Attention, apiring Latina writers: The Latina Voz is hosting a writing contest! (Click link, see sidebar.) They're looking for pieces that are 1500 words or less, on any topic. You can even submit poetry. Winner gets a published, paid writing gig for the site. Also, I heard one of the judges might be someone you know. So bust out your laptops and enter. Good luck!
Saturday, November 18, 2006
We found out what's wrong.And it's not anything I thought it was, or anything any of you thought. Not PCOS, not fibroids, not cancer, not pregnancy, not thyroid.
Here is what's wrong with me:
1. My pituitary gland produces too much prolactin.
2. I also have too much of the other male hormone. (DHEA? Forgot the name already.)
3. My insulin resistance is borderline.
4. I need more Vitamin D.
Those last two aren't what's causing the double periods. But he told me about them, anyway, just so I'd know.
Besides that, I'm completely healthy. Even my cholestorol is good.
He gave me little tiny pills to slow down the prolactin. He said that'll most likely bring the DHEA down, too. If not, though, they'll give me something extra for that.
I am ovulating, after all. Twice a month, I guess.
No wonder I'm always tired and bitchy, then. But still. I'm glad we went through all the tests. Hopefully the tiny pills will work. I should find out in the next four weeks if they do.
In the meantime, I'm going to buy a sun lamp. 4:57 PM # (3) comments
Friday, November 17, 2006
HmmIs it just my imagination, or does everyone Gen X and younger have panic attacks on a regular basis? I blame high fructose corn syrup.
Is it also just my imagination, or does everyone younger than Gen X (What are y'all - Gen Y?) have experience with cutting themselves? What's up with that? Nutrasweet, maybe?
What will the next generation's issue be? Besides being born with adult diabetes, I mean?
What will Splenda bring?
Seriously
I know this is going to sound weird and maybe a little bit disgusting, but I pretty much love 90% of my coworkers very much. I like to see them in the elevators and trade pleasant small talk with them on the way home. I empathize with them and wish them well.
Or maybe it's just PMS.
Seriously as Hell - Why I Hated The Unconsoled
It wasn't that it was told as a dream. It wasn't that I'm too dumb to follow it. It wasn't that everyone in it talked like the butler from Remains of the Day.
No.
It was that the narrator being an asshole was supposed to cover Ishiguro being self-deprecating, which in turn was supposed to cover the narrator(/author) feeling sorry for himself for lame-ass, petty reasons.
When your parents don't support your art, you're not supposed to write a big book about a bunch of people's parents not supporting their art. You're supposed to write a small book (or a series of them) eviscerating people just like your parents, and presenting fictionalized theories on how they came to be so fucked up. That is what cures you. (Because nothing you can write will make them change. You can only change yourself.)
When you want to complain about and simultaneously apologize to a lover or ex-lover, you don't write a big book containing three or four versions of her. No. You write several books containing those versions, and you make one of them a man so as to disguise your whininess better.
Don't be a baby, Kazuo! Exploit your personal slights the time-honored way. 2:41 PM # (2) comments
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Recent Dream Themes1. (Instead of being sad that I have to live in my dad's house, or deciding to clean up my dad's house,) A bunch of irresponsible people have moved into my dad's house, and I have to decide whether I want to kick them out, or clean up their mess, or just party with them and then leave.
2. There's a big vegetable garden at/near my dad's house, and I'm about to harvest the monstrously huge mutant vegetables, with or without the help of my family, but constantly get waylaid.
3. I'm walking near my dad's house, noticing all the insane gentrification going on all around it, alongside abject decay. (That part's straight out of real life.) And then I arrive at a series of antiques stores run by liberal gentrifying white people. And they let me in to browse, because I look like them. But then, I can not resist plotting to steal from their stores.
4. I'm driving to or in a small Texas town near the coast. It's quaint, and yet contains an establishment filled with hipsters my age, including one or another of the hipster white boys I've loved in my real-life past. Nothing happens between me and these boys, but I don't care because I have money now, and I often have my kids with me, too. So I spend money, and being in those towns becomes a mini adventure.
5. Either I find a cool little house I want to rent, or else I discover that the small house I'm renting is secretly way bigger and cooler than I first realized. But then, in either case, I realize that I can only rent this place with my ex-husband, because he's the co-signer on the lease. I feel torn between staying in the house, ignoring my ex, and leaving him for a smaller, less-nice house where I won't have to put up with him anymore. Usually I'm about to leave when I wake up.
6. I have to do a show with the poor-kids musical theater troupe I used to perform in as a kid. Whereas the dreams used to involve me being unable to find a costume in my size, or not knowing the choreography or the words to the songs, now I just improvise a costume from my own clothes and plan to get on stage and improvise the song and dance, as well. And I can't wait to do it, but I always wake up, first.
All my dreams are about money or success, it seems. Very few dreams about love or whatever else.
Every night my boyfriend dreams someone's trying to kill him, or that he's trying to protect people he loves. We think it's because he has sleep apnea, and his mind must manufacture a reason for him to be struggling to breathe.
Sometimes my boyfriend dreams that I'm cheating on him, and it makes him sad. Sometimes I dream that he doesn't love me anymore, and it makes me very sad and angry at the same time. Once I woke up and kicked him, I was so upset. He said he was sorry and we went back to sleep - him so he could protect me from killers, and me so I could make enough money to make our best dreams come true. 9:21 PM # (6) comments
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Disappointment, thy name is Benassi.Very quickly, let me tell you. Semi-recently, we went to see Benny Benassi at a club. I was the one who wanted to go most. You don't know who he is? Okay - you know that song with the Speak & Spell voiced chick going, "Push me, and then just touch me, 'til I can get my... satisfaction... satisfaction..."?
No? Okay, well, forget it, then. Just know that he's some techno guy who's living off the success of his one album from a zillion years ago. And I wasn't the only one who thought that was enough to pay $15 pre-show to see him. The very large club was jam-packed with fans.
First up was DJ Red, though. I never heard of him til that night, but he was good. Everyone was dancing and happy to be alive while DJ Red was spinning on the stage. It was me and my boyfriend and Mike and Richard there, and one of Mike's friends named Jim. Hardcore music enthusiasts, all. None of our other club-friends had been hardcore enough to brave that crowd.
Then one of Mike's other friends showed up - a boy they called Goofy Rick, or else Gimpy Rick. (Don't ask why; I never do.) I only see Goofy Rick once in a while, but I remember that he's always polite to me. And he's always, always goofy.
Round about midnight, Mr. Benny Benassi deigned to appear. Boy, his fans were glad. I was glad - hey, I didn't download his album illegally, or copy it from my friends. I bought that thing full price, and I loved it. But some of his fans there were more devoted than that. Some of them were wearing suits and argyle vests, as Mr. Benassi has been known to do.
Not Mr. Benassi himself, though. No. Hell no.
Muthafucka gets up on stage looking like he just rolled out the hotel bed. Hair all uncombed. Jeans and wrinkled t-shirt. Benny Benassi walked up looking like my Uncle Jose when he gets home from his job mowing lawns.
Which would have been one thing, if he'd spun anything good. But he didn't, so it was something else altogether. It was a waste of $15. ($25 at the door.) "Bring back DJ Red," a bunch of us were thinking. Matters weren't made better when local DJ Sean Carnahan took the stage. Apparently, Sean had helped arrange Mr. Benassi's visit. But, seriously, a lot of us had to wonder, who the hell wants to look at Sean Carnahan sitting up on the speaker next to Benny Benassi, smiling like a possum? Get off the stage, Sean.
The only thing to do, after that, was laugh at Goofy Rick. I swear, that guy was killing us. Everything he did involved humping or getting humped by everyone in the club. He humped Jim's friend Jody. Then he feverishly humped and necked with our friend Mike. He danced next to Richard and stroked his long, invisible member, until Richard told him to quit.
The best/worst thing, though, was when he walked up to the three bored/annoyed/frumpy girls who were standing on the rail, next to me. These three girls obviously weren't there because they liked techno music. They'd walked in with a single gay guy, but he'd removed his shirt and thrown himself into the sweaty throng a long time ago.
Goofy Rick got up behind the saddest, most annoyed girl and pretended to freak-dance against her. But without touching her, of course. And without her seeing him at all. But her friends saw.
Goofy Rick went away. The Sad Girl's friends lost no time, then, telling Sad Girl what he'd done. With pointing, pantomime, and eye-rolls, they explained it all. Maybe it was the beers I'd had, but it seemed to me that they then pantomimed a plan. They would dance, enticing Goofy Rick to fake-hump them in turn. Then, they'd turn around and tell him off. Maybe even kick him in the balls.
Sad Girl watched from the corner of her eye while her two friends danced. Her two friends watched Goofy Rick from the corners of their eyes while their dance increased in lasciviousness. But Goofy Rick didn't seem to notice. He was involved in a conversation with Richard by then - maybe a serious conversation about the maintenance of his incredible invisible manhood.
Sad Girl's two friends danced and danced, thrusting their hips back in Goofy Rick's direction. They threw their arms wantonly over their heads. Eventually, they no longer even tried to hide the fact that they wanted his attention. They stared at him over their shoulders, smiling and licking their lips.
But he was over it by then. He had other things to do. Before he left, he sneaked up behind my boyfriend and kissed his neck. Then, he fake-humped me once or twice from behind. And then, dear reader, he was gone. The end.
Sad Girl and Friends looked very disappointed. They were sad that they hadn't gotten the chance to give that horrible man a piece of their minds, I guess.
Maybe it was just the Blue Monkey shot I'd had that was making me think this, but suddenly, that whole episode was the funniest, most poignant thing I'd ever seen in my life. Clear as a memory, I could see Sad Girl riding home in her friends' car, dwelling on the fact that she had been the one Goofy Rick had chosen.
I couldn't stop giggling about it. But Benny Benassi never got any better, so way before Sad Girl and two AM, we went home. 9:49 PM # (3) comments
Thursday, November 09, 2006
TodayThe pollution is making a shadow like smoke on my wall. It's kind of pretty, actually.
My boyfriend (Tad) got a new job somewhat near mine, so we'll be able to have lunch together again. I'm very excited about that. Sickeningly excited, some of my friends think. Oh, well. Don't be jealous of our love, haters. In fact - lick it. LICK IT UP!
Some of y'all might like this web site shopping/bookmarking thing called Stylehive. I like it well enough, but then I realize that I'm not that good at window shopping - not even online. So much stuff is not in my size, or out of my price range... I don't like to torture myself, sometimes. But go look. I think you'll like it.
I've been working like crazy, when all I really want to do is play World of Warcraft with my kids. (I'm a little bit better than Stan's dad on South Park, though.) I've been trying out new characters. My latest is a troll with hair like that chick from the Big Country video. They have good hairstyles on that game. I might print one out and take it to my stylist. Just kidding, ha ha.
Personally, I think Kirstie Alley is pretty attractive. But, apparently, some people don't. [Second link via.]
I don't know, man... I don't care if you don't find fat chicks attractive. Not everyone can find everyone else attractive, I know. But, seriously, when I see straight men rushing to verbally bash fat women, it sounds exactly the same as straight men accusing others of being gay. It's like a big race to prove that fat women don't turn you on, or that sex with other men doesn't turn you on. And my question becomes: What are these straight men afraid of? Who is going to force them to have sex with Kirstie Alley, or to get it on with another man?
At the same time, when I see women (especially fat ones) bashing other fat women? I just think they're sad, self-hating bitches whose mothers hate them. Because they think that the most powerful weapon in the world is catty comments, and they're rushing to use that weapon against others before it gets used against them (again).
I think the men and women who hate Kirstie Alley for weaing the bikini should all couple up and marry each other. Then, they should all jump off a cliff and die. Holding hands, if they want, so that they don't die alone.
Romantic.
Anyhow.
I stole a copy of Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage from my friend Rose's house. Every time I pick up a book by Munro, I think, "Oh, man, this is gonna just be some flat stories about a chick who gets molested and then convinces herself she likes it, all set in the Canadian wilderness of 1933..." but then I start reading and get completely engrossed. The very first story of this one (same title as book) was so very good, and I can't wait to read the rest. Munro is the master. You can not deny.
I've been lending/giving out a lot of books lately, and that always makes me happy because if I don't give away a few more soon, I'm gonna have to buy another bookshelf.
Remind me to call the exterminator, y'all, by the way, because I saw ANOTHER EFFING SILVERFISH today. Day Two of the Silverfish Diet: Total freaking success, because I couldn't even eat breakfast after that. (This one was the color of dust. I won't tell you where I found it, because it'll make you cry.)
(It was at the foot of my bed.) (Sorry.)
Also, some wasps made a wasp house on my house. I think that's what it is. It looks like a mud battery pack with a hole in one end. I almost knocked it down with the broom, but then I was scared wasps would fly out of it and kill me.
Also, right after that, a stupid grasshopper was on the bricks near by. Normally I hate grasshoppers more than anything on earth, because they are minions of Satan, but this time I thought that maybe the grasshopper was there to eat the wasps. So I didn't do anything. I just went inside. And prayed.
The other night (last bug thing, I swear), my kids were freaking out a little over a big-ass spider that showed up in their room. I'm not scared of spiders at all. They can walk on my hands and I wouldn't care. I felt bad, then, that I had to kill this one. But it was scaring my kids, so you know. I had to use my son's toy sword to knock it off the ceiling. I apologized, then smashed it fast as possible into the ground. Poor thing. My son was upset that I'd used his shoe. The things parents go through...
So. Calling the exterminator, ASAP. 4:39 PM # (11) comments
Monday, November 06, 2006
HeroesFinally I remembered to try to watch Heroes on TV. And it was okay, but I have to say that TV must suck really freaking bad now, the way critics are falling all over themselves to laud Heroes and Ugly Betty.
I tried to watch Ugly Betty last week but it reeked of so much eau de Ally McBeal that I couldn't. Sorry if you like either of those shows. I actually like A McB, in retrospect. (Ha, ha. Bet you never thought I'd say that, if you even know me from that period in my writing career. Okay - I kind of like it in retrospect. Compared to everything that's happening now, I mean.) But, yeah... the one snippet I saw of Betty, in which Betty's watching the sad little blonde girl hold back tears, just didn't live up to the hype for me.
Then we're watching Heroes tonight, and I really want to like it, but it's hard because half the cast is over-acting the shit out of it, and the other half is trying to stay down-home in the face of all the melodrama. And I'm kind of confused, now that super powers are coming out of the woodwork, and superheroes are tripping all over each other.
You know what show I miss? Freaks and Geeks. I'm glad Judd Apatow (however he spells it, sorry man) is working today. Hopefully making the big bucks, too.
Maybe I'm just being pretentious and in-joke-y all the time, too, but...
I have to say that it's weird to be able to read the thoughts of any semi-famous person in the world now.
Nyarly turned me on to Pandora, which, in turn, turned me on to James Holden's At the Controls.
I bought the CD. I'm playing it tonight, while I work on my revisions. And one of the songs I like a lot - so much that I feel the need to see if this guy has a MySpace or fan site or something so that I can write him as follows:
Dear James Holden,
I bought your CD. That song Lump is cool. Thank you for making it.
Signed,
Gwen
just like I would say to anyone else in the world about their blog post or their sweater or whatever. And I find James' site, which doesn't give a way to email or leave comments. But it does direct me to his MySpace... which also doesn't let you leave comments. So then I go back to his site (oh my gosh, it has refreshing skins) and start reading his tiny scrolling blog box, and it's all about the industry and what's good about it and what's not, plus comments that are only understandable by his DJ friends...
And then I'm like, "Okay, whatever. I'm not cool enough to tell James Holden I liked his song."
I think I need to remove comments and email links from this page. I think that would make me more successful in my writing career. See, that way people would think I was exclusive. If I'm too good for you, I must be worth spending money on, right? All that stuff about having a web presence that allows you to interact with the whole world - that's only for losers, actually. Cool people just sell things. They don't talk to anybody.
When will I learn that. I don't know. I guess when I'm rich, we'll know I'm done learning.
"If you're so smart, why ain't you rich?"
Do you know what book that's from? Call me.
(James Holden, I'm just kidding, man. Hey, that Lump song is awesome.)
Little girls in makeup.
I saw this little girl on a pop-up ad. At first I thought she was porn.
Be careful, little girl. God keep you safe, please.
Just kidding - she's in no more danger than all the other kids, I'm sure.
God, keep all the little kids in the world safe, please. If you can.
Back to the pop culture.
I guess I wanted to see more little kids get rescued. On the TV, I mean.
Me and Tad saw The Prestige the other day. I liked it. If you saw/see it and you figure/d out the twist before the end, please don't tell me. You're so smart, I know, but you don't have to tell me so. I already know.
(Just like: Please, please tell me how you lost weight, but don't tell me how you think I should lose weight. Tell me your stories, but not what to do, okay? I like it better when you use the "I" language. And I'm saying that with extreme love.)
Okay. Off track again. That means time to go!
Love and Japanese cute things!!!,
Gwen 9:50 PM # (10) comments
Better Styling Through Chemistry
Some of you may remember that, a few weeks ago, my hair suddenly changed from blonde-ish to fire-engine red. Since then, of course, it's faded to medium auburn with chunks of blonde peeking through. Even though I had it professionally, "permanently" done. Red fades. So does brown.
But I liked the part where it was halfway between solid brown and fire engine. So I bought a box of semi-permanent color called Rosewood, aka dark auburn, meaning to refresh as necessary every month or so. I decided last night was as good a time as any to apply. Right before I had to return to work this morning - the perfect time, no? (Eerie foreshadowing, ooh.)
Well, my hair didn't come out the color on the box. Not at all. It came out more like this color, instead. And I didn't see it until this morning, because I'd done the color job late last night, then went to bed with wet hair and a towel on my pillow. (I know. Wrong choices all around.)
I woke my boyfriend this morning with loud whispers. "Baby! Baby, my hair is almost black! Look at me - should I call in sick?"
He squinted at my head for a second, then groaned, "No, baby. Don't call in sick for that."
So, instead, I washed my hair a few times with the not-color-safe shampoo. (It looked like a quart of blackberry juice going down the drain.) Then I conditioned and dried, and came to work. I only look slightly like a vampire now. I mean, actually, I like this color. But I hate to keep coming to work with different hair colors every other week, like some kind of unprofessional something-or-other. You know? I remember there was a girl at UT, in one of my French classes, who did that all the time. I wanted her to stop when her hair was the color of a Mr. Pibb can. She didn't. She didn't stop until her head turned green. I thought she'd taught me a lesson. Apparently, I was wrong.
I think next month I'll try Cinnaberry, though. That should do the trick. Assuming that one comes out right, I promise I won't change color after that for quite a while.
(Unless I change my mind.) 1:03 PM # (8) comments
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Coffee ShakeEarlier yesterday I was thinking about low-glycemic-index stuff you could eat without crying from frustration, and I invented something new, in my mind.
Coffee shake! A sugar free, real coffee, coffee shake!
Here's what I thought my invention might contain:
real coffee
ice
heavy cream
whey powder
sugar-free flavored syrup
cinnamon (which may or may not bring down insulin resistance)
Then I went on the Google and searched for "coffee shake." I discovered that, not only did I not invent coffee shakes, but that other people had been way more inventive about it than me. Here are things I may or may not put in my coffee shakes, thanks to all the Internet Coffee Shake Pioneers:
unsweetened soy milk
avocado
coconut milk
fiber powder
Coconut milk! That's kind of exciting. They haven't even done that at Starbuck's yet, have they? Avocado I've seen, at the bubble tea places - but I never would have thought to put it in coffee. Wah! (That's the sound effect of magic revelation occurring.)
In other news: Does anybody out there know where Mike's food blog is? I could go look for the link, but man I'm so tired... 8:04 PM # (8) comments