Reviewed today:

Dear Principal of Lousy School:
Yes, I know that y’all miss my kids. Thanks for the call yesterday. They are well-behaved children and don’t cause a ruckus. But you gave us lice. We might come back next week, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. In the future, please send home a letter when you are lousy. Or at least call. Or at least check heads. Anything less is… irresponsible. Which is not a skill we want to learn at school or at home.

Here’s to being a grown-up,
WM

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“With your feet I walk
I walk with your limbs
I carry forth your body
For me your mind thinks
Your voice speaks for me
Beauty is before me
And beauty is behind me
Above and below me hovers the beautiful
I am surrounded by it
I am immersed in it
In my youth I am aware of it
And in old age I shall walk quietly
The beautiful trail.”

— Navajo prayer

“I would like to have seen Iowa. Carl [Van Vechten] and [William] Cook are from Iowa, you are brilliant and subtle if you come from Iowa and really strange and you live as you live and you are always very well taken care of if you come from Iowa.”

— Gertrude Stein

“Luck”
by Langston Hughes
(1902-1967)

Sometimes a crumb falls
From the tables of joy,
Sometimes a bone
Is flung.

To some people
Love is given,
To others
Only heaven.

You know why I love the Internet? A lot of reasons, really, all of them starting with I can look up the lyrics to any Sly and the Family Stone song that I want, ANYTIME I WANT. This still amazes me. But you know, I’m easily impressed so that’s not saying much. I also adore the Internet, the Information Highway, running willy-nilly from here in Oregon all the way over to North Carolina, down to Rio by the Sea-O, then flying ZOOM like a CRAZY BOOMERANG all around the world, BECAUSE IT MEANS I DO NOT HAVE TO PHOTOCOPY AS MUCH STUFF. (more…)

Hullo, Internet,

How’s it hanging? Yeah, it’s good here, too. Kids are still asleep (8 a.m. right now — I’m guessing Wacky Boy will wake up around 9:30-10; Wacky Girl I’ll probably see 9ish), I had a quiet breakfast with my husband, fed the pets, the dishwasher is running, I’ve had a cup of coffee and am heading for a second.

I need to work on my new manuscript over Christmas break. And at what point do I begin to call it “my old manuscript”? I think I started it mid-summer, but a mojitos fog prevents me from remembering much of last summer. (Thank God for this historical document that is my blog. If it’s on the Internet, it must be accurate, yes?)

Still not drinking? Correct, I’m still not drinking. I’m not doing it the “right” way, though. The never-touch-booze way of not drinking. The “I’ve been clean for two months/two years/two decades” thing. I know that that works for a lot of people, but I have bad impulse control. So if I’m telling myself, YOU CAN NEVER DRINK AGAIN. EVER! That would send me into panic mode and I’d break out the gin and tonics. But if I say, You can if you want, but why would you want to? Then it’s OK. That makes no sense, does it?

I went out to hear some jazz at the Blue Monk with Hockey God and some friends weekend before last, and had two Bloody Marys. (Nice club, by the way, if you’re in Portland or come for a visit. Intimate, no smoking, good bands.) The really good thing about not drinking — wow do you ever get buzzed when you do drink! But it was kind of, eh, whatever. I’m not so into the booze. So, two drinks since last August or something? Not bad. My family appreciates my new non-grouchy self. I appreciate the fact that I don’t look like a raging drunk after one glass of wine. (“High Irish Flush,” it’s called, when your cheeks get the “red apples.”) And really, the only reason I like a Bloody Mary is for the salad that comes with it. And you don’t need vodka for that. So Virgin Bloody Marys are fine by me.

I think you’ve probably already guessed that impulse control is a problem here. Maybe this was a clue.

My family has no self-control, either. Obviously. But I’m promising you, I am going to try to hammer out an outline for the new book and a few chapters over break. Since the kids enjoy sleeping in, and morning is my favorite time to write. Still trying to get an agent. Keep fingers crossed.

Now, a few little things, as long as I’m here:

1) I let Wacky Girl spend her Christmas money to order Emily, Molly’s friend, from American Girl Dolls. Yes, I spent $102 on a doll. Fwaaaaa. No, I can’t believe it either. Actually, I did not spend $102. I spent $115, with shipping. Actually, it wasn’t even my money — it was money from her Wacky Gramps, Wacky Grandma, and Wacky Uncle. Thank you all for making my daughter’s dream come true…

2) Wacky Boy’s Christmas money? He was content to spend $12.90 buying a copy of Dinosaur. (Hockey God had a credit on his Amazon account, yay.) I’ll take the rest of his money and sock it away in his college fund. When it comes time to pay for her college tuition, I’ll tell Wacky Girl to sell her dolls.

3) Christmas cookies are wicked. I am not doing anymore baking. Period.

4) Speaking of wicked, Donald Trump hasn’t fired her, yet, but things don’t look good for Tara Conner, Miss USA. She supposedly tested positive for cocaine, was “lustily kissing” Miss Teen USA, and was drinking at the bars (she’s underage). Where did I hear all this? The View, naturally. Where I get all the information that Housewives Need to Know.

Tara supposedly had her tiara on the bar next to her.

“Yeah, well how do you think she gets the free drinks?” Rosie O’Donnell quipped.

Trump, let her keep the tiara.

(Ed. to say: Just got a bulletin from People mag — my other source of news, besides the View. Is this wrong? Trump is giving her a second chance. “You! Off to rehab!” Happy holidays, Tara, ya little lush.)

“We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” — Anais Nin

How I see it: Dedicated, hardworking, stay-at-home mom who occasionally snatches a few minutes to write. Who sometimes sneaks in a phone call to a friend, or finds a half-hour block to make a series of business calls.

The way my kids see it: There’s the back of her head again. She’s always on the computer. She never pays attention to us. She never hangs up the phone. Here, I’ll scream and tip over the dog’s water bowl — that should get her attention.

I’d like to say that the truth lies somewhere in-between, but that’s not true. Their version is the “real” version. Anais Nin was right. So here I am, stalled out on another manuscript, trying to ignore the fact that Christmas is three weeks from today. New Year’s Day is four weeks from today. My husband and I will have been together ten years this May. Shouldn’t we do something fun? I mean — should we have a party? Take a trip? Get a babysitter for the weekend and go to the beach? The dishes are still undone. The laundry is never done. The house is a mess.

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From Aldous Huxley: “I met, not long ago, a young man who aspired to become a novelist. Knowing that I was in the profession, he asked me to tell him how he should set to
work to realize his ambition. I did my best to explain. ‘The first thing,’ I said, ‘is to buy quite a lot of paper, a bottle of ink, and a pen. After that you merely have to write.'”

From Steve Martin: “I think I did pretty well, considering I started out with nothing but a bunch of blank paper.”

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Here’s how I have attempted to get an agent: I’ve shamelessly and without pride asked all of my friends who have had books published for the names of their agents. They both said yes. Their agents said no.

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People are assholes. Not you, obviously. But in general? Assholes.

Peace,

Love,

WM

10/31 Edited to say: Happy Halloween, everyone! Still on vacation from blogging, but wanted to wish you happy holidays. For me, Halloween, not Thanksgiving, is the beginning of the holiday season, so bring on the fudge and eggnog, dammit. We’re going as a devil, a surgeon, an angel and a fairy princess. Who’s who, do you think? I’ll re-open comments in case you want to guess. We’re handing out little containers of Play-Doh (even to the big kids), Reese’s, M&M’s and whatever Costco candy I haven’t already eaten.

Thank you for your kind e-mails, especially the ones regarding your obsession with my past usage of the word “dork” as a nickname for “penis.” Who knew people were writing so many research papers and erotic novels about this? It warms my heart, really. The cockles of it.

From a reader:
Dork
(1) Noun. Someone who is not cool. ie. “Bill Gates is a real dork.”
(2) Noun. A penis. ie. “Stop playing with your dork and get out here.”

Dude
(1) Noun. Someone who is cool. The opposite of a dork.
(2) Excl. A greeting. Used with a close friend that is considered cool. ie. “Dude!” Origins of this context word can be traced to California. It was originally used in reference to a horse’s penis.

I’m sort of re-thinking what I want to write about here and how, after this situation.

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