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?