How does this person named Six_of_Cups have one of my books for sale, when my book isn’t out until May 31?

This reminds me of the last time I had a book out on Amazon, and someone was selling a signed copy that I don’t remember signing.

Oh, well. This is capitalism, I guess.

flying; my pants’ seat

I have several projects due pretty soon at work, and there are still parts of our project-turning-out process that I don’t know how to do. Learning: Too bad it doesn’t seem to burn calories.

Also, I’m going to fly to Dallas in a few days, and I don’t have my plane tickets yet. And I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there. And I don’t know what to wear. And I don’t know what I’m allowed to take in my luggage.

And I’m too tired to look it all up. I’ll look it all up tomorrow.

high school reunions

I’ve recently come into contact with two people I haven’t seen since we went to Reagan High School together.

One seemed happy. The other didn’t.

happy Mothers’ Day

We celebrated the birthday of one of my kids, belatedly, instead. I kind of felt bad, for a fleeting instant, that I didn’t have anyone to buy a nice gift for.

I mean, I could have bought something for my mom, but she doesn’t like anything nice. She only would’ve been happy with:
a) a carton of cigarettes and some lottery tickets, or
b) a bunch of magazine pictures scribbled with a leaky pen and rolled up in aluminum foil, or
c) like, a black nylon coat from the Goodwill that smells like smoke or something.

Which is fine, except that I didn’t feel like shopping for any of that stuff.

(To those of you who are new to this site: My mom has been schizophrenic since I was very young and I’m so calloused and jaded about it that I can make flippant comments about the uncouthness of her illness once a year or so. Apparently.)

If my Aunt Sylvia were still alive, I could have bought her anything sentimental and she would’ve been happy. I could have bought her, say, a white ceramic bear with a lacy plastic heart glued to his chest with the words “Luv U Mom!” and a fake carnation emerging from the back of his head. And she would’ve been pleased.

But I would’ve bought her something nicer than that.

Instead, I helped pick out flowers for my boyfriend’s mom. I really enjoy shopping for flowers. I said, “How about candy to go with the flowers? She doesn’t like candy? How about shower gel? No?” Afterwards, my boyfriend offered to buy me flowers, too. But I declined. Because I wanted to pick my own flowers, and no one had anything I wanted. Seriously — the flower selection was rank this year. Prematurely wilted.

I told him I’d buy myself flowers next week, when everything’s replenished. Instead, I bought myself a pedicure, on Friday. “This,” I told myself, “is my Mothers’ Day gift.”

I mean, I would’ve gotten a pedicure either way. But still.

I might be secretly upset about some of this, on some level, and that’s why I’m typing so much about it. If so, that’s okay.

And it’s okay if you don’t like Matt Damon, because I like him enough for the both of us.

My kids and I had a Jason Bourne Film Festival yesterday and today. I love the hell out of those movies. Even though I hated the book, The Bourne Identity, when I read it was back in the day.

Everything is better with a little Matt Damon, though. I’ve always liked him. Also, did you all know that Clive Owen was in the first movie? And Eomer, from Lord of the Rings, was in the second? (That’s who my son said it was. I could check IMDb right now to be sure, but I don’t feel like it.)

video game news

They’re coming out with another World of Warcraft expansion that takes you to Level 80, and my lazy night elf character, Xora, is still only Level 35. Khan.

We opened up a lot of new songs on Rock Band, but my voice is still sore, so I bought some new clothes for my character, Xora Jane. I cut her hair short and dyed it green. My kids said, “What happened to your hair?” Kind of like they said about my real hair, now that it’s short and dyed red.

But, you know. These things happen.

We got this game called Assasin’s Creed that everybody keeps telling us to get. I had a long conversation with the game store clerks, during which they each explained to me, separately, that it was about the Crusades. (“What do they call that? That religious thing?”) So now I’m excited, even though I can’t play console games worth a crap because my fingers haven’t ever adapted to the boomerang-shaped controllers. The Game Stop guy said I should totally sit on the couch and watch my kids play, though, just to see the story unfold.

I think my kids paid him to tell me that, actually. That’s their fantasy — that I get rich and quit my job and buy them more video games and then sit there, watching them play.

okay

Stream of consciousness writing time over! It’s time for bed!

Goodnight.

We went to an HEB in the middle of nowhere the other day. (HEB is a big ol’ grocery chain in Texas.) Out in front of the store, they had crates of bagged gourds and mini pumpkins for $1.50 per bag, surrounded by desperate fruit flies. So I bought three bags of gourds. Even though it’s almost too late for harvest decorations, I bought them, figuring I could paint them silver and gold and use them for Martha Stewart-y xmas decorations.

Last night I cut open the bags and sorted through all the mixed gourds, picking out the best ones to display on the mantel. And, oh my god, I love mini gourds so much. I wanted to hug and kiss each one. They’re so cute and harvesty. And now I don’t want to paint them, because they’re so beautiful just the way they are. I want to keep them forever. I want them to be my pets.

blipping over Thanksgiving

So the kids are going to their dad’s for Thanksgiving, and we’re not even cooking turkey–we’re going to a Chinese restaurant. So, in a way, I feel like Thanksgiving doesn’t exist and therefore I’m already planning for Christmas.

And it kind of makes me sad, to skip a holiday like that. But then again, I’m so glad to have the kids for Christmas this year, I’ll gladly skip Thanksgiving in exchange for that.

vanity update

I got my hair cut, but didn’t have it all cut off, like I threatened. They layered the hell out of it, but left the back long. While Tina hacked away, I noted the clear line of demarcation between my old color and my roots. So I went home later and dyed my hair Navajo Bronze, aka “light caramel brown,” and it came out dark auburn instead, and it looks nice and I like it.

And we got a new scale, and I’ve lost 35 pounds total in the past 6 months. And my goal is to lose 20 more, and I’m giving myself 6 more months to do that. So… yeah. Wish me luck.

My boyfriend can cook like a mofo.

The other day we were ambling around the grocery store, trying to decide what to make for dinner. My boyfriend says, “How about chicken wings?” And I said, “You mean like buffalo wings? Eh.”

And he made us baked chicken wings, with salt and pepper and garlic, and DAMN they were good. My boyfriend is the master of cooking stuff with just salt, pepper, garlic, and making whatever it is taste like a $29 entree.

My night elf, she is sad.

My World of Warcraft character, Xora, has been stuck on Level 32 for the past nine months. I’m on this quest where I have to go into a haunted house and kill a bunch of zombies. Whenever I log on, no one else is playing that quest so no one can help me out. So I’ll go into the haunted house and kill a few zombies, until the biggest zombie kills me, and then I’ll spend a while bringing my character back to life, and then I get tired and log off.

I told my kids that, unless they wanted to get grounded, at least one of them was going to have to get online with me and help my character level up.

“I can just play your character for you until you’re like, Level 35,” said my youngest, who is 10.

“I don’t want someone else to play it for me!” I whined. “I want to level up by myself!“

“Fine,” said my oldest. “I’ll help you the weekend after next, if I have time.”

It’s that time of year, when the world needs new clothes.

My boyfriend Tad wanted to look at trenchcoats, even though he already owns at least two. But we finally had a cold front, and the temperature set off that trenchcoat impulse within him.

So we went to the Galleria, which is where a few rich people go to shop, and where zillions of poor people go to watch them. We went into Neiman’s and pretended we could afford it. We went to Saks 5th and pretended we were classy enough to lift our noses at the mannequins. We went to the new Barney’s and sniffed that it was nothing like the one in New York. We peered into the window of Fendi and disagreed over the spotlighted purse. (I was for, Tad was against.) We went to Club Monaco and enjoyed the music. We went to Nordstrom and left in a huff over the fact that there were no more BCBG sweater dresses in size XL. (Which was good, since I couldn’t afford one, anyway.)

Most importantly, we noted that fingerless knit gloves (solid or striped) were all the rage again, just like back in the eighties. We thought my 10-year-old son might like a pair. But the cheapest pair we found was $14 at Urban Outfitters, and that was too much.

We left the Galleria. The next day, we went to Target, where we purchased a set of two pairs of knit gloves–one black and one black and white stripes–for $1.49. We took them home and cut off the fingers with pinking shears. When my youngest son got home from Austin that night, we told him our Galleria adventures, then presented him with the knock-off gloves. He takes after us… I couldn’t tell if he was more enchanted with the trendiness of them, or with the fact that we’d recreated the trend for so cheap.