rachelpink rides the bus

The Weekend in Numbers

 8: Episodes of Buffy watched

1: Baby shower attended

2: Booties knit from yummy soft alpaca

1: Train ride to Connecticut

1: Nap

2: Dances with Foster (yeah, it's a little creepy)

10: Cabinets cleaned out from top to bottom

1: Tub scrubbed

2: Hours spent cleaning kitty cages at the ACQ

4: Small packets of Twizzler Nibs consumed

2: Childish texting fights

3: Nail polish changes (yeah, it's a little obsessive)

Hand Claps for Tuesday

This day was grand. I'm knocking on wood.

I learned I'm going on a very unexpected trip to the London office next month. That is happy-making.

I booked a hotel room for me and my mom on the night of the NYC Happy Book signing. I'm so happy my mom will be there, and that we'll spend the night in luxury. 

I received tons and tons of happy emails from bookstores and 501st folks about this weekend's events.

I found an internet music site that isn't blocked at work (shhhh--don't tell).

So Honest

Donovan and Delaney have busy little social lives now that they're back in school and playing and drinking Capri Suns like mad. It's been almost a month since I talked to them. This changed on Sunday when I had a quick chat with Donovan. He's nine going on nineteen.

R: Pumpkin! I missed you! I haven't talked to you in ages.

D: Yeah, I know.

R: Um, Ok. But I missed you! How are you! I liked the picture of you in your Halloween costume, but who is that?

D: Um, JOHN CENA.

R: Right, right. The guy in that movie. Oh I just looked him up online. Your costume is super accurate.

[And I'm thinking, "Why are you so uncool!? You should know that! Don't be the lame aunt!"]

R: OK, so how's school? Have you learned anything yet?

D: No, nothing. The learning hasn't started yet.

R: OK. . . um, I might be Mr. Miagi for Halloween. Have you seen the Karate Kid? Do you know who that is?

D: Yeah, that's a weird costume. It's kind of funny.

R: I know, I know. It's kind of part of a theme costume, maybe, well, so um, I might take a comedy class. Someone told me I should do it, and I think I might.

[While this is true, it was really only said to gain cred with the kiddo.]

D: That's a terrible idea.

R: Why?!?

D: Because you need to be FUNNY to be a comedian. And you're not funny.

OUCH!!! Things didn't improve much from there. I attempted to sway the boy with ideas about our upcoming trip to Disney World (in January), but his heart wasn't in it. It's happening, my friends. He's getting older. When you're a nine-year old boy, John Cena and drinks that come in pouches and cool kids in the neighborhood and skate boards and trampolines will always trump a 34-yr. old aunt--even when that aunt is me.

While I Was Out. . . .

This wasn't the best summer ever, but it's over so I'm not gonna dwell. It's done, and now it's fall and I'm wearing wool socks and a grass-green sweatshirt and black leggings and things are quite suddenly really really good. This weekend, on 10-10-09, I (with the help of multitudes of good people) orchestrated the biggest event of my career. There were over 60 events in over 50 cities and they all took place at the same time on the same day. It was a crazy idea, but it worked. From May to July that project was a hum in the back of my head--omnipresent, but not too bad. From late July to September the hum turned into something louder and more urgent and a little scary. From mid-September to this Saturday morning my whole entire life was 100% project, project, project. The rest of my work got done on a triage basis. My mother stopped asking me questions about anything not related to 10-10-09. I forgot birthdays and wore my official event t-shirt too much and turned into a crabby monster at work.

And then it arrived--the big day. 10-10-09. That afternoon and evening I partied away all the stress with my co-workers and friends and a steady stream of rum and cokes. And then--poof--it was 100% over.

Some smart friends warned me that I might suffer a serious post-10-10 letdown. But two days have passed and I feel good and strong. I slept a lot and sat around and didn't do anything more taxing than laundry. 

So. . . I'm back.

xo

Achoo

I'm sick and it's not surprising because I've been working all the time (even my dreams are peopled with Star Wars), eating food that doesn't do a body good, and running hopelessly behind on everything. I owe too many friends emails. There are babies being born that I want to knit for and I haven't lifted a single sharp stick to make it happen. I just can't get it together.

And so I kind of deserve a little sick. It's what I get for letting things get nutsy and out of control.

But here's the thing, I've always been a bad patient. From baby times, I've been a dramatic sickie. My nephew has the same tendency so it must be genetic, right?  The bad habits we all chalk up to genes.

So I'm on my second day home from work, being very good and answering emails and calls from the couch while sipping ginger ale and orange juice and soup with noodles and crackers. The apartment is messy and I'm just letting it stay that way because I need to get better and get work done and get myself back to fighting condition. I work for a few hours, then nap. Work, then nap. It's doing me good, and I'm actually making a dent in the great email pileup.

And while I'm not being dramatic about this cold, I am feeling dramatic in general. I hate being single and sick. Now I have good friends who offer to bring me soup and tissues, and don't think for a second I don't appreciate and love them to pieces. But there's something to be said for having someone that runs to the store for ginger ale and rainbow sherbert and trashy magazines and tissues in a square box, then comes home and pops the top off a can of Campbell's chicken noodle and tucks you under a blanket and lets you watch Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for the millionth time. Isn't that so 34-ish of me? To have romantic visions of being taken care of when I have a cold? When I was 17 I never thought I'd have such pedestrian, un-feminist(!) dreams. I can take care of myself (sort of--with the help of my good advisers) and buy my own ginger ale and tuck myself in. I can watch HPIV every day all day if I want. And I dig it! I dig having a place of my own and a life of my own. . . but then I think: What if I have a coughing fit and fall and hit my head on the edge of the kitchen table and collapse onto the floor and die and no one finds me until the cats have eaten me for breakfast? Sigh. I'm hopeless.

It's Hard to Write. . .

. . . with a cat on your arm.

Sigh.

So I'm watching The Emmys and eating grapes and drinking iced tea. Foster is now fully laying his sweet little cat head on my left hand, so pardon any typos. Despite the fact that I've been home all day long, that's not enough for my Foster. He loves me so.

I did not have a productive weekend. Sigh again.

But that's OK. Next weekend I'm headed down to D.C. to see my Tammy and Matthew. The last time I watched Matthew on my own it was 2 years. He was still a wee one. I changed his diaper a bunch of times, and never got the gosh darn thing on right. If not for Becca and her family helping me out, Matthew would have spent an afternoon leaking all over the Smithsonian. That day I also took the little pumpkin on a million carousel rides and taught him to throw dirt and rocks on his own head for comedic effect (I did it too!), so diaper malfunctions aside, he still liked me. 

I'm sure I'll do better this year.

Speaking of sweet munchkins, I haven't talked to mine lately. School and new friends are keeping them busy. Sigh to the third power.

Clothes-ed

I hate summer because I hate being hot and forced to go without a sweater.

Now it's fall, and I can layer and bundle and it makes me a happier girl. It's also been a very inspiring time for clothes!

I went to the trunk show at Re/Dress in Brooklyn last weekend. I wish I'd brought a friend because it would have been more fun. Even still, it was grand! Several lovely, talented, and altogether genius plus-size designers were there selling their hot hot clothes. I met two of them, and they rocked. Inspired women doing good works--I can't get enough of that!

If money was no object I could have easily spent over a thousand bucks without much effort. Instead, I had three twenty dollar bills tucked in an envelope. Go-go budget fashionista! Things I wanted? A playful custom dress from Cupcake and Cuddlebunny (instead I bought this t-shirt--and it makes Meredith mad!), several pairs of ruffled tap pants and an armful of skirts from Size Appeal, and a sassy slip dress from Diesel Femme. Must remember to keep playing lotto.

And last night I watched "The September Issue" and if you're in a place where you can see it, go! It's an amazing documentary full of stunning clothes and personalities. And a model eats a pastry! That's exciting to see. I'll never look at an issue of Vogue the same way. 

Today I found a link to The Uniform Project. This super-stylish chick is wearing the same dress everyday for a year as a fundraiser. She's doing amazing things with accessories.

And then I bought myself two things this week. First, I finally made a purchase from B & Lu. Bought a dress with an owl that I think I'm going to love (and it was deeply and delightfully on sale). Then today for a mere $13 I found a short cropped cotton jacket with a round collar at my local super bargain awesome secret clothing store, Famous Brands. I think I have to wear it tomorrow because it's perfect.

The Other Side of the Fence

Today I had my first interview about the book! It was with Redbook magazine, and Meg said it was OK for me to handle it solo.

The whole thing lasted 10 minutes, but it was so nerve wracking. I'm afraid that I came off sounding goofy! Wait, I am goofy. The interviewer was an editor who I have pitched a million times, and I'll admit that it was so so cool that I didn't have to pitch her. The pitching was done! The book is getting mentioned! Hurrah! 

So. . . come mid-October our book will be in a real-live magazine. It's the November issue in the Mind and Body section (or somewhere thereabouts). That's pretty darn happy-making, no?

Long and Hard (hehe)

I'm home after working a 15 hour day. I still have 900000 things to do. . . but strangely I feel more relaxed than I did earlier in the day.  My only disappointment? I wanted to do something for Susan's birthday tomorrow. It's gonna have to wait until Friday. Sigh. 

You know what helped? Some absolutely fan-freaking-tastic singapore noodles from the Noodle Bar on Carmine Street. Oh my. It was a weird mix of noodles, shrimp, sprouts, hardboiled egg, something grey and meat-like, and a curry/coconut broth. If it had gotten down on one knee, I would have married that plastic bowl of noodles without reservation. Dear god they were good. 

Enough noodle talk. This girl needs some zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. 

Note to co-workers: I'm wearing my Star Wars Lego t-shirt tomorrow. I expect no one to tease me. I need to keep the enthusiasm alive. 

Today Was The Day. . .

I knew I was going to reach a point where I just completely lost my marbles at work. It happened today at approximately 3:15 PM when I went down to the basement to pick up labels for a mailing. 

Labels are a rather essential part of my work life. Envelopes, labels, books, Vocus, Outlook and lots of iced tea--that's how I do what I do. I discovered in the basement only 6 sheets of labels. Here's the thing, earlier in the day for a massive mailing that the whole bloody imprint helped us mail out we used up 120 sheets of labels. That's just one (albeit one BIG) mailing for one small imprint in one big company. How could there be no labels? It baffled me. 

And for some reason, the labels just set me ablaze. I lost 15 minutes of the day just seeking out the labels (only to essentially FAIL in my mission). Then I lost 15 minutes more ranting about the lack of labels. Yeah, that was a good use of time. The whole thing just made me sink a little lower than I had been. It was a completely irrational moment of label-induced hysteria. 

But it's really never about the labels, is it? 

I'm grateful as grateful can be to have a job in this economy. And I'm especially grateful to have a job in an industry I love even if that industry is going the way of the triceratops and the dodo bird and Liberace and tights-as-pants (admittedly that last one is just a bit of wishful thinking. I've seen far too many offenders of the tights-are-not-pants rule).

Sigh. It's such a waste of time and energy to get upset and rant about labels and work and mailings. I have 400 costumed characters that require wrangling--that's the prize I need to set my eyes on, and pronto.