Trick or treat!


Baby Boo

Baby Boo will be joining us in late October! If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go barf some more now.

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Hate mail


Had this email waiting for me this morning from the front man of a local band whose recent new album I reviewed less than positively. Funny thing is, I told my editor that I was going to hear from these guys in response to a non-fawning review, and I was totally right. He attached an mp3 of Pedro the Lion’s “Selling Advertising” to really send the point home. To wit:

Subject line: thanks
“for your “support” for us to “make it”. well, at least it will ensure that a song
(of the same, or possibly more venomous, ilk as the attached) will be written about
you some day. sorry to let you down. because that’s what this review seems to be
about, anyway; about how this group of not just failing or mediocre, but “40 on a
test” songs let you down. i’m going to stand by my new ethos of Momma’s golden rule
(if you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all) and hope that no
one takes a shit in YOUR career path. because i know that it’s hard work for both
of us to “make it”. or at least, just pay the bills. you’re a great writer;
well-worded. but i stand behind this album that I think is much more than (even)
just a 3 out of 5 (mediocre). hope that you and your family have a good weekend. i
and mine will try.”

What I’m doing (updated)


Editing a dissertation chapter and hoping to find a way to procure Wasabi Funyuns via the internets.

I changed the theme because it’s spring and I’ve been reading and thinking too much about death and grief, my heart aching and breaking for people I’ve met and whom I’ve not and I just need some brightness. And since the Funyuns are currently out of my grasp, I figured I’d change the look of the blog.

I went for a swim this afternoon in the lap pool at the U. Today was the first time since I’ve been swimming there that I felt self-conscious about my body — I’ve gained a little bit of weight and have reverted back to some of my bad eating habits (and developed new ones, like eating trashy candy bars! Awesome!), and since we’re ramping up to bikini and banana hammock season, the flesh parade at the pool is a bit more intimidating than before.

I was telling Matt tonight that I hated getting out of the pool because I was surrounded by all of these young men with these cut swimmers’ bodies and the tight little Speedos and perfect little tushies. “Why are you comparing your body to those guys’?” he asked. And it’s not that I’m comparing my body to theirs, that would be dumb. It’s more like, I can feel them judging me, with their 5 percent body fat and hummingbird-like metabolisms. All they have to do is look at me with my pot belly and jiggly thighs and I can almost hear them dismissing my humanity as just another fat chick. It makes me feel small, but not in a good way.

It didn’t help that I was in line behind a (pro? college?) volleyball player at Starbucks this morning, all six feet and thick blonde hair and tan legs up to there and short shorts of her. She tried to order a venti Frappuccino, but they had no mix, so she got something equally venti and fattening and sugary, plus an espresso brownie. So, I beat her to death with her braid.

I didn’t mean to be so grumpy here tonight. Guess I’m just in a mood. Time for bed and some rest.

“oh hai.”


That’s what Harrison said to a passing shopper at the grocery last night while I was perusing the slender pickings in the meat-substitute case (the boys were having chicken sausage with feta for dinner; my lactose intolerance led to my having “chik’n nuggets”). She was a pretty young woman, probably in her mid-20s, and with a very amused boyfriend in tow, who paused to size up his tiny (but formidable) competition. It was really, really funny. She passes by, Harry notices her, busts out with “oh hai,” making bold eye contact. She, taken aback, replies, “oh, hai!” I’m still laughing about it this morning.

I’m currently sat at my favorite local coffeeshop (which reminds me, to some degree of notsuoH in downtown Houston, in its furniture grab-bag days, but maybe not that grungy and sans the open mic poetry nights — shudder) trying to recapture the dissertation-related mojo I experienced ever-so-briefly about a month ago. Turns out, stopping writing to do things like go to Phoenix, get sick, do that damn Music Festival, go to San Francisco (ask me about the horrific panic attack I had on the plane ride home! ’twas awesome) will sort of halt momentum on the Most Important Thing Like Evah. But, I’ve done a lot of reading over the past week and am reshaping my argument, adding some depth, and will hopefully get to the magical 25-page mark for this chapter by the end of the semester.

(Did you know that dissertation chapters are what I consider to be super-short these days? I thought I was going to have to write a 300-page document, but no! It’s more like 125 or something! I can do dat!)

Lots to report, but no time for that now. Meantime, I will say that the recent rains here have made our backyard look all green and lush … and weedy. My garden seems to be thriving, although it wants some pepper plants. If squirrels eat my jalapenos, will it burn their tongues? I hope so, fuckers. That’s what they get for stealing my chard.

Additionally, I’m feeling super grateful for all of the amazingly supportive women in my life, especially those at school who are willing to circle the wagons when necessary to help a sister out.

Oh, and if you’re feeling flush these days, please go read this and consider making a donation. I just cannot even imagine having to go through that with my sweet boy, even though there are days I want to sell — hell, GIVE — him to the gypsies.