It never really goes away, does it?

So today I had the day off. It's a gorgeous day, beautiful, sunshiny, no humidity, slight breeze, around 80 degrees. (Yes, Bridget, I know it's like that every day in LA. Shut up.) I colored by hair, finished a short story, contemplated getting Chinese food for lunch but then convinced myself to way until mid-afternoon, and got a manicure. I went into one of those strip-mall places full of Asian women who barely speak English because those type of nail places give better manicures that salons that charge twice as much. I allowed myself to enjoy being pampered for a half-hour. I tipped the woman generously, and left to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

I got about halfway to my car before I mentally flayed myself for spending $17 on a frivolity. "Self," I said, "You could have spent $8 on this exact nail polish at the mall and used it for the next two years."

Why, why, why, do I feel guilty about spending money on things that aren't essentials? Why can't I get it through my head that just because I grew up poor doesn't mean I am now? Why can't I understand that I work hard for my money and so it's okay for me to have nice things?

I don't always feel this way. I'm fine with buying a computer or an iPod, and I have no problems paying for a gaming platform or a few books or a gym membership, probably because I know I'll get my money's worth out of them through use. But getting a manicure seems like such an indulgence that I beat myself up about it.

Retail therapy

Today I went shopping and totally blew my wad at the bookstore. "The Muppet Show" season 1, Apocolypse 2012, and two books by Lilith Saintcrow found their way into the proverbial shopping cart. Next week I have four glorious days off work, one of which is my birthday, and I intend on spending the time reading and writing and watching nostalgic TV. Hopefully it will take my mind off the empty e-mail inbox. Or at least slow my incessant checking. We'll see.

Ken and I are going to sign up for the local mini-triathlon this year. No, we really are this time. So I suppose I can't spend all my time holed up on the couch. At least some of it has to be spent on a bike and a treadmill.

Two things to make the work week go faster: Jericho on Tuesday and Lost on Thursday. Well, I'll probably end up watching Lost on Friday because of Valentine's Day. Ken wants to make a big multi-course meal to celebrate. Salad, pasta, garlic bread, cheesecake ... oh, yeah. My jeans feel tight already.

Cold hard cash

Today I received a check for my short story "Three Wishes" for the Terribly Twisted Tales anthology. What to buy, what to buy, what to buy ...

I think a piece of jewelry might be in order, as is Rock Band.

Ghost Story

I'm about 3/4 of the way done with a first draft of The Fun Ghost Story, a.k.a. as the Newly Disturbing Ghost Story. I set out to write a fun, charming, light ghost story with a ten-year-old protagonist and it's become a darker, creepier story with twelve-year-old protagonist. Funny how that works out, huh? Usually it's best to get out of a story's way. I'm hoping to finish the first draft today. Next up: title.

I bought three new CD's for my most recent rejections: Guns-N-Roses Greatest Hits, Velvet Revolver Contraband, and Plain White T's All That We Needed. I'm listening to GNR now; there's just something about that music that brings out the angry teen in me. It's definite "turn up" music, you know, you hear it and you just have to crank it loud and sing at the top of your lungs.

Saying that makes me think of one of my friends in high school. He defined his music in two catagories: "turn up" music or "leave the fuckin' knob alone" music. He would get on me because he felt I was too liberal with the "turn up" distinction. I'd turn up Billy Joel, REO Speedwagon, Nirvana, and the Police; he'd say leave the fuckin' knob alone. He turned up Pearl Jam. I think he'd approve of cranking GNR. I wonder what he's doing now.

I cleaned out my filing cabinet last night and found another rejection from ... I dunno ... 2005? I actually got a little nostalgic.

booty

Bought some new earrings today. I've discovered that I need sterling silver earrings or else my lobes freak out. Real gold, not gold-plate, would probably work, too. Freakish body chemistry does have its perks.

Rewardville

I bought the new Bon Jovi and Stone Sour CD's today. Poke fun if you must.

I just started listening to the Stone Sour one. The first song sounds like a Metallica rip-off. Hopefully it becomes more original soon.

The Stormy Weather progress bar looks misleading. I've done a lot of cleaning and rearranging. I'm working on the climax now, which will actually take the better part of the weekend since I have to work. Once I'm through with that, I'm going to go through each chapter and see what I can add here and there. I figure if I add 500-1000 words to each chapter I can bump up my word count to where it needs to be. Fingers crossed.

Another reason not to procreate

So Ken and I went to Best Buy today. I had intended to buy a new CD as a reward for my "Last Man Standing" rejection, but the opening chords of the Guitar Hero II song "Surrender" by Cheap Trick caught my ears. I wondered over to the display area to find a father watching his boy play the game. The orange key was in play, and from the number of notes, I suspect this kid was playing the "expert" level. I watched an eight-year-old score over 200,000 points on a first-tier song. I was exhilarated and humiliated at the same time. Exhilarated because damn! I just watched someone kill this game! and humiliated because damn! I thought I was doing good because last night I scored over 75,000 points on a "medium" level, sixth-tier song.

Chalk this up as a lesson learned. Never have kids because they'll only kick your ass at video games.

And I still have to buy a CD. Maybe I'll wait until Tuesday ... the new Maroon 5 album comes out. Yeah, yeah, Innuendo, I know. I almost heard your eyes roll in Indy all the way from here.

buying extravaganza

Today we bought a new laptop and new iPod, both for yours truly. Ken's been busy setting up my system. Just a bit ago he said something to the effect of "Okay, it's yours to screw up now" and let me loose.

The computer is pretty sweet: it's got a 160 GB hard drive, over a GB of RAM, a 14.1-inch monitor and came with Windows Vista.

The new iPod is flashy-dashy. It's got 30 GB of it's own and a color screen. It can play movies (if I care to buy them) and can store my photos. I'm actually jazzed about that; now I can carry pictures someplace without actually taking my camera or printing actual pictures.

Vista is ... okay. I've not fooled around too much with it yet. The important thing is all my word documents are transferred and I can commence writing about Max's confrontation with his dad bright and early tomorrow morning.

I'm much more excited about working on this book the second time around. Having a map helps, as does writing it in the proper POV. Right now it's just flowing better than before. It's not like pulling teeth to write. Lesson learned: if it's hard, it's probably for a reason. Fix it and move on. That's not to say if something's hard it's not worth doing ... just, ya know, why make it harder than it has to be? Tell the story that needs to be told and not how you want it told. Is any of this making any sense whatsoever?

Still rockin'

I got a rejection today from Weird Tales for "Last Man Standing." I sent it snail mail on March 2nd. To Florida. That must be a land-speed record or something. So I bought two old movies: True Lies and Fast Times at Ridgemont High. It's like comfort food, only better.

Back to the old drawing board. I'm selling this story. It refuses to die!

That's right, I rock.

Another rejection today, this one from Realms of Fantasy for "Rules of Engagement." This story is basically a chick-lit story set in the same world as my trilogy; the books are set in medieval times and the story is modern, but both have the same rules of magic and such. A lot of chick-lit in the fantasy genre revolves around vampire-love or a "it's hard out there for a witch" theme, and this story is neither. The protagonist is a woman who likes her one-night stands and tries her best to love-and-leave a magi (the dudes who perform magic in my world) but is surprised to find that breaking the magi etiquette rules makes the dude want her more. I say all of this because now that ROF has rejected it, I'm kind of at a loss as to where to send it. Anyone with any ideas, shout 'em out. I'll probably peruse my resources and send it out this weekend.

Of course, this means I can buy something to reward myself, but I haven't really thought about what I want. Maybe some cool new workout clothes or a new pair of running shoes. Spring is on its way, you know ... it's going to be 60 degrees this weekend! (Shut up, Bridget). Speaking of working out, I tried a Body Jam class at the gym last night, and I loved it! My whole body is a little stiff and creaky. The class consisted of little mini-routines with steps pulled from ballet, jazz, hip-hop, and salsa dancing. In a past life I was a dancer, I swear. I don't mean I'm good at all--I would put myself as an average dancer--but in my head I was all about the performance, baby! I wasn't shy at all about working it. I'll definitely take the class once a week.

I submitted a story to a pirate anthology a few days ago. The editor had extended me an invitation at the beginning of February, and I managed to get my story in three weeks before the deadline and 600 words under the limit. Hopefully I'll know within the next week or so if I'm accepted. This is the good news I've been alluding to for a while. Fingers crossed!

Happy birthday to me

I'm officially 32 today! Well, I guess it's not official until 8:05 p.m., but you get the idea. I have to say this is the crappiest birthday I've ever had, with Bailey dying two days ago and all. I'm beginning to get used to the idea that she's not here. I'm not on the verge of crying all the time, but it still doesn't take too much to push me over the edge. Saturday night we went out for dinner at Red Lobster with friends of ours. Ken and I both had a fish dinner and a glass of Bailey's on the rocks. It was a nice tribute. At one point in the evening I joked that in 12 years when Moonshine passes away, drinking a glass of moonshine's gonna be a bitch. I have a feeling we'll do it, though.

Ken had mentioned maybe getting a new kitty, not right away, but ya know ... sometime. I don't know. I look at the other three cats like little ticking time bombs, and I think to myself that I can't handle going through this anguish three more times. But then I think that Bailey had 12-1/2 great years with us, and the other cats have a pretty good life, so maybe it is worth it. Sure, there's a crappy month or so when they pass ... but all the happy times before hand make up for it. I don't want a new cat anytime soon, but I might be open to the suggestion this summer.

As for birthday festivities, we went out to breakfast with friends (yum), I'm going to color my hair (I'm going to be brave and try strawberry blonde) and I think I'd like to go get a manicure. I may or may not go buy a new FM transmitter for my iPod--my old one crapped out and I really like listening to the iPod on long trips. Then tonight Ken and I will probably watch The Departed and "Heroes" on TV while eating german chocolate cake. No worries--tomorrow night after work we're going out to happy hour with some of my work friends so I'll be sure to kick back a few cold ones then.