And then she was like blah blah blah

This sums up the difference between Hannah and Diego:

2012-02-17T08:16:00.000-07:00

After coming home from a date the other night, I found myself puzzled. We'd had great conversation and a fun time on three different occasions, and yet ... I was pretty sure he was not that into me.

It's just a gut feeling you get sometimes, and mine are usually right. Despite three hours of dazzling conversation (ok, fine, I probably shouldn't have talked so much about the capital gains tax, but in my defense HE WAS INTO IT), this was going absolutely nowhere.

As I laid on the rug in the living room, trying to figure out where I'd gone awry, I had a brilliant idea. I looked up at Hannah and Diego on the couch, where they were watching New Girl. "Hey! Next time I have a good date lined up, will you guys go to the restaurant, pretend you're on a date, and secretly evaluate my behavior?"

Hannah: "Hell no."

Diego: "Absolutely! But you'll have to sign something beforehand agreeing to not be upset by any of my observations or conclusions."

terrible movies are good for something

2012-02-14T12:35:00.000-07:00

I've never been into the Twilight movies. (Shocking, I know.) I saw the first two because the situations presented themselves -- it was all very passive voice.

But as I sorted through my Redbox options for tonight (a snuggly Valentine's evening with my puppy and some takeout), I couldn't stop pondering Breaking Dawn.

Really, if there were ever a movie to make me feel pretty good about being single again on Valentine's Day, it's a movie where a teen bride is rewarded for her virtue with a monster baby that eats its way out of her uterus.

I like my uterus just the way it is, thanks.

wake up call

2012-02-08T06:00:00.002-07:00

Remember that conference I went to way back when?

Today I got a phone call from one of the workshop leaders.

She asked me how my writing was going.

I said fine. (Lie.)

She asked me if it was a novel or memoir.

I said novel. (True.)

She asked me how far along I was.

I said I didn't know. (Lie. I know. I'm caught somewhere between the beginning, which I am endlessly re-writing, and despair that I will never figure out what to do.)

(At this point the phone call means less, since she was trying to persuade me to sign up for another conference, and my Outlook Calendar and pocketbook can't handle that concept at the moment.)

But I kind of wanted to ask her if she wouldn't mind calling me back in six months.

Not that I really want to sign up for her workshop, but a regular dose of reality would be nice.

Doggie Daycare: It's A Thing

2012-02-07T11:13:00.000-07:00

Because I am a working machine these days, Spence was feeling a bit neglected. I pondered my options as far as hiring a dog walker (they weren't good) and then concluded that I would sign Spence up for two days of dog daycare a week for the next 6 weeks.

So far, it's been a mixed bag.

Spence really likes it.

He comes home really smelly.

Spence really likes it.

But my formerly silent little friend, who never barked and rarely growled, seems to have discovered his voice, thanks to the bad influence of the other doggies at daycare.

(Am I the only one who thought of this when I wrote, "discovered his voice"? No?)

Puppy, please don't grow up to be a Real Housewife.

But the final plus in the Pro Doggie Daycare Column:

Yes, Spence comes home hyper as balls for an hour, stinking to high heaven and barking like a gangbuster, but then he crashes for the rest of the night, snuggled up next to my side while I work some more at home. (And watch The Bachelor.) And he doesn't wake up again until it's time for his bedtime pee break, at which point he shuffles out the door, efficiently pees*, and immediately heads back to his bed.

So we'll take it.

* Was "efficiently" an unnecessary adverb in that sentence? If you've ever had a dog, you know that it wasn't.

My nominee for the dumbest argument ever

2012-02-05T13:13:00.000-07:00

"As a free agent, it can do what it wants."

Invariably when you get into a tricky situation like the Susan G. Komen v. Planned Parenthood debacle last week, some really "smart" person will point out that the Susan G. Komen foundation is a "free agent," and "free agents" can do what they want.

I just want to know who out there is so stupid that they don't already understand that.

There is no need to talk down to people. I understand that Tyson and KFC and other chicken companies are "free agents," and they can stuff 20 chickens into a cage and throw chicks into dumpsters if they want. I also understand that I am a free agent (thanks for the heads up, political commentator, but I've understood that concept since the first grade) and I can choose to only buy free range meat if I want.

So when people yammer on about how Susan G. Komen is a "free agent," and other "free agents" can choose to support or not support them, I seriously have to wonder if that person just needed to fill airtime or column space.

Everyone understands that.

There is no one who does not understand that.

Can we please get a Universal Taboo Buzzer we can press whenever someone starts down the tired old "they're a free agent" line of thought? OBJECTION, SILLY ARGUMENT.

In fact, because everyone understands that so acutely, and because of the power of social media, Susan G. Komen did a 170 (it wasn't quite a 180, I think we can all agree) on Friday and restored breast cancer screening funds to Planned Parenthood. Because breast cancer is still awful, even when a group that uses 3% of its time and resources to perform abortions is the group helping underprivileged women avoid it.

Because it's a free agent, and free agents can choose to fund breast cancer screenings (while giving their top executives $400,000 annual salaries) or not. And free agents can choose to provide contraceptives, and advice on infertility, and STD screenings, and abortions, and referrals for mammograms (all in the same building!) if they want.

And free agents can choose to donate, or not, to the aforementioned groups.

Churches are free agents.

Companies are free agents.

Individuals are free agents.

Sports teams are free agents, and very often come courting other free agents.

Basically everyone is a free agent except a government entity.

So from now on, whether we're talking about a theater banning a movie, or a chain restaurant supporting a political cause we disagree with, STOP POINTING OUT THAT IT'S A FREE AGENT. Because no one is sitting around thinking, "You know, here I am, all this time thinking I had personal control over PETA/the Catholic Church/The New York Times/the San Francisco 49ers--you mean to tell me that I don't? What a world!"

materialism always helps

2012-02-03T11:24:00.000-07:00

If things are going rough for you, as they are for me, I say take a page out of the Book of Materialism and shop out your woes.

If you're half as lucky as I am, you'll end up with the coolest purse ever.

rage

2012-02-02T09:50:00.000-07:00

I try not to talk about legally things in my social media accounts, I have to say this:

Dishonest lawyers should rot in hell for giving the rest of us a bad name.

Lying and then claiming you did it in the "interest of your client" is not an acceptable ethics workaround. Either you're a lying sack or you aren't.

Let's try this in cross examination terms since you don't have a great concept of honesty in the abstract:

Isn't it true you said X?

Isn't it also true you then did Y?

Cased closed. And may the record also reflect that opposing counsel is both the Mayor and Acting Deputy City Manager of Bitchville.

(I'm so glad I don't have to actually "litigate" in the traditional sense at my current job -- it would wreak havoc on my already-bordering-on-sailor vocabulary.)

Well, shucks

2012-01-31T12:15:00.000-07:00

Oscar Sparrow nominated me for a Kreativ Blogger Award, ain't that sweet? As part of that award, I have to tell you 10 things you probably don't know about me. I'm also supposed to pick 10 people to give it to, but when I get overwhelmed with work, I get overwhelmed with decisions, which means the thought of picking 10 of the many fantastic blogs I read, follow, and/or stalk to highlight gives me a headache. AWARDS FOR EVERYONE!

1. I want to visit India. The trick is apparently finding a travel buddy. Everyone wants to go to Paris, no one wants to go to Mumbai.

2. I really hate texting. A subset of that hatred is the "hey" text -- when someone tries to initiate a conversation with the word "hey" and sometimes nothing else. But even more than that? I hate the "hey [adjective or sometimes noun]" text.

In the last two weeks, a guy has tried to initiate conversation with me by texting the following:

"Hey cutie!"

"Hey hot stuff!"

"Hey cutie"

"Hey cutie"

"Hey gorgeous!"

And last night when I logged on to Facebook, an IM that said, "Hey sexy."

Just ... gross.

Fortunately for this kid, I do believe there's a lid for every pot out there, so all he has to do is find a girl who is easily flattered and enjoys really tiny conversations.

3. Despite sharing a few horror date stories, I mostly prefer to keep to myself about my various romantic misadventures. While the goal is to find a guy who fits into my group of friends and family, I don't especially want to have to talk to them about him.

4. I am terrible at setting people up, but the one exception is after someone moves to a different state. Then suddenly I realize that he/she is perfect for her/him, and why can't I ever figure that out while people live in the same area code?

5. I hate mushrooms and barely tolerate tomatoes. My parents predicted my entire life that I would grow out of these hatreds -- nope. But I did grow out of my hatred of hummus, so that's something.

6. I am afflicted with what my family lovingly calls "Lassie Complex," ie SOMEONE-FELL-DOWN-A-WELL???-CAN-I-HELP?-CAN-I-HELP? complex.

So you know, when I say I went to law school because I wanted to "help people," it's true. I pathologically want to help people.

I'm considering seeing a therapist about it.

7. Despite being Mormon, it really bugs me when Mormons-in-their-Mormon-capacity show up at my door, unannounced. This has nothing to do with being Mormon per se, and everything to do with having a Mormon purpose.

Random Mormon coming for a friendly (previously announced) visit? Fine.

Mormon coming over (usually unannounced) to get all Mormon up in my grill? Less than appreciated.

And for the record, I do apply the same standard to myself. So when I am assigned to bring someone (usually a stranger) cookies for church because their hair got over-processed at the salon, I drop those cookies with a nice note on the porch and run like a bandit.

8. I would totally go on The Bachelor for the vacations. And if the producers asked me to cry my eyes out in the reject limo in exchange for a free trip to Costa Rica, I would whip out my Vicks Vapo Rub and blubber like a champ.

I have no shame when it comes to vacations.

9. I want a pocket pig. In fact, I would pay an obscene amount of money for a pocket pig, and am considering fencing my backyard for the sole purpose of buying one this summer.

POCKET PIG!

10. I hate lists so bad that this post was delayed three days because I couldn't think of a Number 10.

Well, hello internets

2012-01-24T09:29:00.000-07:00

Just popping in to say hi amidst my wacky schedule and share a thought, random though it is.

I was reading through my old, semi-abandoned NaNoWriMo project the other day and I found poem. (Ahh, fiction inspired by poetry. That NaNo project really was a winner, amiright? At least it wasn't a Blink-182 song.

Confession: wanted to write "Snow Patrol," didn't want to offend fans of Snow Patrol. Concluded that probably no one likes Blink-182 anymore and it was a safe slam. Gee whiz, this blog is edgy.)

My story is set in winter, and I think this is a winter time poem if there ever was one. Please enjoy.

Canis Major -Robert Frost

The great Overdog
That heavenly beast
With a star in one eye
Gives a leap in the east.

He dances upright
All the way to the west
And never once drops
On his forefeet to rest.

I'm a poor underdog
But to-night I will bark
With that great Overdog
That romps through the dark.

It's the final countdown

2012-01-20T10:13:00.000-07:00

So friends, the time has come.

I don't talk about my real lawyerin job on here much -- hopefully ever, really. But here's a tidbit of truth for you all: my busy season starts next week.

Normally, I'd consider the possibility that I should probably spend less time engaging in my other projects -- writing, reading, attempting to train for that long-delayed half marathon, teaching my dog to play dead, engaging in some seriously whimsical baking -- but I actually kind of feel like 2012 is my year.

So instead of gently tapping the breaks over the coming months, we're going to be going full steam ahead.

By the end of my busy season (circa April 1st), I will have:

- Written 20,000 words in my New Project.

- Taught Spence to play dead. Or to come when called. Whichever is easier and/or more useful.

- Posted three pictures of ADORABLE baked goods on this here site.

- Gone running twice a week, every week. (Indoors counts, because my sojourn in Fake Austin seriously impacted my born-and-bred Utah internal thermostat. I am currently freezing whenever I step foot outdoors and there's the slightest nip in the air.)

So that's it, friends. My new quarterly goals.

To celebrate with me, go download the new Fictionist CD on iTunes while it's a measly $4.99. I know I'm seriously late to this party (literally dozens of people have recommended them to me over the last year or so), but I finally jumped on the bandwagon this week.

And guess what? They are as awesome as I was led to believe. So go forth and enjoy.

roommate quote of the day

2012-01-19T19:52:00.001-07:00

"I think we should pool our money and buy that $600 vacuum. Not only would it be a great vacuum, but it would really cement our friendship."

- Hannah

the triumph of mediocrity

2012-01-18T09:31:00.000-07:00

Oh Pinterest, what will you enrage me over next?

Do you know why people are (really) putting off marriage, not getting married at all, putting off having kids, forgoing kids, etc., etc., etc.? Some people would blame feminism. (Boo, equal rights! You're the worst!) Or gay marriage. (Ruining marriage for the rest of us!)

But I actually blame all these idiots who can't stop yap-yap-yapping about how haaaaaard it is to be a grown up, and specifically a grown-up with a vagina. Laundry is hard! Taking care of kids is hard! Working is hard! It is too much to expect a woman who already SHOWERS AND DOES HER HAIR and HAS SEX to also HAVE A JOB!

No, dummies.

Crossing the plains is hard. Fighting Nazis is hard.

Cleaning your house, going to the gym, and working full-time? NOT HARD.

And when you never SHUT UP about how very hard it is to accomplish the bare minimum of tasks required in adulthood, you discourage people from embracing adulthood.

So stop blaming the feminists for the ills of modern society, because according to feminists:

Cleaning your house: 3 hours on a Saturday and not being a total slob the rest of the week = 3 hours

Healthy dinner on the table at dinnertime: 30 minutes every night plus 1 hour at the grocery store every week = 4.5 hours a week (less if you occasionally spend 10 minutes to go to a healthy restaurant and get takeout)

Fit, trim, and well-groomed: 30 minutes working out, three times a week + 45 minutes to get ready every morning = 6.7 hours a week (less if you relax on Saturdays)

Works full-time: Let's even go overboard on a normal full-time schedule and say 60 hours a week.

Laundry done and put away: 2 hours a week. Feel free to watch Revenge or Grey's Anatomy while you do it, because let's be honest, the machine is doing almost all of the work.

Great sex life: assuming this means having sex 4-5 times a week for one hour each time, you will spend 5 hours every week engaging in sexual activity.

Total: 81.2 hours

How many hours are in a week? 168. So assuming you get a full 8 hours of sleep every night (56 hours total), you still have 30.8 hours left every week to read, hang out with your friends, go shopping, detail your car, plan a vacation, learn Italian, volunteer at soup kitchens, and waste more time on Pinterest.

Suck it, lady-self-haters.

Who says reality TV doesn't give us valuable life lessons?

2012-01-17T07:00:00.002-07:00

Friends, let's chat.

I know we're all supposed to pretend that things like The Bachelor are pure trash, but I honestly believe there are nuggets of wisdom to be found here and there. True, most of those nuggets are found amidst the humiliation of others, but I say a nugget's a nugget.

My number one nugget from The Bachelor is this: When a guy makes out with you, and immediately makes out with another girl, and deems the second girl to be "better" in some indefinable way (as evidenced by giving her an immunity rose), YOU SHOULD STAND UP AND LEAVE. Or stay for the free trip to San Francisco. Entirely up to you -- but whatever you do, don't get a case of the mascara'd sobbies on national television.

What have you learned from reality TV?

What, there was some kind of scandal on Goodreads this weekend?

2012-01-16T10:06:00.000-07:00

OK, I'm late to the party, but I have a thing or two to say about a thing or two.

For all of you who don't know, Goodreads is a website where readers can review books. There is apparently a lot of debate about how "free market" this online marketplace of ideas should be, because some of the reviews can be pretty nasty. (And usually ... hilarious. Let's be honest, mean is always funnier.)

This puts a lot of panties in a twist, from readers who object to giving anything less than 3 stars out of 5 (then what is the point of the other two stars?) and writers who object to the scathing tone the Internet enables. And some nasty business went down over there last week.

Here's the thing.

If people can't be honest about what they don't like as well as what they do, then the purpose of a "review" is defeated. I don't want to log on to Rottentomatoes and find out that every film critic gave a movie a minimum of 3 out of 5 stars, and all those who thought it deserved none, 1, or 2 just remained silent.

I don't think people should just be nice for no reason, whether you're doing it because you have a vague but incorrect understanding of karma, an inability to stick by your true opinions, or just don't want to be viewed as a "mean" person (by strangers on the internet).

If you think a book is boring, tell me.

If you think it had a flawed premise, I want to know.

If you think it promotes rape culture, for the love of pancakes, don't let me buy it.

And if you think it was legitimately the cat's pajamas, tell me that, too.

Because really, and I am seriously asking, what is the point of self-censoring? To protect the feelings of strangers? To earn yourself a credit with the universe in hopes that you, too, will be published someday? Or is it just some socially ingrained resistance to honesty--YOUR HAIR LOOKS SO CUTE!*

Frankly, I think a lot of authors are just too damn sensitive. You know what is a baby? A baby. You know what is not a baby? Something you wrote. If you're still confused about this distinction, print out your manuscript, put it in a onesie, pop it in a stroller and see what kind of looks you get from people on the street.

I love writing, I love reading, but I'm fairly sure the social hierarchy goes

baby > pet > book

We don't run into burning buildings for books, folks. We just hope the guys at the Apple Store can restore a fried harddrive and move on with life.

I'm not saying that it's uncomfortable to put yourself out there for public criticism -- it is. I am also not saying that people don't have a right to be defensive about their passions -- they do. But I think it's time to put on our big girl and big boy panties and gain some perspective.

Do you know what people said about Charles Dickens?

"Not much of Dickens will live, because it has so little correspondence to life. He was the incarnation of cockneydom, a caricaturist who aped the moralist; he should have kept to short stories. If his novels are read at all in the future, people will wonder what we saw in them."

And JK Rowling?

"How to read Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone? Why, very quickly, to begin with, and perhaps also to make an end. Why read it? Presumably, if you cannot be persuaded to read anything better, Rowling will have to do."

And Nathaniel Hawthorne:

"I believe I dislike The House of Seven Gables because in the first chapters the prose is so fatuously intense: the striving for effect that makes it the ancestor of all horror-novel writing. But maybe it got better."

And it's not limited to critics taking on writers. Sometimes writers take on other writers. What did George Bernard Shaw have to say about Shakespeare, for example?

"With the single exception of Homer, there is no eminent writer, not even Sir Walter Scott, whom I can despise so entirely as I despise Shakespeare."

Mark Twain on Jane Austen:

"Every time I read Pride and Prejudice, I want to dig her up and hit her over the skull with her own shin-bone."

But don't worry, Mr. Clemens will get his comeuppance thanks to William Faulkner:

"A hack writer who would not have been considered fourth-rate in Europe, who tricked out a few of the old proven surefire literary skeletons with sufficient local color to intrigue the superficial and the lazy."

Literary criticism is first and foremost subjective. Not everyone will love what you write, and not everyone will love the writing of someone who is far better than you.

But if you had the right to write it, I don't see how you can argue that someone else doesn't have the right to post a criticism of it on the Internet.

* Never trust a girl who says your hair looks cute after a trip to the salon. WE ALL SAY THAT.

On my high-horse again

2012-01-12T10:48:00.001-07:00

If there's one thing that really, really bugs me, it's false self-righteousness when it comes to entertainment.

(I know my biggest pet peeve should be sexism or racism or systemic poverty, but I am shallow. I also don't like bad drivers.)

Do you see that little rating there on the corner of the DVD box? It either says G, PG, PG-13, or R? If it says R, don't watch it and then complain about its content.

If you decide to watch The Hangover and then get offended, you're an idiot. Worse, I suspect you were secretly looking forward to the opportunity to talk about how you don't really find crude humor that funny the entire time.

It's The Hangover. It's one of the highest-grossing movies of the last few years. It has a sequel. It's set in Las Vegas and it's about a bachelor party gone horribly wrong. Everyone was talking about it constantly two summers ago. Also, just in case you missed allllll that, there's this thing called THE INTERNET that you can use to find out information about a movie.

So how did you not know there were going be swear words and dirty jokes and nudity in The Hangover before you watched it?

Did you, perhaps, deliberately ignore all the signs that suggested this movie was not for you?

Good people of the Internet, if you have certain requirements of your entertainment -- if you don't like cursing, or violence, or nudity, or lists*, or unnecessary makeovers, or shopping montages -- just GOOGLE first. And if a movie has those things, don't watch it and then complain.

Thank you.

* Mostly unrelated to movies, Diego's pet peeve in songs is when singers make lists. I know it's random, but since he mentioned it, I can stop noticing it. Prime example is Black Eyed Peas' "I Gotta Feeling": Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Saturday to Sunday. Closely related is "International Love," which is basically a travelogue. "Wait, women in Greece are sweet, Pitbull? And women in Lebanon are, pardon the pun, 'the bomb'? Tell me more!"

It's going to drive you bonkers now, too. Don't worry, I'll tell Diego thanks for you.

PS - having an additional clarifying thought, post-hitting-publish-button:

I enjoy some films and TV that can be violent or vulgar, depending on the film or TV show. I don't judge people who share this opinion, or people who choose to stay away from that kind of entertainment altogether. Whatever floats your boat, man.

My issue is with people who either want to have it both ways (the fun of watching something naughty combined with feeling high-minded because you later condemned it ... after watching, of course), or the people who couldn't be bothered to investigate beforehand.

setbacks

2012-01-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

I think the worst part of starting any new project--whether it's something concrete like writing a story or something amorphous like setting a goal--is the moment when you realize you've been going about it all wrong.

Like lasts night, when I took a closer look at the nutrition facts on my beloved Greek Gods honey-flavored yogurt, instead of just relying on a general Greek yogurt is good for you! theory.

Internet, you've fooled me again.

Welcome to my hovel

2012-01-10T08:31:00.000-07:00

Don't ever let anyone tell you home ownership isn't hard.

Recently I decided to rewire the Casa so it wouldn't burn down on top of us. You would think this would be a fairly simple, though time-intensive, process.

Or maybe you, unlike me, already know better.

So far the electrician has been out to my house six times. Once to evaluate the house. Twice to rewire the basement. Once to rewire the attic. Again, to continue rewiring the attic. One more time to do some more stuff (I'm not sure what).

And he's coming back today.

The best part of having your house rewired (aside from the giant mess the electricians leave behind for you to clean up) is when the new wiring overpowers the old wiring and the ceiling electricity goes out all weekend. Notice I said "ceiling electricity." So lamps and TVs work, but you better get used to showering and cooking in the dark, because my bathroom and kitchen are death traps without light.

Last night I made spicy Thai noodles for myself, Diego, Hannah and Echo before The Bachelor came on. We had to pull a shadeless lamp into the kitchen so I could cook by the light of one bulb.

It looked like we were Romanian refugees.

I want to go to there.

Dear

2012-01-05T11:53:00.000-07:00

Have you heard of this "I'm going to ask a celebrity out on YouTube" thing that's going around?

It made me ponder who I would ask out via the world-wide-web, should I choose to abandon all dignity (or in the alternative, spend at least a week creating the most ridiculous video I could -- because as we all know, beyond abandoned dignity lies glory).

But I couldn't think of a soul.

And then it occurred to me what I really wanted to say on YouTube -- shout outs to fake people.

***

Dear Lady Edith Crawley from Downton Abbey,

Sweetie, I know your older sister is a raging biatch, but that's no reason to become a bitter shrew. Let's stop with the passive-aggressiveness, shall we? Inform your parents that it's time they take an interest in your future and stop with the Mary-Mary-Mary show. Spend more time with your sister Sybil, she is awesome.

And if you can't stop drinking the haterade, perhaps a change of scenery is in order. Consider volunteering at a hospital during season 2's WWI or going to New York to visit your Yankee grandparents.

Your outfits are completely adorable,

- Ru

***

Dear Shane from The Walking Dead,

I know a lot of people don't like you, but I think you're the bomb. I'm so glad they didn't kill you off in season 1. Here's hoping you continue making rational decisions and a little more time with your shirt off come February.

PS - If you kill Dale, you will be dead to me.

PSS - Not really. I'll just be annoyed for a little while. And if you then killed Andrea, it would go a long way toward me forgiving you.

***

Dear Don Draper,

For some reason, thinking about you makes me tired. Really tired. And wont to speak in clipped. Deliberate. Sentences.

Maybe it's the slow, languorous pace at which you live your life. Maybe it's knowing that you make horrible decisions, and most likely will continue making horrible decisions. Maybe I'm just kind of worn out after the season of moping-and-very-little-creative-genius, especially now that the one bright spot amidst your malaise is no longer with us. (Rest in peace, Miss Blankenship.)

I don't know, man. It's been over a year since we've seen each other, and maybe the absence has not made my heart grow fonder.

If it makes you feel any better, I loved Dr. House a lot more than I loved you, and I came to a similar conclusion about him ages ago.

***

Dear women of the The Bachelor franchise,

If all of you don't get up and leave en masse after Ben skinny dips in the ocean with another girl on national television right in front of you, I will have lost a lot of hope for feminism in general.

Let me repeat: A guy you are dating is going to go SKINNY DIPPING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU WITH ANOTHER GIRL. Would you put up with this in real life? No, you would not. So why are you putting up with it on TV?

Unless it's for the vacations. I could put up with that for a free trip to Thailand, too.

So ... never mind, ladies. Carry on.

What do you have to say to some people on TV?

You should probably ...

2012-01-04T07:00:00.001-07:00

... watch season 1 of Downton Abbey before season 2 premiers next week.

You can thank me later. And then hopefully we can all meet back here to chat about how awful Mary is.

In the meantime, enjoy this picture of Kemal Pamuk.

This is why I hate the internet: Part 1

2012-01-03T11:38:00.002-07:00

I was recently persuaded to sign up for a particular internet dating service. Part of this service involved answering personal questions about yourself, deciding what answers to that same question you would accept from someone else, and then ranking the overall importance of that topic.

Example:

(Check one) At the end of a long, frustrating day, I would prefer to:
(a) read in front of a roaring fire until it's time for bed
(b) cook gnocchi seasoned lightly with my tears
(c) snuggle a kitten and plan my future wedding while murmuring, "You'll never leave/fire me, will you, Lord Charles Whiskerton III?"
(e) snort a line of cocaine and then pop Scarface in my DVD player

(Check as many as apply) I would accept the following answers from another person:
Repeat previous options

The importance of this question to my future happiness is:
(a) Irrelevant
(b) Somewhat important
(c) Important
(d) Very important
(e) Mandatory. Especially in the event of choosing C.

When you have done all of this, said service will email you a PDF flowchart of the things that are really most important to you in dating. This will allow you to make better decisions (which you obviously need help with -- you're turning to the internet to solve your dating woes).

Apparently what I've been doing wrong all this time is failing to follow this simple three step process that a series of inane questions revealed about me:

(1) Can you engage in intellectual conversation? If yes, proceed to step 2.
(2) Are you an animal person? If yes, proceed to step 3.
(3) Do you want an "open relationship"? If no ...

LET'S GET MARRIED!

Thanks, internet dating service.

(What I really want to know is this: Who checked that they only brush their teeth once or twice A WEEK, or worse -- would accept that from someone else? Because if there were people who checked that box, I would like to go back to when I skipped "Do you think the world would be a better place if people with a low IQ were not allowed to procreate?" because my real answer seemed too mean and instead write, "Hells to the hell-yes!" instead.)

Resolutions and hopes

2011-12-31T12:29:00.000-07:00

Every year Echo and her best friend Alicia come up with resolutions (a goal you can meet) and hopes (a goal that is beyond your control).

My resolutions for this year are:

1. Lose X* amount of pounds; save X amount of money; run X number of miles every week.

2. Finish New Project.

3. Teach Spence two new tricks.

4. Keep my car clean all year.

5. Visit a different country.

My hopes are not for sharing in InternetLand.

What are some of your resolutions and (if you feel like sharing) hopes?

* (X is an integer known to Ru, and if Ru has 15 apples and is traveling to the market at a rate of 7 miles per hour going west, what time will she need to come home to let Spence out to pee?)

A new development in the world of Spencer

2011-12-26T11:47:00.000-07:00

I am anti-dog clothing.

My sister and mother knew this, and still decided to give Spencer clothes for Christmas. (A puffy vest and an argyle sweater, respectively.)

Strangely enough, Spence seems to be surprisingly into wearing clothes.

Even weirder? They calm him down, much like Charlie and his Thunder Shirt. Spence took four naps yesterday.

I don't know how to resolve this dilemma.

Calm, happy Spence ... versus being that girl who dresses her dog.

It's a toughie for sure.

You wish you looked this good in argyle.

What's your favorite google search term?

2011-12-22T10:01:00.000-07:00

If you're like me, you love checking to see where your blog traffic comes from.

My favorite is discovering which words people google to find my blog. Usually there are a lot of "and then she was like blah," which is understandable. But now and again, you find some real gems.

This week my search term results are as follows ...

49 people googled "Game of Thrones" and found me.

7 people googled "tiara."

3 people googled "modern family mitchell."

2 people googled "Merry Christmas puppies."

2 people googled "pattern for corn husk flower."

2 people googled "telestial kingdom."

And 1 person googled "Sex and the City sucks."

That's has kind of a "12 Days of Christmas" ring to it, don't you think?

What is the funniest thing someone has googled to find you? Or if you don't know, do you know plan to obsessively check your google stats to find out?

Why I probably won't go see "Girl With A Dragon Tattoo"

2011-12-21T14:13:00.000-07:00

I don't like unintentionally ironic movies.

Ever heard of or seen the movie Funny Games? It's a movie about two psychos who invade a family's vacation home and proceed to torture and murder them. It's also a "statement" film, which means the filmmakers were trying to teach all us bad viewers about violence in entertainment. You see, the psychos in Funny Games aren't just torturing a family, they're teaching us lessons! Ham-fisted lessons!

Unfortunately, aside from the hit-you-over-the-head-obvious technique employed by the filmmakers, they also didn't address the elephant in the beach house: If we're all so awful for watching this violent movie, what adjective do we apply to the people who made and profited from this violent movie?

Opportunistic?

Obtuse?

How about that good old Internet standby: AWKWARD.

And so we come to The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, a mildly entertaining book turned into an entertaining movie remade into what I can only assume will be a very entertaining movie, but which everyone will act is if it has Greater Meaning. It's about violence against women! Societal abuse of the underprivileged! Neo-Nazism! Freedom of the press! Hidden dangers of socialism! Financial sector corruption! (Ahh, Greater Meaning. It's such Oscar bait.)

Don't you all know that Lisbeth Salandar is a revolutionary character, a post-feminist icon?* Now watch her get brutally raped on screen to prove it! (Don't worry, in about twenty minutes she's going to do what all of us secretly wish we could do to rapists--rape him back.)

Stieg Larsson's Swedish title of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo was Men Who Hate Women, which is an accurate, to-the-point descriptor of the book. Apparently in Sweden, you can't go to the grocery store without tripping over a half-dozen sociopath misogynists. (Lesson: Never visit Sweden.)

But while I can't find any fault with Larsson's goals--elimination of violence against women, children, the underprivileged, improved transparency in government and business--I must say it feels a bit icky to read a book about the condemnation of violence against women when it is chock full of excruciatingly detailed violence against women.**

Does this mean books and movies about BIG ISSUES shouldn't be written or made? Of course not.

But much like the "I know it when I see it" test for pornography,*** sometimes you just know when something has stayed on the right side of grim subject matter discussed respectfully and not crossed into exploitation territory.

I suspect The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo will not only cross into exploitation territory, but apply for a business license and open a bed and breakfast there. And I don't imagine I'd like my stay.

* (To reach this conclusion, you must ignore the fact that she's essentially the polar opposite of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl Archetype. Have you done that? Excellent.

REVOLUTIONARY CHARACTER! POST-FEMINIST ICON!)

** Spoiler alert: The sequel is about sex-trafficking and shopping at IKEA. Because even when it comes to Lisbeth Salandar, women be shopping. You can't stop a woman from shopping. (Name the movie!)

Also, Lisbeth gets a boob job. Feminism.

*** Little-known lawyer fact: the rest of the quote is, "and the motion picture involved in this case is not that." Fun, eh?

It's not creepy if it has an "LOL" after it

2011-12-19T12:09:00.000-07:00

Oh Pinterest,

Why do you have to enable crazy women?

Oh women of Pinterest,

Don't you know there is no excuse to have a pinboard of 10,000 wedding pictures on it? Do your creepin in the privacy of your own bedroom, preferably in the company of your cats.

Don't you know that some of these things you are tagging as "To Do Before I Die" are not that impressive? I want to be in Paris on New Years someday too, but I don't hold that aspiration on the same level as "Own Every Color of OPI Nail Polish."

Finally, I'll be honest -- I have pinned some online workouts, since I am easily bored and can never remember where I saw that "10 Ways to Spice Up Your Abs Routine!" article. So thanks for that.

But please, could we all put a hiatus on pinning scary skinny-ripped girls as "thinspiration"? Because I'm sorry, no female gets a six-pack without abandoning all other goals and hobbies in favor of the gym. It's gross. And shallow.

And it really detracts from my admiration of various reading nooks I'd like to build in a house someday.

Well, I'll prepare for this to be misinterpreted

2011-12-17T12:44:00.000-07:00

I hate the word "Mom."

There's something about it that grosses me out. Maybe it's the long O sound combined with that nasally M. Maybe it's that it's so short -- I find "bob" pretty vile, too. It might even be the way it looks written -- "mom" just looks so abrupt and judgy, like something in German. Nein.

I hate the way people say it. Either whiny or sycophantically or smugly or condescendingly. There's pretty much no way to say the word "Mom" that doesn't disgust me, unless you are actually addressing or referring to your own mother.

"Oh hey Mom, just wanted to call and check in." A-OK.

"I can't wait to be a Mom!" Shudder.

"I made the reservation for us and Mom." Acceptable.

"But Moooooooom." Gag.

"Mom said it was the second left after the light." Informative.

"I have the best job ever, I'm a Mom." Kill me now.

But doubly bad? "Awww, he's so happy now that Mom's here!" Said to me. At the vet's. About Spencer.

(I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Spence and I do not have a parent-child relationship. We have a 10-4, good buddy relationship.)

I hate attorneys who can't be bothered to learn peoples' names. Henceforth Mom will do her best to to create a positive atmosphere for the kids and not refer negatively to Dad in front of them. Dad will do his best to maintain appropriate boundaries and discipline and drop kids off at Mom's on time. It's so smarmy and familiar, yet so obvious that you can't be bothered to shuffle through your papers and find out whether it was Kim or Karen, Bill or Brandon. (Ahh, screw it, just write "Mom" and "Dad.") Seriously, "petitioner" and "respondent" would be better.

And I hate that you can't tell people that you hate the word "Mom" without people staring at you like you've just kicked a kitten.

Oh look, that girl hates moms. Let's shun her. Or better yet, send her a copy of emotionally manipulative books like "Love You Forever." Yes, that's an excellent idea. Weep, cold girl on the internet, weep!

Anyone else there have an irrational dislike an otherwise positive-to-neutral meaning word? Anyone hate "puppy," for instance? (You monster!)

While I was in San Fran, Spence was getting Biblical

2011-12-16T08:55:00.000-07:00

Text from Charlie and Alpha to me while they were puppy sitting -- I hope you find it at least half as funny as I did:

How think ye? If a Charlie have an hundred Spencers, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray?

And if it so be that he find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoiceth more of that Spencer, than of the ninety and nine which went astray.

My new most embarrassing moment story

2011-12-14T19:54:00.001-07:00

Subhead: Settle in for a long haul, friendos.

Today at work, we had our office Christmas party. About a week ago, a coworker popped into my office to let me know that at this office we give gifts to -- and I quote -- "members of our team." The gifts didn't have to be elaborate, he explained, just something little, like a bottle of Martinelli's with a bow. Since he knew it was my first year at the office, he just wanted to give me the heads up.

My team consists of another attorney, an analyst, and a secretary. But I supposed I should probably also get something for my trainer and the other two people he is training.

Add with me, people. That's 6.

So I asked my crafty sister Echo to make 10 presents, on the off-chance I was under-estimating. She made some cute little Oreo Pops, which is basically an Oreo on a sucker stick, dipped in white and milk chocolate, then rolled in crushed peppermint pieces. Darling, no?

I set off to work this morning with some cellophane-wrapped gifties, feeling mighty satisfied with myself.

And when I flipped on the light in my office, I found that I had already received five presents from people who weren't on my list.

Sidenote: You might be wondering why, at this point, I didn't run to the store to buy more presents. The short answer is that I have a client I have been trying to talk to all summer long about his case.
I periodically call or email him to see if it's a good time. It never is.
Who decided to email me the morning of the Christmas party and say he'd "pop in sometime today to talk"?
You guessed it.

So for roughly twenty minutes, I sat and panicked in my office. More gifts arrived.

Every person who brought me a homemade jar of jam, banana bread, and gift box from Bath and Body Works received a bag of Oreo Pops.

And my anxiety ratcheted up-up-up, because how the hell am I supposed to multiply a finite number of Oreo Pops?

That's when I remembered Echo's original plan.

"Why don't you just get people a package of Twizzlers and write 'Twiz the Season' on a sticker?"

Though it seemed cheesy to me at the time, I seized on Echo's idea and proceeded to text and IM every person I could think of who might be able to run to All-A-Dollar and buy 10 packages of Twizzlers and Christmas package stickers.

Finally I got in contact with Charlie, who agreed to head to All-A-Dollar after a meeting with his graduation counselor. The only problem was that put his arrival at my workplace around 2pm.

Sidenote: Why is that a problem, you ask? Well, because the Christmas party was scheduled for noon, with everyone leaving the office afterward as a gift from our boss.
Why is that not a problem? Well, because I could just sneak the Twizzlers into offices and pretend that they arrived in the morning, like all the other, more thoughtful gifts had.
Genius.

So I sat in my office, trying to work, trying to ignore the growing pile of presents on my desk, and waiting for the Mystery Client.

This is how things looked BEFORE NOON. I didn't even have the heart to take a picture of the final haul.

Finally it was time for the Christmas party, and I trudged off to a sumptuous feast, all the while trying to avoid eye contact with the coworkers who had bestowed me with homemade fudge, only to be rewarded with a big, fat nada.

And then, in the middle of a musical number -- seriously, my coworker's children came and SANG -- Charlie texted me.

"Done early. Where do you want me to deliver this stuff?"

Now, the most important of my little plan was that no one realize (a) I came grossly underprepared to show my love for my coworkers the day of the Christmas party and (b) some people got Oreo Pops, and some people got cheap bags of Twizzlers.

So I texted Charlie back, "Leave the bag on the curb, I will come out and get it when I can get out of this party."

Sidenote: Why didn't I just stand up, walk out, and meet Charlie outside?
Answer: You try walking out of your boss's recitation of "Tilly's Christmas" by Louisa May Alcott.

And because I know Charlie, and I know he's never met a plan that he didn't think he could improve somehow, I texted him again. "Seriously. Leave them on the curb."

***

At this point, it's incumbent to switch to Charlie's point of view. For fairness' sake.

Charlie arrived at my place of employ and stared at the curb nervously. Do I really leave this bag on the curb? he wondered. I mean, I know my sister who has worked here for a year told me to, but this is a [big secret, people] GOVERNMENT BUILDING.

According to Charlie, there were three squad cars of cops chilling in the parking lot. And he just couldn't take the chance.

***

Here's where we switch back to my point of view, and I argue that "three squad cars" was most likely one pudgy member of Highway Patrol, and that even if dropping a plastic bag is suspicious, IT WAS A PLASTIC BAG OF FULL OF TWIZZLERS. What's more, my government building doesn't even have metal detectors, because in New Denver, packing heat is strongly encouraged.

In short, I can say with total confidence that had Charlie dropped a bag of Twizzlers on the curb, not one damn thing would have happened.

But Charlie felt like he couldn't take that chance. So he popped into the building and left the bag with the front desk secretary. Who proceeded to come into the Christmas party and deliver them to me.

In the middle of a musical number.

In front of LITERALLY every single person I work with.

Who could all see that I had clearly forgotten to plan appropriately for gift giving.

And that I bought their presents at ALL A DOLLAR, as the plastic bag was so proudly emblazoned.

After the luncheon was (mercifully) over, I skulked off to my office to slap Santa stickers onto bags of Twizzlers, shove them into mail slots (since there was no point in being sneaky anymore), and make my escape before I had to talk to anyone.

To make things even more amazing? As I was leaving, I saw that the other attorney who started with me last January gave everyone CDs.

C-freaking-Ds.

And as I drove back to home my home, roughly twenty minutes after my escape, the Mystery Client (remember him?) called. He had not received my email that I was leaving for the day at 2pm. He was in my office. And he wanted to meet.

Sidenote: You would think that my most embarrassing story would now be over. You would think that, and you would be wrong.

As I wallowed on the couch tonight, nursing a giant Diet Coke and holding a snuggly Spencer on my lap, Hannah came home and I proceeded to tell the tale.

"Wait," she said as I explained what Charlie had bought at All-A-Dollar, "why Twizzlers?"

"So I could write, 'Twiz the Season' on the sticker," I explained.

"Oh. So did you do that?"

Awkward pause.

No, my friends, I did not. In the midst of my anxiety and frustration, I forgot to write the cheesy line that was the whole point of getting Twizzlers to begin with. I put the sticker on the Twizzlers, stuffed them into boxes, and ran for my life.

So tonight, all over the greater New Denver Valley area, my coworkers are looking at the presents they received from their colleagues and wondering, "Why the eff did that girl give me Twizzlers with a Santa sticker?"

And now my humiliation is complete.

For the record (hee)

2011-12-14T09:30:00.000-07:00

Yes, people -- lawyers go to law school.

I'll say it again, in case someone googles it: lawyers go to law school.

So it's not necessary to ever ask a lawyer, "Oh, so did you go to grad school for that?" The answer is yes, and that grad school was called "law school."

Dentists never get this, I suspect.

Fantasy gift giving

2011-12-13T12:27:00.000-07:00

Today we're playing a fun, nerdy little game called, "What would you get the following fictional characters for Christmas and/or other winter-based holiday?"

1. Harry Potter

2. Elizabeth Bennett from Pride and Prejudice

3. Walter White from Breaking Bad

4. Primrose from Hunger Games

5. Sawyer from Lost

6. King Arthur

7. Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead

8. Sue Sylvester from Glee

9. Clifford the Big Red Dog

10. Ophelia from Hamlet

11. Or anyone else you'd suggest.

Funniest answer gets a million props.

Some nicely and not-so-nicely wrapped presents on my table. PS, I think I should do a series of pictures for the blog where Spencer's bum is somewhere in the background.

Well, this is a high class problem

2011-12-11T12:54:00.000-07:00

Feel free to judge me. It is the internet, after all.

Seeking to soothe some of my anxiety, I sought out a massage this weekend. Between bad posture, stress, battling overgrown rose branches, and some trouble sleeping, I figured my poor back deserved it.

But unfortunately, I was scheduled with a massage therapist who took the "therapist" part of his job too seriously.

I know I have a lot of tension, inflammation, rigidity, etc. in my back, shoulders, and neck. But what I want out of a massage is not someone who will fix me in an hour, but someone who will just make me feel better for an hour.

Ramming an elbow into my glutes while manipulating my knee? Not making me feel better.

"Wow!" he exclaimed at one point. "The muscles in your neck are like piano wires, do you feel that?"

"Yes," I replied through gritted teeth, trying to ignore his index finger jammed into my neck.

Next time, I will make do with an ice-free Diet Coke and a puppy snuggle.

the things to do

2011-12-09T11:58:00.000-07:00

Do you ever look at your life and think, "I know this is all manageable individually, and yet collectively, I still feel like I've bitten off more than I can chew"?

The Casa

Needs to be rewired, but according to the electrician I met with yesterday, will cost 50%-100% more than I originally budgeted.
Did you know I have a rose archway? I do. I also don't know anything about roses, much less climbing roses. But I do know my archway is severely overgrown and it has come time to hack away at it arbitrarily.


We're going to take over! Just like in The Happening!

I need to get a door for my office. And posts for my porch. I'd explain this in greater depth, but basically now I walk through Diego's room to get to the office. And my house is in danger of falling down in the next snowstorm. No big.
I also need to get serious about cleaning my room and organizing my office. Enough said about those topics.
(As a final note, does anyone else find formatting bullet points on blogger extremely difficult?)

Work

So ... much ... needs ... to ... happen ...

Christmas

What is a girl with no money to do when it comes to Christmas shopping? You might suggest something like thrift stores or homemade goods, but I have some really materialistic siblings, and that is not going to cut it.

I can imagine Christmas morning, Echo offering me some DVDs, new earrings, and sweater ... and I give her the calendar I made on my iMac and printed off at work. On the color printer.

No, friends. Just no.

Writing

Remember what I just said about the office? Well, back when I thought I'd only have to spend X on new wiring, I bought myself a lovely new computer for my office. As it turns out now, that was a poor choice.

But I digress.

When it comes to being creative, I need to have organized space. (When it comes to being a lawyer, however ... well, let's just say my office does not reflect that personal ethic.) But I am currently overwhelmed about the piles of books and electronics piled up in the office. Am I the only one who has an extremely difficult time getting rid of wiring? It's like hoarding for the electronics generation. Who knows when I might need that Nokia phone charger again!?

And cleaning with Spencer running around is one of the greater banes of my existence. I will be organizing a file cabinet ... he will be chewing on paperclips. I will be trying to figure out why I have 15 ethernet cords. He will be chewing the ethernet cords.

It's not a good combination.

But ... for all of you who were wondering when I'm going to get back to the subject heading of WRITING ... I do have a new sassy idea that I'm pretty stoked about. So my writing to-do list looks like this:

Sass up first 10 pages of old project, send to final agent. If said agent does not care for said project, investigate Kindle Direct Publishing. (Yes, it's happening.)
Evaluate NaNo project. (Official final word count? 21,000 words. Yes, I'm terrible. Suck it.)
Start new project.
CLEAN OFFICE.

In no particular order.

Spencer

Yes, he gets his own to-do list. You see, little Spence knows three tricks -- sit, down, and shake. He's masterful when it comes to those tricks. An Olympian, if you will.

But does he come when called? Only if you have cheese. And can I get him to settle down when I want to eat dinner unimpeded? Certainly not. These are issues I must address if I want to be a good pet-owner.

And while I know it's frivolous, I also want him to learn to play dead if I point my gun fingers at him and say, "Bang!" Because that is just damn adorable.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I have made a grievous error in my pet training. Namely, I believe that people and pets should maintain separate sleeping spaces. It's fine if you believe otherwise, but I think my bed should be a HUMANS ONLY zone.

But when Spence was neutered, he came home really dopey and in pain, so I let him sleep on my bed. And the next night, when I realized he couldn't fit his coned head into his kennel, I let him sleep on my bed.

And this went on, for two weeks, until the cone and his stitches were no more.

So now, even though I don't want my dog to sleep on my bed, much less a dog that is inclined to start pacing three or four times a night to sleep on my bed (and yes that happens), Spence knows that if he starts whining at 3am every morning, my sleep deprived brain will inevitably cave and let him sleep in my bed.

He had a taste of the good life, my friends. And there's no going back.

Which means every morning l blearily wake up for work with paws and puppy breath in my face, and mentally (and verbally) berate myself for cracking again and perpetuating the whining = special treatment cycle of bad behavior.

But at 3 am, I can be convinced of pretty much anything.

I need to figure out a way to make this not happen any more.

So I guess this all boils down to me saying that CHANGE SPENCER'S BEHAVIOR PATTERNS may be Number 1 on the To Do List. Perhaps even before "prevent house from falling down."

I told you, I'm serious about this sleeping space issue.

(i totally forgot to give this a title the first time)

2011-12-08T10:59:00.001-07:00

I don't know what it is about Pinterest, but it has really decreased my attention span. Not only do I waste a lot of time looking at adorable crafts, all the while knowing I will never actually try any of them, but I think it's also impacted my blogging. I just want to upload pictures of Spence and have you guys gush over him. Effort!

I swear, I will be back on my game soon. My brain is just a little scrambled due to my mass consumption of bite-sized bits of adorableness. Tip of my hat to you, Neil Postman, it turns out you were right.

But I still love Pinterest. In all your craftiness and your snarkiness, I love you.

I'd like to think that I'd commit to making this.

But realistically, I'll just "like" this on facebook and call it good.

What is the very worst part of _________?

2011-12-07T11:00:00.000-07:00

When I'm lawyering, the very worst part of my job is checking citations and cross references. So. Boring. And yet ... so necessary.

The worst part of trying to be a writer is querying. Hands down.

The worst part of owning a house is trying to figure out where I've gone wrong in my attempts to winterize.

The worst part of having Spencer pie around is scooping out his food in the morning. (Seriously, you thought it was going to be picking up poop, am I right? That is pretty bad, but those bags are easily disposed of. The smell of puppy chow lingers on your hands even after you've washed them.)

Indulge the grumpers with me, people -- what are the worst parts of the things you do? Never fear, we can talk about the best parts of things another day.

This is what happens when you get the janky gingerbread house at Michaels

2011-12-06T22:17:00.000-07:00

Hannah and I gave into our baser instincts to create a strip club gingerbread house.

Note the little Tim Riggins outside.

And the fact that I misspelled "Panthers," but then decided the issue was really the subpar education strippers got at Dillon High.

i like to share my life lessons

2011-12-06T11:28:00.000-07:00

Life lesson number 183:

Even though people will tell you aluminum is bad for you, and they are probably right, you shouldn't buy all-natural deodorant.

If hops and honeysuckle were enough to keep you from stinking up the joint, don't you think our forebears would have always used hops and honeysuckle, thereby negating the need for future scientists to invent bad-for-you-chock-full-of-aluminum-deodorant? Exactly.

Love,

The girl who made the mistake of buying Tom's All Natural Deodorant this week

These better be the best beef medallions EVER

2011-12-01T11:22:00.000-07:00

I just registered. Have you?

Let me know and next May we can sneak off to J-Dawgs when the box lunches prove to be woefully subpar, as all box lunches do.

So what book am I waiting on?

2011-11-30T11:16:00.000-07:00

As the final installment of the Dark Young Adult Blogfest, we're supposed to write about what dark YA book we are most looking forward to.

Because of the book I read last night, this question is eas-ay to answer.

Eve by Anna Carey is the most interesting dystopian fiction I've read in awhile, so even though it only came out a few months ago, I'm already anxiously awaiting the sequel.

In the twelve short years in which America became New America following an overwhelming plague, the society that we all know changed irrevocably -- and not because America now has a king.

Orphaned girls like Eve, Pip, Ruby, and Arden were born in a world just like ours and have vague memories of places like Oregon and Arizona, but they grew up in a School where they take classes like the Dangers of Men and Boys. They've been told that when they Graduate, they will go on to learn trades and then live in the mythical City of Sand, where they will have four-poster beds and sip lemonade under umbrellas. Unfortunately, the reality of what happens to girls after they graduate becomes readily apparent to Arden and Eve, and they escape into the wild.

The thing I loved most about this book was the overwhelming sense of horror Carey created without delving into melodrama. The very near future setting made it even that more troubling -- Eve and her friends play with wrinkled Finding Nemo cards, listen to Vogue on cassette tapes, and are still assigned to read The Great Gatsby in School. After escaping, they hide in abandoned houses and look at the photographs of people just like us on refrigerators.

I would not especially recommend Eve to younger readers because of some disturbing content. Despite raising orphaned girls to fear men and boys as manipulative rapists, New American society is more misogynistic than any band of marauders the girls might fear beyond the walls of School. That being said, Eve offers a hopeful view of humanity as well, as Eve and Arden encounter (gasp!) some men and boys that not only want to help and befriend them, but are in need of the girls' help and friendship as well.

Go. Read it. And then I won't be alone in looking forward to the sequel.

Yes - THAT JUST HAPPENED

2011-11-29T15:00:00.000-07:00

Ahoy there!

Back from Thanksgiving, attempting to finish NaNoWriMo with some semblance of respectability ("respectability" being 20,000 words. Question: Can I include legal writing in my count? Because if I can, I take it back, I finished ages ago. Although it is a very boring book.), and preparing for my pre-Christmas vacation this weekend.

Because I don't know about you all, but I need to get rejuvenatey before the holidays kick into high gear.

In short, not much to report. I got some new books to read over the weekend (Eve, Shatter Me, Bad Taste in Boys, Domestic Violets, and Rage -- jealous? Maybe I'll share the love next month. 'Tis the season of giving and all that.) and made a new financial goal (no credit cards in aught-12!).

Meanwhile, something awesome happened.

Over at A Peek at Karen's World, my blog was nominated for something awesome! Along with some other awesome people!

So if you, like me, are having trouble focusing on this Any Given Day, head over there and explore the blog selection. It's grand fun.

Now I'm off to see if I can sneak in an Angry Nap before heading off to get new tires.

Sigh. You really have to prepare mentally before dealing with sales people.

Ahhh, a return to a season of ingratitude

2011-11-26T09:31:00.000-07:00

Last night as I was walking Spence, a stray kitten leaped out at me. Of course I screamed as if it were an axe-wielding fiend and called for Diego (as a cat person) to come assess the situation.

It was cold last night in New Denver, and the kitten kept trying to go in the house with us, so I suspect it knew inside > outside, despite not having a collar or anyone concerned it was out-and-about at 11:30 pm. I did not want a strange animal in my house, however, so Diego and I decided we'd leave a box with one of Spencer's old beds outside with some leftover turkey, puppy chow, and milk. Hopefully one of these three things would appeal to the kitten's palate.

Of course, when we returned with our goodies, the kitten was gone, so we left a porch light on for it. I felt guilty over my refusal to let it come inside when I had the chance, but Diego was convinced it would return.

And boy, did it ever.

This morning I woke up to find that the kitten had returned, eaten all the turkey and some milk, which it promptly threw up on my porch. Then pooped on my steps for good measure.

Thanks-Winning

2011-11-23T09:58:00.000-07:00

Today I am grateful for:

A cozy house

An interesting job

An apparently infinite supply of patience for blowhards

Library cards

Pub trivia

Good friends

Good family

Crunchy leaves

Flight vouchers

Spencer Pie

What are you grateful for? PS, Thanksgiving is an awesome holiday, which puts me in a splendid mood -- so don't worry, if you're thankful for Etsy or bejeweled headbands or estate tax reform, I won't judge you for this week and this week only.

Question:

2011-11-21T09:10:00.002-07:00

If you were me, what would you post about today?

Pins and needles

2011-11-18T10:19:00.000-07:00

Things are rough in Ru Land these days.

1. Have I ever mentioned that my "busy season" is November through March? No? Well, it is. I find myself increasingly overwhelmed with everything I have to do. And that's all we have to say about that, given my office's strict social networking policies.

2. I'm roughly 10,000 words into my NaNo project. In case you're wondering, that puts me roughly 15,000 words behind. No, I'm not giving up yet. I have every reason to believe that I am capable of writing a boatload this weekend, but I am dreading the thought because sometime last week, I started to hate everything. My plot. My secondary characters. Even poor little main character--and she hasn't done anything to me!

For further explanation, refer to point 1.

3. I'm waiting on some maybe-good, most-likely bad news. And the waiting is putting me in a seriously bad mood.

4. When I'm in a bad mood, I don't really take it out on others. Mostly I just start talking faster, ordering things on the Internet I can't afford (riding boots, you will soon be mine), and focusing on unrelated projects. This week's unrelated project: THANKSGIVING!

(Side note: How wacky is it when your parents get divorced, amiright?

Don't worry, this isn't going to become the Adult Children of Divorce Chronicles. Gah, "ACOD." What a horrid acronym.)

So for obvious reasons, my dad no longer has things like serving dishes, cake platters, salad tongs, and tablecloths, so I've been ordering some online as well as picking out Thanksgiving Day recipes. That is actually really fun, does anyone have any recommendations? Personally I never saw the point in a gravy boat, but I could be persuaded otherwise. See above, re: ordering things on the Internet I can't afford.

5. I need some snow tires. Why didn't I buy any back in October, when snow flurries were not an oh-so-guaranteed part of my life? And when I wasn't saving up for a new computer?

Oh beautiful new iMac, our time together has once again been postponed. I really need to be able to drive around New Denver this winter without creating mass chaos. Maybe I will get you for my birthday instead of Christmas?

Also, why did I go to H&M this week when I need money in my iMac/snow tires/kitchen remodel fund? Because in my anxiety I'm substituting financial stability for cozy sweaters, that's why.

PS, how weird is it that I have a healthy retirement fund, no credit card or student loan debt, and a house -- and yet I'm terrible at saving money for a rainy day fund? Rainy days just happen so often, y'all. And when you look at it that way, THANK GOODNESS for the H&M sweaters, otherwise I'd be soaked and cold on top of broke.

6. On an up-note: The article I wrote last spring was finally published, hurray! I'd link you to it, but (a) it's lawyerly and you'll most likely find it boring, and (b) it would lead right back to real me, which as previously mentioned is a problem for my future employment.

Anyone else want to share a piece of their own crazy? Just remember, things get bad for all of us sometimes, but we should count our many blessings: at least we're not pregnant with vampire babies.

The tragedy of high expectations

2011-11-17T09:04:00.000-07:00

Do you all ever hear about a really hyped up book, get super stoked to read it, and then find yourself underwhelmed?

("I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever be just 'whelmed'?"/"I think you can in Europe." NAME THAT MOVIE.)

That happened awhile ago, and thanks to the Blog Rule that you never, ever rip on a book on the blogosphere (unless it's like The Grapes of Wrath or something and Steinbeck is too old, dead, rich, and not on the Internet enough to get his feelings hurt) if you want to someday exchange your mere Writey Pants for a Ballgown or Tuxedo of Author Awesome, I'm not going to say which one. (Thanks, Paranoia Penguins!)

But, gosh, that book had such promise. I tore through the first half, completely engrossed, and then somewhere in the middle I started thinking ...

Is this really happening?

Did ____________ (character name) really just ___________ (action) with ___________ (character name) without so much as ________________ (action) first? Son of a ______________ (expletive).

I can see the ending coming from a mile away. Is it really ...? Yup, it is.

There's going to be a sequel, right? Because this is a lot of back story. And I mean A LOT. We're setting up the sequel here, right?

Why did so many people recommend this to me? Did they not finish it?

Am I off-base? Am I the only one who thinks this went off the rails at the 2/3 mark?

IF EVERYONE LOVES IT, WHO WILL COMPLAIN ABOUT IT WITH ME??

Am I being too harsh? I mean, I did absolutely love the beginning. Am I really moderately satisfied, but just disappointed that the level of awesome was not maintained, and mistaking that feeling for irritation?

Was the bar just set too high from the get-go?

The problem is, now that I'm looking back on it, a lot of those things don't bother me anymore. I mostly just remember how awesome the first half was and that, yes I didn't love the ending--but I don't think I actually hated the ending. I just didn't like it. And with a book that hyped, I expected total adoration from cover-to-cover.

This happens to me all the time with movies, but rarely with a book--probably because books don't get as much hype as movies period, unless their titles kind of sound like Larry Cotter or Shirl with the Wagon Igloo. (For the record, Shirl also disappointed me.)

Anyone else in the same boat (with a book they may or may not choose to name specifically)?

Fun times with iTunes

2011-11-16T08:47:00.000-07:00

It's Week 3 of the Dark Young Adult Blogfest: pick a soundtrack for a young adult book as if it were being made into a film.

The book: REMEMBER ME by Christopher Pike.

The synopsis:

When Shari Cooper awoke at home after being at her girlfriend's birthday party, her family acted like she wasn't there. They didn't hear a thing she said. They wouldn't even look at her. Then the call came from the hospital. Her father and brother paled. Her mother started to cry. Shari didn't know what was wrong. Not until she followed them to the hospital. There she found herself lying on a cold slab in the morgue. The police said that it was suicide.

Shari knew she had been murdered. Making a vow to herself to find her killer, Shari embarks on the strangest of all criminal investigations: one in which she spies on her friends, and even enters their dreams -- where she comes face-to-face with a nightmare from beyond the grave. The Shadow -- a thing more horrible than death itself -- is the key to Shari's death, and the only thing that can stop her murderer from murdering again.

This was one of my favorite books in high school and I strongly recommend reading it (and skipping the sequels).

So here we go.

Playlist:

"Cameo Lover," Kimbra

(Shari is getting ready for Beth's birthday party, on in the background as she gets ready)

"Paper Planes," MIA / "Pumped Up Kicks," Foster the People

(Beth's birthday party, prior to the seance)

"Lost Cause," Beck

(Shari accompanies her family to the morgue)

"Jar of Hearts," Christina Perri

(Shari's funeral)

"West Coast," Coconut Records /"The One That Got Away," Katy Perry / "Thunderstruck," ACDC

(When Peter finds Shari at her grave site--flashback to Peter, alive in high school and then killed in the motorcycle accident--Peter explaining that his new ghost calling is to help other ghosts to cross over)

"The Underdog," Spoon

(To be used when Peter is trying to teach Shari about all her new ghost skills when she refuses to cross over until the murder is solved)

"Lost," Coldplay

(When Shari is spying on Det. Garrett as he is investigating her friends and family and finds out that his daughter is a drug addict)

"Haunted," Taylor Swift

(When Shari decides to spy on her friends and family on her own)

"Moon River"

(When Shari spies on her brother Jimmy's black-and-white dream)

"Sexy and I Know It," LMFAO / "I Like the Way You Move" Body Rockers

(When Shari spies on her boyfriend Dan's dream and realizes he's having a sex fantasy about her and Beth)

"Renegade," Styx

(When Shari spies on Jo's dream and sees Jo as an old fortune teller)

"What Do You Want," Jerrod Niemann

(When Peter asks Shari to give up her investigation and cross over to the other side)

"Amen Omen," Ben Harper

(When the Shadow shows Shari a flashback of her entire life, from her birth to her murder.)

"I Shall Not Walk Alone," Blind Boys of Alabama

(When Shari convinces her brother Jimmy to forgive her murderer so he can pop the air bubble in his heart/When Shari watches Jimmy get loaded into the ambulance/Peter returns to help Shari)

"Bohemian Rhapsody," Queen / "Faithfully," Journey

(When Peter and Shari transform themselves into a devil and angel to scare Det. Garrett's daughter into giving up drugs to thank him for solving Shari's murder and saving Jimmy)

Now, obviously, there should probably be some instrumental sad/scary music in there. I mean, I'm not really suggesting that Shari get thrown off a balcony to Foster the People, solve her own murder to a country song, or that the Shadow should chase her to Katy Perry. But you get the basic drift.

And yes, I know there's some cheesy music on the list, but jeez. It's already a movie about a seventeen-year-old ghost suspecting her friends of murdering her at a birthday party and covering it up--you need some levity or it will be a total downer.

***
I tend to find blog posts that are nothing but a string of embedded songs fairly annoying, but I also know it's kind of lame to just list some songs, knowing that most of us (me, at least) can't remember what a song sounds like just from it's name even if we do know it.

So here's some videos.

Kimbra:

MIA:

Foster the People:

Beck:

Christina Perri:

Coconut Records:

Katy Perry:

ACDC:

Spoon:

Taylor Swift (not the official video, of course, since there were a million teen girl posted ones that I didn't want to sort through):

Coldplay:

Moon River, Louis Armstrong version:

LMFAO:

Body Rockers (with some seriously terrible video quality):

Styx:

Jarrod Niemann:

Ben Harper:

Blind Boys of Alabama (shockingly, they don't seem to have an official music video. Please enjoy this awkward mash-up of images of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Tiananmen Square):

Why mean trumps stupid - every time

2011-11-15T07:00:00.001-07:00

A professor in law school once told us, "Ideally, you're only going to have cases where the opposing counsel is competent, reasonable, and accommodating, but when you don't, hope for vindictive over crazy and crazy over stupid. Stupid is the worst."

At the time, that seemed a little counter-intuitive. Wouldn't it be better to go up against someone dumb and slam dunk your case against them?

You might think so, until you've spent a little time in the lawyer trenches. And then the rationale behind the formula

vindictive > crazy > stupid

becomes very clear.

A petty lawyer might at least be smart, and you can argue against smart. More importantly, vindictiveness implies a measure of self-interestedness. No matter how mean someone is, if you can show someone where their own best interest lies, you can negotiate with them.

A crazy lawyer will eventually reveal him or herself to be crazy. More importantly, crazy can eventually be manipulated in turn because everyone wants something.

But stupid is hard to nail down.

Any lawyer who opens a brief and thinks, "This? What is this? How do I argue against this? Can I just write, 'Seriously?' in response?" knows what I'm talking about. My old professor was absolutely right.

Take The Walking Dead for example.* If you've been watching it on AMC, you will probably be familiar with the following faces.

On the top you have Andrea, who is college-educated and depressed about the death of her sister. On the bottom you have Merle, who is a hot-tempered racist drug addict and probably not completely right in the head.

And yet, anyone who is watching this show knows that as distasteful as he may be, Merle is the lesser of these two evils when it comes to Zombie Apocalypse. Because Andrea may be moral and gutsy, and Merle a psychopath, but Andrea is dumb as a box of rocks.

Would Merle have insisted on wasting an arrow to mercy kill a zombie? No. Would Merle be alienating all his allies in the camp? No. Would Merle have shot at someone from a distance without knowing whether that someone was a zombie or a human? No.

But Andrea would. Because you can't argue with fundamentally stupid.

Five different people warned Andrea not to fire in the most recent episode of The Walking Dead, but she thought she knew better than them and did it anyway.

A smarter person would have thought, "Hey, some of our people are still out in the woods, I should wait and be sure" or, "All the guys are running up to him/it anyway, I shouldn't waste our finite bullet supply," or "Experience in Zombie Apocalypse has taught me that loud noises attract more zombies, perhaps a baseball bat attack would be preferable in this situation," or "Aren't four of my friends currently in the line of fire, and hasn't there already been one near-fatality because someone pulled a trigger without checking to see if the field is clear, and damnit, didn't I just learn to shoot YESTERDAY?"

But Andrea thought none of those things, and nearly killed the most valuable member of the camp.

I'm not saying that one would want crazy, violent, racist Merle Dixon on your team. But I am saying he'd be easier to deal with than Andrea. Because even Merle would not have pulled that trigger.

Do you have any examples in film, TV or literature of a dumb character ultimately being a worse antagonist than a clever, evil one?

* Uh, yeah I fixate on particular books, movies, and TV shows for weeks at a time, why do you ask?

A Conversation: Blasphemy Edition

2011-11-14T09:10:00.000-07:00

I went to breakfast awhile back with Diego and Echo in honor of getting the day off work (hurray!). For some reason, the crucifixion came up.

Echo: And, you know, the crucifixion was obviously the worst part of His life.

Diego: Really? You think so?

Ru: What if He had a really bad breakup that's not mentioned in The Bible?

Diego: What if Mary Magdalene gave Him the old, "You're sooo nice. Too nice, really" and hooked up with Judas?

Echo: You guys suck.

Tricky tricky

2011-11-10T09:15:00.000-07:00

One of the many problems with home ownership is that a lot of people set out to screw you over, either deliberately or through their own negligence.

When I bought the Casa, my real estate agent recommended that we ask the sellers to include this Magical Insurance in their closing costs -- that way, if any major appliance or utility breaks down in the first year of home ownership, I can get it repaired or replaced for $60.

Well, a little while back my furnace stopped working. The effort I went to in attempting "self help" shall not be recounted here -- way too long.

The short story goes like this -- after awhile, I called my sorority sister Chrissy, who has a brother who does HVAC and recently located to New Denver. Chrissy's bro spent a couple hours cleaning my furnace before letting me know that without the rest of his HVAC guy equipment, there was no more he could do.

But he told me to call my Magical Insurance provider and have them come out and fix it for a $60 fee -- and he told me there were two things that needed to be fixed and/or replaced. But whatever I did, I wasn't supposed to tell the insurance company I already had an HVAC guy come out to look at it because they might try to invalidate my insurance.

So here's how the conversation went.

Insurance HVAC guy: Yup, looks like there isn't anything wrong.

Me: Oh ... really? Because it turns on for a little while, and then turns off before it ever gets up to the right temperature.

Insurance HVAC guy: Are you sure? It looks like it's going pretty well. (At this point, he had been looking at it for roughly one minute.)

Me: Um, yeah, pretty sure.

Insurance HVAC guy: Well, everything looks fine.

Me: Really? There's not something wrong with that blower-motor thingy?

Him: Hmm. I guess it is a bit dirty. I could clean it, if you want.

Me: That would be super. (And for $60, kind of the least you could do.)

Twenty minutes and a giant pile of dirt and cat hair later ...

Him: Wow, that was really dirty. Well, everything should be in tip-top condition now.

Me: Oh. So everything else is fine? It's all clean and ... that temperature gauge isn't broken? Because ... I googled it.

Him: (getting suspicious)

It's a fun game we played.

Good thing I work well under pressure ...

2011-11-09T08:59:00.000-07:00

NaNo Update?

Not doing well.

I'm not giving up, but I am becoming more and more concerned about my lack of forward momentum.

Luckily for me, I'm still the girl who wrote a 10 page paper on genetic drift theory in an afternoon! When things get down to the wire, I get geniusy.

(I hope, anyway.)

thoughts on dog surgery

2011-11-08T13:10:00.000-07:00

1. When I got Spence home, I thought about taking a picture of his undercarriage so I'd be able to compare levels of swelling and redness from day-to-day. But I have a work phone, and I don't want anyone to ever ask me why I have a picture of cauterized dog balls on it.

2. I kind of thought the Elizabethan collar would be cute. It's not. It's kind of mean and pathetic.

3. I suspect that Spence will someday forgive me for this -- in heaven. I picture us up there on the clouds, him bounding around some giant column, and there will be lots of snuggling time. And then he'll tell me, "You know that was a dick move, right? I mean, we're in heaven and now I'm over it, but I feel like it needs to be said."

Nice moves there, Clint Eastwood

2011-11-07T10:52:00.001-07:00

Last night around 2 AM, I woke up to the sounds of a woman screaming.

I sat up in bed, panicked and confused. The screams sounded like they had maybe come from the basement ... or possibly outside. And really, those two are very different places.

For a second, I was frozen, but then I was spurred to action when I heard a creaky floorboard and had an amorphous thought along the lines of, "What would Daryl Dixon do?" I know that's a nerdy admission, but seriously. How am I supposed to believe that I could survive zombie apocalypse if I can't even search my own perimeter?

I grabbed my cell phone to light my way as I investigated my house and potentially call 911. Actually, mostly the 911 thing. I'll be honest, I actually did the pause-with-your-hand-hovering-over-the-doorknob thing while I tried to listen for the sounds of footsteps out in the hall.

(Memo to self: Bring baseball bat in from car trunk.)

I checked to make sure the doors were locked and the windows were secure. They were.

I peeked outside to the street to make sure an assault wasn't going on in my sleepy little neighborhood. Nope.

Then I checked my room, to make sure that the murder hadn't slipped past me in the dark to hide in my closet, which is what I would if I were murderously inclined. But there were only my clothes and shoes.

I started to feel foolish and wonder if I'd dreamed everything up.

And then I remembered what the screams had sounded like -- shockingly realistic -- and wondered if I should grab Spence and lock myself in the bathroom (which, memo to future murderers, is the only room on the first floor of my house that locks).

I thought about waking Diego and Hannah to help me search, and then realized if I did, I would no longer be heroic Zombie Fighter, but the Shrill Stupid Female who mistakes a neighbor's cat for an intruder.

So I decided I must have just had a really vivid dream, given that I couldn't find evidence of any ne'er-do-welling, and got back in bed. After, of course, letting Spence out of his cage to sleep in my bed so his finely tuned canine senses could alert me to any intruders, and briefly picturing the Rubber Man from American Horror Story watching me from a shadowy corner when he refused to lie down and stared at the door all night.

(I officially watch too much TV.)

...

...

...

And then this morning, as I puttered around the kitchen making breakfast for myself and Spence, Hannah came up to start the coffee maker and announced, "I had a night terror last night."

I stopped pouring yogurt over my cereal. "A what?"

"You know, a night terror. A nightmare so bad you wake up screaming. I get them from time-to-time."

My jaw dropped. "I knew it! I heard screaming so I searched the house to investigate but I couldn't find anything!"

Hannah laughed, embarrassed. "Oh yeah, sorry dude. That was me. I've done it a few times before. Awkward that it was loud enough to wake you up, though."

The very best part of this story?

According to Hannah, after she sat up in bed screaming, Charlie looked over at her from his dog crate, huffed a little, and laid back down.

So in the event any of us are really being murdered, our first and last line of defense is apparently me with a bat -- because the pit bull is so over it.

SOUP!

2011-11-07T08:26:00.001-07:00

I'm not much of a cook, so when things turn out right, I have to share. If you're looking for some tasty, probably unhealthy, fairly easy to prepare sustenance in these chilly autumn months, let me recommend the following BEER CHEESE SOUP! Mmmmmm. I made it for the dad and bros and they loved it.

Well, my dad and I loved it. The brothers grunted, which I interpreted as love.

(Now, if only I had some really arty pictures so someone would Pinterest the shenanigans out of my blog ...

Just kidding.)

I got this recipe online and then tweaked it a little (due to some previous mishaps with soup, and also some failure on my part to plan ahead for the correct ingredients). Here's the altered version, since that's what I made, with instructions:

Ingredients:

1 1/2 cups diced carrots
1 cup diced onion
1 1/2 cups diced celery
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon hot pepper sauce (And perhaps some more, depending on your preference -- I threw in some more Franks Red Hot at the end.)
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
a dash of black pepper (In my book, a "dash" is three cranks on the pepper shaker.)
2 cups chicken broth
1 bottle of beer (I used Diego's last Corona -- sorry Diego -- but I think any beer should do.)
1/3 cup butter
1/3 cup flour
4 cups milk
6 heaping cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese (WARNING: Do not buy pre-shredded cheese. Buy a block of cheese and grate it yourself. Pre-shedded cheese is usually coated with something so it won't clump together in the bag, which means getting it to melt into the soup is a nightmare.)
1 tablespoon spicy brown mustard
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon dry mustard

Directions:

In a large saucepan over medium heat, stir together chopped carrots, onion, celery, and garlic. Pour in chicken broth and beer, add hot pepper sauce, cayenne pepper, salt, and pepper. Simmer until vegetables are tender but still a little crunchy, about 10 minutes. Remove from heat.
Heat butter in a large soup pot over medium heat. Stir in flour with a wire whisk for about 3 or 4 minutes. Gradually stir in milk, whisking to prevent scorching, until thickened. (Mine never looked all that thick, but I think that's OK.)
Turn heat down to low and gradually stir in shredded cheese. Stir until all the cheese is melted into the milk mixture.
Stir veggie mixture into cheese mixture. Stir in spicy brown mustard, Worcestershire sauce, and dry mustard. Adjust for hot pepper sauce. Bring to a simmer and cook 10 minutes.
Serves 8. Buy some bread bowls if you feel all fancypants, which I did.

The creeper has been creeped out

2011-11-05T07:00:00.000-06:00

Here's an embarrassing confession: Sometimes I decide that I would be friends with someone before I've ever met them. Knowing that it is extremely unlikely I will ever meet them.

For the sake of clarity, I'll just admit that I've got one person in mind as I make this weird revelation, and yes, this person is kinda-sorta a celebrity. Which, yes, I know makes me a major weirdo.

(Does it help knowing that even if I told you who this person was, you would most likely not recognize her name and be forced to google for her identity, which is seriously like K-list it's so low? I'd like to think it would.

Of course, I would then lose all the ground I had just gained by promptly admitting that I'd like to marry this person's brother, since then we'd be sisters-in-law. CREEPY.)

Anyway, this person popped back in my radar recently in the most random way imaginable, and of course I took the opportunity to wonder if she (or her ridiculously attractive brother) were on Facebook. And like everyone else on the planet, THEY WERE.

And that's when I found out she has a little pup.

And that pup is a SPENCER CLONE.

Seriously. I stared at a few pictures of this girl (who I'm sure I'd be friends with if we were to ever meet) and her dog, which looks like a skinnier version of my dog. Down to the freckles.

I gotta be honest ... part of me wondered if in an alternate universe, she secretly thinks I would be friends with her.

Warm Fuzzies and NaNo updates

2011-11-04T09:06:00.000-06:00

For week 2 of the Warm Fuzzies blogfest, we're sharing some pictures and songs that go along with our current WIP.

Since mine is currently a mishmash of ideas, this challenge is a bit of a toughie, but I'll give it my best shot.

And a NaNoWriMo update ...

My name is FakeNameJane if you want to "friend" me or whatever, I'd like to know what everyone's up to. My story genre is young adult contemporary, but it sadly won't include any country-rapping (despite any ideas that video may have given you). And while I'm normally not an outliner, I am giving that a shot for the first time ever since I think it will be fun to try to do things in a new way. (Ahem, "fun.")

Last but not least - I haven't entirely figured out the word count widget on the NaNoWriMo page, but see that little blue bar down there? Waaaaay down there and over on the right side of your screen? That one will hopefully be pretty accurate at all times this month.

the fabulous world of online dating

2011-11-03T09:51:00.000-06:00

Tell me if any variation of the following sounds familiar:

I like to stay in shape and have a lot of respect for people that also have the discipline to make that a priority in their lives.

Because I see it constantly on guys' profiles out in online dating world.

Tell me if you think it would be ok for me to write the following:

"I like to make a lot of money and I have a lot of respect for people that also have the discipline to make the dolla-dolla bills a priority in their lives."

Probably not, am I right?

Gentlemen, just a few thoughts.

1. If you want to write "No fatties," just write "no fatties." You're not sounding less shallow because you fancied it up; in fact, you kind of sound worse. Refer to Point 2 for an explanation.

2. A "priority"? Seriously, a priority? When I think of my "priorities," they include family, friends, Spence, my job, keeping up my house, saving money, reading, writing, traveling, volunteer work, cultural experiences ... the list goes on. Nowhere on that list will you find GOING TO THE GYM. But neither will you find NAPPING or WASHING MY HAIR or IRONING or OIL CHANGES. Why?

Because those things aren't priorities for anyone normal--they are things you just do. If you're confused about this, please google the word "priority." Or go watch Keeping the Faith and focus on the scene where Ben Stiller and Edward Norton explain that "jogging is not a skill."

I could go on and on about other funny things I've seen on profiles (like the guy with immaculately sculpted facial hair who declared he was looking for a woman who was "exceptionally intelligent and physically stunning" -- enough said), but I should probably work on this "NaNoWriMo" thing I signed up for.

Because I start a lot of projects and I have a lot of respect for people who have the discipline to make starting projects a priority in their lives.

"Stuck in Neutral"

2011-11-02T14:30:00.003-06:00

As part of the Dark YA Blogfest, I am recommending all of you run out and get a copy of Stuck in Neutral by Terry Trueman.

Why? Charming main character, check. Terrifying conflict, check.

Shawn McDaniel suffers from a severe form of cerebral palsy. He can't speak or control any of his muscles, but despite that, he has a fully functioning brain and is aware of the world around him. He loves his siblings and parents, even though he can't hug them or let them know he understands them. He suffers from seizures that look terrifyingly painful, but to Shawn are actually kind of like being high. So even though his life is extremely limited, he enjoys it.

But when he's fourteen years old, Shawn begins to suspect that his father is thinking of mercy-killing him.

Go. Read it. You won't regret it..

A day late and a dollar short

2011-11-02T09:00:00.002-06:00

As usual, I've come up with my best ideas for Halloween costumes on November 1st. But these I think are pure gold.

Now, part of my paranoid brain worries that some of you out there might steal them 363 days from now, but so long as (1) you acknowledge that witty girl on the Internet who gave you the idea and (2) none of us go to the same parties next year, I don't mind one little bit. Enjoy!

Napoleon Blownapart

(due credit to Diego)

Take a regular Napoleon costume -- rip out one side, insert fake guts.

Genghis Khanman

Take regular Genghis Khan costume -- add cheesy plaid sports coat and pornstache.

Mary Queen of Skanks

(due credit to Diego)

It's going to take some doing to make sure you're not lumped in with the "slutty princess" crowd. Therefore, you need as an authentic-as-possible Mary Queen of Scots costume BEFORE you slut-it-up.

Felon of Troy

This requires more sewing - get white-and-black stripe (or bright orange) fabric, make a Grecian gown. Add handcuffs for full effect.

George Washington Redskins Fan

Add Redskins jersey and foam finger. At this point, isn't it getting a bit self-explanatory?

Any other suggestions?

reevaluating childhood memories

2011-11-01T09:18:00.000-06:00

Last night was Halloween, as you all know, and my first as a "grown up."

See, I don't think you experience adult Halloween until you're the person giving away your own candy. And I have to say ... it didn't go well.

I stopped at the grocery store on my way home from work only to find the shelves stripped bare. I clutched the remaining six bags I could find (two packages of Laffy Taffy, one package each of Butterfingers, Reeses, Baby Ruths, and tropical Starburst. And not the Starbursts that come two-to-an-individualized wrapper. Regular Starburst. I was desperate.)

Of course, this grossly underestimated the amount of children my house would receive, and around 7:45, I found myself running to a different grocery store to replenish my stash. (And this was after dumping a box of granola bars and Fruit Roll Ups I found in our cupboards into the bowl.)

This grocery store wasn't much better off, but I got two bag of Crunch bars, a fistful of Airheads, and ... wait for it ...

A bag each of York Peppermint Patties and Werther's Originals.

Old lady candy.

Suddenly I find myself very sympathetic to those jerks who handed me a single tiny Tootsie roll as a child. Literally, at one point I considered, "Should I start handing out warm cans of Diet Coke?"

So all around, a very illuminating Halloween.

PS, the best costume I saw? Four-year-old girl as Steve Jobs. Black turtleneck, round glasses, and an iPhone was all it took.

Tune back in tomorrow for Round Two of Halloween Wrap Up ... ALL THE COSTUMES I SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF LAST WEEK!

It's happening

2011-10-31T17:30:00.000-06:00

So's you know, whenever I hear the words, "It's happening," I picture this:

But this time, what is happening is this:

Which, incidentally, is quite similar to this:

Somtimes I fail

2011-10-31T09:26:00.000-06:00

I like to keep my personal complaining to minimum on this blog, so here's another MAD LIBS for you all to enjoy!

Beware, this one is extra twisty. You might want to grab something bigger than a Post-It and write down your answers.

_____________ (title), I can't __________ (state of mind) that you were ___________ (adjective) unprepared to ___________ (verb) on __________ (date). I know it's totally ________ (adjective) with your _________-____________-___________-__________ (adverb-past tense verb-preposition-noun) personality, but still. Please stop ____________ (progressive tense verb) people in _________ (location) what an __________ (legal term) "________" (pejorative) __________ (title) is. If you're not __________ (adjective), we're going to ______ (verb) ___________ (noun) of the ______ (noun) you left and let your __________ (adjective) ____________ (gerund verb) secret ____________ (colloquialism - entire phrase OK). While we're at it, pick up a ___________ (swear, any tense) __________ (noun) and stop _____________ (progressive tense verb) as your _______ (number) __________ (adjective) _________ (plural noun) do all the heavy lifting.

______ (feeling) you ________ (plural noun). Please ______ (verb) some _________ (noun).

PS, thanks for the most ____________ (adjective) ___________ (adjective) moment of the day: When ____________ (title) caught you ____________ (progressive tense verb), which ________ (adverb) was the __________ (adjective) opportunity _________ (adverb) for someone to yell, "_______-_________-___________-_____-_________!" (adjective-adjective-preposition-pronoun-adjective).

***

I missed the final day of the Killer Characters Blogfest last week, but for the record, I was going to pick Colonel Kurtz from Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Because yes, I was that nerd in high school who actually liked it.

WARM FUZZIES!

2011-10-27T09:52:00.000-06:00

I don't know what it is about the words "warm fuzzies," but I feel like they're more appropriately written in ALL CAPS.

So Juliana Brandt has posed the question -- if you have writerly ambitions, do you tell people? If so, how do they react?

Well, for me the answer to the first question is generally "no." For some reason I feel like telling people you want to be a published author is kind of like telling people you want to be a movie star or play for the San Francisco '49ers. Why don't you throw "fairy princess" in there while you're at it?

I've told some friends, and told all you folks out in InternetLand (which is a slightly different crumb cake altogether, wouldn't you agree?), but I tend to keep to myself. Proclaiming a love of reading and/or naps is fine. Proclaiming a love of writing puts you on par with those goth kids from junior high, scribbling away in their spiral notebooks about their secret pain.

But on the rare occasion I have told people, I've received mixed reactions:

Parents, Circa 2005:

Pops: Of course! You know, I can't really see you as a lawyer for the rest of your life.

Mom: But you're still going to law school, right?

Friends, Circa 2006 -- upon reading my second book:

Pauly & Lulu, Anna and Ricky: This is really good! It should be really easy to get published.

(We were so young.)

Siblings, Circa 2007:

Echo: I think you should write more serious stuff. You're not even the funny one in the family.

Charlie: It makes sense. Books are your best friends.

And ... that kind of sums up the revelation tour.

So tell me, folks--what is it about an adult revealing a lofty ambition (screen writing, novelist, poet, actor, model) that makes other adults (even ones who harbor similar ambitions) mentally roll their eyes?

I can only assume Edward's shoes are as sculpted and angelic as he is

2011-10-26T15:34:00.000-06:00

A minor rant:

Bella (Kristen Stewart) looks down constantly in the Twilight movies.

Every. Single. Scene.

If the girl isn't busy mumbling, she's looking at her shoes. Or Edward's belt. Or a fascinating cluster of pebbles on the ground.

For the record, I don't have a particular problem with Kristen Stewart or the movies. I actually think there's a hilarious campiness quality to the final Twilight book. (Blackout sex! Vampire babies! Incisor c-sections! Man-on-newborn love! Magic powers! A climax where an American revolutionary-era vampire lectures an evil European vampire about individual liberty! Total fake out on the final battle! More blackout sex!) In essence, you need to read it as if Leslie Nielsen is playing Edward and Anna Faris is playing Bella.

In fact, you kind of just have to re-imagine the entire cast.


I'm pregnant with a WHAT?!

Esme: Yup, you've caught a case of the vampire babies.


I'll do whatever it takes to protect you, Bella!

Rosalie: My last chance to be a mommy! GIMME BABY NOW! Alice: Things are getting awkward. Come to think of it, I need to go to Brazil for the rest of this novel...


Rosalie, Emmett, Jasper, Carlisle: GROSSEST! DELIVERY! EVER!


If a teenage boy in love with a newborn is wrong, I don't wanna be right.

And so forth.

The issue is really just that I have certain OCD-esque qualities, and once I notice something that bugs me I can't stop noticing.

Entertainment Weekly posted a video of Bella and Edward's honeymoon scene. Edward is looking lustily (or constipatedly) at Bella. Where is Bella looking? THE DAMN SHEETS.

I would suggest a drinking game for the imbibers where you take a sip every time Bella's gaze drops below the horizon level, but I'm fairly sure you'd get alcohol poisoning before the final credits rolled.

Whatchu lookin' at, Bella?

No, seriously. What the eff are you looking at?

Killer Character: Best Protagonist award goes to ...

2011-10-26T11:47:00.000-06:00

Guy Montag of Fahrenheit 451.

Montag is a "fireman" in a futuristic dystopian society where his job is destroy books in order to promote societal harmony. While the government ultimately enforces this total censorship of the written word, it was in fact the citizens in this society who initiated literature's downfall.

As people became more entranced with television programming (Mildred Montag, Guy's wife, watches TV nonstop), they began to be irritated by books, which were simultaneously taxing to understand and controversial. They asked the government to get rid of them, and the government happily complied.

Montag had always accepted this as a status quo and enjoyed his work until little things began to eat away at him -- his neighbor Clarisse, a free-thinking teenager, disappeared, allegedly killed by a hit-and-run. A woman refused to leave her burning house and abandon her books. His drug-addicted wife overdoses, and he watches how indifferently go about reviving her, as if she is a car to be fixed, not a person of value.

Then one day, Montag accidentally picked up a book to be burned and read one line out of it. And that's when Montag decides to start collecting books.

(If you haven't read Fahrenheit 451, go do it. I'll wait. If you're not a science fiction fan, don't worry, you'll still like it. And whatever you do ... don't watch the movie(s). They're the worst.)

"There must be something in books, things we can't imagine, to make a woman stay in a burning house; there must be something there. You don't stay for nothing."

Am I the only one Zen around here?

2011-10-25T11:45:00.001-06:00

Hypothetically, if Diego, Hannah, my brother Charlie, and all our friends were to dress up as characters from The Walking Dead on Halloween when kiddies come the Casa to collect their treats, do you think anyone would get it? Or would we look like a bunch of sweaty Southerners who happen to be friends with a sheriff?

Keep in mind, I'm fairly sure we could scrounge together two cop outfits, a fabulous white trash hunter ensemble for Daryl, an old man hat, and buckets of fake blood.

As a sidenote, any other Walking Dead/Breaking Bad fans notice that Merle Dixon has blue crystal meth in his pack? It's good to know that Walter White's business venture spread from New Mexico to Georgia before the inevitable zombie apocalypse.

***

Speaking of Halloween, go visit my little sis's blog HERE and commiserate about she might not be able to use the best costume ever next Monday. Poor sis, I wish I could have given you more advice on how to dodge civic duty.

And the Oscar for best supporting character goes to ...

2011-10-24T22:00:00.003-06:00

Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose from To Kill a Mockingbird!

If the name alone weren't killer enough, Mrs. Dubose provides the final life lesson that Jem and Scout Finch need before they watch their father Atticus defend Tom Robinson for murder. Mrs. Dubose is a cantankerous, mean old woman who is constantly berating the Finch children as they pass by her house. When Jem snaps and responds by destroying Mrs. Dubose's camellia bushes, Atticus makes the children go to Mrs. Dubose's house to read to her every afternoon.

When Mrs. Dubose passes away, she leaves Jem a camellia blossom and they learn that she was battling morphine addiction. In order to aid her efforts to die with a clear mind, Atticus sent the children over to read to her to keep her mind off her pain.

Mrs. Dubose is a killer character not just for the lesson she taught Scout and Jem, but as a foil to Tom Robinson and Boo Radly--the mockingbirds of the novel. Mrs. Dubose isn't an innocent who needs to be protected from the world, but she is someone who deserves more than the cursory judgment of those who would just assume she was a bitter old woman, someone to be scorned for drooling constantly. As Atticus says,

“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do. Mrs. Dubose won, all ninety-eight pounds of her. According to her views, she died beholden to nothing and nobody. She was the bravest person I ever knew.”

My apologies to the lovely ladies at the Killer Characters Blogfest for getting this up late -- I had a sad little puppy and a massive project at work that delayed me. Click here (Deanna) and here (Emily) to learn more about the blogfest and sign up before it's over.

Di's question: Worst Date Ever

2011-10-18T10:22:00.000-06:00

So I promised I would answer any and all questions thrown my way, and Di wants to hear about my worst date.

Now, I've had a lot of bad dates, so at first I thought it would be hard to pick. But as I sifted through the old memory banks, a clear winner stood out.

It was Spring 2004 and I was on my way to Tri Delt formal.

Here's a little bit of back story: I used to have a lot of anxiety about dating -- full blown panic attacks when presented with the idea of having to spend an evening with a boy on a date. It wasn't that I was scared of boys -- I had a lot of guy friends and a handful of crushes. It was the actual act of going on a date that caused cold sweats and hyperventilating.

I have my suspicions about the cause of this ailment, but that's a story for another day. Suffice it to say, I hated dating in high school, and vaguely despised it my freshman and sophomore years of college, which is when the panic attacks seemed to ebb.

Which brings us back to formal, the dance party a sorority throws for its members every semester. Having forced myself to find a date in the past, I decided to just go stag to this one. The best part of a sorority formal is dressing up and dancing with all your sorority sisters anyway, and there were more than a few girls who hadn't bothered to get dates either.

I was riding to formal with my cousin Abby when I got a call from Sadie, a fellow Tri Delt. She and Candice were bringing their boyfriends of the moment, two Sigma Chis, and apparently these fellas had a super cool friend, did I want him to come along?

I should have known better. When a boy wants an invite so bad he'll go with a stranger, that's a boy you don't want to have to spend an evening with. But I'm bad at saying no, and Sadie sounded oddly enthusiastic (which I later discovered was mostly about her boyfriend giving her the evil eye), so I said, "Sure, whatever."

I'll be honest -- did a teeny part of me hope this random guy was actually super fun and cute? Sure did.

Abby and I arrived at formal and, Sadie, Candice, and boy entourage nowhere to be found, settled into a table with empty seats for dinner.

About an hour passed, and between the fabulous dinner conversation and the worst DJ in the world spinning tunes (I will never think of the "Pina Colada" song in the same way), I kind of forgot I was supposed to have a date coming.

The next thing I knew, I looked up, and there was a tearful Sadie standing in the doorway of the dance hall, arguing with Candice.

Sadie wasn't much of a crier, so I hurried over to find out what was wrong -- and oh by the way, why are you guys 90 minutes late?

Why, because our dates stopped to deal some drugs on the way, my dears.

Hence the argument. Sadie was of the opinion that they should have ditched the boys once their Avon Barksdale-style ambitions were revealed; Candice was of the opinion that what's done is done, and being an accessory to drug dealing shouldn't stand in the way of a good time. Since Candice was driving, so she won that argument.

Before I could react to that information, the two Sigma Chis and their friend stepped out of the restroom (the place they would go one to spend the majority of the evening), looking high as kites.

And that is the story of how I ended up at the Provo Country Club, on a date with a drug dealer.

Spencer pie

2011-10-17T09:47:00.000-06:00

Whenever I let Spence drive with me first without stuffing him inside a cage, eventually he climbs onto my lap. (I know, danger, blah blah.) I usually allow this because it's preferable to me strong arming him into the passenger seat while driving with one hand.

I used to think that Spence did this because he loves me and stuff. And then Diego and I took a trip to Home Depot, and within five minutes, Spence was climbing all over Diego.

As it turns out, Spence is just attracted to power. Vroom vroom!

Home Depot update? Working dryer, still-not-working shower head.

I'm overwhelmed again

2011-10-16T12:00:00.001-06:00

Hey blog friends.

I want to get to know you better. If you haven't commented HERE, would you mind doing so? I feel like I gain some followers, I lose some followers, see some comments, intend to reply to some comments, then get called into a "lawyer" meeting (pshaw), and I never really remember to catch up with anyone. It's like an existential crisis, only I'm angsty over your existence.

While we're at it, feel free to ask me any questions you all would like in the comments section. I reserve the right to lie outrageously, but they will all get answered.

Something I do not believe

2011-10-15T10:00:00.001-06:00

God will never give us more than we can handle.

First of all, for the religious folks out there, this sentiment isn't found in any religious text I've ever read. It's far more likely to show up on bumper stickers. In general, I am wary of things people throw around like scripture that I've never actually read in scripture. ("I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it" ring a bell for anyone?)

In fact, this sentiment is actually just a misstatement of a scripture found in Corinthians (God will not allow you to be tempted beyond your ability, and let's not get into some big theological discussion about how those are two distinct ideas.)

Second, it's just clearly B.S.

Now, I don't mean to be a mean little raincloud of negativity -- if this is your personal mantra, more power to you.

But it is not true for everyone. It's not even close to true for most people.

Logically, you know it isn't true. People are broken by their life experiences all the time. Is the human mind resilient enough to bounce back from most things? I honestly don't know. I'd like to think so, but then again, I've never had anything truly bad (on the Grand Scale of Awful) ever happen to me. I don't want to be a total downer, but when you think of all the bad things that can and do happen to people (starvation, exploitation, degenerative disease, torture, unjust imprisonment, etc.) before you even get to death, bumper sticker theology just can't cut it.

Some people start out life with no chance. This is not a matter of "fairness," it's a matter of logic. It rains on the just and unjust alike. So while half of me believes in a loving God who knows me personally and cares about my struggles, the other half believes in that old clockmaker God who put his chips down on the table and let it ride. (Ah yes, the patented Ru mixed metaphor.)

Personally, I don't find those two visions of God particularly at odds with each other -- I just think of God as the anti-helicopter parent. He cares, but there will be no swooping to my rescue.

So is there a happier note coming already? Why yes, actually, there is.

In 1861, a woman named Julia Ward Howe woke up in the middle of the night and wrote down the lyrics to a song. One of those lines read, "As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free."

The song was inspired by John Brown, an anti-slavery activist. In 1859, Brown had attempted to capture weapons from a federal armory and lead a slave rebellion in the South. He was caught, tried for treason against the state of Virginia, and executed for his crimes. Julia Ward Howe and her husband were abolitionists who had supported Brown's work.

Since the song was originally published, the words to "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" have been changed to, "As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free."

With all due respect to Julia Ward Howe, I like the second version better. That's something I can believe.

It's so awesome being awesome

2011-10-14T07:00:00.001-06:00

Am I right, or am I right?

I feel like there's a haiku of vanity in there somewhere.

Anywho, my house has been defrosted after the furnace incident and we are gearing up hardcore for the Halloween season. Note the decorative candle? Oooh, it's so creepy and so cozy all at once.

What are you going to be for Halloween? I'm kinda torn. I've got Spencer's outfit picked out (I've decided that dressing pets is only degrading to the pet on non-Halloween days) but struggling to decide on mine.

Don't worry, I won't steal your ideas. I'm honestly honest like that.

Our long Amish nightmare is at an end

2011-10-13T06:00:00.003-06:00

So in case you were wondering why there was a gap in my bloggage (and of course you were, because this biotch cannot shut up when it comes to the Internet), it turns out I was preoccupied with some housey-house stuff this weekend.

Namely, the fact that my house was 50 degrees all weekend.

Here's how the saga begins. On Thursday night, it becomes obvious during a reality TV marathon (classy reality TV, for the record -- Heavy, not Keeping Up With The Kardashians) that the furnace is blowing cold air. Our conclusion that the pilot light was out was correct; however, it was far from the only thing wrong with the furnace.

As it turned out, the gas company never turned on the gas at my house, and I didn't know since I was on autopay at my old apartment and I have no sense of fiscal responsibility because I rarely, if ever, check my online balances (please don't steal my identity, Internet.) A snarky customer service representative berated me for my lack of foresight (though, to be fair to me, I did ask to have the gas turned on waaaaaaay back in June, and that seems like a boatload of foresight) and told me they could turn the gas on sometime Monday.

Thank goodness I grew up with all those stories of pioneers who froze their footsies off, because otherwise, I think I would have gotten quite hyperbolic over my ordeal of huddling under a comforter with Spence, pointing three space heaters in my direction, and turning on Scream 4 ... only to blow a fuse and be without heat or power. Curse me for forgetting to buy that Duraflame at the grocery store!

The good thing is, the heat is on (sorta ... that's a longer story altogether) and three days without warmth gave me a lot of personal fortitude. I'm now totes ready that an apocalypse that is non-zombie based (e.g., Cormac McCarthy apocalypse). I ordered my Dutch oven on Overstock yesterday.*

* Lie.

Confession time

2011-10-12T09:25:00.001-06:00

Who pooped the bed?

Usually when I walk Spence--90% of the time, really--I come prepared with a plastic bag in hand and clean up any little messes he leaves along the way. But roughly 10% of the time, Spence pulls what I like to call a "mystery poop." Maybe he poops once on the walk, I clean it up, and then I find myself without another bag when he decides to go for number 2 Number 2.

Once he pooped amidst all the goose poop at the park -- and that time we just slyly walked away, as if a goose could make a poop of that size.

And this morning, when he begged to be let out at 5 am for what I presumed to be some tinkling time, he dropped a deuce on the corner of a neighbors lawn. And hell no, I did not run back inside for a bag that time. No, I went back to bed like a normal person.

I know this makes me an inconsiderate person, but since I figure other neighbor dogs poop on my lawn, it's kind of just the circle of life.

I ate a Three Musketeers bar for lunch and this bra is held together by tape.

I got eyelash extensions a month ago. Since then, I have done my makeup exactly TWICE because I figure, "Hey, my eyelashes look crazy awesome! Why would I do anything more?" So even though eyelash extensions are really expensive (and let's be honest -- probably not the best idea ever) I totally got them redone last night. In a cost-benefit analysis, $40 a month for the privilege of never doing my makeup is a solid investment.

What did Oprah do now?

Back when I was lawyerin it up in Fake Austin, a female attorney advised me to stop saying, "I feel" so much. Perhaps you've already noticed this (I had not) -- women and girls tend to make statements of fact by prefacing them with, "I think" or "I feel." I think that Alaska is bigger than Texas. I feel like the rule against perpetuities does not apply here. I think the first southern victory in the Civil War was South Carolina. I feel like this song is Depeche Mode.

All of these things are actually facts and I know them, but whether it's social conditioning or what, women and girls throw in a "maybe it's just me" clarifier far more often than men and boys. Odd fact -- we read a study in law school that discussed how the wills of females are more often thrown out in court than the wills of males, simply because women use softer and therefore more ambiguous terms (I would like it if my son received my car) and men just express their wishes (My son shall receive my car.)

So ladies, stop saying "I feel" and "I think" if in fact "you know."

And I give you this advice, knowing full well that when I catch myself in an "I feel" statement, rather than backtracking, I manage to say, "I feel" about ten thousand more times. It's like saying like. I just can't stop. I FEEL LIKE THE STAFF MEETING AT 10 HAS BEEN CANCELED, Y'ALL.

Bonus points to anyone who tells me where those quotes in bold are from. (I feel like that last sentence was grammatically incorrect.)

Well, at least I always pay my debts

2011-10-08T18:15:00.000-06:00

I generally enjoy being a lawyer, but at times, it can be tricky.

Today on our walk, Spence and I were stopped by a neighbor who asked, "Ru, aren't you a lawyer?"

(As an FYI, these interactions never end well. No one ever says, "Are you a lawyer? Have a pony!")

My neighbor (who I like) asked me if I could recommend some property attorneys so she could sue our other neighbors (who I also like). I stood there awkwardly, trying to sound appropriately sympathetic-but-still-indifferent as she explained how some recent construction had negatively impacted water runoff onto her property, and wondering if I could respond to a tale of a flooding basement with, "You know, I'm new in this neighborhood, and I'd really like to avoid making waves."

The only fun part of this interaction was when she looked at me solemnly and said, "Winter is coming."

Am I a Lannister in this scenario?

I know I've said this before, but

2011-10-06T13:15:00.000-06:00

I do not like

*dies*

or

*grins*

In case you are wondering, this is what people write to indicate they are doing, except not really. Much like "LOL" really means "silently smiled to myself," *grins* theoretically means I am grinning right now, but what it really means is "I am happy and/or pleased with myself, and the twitterfication of the English language has led me to abbreviate that sentiment with *grins.*"

But the bigger reason that I dislike *dies* and *grins* is that they are too dramatic.

Not to pull a Daria here, but really, isn't *shrugs* *mehs* *rolls eyes* *stares blankly and turns back to email* a lot more accurate than *dies*?

To end with the ultimate internet send off: Just sayin.

Two dogs are different than one

2011-10-05T10:23:00.000-06:00

Hannah moved in last week and it's been a grand time. First, she's super funny. Second, she can cook, so Diego and I are no longer living off Cafe Fresh Steamers. And third, she has brought with her Spencie's best friend -- Charlie.

These are things I have learned in a post-Casa De Diego, Hannah, Ru, Spence and Charlie World.

A teeny dog like Spence cannot open a bedroom door.

But a giant dog like Charlie can!

In fact, a giant dog like Charlie can barrel right into Diego's room on a Saturday morning, doorknobs be damned. Lucky for Diego, he is the world's deepest sleeper, and napped his way though Charlie and Spence play fighting until Hannah and I dragged them out.

A beensy dog like Spence cannot drink out of a toilet.

But Charlie can. And boy, does he like it!

And a picky, bratty dog like Spence takes his sweet time eating his food. But now that Charlie is here too, all bets are off, little pup.

Most of the differences now that Charlie is here are positive or at least amusing, but there is one change that is a potentially mixed bag.

Hannah got Charlie from a rescue (yay Hannah!), not a breeder (boo, Ru, you're the the worst!) and Charlie has severe anxiety. He doesn't hurt other animals, has never snapped at a person, and he doesn't destroy anything -- he just cries when he's left alone. And when I say "cries," I mean he sounds like he's being murdered.

That has been ok, since really, he's not alone all that often. He spends a lot of time with Hannah's family or with a doggie daycare, and when Hannah has to go to work, usually Diego or I are at home.

But this morning, Hannah left for a 6:30 am shift.

And Charlie started crying.

Now, Spence sleeps in his crate, but once in awhile I let him nap on my bed. This morning I let Spence out at 5am for a potty break, so he got to sleep on the bed with me for a couple hours before I got up to get ready for work.

As soon as Charlie started crying, Spencer started pacing on my bed. Back and forth, back and forth. Nothing I could say reassured him that, no, the little girl from The Ring was not downstairs, crawling out of Hannah's TV to get Charlie. (Spence and I watch a lot of horror movies together.)

Finally I gave up and got out of bed, but even with the lights on, Spence was still anxious. (I guess the dark is not a big deal when your real problem is potential caninicide.) So I took him out for a walk.

Where he sat outside on the sidewalk, refusing to budge.

So I took him back inside and gave him a treat.

Where he proceeded to yelp as if it hurt him to eat his delicious, delicious treat.

By now, Diego (the infamous sleep-inner) was also up and getting ready for a day at court, so asked him if he thought Spence was being weird. Diego's response? "You know, I've never really noticed that Spence has eyebrows until now. Because those things are clearly furrowed."

This led to a great Diego and Ru debate -- is Spencer sick? Is he just upset about crying Charlie? Is he experiencing sympathy pain? (But if Charlie isn't really in pain, how could it be sympathy pain?) And WHEN IS CHARLIE GOING TO STOP CRYING?

The end result is, I have no idea if Spence is sick or just sad, and if I can't decide by either my lunchtime visit or when I come home tonight, off to the overly expensive vet we go!

So Charlie's anxiety led to Spencer's anxiety, which led to Ru's anxiety (and of course I called Hannah to get her in on this action, so now she's having a rough morning as well). If I can get Diego really upset by tonight, the circle will be complete.

The old lady who swallowed the fly indeed.

I know it looks like Spence is getting his face bitten off, but that's just how he and Charlie express affection. HUG TIME!

No, if anyone orders Merlot, I'm leaving.

2011-10-04T10:25:00.001-06:00

Remember high school debate?

A teacher would write a statement on the board. You would have to come up with arguments for and against that statement.

Let's get nostalgic in the hizzy today, shall we?

"Young adult literature, for the most part, is about the story and the characters. Adult fiction is often about making some theoretical point about life/death/middle age, and all the philosophizing/navel gazing can get in the way."

I did not come up with that statement, my lovely friend ... (um, let's go with Rebecca today, shall we?) did in an IM conversation that got me thinking. (Sorry for stealing your idea for the olde blog, Rebecca.)

I tend to agree with the statement -- the thesis for today, if you will.

Young adult literature tends to be very story-driven. This is likely a result of marketing as much as anything else, since most publishers are aware that a largely teenaged audience will not put up with elegiac reflections on the whorls in a character's thumbprints.

Young adult literature is also (right now) a lot more daring creatively than adult literature because young adult literature is selling, and publishers are more likely to take a chance on something high concept if there is the potential for big payoff.

Young adult literature also has to pay scrupulous attention to character detail, since most young adults invest emotionally in their characters, and will not put up with a book where the characters suddenly begin acting in ways contrary to their established personalities without a good reason.

Finally, young adult literature is inevitably dynamic, in that the main character is maturing throughout the novel or series. I'm sure there are examples to the contrary, but for the most part, young adult characters go through character development as a necessary element of the genre itself.

Contrast this to contemporary adult fiction, where often characters are interestingly flawed from beginning to end. (Chabon, Waldman, Niffenegger, Franzen, anyone?) That does not make them more or less interesting than young adult characters, but it does mean that they can be more static characters. (Again - not as a rule, and for that matter, not especially a good or bad thing, depending on how it is done.)

(Can you tell from all the italics that I am aware this final paragraph is a controversial point that will be easily misinterpreted as me saying "Michael Chabon sucks"? Excellent! As long as we're all on the same page: Michael Chabon does not suck.)

On the flip side.

Young adult literature can dumb down important themes. It can also present bad behavior in a box, removed from realistic and natural consequences. (I'm thinking less here about characters that -- gasp! -- drink and have sex, and more about characters who stalk their love interests. Stalking, in the real world, is generally a bad thing.)

And then to examine adult fiction.

I think we've all read a book that our brains knew was good (maybe even great), but found a paragraph (or two, or three, or four) that took us out of the story. Maybe this was a good thing (Oooh, I'm re-examing priorities!) But I have generally found it to be a bad thing.*

I am not saying literature shouldn't say BIG THINGS about life, but those big things should be an organic part of the story. The story should not be a platform for the big things. In general, adult literature blurs this line more than young adult does. (With the notable exception of our good friend Jack Weyland.)

So now we're back to the original thesis.

Can I get some yays or nays, fellow debaters?

***

As a final thought: I am not saying young adult literature is better or worse than adult literature. I am saying that the experience of reading it is often more enjoyable -- and no, not because it's simple or simple-minded.

(Here's where I wish I drank wine so the following analogy wasn't just pure bullshit.)

Young adult literature is like Saurtenes or Reisling. It's light bodied, but when done right, its simplicity is what makes it delicious and flavorful. Adult literature is more like a cabernet sauvignon -- full bodied, complex, but when done wrong, with a slight tendency to stain your teeth, smell like cat pee, and taste like the back of an L.A. schoolbus.

(Did that sound like bullshit? I mean, I've seen Sideways like twice, which I think is pretty legit.)

* Here's a potentially unhelpful example. Have you ever seen V for Vendetta? In V for Vendetta, Natalie Portman is acting. In Black Swan, she's ACTING. Maybe ACTING is your cup of tea, but I think ACTING gets old after a little while.

So when I read The Time Traveler's Wife (for example), I get annoyed on page 120 when Claire sits down to drink some Earl Gray with lemon and read Moliere in the original French after making some more damn paper out of lavender and organic flax seed and angel snot and just think, "BACK TO THE TIME TRAVEL, DAMN YOU! You already tried my patience with that eye-rolling, rape-culture-promoting sexual assault scene!"

(for example).

A poll

2011-10-03T13:17:00.000-06:00

So karma hooked me up real nice this weekend with a sweet $20 to Amazon. All that avarice I displayed on the blog last week did me right.

I'm considering the following Kindle purchases. Let me know your thoughts, if any. (Particularly if your thoughts are, "Eh, that was good ... but more of a library read, doncha know.")

Lola and the Boy Next Door, Stephanie Perkins

Grounding Quinn, Stephanie Campbell

Daughter of Smoke and Bone, Laini Taylor

Shut Out, Kody Keplinger

Thirteen Reasons Why, Jay Asher

A Visit From the Goon Squad, Jennifer Egan

The Lonely Polygamist, Brady Udall

If I Stay, Gayle Forman

Any others I should be considering?

a hodgepodge of information

2011-09-30T11:00:00.000-06:00

1. Hobo With A Shotgun is just as awesome (if not even more awesome) than I had previously suspected. However, if you're feeling at all emotionally imbalanced, save it for another time.

I think all those exploding body parts would not have been quite so hilarious, or the injustice of the hobo not being able to buy his beloved lawn mower quite so tragic, but for my sleep-deprived and moody state.

2. Remember ye olde writing conference I attended last weekend? Well, I got two pretty solid pieces of advice. I am working on implementing the first one now, and will update you all upon completion. (Assuming there's anyone out there in BlogLand who is interested, and I suspect most of you come here for the cute puppy pics. Which is fine, that's why I come here, too.)

3. I know everyone laments the state of math and science education in our schools, but could we get a shout-out for civics and English while we're at it? If I see one more person woefully misstate basic principles of governance that I had mastered in the FIFTH GRADE, I'm going to make like a hobo and eff this place up. (Not really.)

If oh-so-many people are oh-so-very passionate about politics these days, I'd just really appreciate it if they would give the following a skimmaroo before spouting off any opinions.

Three branches of government, people. Three.

Also, commas, people. Commas.

4. Somewhat related to number 3 ... have you ever noticed that when someone begins a sentence with, "Liberals ..." or "Conservatives ...", whatever comes next is almost certainly going to be really stupid?

And now I leave you with a fun postcard.

Another interview? Forshizzle?

2011-09-30T09:09:00.002-06:00

Yes. Forshizzle.

Go here and visit Misha's blog, you won't regret it.

Ahoy-hoy

2011-09-29T09:31:00.000-06:00

I'm being interviewed over at Chantele Sedgwick's blog today - go check it out and show us some love. Gracias.

If wishes were fishes, I'd have tacos til Christmas

2011-09-28T13:46:00.001-06:00

Every once in awhile, I just have to give into my natural inclination toward covetousness and greed.

The to-read (which probably means "to buy," since I still don't have a new library card) list:

If I Stay, Gayle Forman

Lola and the Boy Next Door, Stephanie Perkins

Daughter of Smoke and Bone, Laini Taylor

Shut Out, Kody Keplinger

Thirteen Reasons Why, Jay Asher

A Visit From the Goon Squad, Jennifer Egan

The Lonely Polygamist, Brady Udall

The to-buy list:

Do you think if I downloaded some case law, I could call it a tax deduction?

Either this, or stop walking around my house in a towel, and I'm not going to stop doing that.

I have to go to the opera next month. That's a good enough excuse to buy an (inappropriately) expensive dress, right? Sigh, I know it's not.

Not to be worn with the aforementioned dress, however. I'm not that cray-cray. Just "cray," really. I have to express my inner sass somehow when I'm at work.

The fact that I'm not married doesn't really depress me, except when I think about how it's likely that I'll never be able to beg for Williams-Sonoma cookware in a socially sanctioned setting (e.g., the gift registry). That, dying alone, and having no one to kill spiders for me. Thank goodness Diego moved in. He even got that one big spider the size of a silver dollar that I allowed to continue living in the basement for months. According to Ru, "Peace at any price." According to Diego, "You have awakened a sleeping dragon, Big Daddy Spider." There are a lot of WWII analogies at our house.

So what's on your "gimme gimme I want it now (but realistically I'll just keep checking it out online)" list?

The lie factor

2011-09-28T09:30:00.000-06:00

Reason 203 why I think raising a kid will be easier than training a dog: Kids believe my filthy lies.

No matter how much Diego and I pretend that the bathroom is a fun place to be ("Golly gee, the bathroom! I want to get into the bathroom! Isn't this place fun?!"), Spencer knows it's not fun.

All the toys and treats in the world couldn't convince him, I don't know why I thought psychology would have.

It's my pioneer heritage coming out

2011-09-27T12:01:00.000-06:00

When things get rough and I don't know where to turn, I mentally redo my kitchen.

I mean, don't you think doing dishes would be a lot cooler if you had a red sink?

Grumble grumble soapbox grumble

2011-09-26T11:58:00.000-06:00

Over the weekend, I found out that a book I recently read -- Twenty Boy Summer,* don't judge it by the title -- is starting to be banned by school districts.

People, I kind of thought we were over the "book banning" thing. I mean, the Harry Potter fiasco was AGES ago, am I right? Yes, I know, the American Library Association still has Banned Book Week, which is going on now, but I'd like to think that's more for historical purposes of celebrating how far we've come since folks (whose underwear was clearly three sizes too small, causing serious discomfort and confusion) started campaigning against the evils of Faulkner and Mark Twain. (And don't forget Judy Blume. Gasp! Girls get periods! And think about God! Why I never.)

I think we all know that some books are not "age appropriate" for some kids. But rather than trot out the old lines of, "But that's a parent's responsibility!" I'd actually like to just say that reading an inappropriate book is just part of growing up.

Was I warped by reading Flowers in the Attic at age 12? Of course, but that's part of what gives me my charm today. (Also, I feel like my parents' biggest objection, had they been aware that I was reading a book about filicide and incest in the sixth grade, their greatest objection still would have been shoddy writing. Be that as it may.)

I remember reading naughty words and scenes via Christopher Pike and thinking, "I shouldn't be reading this." And a split second later deciding, "But I'm going to, anyway."

(Am I really hanging my hat on the argument that reading a book called Die Softly is an important part of gaining maturity? I sure am!)

Frankly, literary rebellion is going to be the most minor of a kid's possible rebellions while growing up, but it's the most important one. Not only is the act of deciding what media you are going to invite into your brain, regardless of what your parents and teachers might think, an important step to independence, but it helps create a brain capable of creative thought. You can't think outside the box if you've never ventured beyond the box.

Now, I'm not saying kids should go read smut just for fun, but that if kids don't find themselves reading the questionable (and then deciding, independently, to either go forward with some smutty fun or to put the book back on the smutty shelf) they may never figure out for themselves, "This is amazing!" or "Haha, this is gratuitous, and on top of that, it blows!"

Is that a scary thought for parents of impressionable youth? I imagine it probably is. But ask yourself -- "Self, was there ever a time in MY teenage years where I read something I maybe shouldn't have? Something that was possibly beyond my level of maturity to understand?"And if the answer to either question is "Yes," ask yourself -- "Did I suffer any actual damage from that decision?" (And I imagine the answer will most likely be, "No.")

What age-inappropriate (or maybe just inappropriate-inappropriate) books did you read as a kid? And am I wrong, were you left scarred for life? (I'm picturing someone who read Lord of the Flies being unable to enjoy barbecue pork. That would be a tragedy worth investigating.)

* FYI, the objection to Twenty Boy Summer is that (spoiler alert!) a teenage girl has sex with a teenage boy (with a condom) and doesn't feel like a chewed up piece of gum, cake with poop baked inside, or stomped on rose petals afterwards. The horror.

So what was Spencie up to while Ru was at that writing conference?

2011-09-25T22:55:00.000-06:00

He stayed with my brothers.

And they sent me these pictures.

We're taking good care of him.

He's all dried off now.

"Um, so what's the deal with racism lately?"

2011-09-22T09:53:00.000-06:00

That? That's an actual line of dialogue from the Casa de Diego, Spence and Ru.

Unlike myself, Diego hasn't given up hope of finding a boyfriend via the wonderful world of online dating, and consequently, he finds himself on dates roughly 2-3 times a week. Unfortunately, this has led to more hilarity than true love so far, but you know what they say: you have to kiss a lot of theater majors to find your Ryan Gosling.

The weird thing is, Diego has found himself on a shockingly high percentage of dates with racists.

Yeah. You read that right.

Now, this isn't a case where Diego (a high falutin' liberal if there ever was one) is seeing racism where there is none. When someone talks about hitting "n-words" with their car, there isn't too much room for debate.

The thing is, (and I can say this, having been in this situation) you'd like to think that if you were presented with overt racism, you'd puff out your chest and launch into a stern lecture. But what actually happens is this:

Internal dialogue:

Did that really happen?

I think that happened.

Why did he say that?

Who cares? He said it.

But did he think he could say something like that in front of me? Why?

Maybe I heard it wrong.

Definitely didn't hear it wrong.

Is he trying to be funny?

I think he was serious.

Should I just hope he was trying to be funny?

Would it matter?

A little. Bad taste is preferable to straight up horribleness.

Maybe I'm hearing things. Maybe he said,"Figures" like a white trash person.

If he did, that doesn't make any sense.

What do I say? Oh man, too much time has passed. Say something!

External dialogue:

"Uh ... what did you just say?"

Awkward silence descends.

King Kong

2011-09-21T14:09:00.000-06:00

Just in case you were thinking, "This girl does not talk enough about her dog," you're in luck!

I bought the little pup a kong, which is a rubber toy you put treats inside. The theory is the dog will be occupied with the task of getting the treat (cheese, peanut butter, whatever) out of the kong and not with destroying various valuables.

When I picked out the kong, I wasn't entirely sure it was going to work. First, even though I picked out the "petite" kong for a dog under 20 pounds, the hole seemed awfully small and the rubber surprisingly unyielding. How was Spence supposed to get peanut butter out of the bottom? But I went with it, since hey, why would they make it if it were impossible?

Yesterday I was working at home and I needed Spence to just sit and chill for a few hours, so I filled the kong full of peanut butter (which, along with parmesan cheese, strawberries, grass, bees, pickled ginger and couch is pretty much Spencer's favorite thing to eat). He promptly licked off all the peanut butter within easy reach, which took less than a minute, and then looked at me.

I looked at him. "There's more peanut butter at the bottom," I pointed out.

He raised his eyebrows, which I took to mean, "Yeah. At the bottom. How am I supposed to manage that?"

"You know, get your tongue down in there."

Head tilting, which seemed to say, "That seems a bit undignified."

"Buddy, you lick your own soon-to-be-excised balls. You can't be aggressive with a little rubber toy?"

"It's not a matter of aggression, it's a matter of probability of succe -- hey, what was that about my balls?"

"Never mind. Look, give it here, you just squeeze the toy a bit and more peanut butter comes out. You try."

"Umm, I'd rather not, but thanks for the additional peanut butter. Now, why don't you just run along and get me one of those fantastic chicken flavored rawhides that takes thirty minutes to eat. That will do, don't you think?"

"But I've got at least three hours of work where I'll need silence ..."

"Splendid. Six rawhides it is."

(Yeah, that is pretty much how lawyerin goes with Spence. Him wagging his tail, me coming up with possible dialogue.)

PS - Thanks to all my new followers, homies! I'm pretty much tickled pink about being close to 200, though part of me wants to remain coolly indifferent. But see above, where I wrote dialogue for myself and a five month old puppy? Definitely not cool, so let's stop kidding ourselves.

Also, while we're being honest about the subject of obsessive checking my blog stats, if you are a follower who demands a follow-back (and I know you're there, since apparently I gained one and lost two last night), just comment on ye olde blog so I can find you. I got behind a few weeks back amidst all this blogfesting and campaigning and whatnot, and despite positive intentions, never really got around to figuring out who my new friends are.

And while we're being exxxxxtra honest (that looks dirty, doesn't it?) I can't guarantee I will follow you back. But I will check out your blog for sure, maybe even more than once, and if it is interesting to me and well-written (and surely it is, I'm not even sure why this disclaimer is here!) then I will follow.

Nothing cements victory like pastry

2011-09-19T12:32:00.000-06:00

PS, college band leaders across America: "Livin' On A Prayer" is not really a "get pumped" song. It's more of a song that visiting fans are going to love belting out as their team gives yours the beatdown and your fans sit in sullen silence.

So perhaps next time consider the AC/DC oeuvre.

(Did I really just to use "oeuvre?" Sure did. These opportunities only come along every so often, people.)

Whoa-oh, we're halfway there

Whoa-oh, livin on a prayer

Take my hand, we'll make it I swear

Ohhhh-oh, living on a prayer ...

Something that is not cliche

2011-09-16T11:21:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I wrote about some common cliches in young adult literature.

Today I want to mention something that is not a cliche.

Have you ever heard of the "Hero's Journey" theory, or read Joseph Campbell's The Hero With A Thousand Faces? (Or The Power of Myth documentary and companion book by Bill Moyers, talking about Joseph Campbell?) If not, I recommend some light (read: dense) scholarly reading for your weekend (read: month), but here's the short version.

The reason why a lot of stories seem the same is that there are some fundamental archetypes in literature, and that the collective human spirit responds positively when we recognize these archetypes. The big one is the "hero's journey."

Tell me if the following sounds familiar:

1. A character, usually of unusual birth or heritage, lives in the ordinary world.
2.The character discovers that he or she has some special gift or destiny, but initially refuses to believe in it.
3. The character finally commits to his or her destiny after receiving some sort of (usually mystical) aid from a mentor.
4. The character faces an initial round of challenges that only tangentially relate to the ultimate destiny.
5. The character faces a second round of challenges, which are more existentially upsetting to the character, and often involve the death of the character's mentor.
6. The character goes one some sort of quest to achieve his or her ultimate destiny.
7. The character embraces his or her own mortality.
8. The character achieves an enlightened state of some kind.
9. The character achieves his or her ultimate goal to the benefit of humanity.

Now that's condensed a little from Campbell's actual theory, but you see where I'm going with this. Ancient myths, including major world religions, are filled with this pattern, but it carries through to film and literature today. Luke and Anakin Skywalker, Harry Potter, Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, Ender Wiggin, Shea Ohmsford, Neo, Simba, Percy Jackson -- the list goes on. They aren't all perfect fits, but there are more hits than misses, am I right?

(And now do you see why so many people WERE NOT shocked when Dumbledore died in Book 6? Harry can't achieve enlightenment until he stands on his own, my homies.)

Is this pattern "cliched?" It could be. But there's a reason why it works, over and over again.*

So if you find yourself writing in a cliched pattern, don't be too disheartened.

A cliche is only bad when it's lame. When in doubt, just remember--a girl falling in love with her stalker is irrefutably lame.

And that may be the deepest thing I've ever said.

* Unless you completely overdo it up by insisting on adding a throw-away character like Qui Gon Jin, just so he can "mentor" Anakin long enough to fit the pattern, then kill him. SERIOUSLY. Sometimes you can have too much of a good thing, George Lucas.

(Just figured I'd end with the dorkiest thing I've ever said.)

Lessons learned from horror movies

2011-09-15T13:20:00.000-06:00

Last night Hannah, Diego and I watched Insidious.* Afterwards, I looked up some Insidious trivia on ye olde IMDB and found this intriguing nugget:

When the writer sat down to begin his script, he listed traditional horror movie cliches on a poster board over his desk, then proceeded to avoid them.

I thought about how this could apply to writers of any given genre. With my last manuscript (most easily described as "chick lit"), I decided the thing I absolutely wanted to avoid was the simple-misunderstanding-threatens-to-undermine-everyone's-love-connection development. I often find myself infuriated that otherwise intelligent characters are too damn dumb to just sit down and talk out their problem.

I'm currently working on a young adult project, so I want to come up with a list of "Young Adult Cliches" that I (and anyone else) can put on their poster board over their desk.

If you can't avoid the following, people, at least try to subvert them a bit:

1. Male love interest acts horribly to female protagonist, but as it turns out, his nastiness was just a cover for feelings of overwhelming love.

2. Beautiful best friend who attracts all the guys in school, but dates none of them.

3. The token black friend.

(I'm not saying there shouldn't be black kids in young adult literature -- just that if there's one, perhaps it's possible that there are two? And sometimes, they should be male. And maybe once in awhile we should just say they're black, instead of going through the Starbucks menu--coffee, cappuccino, cafe au latte, caramel machiato, or mocha.

People, I am white and freckly. I am not a vanilla bean frappechino.)

4. The main character's biggest personality flaw = being tone deaf.

5. The main character's biggest physical flaw = having a scar through one eyebrow.

6. Fingernail biting, chewing lips, or digging nails into palms until you've drawn blood.

7. The female protagonist with no female friends; or, in the alternative, the female protagonist with no female friends in whom she actually confides.

8. A group of nasty cheerleaders; or, in the alternative, a group of nasty fundamentalist Christians.

Any others you all would like to add to the list? I'm sure there are plenty more out there to be found.

* Solid film, fyi, if a bit defeated by a weak third act. And, like most visually frightening films, it wreaked some havoc on my overactive imagination. Sometime around 2am, I woke in a panic and debated asking Diego if I could sleep on the floor in his room. Concluding that would be creepy, I then decided to let the ferocious Spencer out of his crate so he could sleep in my bed and protect me.

He may not look like it, but this dog's instincts are finely honed. He's ready to leap into action and cuddle the bajeebers out of any potential attacker.

P to the S? You probably don't ever want to watch a horror movie with me, Hannah, and Diego. Within the first five minutes, we were all shouting out our guesses for the twist ending that was surely awaiting us.

But I have to say, well done to Insidious for avoiding the number one horror movie cliche: family staying in a haunted house. Once any rational person is presented with overwhelming evidence that their house has caught a case of the ghosties, they get the F out.

So thank you, Insidious. Thank you.

Have you noticed this?

2011-09-14T10:21:00.000-06:00

By and large, the most "original" TV tends to be on cable, yes?* The shows with the craziest, grittiest characters--it's all Showtime, AMC, HBO, etc.

Yet, for as "groundbreaking" as some of these characters are, more often than not, they have a spouse who is overly suspicious and controlling.

(Mild spoilers ahead.)

I used to think it was just a Dexter phenomenon--Rita, who started out sweet and oddly noble, turned into a suspicious control freak sometime around season 2 and never let up. Honestly, the transition didn't make a ton of sense, and it always struck me as something that was done to drive the plot. (I imagine the meetings in the writer's room went like this: Dexter needs time alone to kill people, sooo ... let's make Rita think he's a drug addict and force him into Narcotics Anonymous! Let's make Rita the neediest pregnant lady ever! Let's make make Rita, a former single mother, completely incapable of driving herself to the pharmacy!)

And I like Dexter. I just found it odd that the go-to plot twist was always, "Let's make Rita as unlikeable as we can."

Same phenomenon now that I'm getting into Breaking Bad. About five episodes in, you have Walt (recently diagnosed with terminal cancer, he decides to use his skills as a chemistry teacher to cook meth as a way to leave a nest egg for his family after his death) acting slightly sketchy, and Skyler (his pregnant wife of 20-something years) acting like a hardened detective off the mean streets of New York.

Skyler's thought process: Oooh, Walt took a mysterious phone call and pretended it was a telemarketer! I know what I'll do, I'll *69 it, use a reverse phone directory to look up the owner, google the owner, find his MySpace page, look up his address, and go confront him.

OVER A PHONE CALL.

I debated this with a friend who thought Skyler's reaction was perfectly normal -- Walt was acting like a skeevy little deviant. I counter with, "Yes, but."

But she's been married to him for 20 years.

But she has a kid with him and another on the way.

But he's never given her a reason to be suspicious before.

But he's the most mild-mannered dork on the planet -- it's far more likely he's planning a surprise baby shower than anything nefarious.

So why now? Why turn suspicious and controlling now? You've obviously trusted him enough up until this point to marry him, stay with him, and have his babies. So why is a phone call suddenly so very problematic for you?

Oh, that's right. Because we need the plot to move forward.

The thing that is puzzling to me is that, fundamentally, Rita and Skyler (and Betty Draper from Mad Men and Lori Grimes from Walking Dead and Rick from The Killing and all the rest) are right. There is something horribly wrong with their significant other (serial killer, meth dealer, identity thief and serial philanderer, chronically emotionally closed off, chronically emotionally closed off and workaholic, respectively). But their suspicions, whatever they are, never really hit the mark. (Betty Draper comes closest, but I imagine she always thought Don had one mistress, maybe two--never mind a dozen, never mind a STOLEN IDENTITY.) And because of this, the Suspicious Spouse rarely has the audience's sympathy.

It kind of makes me want to watch Nurse Jackie, just to see if Nurse Jackie's husband thinks she's secretly running a Ponzi scheme or something.

Have you guys noticed this elsewhere? A character who should otherwise trust the main character, but for some unstated reason, does not? And if you have, do you think it worked anyway?

* I am not ripping on network TV. I love a lot of its programming, particularly Modern Family and Vampire Diaries. But we all have to admit, comparing Two and a Half Men to It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia just isn't fair to poor Jon Cryer. And let's not even start in on reality programming.

And a request

2011-09-11T23:51:00.000-06:00

For anyone who has been looking for a good cause to support (I know I need one now and again), click here and learn about my friend Lindsey's fund raising goals for the National Alliance on Mental Illness Walk on September 24.

Flash fiction: 200 words

2011-09-09T11:42:00.001-06:00

The rules:

Write a short story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “The door swung open.”

For those who want an even greater challenge, make your story 200 words EXACTLY!

(This was kind of a pain in my ass. Anyone who knows me or has been reading this blog for awhile knows that I love to ramble. So I hope it's still good, even after I sliced out everything I could. If ya'll liked it, go HERE and give me some love. I'm entry 369.)

TITLE: __________________

The door swung open, but Jane had already crept down the hall, through the den, and out the window.

She landed stiffly, more focused on silence than grace. She held her keys and boarding pass in her fist, purse tight to her side, willing the lipgloss tubes inside to not much as clink.

Her phone was charging in her bedroom. But she had seen him pull up to the curb.

She didn’t look back as she made her way across the lawn in a crouch, imagining him watching from the kitchen windows, eyes bloodshot, lips cracked and bleeding.

Surely he wasn’t. He was upstairs, searching her room. The kitchen would come last.

But she didn’t want to look.

She reached the garage. She turned the knob.

Locked.

The rational part of her brain screamed at her to run—through the alley, down the street. Find any house, any car.

She was faster than him. Today at school, it had seemed like his legs weren’t working as he shambled down the halls.

But the thought of him catching her—he can barely WALK!—made her throat tighten and close.

The car was her only option.

And the garage door was heavy.

Things I am excited about for on

2011-09-08T10:38:00.001-06:00

(I added more prepositions for your viewing pleasure.)

1. Vampire Diaries and Modern Family returning to my weekly routine. Have I mentioned that I am obsessed with TV? Absolutely obsessed.

2. The Utah versus USC football game this weekend. I am going to make blackberry cupcakes for the occasion and I'm pretty sure they're going to be epic. I know this isn't a cooking blog or anything, but be prepared for some mad bragging if all goes according to plan.

3. Writing conference in two weeks. Actually, I don't know if that's actual excitement or total trepidation. We will see. Either way, I plan to buy some bitchin shoes in its honor.

Speaking of shoes, can I just say I am relieved/disappointed that these are sold out in my size?

I've never bought anything at Anthropologie before (on principle and on lack of funds) and I'm pretty sure I'll be able to maintain that goal, but jeez. It was close with those shoes.

4. Finishing A Dance with Dragons. Stayed up until 1 am last night. I probably would still be sprawled out on my bed, completely enraptured, if a Bran Stark chapter hadn't come up. I am sorry, little crippled kid, but even with the ability to mind-meld with wolves and people, I find you more boring than church.

(Sorry, church.)

5. Reading Life As We Knew It. I know I said it was number 2 on my to-be-read list while on vacation, but I ended up putting Twenty Boy Summer (yes, it is better than the title implies) there instead. If you want a nice one-two punch of contemporary young adult, I would definitely recommend that and Anna and the French Kiss. Twenty Boy Summer is definitely more somber, so maybe go with that one first.

Speaking of awkward titles, are there any books out there you'd like to read, but feel like you can't because of a bad title or cover? I've mostly gotten over that, but this was a big problem for me as a kid. I remember hiding LJ Smith books in my history text because I didn't want anyone to know I was reading something called THE PASSION (of all things) at fourteen. It sure didn't help that the cover made it look like something that would definitely include some throbbing members. (It didn't, but try explaining that to a group of scornful post-tomboys.)

Awkward. Early 90s, there was just no excuse.

My Above The Law* Moment

2011-09-07T09:23:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago, Hannah received an email from a gent on an online dating service.

She promptly forwarded the information to me, because some things are too good to share.

Under the following headings, he offered these gems:

"What I'm doing with my life" - Graduated from a Top 5 law school.

"Six things I could never do without" - ...money, prestige, and Starbucks.

"I spend a lot of time thinking about ..." - How much money I have now and how much I will have later.

"Most private thing I'm willing to admit" - See income.

A doozy, right? And that's not all. After declaring that he worked for the "top" law firm in New Denver, I immediately decided to discover who this fella was in real life. So I passed his dating profile picture along to various friends around town.

Here's something you may not know - there is no "top" law firm pretty much anywhere. There's the Vault 100, which is a list of the 100 top firms nationwide, and yes, it's ranked from 1 to 100. But to actually claim that whichever firm holds the number one spot is literally better than number 2? A stretch.

This goes double for a mid-size market like New Denver, which has a few regional offices for those Vault 100 firms, but certainly no headquarter offices. What's more, there are probably 10 - 15 downtown firms that could all make a play for being King of Lawyer Mountain, plus even more specialty firms that dominate their particular area.

Long story short - claiming you work for the top firm in town is not only douchey, but really, really stupid.

Slowly firms were ticked off the list as people responded, "He doesn't work here." (And usually added a, "But let me know if you find out where!") A few friends -- Amelia, Sally, Alan -- were on board with my plan, and for all the firms we don't have friends at, we began scouring websites for a head shot that could resemble our mystery dater.

In the end, though, we couldn't find him, which I suppose makes sense. It's the internet, it's full of lies. If a guy says he's 6 feet tall, he's 5'10". If a girl says she's curvy, she hasn't been to the gym in years. A "good sense of humor" means "I laugh when someone else is funny."

And if a guy says he works at the top law firm in town, he's probably a personal assistant.

* For those of you who don't know, Above the Law is a blog that touts itself as a legal tabloid -- a place to discuss the big stories in the legal world every day, and particularly gossip about stupid lawsuits (Lady sues ex-husband over lack of sex!), lawyers (Craigslist - always a mistake, people) and law students (Oh Tulane students. Will you never learn? Answer: No.)

Clearly, I don't have what it takes to write for them, because I couldn't track down one measly little poser. Tear ...

My brains are scrambled

2011-09-06T09:32:00.000-06:00

Hey ya'll, I'm back! This is a totally non-scheduled, non-pre-written post. Unfortunately, I don't have too much to say other than I'm fully committed to catching up by the end of the week, and that I've learned some life lessons while I've been away:

1. When you coordinate your tipping at a restaurant, make sure the other person knows what you're doing and not just checking your math. At a ramen house on our last day in VacationLand, I asked my friend Ricky if $2.60 sounded good and he agreed. I wrote that on my bill. Then I watched him write $3.00 on his bill, making me the jerk who stiffed the waitress. According to Ricky, he thought I was just double-checking my decimal moving skills.

2. When you knock two people over at their airport, don't shout, "I'm about to miss my flight!" in lieu of an apology. That's on everyone's mind at the airport, you're not special. Plus, words about flights just blend together at an airport. It took me five seconds of being mad about the whole assault angle before I processed what you said.

Additionally, you're going to look real dumb when you run into those same people when you're coming out of the ladies' room. Next time, just tell the truth. I would definitely leap out of the way for someone screaming about diarrhea.

3. Cheap trips are always best, and I don't regret my decision whatsoever to visit VacationLand for not-so-much-moola. However, the next time, I think I will spring for whichever hotel doesn't have rock hard mattresses and leaves me notes on my door informing me that the room is going to be fumigated for my convenience on the morrow.

I like my fumigations to take place when I'm not there, personally. Ideally, before I arrive.

stolen from facebook

2011-09-01T00:12:00.001-06:00

Alpha: Charlie, why are you cooking all that bacon so late at night?

Charlie: Because if the environmentalists won't, I will.

And other stuff I can't take seriously

2011-08-31T07:00:00.002-06:00

If I'm reading a book and a character's name makes me laugh out loud, I can't continue.

Someone recommended a book to me the other day. But the main love interest's name was ...

...

wait for it ...

...

Brodan.

No, friends. Just no.

What are the worst names you guys have seen in books? (And yes, they have to be genuinely misplaced. Amberle is ok if your book is called Elfstones of Shannara, nowhere else.)

The most important part of being a good lawyer = not being a dick

2011-08-30T07:00:00.002-06:00

When I worked at BIG FIRM back in Fake Austin, do you know how many times I worked on a case where we requested the other side pay our attorney's fees?

Once.

In general, two parties in litigation pay their own attorney's fees. It's part of the adversarial system. More times than not, both sides are right some of the time--or at least pretty close to right. The case where one side is RIGHT and the other side is WRONG is super rare. Therefore, in the interest of fairness, everyone who comes to the fight has to carry their own gloves, water bottles and towels.

There are some exceptions to this general rule, and I won't get into all of them here. But one big exception is the "frivolous" exception.

(Note: people throw around the term "frivolous lawsuit" a lot. Those people watch too much TV.)

When someone is straight up harassing you -- when there is no logical way to explain what they are doing other than sheer maliciousness or idiocy -- when they have pursued their position beyond the point where they could have possibly won anything -- then you have grounds to demand that they pay all the lawyers.

So you can see why my hoity toity firm only asked on rare occasions -- because it's a rare exception. Proving that someone has been a complete idiot is actually pretty tough. (Of course, you're not going to say they're an idiot. You're going to go through the case and point out every time they took a position that was indefensible, and it better have been nearly all the time.) More importantly, accusing someone -- a fellow member of your profession -- of harassment, maliciousness, idiocy or irrationality is not something one should do lightly. (Again -- you won't say all those things. But the implication reads loud and clear = YOU, SIR, HAVE BEEN A DUMBASS.)

Which is why I was stunned to find out that in other people's practices, it's "standard" to ask for attorney's fees. Every time.

Friends, country men, fellow members of the various bar associations of Fake Austin and New Denver -- are you kidding me? I mean, it's rare that you can say this with a straight face, but when BIG EVIL LAW FIRM looks at something, wrinkles their collective forehead and says, "Well, that is just distasteful," we have a problem.

Do not do your colleagues the disservice of asking for attorneys fees every single time they file a motion, or get into an area of law not called "litigation," because guess what -- it involves filing a lot of motions.

Debunch your panties. Grow up a little.

And remember that we call this a "profession" for a reason.

hey from airport number 1!

2011-08-29T15:37:00.000-06:00

signs that you are too into blogging.

you have a dream where you are stranded at sea and fighting super smart sharks. and it occurs to you in the dream that hey, i should blog the heck out of this later.

and then you blog that.

despite being equipped with a phone that will not capitalize or let you use punction that is not a period or comma.

i would add a joke about how i have not used a single conjunction thus far for that very reason, but a rhetorical question without a question mark does not pack much of a punch.

have a good one, folks exclamation point