Apparently I'm Not an Expert in What White People Like

One of my favorite blogs--Stuff White People Like--had a contest to see who could come up with new things white people like. The five best entries would be featured on the blog and the winners would get a free copy of the new book, Stuff White People Like: A Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions by Christian Lander. The book is coming out July 1st and I'm going to buy it--even though I didn't win the contest--because I know it's going to be HILARIOUS.

Lest my creative efforts be wasted, this was my contest entry:

Everyone knows that "breast is best"--or at least all white people do. Breast milk is the elixir of the white gods--it's the all-natural, environmentally-friendly (no nasty plastic bottles!) way to guarantee your baby will become a gifted child and enjoy perfect health forever.

White people are naturally competitive--they like to be the best and have the best. What better way to combine being the best, giving the best and having the best than breastfeeding? Not only do the babies win by growing up with immune systems of steel and greatly increased odds of getting into an Ivy League school by virtue of their breast milk-enhanced brains, but the parents can check off the first of many things that they're doing perfectly. If, in spite of having been breast-fed, their babies turn out to be allergic to wheat or peanuts or end up with ADHD, the parents can rest assured that obviously breastfeeding was what saved the kid from being REALLY sickly. Meanwhile, if a non-breast-fed kid so much as sneezes or gets a B on a test, of course it's the parents' fault because they didn't breastfeed. And of course I mean parents' fault-- plural--rather than just moms', because white fathers see themselves as equally involved in breastfeeding even though the milk is not technically coming out of their breasts. Their support of the effort--waking up for every night feeding, changing the diaper and then getting the baby back to sleep--is obviously just as important as the actual milk.

Breastfeeding is so important to white people that they're willing to go to any length necessary to make sure they're able to give their babies "the best" for as long as possible. Lactation consultants are the beneficiaries of white people's obsession with breastfeeding--$150 an hour to come to your house to show you how to get your baby so suck on your nipple correctly.

Hey--can't blame a girl for trying--I thought my post was mighty white. And you know I never pass up an opportunity to rank on breastfeeding zealots because I'm bitter that a lactation consultant once told me my baby would die if I fed her formula.

Shameless Plug for the Toyota Matrix (and no, Toyota is not paying me)

This time last year I had a VW Passat--V6, heated leather seats--the works. I was never a car person and had no idea what a V6 even was when I bought the car (3 years old from Carmax). All I knew was that I liked the color and I'd never had leather seats before--let alone heated leather seats. Granted, back when I bought it I was still married to my first husband (that sounds so Elizabeth Taylor) and we had a minivan so the second car was strictly for whichever one of us wasn't toting the kids and their stuff.

In the divorce, he got the paid off car (the mini-van) due to circumstances that could only be explained in a novel because the whole thing was so crazy. Bottom line: Rich in-laws who hate you are not a good thing when you’re divorcing their son and they can—and probably will—make your life miserable. At any rate, I did get the Passat and the car payment that went with it—not a bad trade for getting out of that marriage.

The only problem was the gas mileage. First of all it required premium grade gas, which I initially thought was BS and continued to use regular. In care you’re wondering, when a car company says a car requires premium, they aren’t just trying to prove you for a sucker—the car actually does require the high-grade gas to function correctly. Those commercials about knocking and pinging? Those are the exact sounds your car will make if you use regular gas.

So fine, I got used to using premium. But something was wrong—there must have been a leak in the gas tank because I constantly had to get gas. On average it seemed I was getting about 19 mpg, or even closer to 17 sometimes. I had the shop look at it but nothing was wrong; little did I know but V6s guzzle gas. Who knew? It got to the point where I was fighting an ongoing battle to be able to go a full week without having to fill up—and this was when I was basically only driving to and from work.

Then this time last year I decided enough was enough—having a car payment was bad enough; having to pay almost $200 a month for gas was ridiculous. I decided to trade it in for something more fuel-efficient, not to mention with some semblance of storage space since I no longer had the minivan. I looked at hybrids first—the Explorer and the Prius. Both WAY out of my price range; I needed to maintain the same car payment after the trade-in. When I went to look at the Prius I noticed a cute car on the lot and asked what it was. It was a Matrix. Brand new, the top of the line model was about $18,000. I drove it and bought it, and it has proven to be a great decision.

It takes regular gas, which these days of course is huge. It kills me to pay $4.05 for a gallon of gas; I don’t think I could stomach paying $4.75 a gallon. I fill up every 7 days—occasionally 8. When Patrick and I went on a 250 mile car trip a few weekends ago it took 8.5 gallons of gas to get there—that’s about 33 mpg (calculations Patrick’s, not mine—math is not my thing).

So if you’re looking at hybrids thinking it’s worth the $25,000-$50,000 and up for a car that gets, on average, as low as about 25mpg and a high of maybe 50mpg (city only; highway is less (according to Real Hybrid Mileage Database). http://www.greenhybrid.com/compare/mileage/ , I strongly suggest you consider the Matrix. It’s cheap, has a ton of room (when the back seats are flipped down you can carry as much as any SUV with the back seats flipped down), gets great gas mileage and is, after all, a Toyota, so it’s reliable. Granted, it’s no V6 so the beauty of being able to go from 0-60 in no time with no sound will be a thing of the past, but the thrill of much lower gas bills each month almost compensates for it.

Comcastic

Do you live in the DC metro area? If so, you are almost surely familiar with Comcast cable, the crappiest cable company on the planet--possibly the crappiest company on the planet, period. I could go on and on and on about why they are so bad, but I read about this YouTube video today and I think it sums up Comcast's quality customer service perfectly:



BTW, I read about it in Groundswell, a book actually sent to me by Forrester Research to read and blog about. So blogging hasn't gotten me a book deal (yet)--at least now I can say it's gotten me a free book.

This Just In: Yuppie Sex is "Madcap" and "Exhausting"

I was at a swim meet last night, an activity that provides much time for social interaction because you're there for 4 hours yet your kid is in the pool a total of 90 seconds. One of the ladies was talking about this book she'd heard about--a couple had done the unthinkable: had sex for 101 nights in a row then written a book about it. Can you imagine? The ladies at the swim meet sure couldn't--nobody could keep up that pace, they insisted, and even if you could why would you want to?

So I look it up this morning: the book is called Just Do It:How One Couple Turned Off the TV and Turned On Their Sex Lives for 101 Days (No Excuses!) and everyone is going crazy about it--talking about how "gutsy" the "radical" this couple was to do it and write about it. The reviews are both hilarious and perplexing to me:

"101 straight days of sex between any two people is an impressive feat, but add the elements of encroaching middle age, fourteen years of togetherness, a couple of demanding jobs, and two small and willful children, and that feat becomes something extraordinary."—Lauren Dockett, co-author of Facing 30 and Sex Talk

"Many of us have thought of taking this journey, but only Doug and Annie have had the guts to do it and the grace to write about it.”—Mira Kirshenbaum, author of Too Good to Leave, Too Bad to Stay and When Good People Have Affairs

Since when is fucking that hard to do? Clearly someone needs to pay me to write a book dispelling the myth that sex is such a huge ordeal that it's just not possible to sustain having it on a regular basis if you're married and have kids. I know, I know--everyone will say "but you're a newlywed! It's not the same after you've been married for 10 years." To that I say bullshit. Fucking is fucking. I most definitely have the guts and grace to write about it--anyone want to pay me to do it?

Seriously. If being 40, having kids and a job and having frequent sex is book- worthy, then clearly I need to get on that bandwagon. (I'm sure my mom is reaching for the phone as she reads this, frantically dialing my number to tell me what a grave mistake it is for me to reveal the details of my personal life to the whole world.)

Suffice it to say that 101 times in 101 days is nothing; try at least at least 700 times in the past 2 years and no way will we be taking a month off anytime soon. Again with the newly wed comments, I'm sure--everyone will say just wait and you'll be in the once a month or less club soon enough. To that I say NEVER and find me a publisher willing to pay me to prove it.

The author and his wife--Annie and Douglas Brown--appeared on The Today Show proudly boasting about their "colorful romp" and "madcap adventures" (those phrases alone make this book a must-buy). They got the idea for the book when Doug heard about the concept of the "100 Days Club"--a club you belong to if you haven't had sex with your partner in 100 days. He told his wife about it and she had the "madcap" idea to reverse that and have sex for 100 straight days.

They did it then were so exhausted that they promptly took a month off. What I don't understand is why they are now being hailed as virtual marriage counselors. They are inviting people to write to them to find out "How to save your marriage with sex" and will be on The Today Show again on June 26 to share their new-found wisdom.

If gritting your teeth through 101 days of sex then swearing off each other out of sheer exhaustion is the way to save a marriage then I don't expect to see the national divorce rates fall anytime soon.

Countdown to 40

Just got back from birthday dinner with the moms in the burbs. It was my friend's 39th birthday today and, in case I haven't mentioned it enough times yet, my birthday tomorrow. Actually, 45 minutes from now to be exact.

Anyway--so we're all at this cute new Mexican restaurant (Tabasco in Olney, MD--you should try it!) and a woman who I hadn't seen since last summer is sitting next to me. The last time I'd been out with her and another friend about a year ago, she was basically a sobbing wreck, slurring on and on about how she wanted a divorce, hated her husband, etc, etc. We were at Clyde's and I swear she must have had 8 beers in an hour. Fast forward a year and here she is sitting at the table next to me tonight.

A bit of history: her husband is a military doctor and they've been in this area for 2 years. She has 3 kids, a nanny and spends her days playing tennis at the club. Actually, she had to fire the nanny when the girl went to Brazil and came back laden with bed bugs, which subsequently took 6 months and $5,000 to eradicate from the house. So make that 3 kids and still spends her days playing tennis at the club because they have childcare there.

When we last met she was just beside herself--granted, she was also drunk off her ass--but just going on and on about how she hated her life, her marriage, wanted out--the whole bit. So here she is tonight, fresh as a daisy and all smiles. Things are going great! They're moving back to their old house, 2 hours south of here. She's gushing about how they went through a real "bad patch" but that's just life and that's what you do if you have kids--you stick with it!

She gave quite a speech about the "stick with it" thing--no marriage is perfect, you have a history together, you have kids together, you just make it work. Yawn. Then she says to me "So what, do your kids see their dad on the weekends or something?"

Oh--wait--I forgot to mention--back there when I just said "they're" moving back to their old house? That would be she and the 3 kids are moving back there; the husband is staying here, renting a room in some old lady's house and going home on the weekends he isn't on call.

Let's see: parents divorced and live 5 minutes from each other and kids see both parents every day, or parents "happily" married, living 2 hours away from each other and kids lucky if they see their dad twice a month?

Anyway, I have to go be 30-something for another half hour.

Sick

Nothing like a ripping stomach bug to wreck your day. I woke up in the middle of the night and did something I haven't done in probably 13 years--puked. Now I'm home with that kind of flu where you're laying on the bathroom rug, whimpering. Just going downstairs almost killed me--I almost passed out. Then had to go to the car to get the Tylenol--that did me in and now I have no energy to even go lock the door behind my mother who generously came to bring me gingerale.

So here I am, stuck on the sofa with the laptop searing my thighs since I feel too crappy to either read, watch TV or sleep. Of course I can still blog, though; I'd probably have to be dead to be too sick to be on the computer.

I was about to check Craigslist for writing gigs--did you know that companies are now willing to pay freelancers to blog for them? I figure I'm doing it anyway; if someone wants to pay me I'd be all for it.

So I go to check out the "gigs" section, which is where people looking for freelancers go and notice there's a category for adult gigs. Naturally I'm curious about this section so I go check it out. It's pretty much what you'd expect--looking for nude models, nude cleaning ladies ($250 an hour! Too bad I'm not under 30), escort services--the adult services you'd figure are pretty standard. But there are a lot of random and entertaining ones too--excellent headlines like "In Search of Young Girls Interested in *Working*" (asterix their's). I guess they want to make it clear they're not looking for a typist or barrista or something. Then my favorite:

I just wanted to know if there were any gentleman out there that would like to have a dinner date with an attractive AA lady?

I am interested in having a Sushi dinner (at a place that has quality sushi) or just a trip to Panera....I'm just hungry and have a taste for one of those two things.

This is for dinner only and all that I ask is you provide a donation to have a dinner date this evening in the area (or very close to).

I would like 100 for the time spent and gas (NO FS just dinner)....If you are interested in a dinner date with classy ebony lady please drop me line

If this isn't an example of truth being more awesome than fiction, I don't know what is. First, there's the specificity: I'm definitely craving either sushi (and quality sushi, at that) or Panera. Nothing else will do. Then the "donation" for the dinner date--aren't those two things mutually exclusive? Either you're on a date, or he's giving a donation so you can take yourself to sushi or Panera. Then there's the contratictory "this is for dinner only" then "I would like 100 for the time spent." And the weirdest part--wtf is "FS"?

Basically, I'm hungry and want some stranger to not only pay for my dinner at my choice of restaurant, but pay also for my time and gas. And no FS, whatever that is. All I can do is give the girl props for trying, and tell her maybe she should aim higher than Panera if she's going to the effort to hitchike for perverts on the internet. I'm very tempted to email her just to ask if she had any takers, did they choose sushi or Panera, did the guy actually fork over the $100 time/gas surcharge and did he demand FS?

This board offered many head-scratchers, too: what is CFNM? Twink bottom? Ugh--and nasty dad looking for childcare. Come take care of my kid and be my whore for free, and I might let you live here. There's an opportunity worth considering.

Friday Night

Wouldn't you know it--I finally have time to write and my mind is blank. The air conditioner is broken so the heat is blocking my thought processes.

I just went to sign onto Facebook and, prepopulated in the email address field was my daughter's email address. I sign in and yes, there it is--she has a Facebook page. Thankfully nothing on it--yet--but a handful of friends.

Ok, kill me now--I just went to take a closer look and started checking out the friends of her friends and a) it is freaking me out that these girls (not Mimi, thankfully) describe themselves as "X high school '11." Um, they're in 6th grade--what's up with trying to pass as high school girls? And one of the girls has a photo of herself in a bikini--in the snow.

Cassie--you should be SOOO glad you don't have to deal with this yet!

Ok, well Patrick just got home and the AC is broken so I gotta go hang with the hubby.

This numb finger is killing me. Not literally--it doesn't hurt--but it's at best annoying and at worst basically crippling if all you do all day is type and use a mouse, then most of what you like to do for fun involves either typing or using a mouse. It's like being a big talker but having to sit around with a piece of tape over your mouth.

It was getting better for a few days--I thought it was almost gone since it was down to one tiny spot on the tip of my pinkie being slightly tingly, but now it's back to my entire pinkie being almost totally numb. Now that my one week of not having health insurance is over and I am once again covered, I think I'm going to have to cave and go to the doctor.

I hate having ailments that don't just go away either with the passing of time or with the help of a few pills. At least with an infection or something you can just call the doctor and he can phone in a prescription--no office visit necessary. But unfortunately it seems like stretching or not stretching or Advil or ice or heat or sleeping with an arm split on sleeping with a wrist splint are helping this nerve thing so maybe I better figure out which doctor to go to.

In the meantime, if you are suicidal because I haven't written anything entertaining lately, you can read my other, other blog where I wrote about something Patrick said that I thought was brilliant and hilarious. Nobody else seemed to think it was very hilarious, but what do they know.

Nothing's really up lately. My new job rocks. The weather is nice. The pool is open. My birthday is in 2 weeks and Patrick is taking me here. I am so excited--not only is it the fanciest place on the planet (next to my beloved Wynn) but they have shooting there. Being there will definitely take the pain of turning 40 away. Hopefully this f-ing hand is better by then; I have never shot a real gun before and don't want anything messing up my shooting ability.

Well, sadly, must go back to typing moratorium.

Readin'

Since I haven't been able to type or play computer games much I've had to resort to other recreational pursuits. I'm not much of a TV lover (although the new Denise Richardson show looks promising for trashy entertainment; that girl has a worse trash mouth than I do and it is NOT attractive) so I have mostly been reading. A lot.

I already wrote about Augusten's new book--naturally it rocked. Since then I have read the following:

Madness: A Bipolar Life by Marya Hornbacher. It was good but depressing and freaky. If you want to feel normal, read this book. Just reading it is exhausting; I can't imagine having to live it. This book could serve as a FIO DSM: if you relate to this girl and/or have experienced what she has, you're crazy; if not, you're fine. Ok--sorry--I know "crazy" is not the PC term, but since I am supposedly crazy myself I'm allowed to call it that. And I'm telling you--I am 1000% less crazy than this poor woman.

Split by Suzanne Finnamore. I read this book because Augusten recommends it; I think she's a good friend of his. Lucky cow. Anyway, while I did like it and ultimately think she's a good writer, it took a long time to warm to her style. It could have something to do with the fact that I cannot relate to women who know their husbands are cheating yet choose to live in denial and want him anyway. Her story is that one day her husband just announces he's leaving and she is devastated and desperately wants him back, even when we learn, though a series of flashbacks spanning as far back as the beginning of their relationship, that he was a serial cheater.

She describes finding a book of poetry--with a romantic inscription and "xoxo Me"--in their house and it's sure not hers. She finds a cocktail napkin with some romantic song lyrics written on it in her husband's handwriting, complete with some other woman's name written in the margins or something; not only does she find it but she finds it on the floor of the nursery when she is 8 months pregnant.

Then of course there's the blatantly obvious: he has left her for another woman who he moves in with and proceeds to have a baby with. Throughout the whole thing Finnamore just swoons about how much she loves him; she repeatedly sleeps with him and, right up till the very last paragraph, seems to revel in the fact that he still likes to be with her or spend time with her or sleep with her when the fancy strikes him. She lovingly describes how he will just show up unannounced and help himself to her food, her furniture--even her mail. The guy turns my stomach--he leaves her for this other woman, then is cheating on the other woman with her. All the while she's painting him in this romantic light; how what they had was so beautiful and special and he obviously can't live without her. Meanwhile, it's blaringly apparent that the guy is a sociopath who does what he wants, when he wants, with who he wants and doesn't give it a second thought. Scott Peterson was very charming and sincere, too--and look how that turned out.

I don't mean to cut on Augusten's friend, but I just don't understand how she can stand to look at this guy, much less continue to mourn losing him and want him back. The book is good, but I say that very reluctantly because the whole thing was almost ruined by her ridiculous longing for her dick of an ex-husband.

Ok, well my pinkie is totally numb now so that will have to suffice; I'll fill you in on the other books I've read when I regain the feeling in my finger.

Can't...Type...



Wow, I'm having blogging withdrawal, it's been so long since I've written in here. It's partly due to the fact that I have a new job where I have actual work to do--imagine that. And it's also by necessity since I'm valiantly trying to will my nerve-damaged hand to heal without having to seek medical help. I have pretty much figured out what's wrong: ulnar nerve entrapment. It's freaky because my hand is numb in the EXACT blue places on this picture, right down to the half index finger.

Guess I'll try sleeping with a huge towel wrapped around my elbow so I can't bend my arm. Not. Sadly I sleep on my side with my arm curled up in the exact "don't" way indicated on that page. I guess I could try some version of the towel thing, but it will necessitate me having to take a double-dose of Ambien to be able to sleep. (Just kidding, mom.)(My mom's suggested dose of every medication: cut the pill in half, or even in quarters. If you go by her rules you pretty much just have to think about the pill and that should be sufficient to relieve your symptoms.)

At any rate, since I have to spend my working life at the keyboard I need to spend all non-work time trying to keep my arm straight as a stick; e.g. not typing or using a mouse. Therefore blogging sadly has become as verboten as playing Luxor. I have determined that the way to avoid future game-related injuries is to buy a Wii--that way I can still waste countless hours playing video games but I won't be glued to a keyboard.

Actually, I'm sure that logic is flawed and I'd end up with some other Wii-related injury, which is just as well since I have about 100 other things I could spend the $500+ it would cost to buy the Wii, the controllers and all the other accessories necessary to have any fun with it.

Well, I'd love to stay and chat but it's time to go back to doing something that doesn't require use of my elbow or right hand.

Sigh. I hope this goes away soon.

Birthday Weekend

At this exact time 12 years ago I had just gone to McDonalds and eaten a double quarter pounder with cheese and a large fries, then walked for as long as a huge pregnant lady can walk after eating all that, then sat down to watch Victor/Victoria (it just happened to be on TV). At 10 pm I got up to go to the bathroom and--splash!--my water broke while I was on the toilet. Sorry for the sound effect but it was notably funny that it did literally sound like a water balloon had dropped into the bowl.

Anyway, here I am, 12 years later, sitting on a different sofa with a crick in my neck that I swear hurts more than labor did. (not to gloat but I actually never had any labor pains at all with Mimi--I'm not even kidding). Yesterday I took Mimi and her friend for a birthday weekend "away"--if you could being 30 minutes south of here at an Embassy Suites away. I had been dreading it--stuck with two 12 year-old girls for 24 hours--can you imagine? But I was actually pleasantly surprised--it wasn't half bad. Better yet, it was even--dare I say it?--fun.

You would think that two 12 year-old girls together would be double the surly-ness and, therefore, intolerable, but it was actually the opposite; they somehow cancelled each other's hormones out or something and were downright pleasant to be with. We went to see Baby Mama--I give it an 8, btw--went to the hotel pool, ate pizza and watched TV.

It was all good until bedtime. The friend had to leave at 9 so it was just me, Mimi and a king-sized bed. We hadn't had time to watch a movie with the friend so it was now time for the movie. There were at least 10 movies that were both suitable for a 12 year-old and fun for me to watch. But of course that would have been too easy--after much deliberation, Mimi chose the feature-length Hannah Montana concert.

I managed to read for a while with the help of earplugs, then actually fell asleep before the movie was even over. At 2 am I was woken up with an elbow jab to the eye, courtesy of Mimi who manages to take up the entire bed, no matter how big it is. So I went to sleep on the sofa and must have slept wrong because I woke up with a ripping crick in my neck.

The sad reality is that I've been totally spoiled as far as hotels go. There is a world of difference between the Frette-sheeted bed in a salon suite at the Wynn and the pullout couch bed at Embassy Suites.

But I digress...bottom line is that, come midnight, I am the mom of an official 12 year-old girl.

Go Augusten! A Wolf At The Table is a Bestseller!

I finished Augusten's new book, A Wolf At The Table, and it was fabulous. It's definitely different from his other books--for one thing, it's not light or funny or self-deprecating. It's just sad, but beautifully written. I won't say more than that because you have to read it yourself but I will say that I don't understand why people harp about whether or not his books are actually true or if he made stuff up or what. Who cares? A book is a book and he's an awesome writer and his stories are engaging whether or not they're true. I wish they weren't true--I wish he didn't have such a sad story to tell--but at least he's happy and successful now.

I hope he sells a million copies of this book so next time he does a book tour he gets to go to more stores than the one tiny one he'll be doing in DC on Tuesday, which I may well miss--much to my infinite sadness. I thought he'd be at Barnes and Noble or whatever out in the burbs, but apparently not. Actually, maybe he chooses the venues and didn't want a big store?

Anyway, to add insult to injury, when I tried to look at the website for the group that's sponsoring the signing he's doing in DC I couldn't view it because the place I work blocks gay and lesbian websites. I'm not talking porn; I'm talking the Human Rights Campaign Equality Forum website. How they don't get slapped with a discrimination lawsuit here for blatantly blocking anything having to do with gays is beyond me.

At any rate, go read it and tell me what you think. And keep your fingers crossed that I can get downtown by 6:30 pm on Tuesday to see him!

Happy Mother's Day

Mimi (who will be 12 a week from tomorrow) may be Wednesday Addams incarnate but the girl can write a fierce poem. Who needs Hallmark when you can come up with this?

You are so pretty
For all the other moms I take pity
You have the best style
Especially in your smile
You have (very) slightly jiggly buns
But you have hard rock guns
Your teeth are perfectly white
Your pretty face shines so bright

Happy Mother's Day!

UPDATE

My mom called to say that Mimi shouldn't be praised for writing a poem about my boobs. I thought everyone knew "guns" means arms. Think what's-her-name in Terminator. Except mine aren't that rock-hard. My arms, that is.

I'm Hot

Wow--today my blog is in the "What's Hot" section of myragan.com (the "All this twitter is making me crazy!" headline). If you're reading this post on a day other than today, it's probably no longer up there--alas, the fleeting nature of any spotlight.

Oh and, yes, I am that much of a loser that I have 3 blogs. That one on myragan.com was just an experiment to see how many people actually read it vs. how many people read Mizz Information. As of 1 pm today 149 people have read the myragan.com one. Average daily visits to Mizz Information? That would be zero.

Do the math on that.

Forget Blog to Book Deals--This Chick Says You Can Make $1M Blogging

Ok, forget the blog-to-book deal concept entirely; according to Jessica Santina at Yahoo! Education, one of the 10 hottest emerging careers is blogging. She claims that top bloggers can make 6-figures--or even millions!!

I guess the operative word here is "top;" presumably "top" doesn't apply to bloggers who write about stuff like how Mallory looks old or which movie rocked and which movie sucked. You never know, though...

Is Desperate Housewives That Desperate?

Ok, not to be catty, but we were watching Desperate Housewives last night and suddenly there's a new character on Wisteria Lane. Apparently Carlos and Gabby need money so badly they've resorted to renting out rooms in their house. They're interviewing this potential tenant and I keep looking at her thinking "Who IS that? She looks familiar."

The whole time I kept thinking she looked like a very weathered Mallory--you remember fresh-faced Mallory, right?



Doesn't this sort of look like her, except gaunt and, um, not attractive?


It is her.

Ok, actually she doesn't look that bad in this picture--on the show her character turns out to be a drug dealer and let's just say she looks like she's her own best customer. You'll have to watch it next week to see what mean.

If nothing else she just looked so un-hollywood. I'm so used to everyone looking like they get better and better as they get older--actresses, that is--what with fat injections and botox and eye lifts and who knows what else. Honestly--look at Courtney Cox or Katie Couric or Christy Brinkley--or almost any actress/model over the age of 40. Granted, everyone looks slightly like they've been replaced by an alien that looks ALMOST the same but something's not quite right--but they all look pretty glam.

Then look at Mallory (she's always Mallory to me, not Justine Bateman) on Desperate Housewives--you'll have to watch it next week because I can't find any links to photos bad enough to illustrate my point, and trust me, I do have a point. She just looks weird--I don't know if she attempted some kind of plastic surgery and it somehow didn't work out or what, but she looks sort of like a cross between a gaunt, stoned version of her former self and Michael Jackson. Seriously.

Forget Waiting for a Book Deal--You Can Create and Sell Your Own Book

My friend Renee is my guru of stuff like The Secret and The 4-Hour Work Week--basically all that power of positive thinking stuff that most people think is a crock but I personally buy into. She reads my blog and knows about my obsession with the book deal because she sent me this link.

Unless I'm reading it wrong it appears you can write a book and, for a cost of $3.66 per book with fewer than 108 pages (or $1.50 plus $.02 per book if it's more than 108 pages) print it and sell it on Amazon or wherever you want.

Um, how cool is that?

Now that we know there is the actual option of writing a book we all need to think of something to write and do it, if for no other reason than curiosity. If a random nobody writes a book and manages to market it successfully enough I suppose it would be possible to create your own million dollar book deal.

For instance--I have been listening to the audiobook of The Secret (also kindly given to me by Renee--thanks if you're reading this!) and Jack Canfield, the guy who wrote Chicken Soup for the Soul, tells the story of how he decided he wanted to earn $100,000 in a year and dreamed up the idea for that book and went for it. Here's his bio now:

Jack Canfield, has worked his way from being a teacher to holding a Guinness world record for having seven books simultaneously on The New York Times® Best Sellers list. As a coauthor of the Chicken Soup for the Soul® series, he's sold more than 80 million books. Canfield has traveled to over 21 countries, delivering hundreds of keynote speeches, workshops and trainings each year. Canfield has appeared on numerous television shows. Today, he shares his success strategies with companies and associations worldwide

The only problem is that, if I apply Jack Canfield's theories to myself, I can already tell you that I would never succeed at building my own million-dollar empire because the only part of it I'd want is the million dollars.

I don't actually want to be an entrepreneur or build an empire. I don't want to travel or do any public speaking. I want the structure of going to an office every day and having someone else worry about the details. So if I apply the principles of The Secret to myself I've already shot any chances of being a passive millionaire--or any kind of millionaire--because I don't actually WANT to have that life and the universe only sends you what you want.

Oh well. The universe sent me a cool new job and the link to this self publishing thing so the message is that if I ever want to publish a book I can just do it myself. The universe also probably knows I have no initiative beyond writing this blog so won't be publishing a book anytime soon, unless it's a book of short short stories. Yes, that is an actual writing genre, by the way.

Obviously, the concept of short short stories was tailor-made for me; it may as well be called FIO fiction. Read these stories and tell me you don't think they're a stroke of FIO genius.

How Do You Say Eco-Friendly in French?

I got this from my one of my favorite new blogs, Stuff White People Like.

This is truly a case of fact being funnier than fiction. Check out Le Petite Paradise Preschool's website --if you didn't know better wouldn't you think it's a joke? I personally can't see how it's NOT a joke.

Check out the eco-friendly section and you'll see what I mean. Any sales pitch that has to use the qualifier "mostly" just can't be for real, can it?

If so then I am "mostly" eco-friendly myself. I "sometimes" take my empty soda cans to the kitchen at work to put them in the recycle bin. No matter that it's maybe 1 in 10 times; I am still committed to recycling, non? And I "mostly" recycle paper and cardboard--unless I'm too lazy to walk the few extra steps to the recycle bin and must put it in the trash instead. The floors at my house "might" be made of wood from genetically enginered trees, therefore having spared hundreds of real trees. Or possibly not.

Anyway, I'm sorry but I am not thoroughly convinced that it's not a joke--I mean, school anthem on the website?

Mizz Information

Nobody ever reads my other blog, Mizz Information, so I may as well re-purpose what I've written there lately and save myself the effort of writing anything here.

How's that for both self-serving and lazy?

Don't Say They Didn't Warn You

Last week I heard something on the radio about the FDA taking another look at the safety of Lasik. I never did catch the full story, but was sufficiently curious that I checked out the Washington Post's archive and found a few articles about it.

Apparently "in fury and despair," some angry Lasik patients went before federal health advisers to recommend that the government warn more clearly about the risks of the surgery.

I don't get it--anyone who does two seconds of research about Lasik knows about the possibility of halos and dry eyes. A few months ago I wrote about my Lasik experience and the resulting dry eyes and less-than-perfect vision. I mean, I guess I could hold the surgeon accountable for my complications--one of the main reasons I wanted Lasik in the first place was because my eyes were so dry contacts were a nightmare. Also, I had large pupils. He did know about these things and still did the surgery--but then again, I knew about these things and still elected to have the surgery.

How much of this is about the doctors wanting to make a profit and risking patients' eye health as a result and how much is it about people wanting perfect vision at any cost? How many patients, if told by a doctor that they weren't good candidates for the procedure would seek another opinion and, if that doctor told them it would be fine, would go ahead and have it? I'd be willing to bet at least half would go ahead despite the warnings.

I--and I'm sure I'm not the only one--just wanted what everyone who opts to get Lasik wants: to be able to see perfectly without glasses or contacts. Was I guaranteed a perfect, complication-free result? Absolutely not. Sure, chances were that I'd be fine like the majority of people who have it and wake up with 20/20 vision and never give it another thought--but did anyone promise me that? Not at all. Granted, while they don't gloss over the warnings per se, they do do the "don't worry--complications are very rare" thing.

I'll tell you one thing, though--they sure won't touch my eyes now. I've gone back a few times hoping they could "tweak" my vision--which I think is about 20/40 but they now claim I have a predisposition to complications and am no longer a candidate. If that's not a cover your ass, I don't know what is--but somehow they didn't realize I had this "predisposition" to complications before I had the surgery. I guess you can only be predisposed AFTER you've already had the complications.

At any rate, even with my dry eyes and halos and need for light prescription contacts or glasses, if I could go back in time I'd still have had the surgery. To me while yes, it's annoying that I don't have 20/20 vision with no dry eyes at all, it was crippling to have vision so bad I couldn't see my glasses on the table in front of me or read a shampoo bottle in the shower. Before I had Lasik, if I had been on a desert island and my glasses had broken I would have been totally SOL; now I'd be fine, and to me that's worth having to use eye drops and wear contacts or glasses if I want to see 20/20.