My brain took Sunday night off. It was very, very tired and a lot sore. I haven’t written any measurable amount of words in days. I’ve had a migraine since Thursday. What a miserable damn thing.
Anyway, I need to write a bio for my agent. I have one on my other web site, www.amylynnbright.com, and with my e-publisher at www.wickedinkpress.com, but it’s pretty silly (follow the link to read it). But then so am I.
I just can’t decide. Ava says we need to write another one and she volunteered to do so. She promised to include my arrest record and such. On second thought, perhaps she’s not the best one to write fiction about me. But the idea of coming up with something new and witty is very, very daunting.
I think what is comes down to is that I’m very tired, my head hurts, and I desperately need a vacation from my regular life. I can always tell when the stress is too much when I cry during commercials. Yeah – that’s a sure fire litmus test. Buick commercials shouldn’t push you over the edge.
But, you don’t come here for a downer, so I’ll leave you with this. The Bandit began his after school program today. He’s chosen karate. I’m not really sure it was the smartest move on his parent’s part, but he seems quite excited with kicking things while yelling “eYah!” If you’d like to contribute to the Bright Family Emergency Room Co-Pay fund, I’ll get you all the information you need.
Another great animation from Birdboxstudios. This one I can even fit into the Quill Sister prefered era.
I couldn’t think of a topic for tonight’s blog post. I’m not in a particularly good mood again – I blame it on my nine-five job. It’s slowly sucking out my will to live.
I have a few very minor things to do to the manuscript per my agent’s request – things that should take me one evening if I had enough brain power left after the end of my work day to do it.
So I can’t think of a blog post and I’m stalling on working on the manuscript so instead I start flipping through channels on television. Ostensibly I’m looking for the typical action movie for my back ground music. Now I’m pissing and moaning because there’s nothing on television. How come we pay for expanded cable and HBO and there’s nothing on? I cycle through again. Still nothing. Now I’m seething.
I pause at the local news station. I don’t know why I do this. I know, as hostile as I already am, I have no business watching local news. I linger there for a few minutes – there’s a “live and up to the minute” story on a shooting followed by a story on bad mannered bicyclists. Between the horrible and tasteless puns and the moronic banter between the talking heads – I just can’t stand it. There’s nothing stupider than a reporter standing in a dark street with a lone police car in the back ground. Why do they do this? It’s totally asinine. Yesterday, they were standing outside the dark, closed voting polls. What exactly were we supposed to glean from that? I’m giving myself chest pains.
My Honey has run off to bed. I’m sure he just doesn’t want to sit here and listen to me yelling at the television anymore. Apparently, it’s annoying.
I finally settle on Lethal Weapon on CMTV for a movie. It’s unsatisfying with all the swearing edited out. But it’s a far site better than local news. I’m certain anyone with any intelligence could be effectively tortured into giving up any amount of information if bodily forced to watch extended versions of local news.
The longer I rant – the more I realize I desperately need a vacation. On an island. Shhhhhhh – was that Greece I hear calling?
This is so cute. From Birdbox Studios.
I’m on a diet. It’s making me mean.
That’s all. Good night.
Just kidding. But I am feeling a little more surly than usual. One of the reasons can be found in the vicinity of a black 18×18 inch square in my bathroom. It’s a dirty, filthy liar and I hate it.
I finally had to go buy a scale. I haven’t owned one in years. I make it a point not to keep things around me that make me want to cry, I’m sure you understand.
So I stood in the Target a couple of weekends ago staring at an end cap with six or eight models of scales. I bought the old fashion one – read the cheap, non-digital one. It lasted for about 12 hours.
I do not want you to think that I murdered this scale. I did not. If I want something ruined beyond belief, I call a professional “ruiner”. His name is Bandit and he weighs a wee little 37 pounds, but he packs a big punch in his pipsqueak frame.
I placed the scale on the bathroom floor, stood on it, cursed it out and then left it tucked between the bathtub & the toilet to rot in hell. I walked by some hours later and found piles and heaps of stuff in the bathroom and the scale buried underneath. Apparently Bandit weighed every single thing he could carry into the bathroom: piles of towels, rolls and rolls of toilet paper, toys, couch pillows, books, and more toys. I do find it funny that he carted everything in there instead of bringing the scale to the various items.
I had to buy a new one. This time I went a little more higher-end and splurged on the 24.99 model, the 7.99 having proved itself a weakling. Really I don’t know what I was expecting of the little 7.99 version. Things need to be heavy duty with the Bandit in residence.
I was reading the paper when I got home from work on Friday. An innocent enough hobby. I must share with you the caption under a photo that, at first, had me whooping with laughter and then contemplating logistics and then flabbergasted with the answer.
Here is the picture that started the whole thing:
Ladies and gents, we give you: Orbital Evolution, Tucson’s most famous Hula-Hoop troupe.
The italics and colored font are my own doing.
The most famous? The MOST famous? Exactly how many less famous hula hooping troupes are out there? In Tucson? One of the things that Tucsonans say all the time is, “Tucson is very small” and it’s true. Even though we finally have a million people in our town (if you count aaaallll the area – not just city limits), Tucson has never become very sophisticated. It has retained its small town mentality. One might even say, if they were to play the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon game, that in Tucson, it’s really more like 3 – at the most.
So by my exposition, the town is very small. If that is to be believed then how is it possible that I have never heard of THE MOST FAMOUS OF TUCSON’S HULA HOOPING TROUPE? In fact, I have never heard of any hula hooping troupe?
Now that I know they’re out there, they’re going to start showing up everywhere – like zombies.
It’s official. I signed by representation contract today and mailed it back.
The giddiness is renewed and fresh!
The Bandit seems to be loving “kinnygarden”. He is making a batch of new friends. There is one in particular he has identified as his new best friend. The boy’s uncle is quite famous and prominent in the news right now, but of course, The Bandit knows none of this. He and his new buddy eat lunch together everyday.
“Who’d you sit with at lunch today, dude?” I’ll ask, vainly trying to suck out any details of his day.
“It’s Buddy, Mom, always Buddy.”
This morning when I dropped him off at his class and helped him shove his backpack in his wee little cubby, Buddy’s dad came up and introduced himself to me again. Apparently, Buddy had inadvertently hit The Bandit in the eye and he wanted to apologize. I’d heard nothing about this, so I’m certain it was a non-event and I told his dad so, but Buddy had made an apology card. It was adorable. The boys hugged it out. All is well.
When I spoke with Sassy’s new 2nd grade teacher, I learned that she is “quiet as a mouse” in class. I have no idea where Sassy goes after I drop her off at her class, but clearly she has found an imposter to attend in her stead. “Quiet” is not my daughter. Not even with strangers. She is a talker. She chats. Her report cards tell me so. This is a mystery I will have to dig into a little deeper.
Speaking of Sassy and talking. The other day we were in the car and she asked me, “Do you know what the two bad “F” words are?”
I’m 41. I grew up in the 80′s. My husband plays heavy metal and I’m tattooed for God’s sake. I know all the good curse words and their appropriate conjugations. But two F words? I know the BIG one. We all know the BIG one. But I was puzzled about what the other could be. There are several candidates but I just wasn’t sure.
“Sure I do,” I told her. “Do you?”
“Yeah.” She seemed fairly impressed with herself.
“What are they?” I asked.
“You won’t yell at me if I say them, will you?” she asked tentatively.
“Not this one time,” I assured her.
“F**K is one and the other one is….”
Drum roll, please.
Whew! I exhaled in relief. I’d much rather her know both of those, as inappropriate as they are for a 7 year old, then fag which is where I thought she was going. Fag, while not having the impact of the BIG one, is just a mean and nasty word when used in the appropriate context.
Not that I want her using any of those three words, you understand. But isn’t that what summer camp is for? Learning the stuff your parents don’t want you to know? I’m glad I got my money’s worth.
I know lots of ways to get a thrill. Roller coasters, birthday presents, narrowly missing a speeding ticket – all of these things are thrilling.
But sometimes it’s the little things that give me the biggest boost. Stupid little things. Like when I’m cooking dinner and I actually concentrate enough to make all the food required for the meal.
When there’s a coupon in the paper for $2.00 off the shampoo you really like but costs a fortune and then further in the paper you find it on sale somewhere. Double Bonus!
Clearance Coach shoes at Dillards.
I could go on and on, but I got one of my little thrills today. It’s really so stupid but it makes me cheer out loud every time it happens.
I’ll be writing along and a $20.00 word comes up in my sentence. If I spell it right the first time, without a snarky red, wavy line from Microsoft, I get giddy.
This particular time the word was: coalesce.
I just did it again! It’s a short word, but is has that sneaky “sce” at the end.
I probably just need a vacation. I might be truly pathetic.
(Just so you know, when I ran spell check I got “truly” and “sentence” wrong. Deep sigh. And then reality comes back up to bite you.)
I sent The Bandit off to kindergarten today. He looked very small in his little uniform. I was so flustered, I forgot to take his picture. He was so cute putting his little Lone Ranger lunch box and his Transformer backpack in his cubbie. Deep sigh.
Someone better get me a puppy because bad things are happening in the area of my womb. It’s feeling very vacant, and I need something cute and little.
Speaking of The Bandit. I’ve starting charging him a dime every time he calls someone a moron. I took the hint from Ava – and it may not be the best parenting skill, but the incidences have cut way down.
I’m wanna start charge Sassy a dime everytime she tattles.
I expect to retire by October.
I have a couple of pictures for amusement.
1. We went to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner again. It’s The Bandit’s favorite. It was also Day 1 of my diet. How’s that for cruel? So to be good, I ordered a salad. It’s called Luau Salad. This is how they describe it:
Grilled Chicken Breast Layered with Mixed Greens, Cucumbers, Green Onions, Red and Yellow Peppers, Green Beans, Carrots, Mango and Crisp Wontons with Macadamia Nuts and Sesame Seeds. Tossed in Our Vinaigrette.
Sounds yummy, right? And healthy. This is what it looks like:
Really yummy. YUMMY YUMMY YUMMY.
2. This next picture is a bumper sticker I saw while out shopping with Sassy and my mom today. I thought it was hysterical. I might have it tattooed to my forehead.
HELP STOP GLOBAL WHINING.
3. This next picture is of Ava’s new kitty. Or to be more precise, Ava’s daughter’s new kitty. The girl wanted a kitty for her birthday – desperately. That’s all she asked for and all she talked about. Ava is a clean freak. It’s tragic. That’s why I can’t ever let her come over without 4 day’s notice to buy a new house with all new furniture. Because of her peccadilloes, she would only agree on a cat if it was the hairless kind that doesn’t have hair to shed.
I was appalled by this. You can’t cuddle a bald cat. And they’re scary looking. I would be too if I looked like that. They probably can’t help it. I’m sure they have a complex.
Her poor daughter wanted a cat so desperately, she’d convinced herself that bald cats were cute. That, dear reader, is a travesty. I nagged and badgered and hasselled Ava on her daughter’s behalf until I guilted her into agreeing on a cat with hair.
This, oh faithful ones, is Ricky, the Abyssinian.
I think he’s adorable and apparently Ava’s daughter is over the moon.
I’m just thrilled he has hair.