why i read it: because it's a tiny book (not teeny tiny like the last one, but the size that's also often found in the cashwrap line). because i'm on that sentiment quest.

what i liked: my grandfather sold movie magazines in his stationery store. he let me read them for free if didn't get them dirty.

reading about lana turner's life was a lot more interesting than reading about pocahontas in school (p. 41).

when i ask olivia how's school, she says, "fine."

she's much more specific when we go shopping. she'll try on a pair of jeans, make a face in the mirror, and say, "gross. they stick out. the pockets suck. nobody wears this kind."

"you know," i often will say, "when i was your age, i thought i looked awful in everything. but when i look back now..."

before i finish the sentence, olivia gets that glazed look in her eyes she always gets whenever i start a sentence with, "when i was your age."

she must have learned that from my mother (p. 45).

dear olivia,

you probably won't understand much about this letter, but since i'm never going to send it to you, that's all right.

i just got off the phone with your mother. i can tell from her voice that she's mad at me.

it always amazes me how little influence i have on making her happy, and how much influence i have on making her unhappy.

i was watching a television program this morning and a famous psychologist was telling everybody that happiness is a state of mind. i haven't a clue as to how to drive to that state.

but whenever i'm sad, i think of you--and then i smile. maybe that psychologist knew something after all (p. 50).

the summer i was thirteen, eileen ford, the manager of the ford model agency, had a radio program on saturdays at one o'clock on which she'd reveal the beauty secrets of famous models.

listeners could write her letters about their beauty problems, and she'd pick some to answer on the air. she wouldn't use the person's name if she read their letter. i wrote her a letter.

one saturday, i was eating a can of franco-american spaghetti and listening to her program when she read a letter about someone with all my beauty problems: bitten nails, shiny nose, stringy hair, flat-chested, big feet, bony knees, buck teeth, near-sighted, and shy.

i got so nervous, i ran out of the kitchen. a minute later, i went back to listen. by then, she was reading somebody else's problems.

i always wondered if my life would have turned out differently if i'd heard her advice (p. 54).

i've always checked out other women. i do it on movie lines, at shoprite, in mcdonald's. i think to myself:

that's the wrong hairstyle for her.

doesn't that woman have a full-length mirror at home?

oh, blondie, you need your roots done.

those shoes have seen too many rainy days.

dangling rhinestone earrings don't go with sneakers.

nobody will take you seriously with those nails.

hey, missy, it's time to call jenny craig.

no one looks good in that color .

it's all i can do to stop myself from walking over to a total stranger and saying, "honey, lose the horizontal stripes" (p. 82). [that color? she means burnt orange, yall... i'm just saying]

"you see someone on the street and essentially what you notice about them is the flaw" (diane arbus--p. 83)

once i dreamed i was in a fancy mall. it was probably the short hills mall in new jersey. the stores were all boutiques selling designer body parts.

i charged a pair of manolo blanik feet, a chanel chin, and a perfectly matched set of boobs designed by vera wang exclusively for me. on my way out, i picked up a versace midriff on sale. for the first time in my life, i was finally perfect. 

when i got home, my husband took one look at the bill and returned me (p. 92).

no one really cares how you look when your get older anyway, as long as you close your mouth when you chew and don't drool.

but every few years somebody does research and once again discovers that beautiful people have an advantage in life, taller people get better jobs, thinner people are more successful.

even though i know better, i still fuss with eyeliners, blow dryers, and diets, hoping i'll become become better looking, taller, thinner, and happier.

who lives without contradictions? but who wants to live without hope? (p. 105).

what sucked: for all the things i liked, and it looks like the number was a lot, the book overall was just kind of blah.

having said all that: the first third of it sucked a whole lot more than the last third.

the wit and wisdom of mark twain

why i wanted to read it: because it's a teeny tiny book. one of those little gift books you see on the spinner racks while standing in line to make a purchase. because i'm on a quest for good sentiment.

what i liked: a southerner talks like music (from life on the mississippi).

shut the door. not that it lets in the cold, but that it lets out the cozyness (from notebook).

training is everything. the peach was once a bitter almond; cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education (from pudd'nhead wilson's calendar).

"classic." a book which people praise and don't read (from pudd'nhead wilson's new calendar).

you can find in a text whatever you bring if you will stand between it and the mirror of your imagination. you may not see your ears, but they are there (from "a fable").

thunder is good. thunder is impressive. but it is lightning that does the work (from a letter to an unidentified person [1908]). 

we should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it--and stop there; lest we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stove-lid. she will never sit down on a hot stove-lid again--and that is well; but also she will never sit down on a cold one anymore (from pudd'nhead wilson's new calendar).

against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand (from the mysterious stranger).

what sucked: nothing really. for little bitty gift books, i kind of liked this one. and that says quite a bit, because usually, i think they're pretty stupid.

having said all that: it's not a bad one to give, if you can find it (it's been in my mother's shoebox of sentiments for i don't know how long). but here's the isbn if you want to try to locate it: 0-89471-984-x.

random quarter

one. every time i tell myself eating ice cream isn't that big of a deal, that i'll just have a little, a teeny tiny bowl (as in three soup spoonfuls of blue bell's mint chocolate chip paired with two soup spoonfuls of their rocky mountain road), i am reminded of the fact that while my tummy loves the stuff, my noggin does not. how, you ask? well, three spoonfuls in, i sort of choke on the stuff, and then i get this hellish pain in my head (not because i've eaten too much of it too quickly... not brain freeze. it's more like a brain rebellion), and then i sneeze. and it's not a little bitty sneeze. it's one of those sneezes that doubles you over and you feel like your face is going to explode. i really shouldn't touch the stuff. but it's blue bell, goddamnit. and i'm a texan, goshdangit. i'm SUPPOSED to eat this stuff. it's like a dietary staple.

two. the home renovation project that was supposed to take three weeks (i'm guessing one for the carpentry, one for the painting and one for the carpet installation and finishing touches) has taken at least twice that long. at least. i want to say it began the first week of august. we're in the last week of september. and while i am not in love with the majority of the choices for this particular room (which was originally my older brother's--and i am aware that perhaps my lack of enthusiasm for the new decor is because we're jacking with a room that i'd rather not change too much, even though it stopped being his room a very long time ago), i am doing my damnedest to focus on what i do like: more room, a bigger window, a bigger refrigerator for my canned, carbonated, caffeinated beverages and, very soon (within the next few days, supposedly) there will be a fifty inch television to keep me company up here. it's just the chair my parents have chosen for the desk is NOT, i repeat NOT comfortable. too much cushion in the center so you don't really sink into it or whatever, and the arms are ridiculously low. also the office walls are GRAY, and i am so not a fan of gray.

three. which somehow made me think of sally fields in steel magnolias: it's repulsive! it's got gray icing! i can't even begin to think how you make gray icing.

four. i was not thrilled with either of the season premiers for the ncis shows tuesday night. VERY, VERY disappointing, cbs. whiskey tango foxtrot, indeed. all summer i've been jonesing for september to roll around for three reasons: a cooler climate, aggie football and tony/ziva and kensi/deeks (more kensi and deeks, though, than tony and ziva. i like tony better than deeks. but i like kensi with deeks better than i like tony with ziva. mostly because on the night each of the boys were to kiss the girls, deeks planted one on kensi's mouth and tony did the STUPID, PANSY smooch on the forehead. LAME.)

five. i was also not so thrilled with the first night of the blind auditions on the voice. the second one was better. i loved holly henry. she made me cry. her performance was perfect. but really, i kind of liked that she's shy and secretive. reminded me a little bit of me.

six. i've been going on design appointments with our specialist. it's been fun, doing this. and i really like learning new things and helping her out with her work.

seven. my mom bought me a green and navy gingham blazer the other day. from the men's department. at steinmart. we were hunting for things for the office, and on our way out, we passed a four-way that had them on display. and i liked the check and the lining inside (navy and brown stripe). and so we got me one. and it, paired with a white v-necked t-shirt, boot cut jeans and my three-inch heeled tobacco leather boots, with my hair in a tail and my face painted and my great uncle's wooden heart hanging around my neck... i'm quite comfortable in a get-up like that. i was quite comfortable in a get-up like that in my early twenties, too. and i can't, for the life of me, figure out what possessed me to give away the navy and brown men's suit jackets i'd bought way back then. cause i sure as shit wish i had them now.

eight. not that they'd fit me. i weigh about fifty pounds more now. so i guess it doesn't matter that i didn't hang on to'm.

nine. those people i told you about, the ones for whom i care so dearly, their stories are still being written. and i am, so far, not liking the way things are going so much. so if yall have been praying, please continue to do so.

ten. i finally, FINALLY got to see depeche mode. i have loved that band (though not as much in the past decade as i did in my youth and early twenties) for decades. and i am so glad i got to see them live. they sounded awesome.

eleven. i am using my mother's computer at the moment. (mine needs to be charged, and i've been having trouble lately with iphoto, which is kind of irritating me). it's much quieter up here than it is in the rest of the house. sometimes i relish that. sometimes, it's too quiet. maybe because i've just acquainted myself with yet another one of those chapters in one of those stories i wish i didn't have to read but must. maybe it's the emptiness of the room. i don't know. i don't want to be downstairs right now. i don't want to watch blue bloods. so NOT the tom selleck fan. anyway. i've been thinking, i wish i had some music up here. and then i remembered... i put itunes on my mother's computer a very long time ago. duh.

twelve. i got my hair cut a couple of weeks ago. it needed it. BADLY. but i'm having to adjust to the length again. my stylist cut about six inches off. probably two more than i'd intended. it'll grow. it will grow. but oh, so slowly.

thirteen. i wish i could consider all the possibilities before opening my mouth or veering off on some tear.

fourteen. i also wish i had greatness within me. or at least a good bit of goodness. nothing phenomenal. something more like eleanor. or hazel, who, according to augustus, walks softly. the world is definitely a better place for her having lived. i want to know it's a better place for my having done so.

fifteen. i was shopping in hobby lobby today, hunting for more things for the office. and i found a sign that said do what you love. the thing is, i don't know that i LOVE anything anymore. certain people, yes. absolutely. certain people, like the wonder twins, are necessities in my life, and two seconds with them heal my heart so much better than anything else could possibly do. aggie football, blue bell, dr. pepper, coca cola, depeche mode... that stuff, sure. but i don't feel compelled to do anything with myself. never have, really. my life's been a story of just get through this day. do just enough. i wish i knew how to light a fire in me.

sixteen. one of the things my father often says to us is you're a gentleman (or in my case, lady) and a scholar. and today, while scouting hobby lobby's merch, i found a thin, metal decorative wall plate in maroon, white, gold and black that said gentleman and scholar. i got it to go over his desk. (also, i had no idea this came from the catcher and the rye. i had never heard anyone say this but my dad. according to my mother, a lot of people say this. a lot of your people, i said. not a lot of my people. still, i feel a little silly now, because i'd exclaimed to a hobby lobby clerk how i'd never heard anyone say that but him. as in ranted for like five minutes about how cool it was that they had that plaque. crazy, right here.) (also, oddly enough, if you search that phrase and pair it with hobby lobby, the image results include bart simpson, sherlock holmes and watson, paul mccartney, gollum and a picture of my name handwritten, among other things. go figure.)

seventeen. my mom sent me to buy sirloin to make pepper steak for dinner. i had to ask other shoppers to help me.

eighteen. i've been really bad about commenting on others' blogs lately. or replying to comments yall leave here. but i am reading. and i am appreciating what you write. i can't promise i'll do better about acknowledging your words, but i do want yall to know that i AM reading them. and i am grateful.

nineteen. i feel really, really old. not in my brain. but in my body. so far, forty sucks ass. i've never had a face that needed cosmetics. my skin, probably because of all those years of swimming and the absence of cosmetics, hasn't had the blemishes that demand i cover them up. but i put on make-up for one of those design appointments a few weeks ago, and my coworkers said that i looked much younger for having made the effort. SWELL. so now i feel like i HAVE to bother with this crap. and i'd really rather not.

twenty. there are WAY TOO MANY people living in this town. i'm tempted to move to the country.

twenty-one. i've been having crazy dreams lately. like one of my younger brother's friends died. or like the grandson of one of my mother's friends did because i hadn't been his designated driver. and even if i take benadryl, i'm waking up six hours after i've crashed, which sucks. i want to conk out. i want good rest. i wish i could dream more. not the kind you do in your sleep. but the kind you do in your day. the kind that helps you move through it. the kind that helps you be you.

twenty-two. i want to find books as enjoyable as eleanor and park, the fault in our stars, the language of flowers, right before your eyes and the time traveler's wife. and i'm kind of irritated that i can't.

twenty-three. i don't know how many more rq posts i've got in me.

twenty-four. those people who drink gallons of water in a day... how DO you do that?

twenty-five. zinnias! for minn.

how to write an essay

you should treat an essay like a mathematical equation and less like a blank canvas upon which you've to heap five hundred empty words.

it's simple, really.

you need approximately twenty-five sentences. the length of those sentences, of course, will vary based on what it is needing to be said. and this number is assuming you don't have to include quotations.

twenty-five sentences divided into five paragraphs supporting a sharp, succinct thesis statement.

for example, you are assigned the subject of cinematic villains.

the best villain in film is darth vader because he craves adventure and excitement instead of peace and stability, he is mastered by his emotions rather than being the master of them, and he is an intimidating and ruthless leader.

thesis statement (the best villain in film is darth vader) with three reasons (craves adventure and excitement, mastered by his emotions and poor leadership skills) supporting it.

five paragraphs: introduction, topic a, topic b, topic c and conclusion.

INTRODUCTION. five sentences. you start broad. the only place for bullshit is in your introduction and conclusion. ONE: for decades the cinematic industry has entertained us with tales of blah blah blah. TWO: in film we have seen the exploits and evil of psychopaths like dr. hannibal lecter and the joker. THREE: we've also seen the likes of criminal masterminds and mobsters and blah blah blah such as this dude and that dude. FOUR: but none have been so memorable as the sith lord imagined by george lucas in the star wars saga. FIVE: the best villain in film is darth vader because he blah blah blah.

TOPIC A: one reason why darth vader is so awful is because he seeks to please himself through grand adventures and thrilling escapades.

and then you give three solid examples to support this. you've got six films of horrible decision making from which to choose: he's a child who boasts about how awesome he is at constructing things (his droids, his podracer); instead of listening to obi-wan and qui-gon jinn he goes and marries queen amidala; he has delusions of grandeur which the emperor encourages...

one sentence for each of those examples. and you don't need to quote anything (unless your professor/teacher insists that you do so, in which case they make this website called the internet movie database, which'll have a shit ton of quotes stored for you). if the prof says you have to have quotes, then you should use at least one for each example.

TOPIC B: his penchant for seeking to fulfill his own desires is one way his emotions so often control his actions. he also does... (find three other ways his emotions get the better of him... like when he kills obi-wan or slaughters a village upon learning of his mother's death).

TOPIC C: he taunts those who should revere him with his power and prowess rather than leading them. if an officer or a stormtrooper does not do as he's told, vader simply holds up a thumb and forefinger and chokes that man to death. blah blah blah.

CONCLUSION: regurgitation of thesis statement. four more sentences of bullshit going from the specific to the general.

and you're done.

the only font you use is times new roman. ten or twelve point (preferably twelve, unless the prof says otherwise). single-side it. double-space it. left-align it. the tab key is not your friend; if you want an indentation for the first line, there's a way to format your paragraphs so that it automatically does this. be verbs (AM, IS, ARE, WAS, WERE, BE, BEING, BEEN), adverbs (those things that end in -LY) and prepositional phrases are not your friends, either. they are WEAK words and do not belong in an essay. use them sparingly. do not rely solely on spellcheck for editing. and, most important, your professor is not stupid; don't try to outsmart him. you can't.

the statistical probability of love at first sight

why i wanted to read it: the title. and that after the title and dedication pages, there's a quote from charles dickens' our mutual friend: and o there are days in this life worth life and worth death. and the majority of it takes place in london. so... a quote from my favorite book and a setting in my favorite city. this is the book i'd intended to read a while back but couldn't find it.

what i liked: and so, with nothing more to be done, hadley finally makes her way out through the sliding doors and into the gray london haze, feeling satisfied at least that the sun didn't have the audacity to show up this morning.

i liked the characters. i liked the conflicts the author gave them. and there were a handful of instances where i considered marking a page that had a sentence worth mentioning but ended up deciding against it at the time that i wish i had marked.

i'd meant to go back and find them. i'd every intention of doing this. but you know what they say about intentions...

and now my library book's overdue, so that's all you get.

what sucked: sometimes the author takes way too long to tell a story. she drags out the inconsequential shit and practically skims over or skirts around the good stuff.

having said all that: i liked it much better than the last book i read by ms. smith. but it's nothing stellar.

random quarter

i snagged this shot (diego velasquez' arachne) here.

one. i have discovered that pinot grigio's not such a bad thing. and my lovely pappadeaux's barstaff probably like me a little bit better for ordering a glass of that rather than the martini--it costs a little more and is easier to fix. and one glass works wonders. everybody's happy.

two. i am not so eager to watch aggie football this season. mr. manziel and mr. miller... i'm kind of ashamed of yall. no. not kind of. i am. you're making my boys look bad. you're making people think bad things about the fine institution that is texas a&m university. i am unthrilled.

three. i have read twenty-seven new books this year. my friend swissy has given me several to peruse. i checked out a bunch at the library last night. i kind of figured reading a hundred books wouldn't be that hard, given that i read so much. but i'm struggling to find titles that interest me. suggestions are supremely welcome.

four. i didn't see man of steel. but apparently one of my little brother's friends was an extra in it or something. and one of my friend's posted a trailer to the sequel on her facebook page, and so now i'm kind of curious. should i bother?

five. i can never remember, when i go to buy more pens, if i like the five-tenths or the seventh-tenths. i bought a batch of the fives the other day. i do not like them.

six. sometimes being single really, really sucks. i should be used to this by now. but every now and then, it kinda knocks me on my ass. it did this last night. and the older i get, more effort's required to right myself or whatever.

seven. i really wanna go back to london. like. now.

eight. some chick just asked her server for a side of simple syrup. i'm a little awed by some of these customer requests.

nine. i'm irritated. i hadn't renewed my membership on the stupid dating website, because really, i'm never that impressed with it. but i got four emails in matter of days (and i never really get that much notice on there... i'm forty, and i don't live in houston proper), and so, against my friends' advice, i stupidly forked over the funds to see who these dudes were. and they're just like all the other dudes on there. i am such a goddamned romantic sucker. ugh. so gullible. so stupid. so when it expires, i am definitely disappearing from that corner of the world. and to my friends who counseled against it, no saying i told you so. i'm already saying that to myself.

ten. one of the bussers thinks a prius is a sports car. i weep for the next generation.

eleven. there's baseball on every television screen. yay. usually, i look to the screen when i'm in need of distraction. at least it's red sox. that makes it a little better.

twelve. i'm very, very tired of working retail. i'm very, very tired of not being able to polish off these last few scenes. i'm very, very, VERY tired of being tired of this crap. so if you're the praying sort, i need some inspiration, some luck and some faith.

thirteen. i don't like beer.

fourteen. the last time i got a sinus infection, i toughed it out without going to the doctor, and for the first time in more than a decade, that actually worked. in the past, thanks to smoking, sinus infections always turned into bronchitis. and i'd wait a couple of weeks, and it wouldn't get better so i'd finally go and get my shots and my drugs, and in a week or so, i'd feel better. but this time (mostly because i didn't feel like paying eighty bucks for a shot and some drugs), i didn't go. (this was a couple months ago, wen i complained of sounding like the aflac duck.) and you know, what? i got better. it was actually kind of cool.

fifteen. i've never smoked pot. once upon a time there were a ton of things i'd said i would never do. this was one of them. but of course, i got older and weaker, and the list of things i swore i would never do has gotten to be quite short. but that one's still on there.

sixteen. i've had more adult beverages in this year than i've had in my life. this could be why i weigh more now than i've ever weighed in my life.

seventeen. i've never been to a casino, either. but this isn't on the short list of never-dos.

eighteen. there's some movie coming out where sandra bullock's adrift in outerspace. i marvel at the things hollywood comes up with nowadays. whatever happened to a good, old fashioned love story?

nineteen. so. greek mythology. one of the shuckers suggested i talk about that. and i do love it. one of my favorite myths is about arachne, a proud and vain woman who boasted that she could weave better than athena, who overheard her bragging and challenged her to a duel of sorts. each were to weave a tapestry to see who was better. arachne wove one that depicted all the horrible things the gods had done. athena's showed all of the good things. athena won. she turned arachne into a spider. still capable of weaving, but nothing with any permanence. the shucker could only name three of the twelve gods and goddesses: zeus, poseidon, hades, apollo, ares, hephaestus, hera, athena, aphrodite, artemis and demeter. normally i could rattle all of them off without having to google it, but i couldn't remember if hermes was the sixth of the male gods or if it was dionysus (some would say he was more important than hermes. i would agree, but then, communication should trump inebriation, i guess.), and i'd neglected to include demeter. which is odd to me, because i also like the story about how hades took persephone as his wife and how demeter coped with her daughter's absence.

twenty. i'm usually pretty vigilant about checking the ingredients of things like lotions and conditioners. and detanglers. but today, i was in a hurry to get ready for work and borrowed the detangler my mom bought for the twinkies when we have them over. and got a rash on my face and neck because of it. also my left eye's been irritated with me all day. all because i didn't want to yank half my hair out brushing it after my shower.

twenty-one. i kind of like bowties. but maybe this is because i spend too much time at pappadeaux's.

twenty-two. i get really tired of eating at the same restaurants. and it's not like this area is without a selection. but i'm almost always going for sandwiches, seafood, salads or pasta.

twenty-three. i kind of want to give up my cell phone. but then, the moment i kill the service is the moment i'd start to really need it, i guess.

twenty-four. i haven't felt determined to do anything in months, which could be why i'm barely a fourth of the way toward accomplishing my reading goal and fourteen pages away from accomplishing my writing goal and why my life is, for the most part, in an utter state of chaos. i know better. i do.

twenty-five. all i had to eat today was a bowl of corn pops, some strawberries, some bread and a dinner salad. breakfast and dinner. i was doing really good about eating more regularly throughout the day. and i know better than to do this, too.

dr. bird's advice for sad poets

why i wanted to read it: i'd gone to the library to pick up some books, and i caught a glimpse of it as i was hunting for those i'd originally sought. the title caught my attention.

what i liked: every day i miss my sister, expelled from home and school with just a few months left. no prom, no graduation, no celebration, no gifts. a metaphorical footprint on her ass after years of literal bruises on her body put there by my mother, the banshee, and my father, the brute (p. 4).

whatever the case, the girl who didn't look my way when the grill of a bus ruined my week is now shamelessly watching me calculate force with a dull pencil (p. 12).

she drilled a hole in the side of her jewelry box that allowed her to shake out two earrings. she wore them regardless of whether they matched or not (p. 18).

but what would my week be without a massive cloud of worry? it would be like a different week. and my weeks just aren't different (p. 40).

i'd like to celebrate sarasallysomething and assume she's just living the life she wants to live, but something tells me doing coke at a high school party is not what she dreamt of when she was little (p. 52).

when my alarm goes off in the morning, i have no energy to celebrate myself or hug trees or even look any birds in the eye (p. 73).

"we should get the check," i suggest, because i can't listen to someone else tell me how my life would be different if it were different (p. 194).

"are you aware that your real self is this anxiety-ridden, bursting, twisting, unhappy, buzzing, hate-filled, meandering, overtired sleepless boy?"

i say i'm not sure who i am.

"then would drugs really make a difference? would the drugs be any worse?"

"i don't want to be artificial."

"you want to be nonfunctional?"

"i would rather malfunction than sit and stare at a wall like an unplugged coffeepot" (p. 202).

but fuck you, whitman, because my sister defiled her body with little cuts while trying to find the joy that you so easily see in spears of grass. how come that couldn't save her? how come trees can't save me? how come we didn't see bright joy in the world, or in ourselves? (p. 214).

i recall derek's rule number one of teenage happiness: less detail makes for an easier lie. right now all these details signal a very difficult, unhappy lie. but what's the lie? and why was it created? (p. 254).

what sucked: i tabbed a lot of pages that had sentences that piqued my interest at the time. but when i looked back on them i didn't like them quite as much. i liked the characters, but i couldn't love them. i liked the story--it's got good amounts of conflict and it plays out well enough. i cared about the story and its characters like i care for a good acquaintance. i did not love it.

having said all that: it's an interesting read. and better than most of the tales i've read this year.

life is good

today, i'd like to introduce to you a fellow blogger named tina, and she's been a loyal picky reader for a very long time. what i love best about her is she gives some great insight, some wonderful perspective. she writes some pretty nifty stuff...

Maybe you've been wondering about that badge in the sidebar with the sunflower and the flamingo and thinking, “Who is that?” Hi! It's me! Tina @ Life is Good. I thought I'd introduce myself and entice (Force? Bribe?) you to come visit me. I'll tell you a little about myself, and include links to some posts that will continue to tell my story.

I'm a writer who's been blogging since 2009. I'm also a wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend, Bruce Springsteen fan, word AND math nerd, former math and English teacher, former office manager/HR department head, currently a stay-at-home mom working on my first novel. It's a sci-fi/thriller.

I am also one of the co-hosts of the worldwide April Blogging from A-Z Challenge and help run the blog we share year round. It's a blast, and I've met so many great people. I encourage you to check it out and consider joining us. You've got plenty of time to plan...

I was born in Sweden to an American mom and a Swedish dad. We lived there until I was nine when we moved to Silver Spring, MD. In April of 2012 I wrote my A-Z Challenge posts about my childhood in Sweden and taught a word of Swedish a day. For this April's Challenge I wrote posts about my first year as an immigrant to America. All of those have corny and embarrassing pictures of me as a child. Enjoy.

I married my high school sweetheart after dating nine years. He's The Engineer, and is a mad inventor (see The Engineer Grows Food: Aquaponics). I've got two boys, 13 and 16. The oldest I call The Transporter because he has his permit and drives me everywhere. He's into video games and programming and living in his room, making occasional appearances for food. The youngest is OYT (for Our Youngest Teen, which I think is a boring nickname, but he picked it). He's into RC cars, video games like Minecraft. They started as 11^th and 8^th graders on Friday.

I keep busy year-round because we are The House where all the friends gather. We've been here 13 years, and most of the boys who lived here when we moved in--a total of 7--still live here. Now that The Transporter has friends who drive, lots of non-neighbors come too. I love it. I know who my kids' friends are and what everyone is doing. I do buy a lot of groceries, but it's worth it. The kids actually clean up after themselves, and when they order pizza (on their own dime) during a marathon gaming session, I usually get a piece.

The other thing you should know about me is that I'm a total klutz, completely accident prone and, as OYT likes to say, a medical apocalypse. So WHEN you come visit, you could start with my “about me” tab which has some revealing info, and then just go at my search box with “medical” or “accident” or “embarrassing” and you'll be entertained (at my expense) for hours...

Thanks jenn for letting me hog your blog today!

~Tina

that gal's a tough cookie. get to know her, yall. you'll be glad you did.

this is what happy looks like

why i wanted to read it: i went to the library to get a couple of books (because i don't already have a lengthy to-read list): forman's if i stay and jennifer smith's the statistical probability of love at first sight. i found the first with little trouble, but the second title was hiding and would not be found. i spotted this one and snatched it up, thinking it might be cute.

what i liked: so little.

childhood memories were like airplane luggage; no matter how far you were traveling, or how long you needed them to last, you were only ever allowed two bags (p. 116).

ellie watched as the little girl handed her father a postcard with a picture of the sun rising over the ocean. but the mother had corralled the boys out the door and was calling sharply for the other two to join them. the dad shrugged helplessly at his daughter, whose chin trembled as she clutched the postcard to her chest.

"she can just take it," ellie found herself saying, and the man spun around with a look of surprise. his daughter beamed at him, then skipped off with the card in hand, a memory that might only make it to the corner, or the end of the trip, but that would--with any luck--be carried with her at least a little farther than that (p. 121).

no matter how long it's been or how far you've drifted, no matter how unknowable you might be, there were at least two people in the world whose job it was to see you, to find you, to recognize you and reel you back in. no matter what (p. 342).

what sucked: so much. that it was four hundred four pages of trite crap. seriously. this is the kind of crap that makes breaking into the publishing business such a pain in the ass. four hundred pages? i don't mind lengthy novels so long as they're packed with awesome. and no, not every page has to be so, but there sure as shit needs to be more than two pages. hell, that's barely half of one. and that's not even awesome. that's the best this book's got, though.

having said all that: maybe i'm being a little harder on it than i ought to be. but the author? she works in the industry as an editor. if i'd sent in something of the same caliber, it wouldn't get more than a half-second's glance... it'd go into the slush pile, and when the editorial assistants got around to looking at everything else that got tossed there with it, they might give it two seconds, and then it'd go in the trash.

maybe i'm a little frustrated. it's just that i can write better than this. and it makes me a little annoyed when others' work, which is considerably less, gets printed. also, i stubbed the same toe on the corner of some brick twice in thirty minutes. and maybe i've been a little too spendthrifty lately. these things do not a happy gal make.

but still. it's crap. too little conflict, too little chemistry between the main characters (who aren't all that likable), too much cheese. way, way too much cheese.

i used to really like the name graham. and now i'm gonna think of this lame dude from this lame novel.

if i stay

why i wanted to read it: because it comes before where she went. i should've read this one first. i would have, except when i sought out more of ms. forman's works, i only saw the second. i could've looked harder. but i wasn't feeling like hunting.

what i liked: unlike the other, where the sentences appealed more than the story did, in this novel, i wasn't quite as touched by the word choices. but the story is sweeter.

remembering adam would be like losing him all over again, and i'm not sure that i can bear that on top of everything else (p. 181).

i'm feeling not just the physical pain, but all that i have lost, and it is profound and catastrophic and will leave a crater in me that nothing will ever fill (p. 195).

there were a few others here and there, but none so strong that i felt compelled to mark the page so that i could put them here.

then again, i showed yall quite a few from the second book, and maybe i'm just not feeling as generous this time around.

what sucked: there's a spot where the story sort of lulls, but that's all i've got, really.

having said all that: of the three forman books i've read, i like this one the best. also, i'm glad i read adam's tale first. makes me like him more here for having done that. makes me like mia more, too.

where she went

why i wanted to read it: because i kind of liked the gayle forman's other book.

what i liked: and before i know what i'm doing, before i can argue myself out of it, rationalize what a terrible idea this is, i'm walking toward the box office. i don't want to see her, i tell myself. i won't see her.  i only want to hear her (p. 37).

the tremor in my hand has become so normal, so nonstop, that it's generally imperceptible to me. but as soon as my fingers close around mia's, the thing i notice is that it stops and suddenly it goes quiet, like when the squall of feedback is suddenly cut when someone switches off an amp (p. 56).

my mom liked to say that everything i'd done--from my mere existence, to becoming a musician, to falling in love with a girl like mia, to going to college, to having the band become so popular, to dropping out of college, to dropping out of the band--was a surprise...

"you working at the plant," she said, staring at my solemnly. "this doesn't surprise me. this is what i would've expected from a son of mine" (pp. 60-61).

"not in new york. the diner pies are such disappointments. the fruit's almost always canned. and marionberry does not exist here. how is it possible that fruit simply ceases to exist from one coast to another?"

how is it possible that a boyfriend ceases to exist from one day to another? "couldn't tell you" (p. 72).

i'm pretty sure there's not going to be another postscript with mia, and i'm gonna have to live on the fumes of tonight for the rest of my life, so i'd like a little more to show for it than parking lots and arthritis and aborted apologies (p. 113).

"the faculty here will coddle you because of what you went through. i, however, am of the opinion if we do that, that car crash might as well have killed you, too, because we will smother your talent" (p. 123).

"i suspect deep down he's doing this because he thinks by giving me a shot at a career, he'll help me fill some void... but he doesn't have to give me the career. that's not what fills the void."

and it's like, mia, don't you get it? the music is the void. and you're the reason why (p. 126).

"bullshit," mia says... "quitting's not hard. deciding to quit is hard. once you make that mental leap, the rest is easy."

"really? was that how you quit me?" (p. 182).

letting go. everyone talks about it like it's the easiest thing. unfurl your fingers one by one until your hand is open. but my hand has been clenched into a fist for three years now; it's frozen shut. all of me is frozen shut. and about to shut down completely (p. 189).

i've blamed her for all of this, for leaving, for ruining me. and maybe that was the seed of it, but from that one little seed grew this tumor of a flowering plant. and i'm the one who nurtures it. i water it. i care for it. i nibble from its poison berries. i let it wrap around my neck, choking the air right out of me. i've done that. all by myself. all to myself (p. 190).

and the music, it's like, i dunno, fresh bread on an empty stomach or a woodstove on a frigid day (p. 201).

her hands were freezing, just like they always were, so i warmed them just like i always did.

and it was while i was warming her hands that i thought about how lucky it was that they looked okay. because without hands, there'd be no music and without music, she'd have lost everything (pp. 214-215).

what sucked: maybe this was intended and maybe it suits the characters, but it sort of plodded a long in places. then it got pretty good. then it got really cheesy and went back to plodding along.

having said all that: i did like it. it's not a bad story. so much of it's told with some well-crafted sentences. there's poetry, even, really in the author's prose. the characters are likable, too. it's good. not great. but worth reading.

just one day

why i wanted to read it: i like the cover. and it's sort of strategically placed, so that i would pass by it on pretty much every visit to the bookstore. i picked it up a couple of times, but i never felt compelled to keep it. and then, the other day, i saw it again and decided what the hell. 

what i liked: "oh, so you're saying that i'm an accident?"

his smile stretches like caramel. "absolutely."

i rub my toe against the curb. i think of my ziploc bags. i think of the color-coded schedule of all my activities that we've kept tacked to the fridge since i was, like, eight. i think of my neat files with all my college application materials. everything ordered. everything planned. i look at willem, so the opposite of that, of me, today, also the opposite of that.

"i think that might possibly be one of the most flattering things anyone's ever said to me." i pause. "i'm not sure what that says about me, though."

"it says that you haven't been flattered enough" (pp. 84-85).

i feel like the whole day has been an electrical shock, paddles straight to my heart, bringing me out of a lifelong torpor i hadn't even known i was in (p. 126).

but still, that whole day, being with willem, being lulu, it made me realize that all my life i've been living in a small, square room with no windows and no doors. and i was fine. i was happy, even. i thought. then someone came along and showed me there was a door in the room (p. 179).

he looks at me, and then, reverting to the voice he'd used with kendra, says, "if homegirls wanna see me as ghetto trash--" he stops and switches to his lispy, sassy voice-- "or big-ass queer--" now he switches to his deepest shakespeare voice-- "i shall not take it upon myself to disabuse them" (p. 210).

and the people we pretend at, they're already in us. that's why we pretend them in the first place (p. 237).

i am helpless. i am a void. a disappointment. my helplessness, my dependency, my passivity, i feel it whorling into a fiery little ball, and i harness that ball, somehow wondering how something made of weakness can feel so strong. but the ball grows hotter, so hot, the only thing i can do with it is hurl it (p. 255).

that day with willem, i may have pretended to be someone named lulu, but i had never been more honest in my life (p. 256).

avenue simon bolivar and rue de l'equerre, the cross streets of humiliation and defeat (p. 311).

what sucked: i haven't decided how i feel about the ending. it's a little too unreal for my tastes, but at the same time, there's a second book scheduled for release in october, and i'm curious to read it. still... there's a whole lot of suspension of disbelief here. and i typically reserve that for the works of science fiction. then again, it's (yet another) teen fiction novel, so perhaps i should go a little easy on it...

having said all that: i liked it well enough. had a hard time putting it down. it's a quick read. light. fun. and for all it's improbability, there are certainly scenes that ring true.

they're just numbers

so i try to tell myself.

i've written about this before, but it's been on my mind lately, so i'm doing it again. i'll try to put a different spin on it this time. it won't be a big one, of course. it can only go so far, so wide.

yesterday, i emailed another cousin in colorado (i've lots of them there--my maternal grandmother's father and his three brothers literally set up shop there when they came over from austria). she and her husband are expecting their first child in january.

her husband's birthday is september twenty-seventh.

that's a date that sticks with me.

as does december twenty-eighth.

today, i reread cecelia ahern's novel love, rosie. alex, the man rosie's loved all her life, marries his second wife on this particular day. his first marriage crashed and burned, of course, because rosie is the woman he's loved all of his life, but neither of them are brave enough to accept this... so he first marries his college sweetheart... and then he marries his high school sweetheart, all the while trying to ignore the fact that he's pretty much always longed for his childhood sweetheart. that book, by the way is equal parts adorable and annoying. but i love alex and rosie, despite their pigheadedness. you should get to know them.

i've written about him before, the only guy who's really mattered to me. he doesn't now. i'm pretty sure if were to see him, i'd be like what the fuck were you stuck on this guy for? but... i see certain numbers and i am reminded of him. of feeling a certain way. and that... that is what i miss. not him. but the possibility of him.

when i was younger, like almost every other woman in the world, i would imagine my wedding day. i've since gotten to know myself really well, and so i don't delude myself with this stuff anymore, but once upon a time, i entertained the possibility of normal.

his birthday was september twenty-seventh.

mine is march twenty-ninth.

halfway between the two is december twenty-eighth. the year i knew him, that day fell on a saturday. the following year it was a sunday. good days for getting married. and i felt, not too long after i met him, that if i were to get married i wouldn't mind being married to him. i was almost thirty, and i'd begun to realize by this point that perhaps that wasn't quite the right path for me, but i found myself toying with the idea, anyway.

first there was yesterday... and then today. the dates always make me a little nostalgic.

so, to distract myself a bit with other things, i went to wikipedia to see what else happened on december twenty-eighth. i won't give you the years. and i'm sure as shit not giving you an encyclopedia. a few of'm will do. and maybe, the next time i see december twenty-eighth, i can reference these instead of that:

westminster abbey was consecrated

the planet neptune was discovered,
though galileo referred to it as a fixed star

iowa was recognized as the twenty-ninth state

the endangered species act was passed

woodrow wilson, stan lee, maggie smith, edgar winter
and denzel washington were born

jerry orbach died

and it's the fourth day of christmas, referring to the four gospels

and the next time i see september twenty-seventh:

the norman conquest began

pope urban the seventh died, 

thirteen days after being chosen... the shortest reign

lancaster, pennsylvania was the united states capital... for just one day

mexico gained its independence from spain

the first ford model t was built in detroit, michigan

the tonight show debuted nationwide

meatloaf, gwyneth paltrow, lil wayne and avril lavigne were born

general braxton bragg and babe didrikson zaharias died

and it's world tourism day

i don't want these dates to mean anything personal to me anymore. i don't want for march twelfth and seventeenth, september twenty-seventh, october twelfth and december twenty-eighth to matter anymore. i want them to just be days--ordinary, unmemorable days.

and if i can't have that, then i'd like it very much if karma could stop shoving them in my face.

primroses on street corners

my day started off okay. i had colorado peaches for breakfast. and oh, they're yummy.

one of my favorite managers has come back to our store to manage it, and i've felt pleased and blessed where work's concerned ever since i learned of her return. or at least, i've tried to focus on this.

i've a job i usually enjoy. i get to help parents dote on their children, which is kind of nice. for instance, a young woman came in this afternoon looking for batman merchandise because they were going to do their son's room in all things batman. and i found a beacon light, an alarm clock, headphones, sheeting... she was quite pleased with her purchases. and i was quite pleased to have helped.

but by the end of my shift, i felt like my coworkers do little more than tolerate me. not because they want to do so, but because they must. i felt so unappreciated.

this is what a tank does. a tank, for those of you newer readers, is what i call a depressive episode. and i've been swimming about in a tank too wide and too deep for too long lately. i can't find my way to the surface for more than a second or two at at time. and then i plunge again to the bottom. and contrary to what some of you might think, it's not by choice, this sinking.

when i'd gotten off work, i found a text from a friend: what's wrong, poppet?

so i told her.

and one of her replies is that i'm the strongest person she knows.

only one other person has said this about me: my mother.

it's just that i don't feel so strong.

and apparently i'm too negative. too pessimistic. and according to another friend, i should consider that there's always someone worse off. this from a woman who's recently married and newly pregnant. and half my age.

so. worse off...

one. i could've been placed in an institution for babies born with cerebral palsy. i'm quite certain i wouldn't've found a reason not to end my life when i'd first considered it at eight had this been so.

two. if it weren't for the braces doctors placed on my hips in infancy, i would've never learned to walk. heck, movement of any kind would've been excruciating. always.

three. my eyes could've remained crossed. or i could've gone blind in one of two surgeries to fix them.

four. maybe i wouldn't've been smart enough to avoid being placed in special education classes. in which case, i'm quite certain i wouldn't've found a reason not to end my life at ten years of age.

five. my eyelids could've remained wonky and droopy. or worse, the muscles could've been so weak that i couldn't've lifted them to see out with no way to correct it.

six. i could have fangs. when my adult canine teeth grew in, i hadn't quite lost my childish ones yet, and the new ones came in over my baby teeth.

seven. my knees could give out on me daily. this happening at work would be awesome. i tended to scream fuck at the top of my lungs whenever this occurred. were it to do so now, all the little kiddies would be curious. or terrified. and all the mommies would be offended. and i probably would no longer be employed after the first incident.

eight. one of those other four surgeries could've had some sort of debilitating outcome.

nine. my parents could turn me out at any time for being a waste and a leech, in which case i'd be living under a bridge somewhere, attempting to beg for change on a street corner every day.

ten. i could've grown up in a family of longhorns... those idiots who chose to attend texas university. ugh. the horror. to have to wear that godawful burnt orange. to praise a damned cow. to idolize a band that dresses like it's in an episode of hee-haw. to sing a fight song that sounds a lot like i've been working on the railroad.... (which is now stuck in my head). worse still, i could've been forced to go to college there. EW.

the point of all this is that i'm aware of how awful things could be. and these are just a few potential outcomes. i can imagine all kinds of possibilities, most of which are too heinous to mention here. yet, instead of some friend calling attention to them, she could offer up instead a hug and a smile and say, it's okay; i like you because... sometimes it helps to be reminded of what makes you good. because sometimes it's hard to see it.

i'm well aware of the ways in which my life has been blessed. i know it. every day.

but there are ways that it lacks. sometimes that lack seems to be quite great. i could use a friend to distract me. maybe doing small things like giving out some flowers or sending a care package is just enough to brighten a bleak mood.

so... to my friend who called me poppet, i love you and thank you for being there.

and to another friend, i sent you something lovely. thank you, too, for being a gracious and welcome recipient. and patient. :]

and to god, for giving me things like primroses on street corners... beauty where there should be none. it's little things like this...