Thankful Thursday

I'm thankful I had SEVENTY FREAKING BUCKS in my checkbook so I could buy toner for my printer and print out my ms. Office Max dude gives me a sly look and says, "You get fifteen percent off if you buy two of these." Yahh, right. I'll be lucky if I can eat next week.

I squinched the ms down to 1.5 spacing and got rid of all the white space between chapters. It still printed out at 269 pages. The total word count is 92k which is about what Before/After was when it was first accepted.

Skimming through it, I see a zillion typos. Why am I not surprised? Am I blind? Dyslexic? ADD? Lazy? Grrr!

I may let Bunnymuse do all the work this time.

FINALLY!!!

The edits are FINISHED! The last chapter needs tweaking, but first I'll print it out and read the whole thing over and correct all my freaking typos and make notes of things that may need to be changed.

My goal was to have this to my agent by Labor Day. Now it actually looks like I'm gonna make it!

Then I can start lighting candles...

*blush*

I'm editing a sex scene. It's, um, kind of embarrassing. It doesn't matter that *I* wrote it in the first place. It's not even that graphic. Still...yeesh!

Less than 20 pages to go. But I've been saying that for 3 days.

New Release: "It's Not About the Accent"

Hey, I want to shout out a big YAY!!! for Barbara Ferrer and the release of her new YA novel IT'S NOT ABOUT THE ACCENT!!!



Amazon Description: "Sick and tired of her life in small-town Ohio -- completely boring with a side of dull -- college-bound Caroline Darcy is determined to start fresh...as a new person. And that means following in the footsteps of her late Nana Ellie--her witty and vibrant Cuban great-grandmother with a glamorous, well-traveled past.

"Donning a seriously caliente new wardrobe and a vivacious persona to match, she becomes Carolina, a half-Cuban aspiring actress ready for adventure. Once at school, everything goes according to plan. Putting her primo acting skills to use, she flirts up Erik, a smooth-talking frat guy with gorgeous baby blues -- who can't get enough of her 'exotic' charm. The only person who doesn't seem impressed by her Latina facade is Peter, a quiet, sweet Cuban guy from Miami. But when 'Carolina' gets in over her head and finds herself in a dangerous situation, it's Peter who comes to her rescue -- and leads her on a real adventure to discover the truth about Nana Ellie and her family. It turns out that being boring old Caroline is way more exciting than she ever could have imagined."

CONGRATULATIONS!!!

(heh, I got MY copy *early*!)

Monday Memory: Joan

My third grade teacher introduced a new student to us: Joan (with the last name of a popular singing duo at the time). I was excited! A possible new friend? The teacher instructed Joan to take the desk directly behind me. As Joan sat down, I turned around to give her a big welcoming smile.

Joan GLARED at me like she wanted to rip off my scalp.

(Note: this incident hit me so strongly, I used it in Before/After when Martha tries to make friends with Chardonnay)

Joan lived in a nearby group home where the kids were notorious for, well, for not being very "nice."

And Joan was not nice. She was mean. She was rude. She was biggest liar I'd ever met--of course she was related to that singing duo. They were her cousins, DUH! Oka-ayy...

Worse, Joan was a klepto. She stole from everyone--but she especially stole from me. She stole my pencils, my crayons, my glue, my scissors. She stole trinkets out of my desk. Evenn the bright pink plastic pencil pouch given to me by my sister mysteriously disappeared. So did a small wooden giraffe that wiggled when you pressed a button.

I demanded that the teacher search Joan's desk. The giraffe was found, although the teacher's remark to me was, "You have no business bringing toys to school in the first place." Joan denied taking it.

We didn't find the pencil pouch. But I knew she had it.

On Valentine's Day we decorated our own boxes to carry our Valentines home in. When my own beautiful box disappeared, the teacher wouldn't believe that Joan had taken it. I exploded into TEARS! Finally the teacher searched Joan's desk and guess what? She found my box.

Joan denied taking it. *I* must have put it there myself just to get her in trouble.

I gave up trying to make friends with Joan. She was MEAN MEAN MEAN! Evil incarnate! She had no friends whatsoever. She also had no family. I thought at the time: I bet they kicked her out!

Every day we walked home in the same direction. I avoided her at all costs. Then one afternoon on the way home I found a wounded pigeon. Some kid (probably from the same group home as Joan) had shot its eye out with a BB gun. Coagulated blood stained the sidewalk. The pigeon stumbled about blindly, already near death.

If I cried over a missing box of Valentines, you can imagine how I reacted to something like this. I FREAKED! I crouched on the sidewalk sobbing my eyes out, desperate to help the pigeon, already knowing it was too late.

I felt an arm around my shoulders as I huddled on my knees on the pavement. When I glanced up, it was Joan. She took my hand and pulled me along, away from the pigeon and the blood and the matted feathers, and led me home. She took me into my OWN house and explained to my mother why I was so upset. Joan patted my back and told me everything would be fine, to get a GRIP already, and she'd see me in school tomorrow.

The next day it was as if none of this had happened. Joan refused to speak to me. She was still mean as hell. She lied constantly and continued to rip off anything she could get her hands on.

I didn't understand. Of course I *was* only eight years old.

A few days later some official-looking person came into the classroom and called Joan's name. Joan stood up and gathered up all her belongings as the teacher explained to the class that she would NOT be coming back. I tried to meet Joan's gaze as she left--but she stomped past me, face rigid and flaming--with tears in her eyes-- and left the room in stony silence.

I never saw her again.

I did see, however, my pink plastic pencil pouch sticking boldly out of her belongings as she marched out.

BAN RANT

One parent complains about the language and mature content of K.L. Going's FAT KID RULES THE WORLD and all hell breaks loose. Check out K.L.'s BLOG for a very interesting discussion and offer your own support if you wish.

I wonder if this boy's mom--and this is a 14-year-old, not a ten-year-old--monitors his TV shows and movies as closely as she monitors his reading. I wonder if she allows him access to a computer. Does she tape his phone conversations? Does she follows him around every minute of the day to be sure nobody drops the F-bomb in his presence?

What did she think when her son was back in fifth or sixth grade and the teacher informed him that yes, people do indeed insert their penises into vaginas? Parents think nothing of allowing 10 or 11 year-old kids to participate in sex education classes--and then they flip out when those same kids pick up a YA novel in which the characters might actually DO the dirty deed.

Every parent wants to protect their child. Do it! Protect them from guns. From school violence. From underage drinking. From drugs. Sexual predators. Depression and suicide. The self-hatred that often leads to depression and suicide. Not from a fabulous book that deals realistically with such issues as childhood obesity, bullying, drug use, death of a parent, and homelessness. Yes, the language is raw at times but it's the same language the majority of kids see and hear--and many, many use--on a daily basis.

Protect us from a society where ONE PERSON can demand--and often get--a book removed from the shelves of our libraries.

PES #2

Another Positive Energy Saturday planned for work today. Tangela wants to drag this out for the entire weekend. Somehow I'm not sure this is possible, I can only, ya know, "act nice" for so long.

Thirty pages left to go on the dead lesbian mother Say the Word. By this time next week I (and the others who generously offered) will be reading a hard copy. By Labor Day this sucker will g-o-n-e.

And yes, my nerves are kicking in. Just because you sell one book is no guarantee you'll ever sell another. I'm keeping this in mind, like Every. Fricking. Minute. Beth is begging me to finish up my paranormal but I think there might be another YA left in me. My Not-Your-Usual-Boy-and-His-Dog story is aching to be written.

Right now I'm not committing myself to either. I'll decide when this one is finished and I've had a chance to catch my breath. Sometimes I just sit there, my hands fall to the lap and I stare at the screen and think: How much more can I take? Partly because I've been editing this for a minimum of 20-30 hours a week--on TOP of my RJ (realjob) of course. But also, emotionally, it's been a difficult one to write.

5 Things on a Friday

1. 60 pages left to edit--and once it's done, it's done. I will NOT look at it again unless it sells. Period. My days of spending years on a single book are so totally over.

2. I am so excited! Guess what I got tickets for?



Dress circle! Center! And only 20 rows back!

3. I couldn't figure out why my hair looked like $hi! for the past 5 days. Then I realized it was a new shampoo. Seriously, how can a crummy shampoo make that much difference? I remember washing my hair when I was a kid with dishwashing detergent.

4. I've had some very bad dreams the past couple of nights. I can't decide if it's:

a. stress from editing
b. mourning for Max
c. watching Nancy Grace every night before I go to bed.

5. Interesting things happen where I work. The latest: a prisoner (a freaking child molester, no less) in the ER had to go to the john. The guard took the handcuffs off but left the leg shackles on. The prisoner then shoved the guard--and actually got away! Not for long. They found a block away him in his boxer shorts, waiting calmly at the bus stop. Now assuming I have these second-or-third-hand details correct:

a. What does this say about the caliber of our police guards?
b. If you were a bus driver, would you seriously stop for this guy???
c. Were the leg shackles made from elastic perchance?

Spaz du Jour

I started going back to Big Bird for groceries since I (belatedly) discovered the self-serve line. No loooooooooong lines. You zap your stuff through, swipe your card, grab your receipt, and you're outta there. No ninety-year old baggers whining because they have to lift a case of beer. No room-temperature IQers stuffing Cascade on top of your lettuce. No idiots asking "Do you want your milk in a bag?" I plan to have a tee shirt made specifically for trips to this store: YES I WANT MY DOGDAMNED MILK IN A BAG!

Then, alas, I try to buy potatos. I usually buy six at a time because we don't eat them that fast and shrively potatos with sprouting roots have a tendancy to make me gag. The potatos aren't marked, and I wonder, how does the scale at the self-serve checkout know what you're weighing? I guess you punch in numbers. But there are no stickers on these potatos.

Maybe the scale is MAGIC!

So, reluctantly, I stand in line the regular checkout. When my turn comes along--like, thirty minutes later and I desperately have to pee and I've already broken into my case of Aquafina which, yes, the decrepit old bagger just HAS to sneer at--the dude says, "Hey, I haven't seen you for a while."

Me: "I use the self-serve now. But I didn't know how to ring up the potatos."

Dude: "Oh."

Me: (waiting for him to enlighten me)

Dude: (doesn't enlighten me)

Me: "Um, so how do I DO it?"

Dude: "Do what?"

Me: (nicely) "Ring up the potatos?"

Dude: "You hit 741." Or maybe he said 471. Or 174. Or 666.

Me: "How do I KNOW I'm supposed to hit 741?" Ya know, like, is there a CHART somewhere? Anything? What if I want to buy cherries? Onions? Turnips? A rutabaga?

Dude: "Because I just told you."

Me: .........

Old Bag(ger): "Ya want your milk in a bag?"

Kind of a Dreary Day

Work is slow, only SEVEN patients, which means I'm sucking up a paycheck for not doing a whole lot. Only the fact that I know ALL HELL will soon break loose and once again I'll be straining both my back, and the few nerves I have left, is all that keeps me from feeling a wee bit guilty. If this job was always this pleasant I could live with it indefinitely. I can "spend time" with people. I can cater to their every need instead of blowing them off because there are a ZILLION things that take priority over a request for graham crackers, a better pillow, a longer light cord, a-can-of-ginger-ale-but-make-sure-it's-not-diet-and-I-don't-suppose-you-have-Vernors-by-any-chance, a TV that actually, um, works, a bed by the window, or a different roommate please, and preferably one who doesn't pee on the floor.

One current patient is 600 pounds. Yes, you read that right. I doubt if my Saturn weighs much more than that. But he is an absolute delight--plus he moves astonishingly well. If not, with only 2 nurses on the floor this could pose a bit of a problem. And Non-Wandering-Drug-Addict is back because shooting up in her arms just wasn't good enough. Now she's shooting up in her legs, so of course she's infected. But she's a sweetheart, too. The Evil Ones have left! I can live with this.

I've been trying to get a day off, but no such luck. I have about 90 pages to go on my edits and I re-e-eally want to have it printed out by this time next week. Two full days of editing coming up starting tomorrow, plus I've been working on it every morning. Looks like it'll end up around 90K.

I forgot to do a Monday Memory--but my memories lately haven't been altogether pleasant and the unpleasant ones I'm not in the mood to post. A bit depression has settled in as far as Max is concerned which is why I was up at 4 a.m. and unable go go back to sleep. I suspect if I weren't so involved in my manuscript, it'd be a lot worse. Thank you, Shawna!

Hello?

It's four a.m.

Do you know where you are?

Ah, insomnia...

Recouping

OK, in order to take my mind off of Max (I still have to look over my shoulder when I open the door to make sure that sneaky little guy isn't going to follow me out) I kept myself very busy this weekend.

Saturday: (after the death) I went to Borders and edited like crazy. I am never 100% pleased with my results, but anything I do is an improvement, lol. And bought myself a chocolate-cherry AND a paperback novel by Karin Slaughter. The title escapes me, but it's a fat, juicy, gruesome thriller.

Then I went home and crashed. Bad headache. Wonder why?

Sunday: Woke UP with same headache, but refused to let it stop me. Went back to Borders, edited, edited, edited, and met my family at little sister Mary's for Corey's second birthday party. The cake was made from scratch. Yes, you know--when you throw flour and sugar and stuff into a bowl and mix it up yourself? NOT whip open a box of Duncan Hines? People still do that. Mary is one of them. Of course it was wonderful, and Corey was a joy. "Tante!" Blows me a kiss. "Tante!" Blows me a kiss. It never gets old. Especially not to me

Then Beth and I drove to the east side. For those of you not familiar with Cleveland, this is a city divided down the middle by the Cuyahoga River. West siders rarely venture to the east side unless they have a very good reason...like maybe you work there, like me. Or your obscenely wealthy great-aunt is about to croak, and mumbling something incoherant about changing her will.

We went to the (artsy) Cedar Lee Theater to see La Môme (English Title: La Vie en Rose), the life of Edith Piaf. WONDERFUL! She reminded me, eerily, of Judy Garland--not only her addiction problems, but her hairstyle AND that 1950s no-eyebrow look. In French, with English subtitles. Riveting! The first "good" movie we've seen in months.

To kill time before the show started, we also stopped at Joseph Beth Bookseller, an independent bookstore at Legacy Village in Lyndhurst where I signed their stock, then moved on to the Borders across the street--and then got HOPELESSLY lost when I pulled out onto the wrong road. I never claimed to have much of a sense of direction, but hello? I drove 5 or 6 miles the wrong way before I realized what I was doing.

So yeah, I kept busy. As Brent H. says, it's all cool.

Missing My Friend

He died (fairly) peacefully in my arms. I don't think it's quite sunk in. I'm okay, though. He had a long happy life and we all loved him dearly.

MAX

January 18, 1991-August 11, 2007

Friday 10

1. I'm still soggy. I FREAKING HATE THIS WEATHER! I want to move to Finland to be with SOOKIE06!

2. Because of the storms rolling through all week, the hospital has been plagued with power outtages. This means searching a pitch black med room with a flashlight for antibiotics. This means dragging my a$$ up 5 flights of steps because the one working elevator is reserved for visitors. This means NO COFFEE because the cafeteria is closed and I can't make any on the floor because, duh, there's no power for the coffee pot. This also means no air conditioning. This also means I am highly crabby.

3. Stopped at Starbucks this morning, but made Beth run and get my coffee. The reason *she* had to run in is because I wasn't dressed. Yes, I was driving around town in my pajamas. How tacky is that? Do you supposed S.E. Hinton drives around town in her pajamas?

4. I promptly spilled said coffee down the front of said pajamas.

5. My kitty is not long for this world. He's been under the same chair for two days and only comes out to use the box. All he'll eat is yoghurt and I have to serve it to him. Beth even blended his food and he still won't touch it. He's an old, old man. I've had him for over 16 years. :(

6. Evaluating my edits is like plucking petals from a daisy:

---Crap.
---Not crap.
---Crap.
---Not crap.

So far "not crap" seems to be winning. But parts of it may be seriously crapfilled.

7. Corey's second birthday party is this weekend so I'll get to socialze for the first time in, like, a month. Corey looooooves his Tante!!!



8. My blurb in Publishers Weekly:

Before, After, and Somebody In Between ($16.95) by Jeannine Garsee. A Cinderella twist raises Martha from the ghetto and gives her a new family. (14-up)

No review but it was great to get a mention!

9. Also from Midwest Book Review: An hour into her first day of tenth grade, Martha knows she's in trouble: the school bully has threatened her life and her home life is in shambles. She wants to play cello – but even music is dangerous, until a wealthy lawyer provides a possible key to moving away from her dangerous life. A poignant story of a girl's struggles to be someday [sic] and escape dangers evolves in a complex plot highly recommended for older teens.

Except I'm not quite sure what they're trying to say in that last sentence. ??????

10. I'm debating between edits or a nap. Or possibly changing out of this coffee-soaked nightshirt.

Thankful Thursday

Although I love visiting Florida, I'm highly thankful I don't have to live there. Ohio has had "Florida" weather for the past few days/weeks/God-knows-how-long...and if I have to put up with it much longer I WILL shave my head. My knees are sweating. That is just plain wrong.

Horoscope: Professional efforts may be thwarted now, no matter how hard you work. It's like you are trying to roll bowling balls up a steep hill and you quickly reach a point of wondering if it's really worth the effort. Regardless of the lack of results, it's important that you keep working, for you are setting the stage for larger opportunities to come to fruition throughout the year.

Sometimes this astrology stuff is downright spooky.

idont'tcareaboutbritneyspears.com

Ohhh, gawd. Once again I'm Britneyed-out.

Clue to the media: Not that I care, but NOBODY will take Britney’s kids away because she almost dropped one and let another one fall out of a high chair, did not use a car seat, lets ‘em guzzle Pepsi in their baby bottles, shaved her head before she went to rehab, flashed her cooch, flashed her boobs, and cleaned up dog poop with a multi-thousand-dollar gown. The list goes on and on. There are millions of hookers, crackheads, criminals, and lunatics who get to keep their kids. No, she’ll never win mother-of-the-year. But seriously, who cares? Is nothing else happening in the world? How close are we to getting those poor guys out of that mine? How about those cars under the Mississippi River?

Confessions:

I took my daughter out of her car seat once while, yes, the car was moving. It was either that, or plow into a cement divider to stop her from screaming.

I didn't "almost" drop one. I really did drop one. Well, I let him roll off a table. Luckily I broke his fall. And another one rolled her tricycle down four steps and whacked her head. I'm surprised a SWAT team of social workers didn't cordon off my house.

I didn't put Pepsi in my babies' bottles but I did give them cranberry juice which is loaded with sugar.

Although I never shaved my head, I've thought about it. I've had some pretty hideous haircuts in my life. Occasionally I come close to pulling it out by the roots. Oh, and I had an Afro once and I'm not even black.

I've never been to rehab. If I had, I'd tell you. People go to rehab so they can hang onto their kids, duh.

I never flashed my down-under (at least not that I remember). But I took my bra off on the Ferris wheel at Cedar Point one summer. I also fell out of a tube top at Mentor Headlands beach. People noticed. So yes, I guess that qualifies as a boob-flash.

Not counting museums, I've never been in the same room with a multi-thousand-dollar gown so no, I never did that dog poop thing. But I did step in cat vomit in a pair of $12 pantyhose.

Guess what? Nobody tried to "rescue" my kids. Amazing, isn't it?

Borders ORIGINAL VOICE

Yes, it's true, we are!



Thank you, Caridad Ferrer, for tipping me off! **smooch**

Martha is thrilled!

Introducing THE SWAN MAIDEN by Heather Tomlinson:



From Amazon: "In the quiet hour before dawn, anything can happen. A third daughter can dream of being a creature of flight and magic, of wearing a swan-skin like her sisters. But Doucette must run the castle household while her older sisters learn to weave spells. Her dream of flying is exactly that—until the day she discovers her own hidden birthright.

"Sudden, soaring freedom—it is a wish come true. Yet it comes with a price. As Doucette struggles to find her own way in the world, she risks losing the one she loves most of all."

Congratulations, Heather!

Visit Heather's LJ at !

The WTF of the Week

I found my book listed as a collectible on Amazon for $32.

Coincidentally--this is the same book I signed a couple of weeks ago for someone I actually know. Presumably it was for her granddaughter. OR maybe she'd just said she'd let her granddaughter "read" it. My memory is fuzzy because, ya know, when someone asks me to sign a book I get all a-twitterpated. I'm very flattered. I'm scared I'll misspell my own name and screw it up.

So now I'm torn between:

1. Realizing, okay, she bought it so of course she's entitled to do whatever she wants with it. Intellectually I have no problem with that at all.

2. Be, um, insulted?

3. Admire her spirit of free enterprise.

4. Admire her nerve.

Any thoughts?

8 THINGS ABOUT ME

I've been tagged by Yak Talk to share 8 Things so here I go:

1. I was the kid in school who used to write everyone's book reports. I didn't think of it as "cheating" because, well, *I* at least read the books. In 11th grade I did a book report for my best friend. It was a 300 page YA novel called Forever the Seagulls Cried about a girl who was kicked out of boarding school and sent to live on a Scottish island. The book, of course, was MINE. Now, with the internet, we'd never get away with it. But she got an A.

2. I bit my nails for decades. The way I stopped biting them was to wear acrylics. Then I had to stop wearing acrylcs when I accidentally lit one on fire and my husband had to grab the garden hose.

3. I don't play video games--but 2 characters in my book are named "Mario" and "Zelda" because I had to listen to my kids play those games the whole time I was writing it.

4. I am, however, a hand-held poker addict.

5. I ran out of gas once and hitch-hiked a ride back. I'm still horrified at the idea. A friend and I also got into a car with a stranger in Toronto who then proceeded to drive us around the city and show us the sites. We lived to tell about it. I can't believe I was ever that stupid. And trust me, those aren't the "stupidest" things I've done.

6. I almost got suspended from high school for passing a whisky bottle around filled with iced tea. I also used to sneak into the faculty bathrooms and grease the toilet seats with Vaseline. I am soooo glad my kids didn't take after me. :o

7. My toes are long. VERY long. And I like to wear toe rings and blue polish on my nails.

8. My ears are double pierced but I can't wear earrings anymore. It doesn't matter if they're made out of tin or 24 carat gold. My ears blow up like bratwursts. So if any of you were thinking of sending me a pair of, ya know, Tiffany studs for Christmas, save your money. :)

I'm tagging anyone who's in the mood for true confessions!

Memory Monday

I remember the first story I ever wrote. Well, I don't remember the exact story, just the general gist--a boy who longed for his own horse and how his wish came true. But I remember writing it. I remember adding illustrations. I remember my 4th grade teacher, Miss Jarosz, reading it to the class at the end of the year--and the thrill I felt as I listened to MY WORDS being read aloud to an audience.

When school let out for the summer, family moved to the suburbs and I gave my story to my BFF as a parting gift. This is the same "BFF" who--unbeknownst to me at the time--ratted me out to her mom, who then ratted me out to my mom, when I ripped off a handful of penny candy from the corner deli.

If I ever see that skank again, I'm definitely asking for it back.

Friday 10...um, 5

1. Thanks to all the LJers for their nice comments re: the post below. I mailed off two more arcs to the librarian so more girls could read it at the same time. :)

2. I got my hair cut. It's, um, short.

3. I feel hot, sticky, and soupy in these 90+ temps. Yeah, soupy's a good word. Soupy, slimy, soggy, etc. I HATE THIS FRIGGING HEAT! Walking out my front door is like stepping into a crematorium. I haven't tried frying an egg but I did burn the hell out of my feet. Maybe I should try shoes?

4. Speaking of shoes, my kids gave me a pair of these for my birthday. I love 'em!



5. Current word count is to 91K which means I hacked out 9,000 words from the last revision. Nine thousand needless words. Scary, isn't it. Especially since I'm only halfway through it.

xxx

All I Need

I got the greatest gift from a YA librarian who leads a book discussion group at a juvenile detention facility. The "gift" was an email telling me how much the girls in his reading group loved BEFORE, AFTER, AND SOMEBODY IN BETWEEN.

The girls aren't allowed to read hardcover books--these are potential weapons--but he had a soft copy of my ARC and the girls ate it up! He said the lying, the betrayal, and the abandoning of friends really hit home with them, and the girls who haven't yet read it are eagerly awaiting their turn. These are tough, streetwise girls in serious trouble, either incarcerated or currently awaiting sentencing. As this librarian told me, if they thought it "sucked" they'd definitely let him know.

THIS is truly the only "review" I need.

This is the reason I wrote this story.

Thankful Thursday

I'm especially thankful--above everything else at this moment--that my nephew got his DEFERMENT! He does NOT have to report back to active duty and end up once again in that freaking desert (he was "lucky" twice over there, already) or even in a nice air-conditioned office in, say, Fort Yahoo, Texas. Thank God, thank God.

I'm also thankful I have a husband who will not PISS and MOAN when he gets home from work tonight and realizes he--once again--has to cook dinner because I'm at Borders with my laptop still working on edits.

I'm thankful I don't have size 40DD boobs because I'd be sporting a major rash walking around in this disgusting heat.

I'm thankful the migraine I had yesterday afternoon went away with minimal drugs.

I'm thankful that Pam and I got our cabin! Yes, there's a "bath house" (a nicer term for "outhouse") with a no-flush toilet, and you are talking to someone who has never been camping in her entire life...but I'm so excited! We shall COMMUNE WITH NATURE! Miles and miles of secluded forest...deer, owls, raccons, wild turkeys (mm, Wild Turkey???) ...um, bears, bugs, and snakes...pure isolation with no phone service, maybe a frothing Jason lurking nearby with his hockey mask and a--no, wait, wait, wait! This is so not where I intended to go with this.

Shut up, Jen.