Christmas morning

This is what it's like checking my e-mail now: I'm so excited, thinking, "This could be it, this could be the time I get my acceptance e-mail." But then that fucking "You have 0 unread messages" banner bloops up, and I'm lowered to new depths.

It's like Christmas morning in third grade, when all I wanted was a Cabbage Patch Doll, and I opened all my presents thinking this is it, then no, it isn't. The next one would be, then no, it's not either. Then the last box, this one is it, it's gotta be, then blammo! It's a doll, alright, but it's a rip-off fake cabbage patch that my aunt made, not the real thing with a birth certificate and everything. I act happy to get it, I smile and squeal because I know we're poor and this is all my parents can afford and if I reject it I reject them, but deep down I hate that doll. Deep down I want to take a pair of scissors to the arms and rip the hair from its head. Getting no Cabbage Patch is better than getting a fake one, every kid knows this, but somehow this concept has managed to elude my parents.

I'm not quite sure how this post devolved into a stream-of-conciousness about my poverty psychosis, but there it is. Maybe the empty inbox isn't so bad. Maybe I need to take a few deep breaths and go write something.

Good things

Okay, you'll have to get past the "Martha Stewart" title.

1. I have joined the gym and have just completed my second group cycling class. It's amazing to me how much less I want cake after a workout. Before the gym: "Hmmm, cake." After: "Hmmmm, water and cheese, please." Gotta love serotonin, baby.

2. I just got an e-mail telling me that "Webmage" has been shipped to me and should arrive August 3rd. But of course, you all knew that, because you've bought "Webmage" through Amazon.com and received your confirmation e-mails today, too. I'm jazzed for next week. In the meantime ...

3. I still haven't bought a new book. Dammit. That's on the to-do list for tomorrow.

things to do.

1. Join the gym. This extra ten pounds on my body is pathetic. I need group fitness to motivate me, and so that's what I'm doing. Tomorrow night, dammit, I'm joining the gym.

2. Write more. Paradoxically, this will be easier when I join the gym. My routine two or three nights a week will be to write at the bookstore after work, then go to the gym, then go home. This routine is exciting to me, I can't help it.

3. Stop checking my e-mail obsessively every hour (yes, I'm back to that again). They really are going to reject my story, and checking the computer all the time isn't going to change that. In fact, it only insures that I'll be rejected sooner. But maybe I'll be--I mean, my story will be--accepted ...

4. Go buy a new book already. I've been bookless for three days, and I'm very nearly breaking out into hives.

ridin' high

I've been in a funk lately. Those of you that have been following my saga know that a few months ago I submitted my "killer survivor" story to a dark humor anthology. According to the submission guidelines, they were going to notify you--yay or nay--by June 30. If you'll note the time stamp it's waaaaay after that. I've been assuming I got rejected, but I figured I should e-mail the editor and get it over with. I sent a polite, business-like letter that basically said, "yo, it's after June 30, what up?" This is the response I got:

Argh! Another e-mail that didn't make it through!We received a lot more submissions than anticipated and were only able to get through the first wave of reads. What you SHOULD have received at the end of June/beginning of July was a note saying that "Last Man Standing" made it past the first read. So we'll be going through the (thankfully, much smaller) pile of second read stories over the next couple of weeks and should have a final answer shortly!

Yeah, bitches, you read that right. I don't want to celebrate too much--clearly I'm going to not make the final cut, at least that's what I'm telling myself so I don't become suicidal if that happens--but hot Damn! I MADE THE FIRST CUT!!!! I'm soooo going to write for, like, three hours today (I normally poop out after an hour-and-a-half, so doubling that is good for me). After I have a celebratory Jimmy John's sandwich. Or a slice of Papa Del's pizza ...

random thoughts

Two things I heard or read today that made me laugh:

"Better Living Through Chemistry"

"No matter how hot she is, someone, somewhere, is sick of her shit"

So maybe I'm not an athlete after all

Last night I played in a church-league softball game. The coach decided to change things up and put me on second base. I was a little freaked out, because I've never played second, but I thought I was up to the task. I got hit with a quick bouncer to the shin in the second inning, and I thought that would be my injury for the night. Yeah, I was wrong. Later in the 2nd, a runner was on second, trying to sort of advance to third. The pitcher got the ball, and seeing that the runner is being funny, wings the ball to me. I'm on the base, but in my mind the runner wasn't going anywhere, so I wasn't looking for the pitcher to throw the ball. He fires it to me, and I couldn't get my glove up in time. I took that fucker right in the throat. My friend who was catching says she heard the ball hit before I fell to the ground. I don't remember hearing it, so I guess it's true what they say--you don't hear the one that gets ya. All I remember is seeing the ball, thinking "oh fuck", getting smacked, then sitting on the ground. (Yeah, I've got a bruise on my flank from taking a seat.) My first thought was along the lines of "owowowowowowow pain pain in my throat I can breathe, yes, good, I can swallow too even better owowowow" followed quickly by "Please don't let me cry in front of this field full of boys." Everyone--including the runner--circled me, asking if I was all right. I managed to croak out, "I'm fine, I'm fine, go away, I'm fine" because I knew if they kept fawning over me, I'd start to bawl. I finished out the inning, then made it to the dugout before the tears came. I drank a ton of water and managed to finish out that game (we lost) and half of the second game (we won). My throat still hurts today, as well as my shin and my flank. I also have an ultra-sexy, 900-phone-operator voice going for me. A sadistic part of me hopes that the coach will put me at second again, because I don't want to wind up scared of the ball. Get back on the horse and all that. The sane part of me wants to hide out in right field.

Oh, yeah, I managed to write two pages of my book today. Screw you, softball injury.

This is the closest I got to a celebrity

I told her she needed to wear these for poker night...

View from the Santa Monica Pier ferris wheel

Ken's souvenir t-shirt

Stupid California sun

The four of us hit Santa Monica beach today. We didn't go to the pier, because we had to apartment-search in the afternoon, but we did wave-swim in the ocean and soak up the sun. Where I put SPF 45 didn't get burned, but the places that got missed ... wowza. Red and swollen and painful. Not nearly bad enough to blister, but not enough to forget I'm burned, either. Ken got it pretty good on his tummy. Ouch. We were out for three hours, but it didn't feel like it because of the cool breeze off the water and the mild temperatures. Deceptive, that California sun. I'll post good beach pictures when I get home. Although, I have to say, somehow I have to get Ken over his camera phobia. He actually get angry if you try to take his picture, and I hate that. I always tell him "I'm not going to have any pictures for your funeral photo collage, and I'll look like a bad wife" but he doesn't care. One of these days we're going to have a huge fight about, and I'm so going to win.

sunny California

Third day in California. Aside from the traffic and the layer of grime that covers everything, it's pretty cool. Shopped at the Beverly Center in Beverly Hills yesterday. Didn't buy anything, of course, but I think I maybe saw a celebrity. Ming Na, I think her name is, from ER. I swear I saw her on the elevator. The best news of the day is that Bridget found a job at the blood bank at Cedars-Sinai, which sounds like a very cool gig. The HR guy tried to recruit me, which was fun in a odd sort of way.

More later. Next on the agenda is dragging Bridget out of bed so we can score some free breakfast, then it's off to Santa Monica beach.