Eat the Damn Cake

I watched the entire 2nd season of Veronica Mars on Netflix. I can’t explain the finer points of the plot, since I was sort of staring blankly at the screen and drooling lightly for parts of it. I don’t understand why she keeps dating Logan. I mean, really? The guy wears that surfer boy necklace all the time. He’s all racist to Weevil. And clearly, it’s not going to end well, his family is the biggest mess ever and he’s not even in therapy. But I can’t help wanting a little to be a girl detective.

(see how cool? that camera would eat my camera for breakfast.  source)

I am still sick. That’s why I don’t have anything interesting to say. When I’m sick I can’t think straight, and I don’t do anything. It’s a bad combination for being an interesting person. Or maybe it’s a good combination, in a way, when you think about me trying to climb a ladder to fix that stupid bulb on the ceiling or attempting to argue a case in front of the Supreme Court.

When I’m sick I have these crazy dreams. It makes me think all these unoriginal thoughts about dreams like, “What are they, really? Do they mean anything?”

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I’m angry at my body. Yesterday, it got sick, and its timing is terrible. Bear and I are going to California on Friday, and I don’t understand why my body can’t be more respectful of our schedule.  You know that feeling when you start to get sick at a point on your calendar when you absolutely can’t afford to get sick? It’s this helpless, desperate, trapped sense. It happened to me when I had a vocal audition for music school that I’d spent months preparing for. It happened the day before Yom Kippur, when I knew I’d have to stand up in front of the congregation the next day and sing for, hmm…about eight hours.

In my body’s defense, it did conveniently catch the swine flu during finals in grad school. I had to be quarantined and all of my professors begged me not to ever come near them again. All of my tests were take-homes.

Anyway, this whole being sick thing is interrupting everything. I was doing great with the creative photos. I was getting a lot of work done. I had not had to cancel any meetings.

And by this afternoon, I’m determined to be back on track.

But since the only thing that’s happened to me (other than dragging myself out to hear Paul Krugman speak last night) recently is being sick and thinking about being sick, I’d like to direct your attention instead to this New York Times article about older women and eating disorders.

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We can all agree, of course, that it’s pretty clear that when a young woman writes about body image, what she really means is that she hopes to lose weight. No matter what else she claims, no matter how happy she sounds about her various satisfyingly squishy parts, she is secretly hoping to lose weight.

I mean, if she’s not, then what’s the point? It gets too complicated. It’s anyone’s guess.

This blog is now big enough that  I can sign up with an ad hub and attract paying advertisers. So I did that, feeling very cool about myself (this was before the chocolate milk incident).

The way it works is advertisers have to select the blogs that they want to work with from a list that includes stats and basic info. When they make their choice, a query is sent to the blog manager, with the option to accept or refuse the ad campaign.

And all I do is refuse (accept for that one with the earrings).

Because all they are is weight loss ads.

(a bagel with cream cheese, lox, and sable)

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I don’t want to be gracious. Like a good little girl.

I threw something. It happened to be a bottle of chocolate milk, which is sad, because I got it for myself as a treat. And now it’s mostly on the floor. I usually don’t throw things.

I’m the kind of person who almost never freaks out to that extent. I might punch a pillow, but that’s because I know it’s a pillow. I don’t like to lose control. Which is why I’m one of the only kids in the world who has never gotten drunk.

Even as I start to get upset, I’m telling myself, “This is not a big deal. A big deal is when your parent dies. A big deal is when there’s a nuclear explosion. A big deal is happening in Japan. Not here in your little apartment.”

This is another rejection letter, the second of the day. And guess who it’s from? WHO ELSE? DANIEL JONES. MY ARCH NEMESIS.

I’M YELLING NOW.

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I stole this (with permission, so it wasn’t really stealing) from Sarah at Yes and Yes. She is a blogger you might just want to check out. Immediately.

How To Survive a Case of The Uglies

I don’t feel like doing anything. And, of course, I have five hundred things to do. Things that left undone will probably topple my career, gnaw several of my dreams in half, and begin to erode my closest relationships. For example, one of my closest friends and I are sort of almost fighting. Sort of. Almost. I was hurt. I wrote her this note, and then she wrote me this letter, explaining, and then I…didn’t write her back. Because. Because I have a really good reason. I don’t know what to say. I’m flagrantly non-confrontational sometimes. And I’m hoping that is the first time in the history of the English language that those two words have been used together.

I read a blog post about blogging. Did you know there are entire PEOPLE who make careers out of blogging about blogging? They hang out on ProBlogger.  I am even friends with one of them. Her name is Annabel Candy (I’m not even going to get into how much I wish my last name was candy. Kate Candy…It has a certain…subtle flair… a Je ne sais quoi*), and she has lived just about everywhere in the world. She wrote a book about blogging, too.

Anyway, the post about blogging told me that there are certain posts of mine that no one will ever comment on or tweet. These are posts that don’t involve action. They have a topic, and maybe I care about the topic, but I haven’t explored the topic enough. For example, I write about how one should take out the garbage, but I don’t in fact take out the garbage and provide personal insight from the experience and guidelines based on what went wrong, what went right, and what I’d do in the future, when I next take the garbage out.

The post also said I should eliminate anything that’s non-essential. And that I should make my life sound exciting. This is hard, but not completely impossible.

(me doing nothing)

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