Le maudit Mo D.

leap day!!!

Happy Leap Day.

That's all for now.

challenger

Because I have always been one for lofty, unattainable aspirations, and because even though this week was kicked off by an agent refusing to represent me in spite of my clear talent and publishable novel, I like to remind myself that there are others who are far more talented than I. To that end, I decided to purchase an Alice Munro book at Bookwoman today (new location near my house!). I was reading about Munro last night, about her emotionally intricate writings, her ability to delve into the subterranean depths of her character's psyches and leave absolutely nothing laid bare or even sacred. Reading Munro, I am reminded that my novel is very much a first novel, and like the first time you have sex, it is awkward, with tiny little bits I wish I could do over again. I am uncomfortable at this point in my life with the idea of being an ingenue, but I must accept that. Munro's writing is like that gentle, experienced lover who knows how to pleasure you in ways you hadn't even thought of, yet afterwards, it makes tons of sense and you aspire to add those maneuvers to your repertoire.

I purchased the book, "The View from Castle Rock," without giving it much thought or even reading the back. Tonight at dinner, I started to read the book (and yes, readers, Bob and I are so hard-core married that we now READ at the dinner table. It makes me wretch, but I must accept that most of the time, we don't have much to talk about anymore--oh, what would Munro write about us!!), which is about centuries-ago Scotland, potato farmers with dreams and secrets.

I then realized that the cover of the Vintage paperback edition is jarringly inappropriate! Behold, this chick-lit pinkness:

What does a pink bathing suit-clad faceless woman have to do with impoverished Scots? Ask the marketing department, I don't know. I found it to be deceiving. Munro is a challenging writer and that cover depicts a breezy, beachy read. The woman is lounging, and yet no one in Munro's book has yet to lounge. It's not a loungy book.

I pontificated like a good little well-read gifted child at my husband for awhile. It gave us something to talk about, although I felt I had mounted my soapbox and was subjecting Bob to a literary screed. Bob agreed with me on marketing, and while he is not familiar with Munro he did not take severe umbrage with packaging her short stories as chick lit.

Not that there's anything wrong with chick lit, mind you.

I will try to keep the offense to a minimum. I think I am just hungry for bookish stimulation, ranting. Semicolons. I am so alone.

oh, zaven!

I think I'm crushing on my fictional character. Over the last week, I've upped his sex appeal. In real life I would never go for a Fresno Armenian like him, but molded in my imagination, he is one hot s.o.b. God, I love writing novels.

nerdful men

A couple of nights ago I watched "Mona Lisa Smile" on Le Netflix. Being a Seven Sisters grad, I had a vague interest in this period piece that can be fairly assessed as "Dead Poet's Society at Wellesley." Julia Roberts was horribly miscast as a "progressive" art history teacher at "repressive" Wellesley in the '50s. The film is rife with historical inaccuracies that only someone well-read on the topic of Seven Sisters history would note. The movie depicted students getting married before graduation and finishing their degrees, but at least at Smith, students who married were required to withdraw from school. Also, I don't think Wellesley girls would be that rude, prissy, or stuck-up, or that the art history department would be so resistant to the study of modern art. Real '50s Wellesley alums said as much in response to the film.

Anyway, another reason to hate on Hollywood. But, there was a very riveting, at least to me, subplot in which the "chubby sarcastic girl" gets set up with the "bitchy cunt who gets hers in the end's" cousin, who was a stereotypically geeky-but-sweet boy who takes a shine to her in spite of the fact that she can't believe any guy would want to date her. I was like, "dude, he is the hottest piece in this whole trainwreck of a film. Fuck that fake Italian guy." Even with the over-the-top highwater pants and the thick-as-my-booty glasses, I was like, "shit, would there have been a nerdy Harvard man for me had I gone to college fifty years ago?"

I don't need a time machine for hot nerdy men. I sleep next to one every night. Bob is the gold standard of nerd hotness, but he is spoken for. Back off, computer geek girl!

Tomorrow, Netflix is bringing me "Walk the Line." Expect June-and-Johnny themed memes later in the week.

analysis

Hey, I'm not unhappy about the rejection. It was to be expected, really. No one, not even hot shit gifted children like myself, gets signed by the first agent who reads their stuff unless they are famous for some other reason (presidential fellatio springs to mind). Second, the agent paid me two really wonderful compliments which, coming from someone who knows the publishing business, mean a lot. She said I'm clearly a talented writer, and she sees my novel as being publishable. Had I sent her fifty pages of contrived dreck, I doubt she would have said those things. So score at least half a point in my column.

So she's the first, and she won't be the last. I haven't even really started sending out tons of queries, nor have I called in all of my favors yet. So this is just the beginning. A vote of confidence, in sort of a backhanded way.

Also, a big hearty FUCK YOU goes out to the state of Texas for this bullshit 90 degree weather in February. You just make me want to run back to the arms of my true love, Massachusetts, don't you?

Shout out to E. Hugberg. Last night we talked about when the last time the radio influenced a music purchase. I told him that was how I found Beirut. In the car last night going home post this conversation at the bar, I heard a very moving, pretty song by the buzzy band Bon Iver and was indeed influenced to go do the right thing and buy his album at a local record store. Of course, everyone else in Austin was similarly moved and Waterloo was sold out. But if you love jangly guitars as much as this chica right here, then go have a listen at MySpace. This guy wrote and recorded this album living in a cabin in rural Wisconsin. Viva!

The first of many

Thanks so much for giving me the opportunity to consider the first pages of your manuscript, which I read last night. You are clearly a talented writer and I appreciate A. introducing us.

Real NYC Agent

well, this was fun

105

My dad was big on geography education. I had a big world map and a globe growing up. I like geography.

I got:
Algeria, Andorra, Angola, Antarctica, Argentina, Armenia, Australia, Austria, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Belize, Bolivia, Brazil, Bulgaria, Canada, Chad, Chile, China, Colombia, Costa Rica, Croatia, Cuba, Czech Republic, Denmark, Dominica, Egypt, Eritrea, Estonia, Ethiopia, Fiji, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Greenland, Guernsey, Haiti, Honduras, Hungary, Iceland, India, Indonesia, Iran, Iraq, Ireland, Israel, Ivory Coast, Japan, Jersey, Jordan, Kazakhstan, Kenya, Kiribati, Kosovo, Lebanon, Lesotho, Lithuania, Macedonia, Madagascar, Mali, Mauritania, Mexico, Mongolia, Morocco, Mozambique, Myanmar, Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Pakistan, Paraguay, Peru, Philippines, Pitcairn Islands, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Russia, Saudi Arabia, Senegal, Serbia, Singapore, Slovakia, Slovenia, Somalia, South Africa, Spain, Sudan, Sweden, Syria, Thailand, Tunisia, Turkey, Turkmenistan, Uganda, Ukraine, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, United States, Uruguay, Uzbekistan, Vanuatu, Venezuela, Virgin Islands, Zambia,

open letters

Dear Hummus,

What is up, old friend? The last week I was sick and craving you something mad. I drove my coughy, sneezy ass down to Sarah's Med Market and bought a container of you and ate you right up quick, only to find you talking A LOT behind my back! They ought to put a warning on the hummus label: CONSUMPTION WILL RESULT IN LOTS OF FARTING! Eating you at home was okay. Bob is entertained when my ass turns into a brass band. My butt trumpet was tooting loudly and with great force. But when I am out in public, I don't want to be wrestling with my colon, trying to make it stay quiet when a little dab of garbanzo dip turns it into a high school marching band. EMBARRASSMENT!

I can't turn my back on you, hummus. I love you too much. But you've got to do me a favor and tone it down. I'm trying to sell a manuscript. These are important times.

Love,
Mo

Dear Stash Green Tea Sampler,

I am going to drink the holy fuck out of you. Nine different flavors of green tea. My throat feels like I've been swallowing broken bottles so I've been mad craving you and your antioxidant goodness. HOT TEA! FUCK YEAH!

I look at your eighteen envelopes of nine different flavors (white and black tea blends, ginger peach, plain, chai, etc.) and I'm like a gigolo at a dance club. I'm going to taste each and every one of you and when I'm done I'm throwing your wet, spent bag in the trash. And then I'm moving onto the next one. That's right, Green Tea Sampler. This is a relationship of convenience, and when I'm done, I'm done. Deal.

--Mo

negatives

I'm sick. My head hurts and I have a 98.1 fever, which is a minor fever, but a fever nonetheless. T'was noted earlier by my beloved that I was being more negative than usual. He offered to get a roll of stickers with minus signs on them and stick one on me whenever I say something negative.

And so, in honor of my illness, a list of things I hate:

1) People who stop an entire lane of traffic so they can turn left over a double yellow line. Illegal, immoral, dangerous, stupid.
2) Blog spam.
3) People who say, "I'll be you any money" and "If you look up ____ in the dictionary, you'll see my picture." Because NO, you won't bet me any money (I frequently call this bluff and then the bluffer retracts) and NO, I've seen dictionary illustration files and THEY DON'T HAVE YOUR FUCKING PICTURE!! Unless you're an okapi or an upland sandpiper or a curling stone, shut the fuck up.
4) The foie gras fucktards who think harassing a restaurant owner is heroic when it's just lame and pointless. Go fuck with a big beef producer or something. Yeah, that's hard isn't it?
5) Sore throats!
6) My back! It hurts all the time! Ow!
7) People who hate on Hillary.
8) The fact that I'm missing both M. Bamford tonight AND Sacrebleu starring IFE, although I do not hate the fact that we do not have cable. Funny that. If I could just pay for public access, I would.
9) Celery!
10) Sick. sick. seeeeck.

Oh, Tony!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zpb0uFO4CQM&feature=related

My first improv crush, Tony Slattery, is now old and chubby.

Sigh.

meat smoke

I listened to the Valentines Day episode of This American Life today. Ira, that controversial piece of radio ass, said something along the lines of "being in love only lasts eighteen months. Science has proven this. After that, being in love is replaced by other things. Affection, comfort, etc." I thought about this for a bit. I've been hanging with the Bob-man for nearly five years. I love him a whole bunch, but yeah. I concede, the days of my feeling lustful and longing for him, finding his every move and word unimaginably dreamy, and getting that tingly feeling when he walks through the door are pretty much over. We're married, and contrary to what popular culture wants you to believe, marriage stops being about that pretty quick. Marriage changes the meaning of the word love. And not in a bad way, mind you. Marriage is like a car. When you first get it, its exciting. It smells good, it looks good, you can't believe you have it. And then, after a few oil changes, it just becomes...your car. You like it and appreciate it it, and you'd be lost without it. Shiny newness is temporary. Enjoy it. I sure as hell enjoyed mine.

Bob was a good husband today and stopped at the HEB on his way home and bought hamburgers to make for dinner. He learned his indoor burger making technique from Alton Brown. I watched Alton's cooking show at my mom's house, as she has cable and I do not. Too much production. Anyway, Alton's home burger instructions (pan-frying) resulted in the meat giving off so much smoke that the smoke detector went off and the kitchen and dining room area filled with a thick white cloud. I hate it when this happens. It makes our house smell like Burger King and I don't like Burger King. I worry that my stuffed animals will smell like charred cow flesh even though they are on the other side of the house. I coughed a lot. Meat smoke makes for unhealthful breathing. The burgers were tasty, though. Alton knows how to pan-fry a burger.

Just read something about a ground beef recall. Oh well. If I wake up with a hoof in my mouth, it's been fun. I got to be married to Bob.

an addition to the austin/portland debate

Okay, this is going out to my husband, Bob.

Portland is the same as Austin...only the houses have BASEMENTS.

Discuss.

dueling restaurant review: El Patio

So, for the past 7.5 years, I have driven or walked past El Patio without ever stopping in for an old-school Tex-Mex meal. I go up and down that stretch of Guadalupe pretty much every day, but for years, El Patio was off my radar. Maybe it was Ryan calling it "El Ratio" (rat-io, not 2:1) that made me overlook the neon sombrero hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Tonight, after a particularly punishing anusara yoga class in which, during the 80th bout of downward dog (adho mukhavasana), I vowed to eat something fattening and unhealthful for dinner, I informed Bob that we would be dining at El Patio and he was down.

El Patio is one of those rare gems of a restaurant where the decor, menu, and spirit of the place has changed little in fifty years. El Patio is basically Mexican Frisco Shop, which is confirmed by the high number of senior citizens partaking in chalupas at their Formica tables. There were an equal number of families with young children, UT undergrads, and real Latinos dining there as well, so you get a cross-section of salt-of-the-earth Texans. Upon entering the restaurant, we were greeted by a friendly woman who took our name, told us the wait wouldn't be long, and then offered to bring us drinks. A waiter appeared later with Bob's Negra Modelo and my water, and soon after, we were seated.

The salsa that came with the chips was thin but flavorful. I had read earlier online that BITD, El Patio would put out Saltines and salsa, and that, due to the high cost of Saltines, they only give you that if you ask. We stuck with chips. We ordered a half-order of bean and beef supreme nachos (bean, beef, cheese, guac, and jalapeno, $3.99) for an appetizer. Bob ordered three "Fletcher's Tacos" ($7.19) and I had "El Patio Special" (taco, chalupa, chile con queso, guacamole salad, $7.99)

The nachos are made with El Patio's own homemade corn chips, which are big, round, freshly deep-fried corny discs, coated in beans, meat, and that Tex-Mex orange cheese that's kind of creamy and glassy, like it's the love child of Velveeta and real Cheddar. That cheese weirds me out, but in the spirit of Tex-Mex, I went with it. Our entrees appeared soon after. I did not realize that pretty much everything except enchiladas are made with the deep-fried corn discs. My taco and chalupa were created thusly, and my "chile con queso" was just one of those corn discs slathered with queso. I told Bob I thought I tasted chicken broth in the queso and he told me I had crazy bonkers taste buds.

I can't handle that much deep-fried, crispy-fried heavy-ass food. Fortunately, we were given a plate of unadulterated, plain corn tortillas. I scraped the meat and beans off my crunchy corn discs and put them in the corn tortillas, officially removing the Tex from my Mex. True to my California roots, I had to play it healthy, although one should not select El Patio if they are watching their figures.

Our meals included coffee or tea AND a scoop of sherbet with the price. Who the hell throws in dessert for free these days? No wonder the old folks still come here! That's value! And if the old folks who eat at El Patio have been eating there for so long and are still alive, then it can't be THAT bad for you, right?

I enjoyed the knotty-wood walls and old Texasy decor, and the waiters were very attentive once you flagged them down. I beamed everytime the salsa bowl was refilled from a pitcher. I felt good about being part of Texas history and would very much like to go again. I am also happy to report that I didn't have to book it to the can after eating at El Patio. (I'm looking at you, Chuy's)

If you're thinking of eating at El Greco, substitute PATI for GREC and walk a block south. You won't be sorry!

minneapolis!

The Geegsters were accepted to the Twin Cities Improv Festival, which is in June. Yay us.

masturbate legally!

Today is a great day for horny, self-loving Texans. The infamous Dildo Law has been repealed! Until yesterday, the sale of "obscene devices" (dildoes, vibes, the Jeff Stryker) was illegal here in the Lone Star State. Local fuck shops like Forbidden Fruit were forced to market their silicone dongs as "educational devices" and make their customers sign a meaningless form saying that they were purchasing their item for educational purposes only, and that you had no intention of sticking it in or near your cooch. The stupidity and, oh yeah, unconstitutionality, of this law was finally recognized. It's really a shame that we don't have Molly Ivins to offer a priceless bon mot on this.

I know what I want for Valentine's Day!

aw yeah

Well, shit kids. Embarrassment of riches here in Mauditland. The Geegsters are doing the Best of the Fest tomorrow night at F-fest, our first after three Best of the Week nods. This is a great local honor and I'm really proud of the Geegsters for all of our collective hard work and bad-assitude. Even my voice teacher commented to me today that we are one hell of a pack of funny bitches.

I've spent the last twenty-four hours busting my ass trying to get the first three chapters of PoE ready to send to Real NYC Agent. Tomorrow morning they get overnighted with the hallowed words "requested material" penned upon the envelope. O & O are going to the big city!

I had to write a synopsis, which was fucking painful. Condensing 260 pages/1.5 years of work into three double-spaced pages while trying to make your story sound appealing is no simple task, but I did it. I don't have time for someone to proof my synopsis, so I am sending it off on blind faith. I gave Real NYC Agent a three-week exclusive look, so in that much time I should get a yay or nay from her. If she decides to take me on, I would be taking up the mantle of The Most Ridiculously Lucky Asshole In The World, for when people ask me, "so, how many agents did you query before you got signed?" the answer would be ZERO.

Seriously. A published author (not Ellie) put in a good word for me, and this agent came after me, not the other way around. I'm not telling who.

I've been happy to be me the last few days.

That, and round trip tickets to Hartford from Austin for the dates of my reunion are only $200 today. Yee-haw skippy!

dueling restaurant review: quality seafood

Mi marido and I have written a second dueling restaurant review.

There are certain people, places, and institutions that bring Austinites together. Some of them are big and famous, others are small and fly under the radar. One such small place is Quality Seafood, Austin's oldest fishmonger, which has had the same Airport Blvd location since before I was born.

Bob and I dined there tonight. Bob ordered the blackened snapper with salad and coleslaw. I had the daily special: blue marlin with "New Orleans BBQ Butter," plus salad and steamed broccoli. Bob and I shared a basket of hush puppies. With Bob's iced tea, the bill came to $28.

Bob observed that, like El Greco, we ordered at a counter and we paid more than $25 for our meal. Yet we were happy about this and were not crabby in any way. WHY?

Well, for starters, there was a Dixieland jazz band playing. Yeah, jazz eats a bag of dicks, but this musical organization had a guy in a jaunty straw boater who looked like he had just dismounted a big wheel bicycle AND a guy playing a big tuba (who was not dismounted). I don't know if any scientific studies have been done on tuba sounds aiding digestion, but I enjoyed the very Austin-like presence of live music, even at a rather pedestrian eatery such as QS.

Second, the staff seemed content and knew what they were doing. The friendly, multi-racial staff worked hard but gave of a positive vibe. Clearly, they felt competent and appreciated.

Third, I didn't mind the price at all. Quality Seafood (ha!) is pricey; a similar meal at a more upscale establishment would have cost $2-5 more per person. Even to cook a good piece of fish at home, you're looking at $16-20 for two people. I feel their price points are reasonable, which counts for a lot.

Bob and I were relaxed and happy when our tasty, no-frills food arrived. The tuba man went toot-toot-toot and we watched a very uninhibited 6 or 7 year old boy do some spastic dancing to the jazz band's music. The place was crowded for a Monday night and all the customers seemed at ease, happy to be having some tasty fish with their friends and/or family!

QS is a great local place to eat a no-nonsense fish meal with a Dixieland jazz band playing in the background. Nuff said.

the big party begins

An agent wants to see my novel.
A
real
NYC
agent.

Fuck fuck holy holy fuck!

Negative Restaurant Review!

Bob and I are currently writing dueling restaurant reviews of newish local Greek eatery El Greco. We ate dinner there tonight and that will be the first and last time we go there. Bob and I love trying new restaurants and supporting local businesses, but occasionally we find ourselves unhappy. Please note, I am not actively discouraging anyone from trying it. You might have a good experience. But since it's been a while since we've walked out of a place peeved, we're sharpening our blogging tools and telling our friends to take heed.

STRIKE #1: Ordering is done at a counter. Okay. I sensed a palpable bit of employee unrest when ordering my food. Just a sense, nothing I can confirm. Our order guy walked away from his cash register to help another register monkey, which was rude and weird. I got the feeling that he was only taking our money because he had to. I don't need to feel like the cashier LOVES me, but there was some New York-style annoying attitude I was getting from this situation.

STRIKE #2: I ordered moussaka and was told that the moussaka plate comes with "house salad" but I could upgrade to "Greek salad" for an additional $1.50. Excuse me, but is this not a Greek restaurant? Shouldn't Greek salad be the standard house salad? I told him house salad would be fine, thanks. I didn't think that I should have to pay extra for a spoonful of feta and a couple of olives on my salad. I hate being upsold on things--I expect that shit from the sales guys at my local Toyota dealership, not at a Greek restaurant.

STRIKE #3: Expensive! I was aghast when I was told the bill was $33! I know that they're in a pricey building, but $6 for hummus? I thought of all the amazing places we could have gone for $33 OR LESS and regretted our choice of eatery. I think that they need to drop the price if they aren't going to have a sit-down set up with menus and waitstaff and such. That was just ridiculous. I understand that their rent and overhead is probably exorbitant, and I hope that their sullen employees are making a good wage. But I'm not going to pay $13 for a square of ground beef and eggplant ever again.

STRIKE #4: $6 hummus is pretty average. I couldn't eat too much of it because it was too lemony. Bob seemed to like it, but he later agreed that it was not worth $6. Sarah's hummus (the restaurant, not Milkes) is way better and way cheaper.

STRIKE #5: My entree arrives 5-10 minutes before Bob's. On one hand, I'd rather they do this than allow my food to sit and get cold, but that is bad restaurant juju. Yeah, they're a new place, but we were sitting right by the food window and I could still sense some bitterness among the employees. You know when people are just on edge and you can tell? No apology was proffered.

STRIKE #6: Bob's pork gyro with rice and peas arrives as pork gyro with orzo and potatoes. We didn't immediately recognize that the orzo isn't rice (orzo is pasta made to look like rice and we were totally fooled!) but the absence of round, green peas is immediately striking. I say to Bob in earshot of the Food Delivery Lady (she didn't seem to be a real 'waitress') "you should send it back." I overhear her saying to a co-worker that our table needs peas. She never actually spoke to US about this, just spoke about us in our presence. Without word or apology, she brings us a plate of peas.

STRIKE #7: My moussaka was good but not great. Bob felt the same way about his meal, too. Definitely not worth $13/$12!!

Dinner should not put two happily married food-lovers in a bad mood, but it did. We held our criticisms until we got to the car and found we were on the same page.

I regret that we had a bad experience, as this appears to be the only joint in Austin that serves the delicious and special dessert that we hairy Armenians call ekmek khatayif (mentioned in my novel!!). Shredded phyllo dough, nuts, syrup. We didn't have any, as we were full and we weren't spending any more money there.

I want to like them, but they need to get their act together. Greek food is yummy and I was pleased to see that central A-town was getting a Greek place, but this place is all wrong. All bad. Sad.

torn

Confession time: I am torn between Hillary and Obama.

On one hand, I do like and respect Hillary.
On the other hand, I like Obama. But I wonder if I like Obama for the wrong reasons. He's cool. He's a great orator. I like orators. I think he has a better shot at the presidency. I do not want some Repugnican barfbag getting elected.
A lot of folks hate Hillary with every ounce of ire and vitriol their frail bodies can muster.
I generally dislike those people.
Obama is young. Fresh. Shiny.
Hillary is not shiny.

I recently insulted Hill's fellatio skills. (see below)

I don't know. Thoughts?

hothothothothothot

I wonder if there will come a point where I will have to flee Austin for reasons of extreme heat. It's a balmy, summery day here in FEBRUARY, which is unnatural and wrong to me. Others will put on flip-flops and rejoice that they don't have to bother with a jacket, but it makes me worried and sad. I checked the 01060 on weather.com today and even there it is a melty 45+ degrees, with light rain. Hampshire County is probably a huge mud puddle right now.

I am enjoying the Vitamin D rich sun, though. And wearing my favorite sandals.

Nice day out there, I guess.

TRAVEL SCHEDULE

March: birthday recon trip (since my birthday day is going to be fucked up by my charming family) Chicago? NYC?
April: Little Bro College Spectacular: Burlington, VT
May: 10 Years Out of the Ladycollege Reunion Shindig; maybe a festival? Maybe Boston added on?
June: Big Fat Jewish Wedding, DC; maybe a festival?

i am not a fan of blue oyster cult

Here is a survey copied from my sis-in-law Juli's website.

1.)Q. Are you currently in a serious relationship?
1.) Yes. Married to Juli's oldest brother. I've been shacked up with this dude for almost four years.

1.)Q. Can you cook?
1.) Sort of.

2.)Q. What was your dream growing up?
2.) To write and publish a novel. I'm on it!

3.)Q. What talent do you wish you had?
3.) Charisma and personal magnetism.

4.)Q. If I bought you a drink what would it be?
4.) Soy chai latte.

5.)Q. Favorite vegetable?
5.) Spinach.

6.)Q. What was the last book you read?
6.) Sleep Towards Heaven by A.E. Ward

7.)Q. What zodiac sign are you?
7.) Pisces.

8.)Q. Any Tattoos and/or Piercings?
8.) Not a one. Not even ears.

9.)Q. Worst Habit?
9.) Wasteful web surfing.

10.)Q. If you saw me walking down the street would you offer me a ride?
10.) Yes, Juli. You're family, after all.

11.)Q. What is your favorite sport?
11.) Badminton or rowing.

12.)Q. Negative or Optimistic attitude?
12.) Negative.

13. )Q. What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator with me?
13.) Call 911 and try to get us out.

14.)Q. Worst thing to ever happen to you?
14.) Friendship shitstorms.

15.)Q. Tell me one weird fact about you.
15.) I have several skeletal deformities. One is endearing, one isn't.

16.)Q. Do you have any pets?
16.) Animals are for eating, not loving.

17.)Q. What if i showed up at your house unexpectedly?
17.) That would be totally fine, Juli, because you're family. Do it!

18.)Q. What was your first impression of me?
18.) "Yay! Bob's little sis!"

19.)Q. Do you think clowns are cute or scary?
19.) Clowns are icky and gross. Gacy!

20.)Q. If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be???
20.) I wonder if I should have gotten that schnozoplasty after all.

21.)Q. Would you be my crime partner or my conscience?
21.) Crime partner. I like to fuck shit up.

22.)Q. What color eyes do you have?
22.) Green

23.)Q. Ever been arrested?
23.) Nope

24.)Q. Bottle or Draft?
24.) Draft

25.)Q. If you won $10,000 dollars today, what would you do with it?
25.) Kitchen remodel

26.)Q. Would you date me?
26.) I think Bob would have a huge problem with that.

27.)Q. What 's your favorite place to hang at?
27.) Coffeehouses in general

28.)Q. Do you believe in ghosts?
28.) Sort of

29.)Q. Favorite thing to do in your spare time?
29.) Social activities?

30.)Q. Do you swear a lot?
30.) Fuck yes

31.)Q. Biggest pet peeve?
31.) Poor driving etiquette

32.)Q. In one word, how would you describe yourself?
32.) Oblong

33.)Q. Do you believe/appreciate romance?
33.) Well, sis, being over the hump in terms of marriage, I MISS romance. But what you find on the other side is mostly better though not as immediately thrilling.

34.)Q. If you could spend 12 hours with me and ask/do anything you like, what would it be?
34.) Didn't we do that in Barcelona?

35)Q. Do you believe in God?
35.) Really, truly? No. I don't and I won't.

36.)Q. Will you repost this so I can fill it out and do the same
36.) Sure. Here you go.

zoo pals

I need San Diego friends. Or a San Diego book/writing group. A San Diego distraction. People my age-ish for light socializing and creative work. I have to spend two weeks in San Diego at the end of the month tending to my teenager, making sure he eats nutritiously, and helping him nail college apps.

They don't seem to have an improv community like here where I could slide in, introduce myself, and jump into a Micetro show or whatever.

Barring that, Mommy Mansion has a guest room. Weekend at the beach, anyone?

for Monica, wherever we may find her

During commencement weekend, the Ladycollege hosts an alumnae parade. Starting with the ancient centenarians (Class of 1928, anyone?), the parade proceeds chronologically with the graduating class taking up the rear (not taking it UP the rear, tyvm, although I don't know. It's been years since I attended a rugby party.) Each class holds up signs relating to the era that they graduated. For me, it's the '90s. Tech, Seinfeld, Clinton, ha ha ha.

1998 was the year of the Monica Lewinsky scandal. I feel we would be doing Monica a great dishonor by not making mention of her in our parade. I mean, we talked a lot about Monica, felt her, worried about what a disaster her future was going to be, and were maybe a little jealous that she got to wrap her lips around Billy's willy. So here are my ideas (sure to be rejected) for rhymey sign slogans:

We had too much school work
Our rooms were a mess
But it wasn't a Smithie
Who wore the famous blue dress!

We knew we'd be awesome
Our lives would go far
Because our private lives weren't investigated
by Kenneth Starr!
(or, At least none of us were "probed" by the President's cigar)

Before 1998, a cigar was a cigar
A blue dress was a blue dress
We all watched in awe at the President's mess

In 1998, wasn't it silly
that the biggest news story
was the President's willy?

Since 1998, we know, it's been said
Bill should have married a Smithie
Wellesley girls can't give head!

Or, more succinctly:

We (I) would have blown the president, too!