Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

Flood of Emotions

January 4, 2009

I suppose I should be writing more these days, documenting what is happening and how I am feeling after losing my mom, bonding with my family, taking over my mom’s business and getting ready to deliver a new baby. But with a full plate and a flood of emotions, it’s been hard.

I always tell myself there is no convenient time to write and it will likely never be easier than today to put the pen to the paper or rather the fingers to the keyboard. I haven’t even glanced at my book, but I’m hoping that I have a current copy at home on my jump drive and I can locate said jump drive. But I have not been concerned enough to look for the file.

I should probably focus on some stuff for my building but that hasn’t happened and I know my sister wants me to track down some stuff from my mom’s business, write some letters and do some calculations but that hasn’t really happened either.

My daughter ensures that I do get out of bed every morning and remain quasi attentive but some days a shower feels like a major accomplishment (forget about shaving).

I feel like there is a Shel Silverstein poem in this predicament, about someone who knows she should write, but all she can write is how she is unmotivated to write.
Readers…any takers…would love to hear.

I’m going to bed and hoping I get some contractions or my water breaks tonight.

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The Spooning Incident

September 2, 2008

I had an assignment for my writers group to write something based on either an obituary or a wedding announcement. A few weeks ago the Sunday Styles section of the New York Times had a blurb about a woman scorned who made a few phone calls to cancel vendors for her ex-boyfriend’s wedding.

I had been thinking about what to write and most of this story came to me in a dream in the early hours of the morning. I thought I would transcribe it and see how it came out. You tell me.

Joe woke up to find a gaggle of protestors on his front lawn accusing him of child molestation. He hoped they would leave before his date arrived in the evening.

Over dinner, Joe felt the need to defend himself to Carla.

“My son and his friend were playing in my bed, making tents and the sort. When it was time for bed, they asked if they could sleep with me. I said sure. I guess in the middle of the night, half asleep I rolled over and spooned next to this kid. He told his dad, some red neck homophobe who called the cops and his KKK pals. And here we are.”

Carla sympathized and admired Joe’s honesty. No man would want to talk about this on a second date, and that he brought it voluntarily revealed a strong character.

Carla, dedicated and unassuming, had not dated many men for any serious length of time. She felt comfortable and needed around Joe, as if she was somehow helping him. She stood by her man through the rallies, yelling at the local hicks “spooning was not a crime.” She helped him relocate to a new home void of protestors. She went to the arraignment and cheered when the judge dismissed the case.

Joe was grateful for the companionship and having someone believe him. Even his brother David stayed comparably silent during the spooning ordeal, as he would later refer to it. So much of Joe and Carla’s relationship revolved around this ugly accusation and its aftermath. It disgusted Joe that someone who barely knew him before the spooning ordeal would remain so loyal and never ask any questions. In fact, she never asked anything of Joe. She just stood beside him loyal and meek. At another point he would have found her passivity attractive, and in fact he did, six months ago when the world was ready to ex-communicate him. But now, now that he had a grittier view of the world, now that he was once accused of a heinous crime and saw his freedom flash before his eyes, now Joe wanted more.

“Every woman has the potential to be psychotic,” David once told his brother.

Joe thought Carla too submissive to do anything crazy, and after all that he endured, anything Carla could potentially do would not compare to the spooning ordeal. So he said goodbye to Carla without ado.

Devastated, she called twelve times before noon, hanging up once the answering machine picked up. She dialed Joe’s cell phone and home number, careful to block her number eleven times that evening. The calls tapered off until after one week she no longer picked up the phone and dialed the digits she was embarrassed to have memorized. Was a just reward for her loyalty? Stand by your man, my ass.

“You told her you loved her, didn’t you?” David asked.

Joe nodded.

His brother looked at him with knowing eyes.

As the weeks turned into months, Joe discovered that the dating scene was not as accessible for a formerly accused child molestor/spooner. He longed for the reliability of Carla, those comforting hazel eyes assuring him that he could survive anything. He almost wished that she had more stalked tendencies.

Joe was lamenting his mistake at their favorite falafel haunt when the waiter congratulated Joe on his engagement.

“Huh?”

“Carla came in the other day with a beautiful diamond ring. I assumed you were still together,” the waiter said in a heavy middle-eastern accent.

Carla’s wedding was scheduled to be a beautiful affair complete with white flowers, an ivory gown and cream cake. Days before she was set to walk down the aisle, her caterer called confirming the recent cancellation.

“Huh?” she asked.

“We received a phone call the other day canceling the arrangements.”

Carla un-cancelled the cancellation and confirmed her other vendors. She told her fiancé what happened. “I think it’s Joe.”

“You told him you loved him, didn’t you?”

Carla nodded and her fiancé caste a knowing smile.

Moral of the story: Every man has the potential to go psycho too.

New Social Order

April 11, 2008

The music together class yesterday was not terrible. I just hate the part where they tell you to dance with your child around the room. It’s fun to talk to the mom’s but 1) Pookers is not light and my back is not so strong. The idea of holding her and bouncing around is not exactly appealing. 2) The dancing leads to social time and often times I feel excluded when all of the other moms are chatting away and I am just sitting there holding my heavy baby with my back about to spasm.

Meeting The Moms and entering this new social world is akin to high school. Again. I thought after those four years I would not have to endure the pettiness and social hierarchies of caddy contemporaries. Then I went to a women’s college and discovered a new pedigree of peers. But now this.

BTW – Did anyone actually enjoy high school?

There was some email that went around inviting Moms to a night out. Somehow, conveniently I was off the list. One mom apologized and said, “I need your email” in the same sweet voice she says every single week. I suppose I should just give it to her already. But she never actually asks.

These Moms, this new social structure, the dynamics, and of course the kids. Great fodder for a novel. The Mommy Diaries? Any takers? Could make it a fiction story – I have some good characters sketched out. Could be a how-to navigate and survive the first year of motherhood. Not sure if I made it clear, but I would LOVE a book deal.

Off to the pediatrician today. Pookers needs some vaccines and my husband, surprise surprise – to me at least – is coming. At least he intended to as of 9am this morning.

Trying to Motivate

April 10, 2008

the weather is finally warming up here – at least today – so it’s been great.
I’m trying to drag myself to my writers room to work on my novel but it is so nice out and my allergies are in full bloom. Did i mention that I am also extremely exhausted and would much more prefer a nap?
Maybe if I had a book deal…

Music Together Again and Again

April 10, 2008

I’m taking my six-month old to a Music Together class today. For those of you without children or those parents fortunate enough to avoid this ridiculousness, don’t rub it in. Music Together is a 45 minute class where parents dress up their children in the cutest outfits while throwing sweats on themselves that may or may not match. A “teacher” takes out props which range from a small drum, to a maraca , to a scarf, to who cares my daughter just eats it and we all bop along to a song. It was absolutely adorable the first time. The second time we went to class and heard the same exact music and played with the same exact toys that my baby slobbered all over it was not so fun. Besides, nobody commented on her adorable new outfit.

After the first class, the instructor passed out CDs and a booklet. At first I thought I had homework, but it was just the lyrics to the songs with the notes in case I wanted to practice on the piano that I don’t have. I was then advised to play the CD regularly so my child can recognize the songs. That worked for a little while.

There is some inverse proportion that the more annoying a song is, the catchier it is and the brighter my daughter’s face lights up at seeing it.

Today is a new semester or term of the class which means a fresh batch of annoying tunes. I am not entirely clear why I signed up, but I did. It’s easy. It’s close. It’s only 45 minutes. I like some of the moms. I like showing off my little Pookers’ outfits. Of course today I am so behind on the laundry she’s lucky she is not naked. Pookers is wearing a basic little dress from Old Navy. But of course she still looks adorable. (I am a mom.)

One mother who I respect because she seems educated and interesting thinks the class is educational. How much education is my 6 month old gaining from eating instruments in a group? Not much. But she does like to watch the bigger kids crawl around. If it is so educational, why is there one song with the biggest dangling participle in the chorus? Okay, there is the grammar snob in me. You may be asking yourself how can I be a grammar elitist when there are likely mistakes in this post. At least the tutoring company that I am blogging for points out lots of “corrections.” There stupid adjustments involve changing sentences around that are not necessarily grammatically incorrect. They just tend to dumb it down for the people reading their site – which I don’t think is really anyone other than spammers and consultants looking to steer people to their website. Enough about them. I don’t even know how long I want to continue writing for that site. After all, now I have my own site where I don’t have to make any corrections. Of course I am not getting paid for this. Yet. Unless I get my book deal. Are you an agent? A publisher? Know one? Please.

So this lame song has a chorus “I have a silly cat, I never know where he is at.” It drives me bonkers. I almost emailed the director to voice a concern, but I don’t have that much time on my hands. I am writing a second novel. And yes, I should be working on that now while Pookers is sleeping, but I am not. Maybe if I had a book deal. I thought of other rhymes that could work too. “I have a silly cat, I don’t know why he is so fat.” Or “I have a silly cat, he always wants me to give him a pat.” They just need to find another word that rhymes with cat, and I have to imagine there are at least a thousand words.

If you are reading this – and feel so motivated, I’d love to hear what you think would make a better match to “I have a silly cat, (fill in the blank)”

I should probably take advantage of my napping baby and brush my teeth this morning.

First entry

April 9, 2008

Okay, I did it. I started my blog. BFD, you may be thinking. Thousands of people write blogs regularly. I’m only a five years behind the curve. But I did it. Can I have my book deal now? Please.

A book deal is not my only motivation, but well, it is an incentive. I am working on a book. A novel. It’s such a massive undertaking; I constantly ask myself why am I doing this. The answer is that I really don’t have another choice. *cliche alert. I did not choose to be a writer. It chose me.

I already wrote one novel. It did not get published, yet. I feel like I need to add that disclaimer. But I did it. I sat down and I wrote. I typed. I edited. I joined a writer’s group. I cursed it. But I finished it.

Now I have my blog and my new book which is further along then I give myself credit for. I should probably work on the book instead of patting myself on the back for starting a blog. I should also go for a run or do one of those exercise on demand videos on my cable box, but they are not happening tonight.

What is it about a blog? Just a stream of consciousness that I imagine/hope/ want someone to find interesting. Oh, and i want a book deal, badly. Did I mention that?

Sometimes I feel so foolish that I have been a “writer” for so long but have not had anything significant published. All of the work and energy expended can be justified if something I write gains popularity or earns me some money. Otherwise, well, I may just be remembered as a wannabe writer.

I’ll post again. Maybe even after dinner. There’s just so much to say.

And please comment. Let me know that i am not blogging in oblivion. (I’ve been blogging for a tutoring company, but all of the comments are from readers offering to make my penis larger or sell me prescription meds CHEAP!!)