big announcement

It’s funny… Sometimes I feel like I live my life really fast. You know?

Last week, I got the first inkling of good news while I sat at my desk at work. And I was so, so happy that I had to go into the stairwell and jump up and down a little. And I wondered how I would be able to contain myself throughout the day. But I told myself to calm down and wait until the good news was finalized.

Yesterday, my agent got permission to post the good news in Publishers Marketplace. I was excited. “Yay, now it’s official and I can tell everyone!” I thought. And I emailed my friends. And I thought, “I need to announce this on my blog. But maybe I should wait until tomorrow…”

And then, I started with the planning. There’s a lot of stuff to plan, and I like to plan the hell out of things, to the furthest extent possible, with contingencies and back-ups and variables and weather charts and Excel spreadsheets and protractors and everything. So I started doing that. And my friends were like, “So, do you want to have a drink this weekend, to celebrate?” And I was like, “I can’t. I’m so busy; I have so much stuff to do…”

And they were like, “Have you noticed that you’ve never celebrated any of this? We’re still waiting for you to celebrate your first four books. When are you gonna get around to it? The vodka bottles are stacking up over here.”

And I laughed, because they were right. And then I said, “Seriously, though — I have a ton of stuff to do. Not just for this book, but for everything.”

So, yeah. I’m really busy lately, and I have a lot of writing to do, and my mind is spinning with all the plans and lists… Oh, and…

I sold another novel to Grand Central Publishing!

My second novel!
My fifth book!


thrift report

Today I’m wearing a $5.97 pleated cotton Ann Taylor Loft skirt. It’s brown and white with flowers in the color I call persimmon. Not burnt orange, which makes me look corpsical, but persimmon, which is blue-er and much more flattering. I have paired this with a brown Carole Little top from Ross Dress for Less, and brown shoes. Creative, I know. I told y’all I wear boring clothes, though. Even though I do have this one persimmon satin top (of Target) that someone implied the other day was something only a Latina would wear. For a Latina, I am boring. For a white person, maybe my colors get a little bright sometimes. Fuchsia, orange, light pink, bright green. But my skin is light olive, so those are the colors that help me. I think that means I’m “a Summer.” Being half white makes me Summer instead of Winter. Winter was what every non-white person had to be, back in the ’80s, when such things got said.

Oops. I didn’t mean to go off on the political train there. But that is a personal pet peeve of mine — the American beauty trends and science ideas that non chalantly exclude non-white people. Like the Color Seasons lady saying that white people can be Spring, Autumn, Summer, Winter, and then lumping all the black and asian and dark-skinned latina chicks under Winter, in her best-selling book, back in the ’80s. Like all those ’90s toys for babies with the white faces, black eyes and smiles. Because it was proven that babies were attracted to high-contrast face, meaning white faces with dark eyes. Because… dark-skinned babies don’t care to see their dark-skinned parents? Like Karl Lagerfeld saying, just last year, that tans are out, and only pale skin looks fresh right now.

Okay, back to the thrift report. Last week’s find: a black Armani Exchange sweater, little plastic tag thing still attached, for $9.97. Yay.

Jungle love is driving me slightly mad. It’s making me a tiny bit crazy.

I realized that Houston does have a Bob station, after all. Well, Hempstead, Texas does, at least. Hempstead and Cypress and Tomball and the Woodlands, and as I travel east on 290, the station fades.

I like the Bob stations because they are the masters of busting out songs you haven’t heard in a billion, jillion years. Like Uriah Heep’s “Thirty Days in the Hole.”

So I’m listening to it the other day, and they play that song “Jungle Love” (by Steve Miller Band, I think?) and at first I think, “Oh, not that cheesy freaking song.” But then it cranks up and I realize I don’t hate it too much, after all. And I’m listening to the lyrics, and it’s about some guy meeting some chick on somebody’s island, and giving her a crate of papayas (euphemism?) and then, presumably, having sex with her in the ocean and maybe in the jungle, too.

And I thought, “It’s so lame, how guys will think that a song-worthy topic is the fact that they had sex with a hot chick.”

But then I thought about how nice it would be, not only to have a romantic liaison with someone attractive, but to be on a tropical island with no cares in the world, back in the days before HIV. With papayas and maybe other fruit, including hopefully mangoes. That is songworthy after all, isn’t it?

Then Steve Miller sings another verse, in which they’re off the island and life is like a jungle and I guess he’s not having sex with the hot chick anymore, but wishes he was. Or something. I spaced out on that part. I booked trips to Fiji and Bora Bora in my mind, instead. I looked forward to the day that I’d be able to spend money on traveling instead of on credit card interest. That lasted me the middle 20 minutes of my commute, and then I went back to fantasizing about being a preferred shopper at Neiman Marcus, and then planning the next thing I have to write.

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Posted in fantasies, pop culture, thrifting, writing on 12/11/2007 11:54 am

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