I Said Oops Upside Your Head.

Why is it that sometimes you're just irritated? I'm irritated right now. Although I know exactly why I'm irritated. There's a particular person I must interact with who basically makes me want to punch his face in anytime I get an e-mail from him. I'm going to throw a few questions out there: 1. Why do certain people think the world revolves around them and that whatever little insignificant thing pops into their head is supposedly important to everyone else out there? 2. Why do certain people think they need to state the obvious? 3. Why do certain people think they even know what the hell is going on in the first place? 4. Why do certain people stay alive despite the fact that they've been threatening to kick the bucket for years anyway? Let me just say something. First of all, I know my job, aight? I don't need some spermatophobic geezer telling me what to do. Especially when said spermatophobic geezer has not a clue as to what I actually do. Second of all, I'm going to be forced to hit someone....really, really hard. Really. Wow. Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I don't feel nearly as irritated as I did before. The power of blog. It does a brain good.

Returning manuscripts sucks.

OK, I just finished sending back all the story manuscripts we turned down. It took me nearly four solid days of sludging through it to get them out the door. For those of you who think putting out a literary journal is glamorous, I'm here to tell you it's not. It's very tedious sometimes, and this was one of those times. I especially get aggravated with the people who don't bother including SASE's with their submissions. Those are usually the ones who really get bent out of shape when they don't hear back from you. "I submitted a story several months ago and have yet to get a response back. Your listing in Writers' Market states you respond within three months. It has been longer than three months. Can you tell when you'll get around to making a decision?" Hello, ever heard of a SASE. We all have to shell out the bucks required for submitting. Those are the rules. You're not special. Here's another bit of advise: If it's been a really, really long time since you sent the story out and no one's gotten back,it's probably been rejected. Also, bothering the editors does not make them speed up their review of your story. If anything, it makes them put it at the bottom of the stack so that it takes an even longer time to hear back. We're all busy, get over yourself.

It is what it is.

Not much of anything happening today. Went to my friend Elena's house last night and had some awesome homemade gnocchi. So good. It melted in your mouth. And now I know how to make gnocchi. It's not as hard as I thought it would be. My neck hurts. This might sound really geeky, but I am really excited about the new Harry Potter movie. My daughter really likes the Harry Potter books and I guess her enthusiasim is catching. The books really are very good, so if you haven't read them yet, you should. But I think it's easy to get excited about the movies because they've done a pretty good job with them. They've stayed pretty true to the books. Right now, my daughter is simultaneously listening the three HP books: She's listening to Sorcerer's Stone on tape when we get ready in the morning, listening to Prisoner of Azkaban on tape in the car when I drive her to school, and listening to Order of the Phoenix at bedtime when I read to her. We've definitely got the HP action going on up in here. And I think that's about it. Yup, that's it.

Attack of the Cicadas.

I'm starting to get a little bit nervous about the upcoming cicada invasion. We're in a major cicada hotspot and I know, I just know, when those buggers start coming up out of the ground I am going to have some sort of apoplectic fit. It's going to be like a horror movie. Those bugs everywhere, swarming and dense. I'm not going to be able to leave my house until it's all over. I'm afraid, I'm really afraid. It's supposed to start any day, now. I'm going to spend this weekend creating a protective barrier and spray the heck out of my house so nothing will cling to it. I usually do this anyway because, just in case you haven't guessed, I HATE bugs. My husband doesn't like it when I do this because, apparently, it mutates the frogs that live around our house. This is true. I found one the year after I really did some serious spraying and it was missing back legs. He was mad at me, but I don't care. The thought of being covered head to toe with insects bothers me more.

congratulations bob!

Good work on the article being published! Really really good story! But anyways. . . pennsylvania is lame!

I'm a SUPERSTAR!

I just found out today that one of my stories is going to be published in The New Yinzer, an online literary magazine. Needless to say, I am quite happy. Now I know you like me; you really, really like me. The magazine is based out of Pittsburgh, which also makes me feel all warm and mushy on the inside since my father is from the Pittsburgh area and I always have a part of me that thinks of Pennsylvania as home. So, yay for me.

I'm on a Mexican radio.

K, the show is tonight and my daughter told me last night she doesn't want to do it. Sigh. Poor kid. Life sure is hard. I told my husband to pick up a couple of roses for her on the way home so we can give them to her when the show is over. Make her feel like a real prima donna. That'll get her hooked. :-)

I've been thinking a lot lately about being thirtysomething and why it almost seems as confusing as being twentysomething. I've always assumed by the time I reached my 30s, I'd have figured out a few things about life. What I have discovered is that the more the know, the less you feel like you understand any of it. You think being an adult will teach you how to come to terms with mistakes you've made or lingering regrets, and it does somewhat, but there's still a little something always niggling away at the inside of your brain. Something that says you're not there yet and this cannot possibly be the life you're supposed to have.

I look at my parents in a completely different way now. I love them and all, but there's nothing mystical about them anymore. The way you always think of your parents as being all-knowing, it's not that way anymore. It makes me a little bit sad because there's a certain sense of security in thinking there is someone out there who can make everything OK for you.

The play's the thing.

So my daughter has her kindergarten play tomorrow night and she's nervous, she tells me. Being a person who LOVES the spotlight, I'm finding I have no useful advice to give her. I tell her to channel her nervous engery into making her performance really *sparkle*. She says, "I don't know what you're talking about, Mom. I'm only six." I'm still not understanding how a child of mine is afraid of the stage. Oh well. She's dressing up as Alice in Wonderland. I just finished her costume last night and she looks good in it. We doctored up one of her stuffed rabbits to be the white rabbit. My daughter is obsessing over the fact that the pocket watch we made isn't hanging exactly the right way off his vest. She wants me to pin it so that the ribbon we're using as the chain will drape across at the proper angle. And I thought I was anal.

They just opened a Cold Stone Creamery in town and I cannot wait to go. I told my husband that's where he needs to take me for Mother's Day. I love Cold Stone Creamery. It's good. Mmmmm, ice cream.

The semester is almost up here, so we'll be on summer schedule pretty soon, which means I'll be working all by my lonesome for the most part. It's not so bad because I can get a lot of work done. But it really sucks when there is no work and I'm just sitting there picking my nose.