Thursday, July 29, 2010

sweaty, sweaty serendipity

I'm angry at my gym.

Because they canceled belly dance. Because their classes are always late or moved around. Because the whole place smells like a boys' dorm room, yet there are people in gloves constantly cleaning on whatever machine you want to use. Because LA Fitness thrives on a culture of "It's not my job". And mostly because they force my kids to watch Tom & Jerry and then treat me like a moron when I complain.

So I thought maybe I'd shred again.

The only problem, besides the fact that shredding is painful and horrible?

I couldn't find Jillian anywhere.


Places I looked:

* Every computer in the house.
* Every bookshelf, drawer, cubbyhole, and crystal champagne chiller.
* Every farmhouse, whorehouse, henhouse, and house of pies.
* Every DVD case that I knew had been downstairs in the last year.
* Every CD case in the house and car, because yes, I still like CDs. And Super Mario 3.
* All over the garage, EVEN THOUGH THERE ARE CAMEL CRICKETS.
* Every place I would conceivably hide the Shred DVD, thinking, "Oh, look! It's Jillian! I'll want to shred again someday, so I'll put it somewhere SAFE that I won't FORGET."

No luck.

It was making me crazy. I really wanted to work out! I even tried Netflix's PLAY NOW list of exercise videos, but it was ridiculous. Here's a warning: If it's labeled HOT DANCE JAMS, you can pretty much bet on three skinny white girls stepping back and forth to elevator music in yoga gear and saying, "Let's really throw down, ladies!"



So last night, after Dr. Krog went unconscious during episode 2 of Supernatural (hint: THE WENDIGO DID IT), I decided that I needed to watch something magical and fun that wouldn't cause Dr. Krog to sleep-ridicule me, which is what happens if I try watching costume dramas or vampire movies. I went through our entire DVD collection searching for just the right mix of entertaining and I'll be asleep in fifteen minutes.

And then I found it. Harry Potter 4: Everyone Looks Like the Beatles and There's a Dance.

I opened the case, and guess what was inside?



That's right. JILLIAN.

She was just hangin' out with the Harry Potter gang, probably urging the Weasley brothers to up their cardio and build up those noodle arms.

So this afternoon, when t.rex goes to sleep, I'll be shredding.

Monday, July 26, 2010

further adventures from zombieland

I woke up at 5:12 this morning with visions of baby stealing zombies dancing in my brain. The dream started with an idyllic drive through the country in a convertible with t.rex in the back seat. Then blood-colored, carnivorous flowering vines were reaching into the car for us, and then the hordes of undead were tromping across mist-shrouded hills, and then we were trapped in a strip mall in North Carolina and I was giving the zombies a taste of my muay thai flava while lamenting the loss of my glasses and the mysterious disappearance of my favorite baby carrier.

"5:12?" I said to myself. "BFD. I've got another hour to sleep. Mmm. Sleep."

And then I became a zombie myself at 5:35 when t.rex began the mind-numbing torturefest that is Monday Morning with Children. I supplied milk, Brahms, and a well-meaning pat, but his mindless, moaning desires could not be stopped. Or even stalled.

"Baaaaaaaaar!" he moaned. "Mama, BAAAAAAAAARRRRR!"

And here he sits, pantsless, face smeared with red goo and white stuff and brown crumbs, shuffling around the house.

And me? I feel like I took 3 Unisom and can't quite wake up. I've had 3 cups of coffee. It's half-caf, but it usually works like a charm. I had breakfast and a square of dark chocolate. My next line of defense involves one of those ginormous needles full of pure adrenaline like the one from Pulp Fiction.

But I've finally figured it out. The reason why parenting is so hard. After all, babysitting is super easy. Teaching other people's kids isn't even that hard. But parenting? Every day is "one of those days". Here's the secret:

Parenting is like trying to take the SATs after a week of all-nighters. But then the SAT cries and poops, too, so when you should be taking it, you're taking care of it.

I'm a zombie because I'm chronically sleep deprived from taking care of their needs and then my needs. I don't take the time to eat full meals. I forget to drink water. And there are so many other things I want to do at night after they go to bed, writing and painting and reading and movies and talking, so many things that help me feel like a real human again, that I have trouble getting to sleep, and then I'm even sleepier the next morning.

So of course even the tiniest problem seems huge. Of course we can't think ahead and plan and deal with intricate developmental issues like the people writing the books. Our brains barely function, and we're not feeding them. There's no escape, no vacation, no down time.

WE ARE BEING CHASED BY ZOMBIES ALL THE TIME, BUT WE ARE ALREADY ZOMBIES, SO WE CAN'T EFFECTIVELY FIGHT THE ZOMBIES. THAT WE ARE.

That's deep. Or maybe my near-catatonic state is just making it seem deep. Now I have to go take a bath and go to the mall and consume things for some minor seratonin hits.

Friday, July 23, 2010

us vs. the death star

Have you ever wondered what really happened to the Death Star?

I mean, you don't seriously believe that a whiny moisture farm boy accustomed to psychopathically lasering womprats just zoomed in with his gun going bew-bew-bew and destroyed the entire thing in, like, 5 seconds using "the Force"?

No way.

Here's what really happened.


First, the Biscuit tried. Then a bunch of other kids tried.

Then I beat the sh*t out of the Death Star with a broom handle.


Honest. That's me taking down the Death Star.

And... um... I guess that's a mosquito zapper in the background. To get rid of space bugs.

Special thanks to Jenny for having us over to play Smack the Pinata today. I can honestly say that Jenny made the best Death Star pinata I've ever seen.

Monday, July 19, 2010

flower power




and also



That's calendula, by the way. The thing that's in all the natural diaper creams. It's supposedly very soothing. When applied to the bottom-- not when eating.

What can I say? It's not like it came with an instruction booklet.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

now for something completely different

No snark. No self-deprecating humor.

Just pretty pictures from Germany.

You know-- like art, or whatever.

I give you art.

*











Okay, one little anecdote.

One of my lovely traveling companions needed to powder her nose. So she asked our waitress, who spoke English, "Where's the restroom?"

The waitress escorted her to a door, opened it, and smiled politely while my traveling companion stared in confusion at a dark room. Then she realized that there was a language barrier.

Our hostess had just provided a room in which she could rest. A nice, dark room. For all those times during dinner when you need to rest.

Then it was realized that "restroom" is the polite American term for "toilet". They got it all figured out, in the end.

In case you're ever in Germany and need to powder your own nose, I recommend requesting the "toiletten", and if you're a girl, make sure you go into the one for "Damen".

We learned that lesson the hard way, too. Only Herren need urinals.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

germany: part 1

1. Business class is awesome. I can't imagine how First Class could be better, unless they give you your own pony and a foot massage.


After my usual hectic life of waking up at 6, wrangling 2 children, cleaning (or not cleaning) the house, keeping up with friends and family, managing Dr. Krog, writing books, writing reviews, and writing blogs, 10 hours of forced relaxation on an overnight flight is pure bliss. I read Linger by Maggie Stiefvater, took some Drammamine and Unisom, and passed out until breakfast was served.

2. This was the lunch served on the 1 hour flight from Frankfurt to Stuttgart, which is pronounced with the same SCH sound in SCHUFFERING SCHUCCOTASH by Sylvester the cat. SCHtuttgarttttt. Like that. But spit more at the end.


1. Thought that was a little pastry, but it was clammy chicken. Ate it anyway.
2. Fur lhre Sachertwit. Or something. I think it means "this is a small bag of fur from a unique Germanic monster made of Sacher Tortes". But my German is fuzzy, by which I mean nonexistent.
3. OMG, Sprite can is so cute!
4. Salad with... um... bitter couscous on top? I don't know. I barely got to taste it, because the flight was so short that by the time I had managed to open the dressing and be very surprised by the chicken-that-wasn't-a-pastry, they were taking it away from me and telling me to put on my seatbelt. Seriously, the flight is that short.

3. I brought only one non-Nook-book along with me, Sucks To Be Me, a YA by Kimberly R. Pauley, who won my paintings in the auction for Do The Write Thing for Nashville. Then I started following her on Twitter and won BOTH her books from Novel Novice. Serendipity! Very cute books with a great voice about a girl whose parents are vampires. Note: there is no sparkling.


4. Further proof of why it totally does not suck to be me:

This care package was waiting for me in my room. I smell awesome.


5. I really love foreign signs.


Also, in typical foreign hotel fashion, the numbers were all wonky, such that the 200's were on the 4th floor and the 300's were on, like, the 18th. My floor had interesting paintings of jellyfish. I love seeing actual artwork from local galleries. Such a cool touch!


6. The crosswalk people all look like Optimus Prime.

Click on it and see. And check out the yellow sign, too, if you need more proof.

7. Last but not lease, we walked a gorgeous trail to the biodynamic farm. We saw some cool installation art that I'll talk about tomorrow, but I kept catching glances of something odd through the trees.


So that's part 1 of the Ulra-Fantastic Unruly Germany trip. Now I'm going to go try to make up for my 9 hour sleep deficit, which was only partially quelled by last night's 10 hours of drooling unconsciousness. I mean, I was, like, 20 hours behind before that. I dunno. My math skillz are broken.

I swore I wouldn't be jetlagged, but that was before I yoinked an all-nighter. I couldn't pull 'em off when I was 18, much less 32. Now hand me my Pamprin and some fuzz-covered hard candy and get out of my way. Gramma needs sleep.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

we are now official Schwabians, right?

It's 1:17am. We just got in from the bar. I leave at 4am. As much as I loveloveLOVE/missmissMISS my family, I'm sad to leave. This town is amazing, as are the phenomenal women with whom I've been picking plants, eating, pampering, eating, and making jokes about bears and peanuts.

And Weleda? I'm now a fan. I used to just pass by their products while moseying around SuperTarget and think, "I'm so glad we have more natural options in body products". I had no idea how much care and thought went into every thing they do, and now I just need to lobby for an Atlanta satellite office where I can work part-time making cappuccinos and teaching people how to paint echinacea. And the new pomegranate oil smells totally delish.



The biodynamic fields are gorgeous. We picked flowers that will go into medicinal tinctures, and we visited a field of calendula that was just harvested yesterday morning. Here's what's left of it:



Seriously. I ate a flower with crunch bugs.

It was awesome.

Also, here is another flower.


There are loads of bees in the garden-- you can hear them humming everywhere. And they have an insect hotel, too.

We did not check for vacancies.

But we did have many fine drinks.


Last but not least, I leave you with the sort of marvelous moment that makes such trips unforgettable. We're touring this incredible medieval town, learning secrets and seeing stained glass by Albrecht Durer and asking about After Eight gelato, and then we see this thing. It's like this awful, hunched over, homeless woman who looks like something out of The Dark Crystal. And we all falter a second.

Then we realize it's a gorgeous sculpture of a homeless hedgehog. With velcro soccer shoes. So, naturally, we took a group picture.


Shortly after this, we all stopped to marvel at the Big Dipper, and then Carrie jumped out from behind a sandwich board and I screamed and nearly peed myself. But we don't have pics of that, and I'm not going to admit it again, so don't ask.

More pics later. More fun later. For now, I'm running out of energy and just might grab two hours of sleep before Herr Ott comes to drive me away.

p.s. I love my life.

ich bin ein Schwabster!

Blogging to you live from Schwabisch Gmund, an idyllic little town of winding streets, red roofs, pretzels, and pure happiness. Here's a small hint of what the last few days have held for me:

* Watched Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief-- yes, the entire movie-- while waiting for my plane to take off and am wondering exactly which book it was based on, because I'm pretty sure that was not a faithful adaptation.

* Learned that Business Class international flights are the equivalent of going to a fancy hotel/spa.

* Really enjoyed my Nook while trapped in the Frankfurt and Stuttgart airports.

* Discovered that Germans are delightful and helpful, even when you admit that you can't operate a simple telephone.

* Ate blood sausage and decided that it tastes like a bacon milkshake.

* Met 8 amazing women, and we haven't stopped talking since.

* Drank approximately 10 glasses of wine, 7 bottles of delicious fizzy drinks, and 47 coffee beverages.

* Realized that life without air conditioning is reasonable but life without a fan is insufferable.

* Figured out how to open the window of my hotel room to make sleep reasonable again.

* Saw a man shaped like a capital D who was wearing culottes and a shirt that read only MOTOR OIL.

* Went for a wonderful hike through a nature preserve and pretended I was in the Twilight movies.

* Tried some cool Weleda products.

* Picked bittersweet nightshade, ate most of a calendula flower, and enjoyed the water lilies floating in a sewage pond.

* Practiced throwing sticks at other people while marrying mind and body in a eurythmy class, which has nothing to do with the Eurythmics. Believe me-- we asked.

* Made my own bath milk, which I call DELILAH'S SCHWABSOAP.

And now I have 10 minutes to get dressed for dinner and a tour. I could not be happier, unless maybe horses and birthday cake were involved. I miss my family like crazy, but as we know, I definitely live in the moment. I have missed travel, and I'm so grateful for this opportunity. At 4am, I wake up to travel back home, at which point I'll upload photos and tell you the whole story, including a delightful collection of funny signs about lemurs licking their bottoms in German.

Guten tag!

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

last minute freak-out

You know, I almost enjoy the Last Minute Freak-Out.

That's where you're getting ready to go on a big trip, and you suddenly realize all the little things you've omitted from your careful planning. And all the things that could go wrong.

Here's my to-do list:
* visit my grandmother before she goes to the doctor for her eyeball shot
* go to the store to buy travel food (ie. POP TARTS), organic hot dogs, and apples
* finish last night's last minute pedicure
* purchase Drammamine
* juice up the Nook, the cell, and the iPod (ie. FIND WIRE THINGIES)
* clean the house so that sitters will think, "My, she's tidy".
* purchase paper plates so Dr. Krog won't have to attempt dishes or fight the Great Fruit Fly Epidemic of '10
* clean the food dehydrator so the house won't smell of latent jerky
* make a list of VERBOTEN thingies for the babysitter, including juice boxes, fruit bars, playing with my books, going in my room, and going outside at 2pm barefoot in a diaper. Thanks to our neighbors' untreated-for-3-years-pool-cum-swamp, poor t.rex has so many mosquito bites that his head looks like a Bumbleball.
* finally decide which shoes will be my "walking shoes" for the Weleda gardens, because I still refuse to wear tennis shoes in public
* sigh sadly that my new necklace from Etsy won't arrive today, per USPS
* attend a dinosaur party with the biggest dinosaurs, where we eat cake and cookies and ice cream at the playground with our friends at the sprinkler playgrounds (per the Biscuit)
* choose books to take along in case (NO, IT WILL NOT HAPPEN!) the Nook should fail
* pack stuff
* nurse my son for the last time and wax nostalgic
* pack the stuff I forgot to pack earlier
* learn something in German besides "ich bein", "sprachen zie", "guten tag", and "wilkommen", which aren't going to help much
* briefly wish the Germans had the good sense to speak French or Italian so I could actually converse and help to change someone's mind about the horrid ignorance of Americans
* figure out whether this PDF is my actual ticket, or if I need to go to a machine or speak to someone from Lufthansa, because I feel like an idiot.
* take a limo to the airport and ride in business class while sipping champagne, eating truffles, and reading a book in blissful silence.

Oh, and shower. Definitely shower. Off to do that now.

Well, now-ish.

Monday, July 12, 2010

so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, etc.

So in my younger days, I was quite the globetrotter. I spent a summer in France, a few wintery weeks in Italy, a bright blue July in Greece. But since then, my international travels have included Cancun and Grand Cayman, two places known mostly as meccas of drunken partying. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

But tomorrow? I'm totally going to GERMANY.

Why? Because I'M A SPY.

Just kidding. As an Associate Editor of Cool Mom Picks, I've been invited on a press tour of Weleda's biodynamic farm and headquarters in Shwabisch Gmund.

Pretty much everything I know about Germany came from The Sound of Music, so I've been cutting up my curtains to make leiderhosen and practicing my singing. Okay, we all know those are lies, because I really stink at both of 'em. I've actually been learning how to use the new camera Dr. Krog bought for me and trying to get all my ducks in a row on the home front. What does that mean? Writing, editing, cleaning, getting new media on my old iPod, Gwar, and pulling that weird muscle/tendon that runs from the back of my shoulder to my neck to my elbow.

I plan on blogging and Tweeting while I'm out and sharing pics of my journey-- that is, when I'm not reading Catching Fire (YA by Suzanne Collins) and Linger (YA by Maggie Stiefvater) on my Nook. I've seriously been saving both books for this trip. One of the great things about the Nook is that you can read guilty pleasure books and nobody knows.

If they ask, I'm reading Eat, Pray, Love.

Just kidding. But seriously, the trailer for that movie? Wow. Julia Roberts = so much no, unless we're talking Pretty Woman 2: Whore With a Heart of Gold and Teeth the Size of Rhode Island, Venereal Bugaloo.

In other movie news, I can't wait to see Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. Wacky, weird, and involves Jason Schwartzman as Evil Ex #1. I hope Michael Cera doesn't pull a Jack Black and just play increasingly awkward versions of himself until he's a walking cardboard cut-out.

Let's see. Other tidbits.

1. Writing. I've realized that characters are the biggest weakness of my books, so I'm working on deepening and broadening my main characters. For the latest work, codename: Psych, I finally found the right soundtrack, which is based on the Brand New station on Pandora.com. Lots of Blink 182 there. Good times.

2. Parenting. I read this amazing article in the NY Times and felt immediately better. The way I feel? Pretty normal. Apparently, we're not wired to take 100% total joy in every second of interaction with our children. Feel like I dodged a bullet, there.

3. Movies. We saw Predators, and it was awesome. We thought it had been directed by Robert Rodriguez, which is always a good sign, but he was actually the producer. I liked almost everything about it-- except for Adrien Brody. He's one of those actors for whom I just can't separate roles and reality. So instead of thinking, "Man, that nameless assassin is tough," I thought, "Man, Adrien Brody sure has a big, weird nose. But he's buff. Way to go, Adrien Brody!" Anyway, it's a nice, old-fashioned, creepy monster movie. Very nice building of tension that you don't see very often in today's "Vin Diesel Blows Crap Up" movie world.

And now I have to go... um... do stuff.

Also, I hate fruit flies.

How are you?

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

30 things are not enough

I was thinking today about all the odd skills I have, as well as the normal ones I lack.

So I googled "things every woman should know", and apparently all of these lists have to do with turning 30. Oops. I'm late.

Let's see how I do, shall we?

1. Hard-boil an egg.
Thanks to Google, I can do this.

2. Diplomatically tell Mom to butt out
I hope so. She always sounds happy to see me, even when I tell her that we're not giving away our baby stuff to people our age who won't man up and move out of mommy's house.

3. Ace a job interview
Totally. But most of that is thanks to Metallica's Master of Puppets.

4. Ask a man out
Yo, Dr. Krog. Wanna go buy me a margarita and watch a movie? I promise to laugh too loud and tell teenagers to shut their pieholes. ps. You're paying.

5. Send a thoughtful thank-you note
100% yes. Never underestimate the power of a handwritten note on stationary featuring a Victorian girl walking a rat.

6. Listen to a friend in need
I'm all ears, although I'll probably have to stop midsentence and chase t.rex. But I'll always follow up on Facebook later to make sure you're okay.

7. Ask for help
HELP!!!!

8. Effectively end an unhealthy relationship (romantic or platonic in nature)
You know what, dairy? We're through.

9. Beautifully wrap a gift
Give me some newspaper, twine, and a dry magnolia pod, and I'll make you weep.

10. Say “no” gracefully
I like to say "no" while swan diving into a pool of champagne.

11. Whip up a great dinner with the five items in her fridge
Sure. None of them are currently in the fridge, but I could conceivably do it.

12. Forget pleasing him, by 30 a woman should be able to tell her man exactly how to please her
::whistles::

13. Sew a button
I don't actually own clothes with buttons, because they require ironing and dry cleaning. But I could sew a button on someone else's clothes. Or on a teddy bear's missing eye.

14. Mix a kick-ass cocktail
Amaretto + sour mix + ice. Done.

15. Take off her bra without removing her shirt
Please. I mastered this skill in 7th grade. The phys ed teacher had roving eyes.

16. Apply lip gloss in the dark
If by 'lip gloss' you mean 'Trader Joe's natural mint lip balm', then yes and yes.

17. Balance her checkbook
GET OFF MY BACK. I STAY IN THE BLACK. I AM VERY FROOOOGAL.

18. Create a budget
Booooooring. Can we please quit talking about money?

19. Find the best deal
It's my forte. That, and building forts.

20. Negotiate a salary and/or pay raise
Hey, Doc Krog! I can haz moar dollarz?

21. Read a map
Read one? Hell to the yeah. Follow one.... meh. That's why Nigel the TomTom is my hero. I do better with left and right than east and west, if you get my drift.

22. Hail a cab
Fine. Fine. You know what? You got me. I have no f'ing clue how to hail a cab. Does it involve hitching up my jeans and hollering HUBBA HUBBA?

23. Say something in French just for the hell of it
L'enfer! Eh, ne t'en fais pas.

24. Apologize when she’s wrong
You know what? I'M WRONG. About something, probably. I'm wrong all the time.

25. Dress for her body type
Is AWESOME a body type?

26. Change a flat (or know whom to call to come change it)
I know that's some mighty awkward grammar there. And being grammatically savvy is much more important than knowing how to change a tire. That's what all these big, strong men are for.

Yes, I meant to end the sentence with 'for'. It's called IRONY.

27. Spot a fake (handbag, diamond, potential friend …)
All will say "made in China".

28. Feign interest
This list is the most fascinating thing I've ever read. I can't wait to read more!

29. Know what to tip on a $25 dinner bill
$5, give or take $5.

30. Hold a baby (Hey, someone you know is bound to have one sooner or later.)
It only took one good thumping to teach me-- head goes up, feet go down. sorry, Biscuit!

***

Also, I propose adding the following:

31. Know how to load and shoot a gun and preferably how to shoot a bow.

32. Know how to ride a horse well.

33. Know what to do in case of attack by dogs, bears, or zombies. (hint: 31. and 32. will help)

34. Know how to convince a small child to eat broccoli.

35. Know how to recognize when you're being an irrational crazy person and take the appropriate steps (catharsis, application of sugary sweets, apologies to significant other for that nonsensical email)

36. That you just need to let someone else take care of your damn eyebrows. You're never going to get them all even and smooth. Just fork over the $6 and don't wince, sissy.

37. Figure out which things are the right things to worry about and let the other stuff just happen naturally, understanding that everything will work out for the best.

38. Learn the perfect way to scare your significant other in such a way that they shriek like a little girl, and then you can laugh about it for years. I suggest using lawn gnomes and rubber snakes.

39. When your husband tells you that you make funny facial expressions while you write and then gives you a fabulous little docudrama about it in his boxers, write about it at that exact same moment so he HAS TO PAY. YOU ARE PAYING FOR IT DR. KROG. HOW DOES IT FEEL?

40. Other stuff.

***

Anybody else got another one to add?

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

delilah's cupcakery of dreams

me: ZOMG, THERE IS A NEW CUPCAKE STORE!

dr. krog: So?

me: (turning on 2 wheels and barreling across parking lot) Shh. Driving.

dr. krog: You don't want that trash.

me: I DO. I DO WANT THAT TRASH. (thoughtful pause as I imagine a chorus line of dancing cupcakes) WAIT. Cupcakes *aren't* trash. Cupcakes are like my dreams made flesh, visions spun of sugar and butter and hope and love.

dr. krog: Cupcakes make you fat.

me: Yes, "cupcakes", plural. One cupcake right now will just exactly hit the spot.

dr. krog: Let's be good. Let's eat clean. We'll have a healthy dinner!

me: NO. DON'T WANNA. CAN'T MAKE ME. CUPCAKE.

dr. krog: But what about the kids? You know sugar makes the Biscuit crazy, and t.rex doesn't even know what cupcakes are. Do you really want to drag them in there and show them that you're sugar's b*tch?

me: No. I want to go in there alone and snarf my cupcake in a corner.

dr. krog: Look, you're already parked, but you don't have to go in there and waste money and eat unhealthy food. Let's support each other's goals. Let's win against insurmountable odds. We ate a lot of junk this weekend, and now we're turning over a new leaf. Again.

me: NO. CUPCAKE.

dr. krog: (weary sigh because he knows the battle is unwinnable) Fine. Go. Enjoy snarfing your cupcake while your family waits in the car and listens to Gnarls Barkley.

me: Thank you for your blessing.

dr. krog: That wasn't a blessing. And um...

me: Yeah?

dr. krog: If they should have, say, just a smallish cupcake. Like, a low-fat cupcake that looks lonely and needs a home and appears particularly tasty...

me: I feel you, dawg.

*

The verdict on the new Cloud 9 Frozen Yogurt and Cakes
on Hwy. 92 near the Roswell SuperTarget:

Clean, sparse interior that reminds me of a mall. Decent cupcake selection, but expensive at $2.75 each. Cake nice and moist, buttercream frosting not as thick as I prefer and not as good as Cakes by Darcy. The frozen yogurt bar looked really cool, though, and Dr. Krog approved of the peanut butter yogurt with Reese's Cups on top. Other flavors include red velvet, green tea, and cake batter, all with loads of toppings for .39cents an ounce.

Next time I go, I'm getting froyo, yo.

Still, the more cupcake stores that exist, the better my world will get. And one day, when I make a million bajillion dollars, I'll open Delilah's Mad Tea Party and Cupcakery, complete with stylized booths, rollerskating waitresses dressed like Alice in Wonderland, and local artwork and jewelry for sale. And then I'll invent a time-traveling device and work there-- for myself-- during high school, because I'm not so great at sitting still.

p.s. Thanks, Stephanie, for the head's up!

Thursday, July 1, 2010

weekend readers?

Okay, so I'm super cereal, you guys.

I would like at least 2 more beta readers for this book before I send it off to my agent.

1. People I trust. Or, at least, regular readers/commenters.

2. Can read and provide feedback by Sunday. More "I like it/I hate it, here's why," since most of the spelling/grammar/loose ends have been caught. I hope.

3. Promise not to tell anyone else about it.

If you answer the above criteria, please gimme a holla at delilahpaints [at] yahoo [dot] com.

Also, there are... eh... how to say it... naughty scenes. With words that made me blush as I typed them. So no nuns. No one under 21.

And probably no dudes, as I'm actually terribly shy.

Okay, you may now proceed to the Biscuit's discussion of a magical purple worm.


ps. Jarvenpa, did you get my email?

the magical purple snake

biscuit: Mommy, why are windows?

me: Why are windows what?

biscuit: Why?

me: Are you asking why we have windows?

biscuit: Yeah. You should listen better.

me: Sorry. We have windows to let sunlight into our houses, so that they aren't all dark inside. And so we can see the beautiful trees and sky and see what's going on outside.

biscuit: What's going on outside?

me: Yes, like if people are walking nearby, or if there's a rabbit on the front lawn. Or like when you saw that snake in the back yard last week when you were looking out the window.

biscuit: How does a snake go through a window?

me: Snakes don't go through windows, generally. They try to stay away from people. Especially little king snakes.

biscuit: But what if he broke the window?

me: A snake can't break our window. They aren't strong enough. All the snakes around here are too small.

biscuit: What about a purple worm?

me: A worm definitely can't break a window.

biscuit: No, a purple worm is a big snake thing from my monster book, and he has a big round mouth of teeth and he goes ROWR GROWR GRAAAAAL.

me: Cool. But remember, monsters aren't real. There's no such thing as a purple worm. And why would he even want to go through a window, anyway?

biscuit: To eat our trash.

me: If there is a magical purple snake that wants to come in our house to eat out trash, I will open the window and hand him a bib. That's totally cool.

biscuit: NO, Mommy. He is a MONSTER. And what if he ate the cat? Or Daddy's chicken?

me: Okay, well, I guess we'll keep our windows closed.

biscuit: No, he can crash right through, like BAM. But how do windows stay in?

me: When you build a house, you build a special hole for the windows, then glue and nail them in place. They're part of the house. If you break them, it's very expensive to have them fixed.

biscuit: Then I would tell the magical purple worm, NO, YOU CANNOT BREAK THE WINDOW AND EAT KIKI AND DADDY'S CHICKEN.

me: Maybe we could just buy a sign. They probably have them at Home Depot next to the ones that say BEWARE OF DOG.

biscuit: (sadly) Naw. He can't read.