You are currently browsing the monthly archive for October, 2008.
Here’s Intern Meagan and Kiala wearing a hat I made for her. It’s a going away present.
It was a fun knit and when I make it for myself, I’m going to add a pattern repeat to accommodate my huge head.
Side view. I love this hat and thought about keeping it with me in Portland.
I thought the same thing about Kiala.
But, as the saying goes, if you love something, set it free.
Signing off now. Been feeling seasick all day. I think it’s a combination of sadness about Kiala moving, post-event stress relief and too many burritos after a too far bike ride yesterday.
Hey, hug your friends more often, would you? It feels good and when they move I’d like to say you won’t feel quite so sad, but it’s not true. It’s just as hard.
Next post: Melissa moves to San Francisco!
I’ll bet you’re wondering what it’s like to go through life attending parties, weddings, funerals, whatever and when the various party games happen (pin the tail on the stripper, the safety pin thing, and guess who’s getting disinherited — ME!) to hold your breath in anticipation of both winning and LOSING because the winning never ever happens. Well, I could tell you what it’s like being 33 and HAVE NEVER WON ANYTHING. But I can’t. No. I cannot.
Because yesterday at this party we call “The Internets” I won something. I won a big thing. I won a camcorder.
Here’s a picture of my beautiful new camera. It’s MINE ALL MINE. And I won it for simply being me. And for voting for
Crissy for Hottest Mommy Blogger, which she won and deservedly so. She also creamed Dooce, which pleases me to no end. I’m pretty sure that because I contributed to her cause, I’ll be entitled to oil profits and to laugh like this *HARHARHAHAR* at people who’ve lost their retirement in the various financial “situations” over the last eight years. YES!
Stoogie (who also took that picture) is the one who kicked down the prizes and so he gets a special thank you, which will happen when I have my neeeeeeeeeeeeew camera to record it. Stoogie’s got a great blog and you should look at it regularly. It’s also very, very NSFW so maybe you’re not visiting it because your boss would disapprove of you looking at comics about porn stars shooting milk out of places that aren’t milk-engorged mammary glands. Stoogie is also very mysterious and I’m pretty sure he’s a big shot media person in New York. Like the owner of NBC or something.
I love Stoogie and I love Crissy and I love them a bit more because I WON a camera!
Hands are shaking in anger right now.
Let me just say this clearly — devaluing writers in the digital age seems like a bad idea.
And that title pretty much sums up my day yesterday.
But first — Back Fence! It was amazing. We had about 160 people show up, standing room only. The storytellers just killed. I have one video of Beth Lisick telling her story, but it’s really shaky because I was cracking up the whole time so when I post it on Wednesday, you’ll hear me laughing through a good portion of it. We filmed the entire event, but I just have the one story on my camera. It was just such a great event. Except the next day I was HUNG OVER. And the funny thing about my paralyzing hangover is the fact that I haven’t had a sip of alcohol in about a month. I think I have retroactive hangovers and it’s all part of my extremely special and unique alcohol allergy that makes me special and unique.
In the throes of my hang over, I sat in the sun and drank two coke-a-colas and ate French fries with the Silicon Florist where we did NOT gossip and plot the only-child domination of Portland, but rather discussed mild topics like upgrading to Flickr pro.
[Note to only children: We will take this shit over and NO ONE will touch our food again. Who's with me?!? And, by with me, I mean in a different room and communicating by mental telepathy because lord knows we really don't want to talk to anyone, least of all, each other.]
And then Rick dropped me off at New Seasons.
Let me tell you about New Seasons, it’s the anthropologie of markets. It’s self-consciously posh and extremely expensive — BUT WORTH EVERY PENNY. And everything in there is organic and has some sort of story accompanying it. As you walk in, there’s a chalkboard by the door stating how many locally grown items are in stock. I’m pretty sure yesterday the number was 35 million.
I haven’t been to New Seasons in a while, instead we’ve been shopping at Costco (which we call Price Club — San Diego REPRESENT!) and Trader Joe’s because we’re on a budget. But there’s nothing that makes me appreciate my educated, middle-class, first-world, Caucasian existence quite like a trip to New Seasons.
I stood in the produce section and fondled the first citrus of the season — honey tangerines — pressed them to my nose and smelled their citrusy glory and put four in my basket. I went to the organic lotions and potions section and added my signature lotion to my basket — Pacifica’s Tibetan Mountain Temple — because I believe that spending $15 on body butter is an excellent way to free the Chinese from those oppressive Tibetans with their mountain climbing-ways. That’s what the Beastie Boys taught me, at least.
And then I made my way to the meat section. I should say The Meat Counter where there are about 75 strong men in white coats waiting to break me off a piece. Reminds me of my 20’s. I looked at all of the beautiful meat for enough time that three people asked me if I needed help and then asked again. See, I was a little starved for seeing meat in its natural habitat and not already wrapped in plastic. At New Seasons, you choose your meat and they weigh it and then wrap it in butcher paper.
I finally decided I’d get the baby lamb chops. These little chops were tiny. Tiny, tiny. And I could only hope that they were sliced from the youngest lambs in the wee pen they’re all shoved into so they can’t move so their delicious rib meat would be extra tender for bougie white women like me to savor and enjoy. What? I knit. With wool. Eating the baby lambs is my moral obligation for using their hide, or fur or whatever.
As Dave The Meat Guy (according to his name tag) wrapped up my tiny lamb chops, I had this thought: “Wow, I totally get Alice hooking up with Sam.” Not because Dave was hot (he’s hot like Mr. Rogers is hot, which is not at all but very friendly and knowledgeable) but because he was handing me MEAT. Wrapped up. Like a little protein present.
I said thank you and went to the hot sauce aisle to pick up Aardvark (YUM) and then, I couldn’t help it, I went back to the meat counter. I went back and stared some more. SURELY THERE WAS SOMETHING ELSE FOR THEM TO WRAP UP AND FOR ME TO BUY). I found mustard-stout pork chops and got those too.
Midway through my grocery store tryst, Steve called. He was on his way to pick me up. And I believe I said something like this, “In my basket I buy meat and lamb and young lamb and meat and wrapped up and I HAVEN’T BEEN TO NEW SEASONS IN SO LONG and pork chops marinated in beer and HONEY TANGERINES and butter for my body so I will be like a young lamb ready for the slaughter and needy needy fresh sourdough bread????”
To which Steve said, “I’m sorry. It’s been too long. I’ve starved you of red meat.”
And I said, “Yes.”
He was on his way to pick me up. “Do you want us to come in and help?”
“Oh my god, NO!” I think is what I said.
So I wandered around a bit more, and I checked out. $67 for ONE BAG OF GROCERIES. That felt very, very good.
I came home and broiled my wee lamb chops with some garlic and rosemary on top a la V and ate them with some roasted potatoes and green salad.
I also finished knitting a pair of socks, but it’s a gray morning, this is the best I can do for a photo.
How was your day?
Join us, would you?
Welcome friends, to the 87th quarterly Melissa Lion Non-Royalties Post. Every quarter I get a statement from my agent explicitly detailing my non-royalties. It tells me how many books I’ve not sold. It’s a little like the time my high school boyfriend sent me a letter in college where he outlined his erect penis, but different.
No, this love letter has a bunch of numbers and my book titles next to them and then at the bottom of a complicated subtraction equation, it says in bold print: UNEARNED BALANCE. This is part of the romance of being a published novelist. I KNOW! Perhaps this is why, when people tell me they want to be writers, I stare at them with this expression:
I would also like to say that it’s 3:40am and I can’t sleep because I might or might not be planning what amounts to a party for 160 people on Wednesday and that’s a little bit of pressure. (BUY TICKETS NOW.) And to see this or this in my hunt for Homer Simpson images is a little…I don’t know… makes me want to say, “Oh internets, you so craaaaaaaaaaaazy!” And then bathe my brain in bleach. That’s do-able right? Wait…let me google it.
Okay, so my UNEARNED BALANCE on Swollen is $2,566.48 and on Upstream is $1,748.50.
What I need is to sell approximately 2,000 copies of Swollen and 1,500 copies of Upstream in order to earn out my advance. And then, after that, I can start earning royalties and we can have a celebration but not a big one, because they’re royalties, which is the equivalent of a kiss after a reach around. I KID, RANDOM HOUSE — HAHAHAHAHLOLHAHAHAHAH!!!!1!!!!!!!#!!!!!
That means, each of you, needs to buy 1000 copies of my books. Not really, more like 800.
It’s actually not that many when you think about America and how many people know how to read in this country. So, maybe we can start an internet revolution, kinda like Stoogiepie did for Crissy when she wooped Dooce’s ass on the hottest Mommy blogger award. GO CRISSY! Crissy then took a nekkid picture of herself because that was the deal and you can find that supa-hot picture on Crissy’s blog if you follow that link above. Maybe I can be persuaded to make a picture of myself if I start earning a royalties on my books. What???
Buy Swollen here. And Upstream here.
And yes, those are links to Barnes and Noble.
Thank you and good night.
I’m sorry. I know. It’s a little like when Madonna released her Sex book. Total melissalion overload.
I flatter myself, I do.
First, Strange Love Live was a blast and a half. I loved doing it and I hope there will be another sex podcast in the future. My favorite topics were being a wife and mom and being sexy, masturbating and, of course, 69. I know, I’m the only one who loves that. Whatever. Go listen to it now!
And then on Wednesday — Back Fence PDX. You all know the stories are going to be amazing and that you should have your tickets already, right??? Go now. And then come back…we’ll wait.
Waiting…
And then November 8th at Wordstock, I am introducing two authors (the shockingly beautiful Laird Hamilton, and my friend from way back, Ann Packer — California in the HOWSE!) and I’m moderating a Young Adult Historical Fiction panel. They asked me to read, but I politely declined. My reading from my own book days are over. I don’t know that Portland lit lovers are ready for me to stand up there and sing Walkin’ After Midnight just because.
Finally, November 13th, I’m presenting at Ignite Portland. My topic: Story as Bloodsport: Battling to Craft Narrative. Ignite is this very cool thing in Portland. It’s totally free and there are 14 people who present 5 minute ideas. You get 20 slides and at 5 minutes, your sound is cut off and you’re kicked off the stage. Shhh…don’t tell anyone, but I have no idea how to make slides.
But I will be wearing my neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew boots. Presenting my Frye’s.
Banana
Black
Over the past few days I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with customer service people over the telephone. One time that pleasure was ironic, the other time it was actually a pleasure.
So I canceled my account with a cell phone company that rhymes with Squint. I was their customer for four long years. FOUR LONG YEARS. And two weeks after I canceled, I received a letter from a collection agency saying my last bill was now in their charge and I was to pay it through them. This was a bill that I had not even received but there I was in collection. According to the letter it was because I had canceled my account with Squint.
I paid my bill as I always did and I thought that because my number had been ported to a different carrier and Steve’s number, when you called it said, “This number has been disconnected” and because I had spoken to the cancellation department to cancel my account and had the letter from the nice collection agency that my account had been, in fact, canceled.
Not so!
I got a bill in the mail for $150 from Squint. I called them and asked what was going on. Well, no, in fact my account was not canceled and all of that other stuff was just my imagination and the billing department couldn’t help me at all because it was a legit bill.
I might have lost it.
I might have told the gentleman on the other end of the line “to look up active in the dictionary and tell me if that seemed to match my experience.” I also told him to repeat after me: “THE. NUMBER. HAS. BEEN. DISCONNECTED.” He was from the south and about an hour into the call I said, “do you not understand what I’m saying because I’m from the west coast and perhaps I’m not down home enough. MAYBE IF I DROPPED MY G’S AND ADDED A FEW DOGGONE-ITS YOU’D UNDERSTAND.” He was the manager and he told me he couldn’t do anything for me. And I said, “They made you a manager. Does it feel bad to you that you can’t do anything? That must feel bad.”
I told him to put me through to someone who can do something. And finally, after an hour and a half, someone agreed that charging me for something that doesn’t work might be amoral and perhaps that bill should go away.
Contrast this with my experience yesterday with Zappos.com. My mommy bought me two pairs of Frye boots through Zappos and it was a complicated order for a few reasons, some on my end, some on theirs. It was just a mess, but we were all being patient but I wanted my boots for Strange Love Live tonight and Zappos dropped the ball a tiny bit. I wouldn’t have minded, but I WANTED MY BOOTS!
Well, the CEO of Customer Loyalty for Zappos follows me on Twitter, so I decided to DM him and see what was happening. I don’t know what I expected. I sent him my email address and thought he might email me or whatever. I had no expectations and frankly the order was a mess on everyone’s end and all I could do was just wait it out and trust that it would unravel itself.
Ten minutes later I got a call from George, the CEO. His first words were, “your order has shipped.” Cool! And he was going to try to get them to me before my Strange Love Live broadcast. Yes, because I plan to show them off if I get them in time. I’m going to wear the banana Frye Campus boots, just so you know. George said he’d checked out my blog and it was “cool.” He didn’t say brilliant or genius, but I can forgive that, I suppose. (I thought the milfy email thing was funny, but whatever.)
So now it’s just up to the shipping gods to get me my boots before tonight at 10 when I go live on Strange Love Live.
Fingers crossed and nice work on Zappos.com’s part. Cool beans.
And Squint — go suck it, assmunches.
[Private message to Robert in Austin: The ladies is bizarre because the mens make us so.]
Well, I’m going to talk about sex tomorrow night on Strange Love Live. And, as you all know, I’m good with freestyling these sorts of things, but the host, Cami Kaos, wants people to email questions. These questions are not things like, “Will you take your shirt off?” Or “may I see your ass?” (No need to ask, people.) They are questions about sex. And you may email them anonymously. And don’t act like you all don’t have a fake email address. Everyone has one. EVERYONE.
I have to delete mine weekly because inevitably Steve finds it and is like “WHO IS MILFYMILFINSKY@GMAIL.COM???” And I’m like, “how the hell do you post casual encounters ads on Craigslist?” He’s such an oppressor, I tell you.
Here’s my thought on anonymous email addresses: don’t do them through gmail because I swear, you need to open a vein and gnaw off your own foot to log out of that shit. You’re better off at hotmail.
And before you get all tempted by the Yahoo, remember the gnawing the foot off in the previous paragraph? Well, at yahoo, you might as well remove an ovary while you’re at it.
Okay, so run now and set up your fakey hotmail address. And email sex questions to: strangelovelive@gmail.com.
I’ll be there answering questions and I went to college in San Francisco where I took 3,000 Human Sexuality classes and attended numerous sex shows and clubs (that’s true) and Miss Burrows will be there. She’s a hottie with a very, very sexay hubby. I believe they have the hottest nookie of any Portland couple. And Cami Kaos is there to keep us on track and talking dirty. NOT DIRTY. Sex is not dirty people. It’s fun and good and only dirty if you want it to be.
EMAIL NOW!
Or you can leave questions in the comments here too. I’m easy that way…
Hey Hey it’s Back Fence PDX day! We’re one week out and I can’t encourage you enough to purchase your tickets in advance. Here’s the link to do so.
Yesterday we heard four of the stories and they were remarkable. I cried during a few of them and we laughed our asses off at a few more. I also found out that there’s a chance our wee event will be linked to on a major website and if that happens, the event will sell out. Quickly. So, please please please, if you plan to come, buy your tickets now.
And steal that image above for your own blogs!
Thanks to Tyler and Dynagraphics for printing up the paper flyers for us. For your Portland printing needs, check out Dynagraphics — they rock the house!
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