For My Next Trick, The UHAUL Backflip!

So I know I said my next post would be about the wonders of Myspace, but that's been postponed for a few days. Read on. You'll see why.

On Wednesday, Dave and I were supposed to do the final packing and moving of our apartment. I reserved one of those huge UHAUL trucks, you know, the 26' one that's like four feet off the ground. We go to the apartment, start throwing crap into boxes and moving out the last of the furniture. We get everything but maybe a quarter of the apartment packed and stowed in the UHAUL before Dave has had enough and calls it quits. We head over to the house, pull up in front, and start using the dolley to ferry boxes from the back of the truck to the garage for sorting.

OK. So there wasn't really any "we" to the moving. It was really Dave doing all the hard work. Come on. I'm a supervisor. We all know that....

So Dave and I are in the back of the truck, trying to figure out which boxes we'll take in the house tonight and which ones can wait. I'm holding a chair in my hands, walking backwards as I talk, completely oblivious to the impending danger. Of course, Dave had already warned me that I was going to hurt myself, but did I listen? Uh, no. And why not do you ask? Well, duh, because I, like, know everything. Dave, on the other hand, is fully aware of what a walking nightmare I am. Seriously, I live Murphy's Law every day. I fall out of showers, trip down steps, cut myself in the kitchen, burn myself while cooking, rip off nails doing laundry or random cleaning--hell, I cracked my toenail in half moving a love seat!

Anywho--I'm walking backwards, holding one of our dining room chairs. Dave is facing the front of the truck, trying to find the stack of kitchen boxes. He turns around to tell me something, and just as an expression of sheer terror registers on his face, I feel imbalanced. Like an idiot, I panic and stiffen, and that's all it takes for me to go tumbling over the edge, lime green and pink kangaROOS futilely scraping against metal, chair still clutched to my chest. I have enough sense not to put my hands down to break my fall because I need my fingers to make a living. My fat ass bears the brunt of the fall, but oddly enough, it's not as padded as one might assume. My head whips back and CRACK! I'm out.

It's all blurry from that point on... Ever the gallant knight, Dave rushes down the ramp. I'm writhing in blinding pain, but refusing an ambulance. (I used to work in one and have a slight aversion to all things EMS.) Driving to the Med, sitting, waiting, talking to nurses and doctors, tests, thirst, drowsiness, grumpiness. It was super late before we got the all clear to head home. I had a headache, bruised pride, and a sore ass.

'Course, the sore ass may have been from the BEND OVER & TAKE IT treatment our insurance company gave us. I mean, seriously, what a crock of shit. Last year, Dave's company trotted out this "amazing" High Deductible Health Saving's plan, highlighting alll of the great features but conveniently forgetting to provide any real information. They were all, "Oh, you're insurance will continue to be free, but you'll have to pay $60/month for your spouse. If you stay on your current plan, you'll have to pay for both. Oh, and look! We're even seeding your health savings account!"

Except that they don't really. They made it seem like they would give the full $1500 (or whatever the amount was--I can't remember. foggy memory and all) at the same time, but they only provided a portion with the remainder deposited in $62 increments. WTF? So you have to pay for all of your health care until you meet your deductible which is fair enough. Dave's deductible was 1500, but now that we're married, it jumped to 3000 or 3500. That wouldn't be so bad, but oh, wait! The prescription coverage on this new plan (which, by the way, is NOTHING like what Dave was quoted prior to switching) fucking sucks. And that's putting it mildly. It's no secret that Dave's on all kinds of meds to control his diabetes, and uh, yeah, that crap ain't cheap. And let's not even begin to discuss how our insurance doesn't even cover a portion of any of the meds I will need to address premature ovarian failure and PCOS.

Sigh.

Anyways... Dave had to miss his Thursday shift. I felt really bad about that. He's the type of guy who, like, NEVER calls in sick and when he does, he feels guilty. Me? I'm normal, you know, the type of person who seizes every chance to call in sick and enjoys every minute like the last day on earth.

I feel fine now, a little achey and sort of mentally scattered, but whatever. It'll correct itself eventually--I hope. I've sort of got two novellas and a full length literay YA to finish by, oh, September 1st.

Oh, yeah! And for all my fellow recent brides and/or brides-to-be, have you gotten that scamming phone call from Simplicty Brides??? I've gotten four calls from them since 1 pm and it's only 5 o'clock now! WTF, right? I finally answered this last time. It's basically this lady who's all, "You've won a free trip!" But then she starts the spiel, and immediately, you're hit by that that oh-so-familiar scam scent that only a whiff of Vieux Boulogne can replicate. Mid-spiel, I told her not to call again and hung up. A quick Google search and I realized what a good move I made. This company is super pushy and particularly vile.

It's a company called Carico/Royal Prestige/Integra Marketing Group/Simplicty Gourmet/Simplicty Bride/World Adventures Travel/Pro Health Ultra who market their pots and pans and such to newly engaged and married couples. They get our info from bridal shows, websites, and shops. How it works is this:

1) Phone call. Invite to a cooking show at local hotel.
2) Attend cooking show. Listen to "your pans are killing you" speech Pressure to buy $1600-3500 worth of pans. Sign contract and receive travel voucher to 2.5 start hotel--if you're lucky.
3) Panic. Decide to cancel pan contract--but, oh no! There is no contact number!! 3 days pass and you're certifiably Shit Outta Luck.

You should read some of these horror stories!! Consumer News, Brides.Com Forum, Rip Off Report.

Isn't it sick how they try to rip off people who are getting married or just married? You should see this list of Bridal Scams! Free cruises, honeymoons, tuxes, shopping sprees--whatever. I never buy into that crap. I'm super lucky Mom raised me to be skeptical of too-good-to-be-true stuff.

OK. Enough blogging. Time to give Bos a bath b/c PEE-EWWW! He has reached a whole new level of stank today from playing outside. By the way, while trying to write this post, I fought with and removed from Bosley's mouth: a DVD remote, two handfuls of comforter stuffing, an empty Dr. Pepper can that he stole from the table, and my tiny black Sony Ericsson cell.

If I Wanted My Toes Licked, I'd Dip Them In Mayonnaise

Yeah. I have no frickin' idea what the title means either. On Wednesday, Dave and I were trying to nap but Bos was having none of it. He does this really annoying thing where he sticks his nose under the covers and starts licking/gnawing on whatever he finds--and I do mean whatever he finds. What can I say? My pup's a pervo. He's also started bitch-slapping us. No joke. If you're ignoring him, he'll take his massive paw and smack you straight across the face or tummy or thigh or whatever he's closest to. Can you say ouch?!?!

Anywho, Dave, in a nutso, super groggy state, whips out that perplexing one liner. We were both silent for about two seconds before busting out laughing as we tried figure out what the hell he meant to say.

Not long after that, Dave's phone started ringing and it was his youngest brother, Todd. Todd has just been honorably discharged from the USMC and is on a road trip from Camp LeJeune to Califas with his lovely wife, Stephanie, his mother-in-law Agnes, and sister-in-law Melissa. They were giving us a few hours of heads-up as they prepared to leave New Orleans for the first leg of their "Crossing Texas Tour."

I have to admit I was a tad less than thrilled by the prospect of four houseguests for 3 nights/3 days--especially since I had never met Stephanie, her mother, or sister--but I could not have been more wrong! From the moment they stepped through the front door, I could tell it was going to be a great visit. Stephanie is the kind of girl I would naturally gravitate towards: razor sharp wit, funny as hell, and totally honest; Melissa reminds me of my own little sis in that quiet, introspective, I-know-way-more-than-I-let-on-one-day-I'm-gonna-shock-you-way; Agnes is seriously a Hungarian carbon-copy of my own spunky mama--and she cooks amazingly well!

So from Wednesday night through Saturday late afternoon, we ate, laughed, ate, laughed, told stories, commiserated, and yeah, ate some more. Did I mention that this bunch were the kind of houseguests who are totally self-sufficient? I'm working against a deadline so I didn't have a lot of time to show them around town so they would just ask, "How do we get here?" I would write down directions and off they would go. And all faithful readers know what a shat sleep schedule I keep but my early afternoon wake-up times didn't even faze them. Oh, and Bos went bonkers for Melissa and Agnes.

When they left on Saturday, I was kind of sad. It was suddenly really quiet in the house. Weird almost. I think I'm going to start opening the house to guests more often. Just not when I'm under a deadline.

Speaking of deadlines, I should stop procrastinating and start writing. Tomorrow I think I'll post on the wonders of Myspace and discovering old friends. Maybe.

Unleashing My Inner Gracie

While skimming through my fave blogs this afternoon, I came across this gem from Mary Castillo's Chica Lit Blog. It's a tiny snippet of her mother giving a snarky coworker a verbal bitch slap and it got me thinking about my very own feisty Mama. If you've never had the pleasure of meeting her, it's hard to describe her. She's the quintessential Mama--unbelievably nurturing, fiercely protective, hilariously funny--but with a little extra kick. Let's just say that Mom isn't afraid of dropping a straight-up Muay Thai-esque verbal barrage on any offending person.

Growing up, I shared Mom's ribald sense of humor, intense loyalty to friends, and a love for volunteering, but I wasn't so big on the standing up for myself. That's not to say I was a total pushover, but I tended to pick my battles. Monumental injustices against friends and loved ones always received my full attention--complete with protests, letter writing campaigns, etc, but snarky comments by the "popular" kids just received a frown and a toss of the head.

However, the older I get the more of my mom I witness in my actions. The time I actually stopped and was like, OMG, I'm my mother was the now infamous Lane Bryant UPS incident where I chased the UPS driver through the parking lot, cornering him in the back of his truck while brandishing my fave chancla. Walking back to the apartment that day, I realized that I had just unleashed a smidgeon of my inner Gracie. In a way, it was liberating--OK, well, terrifying, too--but liberating all the same.

Last week, I had another Gracie moment. When we closed on the house, we were told that they would finish sodding the back half of the yard as the same time as all those houses surrounding us. OK. No big deal. Free grass, not going to complain.

So the day Sara gets back from K-stan, she calls to see if she can come over to get her mail, Margie and Val (her plants), and catch up on the good gossip. As I'm waiting for her to arrive, I happen to glance out the front windows and notice that there are a bunch of men standing near my trees. Interest piqued, I survey the lawn and realize that there are dozens of pallets of soaking wet grass in our driveway. (The driveway is difficult to see from the front of the house because of the angle of the windows/garage.) Oh, and not only do I have the entire delivery of grass for the entire subdivision on my driveway, but the guys laying the grass are pushing wheelbarrows through MY yard, creating ugly ass troughs because the ground was still incredibly soft from a week's deluge.

Can you say pissed???

I head outside, barefoot of course, and ask them what the hell they're doing. I get the usual run-around until the superintendent of the subdivision deigns to grace me with his presence. He gives me this long spiel about the grass delivery driver putting the grass in the wrong place. When I ask him why they aren't sodding our yard (since the grass is in our driveway) but rather the unsold house next door, he gives me this BS line about the ground being too wet to put the grass down in every yard, blah, blah, blah. (Mind you, the yard next door, the unsold house, is literally moat, but ours is completely drained.)

I remind Jeremy that this is our home, we pay a mortgage and association fees for the privilege of using our driveway. I tell him that not only do I expect company any minute, but that Dave is coming home from a 72 hour shift in, like, six hours, and he is going to be irate if he sees this. I also point to the troughs in my front yard, asking what he intends to do about that, and he explains that it's really not his problem.

Uh-huh.

By this point, my blood is boiling. I'm like the Bruce Banner, but instead of a giantic green Hulk taking over my body, it's a short spitfire named Grace. Using my nicest, but most intimidating voice, I tell him that I want the pallets out of my driveway, the wheelbarrows off my grass, and the mess cleared up immediately. A quick pivot and I'm heading back into the house. With my back turned, Jeremy says in this incredibly patronizing voice, "I'll try."

Me: I didn't ask you try. I want it done. Now.

Needless to say, by the time Sara arrived--and parked like half a mile away--the crews were clearing away the pallets of grass, broken pallet shards, and chunks of grass and dirt from our driveway. By the time Dave got home, it was just a bad memory.

So anywho--the point of this random tale is that everything that is the best in my mother is the best of me. I would assume that if I looked really hard I would find that Dad's best traits are the best in me as well. Ten years ago, I would have freaked at the thought of evolving into some kind of amalgam of my parents, but now, I don't know, it feels good. It feels right--natural, maybe?

And maybe someday, if I ever get the chance to be a Mama (through adoption most likely), I want to be that short, chubby woman who strikes fear in the hearts of mere mortals...

Ash's Wedding!

OMG! Ash & Ryan's wedding was beautiful! The House Plantation was picturesque, I mean, striaght out of Gone With the Wind pretty. As for The Dress, it was this Cinderella number with a delicately embroidered bodice and gathered silk skirt. When Ash walked down the porch steps, I was shocked! Ash is like me. We rarely get all gussied up so I think we must have both decided to go all-out on our wedding days, lol. I hate to sound goofy, but she was a vision of radiance--the smile, the hair, the dress--she had it all. Ryan and his entourage didn't look half bad, either, in their dress blues. Gotta love the tasty military boys! Oh, and Sara was gorgeous in her claret bridesmaid dress. Seriously, a certifiable hottie. During dinner, Dave and I had the pleasure of meeting a really nice couple from The Valley (Texas Valley, not the other one.) He was Ash's SFC and he entertained us with tales of Ash's exploits while deployed to Afghanistan.

My only regret is that Dave and I had to leave early, after the cake cutting and dances, because we couldn't find a pet sitter for Bos. Originally we had planned to board him at our vet's pet resort, but they have strict vaccination protocols that basically say they won't accept the validity of his prior vaccines because they were given by his foster mommy. It's not like she bought the vaccines herself over the internet, though. She picked them up from the vet who coordinates medical care for their PAWS Rescue group and administered them according to his protocol. But our vet, who is, like, the best vet in town, won't allow Bos to board unless he repeats his vaccines. I know what you're thinking. Just give him the damn shots again, right?

Well, uh, hell no. There are so many new studies and published literature available that details the problems with over-vaccinating dogs. Plus I figure Bos has had a rough enough start to life. I'm not about to put him through the trauma of multiple vaccinations right before I drop him off. He might think I've abandoned him, and more importantly, Great Danes tend to develop life-threatening bloat during extreme stress.

That said, it was a risk Dave and I weren't willing to take. We tried to go the pet sitter route, but all of our friends were going to the wedding or out of town. The professional pet sitters won't come out to the new house because it's in the boondocks. So we ended up doggy proofing the house, buying him some new toys, and leaving him on his own. Hard to believe, but he didn't tear anything up. From what I can tell, he played, ate, played some more, took a piss on the second landing, and then played some more. All in all, not a bad evening for him, lol.

Anywho. I've got to get back to work. We're expecting four houseguests this week, and our house is still a wreck. I've got a two week menu to write and a shopping list to figure out. We've still got to finish moving, and oh yeah, I really, really need to get another chapter tapped out.

I'm off!

Sausage Fest

So after weeks, WEEKS, of waiting, Verizon finally flipped the switch to give me DSL! OMG! I cannot begin to explain how unbelievably frustrating it is not to have internet--especially when the bulk of my daily business (communicating with agent, etc) is done via email. I had to drive seven miles across town to get to the apartment (which is still under lease) to use my cable modem to check my email, send files, etc. So effing annoying.

You know what else is annoying? Verizon. When the house was built, we were told that we would have phone/DSL service through Verizon. There is a green Verizon phone pylon thing in the left corner of our backyard. Yet when I contacted Verizon to order service I was told, "We're sorry, Mrs. O, but you're not eligible for Verizon service."

Hmmm. Curious.

I proceed to explain to the customer service rep that I'm literally standing ten feet from the Verizon box. I'm now touching the Verizon box. If I'm not eligible for service, then what the fuck is this hideous thing taking up the corner that was supposed to be dedicated to my antique roses?!?!

I went through four service reps, climbing the bs hierarchy with each person until I was told, and I quote, "Mrs. O, I don't know what you expect me to do. I can't waste any more time on this." Click.

When Dave walked in from his eye doctor appointment, I was seething. We ended up contacting our local Verizon service center, and the GM there was able to work it out. We order our service and guess what? It takes them 3 weeks--3 weeks!--to turn it on! The guy didn't even properly install the DSL wire that runs from the box to the house. Yeah. We totally have 100 feet of curling almond colored wire winding along the bottom of the fence from to the house. WTF? And guess who thinks it's his new toy? Yeah. Problem.

Oh, and remember those dishes that my cuz and hubby bought us as a wedding gift? Well after convincing the local BB&B staff that we weren't pulling a fast con of some kind, they ordered an exchange to replace the random household item with the dishes. One week later, Dave and I come home after buying groceries to find a huge box on the front step. I am ecstatic! I drag the box inside, put it next to the dining room table, and then head back into the kitchen to put up groceries and organize the new pantry. I completely forget about the dishes until the next morning when I open the package and--and--OMFG!

It's the right dishes, wrong color. WTF?? I mean, Sweet Jay-sus!

After hexing the shipping clerks at BB&B, I finally decided that the rust colored dishes are just as pretty, if not prettier, than the blue. More importantly, the rust complements the table linens we chose. So that's that. I'm done.

On the Bosley front, well, you don't know gross until you've seen a Great Dane puppy sling 1/2 cup of green snot onto your wall/leg/carpet/couch/cabinets with every gigantor sneeze. Apparently dogs develop URIs (upper respiratory infections) during stressful times, like, you know, changing homes. If cleaning up the snot isn't bad enough, we also have to convince him to take his antibiotics. Cripes is that a rough one! He'll eat the pill if i stick it in cheese, but every now and then, he'll manage to separate the pill from the cheese. I'll find green slobber (from the gel capsule) all over the floor, the wall, and the carpet as he tries to wipe the bitter taste off of his tongue.

Yesterday afternoon, I gave him his pill and ran upstairs to brush my teeth. When I came back down, he was resting next to the bottom step and glanced up at me. I swear, he looked like a coke fiend a-la Tony Montana at the end of Scarface. Seriously, his nose and mouth were covered in white dust. Of course, I'm terrified, thinking, "Oh, crap! What did he eat? What is white and dusty? Dave's crack?"

j/k.

Turns out he had cracked a pill, spilled the contents on the kitchen floor, and proceeded to lick it up. Bizarre.

His bizarro behavior keeps me constantly amused. For instance, I found out two nights ago that he likes Vienna sausages. One of my late night writing guilty pleasures is a can of Vienna Sausages. I have this weird thing about rinsing them and dumping them in a glass bowl (has to be clear glass) before I can eat them--and I can only drink a cold Dr. Pepper with them. I know. I'm strange, but whatev. So anywho, I've had a few when I decide to make a run to the little girls' room. When I come back into the dining room, Bos is using my writing chair for balance as he makes a midnight snack of MY midnight snack. Bastard!

Yesterday afternoon, I also found out that his mortal enemy is tuna fish. I was making a sandwich, had a little left in the can, and thought, I'll just dump this onto his dry food, give him a change of pace. He gives it one sniff and freaks the fuck out! Barking, jumping, growling, the works. I try to get to the bowl to get rid of the obviously offending material, but he won't let me get close to his raised stand. Eventually I manage to coax him away with a snausage and dump the bowl into the trash.

Here's the thing, though. Ten minutes later, I get up from the dining table for a refill of iced tea and guess what I find upon my return? You guessed it. Bosley eating my tuna fish sandwich. I'm like, "Are you serious?!?! Ten minutes ago you're trying to rip its throat out, and now it's tasty? You're a nutter, Bos."

Sigh.

On the writing front, I'm chipping away at KoCS and D2L. Plan is to finish the RD of KoCS by August 15 and editing by September 5. D2L will be on the back burner until after KoCS b/c I'm already behind on submitting it to Irene. Oopsy! Real life has a knack of throwing wrenches into my plans....

As for the moving, we're half done, but with the rain every day, it's been difficult. I think we're going to take the hit, rent a Uhaul and move the bulk of the crap on one day. Yuk.

OK. So back to work. I'm not going to get any writing done tomorrow b/c we're heading out of town for Ash's wedding!!! Yay!!

Bringin' Home Baby

We were finally able to get our truck fixed on Saturday morning, and let’s just say that we were slightly chinga’led. First off, Dad gave us an estimate for parts and labor. Being that he works in the mechanical field (as a supervisor for a major global oil and gas servicing company) he knows his stuff. Dave goes over to get the estimate and give them the go ahead to start working and guess what? It’s almost double what Dad said the high-end should be. Now, Dave’s not one to negotiate or argue so he just signed on the dotted line. Sigh.

Anywho. They started work on the truck around 0815, but it was 1330 before they finished which meant that I missed my friend’s bridal shower. AARRGGH! On the bright side, though, I was able to drive down to Webster to get Bosley. The drive down was long and boring. Finding the PetSmart was a little bit of a challenge, considering Saturday afternoon mall traffic, but eventually we found the place.

The store was packed with crates of shelter pets desperate for new homes and owners. Dave is uber-sensitive when it comes to abandoned anything so he skirted the crates of puppies and dogs and kittens and cats for the fish aisle while I tracked down Bosley’s foster mommy. She is this really sweet, generous, kindhearted woman who regularly opens her home to rescue dogs. She was very helpful, gave us a lot of paperwork to fill out and sign, and then talked us through the rehoming process. We also got Bos’ shot records and the details of his latest visit where he was snipped. Oh, and he weighs 44.2 pounds so he’s a tad on the thin side for a 4 month old puppy.

Bosley and his sister, Sabrina, were the only two left in their shared crate. He was obviously nervous and stressed about the entire situation. He’d already watched his other two sisters be adopted that day and was surrounded by dozens of barking, yipping, agitated dogs. The second he stepped out of his cage, he peed, but once we calmed him down, he let us slip a new collar and leash around his neck. He even followed me right out of the store, but when we got to the truck, he plopped down on the concrete and refused to move. Dave lifted him up, and yep, he peed again, lol. We placed him on some towels on the floorboard, between my knees, and then started the drive home. He was sort of weepy and whiney, but all seemed to be going well until we were maybe three stoplights down from the PetSmart and yeah. He totally yakked right on my lap. And let me tell you something, you have not seen vomit until a Great Dane puppy unloads his lunch on you. Sweet Jay-sus! At least it was thick and didn’t run everywhere.

I put a towel over it until we reached a gas station and then Dave cleaned up the mess while I tried to soothe Bos’ nerves. We bought some gas and then back on the highway we went. After a few minutes, Bos settled onto the carpet and went to sleep. When we pulled into the driveway of the house, he refused to get out the truck so Dave had to lift him out again. He followed me into the backyard, but totally freaked out when I opened the gate. I think it may have been the squeaking hinges. Anyways, he took care of his business in the backyard and then followed me inside the house. We fed him, gave him some water, and then walked him around the first floor of the house. He flopped down at the foot of the stairs and we sat down with him, petting him and talking to him. We let him out for another round of poo and pee before bringing him back inside and showing him his new toys. He went to town on his rope and this lime green knobby rubber barbell thing. He played and followed us around the rest of the evening.

When it was bedtime, we blocked him into his corner of the kitchen/breakfast area, and less than a minute later, he was whining and yipping. We tried to ignore it, hoping he would settle down, but not so much. I went downstairs, sat down with him, and waited until he had fallen asleep before sneaking out of the kitchen and back upstairs.

So far he’s fitting in really well. He’s had a few accidents on the new carpet (cringe!) but we’ve caught him in the act every time so it’s been easy to clean up. His accidents yesterday occurred during a thunderstorm and when we came back to the house after running some errands and picking up some more boxes from the apartment. He had a barking fit last night when he caught his reflection in the sidelight of the front door, and oh my god, you should have seen him climbing up on the airbed! First of all, Great Dane puppies are not exactly the most lithe and graceful of babies, lol. He’s kind of goofy looking when he tries to run or climb or jump so just watching him get up on the airbed was hilarious, but then he tried to stretch, and I guess he didn’t realize how close to the edge he was, and he slid right off. It was only a six inch drop to the carpet, but he was terrified.

Oh, and he also learned how to climb stairs last night. Dave got a big ole lick on the face this morning when Bos wandered into the bedroom. LMFAO!

Curses!

Funny story ahead--except for the funny part. So it's been a hectic few days with trying to write and pack. Dave spent the morning running an obstacle course at work (his annual physical agility test) and then waited for our fridge to be delivered by Lowes. Don't you just love it when they say we'll be there between 10 and 2. Right....

Dave finally made it home around 2:30. We had lunch then headed over to PetSmart to pick up the last of the puppy items we need: food, bowls, potty pads, bags, shampoo, etc. We toss everything in the truck and then head over to Wal-Mart for some random stuff like paper towels and things. As we're pausing at a stop sign in the parking lot, we suddenly hear a cacophony of crashing, and the driver's side front end drops down to the concrete. We can't move. We have little steering. We're generally fucked.

Dave is able to drive it a few feet out of traffic and into the overflow garden section of Wal-Mart. He gets out, pops the hood, and takes a peek. Yeah. Not good. The ball joint has snapped off of the left arm. Fuck Beans!

We call a tow truck driver and wait. And wait. And wait. We were basically a bizarre piece of white trash installation art. We should have charged for the privilege of slowing down to gawk.
Tow truck driver gets there and--well--let's just say he was a couple tacos short of a combo. Real nutter. He pulls the truck onto the flatbed. We climb into the cab and drive over to Aggieland Automotive, drop off the truck, fill out a key drop envelope, and head back to the apartment.

This couldn't have happened at a worse time. We're supposed to be moving this weekend. Dave is supposed to work tomorrow. I have a bridal shower and a puppy adoption. I mean, seriously! Jay-sus in a sidecar! Just a break, one little break is all I want.

Anywho. I'm done venting. Going to make dinner now.

AARRGH!

Hey, guess what is really, really, really annoying at 3 am??? Changing your blog template without first copying your customized html code!

Took me an hour and a half to write in all the new code for my sidebars, and they still look crappy. But whatev! I'm so done with it. At least the new color scheme is easier on the eyes.....

Oh, and if you haven't ever heard them, check out my fave new band--and yeah, I realize that I have a new favorite band, like, every week, but tough. deal with it--Explosions in the Sky. They're an Austin based band so you know I'm going to support my fellow Texans!

This Hairy Eyeball Is Reserved for BB&B

After filling out multiple forms and proving my identity, the apartment office staff finally gave me the UPS package that had been dropped off yesterday. This struck me as slightly odd. Seriously, folks, it was easier to get a marriage license than to pick up my package. And yes I get that the apartment complex has to protect itself from theft allegations, etc, but still.

You know, this calls to mind the hypocrisy and absolute futility of Homeland Security. A few weeks ago, a close friend of mine sent her passport out for a visa stamp prior her upcoming trip to Eurasia. She waited patiently for the return of her passport from FedEx, fully aware that she would have to sign for this security sensitive package. Like most people with an attached garage, she almost always uses the side entrance to her house so it was quite a disturbing surprise when she stepped out of her front door one afternoon only to find a soggy FedEx envelope on the doorstep. That's right. They left her passport on a doorstep. She's an upstanding citizen with few dissident beliefs, but can you imagine how easy it would be for someone with evil intentions to forge an application and/or steal a passport? Jeez!

So anywho. The apartment office girl goes into the back and brings out this massive battered box. When I say battered, I mean side caved in, top depressed, tape ripped and carboard slightly soggy. Wow! I'm glad it didn't contain, you know, something fragile or anything! So I trudge home, plop the box onto the couch, and rip into it with gleeful, Christmas morning delight--and guess what?

It's the wrong fucking gift! As in the bill of shipping doesn't match the item inside the box that is clearly maked with 2, TWO, independent inspections by BB&B shipping staff.

My cousin and her husband bought Dave and I a gorgeous set of dishes. I mean, super pretty. She was so excited about them--but what do I get? Well. Not dishes. Something really hideous that I won't describe b/c I really don't want to offend any readers who may have this specific item in their home.

So I call Bed, Bath & Beyond and the guy assures me that I did, in fact, receive a set of dishes. His computer screen tells him so. Hmmm. Curious, very curious. Perhaps my dishes are part of some first wave Earth invasion of tableware that are infected with nanobots that enable them to reorganize themselves into tacky, kitschy household items?

Needless to say he didn't quite appreciate my witty sense of humor but after ten minutes of back and forth banter, he explained that I could simply take the package back to my local BB&B for an expedited exchange. Gee! Thanks!

Anywho. BB&B is officially on my Hairy Eyeball short list now, right behind my archnemesis, Mr. UPS...

Procrastination

So obviously I should be doing something productive, you know, like working through the crap chapter I'm stuck in, but I'm finding it rather hard. And yes, it is almost 0300. Normal people are asleep, but I'm sitting here wasting time not working.

Procrastination is probably my worst trait. Well. It's a close tie with my love for gossip. I ♥ chisme! But I think that's a cultural thing. Or a female thing. Or maybe a combination of both? Who the hell knows....

So what have I been doing rather than writing? Comparing dog foods (you would not believe some of the crap that goes into dog food. seriously. they put dogs and cats in dog food. it's called bone meal. ick!), reading up on neuter surgery after-care and housetraining a puppy, reading reviews of my friends' latest books (i suspect that a lot of snarky reviews are written by struggling writers unable to snag an agent or place a manuscript with an editor,) making new friends on Myspace, working on a genealogy chart for a character in my next book, comparing washer/dryer prices, putting together Dave's homemade carb-conscious meals for the next 3 days, and planning our moving schedule. Oh, and I've got Season 3 of the Golden Girls blaring in the background on my laptop. I ♥ the Golden Girls!

Anywho. I think I'm going to try to get a few pages written. I won't be able to sleep if I don't. I'm going to need my sleep for tomorrow. I may have to engage in mortal combat with the UPS man if he broke our new dishes (a wedding gift from Suzie & Freddie.) That rat bastard in brown shorts has dropped/misplaced his last package addressed to me.

I have never in my life had such a difficult problem with a delivery man. He's still delivering packages (most of them dropped and beaten up) to the apartment office without leaving a notice on our door. Hell he didn't even have the decency to make sure that boxes clearly marked perishable were delivered by the office staff the day following his attempted "delivery." You would have thought that after the Lane Bryant Dress Debacle and my chasing him into the back of his truck (in my PJs, barefoot and brandishing a chancla) that he would have gotten his act together, but nope.

Looks like I'm going to have pull out the Big Guns this time and corner him with one of Dave's workboots...

Bosley

So after months of consideration, Dave and I are getting a puppy!!! I've wanted a Great Dane since I was a young kid, but my parents weren't very keen on the idea of a massive, gangly dog bounding through the house. With two young boys, can you blame them?

Anywho. We had just about decided to just take the plunge with a breeder, but then Dave suggested we consider a rescue. I did a quick search on Pet Finder and found a number of Great Danes in the area. We weren't quite comfortable with taking in an adult Dane on the off chance that it might have behavioral issues. And I have to say that once you start reading through the blurbs accompanying rescue pets--well--it can be rather depressing. There was one dog who had been left tethered to a fence post and a bag of dog food in the middle of nowhere. A Great Dane puppy in Austin named Tiny weighs 3 pounds and is the same size as a freakin' Fresca can. WTF is wrong with people?!?!

We found our puppy in Alvin via their PAWS Rescue Center. His name is Bosley and he's just adorable. He was rescued from a puppy mill where he was held on concrete. He has some raw spots and blisters, but Dave and I are determined to get him the best vet care available (and being CS this shouldn't be too hard.) With a little medical care and proper nutrition, he'll be fine. We finalize the adoption on the 30th, the day after he's being, uh, snipped.

So if you're considering adding a puppy or kitten into the mix, browse Pet Finder first. There are so many wonderful animals who need homes!

What's In A Name?

Getting married is, like, way more than flowers and cake flavors and colors. I mean, yeah, aesthetics are nice, but I'm way more worried about the important things like changing my name.

When I was a little girl, I simply assumed that I would take my husband's surname. Cinderella did it. Or maybe not? I mean, the story ends kind of abruptly. That whole marriage and name changing is implied, but still, you get the point.

It wasn't until high school when I started publishing articles and editorials nationwide that I realized the value of my name. Writing is all about branding. People associate names with genres, likeability (is that even a word?), etc. For instance I hear James Patterson and immediately "suspense, thriller" pops into my mind. Kathleen E. Woodiwiss equals sweeping historical romance while Khaled Hosseini or Gabriel Garcia Marquez make me think of literary masterpieces.

Being that I write literary and YA fiction with a Latina bent, my last name is kind of important. I considered keeping Maria L. Hernandez as my career name and taking Overstreet as my legal name. In fact, I had all but settled on that until I started doing pretend introductions in front of the mirror a few mornings before the wedding. That's when I realized that Maria L. Overstreet sounds weird. And no, not in that "Oh! That's different" way. More like, "WTF?"

It suddenly dawned on me that I wasn't just replacing an interchangeable name with a different one. I was replacing my identity. All of my life I've identified as a Latina. Am I really 100% Latina? No, not really. I have a Hispanic father and a Caucasian mother, but I was raised primarily in the Mexican American culture. I'm a roasted corn and pan dulce munching, pinata smacking, mariachi listening girl and Hernandez is a part of that.

Now I have to say that Dave has never once pressured me into taking his name. He's just, like, whatever makes you happy. That said I finally settled on Hernandez-Overstreet. Obviously our kids will go by Overstreet only b/c seriously, I'm not mean enough to slam my kindergartner with a 19 letter last name. That's just cruel.

So that's that. Oh, and just for your amusement here's a snippet of Dave's interaction with the saleswoman at Men's Warehouse.

Dave: I wanted to let you know up front that I couldn't find my tie.

Her in a helfpul tone: Well did you ask the other guys if they found an extra one?

Dave: Um...they weren't there when I got undressed.

Her: Oh.

It's All Right

So OK--a ton has happened since my last post so I'll just hit the highlights.

The rehearsal went really well. During the first run through, after Sara pronounced us husband and wife and Dave and I kissed, Joey (the older of my two younger bros) yelled out, "Hey! Get your hands off my sister!" Pretty funny actually. Dinner was fantastic, and Dave gave a nifty off-the-cuff speech.

The actual wedding day was hectic. The power went out sometime mid-morning and didn't pop back on until almost one o'clock. Yeah. Panic much? Luckily Sara was uber-cool about everything. Everyone was running behind but she just pitched right in and got things moving. She was officiant/photog assistant/family herder/wedding site liaison/greeter/tailor/insert randomness here.

Because the stress level was high, Marcos decided to slip in one of his trademark laidback jokes to calm everyone down. We were taking pre-wedding photos (me, Dave, my mom and dad, Joey, Marcos, & Tricia), and Marcos semi-whispers, "Dave, don't it! You're throwing your life away!"

Yeah. Lots of laughs on that one.

After that, it was smooth sailing. Well. There was one recurrent problem, but I'm not really ready to hash that one out in public. So yeah. Everything went really well after that. The Kyle House was gorgeously decorated. The ceremony went off without a major snafu. Hell, I didn't even trip over my dress and face plant down the aisle!

The food was amazing, and the cake was scrumptious. I loved meeting new family, making new friends, and catching up with old friends. Speaking of friends! I heard some fantastic news, but I'm not going to share because I'm pretty sure that it's something that's still really private.
The cake cutting and toasting was memorable. First of all, two of Dave's friends have the cutest little girl, and she was so well behaved. During the cake cutting, she started yanking on Dad's pant leg, and when he looked down she said, "Happy Birthday!" Now if that isn't just the most adorable thing ever, I don't know what is...

Oh, and of course, Kyle gave quite a toast. Suffice to say the most memorable line was, "...and may the only ups and downs come in the bedroom." Yeah. I found it hilarious and on par with my bawdy sense of humor. My grandmother, however, not so much. Still. I loved it!

When I threw the bouquet, I gave a little too much oomph and launched it over the heads of the single ladies. It landed with a thud on the sidewalk and my young cousin, Alex, picked it up. God, that was funny! After that, we raced to the truck, and as soon as we turned the ignition, the A/C vents blasted stripper dust hearts all over the cab. No doubt that came from my Joey's pockets, lol.

By the time we got to the Victorian cottage in Calvert, I realized that I had left my overnight bag in Sara's car! Luckily, I had an extra outfit packed in Dave's suitcase, but I had no toiletries. I scrounged through Dave's things and used the rubber band on his phone charger cord to wrangle my hair into the Miss Freihoffer (you'll have to ask what that is if you're confused.)

In the morning, we had breakfast in the Parrish House proper, a gorgeous Victorian home with a wonderful owner and the fattest, goofiest dog you've ever seen! Breakfast was fan-freakin'-tastic! Baked apples with cinnamon granola and whipped cream, soft scrambled eggs with gruyere in a pastry package topped with hollandaise sauce, pepper corn bacon, grilled parmesan oregano tomato with mushrooms, Oh My God biscuits, gingerbread squares, canteloupe, strawberries, jam, juice, and coffee. We visited with Bronwen and her boyfriend for a few hours and took a grand tour of the house. Oh, and incidentally, the boyfriend, Bill, works in publishing, and she works in the furniture store just down the street from our new house! Nifty, huh?

We drove back to CS, met up with my parents, doled out cake, took the extended family out to see the new hosue, and heard all about their late night at Bennigans next to the hotel. Apparently they weren't quite ready for bed afer the wedding so they all walked over to Bennigans, pulled together enough tables for 20, and started kicking back the drinks and telling stories in true Hernandez family fashion.

After all of our family was gone, Dave and I were all alone in the house and we had one of those holy-shit-what-have-we-done moments about buying the new house. Sara warned us about that. It passed quickly, though.

Today we slept in, had some Chinese for lunch, did some mattress comparison shopping, and then stopped by Lowes for a manguera (hose), sprinkler, some Scotts Starter for the new sod, a ceiling fan for the living room, blinds for our "standard" size windows, quotes for our "not standard" windows, and a gorgeous six light old world bronze chandelier. It was originally 90 bucks but was on clearance. They didn't have any left, though, but I convinced Dave to ask if they would sell us the display model. They said sure, and since it was missing a bracket (a $3 piece) they sold it to us for ten freakin' bucks! Sweet!

We borrowed Sara's ladder and drove back to the house to install everything. Well. OK. Dave actually did the installing. I learned how to work the new gas range (being a gourmet cook you'd think I would have used gas, but alas, I'm a true 21st century chica, lol) and managed to maim myself with a tape measure. Yeah. Someone should have told me that unfurling 27 feet of metal tape was a hazard. That bastard came flying back into the metal holder thing and almost took off my pointer and middle finger and slapped my chin!

We made a quick stop at Subway, and seriously, the girl who works there must ride the shortbus. Here's the short version of our conversation.

Her: What would you like?
Me: Oven roasted chicken on Italian Herb and Cheese.
Her one minute later: And what did you want on this bread?
Me: Oven roasted chicken breast.
Her thirty seconds later: And what kind of cheese?
Me: American.
Her: And what meat did you want?
Me: OVEN ROASTED CHICKEN BREAST.
Her: OK. (She then slaps ROAST effing BEEF onto the bread.)

Rather than stroke out, I just let it go. We came home, watched Hell's Kitchen (omg! Is Gordon Ramsay hot or is Gordon Ramsay hot? Oh, and the other day I read a review that said "...Gordon Ramsay is the R. Lee Ermey of cooking." LMFAO) Sara, Tom, and Alison came over for to relieve us of some cake, champagne, wine, cookies, and flowers. Oh, and Tom had just returned from a Mason meeting. Yeah. Those Masons. Apparently our wedding reception was a Mason recruiting session?!?!

So anyways. It's like 0122 and I've finished reconciling the finances and we are solidly in the black. SQUEE!!! We're also surrounded by piles and piles of wedding gifts that I have absolutely no idea what to do with. I suppose I should pile them into containers for moving into the house. Or I could just veg out on the couch for, like, half an hour and then slip into bed. Yep. That sounds good. I'm off to find a stupid infomercial. Maybe I'll get lucky and find that one for the Tater Mitts....

3 Things

Three things that I found interesting during my all nighter:

1) Tater Mitts
2) Rodrigo y Gabriela
3) Two nights ago while surfing CNN, I did a double take as I scrolled past a blurry pic of G8 Summit protesters in Rostock, Germany. Two protesters looked familiar, but I couldn't be sure. Just about ten minutes ago, I looked up as the CNN American Morning crew ran through the day's headlines. As I watched a short clip of the protesters, sure enough there they were. I'm not going to use names b/c I'm paranoid like that, but one is a very dear friend who I've kind of lost touch with during the past seven months. The other is a girl who attended our school as part of an exchange program. Neither are radical, but both are concerned, involved types. Anywho. It was interesting to me but probably not to you....

Oh, and the Tater Mitts infomercial is simply fascinating. Even though it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen, I soooooo want one! And Rodrigo y Gabriela are amazing! You should check out their YouTube clips! OMG! That girl can play! And whoever would have thought a Mexican guitar duo straight outta Mexico City would have found success in Ireland? Can you say "globalization??"

Jumble

Fair Warning: This post is just going to be a jumble of thoughts. You may want to just skim through for the good parts, lol.

So I went home for a working vacation. Sat through a ton of school functions like spring concert, baccaulareate (yeah, I was shocked too. I tried to point out to a couple of people that it's, you know, ILLEGAL to require students to attend functions praising the Almighty JC, but Eldorado is seriously stuck in a time warp...) and then, of course, the graduation ceremony. Graduation was great. Short, sweet, done. We took some pictures, drank some beer, and that was that. Marcos seems happy to done with school but is a bit aimless now. I'm sure he'll figure it out soon.

Oh, and did I mention how freakin' tacky the spring concert was? Um, yeah. E-town used to have the most kickass band program in Texas. We won 20 plus years of state medals and were one of those bands that when we took the field people postponed their nacho runs to watch us perform. So anywho, the new guy is sort of a joke. I mean, what band director admits to a packed audience that he was "suprised" when he realized that Andrew Lloyd Webber composed Cats, Jesus Christ Superstar, and Phantom of the Opera. Uh, hello???? And I realize that it's not the students' fault that they aren't getting the right kind of musical education so I cringed through a cacophany of conflicting sharp and flat notes and uneven tempos. That said, I couldn't contain my disgust when the band director started showing this horrendous PowerPoint presentation while the band played a patriotic tune. The presentation started off fine with lots of eagles, flags, kids playing in front yards, soldiers, etc, but then, all of a sudden, the entire screen was taken up by an image of Osama bin Laden. Yeah. Awkward. And then it was slide after slide of super tacky World Trade Center images. I mean fire balls, explosions, bloody people, and general destruction. OK. I realize that we can't sugar coat history, but there is a time and place for stuff like that and a school music production with an audience full of toddlers probably isn't the best time.... And because the director didn't maintain tempo the music was off so rather than just continuing the concert regardless of the slides, he restarts the slides at the OBL section so we have to watch the whole damn thing all over again. I was just speechless....

While I was home, I always attended a bridal shower thrown in my honor by my cousins, Andrea & Suzie. It was so lovely! Beautiful tables with candles, rose and carnation centerpieces, and sprinklings of bridal confetti. The food was delicious, and the games were hilarious. I had a really great time and can't wait to get back my pictures!!! They're definitely going in the scrapbook!

Mom finished the gazebo swag, the fans, and the toasting glasses. The woman is a phenom with a glue gun! We drove all over San Angelo in search of a tiara, but I didn't find one. Luckily my younger sis has an eye for these kinds of things, and she chose one for me when she was in San Angelo earlier this week. As far as other wedding stuff goes, I think we're, like, done. I've got to mail my photog worksheet tomorrow, call Julie with our final head count, and make our final cake choices on Sunday. Sara and I discussed the ceremony format and as soon as Dave and I make our reading choices, I'll type it up and email it her way. I ordered flowers and discussed bouquet designs with Mom. Everything else is piddly stuff that has to wait until a few days before the wedding.

We have our first house walk through on Wednesday. Our final walk through and closing are on the 14th so we'll (well Dave) will own the house two days before we get married. Yikes! We've sort of picked out appliances that we're going to need (fridge, washer and dryer.) We'll probably make a run to Lowes and Home Depot this week to compare prices, service warranties, etc.

I'm kind of debating writing this last part b/c I try to keep this blog upbeat, but the longer I sit here, the more I think that being honest is OK. Life isn't always sunshine and daisies, you know? Unfortunately, I'm learning that the hard way. I will say that during the past two weeks I've had some real shitty moments. I don't know why, but weddings seem to bring out the worst in people. I've never had so many snide, mean, crass, or thoughtless comments directed at me in all of my life. I won't go into specifics because I don't want to cause any more arguments, but come on, people. And I can tell you right now that I, in no way, instigated these tiffs. It was so bizarre. Every where I went people were just taking pot shots at me. Bastards.

Anywho. I need to get some writing done, and my Dr. Pepper is hot. Need ice cubes. I'll post again soon.

Stop, Drop, and Roll! You're on Fire!

Who doesn't love The Bravery? And Public Service Announcement is, like, one of their best songs. And it totally fits my mindset today. Can you say stressed?

First, I have to say that I was incredibly stoked this morning to see that Kelly Parra commented on my blog!! OMG! I love reading author and agent blogs, but very rarely do agents/authors return the comments. I feel so uber special, lol! Oh, and if you have a chance you should buy Kelly's new book Graffiti Girl . I've heard that it's fantastic and am just waiting for my first chance to run out to B&N to get it.

So yesterday was fun. We ran a lot of wedding errands including hunting down a stamp for the cake boxes, trying to find a bakery that sells Mexican wedding cookies, and getting our marriage license. The actual applying part was easy, but getting into the damn courthouse was a pain! All of downtown Bryan is under construction. And whoever designed the courthouse seems to have forgotten to include space for parking lots. Yeah. So not cool. We had to hike, like, a mile and a half over exposed manholes, around orange cones, under road barriers, and then, of course, through the security checkpoint. I was kind of hoping we'd get a pretty marriage license like my cousin Suzie (hers is from San Antoni) but ours is, well, sort of fugly. It doesn't help that the "deputy" who filled out the forms and the license was, like, twelve and had crap handwriting. But, oh well....

We also stopped by La Michoacana, the new "Latino" supermarket in Bryan just before the bend, and I love the place. I mean, how can you not love a market with a roasted corn stand out front??? Inside, they had the tastiest looking taco bar and toward the back was a full service deli with loads of chorizo, barbacoa, and even menudo! And did I mention their panaderia was phenomenal? I couldn't help myself! I had to buy three fresh pan dulce. They were orgasmic! Sure, their bakery didn't have wedding cookies but walking into that store was like going home. It's my new favorite place!

And now my phone is ringing. Brb.

OMG! OMG! That was Dave! Our builder just called to schedule our first and final walk-thrus and the closing! This is so exciting! We'll be the owners of the house before the wedding! Yay!

Of course, we'll be completely broke, but to hear Mom talk, that's just a fact of being married, lol. OK. So I'm exaggerating. We won't be broke broke. You know, not beans and rice broke, but more like no more splurging on organic fruit, milk, and beef broke. And we won't be moving into the house until July-ish when Dad and the rest of the family come down to help us move. That's one of my parents' other wedding gifts. We have plenty of time to save some extra cash for all of those last minute moving expenses like deposits, paint, and food for my moving crew, lol.

I've got to pack because I'm going home for a week with the family. We're celebrating Marcos' graduation and my cousins are hosting a bridal shower. My posh sis is going to walk me through a couple hair and makeup trials until we find the right wedding style, and Mom and I are going to knock out some last minute wedding crafty things like the swag for the gazebo, tying ribbons on fans, and stamping cake boxes. We've also got to go find a tiara, shoes, and OMG! I just realized I haven't even thought about my something old, new, borrowed, and blue! Let's see. Dress is new. Dave is old. So I need something blue and borrowed.....

Speaking of Dave, he's got me under strict no work/no stress watch today and next week. He's worried about me because I've had constant heartburn, nausea, insomnia and headaches for the last seven or eight days. And before anyone jumps on me for being a bridezilla, it's not that. Yes, I'm made most of the wedding decisions, but Dave has equally shared all of the implementation of those choices. I'm just suffering from a really horrid cosmic convergence of stress. In the next four weeks, I'm watching my younger brother graduate, attending my bridal shower, closing on the house, getting married, and of course, anxiously waiting to hear back from publishers about my book. And, oh yeah, I'm trying to work through the "sagging middle" of my current manuscript.

So rather than going against my "doctor's" orders, I'm signing off and heading off to the couch for a little lounging and some DVDs. Laters.

Happy Fat

I heard that term for the first time a few minutes ago, and it was like, "Ding! Ding! Ding!" I had a real light bulb moment. I am "Happy Fat."

Look. I've always been chubby. Through middle and high school, I fluctuated between a 14 and an 18. When I started college, I wore a loose 18, but because of my dorm diet (caffeine, carbs, and lots of alcohol) I climbed up to 20 by the end of that first semester and hovered near a 22 when I started my sophomore year. Over the past few years I've steadily packed on the pounds, but seem to have leveled off 18-24 months ago at my current size, a 24.

Yeah. I know. It's unhealthy, and with my family's medical history, I should get the weight off, but that's definitely easier said than done. More importantly, I've realized that I have, like, zero motivation to lose weight. I am deliriously happy. No really. I'm passionately in love with Dave. I love my crazy family. I have tons of amazing friends. I'm making strides in my writing career. I'm getting married. I'm moving into a new home. I'm getting a Great Dane in a few months. I have a smoking hot sex life. I mean, seriously, there's no reason for me to start depriving myself. I guess I've finally gotten to the point where I don't beat myself up about my weight. I'm happy. And that's good.

That said....well...I mean, come on. I'm an intelligent young woman who realizes that shaving off some extra pounds would be a really good idea. Plus, I saw Dr. Oz on Oprah yesterday, and he pulled out this fat person's omentum, and OMG! I almost yakked right there in the living room! I was, like, OMG! That's what my omentum looks like? Ew. Ew! EWWWW!

So Dave and I had a long talk about how I'm always doing for everyone else but neglect myself. As in, I spend hours every week planning, calculating, and cooking Dave's meals so he's getting just the right number of carbs, fiber, protein, etc. to keep his diabetes in check, but I don't do that for myself. Hmmm. Curious, no?

Now obviously I'm not going to try to diet right this week or the next. Hello! I'm getting married in one month! And our house is almost finished! And I've got to go home for my bridal shower! And I'm busy writing and crossing my fingers that someone will buy my damn book! Yeah. Way too much stress to start dieting now.

Once we've moved into the house, I'm going to start eating exactly what Dave eats. We're going to work out together and focus on solid nutritional intake. It's not going to be easy or fun, but that's OK. The sooner I get healthy, the sooner I can seriously consider the options for kicking those ovaries into working condition (if that's a possibility) and take that European vacation I've always wanted. And yeah, I realize that a vacay seems like a really weird motivator, but let's face it. At my current size, I would be forced to buy an extra seat to accomodate these chunky Latina hips of mine, and well, that would not only be embarrassing, but uber-expensive.

Anyways. I'm rambling now. The point is I'm "Happy Fat" and okay with that. So back to work....

Ketchup

Can't sleep again so I've been up since just after 0300. Sigh. I thought I'd take a break from working on my latest chapter to update the blog. So let's see....

Went home for Tricia's Quince and it was fantastic!!! We were surrounded by tons of family (some feuding, some not) and friends. Tricia looked absolutely gorgeous in her pink gown, and Mom's planning was perfect. For the meal, Mom decorated the room with lots of spring flowers and pink and green tablecloths. Dad hired a fabulous caterer, and then, at the very last second, decided he was way too nervous to give the toast so it got kicked over to yours truly. So I thought about it for about five minutes and just whipped a few quick lines. Here it is so you can bask in my glorious wordiness: Tricia, this is the first of many steps along the path to womanhood, and we are so proud of the gracious, intelligent, beautiful young woman you have become. We hope you have many more wonderful days just like this..."

After the dinner, we had a quick break and then it was dance time. The dance hall was decorated in an enchanted garden theme with a bridge (that Joey built!), water feature, brick wall and starry night paper covering the walls, thousands of twinkling lights, and even live trees! It started off a little slow, but an hour into it, the place was crawling with Eldorado's best dancing fools. I danced, drank, danced, drank, drank, drank, danced, drank, drank, and yeah, drank some more. In my defense, it's been a long, long time since I've had anything more than a glass of wine so I decided to saturate myself in as much tasty beer and rum as I could find.

We stayed a few more days, long enough to help clean up the civic center, and of course, to gorge ourselves on delicious leftovers and cake. Mmmm. Cake. Then it was back to CS to deal with wedding and house jazz. The wedding is coming along well. Today we make our final payment to the Kyle House--all $3600 bucks of it. Yikes! We've paid off our photography and had our engagement portraits taken. And, I must say that our photog is, like, the best! She's so efficient and friendly. She recommended the TAMU Horticulture Gardens which were in full bloom and so beautiful. She knew all of the best places to stand, gave us pointers on our stances, and is just so much fun to talk to. Seriously, anyone who needs a photog, hit me up! Dave and I have decided that she'll be the only formal photog we'll ever use again.

As for the house, construction is barreling along. By last Sunday, they had installed everything up to cabinets which left only countertops, sinks, bathroom fixtures and toilets, paint, lights and random hardware, carpeting, and landscaping. Fingers crossed they'll be finished by the end of May so we can close and be done with it. Our builder and mortgage people sent Dave an email the other day asking if they could schedule our closing for June 15th. Yeah. That's right. I was like, um, let's see. Maybe we can squeeze it in between me picking up my gown from its final pressing, picking up wedding cookies, clipping and stripping flowers, and holding our rehearsal. Sure. Why not?

On the writing front, well, I got another rejection, this one from St. Martins. We're still waiting to hear from HarperCollins, but Irene and I discussed other places we might submit in this nailbiting quest to find a home for my book. I try not to think about it very much, though. Sure, I send out the good vibes, but overall, I just can't worry about it. Not with everything else going on. I've been steadily chipping away at finishing the rough draft for D2L and hope to have it finished by the end of May because, let's face it, June is going to be a complete loss as far as writing goes.

So anywho. That's what's going on here. I should definitely get back to work now....

Senseless

Like a lot of people, I find myself deeply affected by a tragedy that literally has nothing to do with me. I am, of course, talking about the massacre at Virginia Tech. It's almost too much to comprehend. The deranged state of mind the killer must have been in, the fear and panic that gripped those students and faculty who came face to face to a gun, the pain of bullets ripping through one's body, desperately wanting to live, but experiencing that split second of fear just before drawing that final ragged breath, the soul numbing, heart wrenching pain that mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, friends, and lovers are suffering through as they come to grips with an unexplainable loss....

The motive (if there was one.) the lack of university response in those crucial hours following the first two killings, who jumped in front of bullets to save friends and students, who died immediately, and who gasped and hemmorhaged for what must have felt like hours but was only a matter of minutes before finally passing--some or all of these questions will be answered in the days and weeks that follow. Families need closure, and the public has to satiate it's lust for the perverse and macabre.

If anything, this, like the death of Kurt Vonnegut and the illness of Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez, has just made it painfully clear to me that I have to keep telling the people I love that I love them. It might sound goofy, but I literally cannot let Dave leave the house in he morning without telling him this exact same thing: "Be careful. Drive safe. Call me when you get there. I love you." Odder still is that if he has to come back into the house to get something (cell phone, meds, CDs,) I have to tell him the same thing again. I'm just terrified that I might jinx him or something. And, even stranger, is that I never erase messages left by friends and family until I have a newer one. After watching 28 Grams and the scene where Naomi Watts listens to the last message her husband and young daughters left on her cell phone over and over while sobbing on her bed, I've been unable to let messages go until I'm sure that I have another one.

I also don't hold grudges against friends and family. Not since my grandfather's death when I was in high school, at least. I'll never forget my aunt screaming and sobbing and crumpling to the ground in the middle of the road after he died. They hadn't been on good terms for months, and he passed unexpectedly, depriving both of them of the chance for reconciliation. She's never been the same since, and I realized that it's just not worth it. Have my parents done things that have hurt me? Yeah. Have I done things that have hurt my parents? Sure, I was a teenager, after all. But you know what? It doesn't matter. I know that whatever my parents may have done, however bizarre or painful their reactions may have been, that they did it out of LOVE.

Most of the ridiculous things that spark disagreements, grudges, and feuds between people aren't done purposefully, with malice or spite. Usually, they're spurred by love, but inevitably are skewed in delivery. But that's OK. It happens. People aren't perfect. We make mistakes. I accept that people make mistakes, and if they give an apology, I let it go. Hell, there are some things I'll never get an apology for, but it's just not worth making a scene over, you know?

I've let all of those old issues go, and I strive for peace in all of my relationships. I refuse to be consumed by the guilt of knowing that I let some ridiculously insignificant action ruin my relationship with anyone. I'm a better person than that, and the people I love deserve better than that. Anything else would be--well--senseless....

So It Goes...

If you're well read or ever took part in literary criticism, you've probably already guessed what this post is about based on the title, an iconic phrase that was often used by a certain author to describe death, particulary the deaths of Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King.

Kurt Vonnegut has died. I can't even begin to explain my sadness. Yes. I never actually met him, but I've devoured all of his books, most of them multiple times. Through his brambly prose and altar egos like Kilgore Trout, he allowed his readers a view into his incredibly sagacious mind, sharing not only tidbits of his life's story (Slaughterhouse-Five) but also his political and personal views on issues such as war, death, the environment, conspicuous consumerism, and religion. (Anyone else remember The Church of God the Utterly Indifferent?)

He was an irreverent iconoclast who discarded the rules of grammar and accepted verse structures in order to freely transmit his feelings to the page, and a literary activist who used the written word, carefully masked as fiction, to positively influence young minds and spur debate inside and outside the classroom. He was, in my humble view, a true "writer's writer." He was a man who captured the complexities of life in wildly humorous and entertaining tales not for money or recognition but simply because he had something to say. He wanted to share his truth--and he did.

I have to say that this has not been a good week for my favorite authors. Not only has Kurt Vonnegut passed away, but the author who breathed life into Latina fiction and taught me to embrace my style of writing, Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez author of the hugely successful The Dirty Girls Social Club, has announced that she is cancelling Chica Lit Festival 2007 for health reasons. She has struggled with bulimia for some time, but the effects of the disease have finally caught up with her. She has been forced to confront her own mortality, and in some strange way, it brings the issue to the forefront of my mind.

Except, well, I'm not really worried about it. No, I don't want to die. I'd very much like to live to be 100, but this is reality folks. Women on my father's side live into their late 90s, early 100s, but on Mom's side, there's not a lot of good news. Women rarely see 65 in her family. Yeah. Not good. Add to that the following: I'm overweight. I'll probably develop Type II diabetes b/c of family history and my own bad lifestyle choices. I also have two mild, normally unproblematic heart conditions that are only problematic if, you know, I decide to get pregnant when the odds of me having a heart attack, embolism, aortic dissection, etc, skyrocket. Of course, that doesn't stop relatives from refusing to accept that we'll probably have to adopt, but what can you do, right? You don't want people to get their hopes up about pregnancies b/c not only do you have heart conditions, but you also have PCOS, so you tell people, "Hey, we're probably going to adopt." And what do you hear? Something along the lines of, "Oh, don't worry about it. Lose a little weight and your reproductive problems will fix themselves." Sigh. I know. As if my PCOS is really my biggest worry....

Anyways. Where was I? Oh, yes.

We all die. End of story. Truth be told, I'm more frightened by the prospect of loved ones dying--namely Dave, my siblings or friends. Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles--well--their deaths don't really faze me. No, I'm not some cold, callus bitch. I'm a pragmatist. They're older. They have health conditions. They've lived great lives. If they were to pass away today or tomorrow, people would mourn, but they would also find comfort in the idea that the deceased had lived. You know, experienced life, fell in love, suffered heartbreaks, fell in love again, raised children or grandchildren, laughed, cried, sang, made love--all the important things.

But my siblings, my friends, and Dave--well--I'm not ready for them to go yet. They all have so much to accomplish, so many things to experience, that if they were taken from me, I would be seriously, seriously pissed. That kind of dragging-Polydegmon-out-of-Hades-for-some-serious-ass-kicking pissed. I want everyone that I love to outlive me. It's selfish, I know, but that's what I want. Yes. I know what you're thinking. "If wishes were horses...."

Now that I'm slighlty depressed, I'm going to bury my despair in a pile of Oreos and some Spongebob Squarepants. I'll leave you with the last entry in Vonnegut's final book of essays A Man Without a Country. For time's sake, I'm only using the last few lines of the poem "Requiem."

When the last living thing
Has died on account of us
How poetical it would be
If Earth could say,
In a voice floating up
Perhaps
From the floor
Of the Grand Canyon,
"It is done."
People did not like it here.

Slogging Thru It

It's, like, 0120, and I've been taking a break from writing to read some weekend blog updates. One of my favorite blogs, Star Captains Daughter, is written by a fellow writer who is very active in the blogging writer community. Today she blogs about the frustrating (and sometimes soul crushing) path to snagging an agent. It brought to mind my search for an agent, and I realized that maybe it was time to chronicle my journey.

I've been writing since I first learned how to string together words to form sentences. Before that, I was always telling stories to entertain my younger brother or even my stuffed animals. I devoured books, and often re-wrote the endings to suit my tastes. I always knew that I was going to be an author. It was just a matter of getting my big break. I wrote seven complete manuscripts between sixth grade and my senior year of high school. Most of them are in the 85 to 110 thousand word range, and while not masterpieces of literature, they served an important purpose: they allowed me to grow as a writer and refine my craft.

The first two years of college, I hardly wrote anything at all. Sure, I was constantly jotting down ideas for future projects, and I would write the occassional erotica story to amuse myself, but I didn't work on a single novel. In 2004, I decided that I needed to make time and started working on a historical romance. It was a hulking manuscript of behemoth proportions, and while the concept was one that would be considered "high concept" the story was just too long. There were too many characters, too much description, and it dragged. Realizing it needed a lot of work and having already lost interest in the characters, I shelved the manuscript.

I sat around for a while, trying to decide what I would write next. I had two stacks of spirals filled with handwritten synopses for some sixty stories, but they were all fantasy or romance. I wanted to write something with teeth, something real, something organic.

During the summer of 2005, I was at home with my family and sifting through some old high school papers and awards. I found a handwritten letter from Elmer Kelton (the acclaimed western novelist) who had graciously read and critiqued a historical manuscript I sent to him during high school. He said the writing was strong and the story interesting, but he wondered why I was writing a story set in Venice. He gave me the severely cliched line that makes a lot of writers cringe. "Write what you know," he said.

Sitting back, I thought about his advice, and finally, it was clear. Write what I know. So I did. In a little over four weeks, I completed A Bourgeois Existence, a book that chronicled a group of friends as they navigated through the quagmire of college, searching for the meaning of life, love, and ultimately happiness. It was a story that mirrored my life at the time, and when I was finished, I felt as if I had really accomplished something.

But, as often happens in this business, none of the agents I queried felt the same way. I had a few requests for partials, two requests for fulls, but they all ended in rejection. I won't lie. It hurt--a lot. I cried. I cussed. I vowed never to write again. But I couldn't stop writing. Something about that story had changed me. I realized that despite the painful rejections, I wanted to try again, to put myself through it all over again, just on the off chance that I might finally succeed.

I started writing Sangre in the January 2006 and by March had finished the novel. I started querying agents, and out of 21 queries, I received eight requests for partials and one enthusiastic request for a full. All of the agents who requested partials rejected me, but every single one of them added handwritten or personalized rejection letters, many of them telling me that they felt my novel was more suited for the literary market rather than the commercial market. The agent who requested my full liked the story, but felt the manuscript needed extensive revisions. She sent me detailed pages of advice and thoroughly marked my manuscript, pointing about passages that were far too lenghthy, places where I should elaborate, etc. I revised the manuscript during the fall, and by the end of December, Irene, my future agent, was reading it. On New Year's Eve, I received an email offering representation, and now my manuscript is making the rounds of editors' desks.

Sure, I've received a handful of rejections from publishers, but hey, it only takes one yes. And even if Sangre doesn't sell, I'm confident my next novel will. It's that confidence, that unshakable belief in one's self, that leads to success. In any career field, you're going to hit a few walls, but you've just got to slog through them. As my friends and I often tell one another: Cowboy up and deal with it.

That said, I'm going to slog through another chapter and then it's off to bed. Until tomorrow....

Got My Nuts From A Hippy

Yeah, the title's weird, and no, there's no tie in with the rest of the post. I'm just listening to The Fratelli's Costello Music album, and the song playing right now is, you guess it, Got My Nuts From A Hippy. Now onto the post....

For the last eight hours (minus a one hour dinner/Jericho break,) I worked on wedding invitations. I'm not even close to being finished yet. Sigh. I still have to punch holes, thread ribbon, address the inner envelope, stand in line at post office, apply postage to invites and reply envelopes, stuff in order, and drop in mail. This doesn't take into account the twenty plus hours of design, cutting, glueing, etc, that I've already put into them. I'm really depressed about the handpainted Indian paper that I ordered, too. It was supposed to be the accent paper for the invitations, but when I put together my test run invite, the Indian paper was just too dark of a pink and clashed with the petal backing. I considered ordering a different accent paper, but considering they're handpainted and take weeks to come in, it wasn't a viable option. Plus I've already gone over budget with the invites. Granted, it's only twenty bucks or so over, but still. I'm a stickler for budgeting so I can't excuse the extra expense. In the end, I had to scrap the Indian paper which makes the invites look sort of plain, but apparently, Dave likes them better this way. He's into the laid back, organic, minimal look. Go figure.

As I sit here typing and cringing, it's occurred to me that paper crafts probably aren't such a great idea for a girl who makes a living writing/typing. My fingers are all covered in glue, covered in razor nicks and paper cuts. Ouch! Seriously, folks, next time I get the brilliant idea to make invitations for more than ten people, somebody please deme un putaso. Or threaten me with a chancla. Sometimes I need to be protected from myself--especially my over-achieverness.

Anywho. The plan for tomorrow is to head to the post office, pick out a Quince outfit and a package of clear bra straps (mine have disappeared) from Lane Bryant, and stop by the grocery store for some last minute Easter dinner must-haves. Not that we're having Easter dinner, but still. Dave works Sunday so we're doing it Saturday. I think Alison will be in town so maybe she'll stop by and partake of my tasty spread. Note to self: Call Alison!

Oh! Yes! Alison news! So Alison is attending pharmacy school in Austin and recently received her internship assignment--and guess what? It's here! In Bryan! Yay! That means that when she's not chipping away at her forty hours/week of work, we can hang out! I'm so excited b/c I've really missed Alison this past year.

Lauren, too. And Ash. And Sara. But the summer is coming up and the wedding which means we get to spend some time together. I've just got to make more of an effort of sending out those emails and making phone calls....

OK. I've got laundry, dishes, and a kitchen to clean. And, of course, a chapter to start. Must get more caffeine!

Disaster Averted

Taking a break from wedding jazz to update the blog. Life is hectic, but as I seem to thrive on stress, I'm doing OK.

First, let me say: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!!!! He's the big 47 today. Yeah. That's right, my mom married a younger man! Only three years younger, but back in the eighties (before Demi Moore set the new standard), I'm sure that was like cradle robbing....

Oh, and for all the other Jim Butcher fans out there: White Night is in stores today! Run out and get your copy! (And yeah, I realize the title lends itself to visions of the KKK, but I promise it couldn't be farther from it. It's book 9 in the amazing urban fantasy series The Dresden Files. And yes, I realize there is a somewhat stinky SciFi show loosely based on the books, but believe me, the show has only captured may one half of a percentage point of the gripping storytelling and awesome characters, namely wizard Harry Dresden, that Jim Butcher created. Don't believe me? Read the first novel. You'll be hooked.)

I had my first huge wedding disaster on Friday. Wouldn't you know it concerned my dress? Sigh. So my parents are paying for my dress b/c that's what parents do. When I couldn't find a dress near my hometown, Dad handed me a wad of cash and told me to go crazy in Houston until I found THE DRESS. As I've chronicled below, it tooks days of searching, but eventually, I found THE DRESS at David's Bridal in Spring. I pay the deposit, put the dress on layaway, and ask my bridal consultant, G., about the store policies. Specifically, I asked about the due date of payments, payment methods, alterations, and housing my dress in-store until close to my wedding date. I was told, and I quote, "The balance is due March 30, 2007. You can pay in store or over the phone with a credit card. Yes, we do alterations in-store, and of course, you can leave your dress here until it's closer to your wedding."

Brilliant, I think happily. I go home, email Mom the info on the dress, and she says that she'll take care of it. So I'm going blithely along, dealing with flowers, stationery, napkins, catering, etc. March 30th rolls around, and I log onto my laptop, ready to get some writing done. I open the calendar and get a message alerting me to the deadline of paying off the dress. Hmmm, I think, I wonder if Mom got around to doing that. Sure that it had been taken care of, I call my house, and no answer. OK. No biggie. Mom's a busy person. I call her cell. No answer. I call Dad's office. No answer. I call Dad's cell. No answer. Now, I'm panicking. I mean, full on hyperventilating. It doesn't help that I get a weather alert telling me that my hometown is being pummeled by vicious storms. Of course, this explains the phone issue. Living in the west Texas boonies storms equal no power or phone for extended periods of time.

I do the only thing I can do. On the verge of tears, I call Dave who is in the middle of a 24 hour shift. He answers, and I can tell that he's in the ambulance because there are radios blaring in the background. Since I don't hear sirens, I'm cleared to babble for a few minutes. He listens, and in his usual calm, collected manner, says, "Let me get a pen. Give me the phone number and layaway number, and I'll call over there, make the payment over the phone, and you won't lose your dress or deposit."

Five minutes later, Dave calls back. I've been pacing and chewing my nails during all of this. He tells me the manager at David's Bridal says they no longer accept over-the-phone payments and we'll have to come pay in person or lose the dress and deposit. Fuck beans! Now I'm really panicking. But realizing there is no alternative, I decide to accept the inevitable. I'm going to lose my dress and deposit. Not wanting to make Dave feel bad about a situation over which he has no control, I hang up, crawl into the bathtub, and start crying. (It's the only place that I allow myself to cry. I know. It's weird, but it's one of my quirks.)

Half an hour later, the phone rings. It's Dave. He tells me that his supervisor understood completely and let he and his partner hop on over to Spring (from The Woodlands) to visit David's Bridal. The dress is paid for. It's mine. It's OK! Well. Almost.

Dave tells me that the manager no longer allows sold merchandise to be housed in the store so even though my dress needs alterations and pressing, I have to bring it home, then take it back to have all the work done. Oh, and did I mention that he wanted Dave to take the dress with him. In the ambulance? Yeah. Not going to happen. So Dave talked the manager into keeping the dress an extra day, then he stayed in Spring the next morning until the store opened, picked up the dress, and brought it home. As he's driving home with my dress on the front seat, he calls me. I hear him munching and ask what he's eating. A breakfast burrito, he says. Because he's gone out of his way to fix the wedding dress snafu, I squash the urge to snap at him about infusing my gorgeous wedding dress with bacon grease and eau de egg.

My mother calls me the next morning, crying because she's just realized that she totally forgot about my dress. She jotted it down on her calendar and someone (Dad, Joey, Marcos, Tricia--take your pick) piled crap on top of the calendar. She's so swamped with Tricia's Quinceanera (countdown: 18 days) that it slipped her mind. I accepted her apology, told her not to worry about it, and to concentrate on Tricia's Quince.

But somehow, I don't know. It sort of hurt. I know. I'm a big girl. I understand how conflicting priorities sometimes get in the way, but--well--it's hard to explain. I guess in a very childish way, I'm jealous of my younger sister. Yeah. Pathetic, I know, but still, there it is. I also feel sort of abandoned in this whole wedding thing. Besides Dave and Ash, no one else has made much of an effort to pitch in or lend an ear to my gripes, concerns, desires, dreams. Obviously, I realize that my grad school buddies are up to their eyes in coursework so I'm not realling talking about them. It's--well--never mind. It's not a big deal. It's just life, I guess.

To recap: Dress situation is solved and dress is hanging in our closet. Napkins have been ordered. Invites are just waiting to be addressed, stamped, and dropped in mail. Photog contract is out of the way, but we still need to sit down and fill out the schedule and pick inspiration photos. Once invites are in mail, we enter a holding pattern for a few weeks which means that I'll finally, FINALLY, have time to write.

Tomorrow an update on friends! Especially the good news from Alison's camp!

SSDD

Taking a break from writing so I thought I would add a new post. Hmm. What's new in my world?

Dave had Sunday and Monday off so he spent the first half of Sunday catching up on much needed sleep. While Dave napped, I finished designing the invitations, and then I devoured the latest Sophie Kinsella "Shopaholic" book in one three hour sitting. Oh, it was so good! I love Becky Brandon nee Bloomwood! She's such a ditz but so endearing. And, come on! There's a little Becky in all of us. I mean, every time I walk into a store, I'm like, "Ooh! Pretty! Must buy!" And, of course, I have my own Luke Brandon in my life. Dave's always the one who says, "Do you really need another bottle of anti-frizz, curly hair shampoo? What about the four half empty bottles cluttering the shower?"

My response, "Yes, but this one is for brown hair."

Dave: "Nice try. Put it back."

So yeah, I guess I'm addicted to buying bath and beauty products and panties. Yes. Panties. I probably have seventy pairs in my closet. And no. I haven't worn all of them. It's that damn Lane Bryant marketing scheme! They put piles and piles of gorgeous underpants right next to the register so while they're checking you out, you're looking at the total thinking, "Hmm. My budget is $100 bucks and I have a fifty dollar loyalty gift cheque and my total is only $78 bucks so theortetically....."

At which point, the cashier pipes up with, "You know, Miss Hernandez, our panties are currently on sale. Buy three, get two free."

That's my cue to rush the table and start snatching panties.

But I digress.

So after Dave's Sunday nap, we piled into the truck and drove out to check on the house. We haven't been out there in two weeks so when we pulled into the subdivision and saw our house--well, we freaked out. What used to be a foundation is now an entirely framed house. It's insane how huge it is. Dave wanted me to get out and walk around it, but I couldn't. I was just sort of overwhelmed by it all. Plus my OCD tendencies would drive me nuts. I'd have to count all the boards, lol.

I sat in the truck and watched Dave snap pics of the progress. I almost puked like six times, though. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, and every time he got close to framed walls, my stomach would sieze. I was convinced he was going to trip and fall down into the backyard or the entire structure was going to collapse. But then, I was like, calm down lady. It's the frame. It's done. They don't make money if the houses collapse on their tenants.

The rest of Sunday was spent back at the house, dealing with wedding stuff and watching that Planet Earth series on the Discovery Channel. Monday, however, will forever be burned into my mind as the day that I had the most disappointing meals of my entire life. So I wake up, plod into the kitchen, grab a box of generic Cinnamon Toast Crunch (because I can't stomach paying 4 bucks for a box of cereal when we're saving for a house, wedding, etc) and decide to give it a try while I watch my morning news. I tear into the box, rip open the plastic, grab a handful, shovel it into my mouth--and ew. It doesn't taste like cinnamon or toast, but yeah, it's crunchy. No. It tastes like imitation pancake syrup. WTF? Yep. Gross.

My breakfast ruined, I had a glass of water and then a Diet Dr. Pepper. Dave tried to convince me to have one of the pumpkin cranberry muffins I had baked earlier that week, but I was in an officially grumpy mood. I took a shower, worked on the grocery list, and then gathered up all of our invitation and RSVP printouts to cut out at Copy Corner. They usually have one of those massive paper cutting things on a counter, free to be used. I don't feel bad about going there to use it without spending any money b/c on average, I spend 30-40 bucks a month printing out manuscripts there. So we pull up, walk inside, and guess what? It's no longer available. You have to PAY to have them cut your paper. And guess what? It's 50 cents/cut. I needed them to make almost 200 cuts. Screw that. Fascists! Or wait. No. Not Fascists? Consumer pigs? Yes. Consumer Pigs!

Off to Hobby Lobby for one of those cutting board things. I probably should have bought the sensible, drab contraption by some unheard of brand, but no, I had to have the bright orange Fiskars model. The packaging was so neat! And it promised that it will fit perfectly on my craft table and complement my craft room.

Me: "Dave, am I supposed to have a craft room?"

Dave: "I think it's a marriage requisite."

Me: "Oh, god. If I buy this I'm going to turn into Gem Sweater Lady! Or worse! I'll be that nutty lady who hocks those hideous Quacker Factory Sweaters on QVC!"

Dave: "Tell you what. I'll put my foot down when you start ordering five gallon buckets of glitter and reams of scrapbooking paper...."

We search Hobby Lobby for a bone folder, but can't find one. Dave is still convinced that I'm making it up. Of course, I had to explain to him that a bone folder was NOT some kind of medieval torture implement but a flat stick thing for working on paper crafts. We finish up at Hobby Lobby and decide that we'll go out for lunch. We haven't eaten at Golden Corral in years b/c everytime we visit the restaurante, we have a tiff. It's weird. Almost like the place is haunted by the spirits of ill-tempered waitstaff or cooks who lost their lives to unfortunate kitchen accidents.

Everything seems fine until we sit down and I taste my Dr. Pepper and--gag! No syrup! I mean, come on. If I wanted to drink fizzy water without syrup, I'd move to France. Seriously. Our waiter fixes the Dr. Pepper issue by bringing me a Pepsi. OK. No harm done. I have my salad and it's fine. I go grab some meatloaf, some carrots, a spoonful of bourbon chicken, and some steamed rice. We eat, talk, and add to our shopping list. I'm carrying a fork of meat loaf to my mouth when Dave says, "Honey, that's pink. Don't eat it." I turn my plate around and sure enough, my meat loaf is raw. GROSS!!! So I decide to eat the bourbon chicken instead, but when I stab it with my fork, I realize that the bottoms of the chicken pieces are all black. I mean BLACK.

I abandon the charred chicken and meat loaf for the carrots and rice. They're fine. We head over to the dessert table and I get a huge slab of cake b/c I figure that I can afford the calories. The first bite of cake is OK, but it's nothing compared to Sandee's cakes. I notice a strange after taste, but I can't quite place it. I take another bite. Same weird taste. I taste just the coconut frosting, and there it is, but stronger. Hmm. It seems familiar. Reminds me of brushing my teeth. Oh. Ew. Baking soda. Why in the hell is there baking soda in my frosting?

I push aside my plate. I'm finished. And grumpy.

We go get our fingers sized for our wedding bands. We go shopping. We put up our groceries, order our wedding bands, and start working on the invitations. At some point during the nonstop cutting and resizing, I begin to question my decision to handmake forty invitations and RSVP cards. Seriously, WTF was I thinking? But later, as Dave points out, they're absolutely gorgeous and meaningful because we're putting our love and patience (and frustration and choice curse words) into them. I just hope our guests appreciate them....

Speaking of which. I need to get back to writing. I have to finish this chapter before I can start working on invites again. Laters.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, I did have a delicious dinner on Monday night. Dave made Sweet 'n Sour Chicken with steamed broccoli! It was fab! All wasn't lost, I guess :)

Weekend Update!

So it's a little after five am, and I've been awake since 3. Ugh. I know. Anywho. I thought I would take a break from writing to update the blog.

Lots of SSDD lately. I'm three chapters from finishing my urban fantasy, but after reading the partial, my agent doesn't feel it's quite there. She pointed out some of the awkwardness, etc. that I had noticed when proofreading. So I've decided to finish it (for Dave's sake b/c he loves the story) and then shelve it until I have time to work out the kinks. I've been workign on D2L this week. It's a coming-of-age co-ed craziness tale that I hope captures the essence of what it is to be a co-ed these days from the skyrocketing costs of tuition, meshing the expectations of family with following your heart, searching for love and respect, finding your niche, and generally figuring out what the hell life is about. As it stands, this will be a series of five books with each installment chronicling the group of friends through a year of college. The fifth and final book will cover grad school, marriage, career choices, etc.

Anyways, it's coming along rather easily b/c this is a "book of my voice" as Julie Leto would say. Plus, it's always fun to take a nostalgic trip through my memories as I comb them for inspiration. And come on! Freshman year was a freakin' blast!

Speaking of freshman year, I've realized that I've been neglecting relationships. Well. We all have. It's that busy life crap. Still. I'm determined to start making time. Even if it's just a quick email once a week or twice a month, I'm going to find the time for my friends.

Let's see. What else? House construction is moving along, and Dave and I have chosen paint colors for most of the interior. Dave's mother visited earlier this week, and it was fun. We went shopping, had some dinner, and generally caught up. Dave had most of the week off which was nice since he tends to work a lot, but we didn't get anything accomplished. I mean, we had this huge list o' crap we were going to do, but we maybe crossed off two things, lol. Oh, well.

And simply to sate my ADHD tendencies, I'll throw these out for a laugh.

http://www.blogthings.com/leprechaunnamegenerator/

http://www.blogthings.com/whatcolorgreenareyouquiz/

My leprechaun name is Twitchy Forrekettle. I'm teal green because, and I quote, "You are a one of a kind, original person. There's no one even close to being like you. Expressive and creative, you have a knack for making the impossible possible. While you are a bit offbeat, you don't scare people away with your quirks. Your warm personality nicely counteracts any strange habits you may have."

OK. Well. Back to work. The manuscript beckons.