One more time for the Eurythmics!

Have you ever noticed that it rains when
(a) You're wearing suede
(b) You're getting your hair done
or
(c) You've got a really important meeting?

Well today I had two out of three and dodged raindrops all the while.

Had an interview in the morning. The editor seems very cool. She's from the same area that I am, so we have that common language thing going on and the interview digressed from a regular one to swapping shopping tips. The job seems like it could be fun (it's not full-time) and it could hone my research skills etc.,I'd be in an office two days a week--with people! But the money is pretty bad. Yeah, I know we've all heard the mantra "the economy sucks, just take the money and run." Well, there's making money and there's making money and this just isn't it. I never thought I'd turn down a job because the money was poor, but there ya go. You can sometimes find yourself doing the darndest things.

Then I met up with Nica. I was off to get my roots hidden and Nica came along to see me transformed back into a "fierce redhead bitch" as Lucky, my hair guy calls me. After he applied the goop, I went to hang with Nica in the lounge. Between my hair piled up on top of my head (looking like the Bride of Frankenstein) and the black cape over my shoulders, I was ready for Halloween. If it wasn't raining, I could have walked around scaring small children on the street.

Nica and I were chatting away and the topic turns to men(of course). The minute we switch to that, every ear, male and female clicks on to our convo. It was like watching horse ears twitch.

Nica is in a quandry--she's got a bf who has been, shall we say, a dick in the past. Well, now he's trying (oh c'mon, they all do at some point) and she wants to be monogamous, but just met a very cute, funny, intelligent and successful writer. What to do? Go out on a date with the boy? or politely say no? I told her until she's married to go for it. Why be stuck in a so-so relationship when you could be tasting all sorts of yummy fruits? I'd rather do that than have to constantly second guess my boy. Who needs that type of exercise?

I suggested that she should have a spare or two laying around. They can always come in handy.

I told her about my dating moratorium, and she started laughing. Especially, after I told her I just met a very cute boy. Yeah, I'll probably go out on a date with him. He's into music and I just hope he doesn't react the same way the other musician I dated did. We were talking about bands and the boy got pissed off that I knew more bands than he did. First of all, it's what I do for a living, second of all if he's that competitive...

Speaking of boys, haven't heard from J. All I can say is yippee! I'm so bad. No, I'm not. If I really liked a boy and he liked me, I'd probably be in a completely different mindset.

I think that no matter how old you get, romance is always and I mean alwayslike high school. Every time I start talking about boys to Cris, she starts saying things like, "Oh my god! Will we see him in study hall??"

I think in the case of ilex boy, I'd have to revert to second grade and throw something at him. I have such bad aim, it's not a good idea.

Walking around in the rain woke up all my old sports injuries. They came screaming alive, and reminded me how banged up I really am. I have yet to take any advil. I'm just sitting here gritting my teeth. I have decided to join a gym next week. Winter is bad for me, my appetite revs up--I must have been a big hibernator in the past and I just bought a ton of super low jeans and want to wear them. The gym that I'm joining is now offering fencing. I haven't fenced since High School and I loved it. There's something satisfying about doing a circular riposte. The problem is I've wrecked my rotator cuff and am worried that I'll never be able to pick up an epee again.

Sara gave me some simple exercises that are supposed to build up the muscles around the cuff. I'll try them. I just hope I don't do any more damage. At this point in my life, I don't think there's enough crazy glue in the universe to keep me togther.

Found an all Paul Rauhofer all the time Internet radio station. alldanzradio.com Am in heaven.

am off to medicate my self and eat.

The Lust List

Lately I've been lusting after all sorts of electronic devices. I have no idea why I suddenly want these things-- I know it's not the adverts on TV--Some switch in my mind has been flipped and I suddenly need, no crave objects that will most likely collect dust.
What I have a intense desire for are:
1)CD Walkman that plays cdr etc.,
2)DVD player
3)Picture phone
4)digi cam
5)scanner

I don't really need these things. Heck, I've got a vcr and tons of movies that I'm not watching now.

Maybe I'll get these goodies for my birthday or for Yule.

Then I'll have to figure out how to work them

Another Friday Night....

After kicking myself around the block a few times, I finally sat down and started re-writing my first three chapters of my first book. My, there's a lot of mys in there, isn't there!

Anyway, it was either write or leave the apartment and do laundry. The laundry has become a massively huge thing, looking at it, I'm convinced it could be used as an anti-terrorist weapon. So, for the sake of national security (and the fact that it's cold outside) I've decided to leave it be. Who knows? It could become New York's first line of defense.

Obstensively, I'm writing. Well, right now I'm writing this...so...I know, as a writer I am a fabulous procrastinator.

I'm not that bad. I've just finished the edits on the first three chapters, can I get an amen please. And started writing the fourth when I wandered on over here.

Sometimes it just easier to do the stream of consciousness type writing here than trying to be creative. Except when on deadline. When I'm on deadline I'm focused. I think it's the adrenaline rush you get when you're beating the clock and everything is flowing. It is zen. You're making the ephemeral concrete. It's so damn sweet.

Have only told one friend that I'm putting a moratorium on dating. Her response, was "about damn time." Hmph. then again, Sara isn't really into dating. Then again, I view it as a sport.

Can I have fun? Can I have a good time and want to see this person again? Lately my dates have been so-so. Yeah, I have fun, but do I want to see them again? No.

If, and I say if, someone who really makes the ole tum go aflutter asks me out then I'll say yes.

Of course Ilex boy is oblivious. Ilex boy...am not going there.

There are times when I really like the idea of finding someone and having a relationship (and steady sex) and there are times when I'm not into it. Commitmentphobic? Moi?

Am also enjoying the thrills and chills of dsl. I should have converted to that earlier. Am listening to this fabu 80's radio station accuradio.com Accuradio has tons of channels and the one I'm listening to is playing The Pet Shop Boys "Let's Make Lots of Money." I love the older PSB stuff.

Oh well, back to the book.

No, I haven't been abducted by aliens

I was just asked to be in a wedding party. A friend of a friend needs an extra body or two for her wedding, and I was volunteered. So, I spent last weekend with the rest of the bridal crew hunting down elusive bridesmaid dresses and looking at favors etc., for a wedding in May. The more I learn about planning a wedding, the more I like the idea of eloping to Vegas and getting married by an Elvis impersonator.

Speaking of weddings etc., I have decided to take a break from dating. Collective gasp please. Yup, I'm taking a breather. There just comes to a point where if I am going to shave my legs, there had better be a good reason for it.

Other than that, life has been pretty quiet. I'm liking the drama free days. Well, most of my life is pretty drama free. Just the usual staring at the computer and alternating by staring at the phone and wondering if my editors have been abducted by aliens.

Recently reviewed Jamison Parker's debut release Notes & Photographs It's an EP, which sucks. I mean only five songs to listen to, ugh I want more. Luckily their full length CD will be out sometime in 2004. The band is reminiscent of The Smithereens, Marshall Crenshaw, The Pixies and they've got lots of energy and quirky, clever wordplay.

Off to check out many bands tomorrow night with Ivan. Hopefully the weather will be warmer. When it gets really cold, all I want to do is hide in the apt. until Spring.

I don't know what it is about hanging with Ivan, but there are moments when I suddenly turn into a 17 year old boy. I'm doing things like saying, "dude" and making displays of heavy metal bands in Virgin. It's fun and goofy and I'm not bitching about it. Actually, I kinda miss the days when the most important thing was to be able to outname bands. To be a walking enclycopdeia of arcane and weird rock shit.

Here comes the rain again

Sitting here in front of the computer, I'm listening to the rain hitting my ac. It doesn't sound as cozy or romantic as rain hitting a tin roof in the tropics, but it will have to do.

Cris and I went to the Museum of Natural History today. Walked around the fish exhibit, and I ended up being a tour guide. Years and years ago, possibly during the Jurassic period, I was so enamoured with marine biology, that I almost went to school for it. Apparently, I've remembered all sorts of facts and frighteningly enough, the latin names for some of the fish. So, Cris and I made fun of various species and I spouted off facts. Once a geek, always a geek.

We watched the IMAX movie, Kingdom of the Tiger. It's a gorgeous film about the birth of tiger and animal conservation in India. The countryside is breathtaking. After seeing the film, I completely understand why there's a guy who kept a tiger in his apt. here in the city. How he kept the animal quiet and litter trained, are some of the many unaswered questions. I mean, how much kitty litter do you buy for a tiger anyway?

We checked out the Hall of Gems and Minerals after the movie. What I find strange is that I've been going to the museum on and off since I was 2, and this was the first time I've ever gone to the gem part. I seem to always hit the same sections; dinosaurs, planet earth, indigenous peoples, dinosaurs again, and of course the planetarium.

Went back to my house and watched one and a half novellas. I don't speak any Spanish, and made Cris translate. Now I'm hooked on them. I have no idea what they're saying, but I can't wait to see tomorrow night's installments. At one point, Cris got bored translating, so we created our own dialogue. Then we found Better Off Dead on cable, and of course you have to watch that. I've seen bits and pieces of that flick over the years, but never the entire thing. Will have to buy my own copy. When you look at the actors as an adult, you realize that they don't look like teens at all, but when you're a preteen watching those things, you hope and pray that by the time you turn 16, you look like that. What's really scary is that Friday Cris and I are walking around 5th avenue and we're seeing horrible 80's fashions in all the stores. Yikes. I for one, will not have big hair. Nope.

Had an interesting weekend. Went out to dinner with J. Saturday night. He had made reservations at Tabla in Gramercy Park. Nice place, nice atmosphere and he shows up wearing jeans. Oh god, I know I sound shallow (I most definitely am not), but c'mon it's a second date, put a little effort into it. The sweater he was wearing was wrinkled and he looked like he was ready to hit a dive bar or two.

While I had an okay time,(he had a great one), I'm not interested in seeing him again. There's zip chemistry. I am also not fond of the fact that he couldn't get it through his head that I am really and incredibly thrilled for Stef's success with the book and column and other career related things that she's doing. He kept saying repeatedly, "But she's a writer too." How does this make any difference in our friendship? We're friends first and foremost, and you want your friends to do well. It's a joyous thing to see them succeed. I'm now in the unenviable position of telling a boy that I'm not interested. It's such a squemish feeling, no matter how you phrase it, it never comes off well.

Sunday was, in Ivan's words a "bad Seinfeld episode." Sunday was supposed to be the great buying the computer router day. We decide to meet at the Office Depot on 5th Avenue. Neither of us knew there was a parade going on at the same time. Neither of us knew that the 5th Avenue Office Depot is closed on Sundays. We ended up on the one on Broadway and 41st, and realized that the sale on routers was at Compusa on 5th and 38th. We ended up playing in the men's department of H&M.

Went back to my apt. to get the DSL working and it refused. So, we went out to dinner instead.

Am going to be attempting to buy a router tomorrow. By myself. All alone. Just me. Nervous? You betcha!

Rolling Along

Had the interview yesterday at the mag. Not only did I have a good hair day (yippee), but I kicked ass!

Funny thing, I had gotten there too early and the mag is located in a business park. Nothing but high rises, one after another. No place to get coffee and sit for awhile. So I walked up and down the street. Did I mention that there was construction everywhere, and I'm hopping over broken sidewalks and lots of dust and dirt. In heels. In black fabric (faille) heels? Yes they got dirty. I scrubbed the dirt off them before I went to the interview. At least I was busy while I was wasting time.

Got on a subway this morning, and this woman decided to preach to us poor half-awake people. Not only did she have to punctuate every other word with "Amen," and "Hallelujah," she kept talking about being covered with the blood of Christ. Eeww. Okay, not the best thing to hear on an empty stomach. She kept calling the Holy Ghost the Holy Goat. I started to laugh, thinking about a goat rompng around in a barnyard wearing a halo.

Of course, I had to say something to her as I left the train.

I'm so not "PC". I think the only that "PC" is a load of crap. To be "PC" is to have a narrow world view. To be really "PC" is to accept yourself and others without labels. The "PC'ers" love labels. They're as bad as the conservatives. I love to tweak them both equally

venting ahead, be afraid, very afraid

This is the second time I've written this, technology is not my friend tonight.

Spent the day being viciously attacked by a pair of shoes that promised me that if I bought them, they'd be my bestest friend ever. They lied. Also had the twirling skirt day. That one was my fault, I've got a brown suede hip hugger skirt that I tried to wear as a normal skirt. We played tug of war--it won.

Came home to find a nasty threatening email from an ebay buyer. He misread the auction, wants his money back--he looked over the items before he handed over the cash. He also brought me up on charges in ebay court. This is great, just like High School Honor Court.

Ivan sent me a photo of shoes that he bought.

I have a job interview at a mag Wednesday, I better have a good hair day.

Can I hide under the bed until Spring?

Tempus Fugit

I can’t believe it’s Sunday. The week swooped by so fast, and I’m exhausted. I’ve spent the past two days switching out my Summer/Spring wardrobe to my winter one. The past few nights have dropped down to the 40’s so of course, I pack up most my transitional stuff—the weather appeared as if it was going to whoosh in to winter and bypass Fall. All of my shoes etc. are now packed away. I sit down in the living room, click on NY1, and the weather report pops up. I’m being told that the rest of the week is going to be in the 60’s to 70’s. I refuse to struggle with that stuff again.

I had a very quiet two days. This is a good thing, as my weekend was actually Thursday and Friday. And boy, what a weekend that was. Ouch!

The week started off mellow. Had a date with J. Tuesday night and laughed my ass off. It’s nice to hang with a boy who gets your obscure references and flings back a few of his own. Met up with him at Croxley’s. It’s a bar in the East Village that has a very unprepossessing front. Walk in and it looks like a very dark Irish pub. There’s another room, that’s barn-like and oh yes! They have an uncovered smoking lounge in the waaay back. Nice, very large patio with ashtrays. It was if Bloomburg wasn’t the mayor.

We sat out back, smoked, drank and chatted. On the way to the subway, J leaned over and kissed me. While he’s kissing me, a homeless guy walks up to him, pats him on the back and yells out, “Go for it my brother!” Naturally we break apart, and start laughing. This happened a few times with different homeless people. Okay, I don’t walk up to them and heckle, so why are they doing it to me.

I like J. He’s a bright, funny guy. He’s just a tad too tall. His 6’3” to my 5” 2 ½” is um, a bit uncomfortable and he made a couple of short jokes, rested his arm on top of my head etc., Also a bit of a sloppy kisser. So, if we go out again (and I do merit him a second date) gotta do the teaching to kiss thing. Ugh. I’m all for enthusiastic kissing, just not the type where I have the urge to wipe my face off with a few towels.

Thursday day I get an email from my friend Michael about a party at Lot 61. Michael Creagh is a fashion photographer and if I do say so myself an amazing one. He’s got an original and fresh eye and ought to be shooting for JANE or Vogue or some other high end mag. He had just shot a cover and a ten page editorial for 944 magazine and they were throwing a party for him. Open bar and reserved tables for the crew (friends).

As I was opening the door to get in (why do so many restaurants and bars have those insanely heavy front doors??) I thrust the iron front door into my left foot. I’m not seeing stars; I’m seeing planets, constellations, the whole works. I forgot how friendly pain is, and how it just wants your entire body to join in the fun. I have no idea how I managed not to scream out loud (probably embarrassment), and hobbled into the place.

I see Michael and he introduced to me a few of his friends who were all ready there. It turns out that a few of them worked at the same mag where I met Michael. This incredibly wacked out bunny decided she wanted to create a men’s mag, and talked people into working for her. I saw an ad and applied for the Entertainment Editor position—that’s how I met Michael, he interviewed me.

I went to one editorial meeting, realized the woman was a complete and utter loon and left the “project.” I realized that not only did she not have a budget; she didn’t have a completed business plan. She had one person who said he was going to give her money for a start-up, but I don’t think either of them realized that it takes $20 million to get a mag moving if you want to do it right. So, she had a lot of ideas, wanted articles written, photos shot, reviews for things done, but no definite deadline—because she didn’t have a dime. You don’t need content for a press kit to show advertisers and publicists. You couldn’t tell her anything and she never did the homework. I don’t have time or inclination for mental masturbation, so I split. Unfortunately, there were people who bought her stuff hook, line and sinker. They spent a lot of their free time and money of their own to do photo shoots etc., with no actual mag in sight, and were waiting for payment. Never, ever work for free.

I ran into some of them at Michael’s party. We gossiped madly about F________ and what a twisted person she was and laughed about everything. Heather has been approached about designing her own line of clothes. She’d be moving from stylist to fashion designer, that’s a pretty good move. I talked a lot with Yuni her boyfriend. He’s an art director and hilarious.

I hope she didn’t get jealous. I wasn’t flirting—just chatting away. For some reason, I’ve always gotten along with guys. It wasn’t until 2 or 3 years ago that I started to acquire a lot of female friends. Most of my life (with the exception of a brief spate of time in college) I’ve had boy friends.

I guess that’s how my brain is wired. When I was little and watched a James Bond movie, I wanted to be him. I love being a girl, am hetero, but really am into “boy” things. Maybe to me, boy stuff signals adventure and fun?

There was a time when I was little that I wanted to be a race car driver, an astronaut, a marine biologist (almost went to college for that one), a roadie, a sound engineer; all these things are “boy” things. It’s sad that we’re in a new millennium, and the stereotypes are still going strong. You can’t just be what you want to be, you have to assimilate yourself within gender lines. No wonder I’ve always felt like an outsider, I never have. Then again, I’ve studied Kung Fu, a bit of fencing, and have screwed up my knees in hockey, so I am obviously going my own way. I also danced for nine years; me and society—a peculiar dichotomy.

My mother made sure that my brother knew how to cook and that I would be able to fix blown fuses, shovel the walk and put stuff together without reading the directions. When I was in college, I’d periodically call up with a new and bizarre career move, and her reply was usually, “that’s nice.”

I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen a lot as a child, due to the fact that I accidentally blew up a toaster oven, burned Formica (I had no idea that you couldn’t put a hot pot on it), and other ahem, incidents. I have since learned how to cook and am lusting for a mandolin.

Getting back to Thursday night, Yuni and I hung out, chatted about relationships, life etc., I found out how he and Heather met. It’s a cute story. He had been married for a year, was in the process of getting a divorce and had gotten a call from one of his married friends. The friend was bemoaning the fact that they never hung out, got drunk and did the crazy things they did when they were single. So, the boys met up and proceeded to get completely toasted.

They went to another bar, Yuni bought a drink for his friend, who took one look at it and put his head down in defeat. Heather walked in, and Yuni offered it to her. They’ve been together ever since ( 2 1/2 years).

There was an open bar, a lots of lovely, lethal vodka drinks (bartender one more madras please!). It seemed that every time I turned around, another one had followed me from the bar or the waitress. Met a hysterically funny tiny Asian boy. I say tiny, ‘cause he’s the same height as moi. We were dancing in the aisles between the banquettes, making very catty remarks and “fake” flirting. Think of a petite version of Jack and Karen from Will and Grace . The music was fantastic and the dance floor horribly lame.

For some reason, unknown to me, and yes, I still can’t figure out why, I decided at one point that it would be easier for me to crawl on top of the banquettes to get my purse, as opposed to asking someone to give it to me. The crawling forwards was easy. It was the crawling backwards that confused me.

The overhead projectors were showing Michael’s cover, editorial and other photographs of his stuff. It was quite heady. I kept tugging at him and saying. “Look! Look!”

I have no idea how I made it home. I’m not sure how I was able to walk to the subway. I know there was no way in Hell that I was walking a straight line. When I got home, I leaned against the doorway of my bedroom and noticed that the walls were spinning. They were moving in time to the music in my head. This was not a good thing.

When I got up in the morning, I finally had the courage to look at my foot. My left toenail is buckled and broken. There was blood seeping out from under the nail. No pedicures for me for awhile. I hobbled and wobbled like a weeble most of the day.

Friday night was the Machine Gun Fellatio concert at the Pussy Cat Lounge in Tribeca. Went with Ivan and Roxanne.

The Pussycat Lounge has a strip club on the first floor and a space for bands on the second floor. We found the balcony, and watched the band from up there. Talk about a vantage point—we saw everything.

Machine Gun Fellatio http://www.machinegunfellatio.com/ is a cross between an out of control cabaret act and rock n’ roll. The female lead singer’s name is KK Juggy. She’s the demented love child of Marlene Dietrich and Jeannette MacDonald. KK wears a wig (?) that looks like it ran away from a 40’s movie with wardrobe to match. She does cartwheels in heels and strips.

The male lead singer is Pinky Beecroft, there’s something about him that recalls Bryan Ferry. I think it’s the dark hair and natty crushed velvet suit.

Pinky is the keyboardist who strips down to nuttin’. Well, at one point he did attach a poo bear to his penis. At one point he’s dancing on top of the speakers,

There are 7 members of this Australian band, if you know anything about Ozzies, they're just a crazed group of people. I’m not going to give a descrip of each member, just go to the website. Their music is a cross between Gilbert and Sullivan on acid and funky rock n’roll. Watching them is addictive. If they were here for another night, I’d catch them. I don't say that very often about a band They’re exuberance is infectious as is their music, play wildly with taboos and if you call getting beer spit on you by KK, audience involvement. They’re loud, dirty, silly and should be on Broadway and playing on the radio. Friday night was the only time I’ve ever seen an MC demand that the band do an encore,the audience concur,so they did two. They should have done more. You’ve never heard country until you hear them do “Butter My Ass.”

During the show (when I thought it was safe) Roxanne and I ran out for a cig, we come back, KK is only wearing pasties and they’re playing the Muppet theme song. I look over the balcony at the mayhem below and think I spot my editor. I think it is, but am not sure; I’ve only met him once. It looks like him, but…I’m hoping I can spot his tattoo on his wrist, but of course that’s the wrist that’s covered up by his jacket.

After the show is over, Rox and I go out for a smoke and bump into Kip. We all go back up and hit the bar, there’s my editor. I introduce Kirk to Kip, Rox and Ivan. Kip looks at Kirk and says,” You know we’re both cc’ed on the sample sales alerts PJ sends out.” They look at me and start laughing. Shouldn’t shopaholics stick together? I tell Kirk that when I spot cool designer clothes for my boy friends, I email them the URL and if I knew his size that I’d do the same for him. He just shakes his head.

It’s funny how shopping brings everyone together.

I can’t remember how, but we all trooped down to the strip club. It’s Kirk, me, Kirk’s friend, Kip, Roxanne and Ivan.

The last time I was in a strip club, it was in Hallandale, Florida in ‘97. I was dragged there by Chad Smith (Red Hot Chili Peppers) during an interview, and the place got raided. The décor of that place was sad. Lucite, beige walls and brown shag carpeting thrown together in a cavernous space. It had that 70’s bad design feel. I had to sit there and watch Chad have lap dances. The DJ played killer music, but kept talking over it. What’s the point of playing music if you’ve got to screech all over it??

The strip club at the Pussy Cat is a very long and narrow room. The dancers attempt to dance on a narrow walkway. No poles, no flashy lights, but good music and no one stomping on the lyrics.

At one point, I’m standing between Kirk and Kip and we’re rating the dancers. Some of them were lame; they either didn’t know the difference between erotic movements or thought that the obvious was sexier. Some of them were so somnolent; I wondered if you touched them, would they fall over? A few of them stood with their faces to the mirrored wall, and didn’t do very much. What’s the point in that??? A few of them looked like they were performing very bad yoga.

But, a couple of them wore some very cute outfits that I could see wearing to a club, and some great shoes. I now understand how dancers/strippers can wear these insanely high heels. They don’t stand in them. They’re crouching, lying on their sides, doing leg lifts, anything but standing on those suckers.

The end of the evening, Kip and I out of the bar, perched on a tub of water bottles,at the deli next door, bullshitting away. Talking about stuff that you talk about when you're slightly silly with drink.

I started to take the subway home, but couldn’t take how slow it was moving, hopped out on 14th street and took a cab all the way home.

Crawled into bed around 3:30 or so.

Of course the phone rings in the morning. Why not? It’s only Saturday and I’ve been out most of the night. It’s my friend Cris; she’s giving me the latest update on Libby’s wedding plans. Libby’s wedding is a year from now, and she has almost all the details tied up. I think she might make an excellent general.

Okay, I’m up. I’ve made coffee and I have work to do. Oh no! I’ve run out of cigs. Crap! So, I decide to get cigs, the next thing I know I’m at my favorite thrift store on W 96th Street. The place has top notch designer goods at sickeningly reasonable prices. I ended up buying two pairs of shoes, five pairs of pants (one pair of theory, and one valentino in that pile) and a skirt for $15.00 Like I really need them.

The funny thing about that shopping expedition is that I thought I’d need a couple of pieces to make outfits out of what I bought. Stuff like blazers, skirts and sweaters to go with them. As I’m taking clothes out of the various suitcases, I start finding items and start crossing them off my shopping list. I think I could shop my closets and find something I’ve forgotten I own everyday of the week.

I haven’t done laundry in a month—mostly due to the fact I hate laundry, but I also have soooo much clothing I don’t need to do it.

Finished the big switcheroo and went to the market. I’m standing at a corner, waiting for the light to change, and a guy says to me, “For sale?” “Excuse me,” I say and look at him. “Is that (points to my granny cart) for sale?” “Are you an idiot? Do you think I’d be walking down the street trying to sell anything? Did I say anything to you?” “Oh sorry.” Hello, I’m right across the street from the market. Did he think I was taking my cart for a walk? Wouldn’t I be yelling “for sale” or something??

Good news, Stef just got her first review of her book and it’s a rave! Words like “addicting” “couldn’t put down” and “can of astrological whoop ass” were all over the place. YES! YES! YES!