versa climber!!!!!

I just ordered my very own versa climber!!!!! I've been saving up for it for the past two years!!!! Psyched!!!! They start building it today and I should have it mid-January. I even got the sales guy to make the shipping free.

I think I'm going to put it in my kitchen next to my cacti so they can watch me work out. And I've downloaded a bunch of workouts from the web site.

The versa climber has always been my favorite cardio machine in the gym (though I usually end up using the dreadmill because most gyms, for some stupid reason, don't have versa climbers). I am hating on push ups and pull ups so this will give me a nice exercise to keep my arms in shape. And it's a nice thing to do with running to keep my knee from blowing up (in theory anyway).

Because, this is the year for big trips. I'm going to do the grand with Joe in the summer, Little Bear (also maybe with Joe unless he hates me after the grand), and I plan on doing the rim-rim-rim in the grand canyon (likely that will be a solo endeavor as no one I've talked to seems interested in doing it with me). I'm going to train for a 5k, and then a 10k, and see how my knee does. I might try an easy marathon if the stupid thing holds up this year.

After wasting a year of my life with those fucks in the ME I am ready to have some serious fun this year.

red river gorge

Me at the base of the indian staircase

 Last weekend my dad and I met up with my Uncle Denny to hike in the RRG in Kentucky. We rented a cabin because it was way too cold to sleep out (temps were 30 degrees colder than normal). It was a lot of fun hanging out with my Uncle Denny because I haven't seen him since he came to visit me in 2008.

We were going to do a hike called the indian staircase. But first we had to find it. My dad had a map that was 10 years old that didn't even have the approach trail on it. We walked along for about 3 miles and he decided we should start bushwhacking up towards a cliff where he thought the staircase was. There was lots of snow and ice all over everything since they had just had a huge ice storm. After I tripped over four downed trees I was like "dude, I don't think this is the right way". So we retreated to the trail and kept walking. My dad spotted finally a staircase carved into the bark of a tree, and that's how we found the trail.

The trail was really, really steep and covered in ice and downed trees. All of us were just wearing yak traks so it made walking interesting. I kept telling the guys to kick in their steps but they weren't so I took the front and kicked in steps for them. The trail gets narrow and there's a big cliff you can potentially fall off, especially when the trail is ice, so we started slowing down. Then, we got to the actual staircase, and it looked like a fucking ice climb. You walk up on this 10 foot ledge and start up the stair case, and even just walking around the ledge made me nervous because I couldn't kick steps into the ice and if one of us had fallen it would have been a long, long way down.

"This is way to dangerous" I tried to tell my dad, but he wanted to see if he could get up the staircase. I pointed out to him that if he slipped he would not be able to stop himself on the ledge before he went over the cliff. My uncle was getting pretty nervous too. And it was fucking cold and getting colder while we stood around trying to see if there was a way up. Finally we retreated. Just coming back down the trail was hard - I don't think we would have survived coming down the ice covered rocks.

We did 3 more hikes and headed into town because my uncle had told us about this pizza place that had great pizza, and then you can sit out back by a bonfire and drink beer. The whole day we were talking about what kind of pizza we were going to get and how many pieces we were going to eat and then how we were first going to have a beer. And how we would have more beer while sitting by the bonfire.

But the fucking place was closed.

We went back to the lodge, which was the only restaurant opened. "Do you have pizza?" I asked the waitress as we were being shown to a table. "No, we only have the buffet". Crap. Then my dad asked if they had beer. "This is a dry county" she said. I could have wept.

But, the food wasn't bad (though it wasn't pizza). And we had beer in the cabin. Actually, I drank some Jim Beam with my uncle and woke up with a bad headache the next morning.

We did a short hike up to the natural bridge, which was really cool but covered in ice. I couldn't believe some guy was taking his kids up the trail and they only had on tennis shoes. I don't know how he got them down.

Anyway, we've decided to make a trip to the RRG for hiking right before Christmas a new tradition. Though, after walking around in my hiking shoes (I couldn't fit my boots in my luggage) and freezing my feet off I decided that my dad needed to buy me electric feet warmers (he did, they came today, and I have already put them together!).

My dad and I at the base of the natural arch

The indian staircase

a blond and an engineer discuss a fruit bowl

Last weekend I helped my dad move from a 3 bedroom house to a one bedroom condo. Well, I showed up for the unpacking part. My dad had been left to his own devices to put his stuff in boxes.

My dad has never had to pack or unpack a house even though we used to move a lot. My mom always did it. But since she broke her arm she stayed in Williamsburg and I went to Cincy to help my dad.

I almost had heart failure when I walked into his place and saw wall to wall boxes. There's no way all this shit is going to fit in here I thought to myself. Also, I only had 24 hours to get everything unpacked, and had to unpack enough stuff to make a place to sleep for myself.

I managed to get a shit ton of stuff unpacked, despite my dad's packing. He, for example, packed canned goods and socks all in one box. Then, I came across a big wad of packing paper with a bunch of tape around it in a box that contained tools like wrenches and screw drivers. What the fuck is this going to be I wondered. The last wad of packing paper I had found contained all my dad's silverware (which I dumped all over the floor cutting it open).

I carefully cut into the wad and found a fruit bowl with the fruit still in it. I couldn't believe my dad would pack fruit in a cardboard box. Oh wait, I did believe it.

I went into his bedroom where he was trying to find sheets for the bed. I was like "dad, what the fuck is this?" and he said "it's a fruit bowl". I was like "I know it's a fruit bowl, but what the fuck were you thinking packing the fruit like this?" He looked puzzled and said "well, I thought it was a good way to pack it".  I ripped open the paper some more and said "next time, don't put fruit in a box!"

I went back out into the living room and took the rest of the paper off. Hm, I thought, maybe my dad was right. The fruit was in good shape, with no bruises. So I yelled back to my dad "Hey, I guess I was wrong! This fruit didn't even get bruised!" I started thinking I would use that trick next time I have to move. My dad stuck his head out of his bedroom. "Um, you realize that is not real fruit, don't you?" he asked.

It was indeed plastic fruit. How embarrassing. "You really are a blond" my dad said before retreating back into the bedroom.

don't you know who I am???????

It's funny, the world of famous climbers. Or, should I say, "famous" climbers, because most people in the real world have hardly heard about climbing, much less the people that do it.

I have a few famous climber friends. They're all different. Joe is very humble. Others, who shall remain namely, are a little arrogant. Then there is one climber who would probably be famous no matter what he did because he's so enthusiastic about everything. He was even hired by discovery channel to take a boring show about rocks and make it more exciting by acting like himself (great quote he used in a slide show - a producer asked him to go diving with sharks while holding a crate of fish heads - he was not psyched to do that and words were exchanged - so he finally told the producer "why don't I strap a dead chicken to your head and send you into grizzly country?").

Anyway, I somehow found myself in a mix of famous climbers at the Bozeman icefest wrap party on Sunday (it's a great icefest - not as crazy as the other ones I've been to - and, honestly, it was nice to go to an icefest and not have Timmy O'Neil there acting crazy). And one of the guys was talking to one of the other guys and he said "So, I showed up at the spot for my clinic and the ropes weren't set up. Finally a guy showed up and I was like dude, where are my ropes? And he said "who are you?" I was like dude, don't you know who I am?????"

I interjected that I didn't know who he was either. Then his friend started spewing all this shit about "he's so and so and he's climbed this and he's done blah blah blah" and just to be even more of an asshole I was like "Oh, was that hard?" (I knew it was a hard climb). The guy recommended I start reading climbing magazines if I wanted to be a climber and I said I couldn't because I can only read English. He didn't get it.

Which got me thinking about climbers I've dated and how when we would go to climber events I was totally left out of the conversation. Most of these guys can only talk about themselves or climbing. If you bring up something related to the real world they don't have much to say. And, it's one of the things that makes dating a climber hard. You're never going to be part of their community. Which kind of reminds me of my situation because I had a weird job and unless you worked at that job you would never understand the environment. Though, I was of that environment, but not really part of it.

Which makes me think about that. I've never been a "group" kind of person. I've always done my own thing. I seem to circulate around a bunch of different groups in which I'm known, but I'm not part of those groups. Even when I ran track I was kind of an unofficial captain of the team even though someone else was captain, but I wasn't really part of the group the way other people were part of it. All the runners would go to concerts and out to dinner, but I was never invited. It used to hurt my feelings but then at my 20 year high school reunion I asked some of the runners why they always excluded me and they seemed shocked that I saw it as an exclusion. Everyone said "we didn't invite you because we didn't think you would be interested".

There's probably something interesting that I should come up with about what I've written. But, unfortunately, I'm too fucking tired to figure it out. Drove 10 hours from Bozeman to Denver yesterday, did laundry, and then got up at 3 this morning to catch a flight to Galveston (a weird, but interesting town, city, what ever this place is). I haven't gotten more than 5 hours of sleep in about 2 weeks.

Enlightenment will have to wait for another evening...

Shim's gems

I had the pleasure on Saturday to climb with Jim Shimberg. I had met him once, really briefly, when I was dating Mayo, out in the 'daks.

He's a great guy with the most positive attitude of anyone I've met in a while. Which is not to say he isn't sarcastic. Here are some of my favorite things he said:

On coaching newbie climbers on having the correct stance for ice climbing: "Push to screw, squat to poo" - meaning, stand up with your hips towards the ice when you're putting in an ice screw or whacking your tool into the ice, and then walk your legs up on your ax before moving up. He yelled that at people continually through the day.

When giving me advice on whether or not to move up on a crap tool placement - I had just told him how Joe always yells at me for moving up on bad tools because you get into the habit and that can kill you when you're leading: "Ah, that tool looks alright, go ahead and move up on it" (I was climbing with one ax at the time to practice foot placement, and I had the tool only 3 teeth in and it was wobbling back and forth)

After I stood up and got my face in line with the badly placed tool: "Of course, you don't want to stand up on it because it'll pop out and hit you in the face (which it almost did). Make sure you tell Joe Shim is keeping you safe."

On mixed climbing: "Maybe I'm just an old dinosaur, but I don't know why you'd ruin your tools rock climbing with them. When it's cold, I climb ice. When it's warm, I rock climb." Of course, a few hours later he sent a hard mixed climb.

On having good belaying skills: "One of the problems with dropping your partner is they are going to hit the ground and die."

On saying "I love you" (if Shim loves you he tells you all the time): "Sometimes I wonder if guys stop talking to me because I tell them that I love them."

On having a picture of his wife and daughter taped to the back of his helmet: "It reminds my helmet who's really in charge of making decisions."

On being a substitute teacher for a class of first graders: "The first day I followed the lesson plan, and that was a disaster. The second day I said "let's go run around outside". So we were running around outside and the principal was looking out the window at me like "what's that guy doing????" That day went a lot better for the first graders." (he didn't mention if he was hired as a substitute again)

On yelling when we knocked down ice: "Don't waste energy yelling "Ice!" We're ice climbing, we know it's coming down."

On how often we did a lap at the clinic (it was mid day and a few of us were really tired): "Look, this is about what ever you want it to be about. You can climb, you can belay, you can take a break to eat something, it's very relaxed. But, right now, you have to climb. So who's getting on this rope?"

I learned, and re-learned, a lot climbing with Shim. Thanks Shim! If you ever get the opportunity to climb with him do it! He has a guide service too (www.rhinoguides.com). And if you're interested in seeing what he looks like (he's a handsome dude) there's a pic of him climbing on his web site with his shirt off.

spider legs

For those of you who don't believe I have abnormally long legs...check out this weird vid of me being lowered off of an ice climb. You can see how short my climbing pants are, which have a 32 inch inseam (I need another two inches on the inseam, but would have to have a pair special made to actually fit me). My legs look really weird, especially compared to the legs of the other person climbing next to me. I hope it's partially video distortion. I look like a spider or something.

BTW, she rights the camera after a few seconds.

Hanging out in Bozeman for the icefest. The ice is fat! And, I'm embarrassed to say, I was the only one at the Ice Goddess clinic (all women) who was there by myself. But, I made some new friends. And if you ever wondered what it's like to go to an icefest this video gives a short but accurate idea of what the day is like.

christmas trees

Last week my mom kept me hopping setting up christmas decorations. I set up not one, not two, but THREE FUCKING christmas trees.

I've never set one up before. My mom was like "this will be a good learning experience". Or, not. Who needs to know how to set up a christmas tree? Like what, I can put that on my resume?

The trees were all artificial, and weighed a fucking ton. I had to carry them down three flights of steps. Then, it turned out, I'm allergic to what ever they're made out of, and by the end of the day I had a rash all over both of my arms. After you get the tree set up you have to fluff up the branches. That was tedious, and made worse because my mom wanted the ends of all of the branches to flare out in a star. I was like dude, tree branches grow straight out. They don't go up and down. But my mom was like shut the fuck up and flare the branches.

Then I had to put the lights on. And she wanted like two million strands on every tree. Thankfully half her light collection broke in the move, so I only had to put 17, yes 17, strands of lights on the trees.

Then I had to haul 4 boxes of ornaments down from the attic. I really think we put way more ornaments on the trees than normal people put up. One tree had so many ornaments it started to fall over and I had to prop it up in a corner. My mom said it's because I decorated the front but not the back of the tree. As if I'm going to decorate part of the tree that no one can see. So she went up the stairs and stood at this weird angle and said "from here I can see there are no ornaments on the back of the tree".

Sigh.

My favorite thing was one of the trees that had spray painted silver glitter on it. The glitter got everywhere. I had it on my face, in my hair, on my clothes, and it was all over the floor. Every time my mom would place an ornament on the tree I would knock the branch above her head so she would get glitter in her hair. She said I was "a little shit". Even though I'm 7 inches taller than her.

I put a star on top of one tree (that will be the jew tree) and an angel on the other. I felt bad about giving her an evergreen enema but it was the only way I could get her to stay on top. Of course, by the time I put the angel on the tree my mom and I had been drinking wine. The next morning I realized how crooked she was, but forgot to fix her before I left. Anyway, her crookedness makes it less obvious that the tree is about to fall over.

I can't believe people do this every year...

my brother identifies why my book is stupid, and Moschops returns

I'm shocked. The climber dude who borrowed my magic writing dinosaur returned him! Moschops arrived today thanks to the Canadian post. I am very happy to have him back!

In other news, I was sitting around last Saturday night drinking with my brother and watching Dirty Harry movies, and we decided to take a smoke break. While we were smoking I was whining about my book "blah blah blah I don't know how to fix it I'm so fucked woe is me". My brother asked to read my first two chapters. He did this while watching Magnum Force and drinking 3 beers. I wasn't expecting much in the way of useful comments.

But on our next smoke break he said "Here's what's wrong with your book. If you talk about being in the middle of the ocean, about to die, that's interesting. If you talk about laying in bed, about to die from a knee surgery, that's just stupid."

I realized he was right. Then he suggested I open my book with the first two pages describing how I got lost in the San Francisco bay. I did the rewrite on Sunday and think it's really getting there. So now if an agent asks to read my first 5 pages, they're good as opposed to the stupid crap I had before. I've had three agents decline my project after reading my first five pages, and hope that maybe the next time I'll be successful with my new rewrite.

So thanks Bob!!!!!!!!!!!! I have some more tweaks to do and then I'll post it.

I stuff a turkey's ass - "one more handful"

I hope this is the most disgusting thing I ever do in my life. WARNING: this video contains graphic footage that might make you vomit. The turkey even queefed.

I don't know a turkey's ass from a hole in the ground

Our thanksgiving preparations.

Thanksgiving drama

So my mom called me on Saturday morning, as I was leaving for the airport, to ask if I could find a ride to Williamsburg. She didn't bother to tell me she had broken her right arm and that it was in a sling. Anyway, I called my brother Bob, who lives 3 1/2 hours from my mom, and asked him to come pick me up at the airport. He was at an afghan buffet and said he would leave as soon as he was done eating.

It ended up being a great visit with him (we stayed up until 2 in the morning talking and laughing), though he had to leave Sunday night because he was having a new furnace installed. He got up at 4 am and got back to my mom's house at 730 this morning.

The reason he came back is that my mom said that I, the worst cook in the world, would have to cook dinner since she can't with one arm (funny thing, I talked to my niece tonight and said "I have to cook dinner because grandma only has one arm" and my niece thought my mom had broken her arm off - Bob said "and that's why you don't have kids"). It's a disaster waiting to happen. I don't know how to fucking cook.

Worse, my mom had frozen the turkey, and it was taking forever to thaw. We had it soaking in a brine and my mom realized the neck was still inside. So I had to take a fucking knife and hack away at the ice around the neck to get it out. I almost puked. It was like trying to pull a tampon out of a frozen person. Then I had to shove the turkey down into the brine. It was like holding someone's head under water. Ech.

And people wonder why I'm a vegetarian.

I also made dough for rolls. Everything will probably taste like shit. I explained the whole situation to my friend Cam, who said "well, how are you going to make the gravy?" Gravy???? I have to make fucking GRAVY too???? I don't know how to fucking make gravy!

She said she would keep her cell phone with her all day tomorrow in case I run into trouble. And then she said "I'm going to pray for you. I'm going to pray really hard."

This could be the worst thanksgiving meal ever.

My millionth rewrite about my zombie knee - this version includes the easter bunny!

I've been so stressed out about my book because the first chapter just wasn't working, and it's the crux of the book. I've had 4 agents show interest in my book, only to turn me down because they asked for the first five pages and didn't like them. And everyone who read the chapter said it was not as funny or interesting as the rest of the book.

If you can't hook the readers with your first five pages you're fucked, right? So I sat down today and seriously for like the billionth time rewrote the chapter. I'm hoping this version works. I wrote it the way I wanted to write it, without all the bullshit other people were saying I needed to put in.

Here it is if anyone wants to comment on it. I don't care if you hate it. I want to know.

Prologue

18 November 2000, 101 Grand Avenue, Capitola, California

It was 4 a.m. I hadn’t slept for three days. The only noise was the sound of the waves sliding into the rocks at the base of the cliff below my apartment, and the strange robotic purr of the CPM (continuous passive movement) machine to which my right leg was strapped.

I was afraid to close my eyes. I was sure that I would never open them again.

*****

Three days before I had undergone a seven hour experimental surgery on my right leg to rebuild my knee and femur out of cadaver parts. It wasn’t a voluntary operation. Eight years before, in 1992, I had broken my right leg, but had somehow failed to notice. I ran competitively in 10Ks until 2000, when my leg started collapsing underneath me. I didn’t think the collapses were a major issue until it happened while I was walking through a cafeteria with a tray full of food. It seemed wasteful to buy an overpriced plate of macaroni and cheese only to have it end up on the floor.

My leg was collapsing because the right knuckle of my femur had broken off in an accident and, over the years, the jagged remains of the bone had smashed the inside of my knee to pieces, like a broken glass bottle hammering into a filet mignon. An initial surgery to fix the problem was botched and the surgeon informed me that my knee had to be removed and replaced with a titanium rod.

I found out that the rod would prevent me from bending my leg. And wouldn’t make a cool didgeridoo sound when I walked as I had imagined when I first heard about it. I embarked on a series of visits to 20 of the top knee doctors in the San Francisco area to see if someone had a better idea for my leg.

After I had explained my situation, and produced the surgery report, X-rays, and pictures, I would ask if there was a solution for my problem that didn’t involve a rod. Every doctor looked at me as if I was asking if it was medically possible to make the Easter Bunny pop out of my ass.  No one could help me.

Then I found out that there was a doctor, one of two in the US, doing experimental knee surgeries with cadaver parts. Although I wasn’t excited about the idea of having a zombie knee, I went to see him. Dead body bits seemed like a better option than having something in my leg that might make me more susceptible to lightning strikes.

And that’s how I met Dr. Douglas Blatz. At our first meeting he said he couldn’t help me. But then I managed to convince him to try. I’m ashamed to admit I did that by crying like a two year old and then threatening to cut off my leg. He didn’t know at the time that I was lying about owning a bread knife.

Chris Kuhn, my physical therapist since the first surgery, worked many long hours during the eight month wait for a donor to prepare me for my zombie knee surgery. He kept my spirits up during the grueling sessions by inventing fun games, like one where he would throw a ball at my head while I stood on a wobble board. He knew damn well I would never catch it.

Dr. Blatz had warned me that the surgery would be hard, that I would never run again and that I would have to wear a brace on my leg for the rest of my life. I didn’t listen, thinking that if I had managed to run on a broken leg for eight years I could do anything.

*****

My knee resembled a rotting cantaloupe. It felt as if someone was jack hammering my leg. My femur coursed with an electrical sensation that ran through the bone into my thigh. Every time the CPM forced my knee to bend 20 degrees it sounded like someone slowly stepping on a box of Wheat Chex cereal.

The pain gradually began affecting the rest of my body. My heart felt like it was trying to bounce off of my lungs and out of my body. My right hip cramped. My swollen toes, covered in a substance leaking out of my knee that looked like baby shampoo, closely resembled a parade float. It seemed that someone had set off a fire alarm in my brain and then evacuated without turning it off.

The day after my surgery

The thought of enduring even ten more minutes of the pain was unbearable. Death was imminent. I had spent the past two days analyzing the situation from every angle as if it were an engineering problem. I needed a solution to end the pain, even if for one minute. There was no solution.

 I started to cry. Through my tears I could see the waves picking up in the ocean. It was now 4:30. In another hour the surfers would be showing up at the punch bowl, a local surfing area below my balcony. I was filled with hatred for them, walking leisurely down the beach with their boards, floating out in the water, and then having breakfast on the boardwalk at Zelda’s before carrying on with their lives. They would be driving cars, working, going to the gym, eating pizza at Pizza My Heart, hanging out in the evening with their partners, talking and laughing. I would be sitting alone, doing nothing, unable to leave the confines of my apartment because I had a brace on my leg that went from my ankle to my hip that made crutching difficult and dangerous.

Then I noticed something. Just a few feet off shore, a school of dolphins was swimming in the surf. There were at least 30 of them, maybe more, fins bobbing in and out of the water as they played in the rolling waves. At that moment the sun appeared, a faint yellow line on the edge of the ocean, gradually rising and making the dolphin fins glow.

That’s what I’ll do, I thought to myself.

I’ll swim.

I'm no angel

My friend Cam brought me this angel from her trip this past week. I got up at 3:30am to drive her to the airport so she decided to get me a little present.

She said she was walking through the Renaissance festival in Texas when she saw this angel. She said as soon as she saw the face she thought of me. I guess it kind of looks like me, the hair anyway.

I'm going to put a little piece of metal on the bricks near my bed and put this on the wall in my bedroom (the angel has a magnet on the back).

sex in the library

I had a writer's group meeting on Saturday in the library. There were two new 40 something women in the group and they both brought stuff to read.

They read first, as is the custom. One is writing a book about dating, and her 5 pages were so overdone with sex that after reading her first paragraph aloud, as is the custom, the group leader suggested we read the rest in silence. One guy had to make a comment on the piece, and he started out by saying "I'm going to pretend this is a work of fiction, otherwise I won't be able to look at you".

The second woman is also writing about dating, but her book is really man-bashing-ish. She spent three of her 5 pages describing the toilet of a man she was dating. It was really, really detailed and gross. Then the next two pages described a sexual encounter that left a lot to (hee) be desired. I was just like oh god damn are you kidding me. No one had much in the way of comments except for me, who said politely I thought the book was a little negative.

After the group meeting I was invited to have a drink with some of the inner circle. They all think my book is pretty good and that I have a shot at getting published. One of the guys calls me "action figure Franki". It made me feel good that some writers who are real writers for a living, that have been published, think my book doesn't suck.

So I spammed some more agents on Sunday. We'll see what happens. I'm feeling less doubtful now, after having a depressing few days in Banff.

BTW, if anyone reading this lives around Banff, while I was driving to the airport I was listening to a radio station 88.1 FM and heard this cool song. I googled the radio stations in Canada and only found one 88.1 out of Toronto. I sent the program manager an email offering to donate to the radio station if he could tell me the name of the song (I was unable to find it on google when I googled the lyrics I remembered). The fucker never responded back. So maybe I emailed the wrong radio station. If anyone listens to that station and knows the station identifier I would be eternally grateful if you would leave me a comment with that information.

Masa absconds with Moschops

While up in Banff to meet with Tony I ended up having dinner with 3 of the writers in this year's group.

I got to sit across from this very hot guy named Masa. He's writing a book about living off the grid, but he was having problems starting. I showed him Moschops and bragged about him being my magic writing dinosaur. Masa liked Moschops and asked if he could hold him. I let him, but he started squeezing him so I took Moschops back because Moschops doesn't like to be squeezed.

Masa asked how he works and I told him I just put Moschops on my laptop, facing the screen, and then I start writing. Masa asked if I had a PC, and then he wanted to know if Moschops was Mac compatible.

I'm a sucker for anyone in need, especially if that person is hot, so I ended up giving Moschops to Masa for the night. He was supposed to give him back to me on Thursday night, since I was leaving Friday. No, I didn't get his phone number or email.

I ran into Masa on Thursday afternoon. He was going somewhere, but asked if we could meet later for a drink. I gave him my email address but never heard from him. By the time I left on Friday I was pissed, but then thought maybe it was fate that I lost Moschops.

On Sunday I sent an email to Tony asking for Masa's address. I realized I was more attached to my magic writing dinosaur than I was willing to admit. I'm not a materialistic person but Moschops was with me during a very dark period of doubt about my book, and he's the one who got me writing again.

In the mean time my friend Camile gave me another dinosaur, who's blue and as she said "much fiercer than Moschops". But it wasn't the same. I was relieved to hear from Masa, who will be sending Moschops to me on Friday at the end of his writing program. And Moschops worked for him too, so I don't think it's just me being silly.

I told him I would send him the fierce blue dinosaur, and Masa is calling him "blue boy". I suggested he start a blog for blue boy called "Magic Writing Dinosaur Living Off The Grid" and Masa thought it was a good idea. We'll see if he does it.

And we'll see if I get Moschops back.

Moschops and banjo boobs

Last night I brought my magic writing dinosaur to my writer's group meeting. A guy there who has published 8 books really liked my dinosaur. And, he showed me at the bottom of the dinosaur was written Moschops. He had the same dinosaur when he was a kid. He handed it back to me and said "now your dinosaur has a name." But I'm also going to keep calling him my magic writing dinosaur.

Moschops was the largest therapsid on the planet during its life in the Middle Permiam period (he's not really a dinosaur, technically speaking). Like me it mostly ate vegetables but occasionally ate meat. And it had a super thick skull. Some scientist say it's because Moschops head butted other dinosaurs, while others say it had a disease and that's what caused the skull to be so thick. He wasn't very evolved, having splayed feet and a tiny little brain. I also found this:

"It may seem hard to believe, but Moschops was the star of a short-lived kids' TV show back in 1983, though it's unclear whether the producers knew that it technically wasn't a dinosaur. Granted, that wasn't the only scientific inaccuracy: for example, Moschops shared a cave with his best friend, an Allosaurus, and his grandfather was a Diplodocus. Perhaps it was a good thing that Moschops only lasted for 13 episodes before fading into pop-culture obscurity."


Scientists are so funny.

There was a new woman at the group who arrived late. She spent 10 minutes introducing herself (we're normally supposed to give our name and what we're working on). She said she was writing a piece about being kicked out of meditation camp, and then proceeded to list about 20 other things she had been kicked out of. She even got kicked out of banjo lessons, which were taught by her best friend. He kicked her out because she wouldn't hold the banjo correctly. She got mad and said "why don't YOU grow some boobs and see how easy it is to hold a banjo". Then he kicked her out.

My piece was read first, 5 pages of Buford, about ice climbing. This woman kept telling me "read eat, pray, love and don't exactly write like that, but write mostly like that". I was like um, no thanks. All the women said they wanted more "inner dialog", whatever that means. And a guy with exactly 2 hours of climbing experience told me I needed to add a section where I planned my climb. I was like dude. I don't plan. I just go. But, whatever. It was still helpful.

Then a dutch guy who is supposed to be my new writing partner (the eat pray love woman is younger and a lot better looking than me so now the screen writer who was helping me seems to be pawning me off so he can help eat pray love woman) read his piece next. It was about a girl who gets TB. The banjo woman suddenly stood up and said that her boyfriend was dying from something which I couldn't hear and that it was upsetting her to listen to a story about someone dying (even though the dutch guy's piece was about the boyfriend of the TB girl trying to find out whether TB girl had a cold or something worse).

It was strange.

Also I met a guy who is an illustrator and I pitched a joint book idea to him where he would take my dreams and draw pictures of them. It was weird because he had just done the same thing for a heavy metal band (he created their cover, and the lead singer said "take this fucked up dream I had and make it the album cover picture"). He said no one had ever asked him to draw their dreams and now, within the space of a week, two of us did.

Anyway, other than my meeting I've been an editing machine. I've been editing about 4 hours at least every day. Sunday I rewrite my proposal and then go to Banff on Wednesday to see Tony, my editor from the mountain writing program. I want my book to be kick ass. I'm actually feeling a lot more confident about it. I rewrote my first chapter AGAIN yesterday and think I've finally addressed the issue people were having with it. And after my Buford piece was read three of the women in my group said "I want to go ice climbing!'

Hooray! My book is working!

FINITO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and the magic writing dinosaur

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!

I have finished the last chapter of my book!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hooray!!! Only a billion more days of editing ahead of me! But who cares! I am so psyched to be done!

Special thanks to Cam who gave me a magic writing dinosaur!

Halloween at Cam's

I went to my friend Cam's house yesterday for Halloween. Every year she has a party where she makes gumbo and the neighbors come over when their brats and done trick or treating.

I was supposed to help Cam make the gumbo, and I did a pretty good job chopping vegetables, but when she brought out the rotisserie chicken and asked me to rip the meat off of it I almost gagged. When she pulled the little meat sticks off the chicken body I told her I would not eat any gumbo that had any meat from those meat sticks in it. So she made a special little bowl for me that didn't have that stuff in it.

One problem with gumbo is you always have to watch it and stir it. That's fun for about 5 minutes. Then I was bored. So she suggested I sit out on the stoop with the candy bowl waiting for little kids to come by. I went out with the bowl and waited for some kids. In the mean time, Cam brought me a beer.

So there I was, sitting on her stoop, drinking a beer and chain smoking. Tricker treater after tricker treater went by, and no one was coming up to Cam's door. So I started heckling the kids' parents "hey, don't you want some candy?" Finally I realized they weren't coming to the stoop because I was drinking and smoking. Whatever. That was my favorite part of halloween when I was a kid. I used to bum cigarettes off of people and we had one neighbor that used to get so drunk we could go to his house 5 or 6 times and he wouldn't remember us.

Then this group of three kids came up. The two older kids, I'd guess they were 9 or 10, were running ahead of the third kid, who was probably 6. This kid, named Charlie, had a craftsy kind of mom. She made him a robot costume out of a huge cardboard box. The box went from his neck to his knees, and only his elbows forward were showing of his arms. Charlie was trying to catch up with his siblings but couldn't run very fast in the box.

Then Charlie ate shit right in front of Cam's stoop. His head disappeared in the box, and I could see his arms flapping around the sides of the box, and he couldn't stand up. He started screaming and crying like he was being water boarded. I was going to help him but I was doubled over with laughter watching his little box rocking around on the sidewalk with his legs kicking out the bottom. It looked like the box was eating him alive.

Finally his parents showed up to help him. Then I realized they were both carrying beers. That's why their kids came up to the stoop I guess, not afraid of me, I reminded them of their parents. I gave them almost the whole bowl of candy.

Then we ate gumbo. It was really good. Tomorrow I'm going to help Cam install some new light bulbs because she's afraid of heights and can't go up on a ladder. I'm hoping there was some left over gumbo...

I've maxed out my netflix queue!

you know you've been traveling too much when...

You always bring your suitcase when you leave the house, because it seems strange to be getting into your car for any reason other than to go to the airport.

You have a moment of panic because you put your keys and your blackberry in the same pocket, and you're afraid your blackberry has demagnetized your keys.

You wonder why the bed hasn't been made up, and then realize there's no maid service at your house.

You throw trash on the floor of your car, and then remember it's not a rental.

You look for the do not disturb sign to hang on your door before you go to bed.

When you wake up the first thing you do is open your suitcase to see what clothes options you have for the day, and then momentarily panic because the suitcase is empty.

You wake up early in the morning and decide to go to the hotel gym, only to discover your house doesn't have a hotel gym.

You mention to the punk at the 7-11 where you are buying cigarettes that the birthdate is located at the top of your Colorado driver's license, only to remember, when he glares at you, that you are in Colorado.

finally, a useful meeting!

On Thursday night I went to my first writer's group meeting. It was very useful and I'm glad I went. The guy who ran my sub-group is known for being sort of mean. I was really glad. He gave me a good reality check about my book, and some great advice. I'm going again 4 November.

In fact, I was so excited that after the meeting I came home and worked on my book for 3 hours. I haven't finished my last chapter but that's okay because I did a major revision of my prologue, first chapter, and my proposal. Today I did research on competitive books. Tomorrow is writing day!!!! I got a hopefully useful book called "Naked, Drunk, and Writing". I do write naked in the summer, but it's too cold to do that now.

I managed to get all of my errands done today too, including removing all of my outside vent covers and putting in insulation (what a fucking pain in the ass). Then I climbed up on my roof to winterize my swamp cooler and almost fell getting down because the old divider wall I climb to get up on the roof was about a foot taller than the new one. I did a pretty impressive iron cross trying to lower my foot down to the divider. Ech.

And, I watched two disturbing movies: Benny's Videos and Funny Games. Fucked up.

that's what's up doc

I went to the doctor's today because my friend Camile made me. I don't have strep throat but I have a sinus infection. Antibiotics to follow.

I was also told that I need to gain weight, and that I have scoliosis (discovered when she was checking my lungs - ha! I don't have bad posture, it's a genetic defect). For the record, my lungs are in great shape and my doctor can't believe I smoke. So, smokers out there, if you can't quit take up running. It seems to offset emphysema, which I should have, but don't. Or at least go for a brisk walk. You guys should be doing that anyway.

I also had to get a test to see if I have anemia because I don't eat enough meat. I did, however, eat some of that meat thing I made yesterday (even though it was a little crispy, it wasn't bad - it wasn't horrible - it was edible). I also accidentally forgot about the spaghetti squash I was cooking in the oven and over cooked it for an hour. That was also still edible. Last night I put half of it on my salad. Tonight I think I'll mix it in with some mashed potatoes and see how that tastes. Those fuckers are really hard to aerate (you have to put holes in them before you cook them because they explode).

I forgot about my squash because a guy came by to measure my back doors, and we started talking, and it was only when I was emailing Cam that I remembered the damn thing. I'm replacing the doors with full view doors so I can have even more light in my house. Psyched to get my new doors!!!!! They are energy efficient, and metal, and will be so much better than the crappy wooden doors I have now which are falling apart.

perverted canadians

And, BTW, what's up with THIS??????


http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20101018/ap_on_re_ca/cn_canada_commander_slayings

"Many of the pictures showed a serious-looking Williams masturbating in or with the stolen lingerie. In one picture, he appears to be wearing his military uniform with his trousers dropped to expose pink panties."

Does it surprise me that he was in Dubai? No. I told you everyone over there is fucked up:

"Williams, a 23-year military veteran, has never been in combat but has been stationed across Canada and internationally, including a stint in 2006 as commanding officer of Camp Mirage, the secretive Canadian Forces base widely reported to be near Dubai."

with apologies, and a word on my meat mallet

I've been getting some complaints for not writing lately. My excuse is that I've been sick, so sick, in fact, that I am actually going to see a doctor (I know, shocking). I've lost my voice and can't really talk (and someone should chime in "you say that like it's a bad thing").

In the mean time, I've also managed to not write the last chapter of my book. But, I did sign up for a writer's group in Denver today. We meet on Thursday night. Should be interesting.

And, I'm cooking some more stuff. Today I went to buy a flank steak (I haven't been grocery shopping for 4 weeks) to make this new recipe thing I found, but they didn't have anything called flank steak in the meat place. So I got this other thing called a brisket, which looked like the same thing as a flank steak according to the recipe pictures. Stupid meat. Why do they have to make it so complicated?

Anyway, I pounded the shit out of the brisket thing and then tried to put it in my slow cooker but it got so flattened out that I had to cut it up so it would fit (amazing how much meat spaces out when you flatten it, reminds me of flattening relational database tables, but, that's more useful because then you can do complex queries without crashing the server because you put in a bad outer join - why am I talking about that - I don't know either). Then I doused it with this dressing thing I made. It could be the worst meat ever. We'll see.

One other recipe thing I did wrong was it said to sear the meat. I have no idea what that means, but it sounds hard. That's why I decided to mash the brisket with my meat mallet. Hopefully searing and smashing create the same end product.

Tomorrow, the book will be done. TOMORROW!!!!

sauced balls

Well, my dinner party went really well on Friday, except, of course, for the food.

My friend Carol complimented me on the artistic presentation of the salad (chose the salad vegetables more for their colors than their taste compatibility). And the meat balls, and sauce...well...I paid for taking advice from my mom.

First, things didn't taste exactly right because I didn't follow the cooking directions. Second, I learned not to dump the remains of a bottle of cab into spaghetti sauce cooling in the fridge because it doesn't get absorbed right. Third, I made too many meatballs and followed my mom's advice to put them in the sauce directly after frying them, and those little bastards sucked up all the sauce by the time my guests arrived (24 hours after I put them in the sauce). The final dinner was more like "off colored meat balls (from the wine) with a few tomato skins stuck to them" rather than being a sauce with some meat balls. Carol and Camile both said "I've never had sauce with such an...interesting flavor."

I'm going to try my sauce again, but not put meat balls in it. I wonder if I invite Carol and Camile over again, if they will come back.

The good news is I used three of my new pots.

And, we all had a great time. Even poor James, who's only 12. We hit it off after discovering a mutual admiration for Travis Pastrana. I accidentally said the F word a few times around him but Camile said it was okay and he promised not to say it (at least while his mom is around :)

It was a nice break from the emotional slog I've been going through trying to finish my book. Ech. I'm having nightmares about my ex-boyfriends (except for Mayo, whom I'm still friends with and who came by to see my on Friday on his way to Vermont).

I bet you thought this post was going to be about something more interesting, didn't you?

You'll forgive my lethargic writing because you know I wrote 12,000 words last week for my book, and I am currently in Ft. Worth with the flu but having to teach class. I am about to get into bed and take a double dose of nyquil even though it's only 6 PM because I feel like schmata but have to get up at 530 tomorrow morning to be to my class in time. Which I don't feel like teaching. I'd rather lay in bed coughing up a lung which is what I've been doing since Saturday. I think writing about my ex-boyfriends has made me sick. I'm usually impervious to every germ.

My sad little life...

spaghetti!!! meatballs!!!!

I cooked today. First I made home made spaghetti sauce from all the stuff Cam and I got at the farmer's market. Then I made meatballs. The meatballs look a little weird because I didn't get the parsley chopped up enough and the parm cheese I got was slivers instead of being powdery. I'm going to test a meatball in a few hours after they've been in the sauce. I hope they aren't totally gross because I made like 20 of them.

> 70k

In Banff, my editor Tony recommended 70K as the word count for my book. I have been writing madly since 4 pm this afternoon, trying to finish this damn thing. I just hit 72K, and have only one original chapter to complete.

Though, I've decided to add 2 more chapters. I mean, it seems kind of stupid to have a book called my other nine lives with only 8 adventure stories.

What is that - blond math?

rejection part II, and my dad's literary criticism

So the agent who asked to read the first five pages of my other nine lives sent me this yesterday:

Thanks for sending along the opening pages of My Other Nine Lives.  Truth be told, though,  I'm afraid these pages just didn't draw me in as much as I had hoped.  I'm pressed for time these days and, what with my reservations about the project, I suspect I wouldn't be the best fit. Thanks so much for contacting me, though, and for giving me this  opportunity. It's much appreciated, and I'm sorry to be passing. I wish you the very best of luck in your search for representation.

It was a nice rejection. But now I'm thinking I'll have to restructure the prologue of my book. Again.

My dad called after I forwarded the rejection to him. It was kind of funny because he said "Basically, she's telling you that she didn't really care about you, so you have to fix those pages to make people care about you." Literary criticism from my dad. Ha ha! I pointed out to him that he never reads anything I write and he said "I read a few pages of sharkfest". So I'm sending him the full story to read. And, I think he's right.

 Oh well. So far my rejections have come from the top tier agents. And other friends of mine who are published say that it's surprising I've gotten any response. So I'm going to keep hacking away, finish my book this week, and spam more agents with my proposal.

we're not in kansas...anymore

Okay, what the fuck is going on with the airline industry?

On Friday I got up at 4 am to catch a United flight from Columbia, SC, to Dulles, and then on to Denver. I was supposed to get home at 2 in the afternoon. Thought I might go for a bike ride.

Instead, I got sucked into a shit vortex of air travel.

My flight in Columbia was delayed 4 hours for a mechanical problem (the delay was reported as being one hour). And I couldn't leave the gate because they weren't sure when the plane would be fixed. As soon as I found out about the delay I asked the gate agent to book me on a later Dulles flight. While he tried to assure me I was safe to make my connection, I insisted. And, when the delay stretched out to 4 hours and I obviously missed my connection, was glad I had done that.

But. I get to Dulles and I'm checked in on the flight, awaiting a seat assignment. I waited in line for a half hour (behind numb skulls trying to switch their middle seats and other stupidity) only to be told by the gate agent "I did not CALL you for a seat assignment, DID I?" I was like, uh, how should I know? She was like "we are in an OVERSOLD situation and the ONLY people who should be in line are those giving up their seats". Fine. I took a seat and listened to these idiots trying to get the airline to give them ridiculous things (e.g. an upgrade to first class) if they took a later flight.

I found out from the flight attendant that the plane I had missed was also canceled due to mechanical problems and 200, YES, 200 people were rebooked on the flight I was trying to get on. I didn't worry because my rebooking occurred at 730 am and theirs at 1230. Plus, I have flight status on United. I looked at the people around me and thought, sorry suckers.

But then I heard the gate agent say the flight was over booked by 45 seats. Are you god damn KIDDING ME? I went to customer service and tried to get on the next Denver flight (the one I had a seat on was at 250 PM, the next flight leaving at 430) but they refused to rebook me.

Everyone got on the plane but me. The gate agent was ignoring me. My blood was boiling. Finally they started to close the door and I was like "DUDE, where's my seat assignment?" and she says "Oh, hold on a minute". She sends another gate agent on the plane to ask someone to give up their seat for me. OF COURSE no one volunteered. And by then all the overflow passengers from the 250 flight were rebooking on the 430 and I had no chance to get on it.

I was like "I am NOT waiting in that long customer service line AGAIN. Rebook me here." The gate agent tried to put me on a 7 am flight on Saturday. I was like NO, I am going home TODAY. She finally found a flight connecting through Kansas City that left 2 hours later. I also got a $400 travel voucher because United, like every other airline, sucks.

ANNOYED. I went to the smoking lounge (thank you Dulles for not being a pussy like other airports and having a smoking lounge at every gate) where this fucking kid started playing a harmonica to try to impress some girl he met (pick up time in a fucking airport smoking "lounge"? are you fucking kidding me?). I gave him a look like I was going to break the harmonica in two and shove one side up his ass and the other side down his throat and then crush him until they met again, and made a "haaah" breathing noise in his direction. He put the harmonica away and left the smoking lounge. A guy said thank you to me in Spanish.

So I finally got to Kansas City, thinking I was home free, only to find out THAT FUCKING FLIGHT was delayed because there was no running water on the plane (what, we're flying in trailer park trailers now?). They took a vote at the gate and everyone agreed to board the plane without water. I was like dudes, it's an hour and a half flight, don't pee and you won't have to worry that you can't wash your hands.

Finally I got to Denver. It's weird, I don't normally get home sick (ever get home sick) but I was having my upper deck replaced while I was in Aiken and I wanted to see it. Also, my garage got tagged big time (thank you city of Denver for cleaning it off for me) and I was worried about that. Finally, after 167,000 miles on my car the clutch needs to be replaced and I had to take my car in for that.

My luggage made it on the 250 flight I missed so I went to customer service to find out where it was. I was stuck behind some fucknut who kept arguing about his bag being lost even though the customer service guy could do nothing to make it magically appear. That wasted 10 minutes of my life I'll never get back. Seriously, if the airline tells you your bag is on another flight, you can't get your bag. Suck it up and contemplate going commando so you don't have to worry about your dirty underwear because you don't have your bag.

When I got up there, addled from lack of sleep and airport trauma, I found out my bag was waiting by bag claim 14. I was SO happy. I said to the guy "What was my bag thinking, taking the early flight? That my toothbrush was going to drive him home? The toothbrush can't drive, bitch!" The guy started laughing hysterically so I left in case he was having a nervous breakdown.

I was so glad to get home (even though it was 1030 at night and I had started my day at the airport 16 hours earlier). Had dinner with Cam on Saturday and we were both so jet lagged (or in her case, car lagged) that neither of us could order a glass of wine using real english. Then we went to the farmer's market on Sunday morning and I bought 5 lbs of tomatoes, two of those garlic pod looking things (meta clove?) that have the real garlic inside where you have to cut it out, two onions, and a spaghetti squash. I'm making dinner for Cam and her family on Friday (spaghetti and meat balls). God help them. We can always order pizza as a back up if it sucks.

if it cuts down on those annoying emails...

One some times wonders why I haven't been fired yet.

My latest response to an email to join some new company community.

binders

I may be regressing on the snake thing. Or maybe I'm just getting a little freaked out because, with all the rain we've gotten the past few days I'm worried about snakes getting in the building.

Last night I had a dream that I was at a conference in a house in the woods. People kept handing me large green binders and saying I missed sessions that I was supposed to attend. But every time I tried to find the rooms where the sessions were held I kept ending up in this dining room area that looked almost exactly like the dining room in the house where I was writing when I was up in Banff.

Then the sessions were over so a guy suggested that I do the dishes to make up for missing all of my sessions. I looked in the sink and it was full of wooden blocks in the shape of cubes, triangles, and circles. I was like "I can't put those in the dishwasher" and the guy said "it's fine, they are dishwasher safe, see?" The inside of the dishwasher was full of the blocks. I was like "what are these for?" and he said "You roll out dough and wrap them around the blocks, and it makes a delightful pastry. Didn't you get one? No, I guess not because you missed all of the sessions." He said he was going to find one for me but someone had put them in the refrigerator and they were all deflated and not delightful at all.

Then a guy came running in and said "what are you doing???? your car is leaving to take you to the airport!!!!" I ran up to my room and grabbed my suitcase and tried to pick up my binders but there were too many to carry. I grabbed what I could and ran downstairs but the car had already left. I was like "fucking fuck, I am fucking up EVERYTHING on this trip!"

A guy told me that I could walk through the woods on this overgrown path to get to the airport but to watch out for snakes. I was like great. So I started dragging my suitcase down the path and there were snakes everywhere. The woods were really thick and the branches were hitting my arms and head and they were slimy. I was totally freaking out and mad at myself for being such a wimp in the woods, and I felt like I had been walking for hours and getting no where.

Then I saw a light that I thought was the airport. But I had to cross a huge river to get to it. There were some rickety wooden planks placed on rocks across the river. I lowered myself down the river bank down to the first plank, which was four feet below the bank. I went to grab my suitcase but the plank started breaking. I kept jumping from place to place as the plank got smaller and smaller and then I jumped on the last section and fell in the water.

The water was really cold and black. I was afraid a python would eat me. I couldn't swim because the current was so strong. Suddenly I was washed up on shore near the light and I realized it wasn't the airport, I was back at the house. I started crying because I had lost my suitcase and my binders, and because I had spent so much time walking through the scary woods only to end up back at the same place.

Then I woke up.

Publish Post

machete man

Last night I had a nightmare about the software tool I support. In the dream I had been kidnapped by a
drug cartel in Mexico. I was assigned to an elderly man and woman. They were both really short and
skinny, except for the guy, who had a pot belly, and they looked like migrant farm workers.

They were taking me around to different villages to kill people. I would draw a diagram to show them
what was going on in the village, and then run a report. They would take the report and kill the person
whose name was on it.

The woman would dig a hole and then the man would throw the person to be killed in the hole. Then the
hole was filled with sand so just the person’s head was sticking out. The guy would pull the person’s
eyeballs out with this metal scoop thing, and then the woman would stack sticks around the person’s
head, like building a tee pee. Then they would set the sticks on fire and the person’s head would be
reduced to cinders. The couple would dump sand on top of the cinders, and then a pool of blood would
form on top of the sand so they would know where the body was.

After each killing the guy would stop at one of those white kitchen trucks that sell food on the side
of the road in Mexico. He kept asking if they had salads to go, and then he would ask me what I wanted
to eat. I didn’t want to eat anything because I was so freaked out from the killings. Finally, after 3
killings, I told him I didn’t want a salad, though it was kind of him to ask, and that he and the woman
should get something to eat because I wasn’t going to eat anything.

He said he was asking for the salad for himself because he was old and needed roughage in his diet.
Then he said “you have to eat something, how about something sweet?” He looked around the different
foods hanging off the outside of the white food truck and then he said “look, raisins! Why don’t you
have some raisins?” They were raisins in that red package, I think they’re del monte raisins.

He gave me the box and I was suddenly very hungry, so I put one in my mouth and swallowed it. The
raisin hit me on the hand. I was like what the hell? And then I looked down and saw blood on the right
side of my shirt going from my shoulder to my feet. The man started laughing and said “we got you too,
and you didn’t even notice!” He had a machete in his hand and I realized he had cut the right side of
my neck. I felt my neck and there was a gaping hole. I thought well, I’m going to bleed to death now.

Then I woke up. I had a real pain in my neck from the shit pillows at the Holiday Inn where I’m
staying.

I was wide awake and freaked out from my dream, so I decided to imagine a parade of circus performers.
Focusing on things like that help me fall asleep, and I thought that thinking of a circus would prevent
me from having another nightmare.

But then I had a second dream that I was watching the circus, and then my sister came running by and
said we were supposed to be running the Circus 10K. So I started running with her, and on the side line
at the end of the race I saw my dad standing with my sister’s kid Nat. They waved to us.

At the end of the race we had to go through a haunted house to cross the finish line. We went up a
flight of metal stairs and then kept looking back waiting for my dad. My sister was impatient because
she wanted to finish the race, so she said we should go ahead and go into the house. I said we should
wait for my dad. He was moving really slowly through the crowd and then I couldn’t see him.

Finally he showed up at the top of the stairs, but Nat wasn’t with him. My sister started freaking out
and yelling at my dad “where is Nat????” My dad said she didn’t want to go through the haunted house so
he let her go to the movie theater by herself to watch a new kids’ movie called “hammer man”. Then my
sister started really freaking out and said “you let her go to the movies by herself? She’s only 9!
What if the circus people get her?”

My dad was upset and about to cry so I told my sister to calm down and that we would go find Nat. We
started walking down the stairs but all of the runners from the race, as well as the circus performers,
were trying to come up the stairs. I was getting shoved around and when I looked back I couldn’t see my
sister or my dad. So I started yelling and waving to get their attention and someone shoved me down the
flight of stairs.

I landed on the ground, in a sitting position, and when I looked up there was the fucking guy with the
machete again. He smiled at me and said “you aren’t getting off that easy, you know” and he swung the
machete into the side of my neck again. Asshole.

I woke up at 4 and decided to read the New Yorker instead of going back to sleep.

"thanks...not for me!"

Six hours after submitting my proposal to 6 literary agents, I got my first rejection. It said "thanks...not for me!" I thought the exclamation point was unnecessary but perhaps the agent was trying to emphasize her point.

But the good news is that I've heard back from my editor from Banff, Tony. I'm going to try to meet him up there for a little reunion. Hoping that some of the other writing crew from my program last year can make it too.

In other news I broke down and bought a GPS today for my car. I had to drive 30 miles to Georgia to get it because there aren't any stores around here that carry them. I was talking to the sales lady at OfficeMax and said that I decided to buy the GPS after spending almost two hours trying to find my way to Aiken from Columbia in the dark. She said "Girl, that's impossible! Why were you driving around in the dark?"

Why indeed.

So now I'll know where I'm going. But, I'm not going anywhere because I said in my proposal that my book was done. It's, hee, not done. Back to the grindstone trying to finish this thing off...

master data

I'm working with this fairly obnoxious woman. The rest of my customer set has been great. I hate working with women because I think they act super bitchy to try to prove themselves or something. She's over weight and likes to sit so close to me that I can feel her breathing on me which is so gross. Also, she smells like fried chicken farts.

The other day we were in a meeting, and we were talking about documenting what they call "master data" (the definition of which is not relevant). This woman was nattering on as if she's super smart (though what she says is inconsistent and doesn't make sense) when she suddenly said "masturbater" instead of "master data". There's a kid who's my age that's been in a lot of our meetings and we've been joking around the whole week, and I couldn't look at him because I knew I would start laughing.

Everyone of course pretended they didn't hear the woman say "masturbater" but now people have started saying just "data". I laugh every time I think about it myself...

it only looks like you're lost

Contrary to rumors, I'm still among the living, and have finished my book proposal, which I'm sending out this weekend, thanks to my great editor Matt. I've been traveling and working a lot.

Currently in lovely Aiken, S.C., working at a site next to a silo of nuclear waste. The silo's name is Hector, which is an acronym for something that no one can remember.

I've decided to break down and buy a GPS after getting totally lost driving to the hotel from Columbia (it's about an hour drive) at 11 o'clock last Sunday night. It was so dark I couldn't read any of the street signs and I ended up driving way out of my way. Then I got to Aiken and my mapquest directions were totally wrong. I found the street my hotel purported to be on, but it was a winding road into a forest with a few houses. I called the hotel and told them I was lost. The woman asked for my cross streets but didn't recognize the names of any of them (I was only 3 miles from the hotel at that point).

She kept assuring me that I was going the right way, and that soon I would happen on an Applebee's. I was having my doubts, and she said "You're not lost, it only looks like you're lost". Then I came around a turn, the road opened up to 2 lanes, and there was the Applebee's.

I have a room on the ground floor of a motel. I don't like it because I have to keep my curtains closed and no natural light gets in my room. The woman at the front desk assured me I'd be safe in the room, and I was like why would I worry for my safety? I'm in the middle of the woods.

Besides Hector, there are some other weird things about where I work. They have alarm drills constantly. The one for a nuclear waste spill is reminiscent of the sound track to a 70s sci fi movie. It a series of weird tones like doo doo DOOOOOO doo. Then there's the fire alarm and a safety alarm (meaning someone was injured in the building). The site is huge, and the only way I can ever find my building is by looking for a sign in front of another building that says "Whole Body Counting Facility". What ever that means.

The other day I went to an outbuilding that looked like a rusty trailer. An hour before I got there they had chased a rattle snake out of the conference room. Although I'm doing well with my snake phobia (saw a snake on the trail when hiking with my dad and was fine) I decided not to put my feet under the conference room table because it was dark under there and I couldn't see if anything was hiding in the corners.

Today I might go to a blue grass festival and then work on my book...tired and need a few down days to get ready for next week's fun and adventures.

I'm not blind, I'm blond

For some reason my travel profile has been updated to say I'm blind when making airline reservations, and that I'm handicapped when making hotel reservations.

I discovered the handicapped thing last week when I checked into a hotel in Columbus, Ohio. After a weird whispering session behind the front desk one of the clerks finally asked me what my handicap was. I was like "I don't play golf". Then she said I had somehow gotten booked into a handicapped room (though I didn't want to point this out to her, to get out of the lobby you had to take stairs either up or down, so they're damned lucky I'm not handicapped).

I fixed my profile as soon as I got into my room, but apparently it didn't work. Flying to Seattle today, I was requested to ring my flight attendant button. I was worried because I had had a lot of problems checking in on my flight and figured everything was a result of my company buying me a cheap ass ticket. But when the flight attendant came over to my seat (I was squished between a woman who wanted to sit cross legged in her seat and a morbidly obese woman who ate an entire bag of candy bars on the 2 1/2 hour flight) she said "Oh, you aren't blind". At first I thought she said I wasn't blond, and I was really confused, but then she told me that my ticket has said I was blind. Then I checked into my hotel today in Tacoma and same thing - handicapped room.

I deleted my profile and rebuilt it. Hopefully that will fix the problems.

And then yesterday I was talking to another consultant who congratulated me on getting married. I'm not sure who started the rumor I got married but if I find out who it is I will break his fucking legs. This is the fourth conversation I've had with someone in my company where I've been congratulated for my fake wedding.

Rainy and cold in Tacoma. Wishing I had brought a jacket and umbrella. I knew I should have looked at the weather forecast yesterday. I was just getting over my jet lag when I had to switch to east coast time last week. Now I'm on PST. Next week I'm back on the east coast. Since I've been back I've felt like my life force is draining out of my body to be replaced with concrete.

I need a vacation.

The good news is I'm going to work on my cover letter for my book prop this week, and my editor is going to have my prop reviewed by Monday. If I can find an agent for my book by the end of september I will be very happy.

back

I've been getting some concerned emails since I haven't updated my blog in two weeks. Yikes.

I arrived home last Saturday. My luggage did not. I ended up playing a fun game of tag with the moron who was supposed to deliver it to my house (I finally drove to the airport and as I got there he called and said he was 20 minutes from my house - I sped home only to wait 2 more hours for him to show up). The good news is they only confiscated 4 packs of the Gauloise cigarettes I brought home with me. Which left 10 to smoke. Now I'm back to Marlboro Reds. Wah.

In the week I was home I managed to get all of my windows repainted. I also replaced all of my blinds, which was an ordeal I don't wish to ever repeat. Work is as insane as ever and I didn't do a good job of relaxing and recovering from my jet lag. Today I arrived home after spending 3 days in Columbus with a client (nothing like changing time zones AGAIN 7 days after landing back here) and crashed for 4 hours, which is more consecutive sleep than I've gotten since I've been home.

And the BEST NEWS is I have an editor for my book!!!!! Katie Ives of Alpinist fame (named the best editor on the planet by more than one of my friends) recommended a friend in Boulder. I just sent him my proposal. The book is back on. Working 80 hour weeks? Not on. I am on a mission to get this book done by October and hopefully find a new agent by then, since my old one lost interest in me because I couldn't make the deadlines due to work.

So this entry concludes this blog. I will NOT be going back to the middle east. It was an adventure, but not worth the stress and aggravation. The best part of the whole experience was coming home and finding out people missed me.

time to go

I don't like the day before a big trip, especially if I'm not at work. I have way too much time to pack, repack, change my mind about what books I'm bringing on the plane, worry about what snacks I'm going to eat, worry about my blackberry and MP3 player battery dying, and wonder if it's okay to wear clothes that haven't been washed in 3 weeks for a 28 hour trip.

Disaster was imminent when I realized yesterday that I had accidentally forgotten to remove my crackers from the filing cabinet I've been using at work before I locked it and turned in the keys. I realized right before I was leaving work that my crackers which I had been planning to eat on the plane ride home were in the cabinet and not in R's cabinet (I moved them because he was eating them).

I was stuck in a conundrum. If I asked for the key back they would wonder what I had locked in the cabinet that was so important, and they would send the tea boy to spy on me to make sure I wasn't stealing something. When he saw I was removing my crackers he would automatically assume it was so I could eat them even though we were forbidden to eat anything (some companies cut westerners a break on ramadan - this company is not one of them). As soon as I went back into the conference room where I was working he would tell the whole office I was eating and then people would be rude to me even if I could prove I didn't eat the crackers. So I had to leave them, knowing, since I had dinner at R's, I wouldn't have time to get more (Spinney's sells crackers, sure, but not the right crackers).

Then, today, I had opened a bottle of wine at 5:30 (strictly forbidden to have any alcohol during ramadan, though the shops sell it, you just aren't supposed to let anyone know you have it) to breathe while I finished up my packing. I also had a tea light candle (also forbidden in the hotel) on the desk next to the bottle of wine to make my room not smell like smoke, which seems to be leaking into my room through the air con.

I was opening an apparently highly pressurized box of tea to put into a bag so I could bring it home (best tea, it's arabic, no idea what's in it) when the box exploded and the tea went everywhere. The box also slipped out of my hand knocking over the bottle of wine which also knocked the candle off of my desk. So the wall and the carpet were coated with half a bottle of red wine (wah) and candle wax. I also ruined the ramadam kareem iftare and sohour menu that was nicely printed and sitting like a little tent on my desk.


I've spent the past half hour cleaning the wine off of the wall. I couldn't get it out of the carpet so I trimmed it with my scissors, cutting off the top of the stained parts. It's under the desk so hopefully they won't notice the carpet is a little shorter under there. Not sure what to do about the wax, but maybe they won't notice until I'm gone.

It's definitely time to go.

spaghetti western

R has been asking me for the past two weeks to have dinner at his house and meet his family. I don't know why my customers always want to have me over for dinner. My list of foods I can't eat, or won't eat, would be daunting to anyone. Throw into the mix my lack of social skills in family settings, and my dread of meeting "the wife" who normally suspects I'm having an affair with her (always) unattractive husband.

I figured that was why R's wife wanted to meet me. When we worked together on the weekends she would call every half hour curious as to what we were up to. While I can understand someone doubting that I would want to work on the weekend and must have some other plot in mind, this is Abu Dhabi, and what else is there to do...

And lately, R has been acting a bit strangely towards me. When I came into work sick, and was sweating even though I never sweat and was sitting directly under the air conditioning unit, R suggested I had a fever (I did) and that he could tell me accurately how bad the fever was if I would just let him put his lips on my forehead. I was like, um, thanks, I'll just take a double dose of panadol instead.

Then he told me that he'd finally figured out that enterprise architecture is not sexy, but I make it sexy. I was a bit puzzled by this comment as it was 7 oclock in the morning, I had arrived in the office with unwashed hair (5 days) and wearing the same outfit I had worn the past two days because I didn't have time due to the hours I was working to go to the laundry and collect the rest of my clothes (this is the problem with packing light and bringing only 5 work outfits).

In any case, we finished work yesterday at 1:30, and then went to Spinney's to get some salad and bread for the upcoming dinner at R's house that I had finally agreed to attend. The maid was currently cleaning his place and wouldn't be done until 3, so after 15 minutes of shopping we still had time to kill. As it's ramadan, that time goes by very, very slowly. We drove around to a few hotels looking for a place where we could get an alcoholic drink. Nothing. So R proposed that we get a bottle of wine and drink it somewhere, that somewhere of course being my hotel room although he was too polite to ask.

We grabbed a bottle of wine from the A&E and headed to my hotel. 1 hour until dinner. I was actually looking forward to it because I had requested spaghetti with real tomato sauce since no one here puts tomato sauce on anything (they use ketchup even on pizza) and tomato sauce is a major staple of my non-UAE diet. R's wife had commented that I have a 5 year old's preferences for food. Like I care what anyone thinks as long as I get spaghetti.


We sat in my room sharing a bottle of Trapiche. It turns out R's family owns a bunch of night clubs in Canada and that's where he gets his money (it turns out, just like everyone else here, he's super rich). He wanted to start a consulting company with me. Then he told me that he's an alcoholic (after he chugged two glasses of wine in the time I was pouring us both a bottle of water). Luckily, he said as I was encouraging him to drink an entire bottle of water, alcohol has little effect on him (he's a large man, 6'2" and 250 lbs). Around that time his wife called and said the maid was done and so was dinner. R told her we were at Spinney's still and would head home shortly. As he talked to her he waved for me to chug my glass of wine. When I said I couldn't (hadn't eaten or had anything to drink all day because of ramadan) he called me a pussy so I chugged it and immediately felt dizzy and giggly.


We got in the car and R said "don't tell my wife I was drinking because she'll kill you". Then he started talking about how nice it would be if he was married to me and how we would be like the couples in the 1960s movies. Luckily I was buzzed so I just stared out the window and pretended I was in the car alone.


After an initial half hour of total awkwardness where I tried to act sober and at the same time control my nicotine withdrawal symptoms in the face of a screaming infant and two year old, I got into the swing of things and R's wife started to like me and realize that I wasn't sleeping with her husband. I was so happy when she brought the spaghetti out that she started to like me even more.

By the time my buzz wore off and a few hours had past we were both making fun of R, who decided it was time to play with the kids and ignore us. I did my imitation of him talking to the indians at work (he has a tendency to mimic people's accent without realizing he's doing it) and she told me how he almost drown the second day of their honeymoon because he ate too much and got a cramp while swimming. The story was even funnier as she played out her confronting R's mom to say "sorry your son died while we were on our honeymoon". She was even interested in black holes, or pretended to be interested.


At the end of the evening I told her I was really sorry we hadn't met earlier. They are going to move to Canada in a year or two and I hope she stays in touch with me so we can visit each other someplace where we can have a glass of wine and be normal human beings.

After the almost year I've spent here I think the best people are the Lebanese (at least the ones I've met). They aren't radical or crazy religious. They like to have fun and laugh. They don't take themselves too seriously and even though they can be materialistic they are generous. And even if R said some inappropriate things on occasion, we were a great team and he's probably my most successful mentoring project. And he introduced me to The Big Bang Theory, and gave me a pirated copy of the first three seasons (as well as Buckaroo Banzai and Up In The Air).


Nice kid. I admit I'm going to miss him.