Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may diet
The good news is that I found a BMI calculator that says I can be 78 kilos and still inside the healthy weight range. The bad news is that I gained two kilos in the last week. I’m eating well for most of this week, beginning yesterday (and I’ve lost .7 of a kilo already, so I’m feeling a little better than I did then).
Yesterday was a tough day because of work (plus of course the blind rage that accompanies a lack of chocolate), and tomorrow will be tough too (I’ll be seeing one student from 8-10pm). But today is good – only two hours, and I finish at 4:40, which means I have time to cook.
In less than a week, it will be three months since I last heard from the “Stormhunter” possible-publisher, so I’ll send them an email. I predict their reply will be, “We’re so sorry. We’ll get onto that as soon as possible. Feel free to send it to other publishers in the meantime.”
I was in contact with Marianne DePierres (a rather well-known young adult author who has read the first chapter) and she reassured me that “polite but persistent” was the right path.
One of the funny things about the Australian publishing industry is that everyone knows everyone else – which means “polite” is the rule, no matter what. Because you won’t ruin your chances with just one publisher, but with all of them.
But why not be polite anyway? The reason I’m not sending “Stormhunter” elsewhere is that that particular possible-publisher gives me REASONS when they reject my books. Generally that kind of information (from a professional) costs up to $700.
I do have another possible-publisher in mind, however.
#145: De-Motivational Posters
Ben sent me a huge list of suggestions, and this is just the beginning (Reverse Burglary and Secret # 6 are coming very soon). Feel free to post these anywhere you like, just link back here when you do.
Play along at home: Make your own de-motivational poster today!
S#81: Ice Cream Parlour
I have a confession to make: I don’t like ice cream. For me, it’s simply not unhealthy enough. There’s not enough sugar, colouring, flavouring and chocolate to make even high-quality ice cream cut it for me.
But I have solved that pressing concern. Some of you are familiar with Jigsaw, Goodberries or Cold Rock ice cream. It’s very easy to make your own version at home.
1. Buy an ice cream base (I like Cadbury choc chip ice cream).
2. Buy fillings – I bought a few:
3. Chop/mash/bash up your fillings and mix them with the ice cream (possibly adding topping, as I did). Refreeze if required (recommended).
4. Eat.
5. Have a lie down and/or a stomach pump.
I particularly like the combination of caramel (any kind) and rocky road chocolate with ice cream. Too many fillings can overwhelm the dish – but sometimes that’s the effect you’re aiming for.
Play along at home: Eat something delicious. Write in and tell me what it was.
Coming soon: Secret # 6
Edit a friend’s novel
De-Motivational posters (I’ve been working on them today)
Make a collage
Go crazy in a lolly shop (pretty soon, because I’m about to lose some weight)
Try, try again (again)
And a surprise or two
#82: Buy Boots
People who know me in the 3D sense will know that I bought my first pair of boots about five years ago now (and left them – frozen, defrosted, frozen again, and holed in numerous places – in China this January). Way back when I bought them, I’d been thinking about buying new boots for some weeks, and had decided on a light brown pair from a particular shop, that I knew cost my maximum of $100 (I was rather poorer then, and had never spent such a lofty sum on a single item of clothing before). There were only two tiny problems: 1. I had selected them based on the belief they were lined with warm fur (they weren’t). 2. The only pair left in the shop was two sizes too small for me.
I bought them anyway. At first I could only walk a few steps before the pain made me hobble. But in a mere two years they were no less comfortable than all my other shoes. By the four year mark, they were my most comfortable shoes. (Again, I sense some elusive life lesson here.)
As those boots grew increasingly obvious aeration holes, I knew the time had come to buy a new pair of boots to see me through Winter 2010 (here in the Southern hemisphere, I have less than a month remaining until Winter hits, and nothing but plastic sandals to wear to work). And then it happened: Rivers had a sale on women’s boots.
I hastened to the store with heart in throat and $28 in wallet (it was a rather impressive sale, to be sure). The saleswoman mercifully left me alone to sweat and strain my way into the various boot styles like a stingy wannabe Cinderella. To my great and lasting astonishment, I found a pair in the correct size.
Well, sort of.
The feet are certainly the correct size. The legs. . . well. . .
I’d hate to be indelicate, so let’s just say that I have more legs than, strictly speaking, is required. Not so much more in quantity, but in sheer chocolate-inspired quality. Or, to put it another way, my leg budget for this year is far greater than expected. Or should I say my legs are providing a valuable anti-starvation backup nutrient supply?
Anyway. . .
It is quite difficult to do up the zips on these boots (which, mercifully, go from my ankles up to as close as possible to my knees). So difficult, in fact, that after owning these boots for two days my left index finger (at the first join, where the zipper is dragged from) is red and sore, and my right index finger has a visible blister.
Here’s a picture of the marks on my legs after wearing the boots a few hours (note the puckering on the inside of my legs, where the zipper goes; the mark on my left leg, however, is from shark bite in the Canberra Centre fountain):
Never fear – it always takes a year or two for these things to get into their stride.
Play along at home: Buy boots (long ones if you’re a girl). They’re worth it. If you’re a beginner at the boot game, it’s probably best to be a little fussier on how well they fit.
Coming soon: Secret # 6, suggested privately by Ben, who told me this blog isn’t weird enough. “What the people want is weirdness,” he said. “Something really out there. Ooh, I have an idea. . .”
I will do my best to do it sometime this week.
#142: Make home-made lemonade (with SCIENCE)
Yes, yes, I know – Monday’s predictions of this week’s awesomeness were wildly innaccurate. Shut up.
Every time I see the brilliant yellow of supermarket lemons I think, “Mmm. . . lemonade. . .” Today, while doing the classic “just a little shop on my way home” thing, I saw lemons on special and grabbed two as I flew past (knocking down pensioners with my trolley and elbowing young mums out of my way as I raced for the checkout).
As I write, I’m sipping the sweet beverage itself. Mmm. . . lemonade.
In my (incredibly recent) experience, two small lemons + a bunch of water + three-quarters of a cup of sugar = two glasses lemonade.
But there’s more. My rather sarcastic friend Ben (yes, the one of “Frolic in a Fountain” fame) tasted my lemonade (many eons ago now) and said, “It’s too acidic.”
“Never fear!” I cried. “I’ll add more sugar at once!”
He shook his head slowly. “No. . . sugar is acidic too.”
“Don’t be a fool!” I expostulated (probably while gesticulating). “Are you trying to claim that sugar isn’t the solution to both this and every other problem of mankind?”
He ignored me and went to my fridge, muttering, “Alkaline! We need alkaline!”
I eyed the exits and calculated whether or not I could beat him outside if he grabbed a knife and attacked me.
Eventually, he grabbed. . . a pack of bicarb soda. He said, “This should work.”
With grave doubts about him and everything he and his science degree stood for, I added a small amount of bicarb to the mix, and tasted it.
That moment changed my life.
It was the best lemonade I’d ever tasted. Not only did the bicarb soda keep the wonderful taste intact while eliminating the mouth-puckering pain, it gave the drink a tiny hint of fizz that I love to this day. Thus, in today’s batch of lemonade I added half a teaspoon of bicarb.
Play along at home: This is easy, cheap, delicious, and protects you against scurvy. So get to it, you maggoty excuse for a landlubber’s dog!
Tomorrow: Something awesome. (Haven’t decided what yet. Plans are for sissies.)
#89: Take St John’s Wort (and complete twittertale)
On Tuesday I began taking St John’s Wort, which is a herbal remedy for anxiety, depression, or manic depression. Being herbal, it’s pretty mild – but it’s sufficently hard core that it shouldn’t be taken if you’re pregnant, trying to be pregnant, or trying NOT to be pregnant (by which I mean that it makes the contraceptive pill less effective). Also you definitely shouldn’t mix it with any other mental-illness meds.
It was CSI that got me onto St John’s Wort. They featured an obscure medical condition called “hypergraphia” – the irresistible compulsion to write, and keep writing (that’s physical writing – not editing, researching, or planning one’s literary opus). As with every other psych condition ever invented, once I heard of it, I said, “I totally have that” and after consulting Dr Wikipedia himself, I discovered that St John’s Wort might help.
The really odd part is that it did. When I first began writing full-time (which was early on in my mental illness), any day that I spent working on a novel was a day I wasn’t able to work on any other piece of writing. It also menat I was hazy at best in my conversational skills. I remember meeting a friend for coffee and finding the whole world stangely coloured around me. (No, I hadn’t been taking any illegal substances.) Since taking St John’s Wort, I became able to remain connected to the real world while writing. Which I’m sure my partner appreciates, since I work almost exclusively on novels these days (which reminds me: I send out a short story to a mailing list on the first day of each month. If you’d like to be on the list, say so in a comment anywhere on this blog and it shall be done – I can see people’s email addresses, but no-one else can).
Play along at home: Stressed? Moody? Sad? You might not be mentally ill, but St John’s Wort may help you stay not crazy. Sane = good (at least, from what I remember). It’s in any supermarket, with all the other pills.
And now. . . . the moment you’ve all been waiting for (except for those of you who didn’t notice it’s Friday today) . . . the complete “Bridezilla” story (the next story, the post-apocalyptic “And then I woke up”, begins on 5 May):
1.
It’s pay day, so I buy pillows. Luckily my wedding dress makes a good maternity dress. I hope this plan works. Tomorrow, here I come.
2.
I dress as a VERY expectant bride and go to the bakery store. As I order a huge pile of hot cross buns, I put one hand to my giant stomach.
*
“Oh you poor dear!” says the matronly type I’ve been observing for days. “Don’t bother paying for those buns.”
*
She winks, “And may I STRONGLY recommend entering our restaurant-dinner-for-two competition?”
I obey her while silently applauding my act.
3.
Today I’m a goth bride with heavy eye-makeup and blood-red feathers on my neckline. I mingle in the bar before Amanda Palmer’s concert.
*
Amanda comes out, hugs me, then takes in my full outfit. “Congrats,” she says – “And you’re NOT paying – or your fiancé, wherever he is.”
*
Being a goth bride rocks. It’s even better than yesterday’s pregnancy. I’ve never enjoyed a concert so much – or been given so much beer.
4.
I promised my daughter a huge pile of Easter eggs – but I also promised she could continue at her school. So I dress her as my flower girl.
*
Easter eggs: Check. Nausea: check. Chocolate smears on May’s face: check. Getting chocolate for a flower girl at Easter is almost too easy.
*
A shrill voice cuts through my pleasure – my ex-bridesmaid, Cherie. “Anna! Did Rob come back and marry you after all?”
“Uh. . . sure. Yep.”
5.
I’m embarrassed after lying to Cherie, so today I go for the dumped bride look. My mascara runs beautifully, and I get more hot cross buns.
*
As I’m lugging a garbage bag of buns to my car, one of the bakery girls comes and helps me. She says, “Wait a second, do I recognise you?”
*
I shake my head, but she says, “Yes! I saw you dumped on YouTube. . . but that was a month ago. What the. . .?”
I flee.
6.
Today I dress as a mum. An emotionally and financially stable mum. I try to arrange my stockings so the holes are hidden inside my shoes.
*
“We’ve been making allowances because of your. . . incident. . . a month ago. But we must have next term’s fee by the end of this month.”
*
After the meeting, I go give May a hug. Her teacher stops me and asks for my number.
“Oh no! What did May –”
“Nothing. I want to call YOU.”
7.
I eat hot cross buns, and ask my boss for a raise. Neither goes down well.
*
When May gets home, I interrogate her about her dark-haired, dark-eyed teacher.
She says, “He’s nice. I got to be the queen in story time.”
8.
I get the card for the free dinner for two at a real restaurant. Yay! Less than an hour later my landlord “drops by”. Uh-oh.
*
May’s teacher calls, and arranges to pick me up on Saturday. My heart’s fluttering so hard, I can’t eat my dinner (of hot cross buns).
9.
May dresses in her best dress for our dinner of Real Food. I wear a skirt. They greet us with champagne. “Where’s the other newlywed?”
*
“Uh. . . he had to work,” I say. They hustle us to our highly beflowered table and tell us to order anything we want. We do.
*
May gets them to make her a hamburger. I have a huge pile of meat and a giant salad. Neither of us eats our bread rolls.
10.
I re-use my pillows to make myself an overweight bride, and take May with me with only an hour to spare before Jack comes to fetch me.
*
We go to a child care centre. I ask, “Can you fit her in? The reception’s about to start and my normal babysitter quit. Today!”
*
“Of course we can,” the staff say, “and don’t you dare pay!”
My date is wonderful. Jack is good company and the food is DIVINE.
11.
I shave my eyebrows to become a more lucrative faux bride, and go shopping. I’m about to graciously accept free Docs when I see Jack!
*
Jack! Shopping as I scam! Disaster! I duck behind the nice lady’s desk, biting my nails in terror. Has he already seen me?
*
The lady gives a commentary on Jack’s passing. “The hot guy’s trying on sunglasses. . . now he’s going away. He’s gone!”
I flee the scene.
12.
My landlord says, “Pay your rent by Wednesday, or I’ll have you evicted.”
I flaunt my Doc Martens and say breezily, “No prob. See you then.”
13.
May and I spend the first day of her holidays sorting our possessions into “Sell” and “Keep”. I get $3 for four books.
*
We’ve tried ebay and twelve different friends, but oddly no-one will buy May’s lifesize poster of Edward Cullen. Go figure.
*
I eat lunch with Jack. He doesn’t mock my eyebrows, but says, “Can we have dinner Friday – with May?”
“YES! Er, that’d be nice.”
14.
I fake receiving an SMS break-up at the service station and get a free tank of petrol. Nice. My eyes are getting tired from fake crying.
*
May and I put everything we can’t live without into our car and go camping. I don’t think she believes it’s really a holiday.
*
We go swimming in the creek and May finally relaxes and starts to laugh. For dinner, we roast our hot cross buns over the fire.
15.
Pay day. I’d need three more to pay school fees, and there’s only one more this month. But I have a plan. Today we buy food – sort of.
*
Eggs for protein and zucchini for vegetable matter. Somehow, toasting zucchini isn’t the same as toasting marshmallows.
16.
For our dinner date with Jack we eat roast lamb with gravy and pumpkin and potatoes. May doesn’t eat the zucchini, and neither do I.
*
The night is perfect. It’s even kind of fun to pretend to go into our old house before sneaking around the corner to our car.
17.
I dress as a harassed bride and May hides behind a column while I claim a fictional honeymoon booking at a nice hotel – prepaid, of course.
*
May jumps on the bed while I boil eggs. She says, “This is your best idea ever!”
“Wait and see.”
She eats the minibar peanuts, grinning.
18.
I dress as a just-awoken newlywed and score free breakfast. Fortunately for May, they’re willing to deliver my “fiancé’s” meal to our room.
19.
May’s friend Sara calls to ask if May can sleep over next Friday.
I say, “Definitely. How about two nights?”
*
Jack calls and we talk for three hours. Mmm. . . school holidays. When the call ends, I can’t remember a single thing we talked about.
20.
Jack and I meet for lunch again. He admires my new Docs. I can’t tell if he’s messing with me or not, but he’s smiling. Is that bad?
21.
I go to a new shopping centre and run into Rob. (Did I mention my ex-fiancé is a cop?) “Are you going to give me my ring back?” he says.
*
I say, “Are you going to pay me for our reception?”
“We didn’t have one – why should I pay?”
“Because when you cancel on the day, you pay!”
*
“Give me the ring!” he says.
I say, “Give me the six thousand you owe me – and one seriously impressive apology.”
“Get lost!”
“You too!”
22.
I’m having lunch at the hotel when one of the staff asks why they haven’t seen my new husband all week. So much for being a newlywed.
*
My throat tightens. I feel my face flush with humiliation. The waitress blushes back at me and hurries away. Ah. Still a newlywed then!
23.
The hotel is too risky. May has one last jump on the bed, and we pack sadly.
I say, “Don’t worry. My big plan is for Sunday.”
*
I drop her at her friend’s house and prepare to spend my night in the park. All at once, I begin to hate ducks. Pompous freaks.
24.
Rain. Great. Being a stressed, pregnant, or overweight bride was all very well. Tomorrow the real performance begins – and ends.
*
I visit my dad in the cemetery to apologise – and explain. “Mum, Dad – I know you would help me if you were alive. But I’m still sorry.”
25.
I dress and act as the daughter of a fallen war hero, and join the veterans after their march as they drink and play two-up in the bar.
*
When I say how much I miss my dad, they do just what I expected: They pass a hat around. I hear notes rustling and coins chinking.
*
I watch an old man struggle to bring the brimming hat to me – then Rob walks in. He says, “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
I run.
26.
Rob calls me fourteen times, and Jack calls fifteen. I don’t answer. Rob SMSes, “I’ll find you.”
Jack SMSes, “I need to see you.”
*
May brings a note home from school, bearing just eleven words: “I know everything. It doesn’t matter. Sell your ring. Love, Jack.”
27.
I dress as myself and go to the pawn shop with my ring. The girl’s eyes widen. “This is THE ring, isn’t it? From the YouTube breakup?”
*
I sigh a yes. “Lucky you!” she says.
I say, “Pardon?”
“All that money!?!”
I stare at her: “PARDON?!”
“Didn’t you read the YouTube comments?”
*
I walk to the car with a money order for the first $10,000. Then I go to the bank. Then I pay the school. Then I pay rent. Then I eat.
28.
Once the treasurer stops apologising to me, Jack and I have lunch in the staff room. “I’d like to buy you a replacement ring,” he says.
*
I look up from my caviar. “So I can keep conning, or so I can stop playing a bride and start playing a wife?”
He smiles, “Hopefully both.”
29.
I take May out a second time. “What would you like for dinner?”
“Not eggs. Or zucchini. Or hot cross buns.”
“Fish and chips?”
“Yeah.”
30.
May, Jack and I go out to dinner together. Jack says, “I bet we could scam a fake honeymoon if the three of us worked together.”
“Let’s!”
THE END
We can still hop
After leaving an answering machine message with the “Farting my ABCs” possible-publisher, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear from them again. But I did. They emailed me today, making it clear that the book is NOT rejected, and they’ll try real hard to get back to me as soon as possible (so, almost definitely within six months then).
So I have a lot more waiting to look forward to – but the book still has a chance.
Aieee!! F%#*!
Have had some internet/work issues this week. (The subject line is a summary thereof.) Nothing too serious though.
I’m writing from my parents-in-laws’ house (hi Barb). Today I phoned the “Farting my ABCs” possible-publisher again and. . . . left a message on the answering machine. Arg!
I didn’t quite make my weight goal, but caved in on Wednesday and bought a huge pile of candy anyway. After three kilos, it’s not a fail – it’s a temporary suspension of success.
http://twittertales.wordpress.com is doing a roaring trade, which makes me feel that I really am getting somewhere. It’s wonderful to know so many people are reading my inane babbling. I love this millennium.
#138: Poetry Reading
My plan was simple: entice people into my home, then strew poetry books around and begin reading aloud. Keep reading until someone else started reading. (Thanks to reader W for this suggestion.)
The plan worked better than I expected. It turned out we (“we” meaning my husband, CJ) had half a dozen poetry books – The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Seven Centuries of Poetry in English, etc. I of course contributed my part: Now We Are Six, by A. A. Milne. (I have a feeling there’s some kind of conclusion to draw here, but can’t for the life of me think what it is.)
We began with Dorothy Parker:
THEORY
Into love, and out again,
Thus I went, and thus I go.
Spare your voice, and hold your pen —
Well and bitterly I know
All the songs were ever sung,
All the words were ever said;
Could it be, when I was young,
Some one dropped me on my head?
We dived into Lewis Carroll, Chauncer, Robin Hobb, Robert Louis Stevenson, Shelley, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Colerige (still don’t know how to spell his name), Tennyson, and Dylan Thomas.
We also spent a few moments with William McGonagall, who is well-known as the world’s worst poet. He used to walk into pubs and start saying his poetry, then get a variety of objects thrown at him. Then he’d go and write poems about getting a variety of objects (wet wash cloths, peas, etc) thrown at him.
Here’s a mercifully brief sample:
ALAS! Lord and Lady Dalhousie are dead and buried at last,
Which causes many people to feel a little downcast.
——
And here for your delectation is the A.B. “Banjo” Parterson piece, “Been There Before” as read by my partner, CJ:
S#69: De-Clutter
It’s been at least six months since I dared look at the single shelf that holds all my jeans, non-hanging skirts, and non-hanging shirts (and, evidently, a good number of hanging skirts and jackets, too). Horrifying stuff:
Motivated mainly to find a particular skirt long since lost in the melee, I emptied out the shelf (mainly onto the bed) and sorted it into sleeve length of top and leg length of bottoms. My cat was kind enough to make sure she shed on items that had been safely buried until this moment.
Once everything was sorted (and some of my ridiculously high number of tank tops were put elsewhere until Summer), I folded everything and put it back in a sensible order.
I’m so delighted to find I was left with five of each sleeve length of shirt, and seven of the longer sleeves that will get increasingly important in the next little while. It turns out I don’t need to buy more, which is an added plus.
Play along at home: Pick one small, messy area of your home (messy either because it’s in constant use – making it useful to you – or very rare use – meaning it’ll stay tidy a long time) and make the clutter go away. Alternatively, look through your house (probably your cupboard in particular) and pick five items to throw or give away. It’s a wonderful feeling.
Felicity Banks 