Debbie Does Drivel

Hi. IT'S BEEN AWHILE

Here it is in a nutshell:

I started the South Beach diet.
I hate my sister's friend, a fellow bridesmaid.
Today is my wedding anniversary.

Here it is expanded:

South Beach Diet
No fruit first two weeks. No alcohol either. No carbs.
After two weeks: can drink and have carbs, but minimally.
Started it Tuesday. Blew it by noon. Am getting back on track.
Feel fatter than ever.
Today is Thursday.

Hate Bridesmaid
She has issues. She says things, then denies saying them.
She told my sister she would pay for her cake. Then Indian Gave the offer after my sister went specifically with the psycho bridesmaid's friend who is making the cake.
She didn't help me one bit with the shower. Not even did she offer to pick up a cake. Or a favor. Or bring a dish.
She said she wanted to plan the bachelorette party. She offered to have people sleep over. She then denied making the offer, forcing everyone to scramble for a hotel room three days before the party. She also disinvited everyone to a pre party at her place, then got angry when I and Lisa's friends planned an emergency pre-party at the hotel we had to get last minute.
She called Lisa, said she "was done." She said we "went behind her back."
She is crazy. Must be the surprise lobotomy she got between the time she said we could all sleep over and meet at her house at 6 and the time three weeks later when she claimed she never said it.
Guess what? 6 people say you did, freak show.

Wedding Anniversary
Four years. I wrote Kev a poem about how we are puzzle pieces -- he is straight and I am not. But we fit together anyway. Isn't that gay?
I think I'll fold the poem up and stick it in a card with champagne glasses on the front and cursive on the inside that says "To my wonderful husband."

FREAK

I'm not minimizing the manuscript critique I recently received from an a-hole children's editor, but let me just say, he sucks crack.

He received my manuscript in December and I got it back at a writer's conference last weekend. When the conference staff intro'd the guy, I knew I was in deep quagmires of trouble. His eyes bulged, his fists clenched, his mouth pursed, his head balded. About my age, he looked more like a cranky old man who hated the world. This was not simply an observation. Upon closer analysis and a group meeting, it became clear: he despised the universe and all its inhabitants. How he became a children's book editor defies imagination -- and peoples, I have an outstanding imagination.

He told me that my plot bordered on unbelievable and that no 5th grade girl acts, thinks or talks the way my protagonist does. I'd tend to believe him since he is all editorly and all and knows more than I -- if not for the fact that I took the whole plot and thought process from my 5th grade diary. Some parts were word for word. To another writer, he said he disliked fantasy. How, how, HOW can you edit kid's books and dislike fantasy? For sure, he also harbored hate for green eggs and ham and Shrek (whom he resembles closely).

OK, OK, I know I am not a great writer. I really, really know this. I understand editors have a lot to offer and that I need critiquing. I have tons of work and polishing to do...I'd just rather have someone edit my stuff who actually remembers what it's like to be a kid.

PISS, VINEGAR and BILE

So the stomach flu.
Reminiscent of the time in sixth grade when I suffered in my parent's bed -- inches from the bathroom -- as they abandoned me for an Anne Murray concert.
Couldn't open my eyes, breath deep or experience anything but deep, abiding pain. Physically, I recovered. Emotionally, hearing Snowbird still hurts.

It hath returned.

Baby got it first. Watching her barf every 20 minutes -- most of it bile -- wretched my heart out. Pretty soon, everything else wretched out too.

Kev visited the House of Pain 2 days later. I knew I was to follow. Sure enough, sure enough. Entertaining the baby between bouts of nausea proved excrutiating, that is until her dead cod diarrhea hit. That fishy froth threw me off the ledge. Plus, if I were to get that next, there wouldn't be enough Massengill in all the world.

Thankfully, the poop passed me by. And I lost 8 pounds. A good time was had by all.

But I'm still getting over those parental abandonment issues.