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Category Archives for ‘Experiences’

Lessons From The Other Side of NaNoWriMo

As you may have heard if you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, I am now a novelist. That’s right, I completed, nay won, National Novel Writing Month, so now I’m officially an accomplished author and I totally use literary words like ‘nay’.

Before NaNoWriMo started, I read several hater blog posts about how NaNoWriMo is a terrible and completely invalid experience that deteriorates the moral fiber of our society and pretty much is the reason horrible things like genocide and bestiality exist. These bloggers claimed you can’t write a high-quality, publishable novel in one month and that creating a contest where you win by writing 50,000 words of fiction on one topic in a month, makes people think they have.

Now that I have won NaNoWriMo, I have to say, I don’t know what those guys were talking about. I totally wrote a cohesive, well-plotted and developed, traditional publishing-quality novel in the 50,008 words I wrote in one month. I mean, I know it was the first time I attempted to write a novel and that occasionally along the way I forgot the last names of my characters, so I just made up new ones, but dude, the girl who wrote The Outsiders was only seventeen when she wrote it and I’m almost twice as old as that, so I know this book is going to be a winner. Just because it took me almost 20,000 words to pick a perspective to write in consistently doesn’t mean that’s not a new style of writing I just invented. And how I ended right in the middle of the action there at 50k words? Completely intentional. Cliff-hanger, people. How are my readers going to want to come back for the rest of the trilogy if I actually resolve the plot in any way in the first book? Duh.

Even though I’m obviously a natural at this novel-writing stuff and I can probably just print the thing out and send it off to publishers right now cause I’m that good, I guess I did learn a few things along the way this month.
Things I learned from NaNoWriMo:

1.    It was both (and equally) much harder and much easier to complete the 50K words than I thought it was going to be. I had really built this up in my mind as soverymuchdifficult that when I really started to write, and just kept writing and just kept writing the words stacked up pretty quickly and I realized it was absolutely doable. That said; it was a huge time commitment every single day. And there were definitely days I was so stuck on where to go next, and yet it was 9PM and I was exhausted from the rest of the normal stuff of the day, that I really considered writing ‘this is stupid and I hate it’ 284 times in a row just to have the correct word count for the day (although I never actually did that even once).

2.    Planning is good. I need to do more of it. People who say they just write and have no plan are a: lying, b: Stephen King and thus have been doing this so long he can write a book in his sleep and it will be rad or c: writing a shitty, pointless book.

3.    I haven’t figured out how to translate the voice I’ve cultivated in my blog into long-form fiction. So… blogging is different from writing a novel, is I guess, what I’m saying. I don’t know why it took me 50,000 words to figure that out, but it did.

4.    Characters are important. Take note, next time you’re watching a show you love or reading a great book, of the different personalities in the characters you love. You know on Psych there’s Shawn and Gus and Lassie and Shawn’s dad and they’re all so wacky, but radically different in super specific ways? That’s hard. And important. You really have to fully evolve all of your characters before you even start or you’re going to end up having five women who are really exactly the same but just have different jobs and husbands. And they’ll all be white and middle class and when you finally figure that out you’ll kind of feel like a racist.

5.    I suck at bad guys. I tend to live my life with the belief that there aren’t really any ‘bad’ people. We all just have wildly different perspectives, experiences and motivations that lead us to make choices and take actions that end up in opposition of each other. Unfortunately, this caused me to feel emotionally invested in the reader understanding and really liking each one of my characters. And that’s kind of dumb and makes for a stupid story. Mental note: it’s OK for my characters to be unlikable, as long as they’re not all unlikable. Also? Stories aren’t real life. Work on that, Me.

6.    I learned to quiet my inner editor. That bitch had me in a headlock with my face down to the mat while she reminded me how I look a little cross-eyed in my senior year pictures. NaNoWriMo taught me this rad move where I karate-chop her in her throat so she shuts the hell up for a minute and I can get some work done.

7.    Writing a novel is ultimately much like running. Every day you have to have your set time that you work on it. Even if you feel crappy and you’re a little hung over or you had a breakfast that wasn’t exactly right, or you have a meeting and your house cleaners are coming that morning, you still need to get your butt on the road and put one foot in front of the other until it’s done. Or you need to put your butt in the chair and write until you’ve got your words. It might not have been the fastest or easiest run, but it’s going to add to your strength and build up your body and you have to do it. Same thing with your writing. It might really suck that day, but if you pushed forward, then eventually you can go back and fix that, but you need to keep moving forward or you’ll never get it done. Additionally, when you’re in the middle of either activity, if every step of the way you’re focused on how difficult it is and how far you have left to go, it will make the entire thing a million times more unpleasant (and you’ll probably convince yourself you’re having an asthma attack even if you’ve never had an asthma attack in your life). If you let your mind go and just stay in that moment, the distance and words will slip right by and you’ll be done in no time. Plus you’ll have run faster and written better than if you’d spent every step plodding along and every word bemoaning how you didn’t want to be writing right then.

8.    I do not need large chunks of time every day to write. I can put in my headphones for 15 minutes while dinner is baking and the kids are finishing homework and get shit done. It won’t be a lot of shit, but it will be some, which is better than the none I get done when I wait for the perfect large block of time.

NaNoWriMo was a good experience for me. I plan to write my story to completion (because Chuck says you need to finish shit), but after that, I’m not sure it’s even revisable. I feel like what I ultimately got out of NaNoWriMo was better understanding of what I don’t know how to do. I feel like I’m ready to learn now. I need to do some reading and some observing and some planning, and then I’m going to start again. I won’t write at quite the breakneck speed of the last month, but I plan to have a good amount of consistency. And I’m going to keep that Inner Editor quiet until I really need her.

How Not To Act During a Tragedy

I have this friend, who told me this story. It’s a pretty good story, so I want to tell you it, but I think it’s one she’s not particularly proud of, so I’m not going to disclose her real identity here. It’s not that she’s a bad person, but occasionally she makes bad choices and I think it’s important that we all remember it’s not nice to judge. So for the purpose of this story, we’re going to call my friend: Tallulah.

Last Wednesday night Tallulah got a call from her friend, who told Tallulah a plane had crashed in the mountains near her and wanted to know if Tallulah could see anything from her house. Tallulah explained she doesn’t have direct mountain views from her house because there are too many other houses around. When she got off the phone, Tallulah had the following conversation with her husband:

Tallulah – Hey, I just heard there was a plane crash in the mountains near here. Maybe we should get in the car and drive up to the front of the subdivision where you can see all of the mountains around and see if we can see anything.

Tallulah’s Husband – I don’t know… everyone’s in PJs already. I was just going to lie on the couch and watch TV…

Tallulah – Oh come on, let’s go. You never want to do anything until I talk you into it. Can we skip the part where I talk you into it and just get in the car really quick? It will take like three minutes, total.

Tallulah’s Husband (seeing the logic in her words) – Oh fine.

So Tallulah and her husband and their three boys all piled into the GOV their blue minivan in jammies and headed toward the front of the subdivision. Her husband didn’t have his wallet and Tallulah had half a glass of wine in her hand.

OK, so let me just pause the story here to tell you that when Tallulah was telling me this, I said to her, “TALLULAH! You brought a glass of wine in the car?! What were you thinking? Not only is that illegal, but it’s also highly dangerous. What if your husband turned a corner a little too fast and the wine flew out of your glass and directly into his mouth and he totally got drunk while he was driving? And what kind of example are you setting for your children?! They could totally be thinking it’s ok to drink wine while riding in the car! Which is not OK and super illegal!”

And Tallulah said, “I know, I know. It was a bad decision, but I was right in the middle of a glass of lovely Pinot Grigio and I hate putting half a glass of wine back in the fridge. It sort of takes on the taste of milk and old leftovers. It’s like baking soda like that. It absorbs fridge odors. And we were only going like ¾ of a mile, to the front of the subdivision where you can see the mountains, so I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

I shook my head disapprovingly at Tallulah, but I can almost see her logic. Old leftovers and lovely wine do not mix.

Anyway, Tallulah’s husband pulled their minivan up to the front of the subdivision and the whole family peered in the inky blackness to the northeast of them and saw nothing. There didn’t seem to be anything remotely resembling any kind of a plane crash going on in the mountains near their house.

At this point Tallulah was ready to throw in the towel and head home to watch The Middle and finish her wine, but her husband was now invested in this little adventure. She’d gotten him off the couch and he wanted some kind of payoff. And, well, this whole thing had been Tallulah’s idea, so she didn’t really have room to argue when her husband turned out on to the main road and headed down another mile toward the mountains.

At the next intersection, Tallulah’s husband turned north on a winding, unlit, two lane road that headed up into the wilderness. They still couldn’t see anything plane-crash-like at all and now Tallulah was starting to get nervous. She wasn’t really a fan of winding roads in the day and she really didn’t like them any much at all in the dark. Plus it had started to dawn on her that what they were doing (chasing a potential tragedy to see if they could catch a glimpse) was pretty icky and if anything was a bad example for her children, it was definitely this. When her friend had called asking about the plane crash, Tallulah hadn’t really stopped to think about the fact that any kind of a plane crash probably meant people had died, but that fact was starting to sink in.

Unfortunately, at that point Tallulah and her husband were on a tiny, pitch black road with several cars behind them, so there wasn’t really an easy or safe way to turn around and go back for a few more miles.

Finally they came to a four-way stop that allowed Tallulah’s husband to turn right and pull off to the side so any cars could pass and then he could make a U-turn and head back home.

As they sat there with the van in park, hazard lights on so no one hit them, until it was safe to turn around, a sheriff’s car with his lights on pulled up behind them and the sheriff got out.

In the 7 to 10 seconds it took for the sheriff to amble up to the driver’s window, Tallulah and her husband locked eyes in terror and mentally recounted the issues they were now facing:

1.    Tallulah’s glass of wine, now tucked down in the dark between her feet
2.    Tallulah’s husband’s total lack of a driver’s license
3.    Expired insurance card in the glove compartment, which Tallulah only knew for sure was expired because her husband had been ticketed for it while speeding in the last two weeks
4.    Driving around looking for evidence of a horrible and likely tragic accident
5.    Oh and just for kicks, two of their three sons were shirtless (they probably wouldn’t get arrested or fined for this one, but it still added to the picture of a hillybilly family and was fairly humiliating)

The sheriff walked up to the side of the minivan, stared Tallulah’s husband in the eye, then peered inside first at Tallulah and then the mostly shirtless children, and finally, after several painfully long seconds said, “Did you hit a horse?”

Tallulah and her husband looked at each other again, this time with a bit of giddy relief because, of all of the things they’d done that night, hitting a horse definitely wasn’t one of them.

“Um, no, sir. We didn’t hit a horse,” Tallulah’s husband told the man and tried not to giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation. The sheriff stepped away from the van and examined the front grill.

“No, I guess you didn’t. There was a report someone hit a horse. Was supposed to be right around here. I thought it was you,” the sheriff explained and got back in his car and drove away in search of people who were probably even worse human beings than Tallulah and her husband.

Tallulah and her husband took shaky deep breaths, vowed never again to repeat their crimes (against the law AND good taste) and carefully drove home. They never ended up seeing anything. No plane crash and not even a horse who’d been hit by a car.

Tallulah feels guilty about it the whole experience even today. I mean, I assume. Because I’m not her, so I wouldn’t actually know, is what I’m saying.

Turkeys Who Trot

When I was in the shower this morning Jonas burst into the bathroom looking just like this:

Mom! This is what I’m going to wear to the Chicken Run! he exclaimed.

But by the time we actually left for the ‘Turkey Trot’ at Gray’s elementary school he’d decided that two clip-on ties was embarrassingly inappropriate and he was only going to wear one.

(I had to coax him through his humiliation so he would let me take that picture of him wearing them both by letting him take these pictures of me wearing both ties:

 

OK, Mom, if you wear them both in a picture then I will wear them both in a picture, he said. The part about how he feels sorry for me because I’m more ridiculous than he could ever be, was implied.)

Of course by halfway through the trotting he didn’t even want the single tie anymore and insisted I wear it on the pocket of my jeans.

He also required me to carry him around the school while we were trotting. Even though he’s four and weighs 35+ pounds. And because he’s my last baby and I’m a sucker, I did.

I hope your Thanksgiving Eve is as fun, fashionable and cardio-intensive as mine has been so far!

 

Momentum

I ran this morning. It was early. I have a crazy schedule today, so in order to keep my momentum going in both running and writing, I had to carve out time by scraping my raggedy ass out of bed at 4:30 AM. Additionally, this morning I made my first attempt at running with no walking intervals at all. You could say I was a little nervous about the whole thing.

This is how it went:

Mile 0.01 – Huh… It’s really dark out here. No, like really dark. It’s possible I should have worn something other than long black leggings and a long sleeved dark grey shirt. I’m thinking there’s a strong possibility I’m going to get completely run over by a car. Who designed this neighborhood? No sidewalks OR street lights? How is it not coated with pedestrian blood at this point?

Mile 0.02 – I’m not worried enough to go home and change, though.

Mile 0.7 – OK, what is this slow-driving-car doing behind me? Why is it pulling up in front of a house that’s clearly still under construction in the dark? And now it’s meandering down the street just in front of me. Some of these houses are lived in, right? If I run up and ring the doorbell of that house with the lights in the landscaping, will someone come out and save me before the guy in the white sedan jumps out and kidnaps me?

Mile 0.8 – That’s right, buddy, move it along and head out of this neighborhood. I was totally ready to start screaming and banging on doors and you would have been so sorry. That is, if you hadn’t grabbed me and stabbed me in the neck with a syringe of animal tranquilizers first.

Mile 1.2 – Wow, I have totally been running a long time. I’m not going to even look at my stopwatch to see how long I’ve been running because I don’t want to jinx it, but I know it has to have been more than my normal five minutes. I think it’s been at least 10 or 15 minutes. And I feel good. Dude, I am rockin- AAAAAAAAAAAA! Oh holy shit there is a guy with a knife totally coming out of the shadows on the side of the road right at me! I am so getting killed right now and no one will ever know how awesomely long I was running without walking!!! Oh, wait. That was just my shadow in the lights that line the front of the subdivision and the lights of a car coming up the winding road behind me. Dude, that was a messed up trick of the light. It really looked like someone coming at me. Is this what it feels like when you’re having heart attack? Like with the chest all constricted and limbs going numb? I wonder if it was any of my neighbors I know in that car and if they saw me jump and scream like a lunatic. That was moderately humiliating.

Mile 2.0 – Whew, I think I’ve got most of that adrenaline out of my system. And look how pretty it’s starting to get out now. The sky to the east is all lavender-y but there’s still lots of stars up top. Damn I’m lucky to live out here. Even if it does have sketchy cars driving around and streets streaked with human blood. And I’m still running! And it’s not even hard!

Mile 2.5 – I am kicking this run’s ass! I am actually going to get through this entire thing without walking at all. Wait, why did the sidewalk just go away? I should still be on the side-walked part on the exterior master-planned section of the community. But the sidewalk is gone… I feel like I took a wrong turn, but I couldn’t have, I was going straight.

Mile 2.51 – OK, none of this looks familiar. I’m officially lost. I’m lost in the neighborhood I’ve been living in for almost three years and have been running regularly for two months now. I’m running the same loop I did two days ago, but I’m lost. I think I might have slipped into an alternate dimension. Or maybe I did actually have a heart attack and die when I thought I was getting ax-murdered by my own shadow and I’m really lying on the ground at the front of my subdivision and only my ghost kept running. Maybe I was wrong all this time and there really is a heaven and I’m looking for the light right now. I don’t actually see any light, though. Oh… or maybe this is hell. Well that’s awkward.

Mile 2.49 – No wait, I see what I did. I just need to turn around and go back a block. Whew, I’m pretty glad I wasn’t in running hell. Although, I’m still feeling really good, so if this is hell, bring it on, bitches!

Mile 3 – Dude. I am seriously almost done, and I’m still running! I bet I could even run faster than I am. This is so weird. I think I actually feel better than I usually do at this point in the run. I’m energized and I don’t feel like my lungs are really working that hard at all. I never thought I would ever get to that point people always talk about where the act of running doesn’t feel kind of like I’m stabbing myself in the thigh repeatedly with a fork, but here I am. I’m running like a real runner, and dude, I’m writing a novel, too! I can do anything. No really, like anything. I’m totally going to join the circus next.

Mile 3.15 – OK, I’m just rounding the bend to the house, I should probably pull my stopwatch out of the band of my pants so I can get ready to stop it and record my kickass time. I bet I shaved like 10 minutes off, easily. No, I bet I halved it. I mean really, I usually walk one minute for every five and this time I ran the whole thing. I absolutely must have wrecked my personal best so far. I. Am. Awesome.

Mile 3.25 – WHAT. THE. FUCK? I added a minute and a half to my time? No… how can that be possible? I ran the whole time! Why would the universe work like that? Maybe my hipbone accidentally bumped against the buttons and caused it to stop the time I had started at the beginning of this run and then rotate back to the time I had saved from Monday and start that one, but it only happened like a minute and a half before I finished, so it really just added a minute and a half on to my last time. That probably happened. Or I just literally walk faster than I ran that. Christ, no wonder I felt so relaxed while doing it.

Not That I Want to Hug About it or Anything, But I’m Proud of You

This weekend I went to Arizona PodCamp. Unless you were there too, you’re totally thinking one of the following right now:

Does this involve Ted Williams and his frozen head?

Is she talking about her garden again?

OK, I knew she had some sort of alternative view on religion, but now she’s involved in an alien cult?

Or if you’re moderately techie, you might be thinking:

Good lord, now she’s getting into Podcasting? Does she not have enough hobbies? It might be time for a hobby intervention…

Right? Was I right? When I was little my mom tried to teach me to be psychic, but I don’t think it worked.

Anyway, to answer your questions: No, No, No, No, Yes, No, I’m ok for now and probably when we get to the point where something like that is necessary my husband can handle it, thanks for your concern, though.

Before I showed up at Podcamp Sunday morning I didn’t totally get what it was either. A bunch of months ago I was asked to sit on a writing panel and answer questions about writing for the web at this thing called Podcamp. I went to Wordcamp this year, so I had a feeling it was something like that, but about Pods. Which, as a category (seedpods, space pods, frozen head pods,  iPods), I tend to have limited knowledge about.

But it turns out Podcamp is really more of a social media ‘unconference’. I think I don’t really know what an ‘unconference’ is in relation to a ‘conference’. But that may be because I’ve never been to a real conference. So what I’ve experienced at an unconference seems like what happens in movies and on TV when people go to a conference. You get a name badge. You go to several different speakers on different topics that sort of generally relate to each other. There’s a lunch break. Everyone wears matching t-shirts. They give away prizes.

Hmm, maybe the last two aren’t what I’ve normally heard about conferences. So is an unconference just like a more fun conference that you’re not required to go to for your work? I think that could be it.

The point is; I went to this thing. And I may or may not completely understand the semantics of what it was, but it was pretty rad. I listened to a local chef talk about how to take better pictures of food (and how chefs are really pretty horrified when people take bad pictures of their awesome food and post them on blogs and Yelp). I answered questions about the difference between writing for the web and writing for other media with three other super rad webbishly writer types. Then I listened to a panel of totally geeky types talk about what people do to eff up their WordPress blogs.

It was good info, the whole thing seemed expertly run and dude, it was totally free! What? I know, right? Maybe that’s part of the ‘unconference’ difference too. Dude, I think I only ever want to go to unconferences from now on. Conferences are for losers.

Today, thinking back on that event, I’m feeling pretty proud of all the people who organize stuff like this. The volunteers who put this together spent a bajillion hours, got paid not a dime and basically just did it because of a love of being involved in the Phoenix community. These are all people who like to share knowledge and ideas just to make each other better. How cool is that?

So good job AZpodcamp people. My hat is off to you. And thank you, Tyler Hurst, for inviting me to sit on a panel. You’re a pain in the ass and an instigator and sometimes you bully me just for fun (wait, stick with it, I’m getting to the nicer part), but you have a good soul. You work hard and you do it for the right reasons. Community is important. Metro-Phoenix is worth the effort. People sharing knowledge and thoughts and ideas is the answer to everything. (I’m uncomfortable with absolutes. But I’ve thought about it and this time the absolute applies. EVERYTHING.) I am proud to have people like you and all of the others who supported and attended Podcamp in my community.

Also? I, for one, am glad you’re changing the name next year. TechPhx makes more sense. Not that I know that much more about tech than I do about pods.

Running and Writing. And Writing and Running. And…

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzz….*SNORT* Huh? Oh… I must have dozed off for a second. Sorry. I suddenly have an excessive amount of hobbies and it’s taking all the energy I can muster just to keep up with them this week. I keep telling myself I can absolutely maintain this pace if I just try a little harder, but I’ve recently determined I’m a pathological liar. Although I haven’t figured out what to do with the information yet, so on I press.

Pros of this week:

1. I ran 10.5 miles. Not in one shot, of course. And really, ‘ran’ is probably too strong of a word. I probably should have said, “I covered the distance of 10.5 miles using only my feet as a mode of transportation.”

But my ankle, which was suffering from some kind of over-use or general stupidity injury after the Hybrid Adventure games, seems to be holding up. My hip was a little sore after this morning’s run, but nothing seems to be totally debilitating.

I have officially joined a team and registered for RAGNAR at the end of February and I registered for The Warrior Dash at the end of April. I’m about 75% committed to doing a Rim to Rim hike with my Dad and various other family members next October (this one scares me, though). I also really want to do this race Jason found and sent me (it’s nice to know I married a man who’s willing to indulge and support my insanity rather that have me committed) called The Color Run, in January. Apparently you wear a white tshirt and people spray paint at you as you run three miles. How awesome does that sound? It’s like combining art with exercise. LOVE. It also benefits Cardon Children’s Hospital, which is unfortunately, a place we know well. So even though that’s a ridiculous amount of events I’ve committed myself to, I’m probably gonna add that one too.

2. I’ve written 9,500 words for NaNoWriMo this week. And of course plenty of others for blogs and emails and stuff like that. I’m suddenly so conscious of every word that I type. I feel like I should get credit for them all.

I’m totally enjoying NNWM (no one calls it that). Not every second of it, of course. There were several hours this week when I really just wanted to ‘accidentally’ spill a diet coke into my laptop so that Jason would have to take it apart and clean it out and fix it and I would be forced to watch my shows I’ve been missing and drink my wine I’ve been abstaining from while I write (<-BLATANT LIE. I’ve totally been sipping my Chardonnay as I write at night. See? Pathological.).

But the point is, over all I already feel like I’ve learned SO MUCH about the process of writing long form and the stamina it takes to do it. It really is so much like running. It’s kind of awful at points while you’re doing it and you just have to keep telling yourself to put one foot in front of the other, and then you’ll get in a groove and time and the world will speed by. Plus, when you’re done with either you feel really proud that you’ve actually done it.

But, you know, still 32,500 words to go. And I don’t get any credit for the 545 I’ve just written here. Lame.

Cons of this week:

1. Not one of the SEVEN shortsales I’m currently waiting to have approved or at least responded to, made any progress this week. Dude. Can a bank please throw a girl a bone here?

2. I went to visit my Endocrinologist this week for a check up (not to just hang out and talk shit about our husbands or anything). I have a genetic auto-immune thyroid disease called Hashimotos (which is really a lot less of a big deal than all of those words make it sound) that I have to take medication for daily and blood taken once a year to make sure I’m correctly medicated.

So the con part is that when I got weighed, the scale was definitely sporting a number I hadn’t seen since freshman year in college when I lived next door to the student union and regularly ate four meals a day, for no other reason except to socialize.

When I sat down with the doctor to go over my lab results and how I’ve been doing, this is how it went:

Me – I’m feeling fine and everything. But my weight is up, huh?

Doctor – Let me check. Uh… yeah. You’re up about 6 lbs from your last visit and 9 total from when you started seeing me in 2009.

Me – NINE POUNDS? In two and a half years? Don’t tell my mother, OK? She’s your patient too. There’s an oath you took that says you can’t tell anyone about that, right?

Doctor – The Hippocratic Oath is about not doing harm. But no, I won’t tell your mother. It’s not that big of a deal. You’re still within an acceptable range for your height.

Me – Ugh, but I’ve always been pretty stable without having to work much at it. Is my thyroid medication off?

Doctor – Well, no, actually. Your levels are totally good. It’s not your thyroid.

Me – I’ve recently started exercising. Do you think it could be that I’ve gained muscle?

Doctor – Have you been doing heavy duty lifting and weight training?

Me – No… running 3 miles three times a week and taking ballet once or twice a week.

Doctor – No. You have not gained 9 lbs in muscle from a small amount of running and dance over two months.

Me – Well, I mean, I guess it must be my age. My metabolism is starting to slow down, right?

Doctor – You’re 33. Metabolism doesn’t start to slow down until people reach early 40s. This is not about your age.

Me – So what you’re saying is that I’m just eating crappy? And that if I keep it up in 10 years I’m going to be super fat?

Doctor – I don’t think I actually said any of those things. But I wouldn’t disagree with that statement.

So yeah. Gonna have to work a little harder on that. You know, in addition to the stuff I’m already this close to failing at. I can totally lose 10 lbs. <- LIAR.

60 is the New 40

Dear Dad,

I spoke to the Universal Aging Commission (UAC) and they’ve reviewed your file. Taking into consideration a number of factors including, but not limited to:

1. Your willingness to dress up like a Carebear and paint your head to match a tennis ball

2. You not only know what a blog is (and don’t refer to it as a ‘weblog’) but are regular writer of one

3. Rather than being embarrassed OF you, your children and their friends are usually embarrassed BY you because they have failed to match your stamina in either drinking or athletics

UAC has decided to grant you the rare but coveted Right to Age Backwards.

60 used to be the benchmark age where people could sit back and rest without humiliation. Once they’ve hit a certain age, men feel comfortable pulling their pants up high and falling asleep in their favorite chair as a means of evicting company after dinner. Once they’ve put in their time, women feel they’ve earned the right to scowl at teenage girls in short shorts and not understand ‘the facebook’.

UAC has determined you’re making these normal folks feel bad about themselves. They’ve decided 60 is really the highest you need to age and that if you continue the pace you’ve set unchecked, the senior set is going to lynch you into submission. So rather than seeing a tragedy like that occur, they’re going to allow you to get younger everyday from here on out, with just a few provisions:

1. You have to stop wearing Mom’s bedazzled reading glasses when you can’t find your own.

2. Going to bed at 8pm is only appropriate if you’re recovering from something. If it’s just a normal day, at least try to make it to 9pm.

3. You should probably get a smart phone. You’re kind of dropping behind the technology curve on that one and you can’t even participate in family Google Messenger (except when Mom messages for you. But then that gets confusing because occasionally she has too much white zin after dinner and starts messaging aggressive things about sporting events on TV and we can’t tell if it’s you messaging through her or just Mom all hopped up on cheap wine).

So congratulations, Dad. Soon, if you play your cards right, in no time you’ll be back to this:

Happy 60th to the man who’s probably going be younger than me someday.

Love,

Mini

How To Turn a Profit on a Short Sale

Dear Wells Fargo Short Sale Negotiator,

I’m writing to alert you to an error in logic and reason you’ve made regarding the conditions of a potential short sale approval you’ve issued to a seller. It’s possible it’s an error in math, instead, but as the negotiation expert to a large financial institution I’m going to assume your adding and subtracting skills are beyond my sixth grader’s.

On second thought, we all know what assuming does, so I’m going to walk you through the math, too, just in case that really was the problem. I’ll go ahead and round to big numbers to make it really simple:

The seller owes $135,000 to you, the First loan.

The seller owes $86,000 to someone else, the Second loan.

The buyer’s offer was for $150,000.

After closing costs, Realtor fees and $6,000 to the Second loan (which they have agreed to accept in lieu of full payment), the amount you will net with this is $130,000.

Just so we’re clear, that’s $5,000 under what you’re owed for the seller to be released from the loan without a short sale approval.

You came back with several conditions to the approval that you will not move forward without:

  1. The Second loan only gets $3,000, instead of the $6,000 they’ve requested.
  2. Several closing cost fees must be reduced to the tune of $1,000.
  3. The seller must agree to either a $5,000 cash contribution at close of escrow OR a $10,000 personal loan for the next 5 years that you’ve graciously agreed to fund for zero interest.

OK, so let’s just review this counter-offer you’ve made. If the seller agrees to this, you will actually net $139,000 if they pick the $5,000 cash contribution option OR $144,000 if they don’t have that money to scrape together right now (which is likely since they’re doing a SHORT SALE) and have to go with your loan option. So you will profit $4,000-$9,000 more than you’re owed on this loan to begin with.

Did you really mean to say: We will not approve this short sale? Because that actually makes a little more sense than this MC Escher logic/math problem you’ve turned back to us.

I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and let you correct one of your errors. OK?

Thanks,

The Realtor Who’s Really Hoping You’re Just Not That Bright, Instead of Evil

10 Things That Scare The Crap Out of Me

1. My oldest son’s report card

2. How comfortable mom-jeans are

3. How many people I’ve seen wearing these shoes recently:

4. The two-foot wall space above the kitchen cabinets directly over the stove that’s coated in a grease/dust mixture and has never been cleaned

5. The projected cost of putting three children through college in the next 7-15 years

6. The research about metabolism in relation to women over 30

7. The first day of NaNoWriMo is tomorrow and I have two parties to throw this weekend

8. The rapidly shrinking amount of time I have to lose 10 lbs before my big, tropical, 10 year anniversary vacation

9. How close I am to having a teenage son (616 days)

10. The fact that I’m going to be home alone with two huge bags of Halloween candy all day

Don’t let your fears get the best of you on this spooky day. Happy Halloween!

My Review of American Horror Story

Me (after the kids are in bed last night): Hey, babe? I want you to watch this new show, American Horror Story, with me tonight. It’s on On Demand and everyone says it’s really good. I watched the first 3 minutes of the first episode and it seemed totally interesting. Want to?

Jason: Is it scary?

Me: I don’t know… I mean I guess it’s supposed to be, but it’s a serialized show, how can it be that scary?

Jason: OK, I’ll try it out if you want to.

***

Me (the next morning): I DIDN’T SLEEP AT ALL. Not one bit.

Jason: What? Really? Because of that show?

Me: Yes, because of that show. And because in the dark and without my glasses on, the fan in our room looks like a giant tarantula on the ceiling…

Jason: Um… no it doesn’t.

Me: And because your cat was scratching at the wardrobe next to the bed like she was trying to warn me about a ghost or a psychotic killer in there waiting for me to fall asleep …

Jason: She does that every night. You’re just usually snoring so loud you don’t hear it.

Me: And because Gray sleepwalked down the stairs and tried to go out into the garage halfway through the show, and when we tried to talk to him about what he was doing, he just stared at us with children of the corn eyes and refused to even make a sound…

Jason: OK, I admit that was creepy. Especially because the kid’s never sleepwalked before in his life.

Me: And because even though I tried desperately to think of calming, beautiful and sleep-inducing things like unicorns and drinking margaritas on the beach while attractive men fan me and tell me I’m brilliant and funny, I kept seeing body parts in glass jars, the mirror punishment room, psycho killers of all varieties and Jessica Lange with her boyfriend who’s a third of her age.

Jason: It’s just a show.

Me: I’m feeling like this is a sign you don’t love me anymore.

Jason: WHAT?!

Me: Why would you let me watch that? And right before bed?

Jason: Wait, wait, you asked me to watch it with you!

Me: Yes, and you let that happen. You also bought two bags of Chili Cheese Fritos last night.

Jason: You love Chili Cheese Fritos!

Me: That is my point. After nearly 10 years of marriage you should know I can’t be trusted to act in my own self-interest when either scary things OR Chili Cheese Fritos are involved. It’s your job to save me from myself.

Jason: Oh my god. Are you serious? Fine. We won’t watch that show again.

Me: What? We’re still two episodes behind! Of course we’re going to watch it. Now I’m emotionally invested. I have to find out if Francis Conroy is a ghost or if Dylan McDermott just has some strange old lady fetish we don’t totally understand yet. And is anyone ever going to tell Jessica Lange it’s not politically correct to call her daughter a ‘mongoloid’?

Jason: I’m not ever going to win in this, am I?

Me: Not super likely.