production maven

pro•duc'tion n. 1, act of bringing forward. 2, a product of physical or mental labor; esp., a theatrical presentation. ma'ven n. an expert. Also, ma'vin.

Friday, October 22, 2004

in training

My animals have me and Mr. G. in training for picking up after something other than ourselves. For instance, this morning Mr. G. went to our networking group meeting, allowing me to sleep in which is good because lately, by the time I get to Friday, I feel like I've been run over by a granny in a Ford Escort who refuses to speed. It's a slow "run-over". That won't apply next Friday, when I'll be a headless chicken, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. So I get up a little late (9:15) and get downstairs. I feed Little Puss, our cat who refuses to eat dry food - and would, in fact, starve to death rather than eat it (we've tried stirring it into the wet food, she won't have any of it, and tries to cover it up and then looks at us like, "are you joking, human?" She also hates every flavor except beef and chicken. Won't touch seafood, ever) - and, on the way out of the cat room / laundry room (which stinks to high heaven because it's been a couple of days since the boxes have been cleaned and Mr. G. will have to do it when he gets back because I can't due to the toxoplasmosis deal), I almost step in some partially dried nasty cat puke. I can tell it came from one of our other cats, because it's got little kitty-kibbles in it. So Little Puss was not the culprit, THIS TIME. So I pick up the rug that got hit, spill the water - oh, yeah, because it's the same rug that the dog's dishes, two food and one water, sit on - and pick it up. This results in me almost honking, myself. I put the rug in the wash and get into the office to commence my working day.

Then Little Puss decides to make my life hell because she gets off her perch where she eats, runs into the kitchen, and barfs up her breakfast. This happens quite a bit, because she's a bit of a bulemic. The trick is to feed her little amounts all friggin day long, so that she's just eating all the time. Sometimes, though, we miss the schedule a bit and she binges and then purges and it takes a day or so to get back to the way things should be with her delicate digestive system. So I have to clean up puke again, this time, though, it's worse because it's warm. And runny. So, I almost join in the fun again with my own bile-y treats, but manage to restrain myself.

Then, later in the morning, Mr. G. comes back from his meeting, and feeds Little Puss some more, because the standing rule is, if the bowl is empty, put something in it and show her so that she'll eat and not barf. She eats a little, then a few minutes later, we hear the tell-tale hacking. We look around for the results, can't find anything. Later, Mr. G. goes upstairs and finds the evidence. So he got the clean that on up. And it was in carpet.


So, I guess I'll be ready for the kid's bodily fluids. God knows, I spend most of my day cleaning it up from someone else already!

And our golden, Darwin, has been into finding "death" in our fields and rolling in it and/or chewing it for a delightful treat for everyone to enjoy. He particularly likes moles.

Happy weekend, everyone! Hope I didn't scare you off. You know when this kid gets here I'll regale you with stories from her... I know you're waiting with baited breath.


Wednesday, October 20, 2004

political rant of the day

My aunt sent me this:

Some of the best editorials about the election and the Bush White House are being written by Frank Rich of the New York Times - check them out if you can find them...but then I get so frustrated I can't think straight. Today on BBC news they were interviewing people from Bend, Oregon who are voting for Bush because as they say: "he's for the common man; he's just like us. He doesn't mind getting manure on his boots...he's a good Christian man." I nearly drove off the road; how do they buy that stuff? Oh well, let's hope that all those unpolled, newly registered voters pick up the slack....they say the race is 48% Bush - 48% Kerry - 1% airbag without the car (Nader)...oh boy!

to which I replied:

"I'll keep my eyes open for the Rich articles - I get the Times on-line but rarely do I have time to read the entire thing. That commentary from the BBC is so sad.... I think that's what my mom thinks, that he's a good president because of his religion. While she's certainly entitled to her opinion, I like to remember that there is a significant little thing in our Constitution that seems to be over-looked: that is that this country should be run with a separation of church and state. Forget this God Bless America stuff. Leave God, the Devil, Goddesses, Orin, Osirus and all the rest of them OUT OF OUR GOVERNMENT. I can understand that, in most people's minds, that a good government is run by people with good morals and good ethics, and ideally good morals and good ethics come from someone who has a strong religious faith. This is a "in a perfect world, if religion actually worked" kind of case. And, to me, it doesn't. In which case, I ask you - does our current administration have good morals and/or good ethics? (I think not). And they're all bible-thumpers. So what the hell?
Argh. It's so frustrating. People are so ignorant.
I sincerely doubt that Bush would do manual labor for a living, like those poor innocents in Oregon. Hello? Bush ranch? Photo Ops? You really think he's there every day slinging shit and taking care of the grounds? The man isn't ever in WASHINGTON doing his JOB. He's been out campaigning and fund-raising for 2 years. Who's in charge down there? The ranch is his vacation home. He has staff, who do the hard day-to-day work. He's not serious about it. He goes there to sleep in and not work. Oh, wait, he does that in Washington too.

Pardon me while I go run into a cement wall repeatedly.

What do you think the "October Miracle" will be? Flu vaccines that miraculously show up (talk about media HYPE on that!)? Osama? Lower oil prices?

Can't wait until the 3rd.... then it will be done!

Hope you're well. Thanks for letting me rant."

Seriously, folks. What do you all think about this? The only solution is to vote. And I hope you're voting for a change in government. But do get out and vote.


Tuesday, October 19, 2004

brain fart

I've been having this problem (*worldwide groan "how can this woman have yet ANOTHER problem?"*) lately. I don't want to blame it on the pregnancy, because I'm trying like hell to live my life normally and not have everything that goes wrong or not quite according to plan or *whatever* get blamed on my innocent child. Don't worry. I'm not getting all pro-life on your asses, I just have to play "business as usual" so that I don't go insane and become a soccer mom whereby my entire life revolves around that of my mini-me before she is even born. And I don't think that will happen after she gets here anyway.

Now where was I?

Oh, yes. Problem. Yes.

The problem is that I can not remember a damn thing! Folks, I can not tell you how many times I've run screaming up to someone and opened my mouth... and all that comes out is air. That's all. No words, no syllables. Just air, because I have totally forgotten what the hell I was intending on saying. And usually? I remember that it's important. But I'll be dipped if I remember what it was about. Dinner's burning? What to wear to a wedding? Car accident? Nuclear holocaust? Sky is falling? I just can't remember. I've done it a couple of times to my mom when we talk on the phone, and I think it pisses her off a little, because right after I say "Now what was I going to tell you? It was important," the space between my brain becomes a dry, arid desert-like environs whereby nothing, not a fruit fly, not a wombat, not a thought can survive.

It's tough - and scary - being me lately.

I do have some fun news though, a couple of things, and I've taken notes so that I don't forget to tell you about them:

1) My dogs are S-M-A-R-T!!! They mind-fuck each other all the time, and it's so brilliant to see. The other night, we were going to bed. Our retriever, Darwin, got upstairs first so he got on the chaise lounge - that they sleep on - first. Riley, our shepherd, came up later. Usually she sleeps on the lounge at night; Darwin gets it during the day when we're upstairs doing something. So Riley, who is normally very aloof but loving in her own way (if you can call her coming up to you when you're working and nudging your arm so that your cursor goes flying all over the place - a lot of fun if Mr. G. is doing photo editing - all because she wants to play... or she will come up to us at 3:30 in the afternoon and stomp her foot and whine because she wants to go out and play and she needs you, her personal person-servant, to throw the frisbee for her incessantly), starts to get all loving and happy and licking us and acting all nice. So Mr. G. and I start to pat her and kiss her. Of course, Darwin, the love-sponge, gets off the chaise lounge because he wants some lovin' too. Riley promptly stops being loving and goes over to the lounge, jumps up and curls up in a ball and falls asleep.
Darwin will do the same thing to her when she's hoarding the bones that they get. He'll go to the window and bark, so she jumps up, type-A dogger that she is, and freak out at the window. Then he goes and gets the bones and lays where she was and he wins that round.
It's fun to watch.

2) I made an awesome dinner for my awesome friend Maddy last night for her 28th birthday. I made rib-eye steaks with parsley/garlic/lemon butter (master grillwork courtesy of Mr. G.), smashed potatoes with fresh chives, asparagus, and salad (red leaf lettuce with goat cheese, cranberries, toasted pecans and balsamic vineagrette), and the BEST chocolate cake EVER and home-made vanilla ice cream. Oh, it was so good. And we all ate until we were stuffed full of goodness. Mr. G. called it my pinnacle dinner. And Mr. G. also said that he would save some cake and ice cream for me, while I'm in Boston. He'd just better, that's all I'm sayin'.

3) I've had some silly dreams lately. Once was about Thanksgiving dinner, so I woke up all hungry for turkey and shallot pan gravy and mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie and candied sweet potatoes and mmmmmmmmm......
The other was about Dooce. I dreamed that Mr. G. and I drove home to Vermont from Seattle via L.A. (because that's such a direct route, don'tchaknow) and he wanted to go to his old apartment because of the taco stand that was nearby and we went to the apartment and Dooce & her husband and baby and dog lived there and they were both as tall as I imagined they would be (that would be Heather and Jon) and their baby was adorable and I thought, "hey, if they can have a kid, so can I". The apartment was weird.
I need to invent a chip or something that goes in your head so that you can videotape your dreams. How cool would that be?

4) My boss can be so cool. He just gave me his staple-less stapler because I couldn't find one at Staples and I asked him where he got it. Yay for me! I love it! Christmas in October!

OK. Space alien-carrier me signing off. I have to write more in my daily journal that I am now more than a week behind in. *sigh*.


Friday, October 15, 2004

behind the eight-ball

I'm runnin' a little behind lately. I feel like I'm all caught up with my work, and then I actually look at the pile of stuff on my desk that is going to require that I get out of the house and go call on people door-to-door (yep, that sales-person stuff I was whining about before) in order to be effective. Sucky McSucksalot. And there are things I haven't written - like here, and in my journal that I am supposed to be keeping on a daily basis, so that I can turn said journal into the next fun book that people passing through Target and Costco will want to buy because it's so compelling. At least my work for the publisher is current.

To make matters ironically worse, my sister-in-law yesterday wrote and said that Mr. G. and I should do all the things that we've wanted to do, before we have the baby. Considering we have 11 weeks, approximately, until that blessed event takes place, here's what I need to get done or try within that small amount of time. Bear in mind: money is tight, and I don't have enough time in the average day to get my work done (see above para).

1. Go to France for six months and live in the country
2. Go to Italy for six months and live in the country
3. Write the Great American Novel and get it published - 50,000-75,000 copies on the first print run would be nice, through a publisher like Random House or HarperCollins.
4. Do book tour for said GAN.
5. Travel around the country, see the US including Alaska (could be combined with #4)
6. Either renovate the parts of my house that I want to fix or that need to be fixed (finish off room over garage for Mr. G.'s painting studio, new roof, build deck off of south side and install hot tub, renovate all bathrooms and update plumbing as needed, grate and gravel driveway, powerwash patios, clean windows, wash floors, put new carpeting upstairs, get gas stove, get new countertops for kitchen) OR buy 100 acres in the country - in Vermont - and re-build our house, with some modifications.
7. Build a horse barn, get horses, get pastures fenced in
8. Grow our business so that it supports the two of us VERY comfortably, have work scheduled out at least for the next six to nine months
9. Lose 100 lbs and get back into exercising every day
10. Get all of my gardens replanted so that every summer I have an effortless perennial garden to view. Finish all landscaping on property: up by mailbox, along road-side, prune apple trees, brush-hog around the perimeter of the property, clean up all dead branches and crap along property, fix stone walls as needed, weed out poison ivy proliferation.
11. Finish up the lawsuit that we're bringing against one of our neighbors (a long, four-year story)
12. Buy a plow-truck
13. Pay off mortgage and all other outstanding bills

So, what do you think? Can I get this done by the end of the year???


Thursday, October 07, 2004


Sometimes, people can be assholes. Particularly people who you're trying to sell books or ad space to. And printing, sometimes. I can be that asshole. I have been that asshole. But it really chaps my ass (sorry, but I love that expression and it fits quite nicely here) when people who are MAJOR SPONSORS of a place that you are TRYING to sell AD SPACE TO won't participate because of a mistake that you made two years ago that THEY APPROVED IN PROOF.

why, o why, do I keep taking on sales jobs? I HATE DOING SALES! Don't let me do that anymore, 'kay?

- rides off into the sunset, crazily whistling "I'm Just a Girl Who Cain't Say No..."


Wednesday, October 06, 2004

i be illin'

Not in a huge way, but enough so that I know that if I don't do anything about it now, it will become "in a huge way" and the last friggin' thing I need right now is to get hard-core sick. So I'm headed back to my bed with a Glamour magazine, a couple of other magazines that I borrowed from the office, some water, and a good book. I'm sure I'll emerge to check e-mail a little later; after all, I am still mobile, but I'm resting where I can get it. Because, you know, in a few short months, the available down-time will be, how do you say it, non-existent?

Grabbing my favorite cuddle-cat and I'm out of here!