chick night

Tonight is at a buddy's house, so I have the run of the place. After work, I mosey'd around the mall for a bit, tried on a few party dresses just for kicks, and basically made a nuisance of myself. While I was trying on dresses in Penney's, two girlfriend's and one of their--boyfriend? guy-friend?-- was with them, critiquing. Somehow, one of them convinces this dude to try on a dress, too. I caught a glance of him before this went down, and I think the dude was totally straight, but obviously I could be mistaken. They were in the dressing room two doors down from me, laughing and saying things like "Oh, blue isn't your color" and "try the flowers next". In the future they'll look back on this night and remember what fun they had. In the future I'll look back on this night and rethink my gaydar.

Second story is out in the hands of readers. One person has said she liked them both but liked the first one better. We'll see what everyone thinks.

responses

Yesterday I distributed copies of a story that's in the running for my anthology submission. So far I've gotten feedback from two people. One was sort of ambivilant--it's not the type of story he normally reads, but he seemed to like it ok and didn't have any major complaints about it--but the other response really threw me for a loop. To make sense of this, you should know the story is about a widow who receives a pair of earrings that enables her to hear her recently departed husband.

Reader: I liked it.

Me (sensing she is holding back): Listen, don't tell me you liked it to spare my feelings. If you didn't like it, it's ok. Tell me what's wrong with it--

Reader: No, it's not that. (she gets teary eyed) It's just that my mom says that my dad used to talk to her after he passed.

Me: Oh! Oh my God! If I'd have known that, I'd have warned you. I'm so sorry! (I get a bit teary, too.)

Reader: No, no, don't be. I just wanted you to see my real reaction.

Later, she came and apologized, saying she didn't mean to freak me out. I assured her that I wasn't freaked at all. In fact, I found it touching that my words could do that. Like I said, at first I felt bad for making her cry ... but then I was sort of ... I made her cry with what I wrote. I'm the fucking woman!!! So, of course, what has to happen is for another reader to totally trash it so I can get off my high horse already. I hope to have the other story done by Wednesday so the readers can tell me which one they liked best. Whatever story gets the most votes is goin' to the editor.

surviving

I finished my second day by myself on the urine bench today without killing anyone or bleeding out my eyes, so I'm a happy camper. The real test will be tomorrow and Thursday, which are the days with the most cultures. I'm guessing I'll be leaving late, but whatever. They pay me to be there.

On the writing front, I was hitting a wall with my second anthology story until I talked it over with Ken. He pointed out that it was sort of lame, and maybe I should do it another way. I saw that he was right--it's not like me to struggle with writing a page or two, and so something had to be wrong--and I took his suggestions. The words are flowing much better, so hopefully I'll be getting copies of each of the stories to my readers at the end of the week. And then it's onward to starting a new book.

One of my best girlfriends will possibly be moving out ot L.A. in a few months. I'm bummed. It's a good opportunity for her significant other, but I don't want her to leave. She is freakishly like my husband. Anytime I bitch about something Ken's done or relay Ken's side of an arguement, Bridget will inevitably come in on Ken's side. Sometimes during random situations words will come out of her mouth that I'll swear I've heard Ken say in similar situations. It's freaky. She says I remind her of her boyfriend in the same way, so for me it validates our friendship. I'm going to miss her so much when she leaves. In a perfect world I'd fly out to see her once a year. More likely we'll meet somewhere in the middle ... like Vegas. Yeah, Vegas.

microbiology hell

I've survived my first week of training in urines, and I have to say I'm completely and totally overwhelmed. Half of the department has told me this is completely normal--because of the volume of urines, it'll be weeks until I can totally do the bench myself. I have one more week of training before spending a week by myself, and I'm already anticipating I'll be staying until 1700 every night to get the fucking things finished. Everyone is so helpful--they'll grab a stack of negatives to help finish the work--but somehow that makes me feel even more incompetent. Today I made flow charts to help myself. I have a tendancy to cry when I feel overwhelmed, so I hope I don't cry at work. That would seriously wreck my image.

Friday I recieved a rejection for a story I sent out over a year ago. It's your basic form letter--thank you for sending but we are unable to accept your submission, blah blah blah--but one of the editors took the time to hand write a comment on the bottom: "Several of the editors enjoyed "Cleaning Day." Unfortunately, however, it didn't make the final cut. Best of luck with it." Only in a creative field--writing, acting, design, art--would a rejection with the comment "we liked it" make one happy. I can't shake the feeling I'm close to breaking through ... only a few more years, maybe, until people can buy one of my books at the bookstore. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but most days that's what keeps me going.

strange

The other day my boss asked me what my maiden name was and I had to think about it for a second before answering. That evening, I went home and dug out my microbiology text book from tech school and my maiden name was written in the front. I've not been that person for over seven years, and now it's almost strange to think I ever was that person. My identity is so wrapped up in my marriage now that's it's strange to think of a time I wasn't married, that I wasn't Ken's Wife, that I wasn't one half of a pair. Some women complain about it--like they're always someone's wife, someone's mother, someone's daughter and they're never known just for themselves. I say, if you're known only for yourself, doesn't that mean that you're inherently alone? And aren't their husbands, children, and parents also known by some people as so-and-so's husband, kid, and parent? If you're part of a community, you'll always be known in relation to someone else. I think it's something to embrace.