Have you ever been trapped in a conversation with someone, only it’s not a conversation, it’s a monologue? They keep yapping on and on about something, and just when you sense they’re starting to wind down and maybe you’ll be released from this hell, they go off on a tangent thereby ensuring your continued captivity for another ten minutes. Only there are more tangents than there are days in the week, and it’s all about things that you have absolutely no interest in because it’s ridiculously early on a Saturday morning and, also, because you are listening to The Most Boring Person in the World who could make the Kama Sutra sound as exciting as a root canal, so those ten minutes feel like something close to a year and not just any year, but the last year of your life before you die from some horrible, disfiguring disease at which time your very last thought will be of this person practicing techniques from the Kama Sutra.
And as that thought flits through your mind while they’re droning on and on, you think “Ick!” because you sure as hell don’t want to be thinking about this person in relation to the Kama Sutra unless there’s a position called Bag On Head in Pitch Blackness While Intoxicated and Also Stoned, and even then you don’t want to think about it. So you try to drag your mind away from that mental train wreck, except you can’t, so you resolve to make the most of a bad situation and decide that maybe if you think about this person and another person you don’t like, that might be kind of funny and distracting. So you start smirking to yourself, imagining the two most boring people in the world getting it on to page 62 of the Kama Sutra and as that thought takes you off on a twisted ride down the rabbit hole, you are completely oblivious to your captor’s current topic of interest and you figure that’s okay because they haven’t yet noticed your glazed over eyes or the drool that is gathering in the corner of your mouth. And the possibility of them ever noticing how truly disinterested you are is about as likely as your chance of escaping this mind-numbing moment without aid of a cattle prod or a SWAT team, which is to say not very likely at all because not only do some people not have a clue, they can’t even buy one.
Pretty soon, you’re actually smiling at this cretin and they’re taking it as encouragement to continue stunning you (like a fish that’s been slapped on the deck of a boat) with their version of wit and charm and they continue yammering at you in a rapid rat-ta-tat-tat that you deflect with your warped imagination until-- at long last-- they say, “Don’t you think so?” thus signaling the end of their lecture. You realize that a response is expected and you enthusiastically agree (a bit too loudly), “Absolutely!” feeling as if you’ve just scored the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl and Janet is flinging bits of her clothing at you as you do a celebratory dance on the field and the crowd is going wild because you, yes YOU, survived yet another conversation with The Most Boring Person in the World, except you will never again be able to look at a copy of the Kama Sutra without feeling a little sick to your stomach, though you consider it a small price to pay for your sanity. So you stagger away, clutching your head which is both throbbing in agony and dizzy with relief, feeling like the fox that’s just had to chew his foot off to escape the trap and thinking that bashing yourself in the head with the Oxford English Dictionary until unconsciousness overtakes you would be preferable to ever having to endure that kind of agony again.
This ever happen to you? Welcome to my existence.
I vaguely remember my mother doing Weight Watchers when I was a kid. Then she tried Atkins. Then she tried a diet that involved eating grapefruit and bananas every two hours or something. I lost track of all the diets she tried, but that’s okay because they keep coming back! Retro-diets are hot! Now you can diet like they did in the 70’s, but without the platform sandals and orange bell bottoms!
I saw the link to this frightening collection of recipes at Put Down the Donut and had to share. For anyone who has ever tried Weight Watchers (hello, Rose!), this should be proof that the folks at Weight Watchers are not only rolling in the dough after thirty-something years of watching the country’s weight, they’re also laughing all the way to the bank.
Personally, I’m planning on making Mexican Shrimp Orange Salad and Chicken Liver Bake for my next dinner party! Who wants to come?? But please, for the love of all that is good in the world, I’m begging you not to bring the dreaded Liver Pate en Masque.
Perhaps the original intent of Weight Watchers was to help you lose weight through food aversion therapy. Hmm?
Jae has finally gone live with his web page. Drop by and say hello. Tell him I sent you. Tell him I said to grow his hair.
This girl is going to bed at a reasonable hour. Will wonders never cease?
In other news, I’m going to D.C. next weekend to hang with my old friend Joe. Joe who I haven’t seen in five years. Again I ask, will wonders never cease? The planets must be aligned to have two such unlikely events occur in one day.
May the rest of the nightowls enjoy the night without me. I’m sure I’ll be back tomorrow night to join you.
I made three decisions about my writing while I was tossing and turning until 5 a.m. this morning (possibly later, but I clearly remember looking at the clock at 5:02).
First, I need to finish editing the mystery that has been languishing on my desk for over a year. I’ve worked on it in fits and starts, but that’s no way to preserve continuity or get the job done. Granted, I’m talking more than basic grammar and structure errors here-- there are some pretty serious plot flaws to fix (or I could just sell it as a screen play since no one in Hollywood seems to mind plot holes big enough to drive a truck through), but I know it’s all fixable and it’s a pretty good story. I just need to dedicate my time to it-- at least a month, but probably no more than two-- and get it circulating.
Second, I need to write about my childhood if for no one else but myself. I’m thinking a series of essays loosely linked. Whether it would be saleable or not (or whether I’d even want to sell it or not) is up for debate, but I think I’d probably benefit from getting it down on paper. It would be good therapy (and who couldn’t use a little therapy, hmm?) as well as making me a better writer by forcing me to write honestly about my own life.
Third, I need to start writing a new book and get back on the path I want to be with my writing. Much as I love writing (and selling, let’s not forget selling) other things, I want to write novels. So, while I lay there trying to sleep this morning, I began plotting a new book. I started writing it this afternoon and am well into the first chapter. This is good. This makes me happy. That’s what it’s all about.
See, there are some benefits to being an insomniac on a caffeine high.
What’s it all about?
Life. Love. Writing. Editing. Sex. Books. Romance. Movies. Friendship. Photography. Teaching. Coffee. (Lots of coffee.) Travel. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Memories. Experiences. Rants. Raves. Reviews. Babies. Pregnancy. Motherhood. Insanity. Musings of an insomniac writer. Want to know more?
