For when you're bored.

What is it about Writers and Kitties? They are like peanut butter and jelly, much better together. I used to smoke and when I quit I thought I wouldn't be able to write another word. Cigarettes weren't my muses; it was the kitties. I have three now to keep all my bases covered.

William Burroughs and kitty tripping the fuck out.

 

A writer friend of mine just got an enormous book deal. She made it look so easy: sent her stuff to one agent, got signed, finished the book, agent loved it, sold overnight, getting picked up all over the world. How many kitties does she have? Two.

Quick rant. I have to go to a meeting.

Would you give me away?

But I can always squeeze in a rant, especially when it has to do with ex's girlfriend. Ex was just here to pick up Mario and asked if I knew anybody who wanted a dog because gf needs to get rid of hers. She's too busy. What kind of a woman gives up a pet because it doesn't fit in her life? Is that any kind of a woman I want near my children. She already gave up Dog 1. Imagine what that was like; Dog 2 has probably been on his best behavior for the last year, but to no avail. He's getting his walking papers anyway. This explains why she doesn't live with her teenage son. He's probably really inconvenient. For a brief moment, I'm glad to be me.

Look out for flying hammers.

From The Fix:

Top 10 Most Addiction-Prone Careers
1. Food preparation and serving (17.4%)
2. Construction (15.1%)
3. Arts, design, entertainment, sports, and media (12.4%)
4. Sales (9.6%)
5. Installation, maintenance, and repair (9.5%)
6. Farming, Fishing and Forestry (8.7%)
7. Transportation and Material-Moving (8.4%)
8. Cleaning and Maintenance (8.2%)
9. Personal Care and Service (7.7%)
10. Office and Administrative Support (7.5%)

This is from a 2007 SAMSHA study. It's interesting that advertising is only #3 and construction (heavy machinery, anyone?) is #2. Where is the legal field? Lawyers are notoriously alcoholic, but they probably lie about it.

White woman parenting: No, your kid isn't that cute.

I asked my friend S how her kid was doing in school and she said he'd gotten two "Asian Fs." For all you non-Asians out there, an Asian F is an A minus.

With the release of the Tiger Mom book in paperback, I started pondering what the cliches were for white parenting. I didn't ponder long because it was demonstrated for me in my local post office a couple days ago.

I was in a line with almost  a million impatient people. At one of the two open stations, there was a Coach-bag-carrying/big-diamond-and-Tory-Burch flats-wearing white mom with her two youngsters. 

This mom, ignoring the fact that people were waiting, was telling the postal worker that her daughter had recently come here on a field trip and asked her daughter to stop twirling in the aisle and tell the worker what she saw. Really? As if the worker doesn't already know what goes on in her office? You know what? I wouldn't care what a six-year-old thinks of my workplace but, unlike me, the worker remains pleasant. Of course the mother is harried. Although she probably was a lawyer or ran a company a few years ago, she's having a hard time keeping track of her two kids and trying to remember if she needs stamps or not. Just as this transaction seems it's finally coming to an end, the woman calls her son over. Apparently he likes to swipe the credit card through the machine. She lifts him up. It takes two times, but the little genius finally gets it and throws the mother's credit card, which falls behind the partition so that the worker has to move all her equipment to retrieve it. The mom admonishes her little precious and tells him that next time he swipes her card--there is going to be a next time?--to hand her the card and not just throw it.

If Asian parenting can be Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, white parenting seems to be Lullaby of the Pushover. What's wrong with white people that we believe other people will think our children are as cute as we think they are? They aren't. I can say this because I'm white. I have two boys who happen to be really cute and smart and talented and special, but I know now that not everybody agrees with me, especially impatient patrons in the post office.

This does a lot to cheer me up.

Suri's Burn Book

I read the whole blog in two sittings. Knock yourself out.

Shit goggles firmly in place.

Today's view extends beyond my writing. Instead of seeing beauty or grace, everywhere I look I see things that are dirty, wrong, fucked up and not working in my life. For instance, Big Guns' hearing. He left his coffee in the microwave and it's been beeping for ten minutes. He's standing a foot from the microwave. I'm three rooms away and each beep sounds like a foghorn. I would like to remove his coffee and throw it at him.

The day started with driving Clooney to the humane society for neutering. The traffic was in top form  and my windshield was so filthy I was driving by faith. The woman ahead of me had two chihuahuas. The vet tech came out and asked the receptionist what they charge for expressing anal glands because one of the chi chis really needed it. What kind of mistake did God make in designing dogs that they need their anal glands expressed? And what exactly are anal glands? This is why I'm a crazy cat lady. That's absolutely shit goggle material.

I've eaten close to two pounds of See's candy in three days and, as promised, all but one candy cane. I have a store credit at a little boutique in my neighborhood and stopped by yesterday but didn't find anything because I don't want new clothes; I want a new body. They did not have one in my size, not even for full price. Shit goggles.

Let's hope that tomorrow is better for me and Clooney.

Cul de sac thinking.

From The Year of Magical Thinking: Didion writes about seeing that fall has arrived in Central Park and realizing that, back at home, "There is no one to hear this news, nowhere to go with the unmade plan, the uncompleted thought." She quotes C.S. Lewis:

"I think I'm beginning to understand why grief feels like suspense. It comes from so many impulses that become habitual...So many roads once; now so many cul de sacs."

So often I will see something--a sweater, say--and think ex will like that, or read something and wonder what ex would have to say about it, or want to share something I've written with him. Every time I turn on the light to read in the middle of the night I think about how he hated it. Every time I get angry, I think about how he hated that, too. Habits developed over twenty years are hard to break.

Oh the arrogance.

I was in Target today to purchase cat snackies and walked down the Xmas aisle where everything was 70% off. I picked up a $1 box of green apple and strawberry flavored candy canes, which was fine because a) they aren't very Xmasy and b) we'll eat them by next weekend. But I also picked up bows and wrapping paper and gift tags for NEXT year.

I've never done this before because it seems so presumptuous. It's like I'm mocking God or something--I dare you to take me. I just stocked up on Xmas paraphernalia for next year! Plus I'm making this huge assumption that I'll be around and celebrating Xmas next year. Doesn't that scream arrogance? It's not that I'm afraid of my number being called, it's just I'd be so embarrassed when my heirs discovered the stash of supplies in my closet--And she never even got to use this paper.