss Guy, but for whatever reason, you are a few degrees more attracted to him.
Remind yourself that one day you are going to be a famous, glamorous writer and that Jake Gyllenhaal (now single!) is going to star and that stud you loved in high school who is now a hotshot producer will produce it, and perhaps he will take one look at you, say *wow*, and that, as they say, will be that.
Yeah. Any minute now!
Google hopeless crushes you had in high school and/or boyfriends who've dumped you and find out that they are now fabulously wealthy movie producers, and way hotter than they were even back when they rejected you. (On the other hand, it can be a good thing if they turn out to be fat and bald).
Peruse the online personals just to see which of the guys whom you are currently dating has recently refreshed his ad and/or has been "active" recently, OR to see which of the guys that has previously rejected you is still online looking for Ms. Right. Then, as you're doing that see your most recent unrequited crush (that would be the Charming Canadian) log on via Instant Messenger (and NOT message you, just like he has NOT messaged, e-mailed, or called of his own accord in the last 2.5 weeks. And yes, I swear, I'm going to delete him from IM. Any minute now. Really.)
You can however, try to do this:
Remind yourself that there are no less than three boys currently interested in you! (So what if one of them - that would be Corliss Guy - is still prowling the ads?)
Fondly remember that kiss that Libary Boy gave you on your front stoop last night. He might not be *quite* as good a kisser as Corliss Guy, but for whatever reason, you are a few degrees more attracted to him.
Remind yourself that one day you are going to be a famous, glamorous writer and that Jake Gyllenhaal (now single!) is going to star and that stud you loved in high school who is now a hotshot producer will produce it, and perhaps he will take one look at you, say *wow*, and that, as they say, will be that.
Yeah. Any minute now!
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Here is my life plan:
What do you think?
Yeah, yeah, I know. Who really lives happily ever after? NO ONE, that's who. But you get the gist, right?
The thing is, I'm a bit burned out at the moment. Oh yes, thank God for the drama, etc, the attention, etc. But I'm feeling ambivalent about my other options (Jet Ski Boy and Corliss Guy), and so it would make my life one hell of a lot easier if I just fell punch-in-the-stomach-in-love with someone else. (Not that those punch-in-the-stomach things ever work out.)
Oops, time for my piano lesson with my crazy, ex-hippie, stoner piano teacher, who lights up every time I go for a lesson (and doesn't offer me any).
Sigh.
- Meet Libary Boy for dinner tomorrow night
- Fall madly in love
- Get married
- Have children
- Live happily ever after
What do you think?
Yeah, yeah, I know. Who really lives happily ever after? NO ONE, that's who. But you get the gist, right?
The thing is, I'm a bit burned out at the moment. Oh yes, thank God for the drama, etc, the attention, etc. But I'm feeling ambivalent about my other options (Jet Ski Boy and Corliss Guy), and so it would make my life one hell of a lot easier if I just fell punch-in-the-stomach-in-love with someone else. (Not that those punch-in-the-stomach things ever work out.)
Oops, time for my piano lesson with my crazy, ex-hippie, stoner piano teacher, who lights up every time I go for a lesson (and doesn't offer me any).
Sigh.
Monday, July 26, 2004
As the temperatures have heated up here in LatteLand (In the 90s over the weekend! Good Lord, have pity on us gelatinous cave-dwelling creatures!), so has BB's love life! Ow!
Actually, now that I've gotten you all riled up, it's really not that hot. It did get temporarily so earlier this week, with the arrival of Long Time Lover Boy (LTLB) from L.A. -- here, not to visit me, mind you, but to go to a wedding to which I was not invited (grrr).
In any case, LTLB qualifies as my longest-running "romance"; we have been on-again, off-again for 13 years now. Yes, we really should just get married but the reasons why we do not are just to complex and boring to go into; suffice it to say, my long dry spell was broken!
But moving right along, since there's no future there, and I'm late to work, the field has suddenly gotten crowded with players. In order or appearance they are:
Charming Canadian (CC)- Oh wait. He shouldn't even be on this list. Crush status is still at Mostly Hopeless, soon to be demoted to Completely Hopeless, but can I help it if I hold out just the tiniest bit of hope? He returns from the frozen North this week - is it at all possible he might contact yours truly? Don't hold your breath. Corliss Guy (CG)- After going on our third date this weekend, during which I spent the whole time thinking "This guy is great but the chemistry is just not there," I let him kiss me goodbye on my front step, and - *complication* - found that he was a very good kisser! Hmm. Jet Ski Boy - (JSB) - This one was a set-up from my pal Sexy Blue Eyed Boy. He's big and tall and sorta sexy, and pretends to be a badass, though he's really not. We've been on three dates in one week, and yesterday, I spent all day jwhooshing around Lake Washington on his jet ski, and though I don't yet know how I feel about this one (and we haven't kissed yet!), Jet Ski Boy is certainly a good one to get down with during a long hot summer, non? Library Boy (LB) *new! - Believe it or not, yours truly picked up a cute guy at the new seattle Public Library (which my fab friend Odious Woman despises, but I think is quite cool). There I was, innocently writing away on my book, sun streaming in the thousands of glass tiles, when who should sit down at the table across from me but a cute landscape architect. Well, one thing led to another; he asked me to coffee right then and there, and then, the *very next day* called to ask me out for a drink this week. Well! We're going to give this one a chance - and hope he's not a stalker!
Actually, now that I've gotten you all riled up, it's really not that hot. It did get temporarily so earlier this week, with the arrival of Long Time Lover Boy (LTLB) from L.A. -- here, not to visit me, mind you, but to go to a wedding to which I was not invited (grrr).
In any case, LTLB qualifies as my longest-running "romance"; we have been on-again, off-again for 13 years now. Yes, we really should just get married but the reasons why we do not are just to complex and boring to go into; suffice it to say, my long dry spell was broken!
But moving right along, since there's no future there, and I'm late to work, the field has suddenly gotten crowded with players. In order or appearance they are:
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Well, you'll be disappointed to know I have downgraded my crush on the Charming Canadian from Promising to Mostly Hopeless status.
This hurts me more than it hurts you, believe me. That crush was my raison d'etre for the last three weeks! It gave me - oh so briefly - my joie de vivre back! Oh, that dark hair. That fair skin. Those forest green eyes and thick black lashes. Those long, chatty e-mails he wrote me from abroad!
Well. Ever since he went off on vacation with that little Canadian ho', things have just not been the same. Oh, now that he's back at work (up in CANADA for crying out loud, because apparently he can he not get enough of this girl, despite the fact that she's just going to give him and STD dump him for someone with more stock options!), I've seen him online.
But does he make an effort to chat with me? Me! The chattiest, most charming girl out there! No he does not.
(F*cking IM. Why I ever thought it was a good idea to be "buddies" with him I'll never know. Lack of s*x could be making me delusional.)
Oh I initiatied chats with him. Naturally. Because much as I'd like to be cool and aloof, when I'm in the vise of a crush, I'm *hot*, *wild", and *out of control*! And he is quite friendly, of course, as his his wont, but -
Hear this. I am NOT IMing him first ever AGAIN. Got that? EVER. AGAIN. Because this crush is now officially Mostly Hopeless, so let's move on to more promising territory, shall we?
OK, I'm finally giving this guy an acronym, because we've been on two and half dates, and we're about to go on a third, and because he is tres cool.
I've been a tad afraid to write about him, because in a stunning faux pas, I accidentally sent him e-mail from my Breakup Babe address when we first met! (gasp!) But I have since been quiet as a mouse about my blog (who me, blog? what's a blog?) and as far as I know, he hasn't found it. Then again, he could be a tricky sort!
Nonetheless, it's time to introduce him because he's become a player. We'll call him - da na naah! - Corliss Guy (CG),the name my brilliant friend A.B. came up with - because - get this - he lives on Corliss!
This boy worked at The Company for many years (read: loaded!) and is now living a life of ease and writing plays. On top of being smart, he is also funny, intellectual, and an attractive combo of nerdy and hip with his jet black hair and black-framed glasses. In addition, he is not young enough to be my son! The loaded thing? Well, that's just a bonus now, isn't it?
This particular relationship I would rate as Promising But Needs Passion. As in, I really like hanging around this guy, but I have yet to get the flutter in my stomach. I feel that I could get it, though, I really do! And the kind of relationship where it grows over time, well, those are usually the best of all.
Meanwhile I went on a blind date last with a set-up who was surprisingly sexy. Too bad he didn't try to kiss me cause I was all in the mood to get down and make out (except for my onion breath).
So stay tuned as the summer wears on, I drown my sorrows over the Charming Canadian in more pink drinks and hot dates, and my outfits get skimpier yet!
This hurts me more than it hurts you, believe me. That crush was my raison d'etre for the last three weeks! It gave me - oh so briefly - my joie de vivre back! Oh, that dark hair. That fair skin. Those forest green eyes and thick black lashes. Those long, chatty e-mails he wrote me from abroad!
Well. Ever since he went off on vacation with that little Canadian ho', things have just not been the same. Oh, now that he's back at work (up in CANADA for crying out loud, because apparently he can he not get enough of this girl, despite the fact that she's just going to give him and STD dump him for someone with more stock options!), I've seen him online.
But does he make an effort to chat with me? Me! The chattiest, most charming girl out there! No he does not.
(F*cking IM. Why I ever thought it was a good idea to be "buddies" with him I'll never know. Lack of s*x could be making me delusional.)
Oh I initiatied chats with him. Naturally. Because much as I'd like to be cool and aloof, when I'm in the vise of a crush, I'm *hot*, *wild", and *out of control*! And he is quite friendly, of course, as his his wont, but -
Hear this. I am NOT IMing him first ever AGAIN. Got that? EVER. AGAIN. Because this crush is now officially Mostly Hopeless, so let's move on to more promising territory, shall we?
OK, I'm finally giving this guy an acronym, because we've been on two and half dates, and we're about to go on a third, and because he is tres cool.
I've been a tad afraid to write about him, because in a stunning faux pas, I accidentally sent him e-mail from my Breakup Babe address when we first met! (gasp!) But I have since been quiet as a mouse about my blog (who me, blog? what's a blog?) and as far as I know, he hasn't found it. Then again, he could be a tricky sort!
Nonetheless, it's time to introduce him because he's become a player. We'll call him - da na naah! - Corliss Guy (CG),the name my brilliant friend A.B. came up with - because - get this - he lives on Corliss!
This boy worked at The Company for many years (read: loaded!) and is now living a life of ease and writing plays. On top of being smart, he is also funny, intellectual, and an attractive combo of nerdy and hip with his jet black hair and black-framed glasses. In addition, he is not young enough to be my son! The loaded thing? Well, that's just a bonus now, isn't it?
This particular relationship I would rate as Promising But Needs Passion. As in, I really like hanging around this guy, but I have yet to get the flutter in my stomach. I feel that I could get it, though, I really do! And the kind of relationship where it grows over time, well, those are usually the best of all.
Meanwhile I went on a blind date last with a set-up who was surprisingly sexy. Too bad he didn't try to kiss me cause I was all in the mood to get down and make out (except for my onion breath).
So stay tuned as the summer wears on, I drown my sorrows over the Charming Canadian in more pink drinks and hot dates, and my outfits get skimpier yet!
Monday, July 19, 2004
B- B- B-O-R-I-N-G.
Did I ever mention I get bored easily? In case such a thing was not obvious.
And that's kind of funny, because I have one of the most boring jobs in the world. Yet my job, which I like very much, has taught me to embrace boredom.
I edit the most technical gobbledygook you will ever see. At times, I am nothing more than a glorified copyeditor, editing the same kinds of pages over and over and OVER.
It used to be, back in the days of the Great Unpleasantness, that when my emotional life was going haywire, which was ALWAYS, I couldn't concentrate at work. So I would write e-mail or cry or go running or get coffee or do anything but my job.
Now, however, things have changed. Instead of fighting the boredom, I have surrendered to it! I let it soothe me, wash over me in waves! Oh, I bob up for air every hour or so, desperate for e-mail from this or that cute boy; panic for a minute; then go back under. It's cold and unpleasant, and I think I can't possibly stay under, but then I do. And I get a lot done!
Such a thing would not be possible, most likely, if I were creatively unfulfilled, like I was for so many years. But now I'm a writer who writes, so what else can I ask for? Oh sure, I can ask for a bestselling book and a movie starring Jake Gyllenhall, and a chance to personally coach him for the numerous racy not-quite-s*x scenes!
The bottom line is, though, I'm doing what I want to do, with the potential to make money at it; and this cushy little gig here at The Company gives me the time and flexibility to make it happen, and the cash to keep me comfy in the meantime. So I am set. For now. Until the next freaking tragedy happens in my life. (See why boredom is good? Boredom = no tragedies!)
Except, that is, for the romance part. And that, my friends, is when I get bored. When nothing is happening on the romance front.
The funny thing, there is usually a lot happening. I've usually got one on base, and one on deck, and one on the bench waiting around for his turn, which is how I might characterize things now. But you know how baseball games are *so* slow? Not much happens for a long time, even though things are probably building up to some dramatic climax (pun intended - I HOPE!)
Yeah. Well.
Boooorrrring.
Did I ever mention I get bored easily? In case such a thing was not obvious.
And that's kind of funny, because I have one of the most boring jobs in the world. Yet my job, which I like very much, has taught me to embrace boredom.
I edit the most technical gobbledygook you will ever see. At times, I am nothing more than a glorified copyeditor, editing the same kinds of pages over and over and OVER.
It used to be, back in the days of the Great Unpleasantness, that when my emotional life was going haywire, which was ALWAYS, I couldn't concentrate at work. So I would write e-mail or cry or go running or get coffee or do anything but my job.
Now, however, things have changed. Instead of fighting the boredom, I have surrendered to it! I let it soothe me, wash over me in waves! Oh, I bob up for air every hour or so, desperate for e-mail from this or that cute boy; panic for a minute; then go back under. It's cold and unpleasant, and I think I can't possibly stay under, but then I do. And I get a lot done!
Such a thing would not be possible, most likely, if I were creatively unfulfilled, like I was for so many years. But now I'm a writer who writes, so what else can I ask for? Oh sure, I can ask for a bestselling book and a movie starring Jake Gyllenhall, and a chance to personally coach him for the numerous racy not-quite-s*x scenes!
The bottom line is, though, I'm doing what I want to do, with the potential to make money at it; and this cushy little gig here at The Company gives me the time and flexibility to make it happen, and the cash to keep me comfy in the meantime. So I am set. For now. Until the next freaking tragedy happens in my life. (See why boredom is good? Boredom = no tragedies!)
Except, that is, for the romance part. And that, my friends, is when I get bored. When nothing is happening on the romance front.
The funny thing, there is usually a lot happening. I've usually got one on base, and one on deck, and one on the bench waiting around for his turn, which is how I might characterize things now. But you know how baseball games are *so* slow? Not much happens for a long time, even though things are probably building up to some dramatic climax (pun intended - I HOPE!)
Yeah. Well.
Boooorrrring.
Saturday, July 17, 2004
I was just sitting here innocently typing away at my favorite coffee shop. Doing what I do every Saturday morning (and every other morning, for that matter), which is work on my book.
I've long since learned to deal with that empty feeling that assaults me when I wake up alone on a weekend. I just get up and write. Sometimes it's hard and sometimes it's easy, and often that empty feeling keeps trying to strangle me, but I just keep writing anyway.
And who should log onto Instant Messenger as I sat here trying to reconstruct in detail one of my many doomed relationships from the past two years, trying to analyze where and how it went wrong, meanwhile being witty and literary and wondering, Am I really ever going to sell this thing?
The Charming Canadian! I saw his name flash before my eyes. "The Charming Canadian has logged on." My heart sped up. I fumbled over the words I was writing. Stupid, terrible words.
But I kept writing. I wrote with one side of my brain and hoped with the other side of my brain that maybe, just maybe, he would drop me a friendly line even though he was in the midst of wrapping up what would have been the world's most romantic vacation had not, of course, The Other Girl been bit by a venmous snake while climbing up Mt. Si and puffed up to the size of a balloon like that evil aunt in Harry Potter.
He didn't, of course, and when I checked a few minutes later, after writing an entire, not-half-bad paragraph, he was offline.
Maybe he blocked me! said Needy Girl. Maybe he's so in love with this other girl - even if she is bloated beyond recognition- he knows it was a terrible idea to become IM buddies with you and is afraid you're only going to stalk him so he BLOCKED you?
So what, said Sensible Girl? Who cares? You have a f*cking book to write. So just keep writing.
And I did.
And I will.
Because what else am I supposed to do, really?
I've long since learned to deal with that empty feeling that assaults me when I wake up alone on a weekend. I just get up and write. Sometimes it's hard and sometimes it's easy, and often that empty feeling keeps trying to strangle me, but I just keep writing anyway.
And who should log onto Instant Messenger as I sat here trying to reconstruct in detail one of my many doomed relationships from the past two years, trying to analyze where and how it went wrong, meanwhile being witty and literary and wondering, Am I really ever going to sell this thing?
The Charming Canadian! I saw his name flash before my eyes. "The Charming Canadian has logged on." My heart sped up. I fumbled over the words I was writing. Stupid, terrible words.
But I kept writing. I wrote with one side of my brain and hoped with the other side of my brain that maybe, just maybe, he would drop me a friendly line even though he was in the midst of wrapping up what would have been the world's most romantic vacation had not, of course, The Other Girl been bit by a venmous snake while climbing up Mt. Si and puffed up to the size of a balloon like that evil aunt in Harry Potter.
He didn't, of course, and when I checked a few minutes later, after writing an entire, not-half-bad paragraph, he was offline.
Maybe he blocked me! said Needy Girl. Maybe he's so in love with this other girl - even if she is bloated beyond recognition- he knows it was a terrible idea to become IM buddies with you and is afraid you're only going to stalk him so he BLOCKED you?
So what, said Sensible Girl? Who cares? You have a f*cking book to write. So just keep writing.
And I did.
And I will.
Because what else am I supposed to do, really?
Friday, July 16, 2004
I am cranky. Do you hear me? C-R-A-N-K-Y!
Why? Oh, I don't know! I SHOULDN'T be, that's for sure. After all, I'm not being BOMBED or SHOT AT or SENT TO WAR. I don't have CANCER. (Not yet anyway!)
But #$%Q!
I haven't had s*x in almost a freaking year. That's RIGHT. Now, is that a monumental waste or what? There are not many years left for me, people, that I am going to be this hot. I mean, please. This body is going to waste.
And I am cranky about it!
Oh sure, I could go out there and f*ck almost anyone. But do I want to? NO. Call me old-fashioned but I'm through with casual sex! That's why I didn't sleep with The Captain. That's why I didn't sleep with Sporty Architect Boy. That's why I haven't slept with anyone in a freakin' year because either 1)I have not been attracted to them or 2)they were not attracted to me or 3)they were not relationship material.
I think I'm about to set some kind of personal record, if I haven't already.
Not to mention, I'm infatuated with the Charming Canadian, who is probably off f*cking some other girl; meanwhile, there are perfectly attractive, available men pursuing me who I just can't work up any excitement about.
PLUS, it's too freaking hot around here.
F*ck summer.
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Want to know what it's like to be me? (Oh of course you do - what could be more fascinating?)
OK, then try this. Wear a short skirt that's just a little too big, so that it rides up your thighs when you walk.
Carry a big heavy backpack with everything you could possibly need for the day - and more! Workout clothes, sheet music (in case you have time to practice on that keyboard in your office!) Makeup! That mail you should really open! A few pounds of books for good measure that you can read on the bus if you get bored, and a portable mp3 player.
Then, of course you've got your laptop, because you've got to get that book done.
Right. Now imagine you just got done writing at the coffeeshop and you're late for the bus, as usual. You've got your backpack, your laptop, you're short skirt that's riding up even higher because of all the stuff hanging all over you. You're also wearing not to mention your mp3 player with the earplugs that keep falling out of your ears as you rush towards the busy trying to listen to - what else "Gloria" by Laura Branigan (because you can't get enough of those 80s tunes).
Get to work late. Instant Message at least two of your friends right away to help ease the transition from glamorous writer girl rushing down the street with her underwear showing to tech editor drone. Look for e-mail from your agent praising your latest chapters. Don't find it. Look for e-mail from the Charming Canadian, who won't have sent you any because he's been spending all his time in Harborview hospital where The Other Girl is in a full body cast (what, no sex for another year?! Too BAD!) from that ice ax injury she got on Mt. Rainier.
In between doing actual job, juggle e-mail from a variety of suitors, and make three dates in the next five days. Instant message more friends, one of whom tells you you need to join Daters Anonymous.
Rush back out to catch bus for date with - ack! I don't have an acronym for this one yet! - the funny, rich, ex-Company man, who is actually a reasonable age and seems to like you and who has invited you out for a second date after your first one last week.
Hope you run into the Captain on the bus so he can drool over your tan legs in your tiny skirt (that will not be riding too high this time because you are leaving all that CRAP behind in your office), while you blithely ignore him and listen to Air Supply on your mp3 player and then whoosh off the bus to your date.
Must go catch bus now!
OK, then try this. Wear a short skirt that's just a little too big, so that it rides up your thighs when you walk.
Carry a big heavy backpack with everything you could possibly need for the day - and more! Workout clothes, sheet music (in case you have time to practice on that keyboard in your office!) Makeup! That mail you should really open! A few pounds of books for good measure that you can read on the bus if you get bored, and a portable mp3 player.
Then, of course you've got your laptop, because you've got to get that book done.
Right. Now imagine you just got done writing at the coffeeshop and you're late for the bus, as usual. You've got your backpack, your laptop, you're short skirt that's riding up even higher because of all the stuff hanging all over you. You're also wearing not to mention your mp3 player with the earplugs that keep falling out of your ears as you rush towards the busy trying to listen to - what else "Gloria" by Laura Branigan (because you can't get enough of those 80s tunes).
Get to work late. Instant Message at least two of your friends right away to help ease the transition from glamorous writer girl rushing down the street with her underwear showing to tech editor drone. Look for e-mail from your agent praising your latest chapters. Don't find it. Look for e-mail from the Charming Canadian, who won't have sent you any because he's been spending all his time in Harborview hospital where The Other Girl is in a full body cast (what, no sex for another year?! Too BAD!) from that ice ax injury she got on Mt. Rainier.
In between doing actual job, juggle e-mail from a variety of suitors, and make three dates in the next five days. Instant message more friends, one of whom tells you you need to join Daters Anonymous.
Rush back out to catch bus for date with - ack! I don't have an acronym for this one yet! - the funny, rich, ex-Company man, who is actually a reasonable age and seems to like you and who has invited you out for a second date after your first one last week.
Hope you run into the Captain on the bus so he can drool over your tan legs in your tiny skirt (that will not be riding too high this time because you are leaving all that CRAP behind in your office), while you blithely ignore him and listen to Air Supply on your mp3 player and then whoosh off the bus to your date.
Must go catch bus now!
Monday, July 12, 2004
So. Thus beginneth the next two weeks of knowing those two canoodling Canucks are toodling their way around MY FAIR STATE OF Washington, no doubt falling madly in love as a cheesy montage plays to the tune of "I'm on Top of the World."
Here they are at Pike Place Market, laughing as a big fish flies right towards them and hits The Other Girl (TOG) on the head, and knocks her unconscious! Oops, ha ha ha! There goes that romantic dinner they had planned at Campagne!
Oh, there they are at the water's edge in Olympic National Park, heads bent over a tidepool as sunset streaks the sky, when TOG playfully teases a sea urchin,and OH MY GOSH it grabs her finger and won't let go, meanwhile injecting a paralytic poison! Oh ha ha ha!
Better yet, there they are at Mt. Rainier - MY Mount Rainier - which TOG, with her out-of-shape, untoned, pasty white legs, - would never be able to climb, not in a million years. Holding hands among the wildflowers, alone in their own little world, when OH NO! - an exhausted climber returning from the summit accidentally takes out the TOG when she swings her ice ax into TOG's kneecaps! An expensive helicopter rescue ensues and the rest of their romantic week is ruined as TOG is stuck in Harborview Hospital with the victims of gang warfare, oh ha ha ha!
Meanwhile, yours truly will continue to rip through the cluster of suitors that has suddenly swarmed around me in my drunken, scantily-clad state.
And I won't be thinking about them at all. NOT AT ALL.
Here they are at Pike Place Market, laughing as a big fish flies right towards them and hits The Other Girl (TOG) on the head, and knocks her unconscious! Oops, ha ha ha! There goes that romantic dinner they had planned at Campagne!
Oh, there they are at the water's edge in Olympic National Park, heads bent over a tidepool as sunset streaks the sky, when TOG playfully teases a sea urchin,and OH MY GOSH it grabs her finger and won't let go, meanwhile injecting a paralytic poison! Oh ha ha ha!
Better yet, there they are at Mt. Rainier - MY Mount Rainier - which TOG, with her out-of-shape, untoned, pasty white legs, - would never be able to climb, not in a million years. Holding hands among the wildflowers, alone in their own little world, when OH NO! - an exhausted climber returning from the summit accidentally takes out the TOG when she swings her ice ax into TOG's kneecaps! An expensive helicopter rescue ensues and the rest of their romantic week is ruined as TOG is stuck in Harborview Hospital with the victims of gang warfare, oh ha ha ha!
Meanwhile, yours truly will continue to rip through the cluster of suitors that has suddenly swarmed around me in my drunken, scantily-clad state.
And I won't be thinking about them at all. NOT AT ALL.
Friday, July 9, 2004
#*(!#$*&!
Did I ever happen to mention, by chance, that love sucks? Oh yes, I may have mentioned that once or twice, but in case I haven't, LOVE SUCKS.
I feel so much better now that I've gotten that out. Wait, actually, you know what? I DON'T.
So I at last went on a quasi-date with the Charming Canadian last night. Away from The Company! He was sweet and flirtatious and engaging as ever, and for better or worse, honest and straightforward enough to tell me about this other girl who is in the picture.
#$(*! @#!
Did I mention I don't like other girls? Oh yes, I may have mentioned that once or twice, but in case I haven't, I DON'T LIKE OTHER GIRLS.
Anyway, The Other Girl (TOG) hails from the frozen North as well and is coming down to visit CC next week - yes NEXT WEEK, during which time, the implication was, their "friendship" might become something more. And then he goes back up to Canada for a week and you KNOW WHAT?
That's just FINE. FINE, DO YOU HEAR ME? They can HAVE EACH OTHER! Because I, my friends, am going to spend the next two weeks drinking! Yes, drinking and wearing skimpy clothing and having lots and lots and LOTS of fun. So much fun that I won't be able to remember it all!
And if he comes back and things haven't worked out with TOG and he says, oh, BB, I want to date you - I will say, "Oh reallly???? Is that soooo? Then stand in line buddy!! Oh - and did I mention that right after my date with you I went on another date - yes, back to back dates, that right - with a handsome, funny, rich, available man? Well I DID."
So there.
I'm off to get drunk now. Anyone want to join me?
Did I ever happen to mention, by chance, that love sucks? Oh yes, I may have mentioned that once or twice, but in case I haven't, LOVE SUCKS.
I feel so much better now that I've gotten that out. Wait, actually, you know what? I DON'T.
So I at last went on a quasi-date with the Charming Canadian last night. Away from The Company! He was sweet and flirtatious and engaging as ever, and for better or worse, honest and straightforward enough to tell me about this other girl who is in the picture.
#$(*! @#!
Did I mention I don't like other girls? Oh yes, I may have mentioned that once or twice, but in case I haven't, I DON'T LIKE OTHER GIRLS.
Anyway, The Other Girl (TOG) hails from the frozen North as well and is coming down to visit CC next week - yes NEXT WEEK, during which time, the implication was, their "friendship" might become something more. And then he goes back up to Canada for a week and you KNOW WHAT?
That's just FINE. FINE, DO YOU HEAR ME? They can HAVE EACH OTHER! Because I, my friends, am going to spend the next two weeks drinking! Yes, drinking and wearing skimpy clothing and having lots and lots and LOTS of fun. So much fun that I won't be able to remember it all!
And if he comes back and things haven't worked out with TOG and he says, oh, BB, I want to date you - I will say, "Oh reallly???? Is that soooo? Then stand in line buddy!! Oh - and did I mention that right after my date with you I went on another date - yes, back to back dates, that right - with a handsome, funny, rich, available man? Well I DID."
So there.
I'm off to get drunk now. Anyone want to join me?
Wednesday, July 7, 2004
It's been a while since I've had a workplace crush. Now, it of course makes work more exciting. But it also makes it more stressful!
For example, when you are having the worst hair day ever in the history of mankind. Or when you tragically decide, in a sunburnt, mosquito-bitten, I've-been-in-the-woods-for-three-days-and-wore-the-same-thing-every-day haze, you decide that wearing a brown shirt, white pants, and red shoes, and a blue poncho would actually be fashionable.
The aforementioned crush, however, the stunningly cute Charming Canadian (CC), doesn't even work in my building! (Close enough however, that one has cause to worry). In fact, he is out of the country most of the freaking time -- charming wealthy executives into buying more Company products, or visiting his family in the Godforsaken tundra to the north - which doesn't bode well for our future torrid love affair.
Anyway, I get ahead of myself. We haven't even gone on a date! Oh my Lord, nothing as scandalous as that. We've only exchanged e-mail, mostly, of course, because he's been out of the country. But he's back! For a couple hours, anyway.
My intention, however, for that couple hours that he graces this star-spangled country is to hang out with him WITHOUT talking about [work-related item]. I have in, fact, already suggested this, so we'll see what he says! If he turns me down, I'm sure he'll find a way to do it tactfully and politely - being Canadian and all!
Meanwhile, I hope I have a better hair day tomorrow.
And that's more than enough from this fluffy little corner of the world.
For example, when you are having the worst hair day ever in the history of mankind. Or when you tragically decide, in a sunburnt, mosquito-bitten, I've-been-in-the-woods-for-three-days-and-wore-the-same-thing-every-day haze, you decide that wearing a brown shirt, white pants, and red shoes, and a blue poncho would actually be fashionable.
The aforementioned crush, however, the stunningly cute Charming Canadian (CC), doesn't even work in my building! (Close enough however, that one has cause to worry). In fact, he is out of the country most of the freaking time -- charming wealthy executives into buying more Company products, or visiting his family in the Godforsaken tundra to the north - which doesn't bode well for our future torrid love affair.
Anyway, I get ahead of myself. We haven't even gone on a date! Oh my Lord, nothing as scandalous as that. We've only exchanged e-mail, mostly, of course, because he's been out of the country. But he's back! For a couple hours, anyway.
My intention, however, for that couple hours that he graces this star-spangled country is to hang out with him WITHOUT talking about [work-related item]. I have in, fact, already suggested this, so we'll see what he says! If he turns me down, I'm sure he'll find a way to do it tactfully and politely - being Canadian and all!
Meanwhile, I hope I have a better hair day tomorrow.
And that's more than enough from this fluffy little corner of the world.
Thursday, July 1, 2004
Well, pardonnez-moi. I've been using whatever creative energy I have for crafting a single daily e-mail to the Charming Canadian (as I have dubbed the latest and greatest love object of your favorite boy-crazy blogger), who, as we speak is hobnobbing in foreign lands with wealthy execs, teaching them exactly how to deploy Company products to their greatest advantage!
These e-mails must be witty (it goes without saying). They must be friendly - with just a hint of romantic interest, but not too much. Not too long, of course, but they need to pack a punch. To make an impression. To jump out at CC from his state-of-the-art laptop in his top-of-the-line hotel room (where at this very moment he might be wearing a paper-thin, complimentary robe*) and say "Me! Look at me, CC! I'm; smart; clever; fun; adorable!"
To my delight, after our coffee non-date, CC needed only the slightest bit of encouragement to move away from his overly-formal, work-related correspondence with me (signed "Regards, CC") to a fun, personal one during his business trip.
And so, I continue to hope. That when he gets back we can continue to get to know each other and explore what seems to be a mutual interest. Note that I did not say, that when he gets back we can get married! You thought I was going to, didn't you?
No, no, no. I've learned my lesson. Don't plan the wedding until you've had at least three dates!
Kidding. Aw, leave me alone, would ya? YES, I have a life. A very busy one, in fact. Most of my creative energy actually goes towards, what else - ye olde book, which I should be writing at this very second, instead of penning this fluff.
These e-mails must be witty (it goes without saying). They must be friendly - with just a hint of romantic interest, but not too much. Not too long, of course, but they need to pack a punch. To make an impression. To jump out at CC from his state-of-the-art laptop in his top-of-the-line hotel room (where at this very moment he might be wearing a paper-thin, complimentary robe*) and say "Me! Look at me, CC! I'm; smart; clever; fun; adorable!"
To my delight, after our coffee non-date, CC needed only the slightest bit of encouragement to move away from his overly-formal, work-related correspondence with me (signed "Regards, CC") to a fun, personal one during his business trip.
And so, I continue to hope. That when he gets back we can continue to get to know each other and explore what seems to be a mutual interest. Note that I did not say, that when he gets back we can get married! You thought I was going to, didn't you?
No, no, no. I've learned my lesson. Don't plan the wedding until you've had at least three dates!
Kidding. Aw, leave me alone, would ya? YES, I have a life. A very busy one, in fact. Most of my creative energy actually goes towards, what else - ye olde book, which I should be writing at this very second, instead of penning this fluff.
Friday, June 25, 2004
Oh my gosh! I have a reason to live again!
Yes, I, Breakup Babe have a crush. And where there's a crush, there's hope!
Phew. Things were looking pretty grim there as I had not had a crush in an entire month, and that crush, as you might recall - Cutest Boy in the World - gave me the Lets Just Be Friends (LJBF) talk and then disappeared into the ether in his flip-flops, garlic emanating from his every pore.
Hmmph.
Well WHO NEEDS HIM?
Certainly not me. So what if he was a rock star, rock climber, poet, and adorable dark-haired boy all in one?
Especially, because, for one: I am now a rock star in my own right, after making my auspicious debut yesterday evening at the food court of the Crossroads Mall, which you could call the Madison Square Garden of Bellevue. Along with that velvety-voiced Sexy Blue-Eyed Boy, who sang, I played "Martha" on piano, and did not mess up once! I probably even looked kind of hot up there in my tatoo-baring red tank top and my (almost-too-tight) jeans, never mind that I'm well on my way to 400 pounds.)
And, especially after my coffee non-date yesterday with (must come up with clever acronym here but have not yet) a dark-haired, fair-skinned, green-eyed charmer. After encountering this handsome, lively, and lovably nerdy program manager in a meeting here at The Company last week I contrived to have a "meeting" with him for "work-related" purposes. (I am nothing if not creative when it comes to these sorts of things).
I was worried, of course, that - being a clueless guy - he might not get that this was actually a date, or worse yet,of course, that he could care less. But, in fact, he seemed to get it. He seemed to get it to the point of being nervous even, at first. Yours truly was too, but I hide it better. Well I did spill coffee on myself, but that happens all the time.
To make a long story short (because I must go catch the bus now) This guy is articulate, bright, dynamic, driven. Engaging. Sexy - yet, at the same time, nerdy - which makes him all the more sexy. There were sparks. There was talk of going to non-work-related coffee next week. There is, in a word, hope.
And that's all I need to get by on these days, really. Of course, I have hopes of being a famous author too, or at least a published one. But I don't want to be famous all alone.
Yes, I, Breakup Babe have a crush. And where there's a crush, there's hope!
Phew. Things were looking pretty grim there as I had not had a crush in an entire month, and that crush, as you might recall - Cutest Boy in the World - gave me the Lets Just Be Friends (LJBF) talk and then disappeared into the ether in his flip-flops, garlic emanating from his every pore.
Hmmph.
Well WHO NEEDS HIM?
Certainly not me. So what if he was a rock star, rock climber, poet, and adorable dark-haired boy all in one?
Especially, because, for one: I am now a rock star in my own right, after making my auspicious debut yesterday evening at the food court of the Crossroads Mall, which you could call the Madison Square Garden of Bellevue. Along with that velvety-voiced Sexy Blue-Eyed Boy, who sang, I played "Martha" on piano, and did not mess up once! I probably even looked kind of hot up there in my tatoo-baring red tank top and my (almost-too-tight) jeans, never mind that I'm well on my way to 400 pounds.)
And, especially after my coffee non-date yesterday with (must come up with clever acronym here but have not yet) a dark-haired, fair-skinned, green-eyed charmer. After encountering this handsome, lively, and lovably nerdy program manager in a meeting here at The Company last week I contrived to have a "meeting" with him for "work-related" purposes. (I am nothing if not creative when it comes to these sorts of things).
I was worried, of course, that - being a clueless guy - he might not get that this was actually a date, or worse yet,of course, that he could care less. But, in fact, he seemed to get it. He seemed to get it to the point of being nervous even, at first. Yours truly was too, but I hide it better. Well I did spill coffee on myself, but that happens all the time.
To make a long story short (because I must go catch the bus now) This guy is articulate, bright, dynamic, driven. Engaging. Sexy - yet, at the same time, nerdy - which makes him all the more sexy. There were sparks. There was talk of going to non-work-related coffee next week. There is, in a word, hope.
And that's all I need to get by on these days, really. Of course, I have hopes of being a famous author too, or at least a published one. But I don't want to be famous all alone.
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Here are some things I want to know:
How do so many books get written? The shelves at Barnes & Noble are filled with them! There are new books every day! Thousands of shiny new books! And thousands of someones have to sit down and actually write them, drinking millions of cups of coffee and spending a million hours rewriting the same sentence; pestering their friends to read this and give comments on that; and it takes months - years! - and yet all those books get written.
At the rate I'm writing, however, my book will be on the shelves by 2030. Hope we're all still alive by then to laugh at the spectacle of Breakup Babe with a walker. Might be good for the action figures, though - they could come out with "Nursing Home BB," complete with a portable oxygen tank.
Am I going to find a husband before I weigh 400 pounds? It would seem not, because despite still fitting (barely) into my size 4s, Celexa seems to be exacting its revenge on me. After two years of unrelenting hard work, General C. (as I lovingly personify Celexa in my book), has apparently decided he will unleash the dreaded side effect on me: weight gain.
In a mere two days I gained FIVE pounds despite eating like a bird and exercising to boot (I had a sense he was about to pull this little trick.) At this rate, I will be 400 pounds by fall sometime, so please Good Lord, let me trap someone before then!
How do so many books get written? The shelves at Barnes & Noble are filled with them! There are new books every day! Thousands of shiny new books! And thousands of someones have to sit down and actually write them, drinking millions of cups of coffee and spending a million hours rewriting the same sentence; pestering their friends to read this and give comments on that; and it takes months - years! - and yet all those books get written.
At the rate I'm writing, however, my book will be on the shelves by 2030. Hope we're all still alive by then to laugh at the spectacle of Breakup Babe with a walker. Might be good for the action figures, though - they could come out with "Nursing Home BB," complete with a portable oxygen tank.
Am I going to find a husband before I weigh 400 pounds? It would seem not, because despite still fitting (barely) into my size 4s, Celexa seems to be exacting its revenge on me. After two years of unrelenting hard work, General C. (as I lovingly personify Celexa in my book), has apparently decided he will unleash the dreaded side effect on me: weight gain.
In a mere two days I gained FIVE pounds despite eating like a bird and exercising to boot (I had a sense he was about to pull this little trick.) At this rate, I will be 400 pounds by fall sometime, so please Good Lord, let me trap someone before then!
Sunday, June 20, 2004
Yours Truly Cannot Read A Map
Ok, here's an idea for a new reality show. It's called "Lost! In the Wild!" and the premise is they send navigationally-challenged cuties alone into the wilderness and see if they make it back alive.
Let's just say the first victim - er- star - is moi, Breakup Babe, who, you might recall, while also being a glamorpuss about town, is also a stud mountaineer. But, alas, she has always been helped along in her studliness by various men, who drive her to the trailhead, make sure she doesn't take wrong turns into a crevasse, and encourage her when she cries at the hard parts.
On this particular day, BB sets out jauntily from Seattle to lead a hike. This is funny for a number of reasons, not least that BB cannot for the life of her, read a map. You'd think that the venerable Mountaineers, for whom she is guiding this trip might have done a background check, but nooo.
So BB is toodling along in her little green Subaru, NO GUY IN SIGHT, to lead this group of waiting hikers up to some Godforsaken peak near Mt. Rainier (she only hopes that one of THEM is male and read a map.) She leaves town a little late, of course, but makes good time, and then -- the camera does a close up here -- she realizes she has missed the turnoff to Highway 169 or whatever stupid highway she was supposed to take. Damn it! She pulls off at the next exit, gets directions from a friendly convenience store clerk, who tells her no, no go to Highway 167 instead - it's right there, past the WalMart, the RV Park, and the gun shop.
A little tense now, BB finds Highway 167 near the gunshop, as instructed, but then is faced with a turnoff she didn't expect. Highway 410? That's the one to Mt. Rainier, right? Never mind that BB has been to Mt. Rainier gazillions of times. She has climbed
it - lest you forget. But there has always been some GUY driving.
She gets on Highway 410, but then quickly gets off, thinking she has gone the wrong way - never mind that Rainier is looming brilliantly on the horizon - and thus begins a 45-minute, increasingly desperate tour through the streets of Puyallup. It involves getting directions at least twice more (once from a woman with a barely understandable Chinese accent); ending up at back on Highway 5 going the wrong direction; until finally, she gets back on Highway 410, where she was supposed to be all along.
By now she running late. Very late. Mountaineer leaders are never late. They are fifteen minutes early. ALWAYS. And she has no one's phone numbers because her list never reached her because her e-mail hasn't been working (M*crosoft - what is UP with that?) - and so by the time she reaches the trailhead, she is an HOUR LATE and none of her little lemmings are there, of course.
She has let them down!
-50 points!
Once at the trailhead, she debates trying to catch up with her charges and redeeming herself.She quickly gets ready but then reads the trail description (she might have done this MONTHS before, when she signed up to lead this trip, but never mind that). It says something about "confusing trails criss-crossing eachother."
She decides, that under the circumstances, even as the stalwart Trip Leader, she is not up to navigating this 11-mile trail by herself. Who knows if they're up there anyway? Of course, she has enough clothes in her backpack to see her through a three-day snowstorm, even though it is 90-degrees out, but BB accepts her limitations.
+10 points!
She searches out an easier trail, determined that, though she is a failure as a trip leader, the day shall not be a waste!
+5 points!
She of course hikes a half-mile in wrong direction on a deserted forest service road, where Deliverance-type hillbillies no doubt hide in the bushes, to find this other hike before realizing she has gone the wrong way.
-5 points!
When she realizes her mistake, BB runs half-mile back to car so as not to be accosted by hiding hillbillies. She makes it safely.
+5 points!
Determined, now, to find this trail at all costs, she gets into her car, drives a few hundred yards, and turns where she thinks the trail should be. The road dead-ends, naturally, into a deserted horse camp where bullet-ridden beer cans lay strewn about the ground. Deliverance theme plays in background.
-5 points!
BB and the Subaru hightail it out of there, and then, more determined then ever, make the next turn - though it's unmarked. They head down a rough road, and the Subaru gets to strut it's stuff for 200 yards - 4- wheelin' whoo-hoo! - which makes the Subaru happy because it usually just gets to commute on Highway 520, and then the two of them pull into a parking area - and --
It's completely deserted.
But there is a trail, and it's as described, and though BB hesitates to hike alone on a clearly deserted trail, at least she has supplies to see her through an entire winter, and of course an entire camera crew following along, so she sets forth.
And what do you know, but BB makes it to the destination - a fabulous viewpoint of her favorite mountain, Mt. Rainier (+10 points!) - where she soaks up the sun, enjoys the solitude and wonders why she doesn't hike alone more often.
Because she can't read a map, that's why.
But the trail has no tricky turns, and she makes it back down alive, and she and the Subaru 4-wheel it back to Seattle without making a single wrong turn.
+10 points!
But BB still has negative 20 points, so she's booted off the show in favor of the next navigationally-challenged cutie. So stay tuned for the next episode of "Lost! In the Wild!"
Ok, here's an idea for a new reality show. It's called "Lost! In the Wild!" and the premise is they send navigationally-challenged cuties alone into the wilderness and see if they make it back alive.
Let's just say the first victim - er- star - is moi, Breakup Babe, who, you might recall, while also being a glamorpuss about town, is also a stud mountaineer. But, alas, she has always been helped along in her studliness by various men, who drive her to the trailhead, make sure she doesn't take wrong turns into a crevasse, and encourage her when she cries at the hard parts.
On this particular day, BB sets out jauntily from Seattle to lead a hike. This is funny for a number of reasons, not least that BB cannot for the life of her, read a map. You'd think that the venerable Mountaineers, for whom she is guiding this trip might have done a background check, but nooo.
So BB is toodling along in her little green Subaru, NO GUY IN SIGHT, to lead this group of waiting hikers up to some Godforsaken peak near Mt. Rainier (she only hopes that one of THEM is male and read a map.) She leaves town a little late, of course, but makes good time, and then -- the camera does a close up here -- she realizes she has missed the turnoff to Highway 169 or whatever stupid highway she was supposed to take. Damn it! She pulls off at the next exit, gets directions from a friendly convenience store clerk, who tells her no, no go to Highway 167 instead - it's right there, past the WalMart, the RV Park, and the gun shop.
A little tense now, BB finds Highway 167 near the gunshop, as instructed, but then is faced with a turnoff she didn't expect. Highway 410? That's the one to Mt. Rainier, right? Never mind that BB has been to Mt. Rainier gazillions of times. She has climbed
it - lest you forget. But there has always been some GUY driving.
She gets on Highway 410, but then quickly gets off, thinking she has gone the wrong way - never mind that Rainier is looming brilliantly on the horizon - and thus begins a 45-minute, increasingly desperate tour through the streets of Puyallup. It involves getting directions at least twice more (once from a woman with a barely understandable Chinese accent); ending up at back on Highway 5 going the wrong direction; until finally, she gets back on Highway 410, where she was supposed to be all along.
By now she running late. Very late. Mountaineer leaders are never late. They are fifteen minutes early. ALWAYS. And she has no one's phone numbers because her list never reached her because her e-mail hasn't been working (M*crosoft - what is UP with that?) - and so by the time she reaches the trailhead, she is an HOUR LATE and none of her little lemmings are there, of course.
She has let them down!
-50 points!
Once at the trailhead, she debates trying to catch up with her charges and redeeming herself.She quickly gets ready but then reads the trail description (she might have done this MONTHS before, when she signed up to lead this trip, but never mind that). It says something about "confusing trails criss-crossing eachother."
She decides, that under the circumstances, even as the stalwart Trip Leader, she is not up to navigating this 11-mile trail by herself. Who knows if they're up there anyway? Of course, she has enough clothes in her backpack to see her through a three-day snowstorm, even though it is 90-degrees out, but BB accepts her limitations.
+10 points!
She searches out an easier trail, determined that, though she is a failure as a trip leader, the day shall not be a waste!
+5 points!
She of course hikes a half-mile in wrong direction on a deserted forest service road, where Deliverance-type hillbillies no doubt hide in the bushes, to find this other hike before realizing she has gone the wrong way.
-5 points!
When she realizes her mistake, BB runs half-mile back to car so as not to be accosted by hiding hillbillies. She makes it safely.
+5 points!
Determined, now, to find this trail at all costs, she gets into her car, drives a few hundred yards, and turns where she thinks the trail should be. The road dead-ends, naturally, into a deserted horse camp where bullet-ridden beer cans lay strewn about the ground. Deliverance theme plays in background.
-5 points!
BB and the Subaru hightail it out of there, and then, more determined then ever, make the next turn - though it's unmarked. They head down a rough road, and the Subaru gets to strut it's stuff for 200 yards - 4- wheelin' whoo-hoo! - which makes the Subaru happy because it usually just gets to commute on Highway 520, and then the two of them pull into a parking area - and --
It's completely deserted.
But there is a trail, and it's as described, and though BB hesitates to hike alone on a clearly deserted trail, at least she has supplies to see her through an entire winter, and of course an entire camera crew following along, so she sets forth.
And what do you know, but BB makes it to the destination - a fabulous viewpoint of her favorite mountain, Mt. Rainier (+10 points!) - where she soaks up the sun, enjoys the solitude and wonders why she doesn't hike alone more often.
Because she can't read a map, that's why.
But the trail has no tricky turns, and she makes it back down alive, and she and the Subaru 4-wheel it back to Seattle without making a single wrong turn.
+10 points!
But BB still has negative 20 points, so she's booted off the show in favor of the next navigationally-challenged cutie. So stay tuned for the next episode of "Lost! In the Wild!"
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