Not Such a Joy

I'm wondering what happens if you b'witch slap a granny at the local diner. I realize that you may be surprised to hear that adorable, gentile, innocent, law abiding Earnestine May was tempted to take down a sweet little granny, but it happened tonight. I mentioned in my last, all to brief, blogette that I am no longer allowed to wear flip flops. Some explanation is needed before we get back to GRANNY.

About a year ago, during a girl's weekend getaway we were all getting pedicures when my pedicurist (is that really a word) commented in a jovial way "oh baby you have those fat little ankles." I've never been much of a fan of having any part of my body called fat, but I knew my ankles were a tad swollen. So I took the comment in stride. I've taken a couple of tumbles over the years. Okay lots of tumbles - NOT due to drinking, but a new PDA was involved in one of them. So I've gotten used to a bit of swelling here and there. When pedi-lady made the comment, one of my friends rushed in to my defense. "Oh Earnie May, I don't think you have fat ankles!" In a very sweet and loving tone she made sure I knew she liked my ankles. (Thanks sweetie - you have always been my champion!)

As a result of this, I started paying a bit more attention to my ankles. Uh oh. The toe painter was right. Both of my darling little outer ankles were swollen most of the time. How could I have missed this? I had fallen in love with cute colorful flip-flops and flat sandals. I built an amazing collection of them in every color of the rainbow. I kept my toenails polished in lovely colors and once a year, with my granddaughters, I got teenie weenie little flowers painted on my big toes. Had I been so smitten with my shoes and polish than I missed the golf balls inhabiting my ankles? As I looked back at a few pictures taken - there they were. The gopher from Caddy Shack was probably after me. He would take one look at my ankles and know there must be golf balls inside!

Finally, I went to see a doctor and sure enough I got diagnosed with some big doctor word that meant "poopy ankles." Seems some of my tendons are swollen to twice their size. And what's worse than poopy ankles? Being told that you have to wear an athletic shoe ALL the time. Are you kidding me? What about my darling flip flops and flat sandals?! Oh nooooo - they are not in my best interest. Along with the darn poopy ankles it seems my arches have fallen and flip flops are a huge no no!

So now me and my ankles are going to physical therapy. Additonally, the doctor is doing a torture treatment involving lots of needles (don't ask - it's just not worth going into.) Technically I am banned from my sandal collection for all of eternity (my own personal version of hell.) Female relatives with whom I share a shoe size are circling me like buzzards!

So enter Granny Joy (of all the possible names on the planet - the fates named her JOY just to irriate me.) Earnest and I were eating at a local diner. And I do mean local. The place is called Joe's and it's billed as the place "where Irving meets and eats." Tonight Granny Joy was having her birthday party at Joe's. I don't even know Granny Joy, but I was sitting in a booth across from her when she got up to go potty and guess what? She was wearning one of MY favorite pairs of sandals. They are black leather with a toe strap and sterling silver embellishments (they look positively ravishing with some of my black Chicos clothing and stylish sterling silver jewelry. I used to get so many compliments when I wore them. And not only did Granny Joy have on the sandals, she had the most lovely pedicure and cute little red toenails. I began salivating like one of Pavlov's dogs. I've been so depressed about my ankles that I haven't seen the inside of a my favorite pedicure shop since July. My toenails, well let's just say, when you wear cruddy shoes, you stop caring caring about your toenails and they stop looking darling.

So now this grey panther has showed up at one of my favorite diners in MY sandals. I didn't know her name till after dinner. All of sudden, singing breaks out. Strains of happy birthday, dear "Granny Joy" fill the restaurant. Her grey panther buddies are all pointing at her. Earnest knows I'm about to come unglued. He gives me that "now - now" look. I pursed my lips and said in a soft but firm tone "what happens if I b'witch slap her?" I couldn't believe what I was saying. I was getting ready to take out someone old enough to be my mother. I'm thinking "bring it on old lady. I'm taking you down." Somehow I manged to maintain a sense of decorum. The party broke up and Granny Joy left. She walked right by me wearning MY sandals and she didn't have a swollen ankle in sight.

Yes - I'm going to rehab. Hopefully, grey haired ladies won't cause me to foam at the mouth again. They will be sending me to Cesar Millan's Dog Psychology Center in South LA. I'll have to get my shots before I go. I must have gotten rabies from the darn gopher...

She heard me!

She must have read my post yesterday. She let me wear a Chicos outfit today. I'm still not allowed to wear flip flops or any cute little sandals for that matter. More on that subject soon...

Where is the complaint department?

When Cheryl Richardson told us to "write, write, write at the Hay House Writers Workshop I attended at Sea my boss came home and took her way too literally. I've had my fingers attached to the keyboard of my beloved Mac so much lately that I think my fingerprints have come off. You might ask "gosh Earnestine, if you are writing so much how come you haven't posted anything lately?"

It isn't that I don't love you - I do. It's just that my boss has been really cracking down on me. She's not letting me write fun stuff. Instead I "write, write, write" content for her soon to be published new MayDecember Secrets Website. I think it's just "wrong, wrong, wrong." My public needs me, but you've been dissed for her sacred project.

I haven't been able to shop for any Coach purses either. We had to go the Apple store on Sunday. It happened to be very near a Coach store and guess what - the boss lady wouldn't let me go in. It was also very near Chicos and I wore Chicos long before anybody knew what Michael Phelps mother looked like (now Debbie's got her own line of Chicos clothing!)

So the boss lady bought some silly back up drive. It does have a cute little Apple mirrored logo on it, but I could have had a lovely new bag for the price of that drive. She's become obsessed (helloooooo - Prozac.) I noticed that Cheryl Richardson was also wearing Chicos the first day of the workshop. I think she just told us to "write, write, write" so there would be more Chicos and Coach bags left for her. I think better advice would have been "write a little, shop a lot, write some more, go shop a lot more, eat some mac cheese, get a pedicure, write a tiny bit more, and then take a nap."

And while I am lodging complaints, I have another big one. Where the heck has all the mac cheese gone? She used it to seduce me into writing in the beginning. Now she's so busy typing (with my fingers) that she won't stop and turn on the stove. I guess she could buy the microwave stuff, but I think I heard her grumbling about somebooty that had a growing problem. Maybe she was referring to one of her clients.

I know the purpose of my blog was to share with you the adventures of an earnest writer aspiring to write a book and get published, but I didn't know it was actually hard work. So let me be clear - this part stinks. It's not much fun, you don't get out much, and most of the people you talk to live in some place called the blogosphere.

Just you wait, one of these days somebody is going to call and want to interview her in person. Then she'll be begging me to go shopping with her. She'll be wanting a pretty, new, hip, modern, adorable, luxurious Coach bag. Then she'll go into Chicos for a sophisticated, sexy, upscale, yet casual, colorful, slinky outfit and you know what...

...I'm a ho - I'll go.

Guest Blogger Day

Today's guest blogger is Gayle Luster. She is a counselor and long-time "friend" of Earnestine's. She's blogging today while Earnestine is away grieving about her flip flops.

A Day in the life of a therapist.

(This story is shared with permission of my client, I have changed her name to protect her guilt.)

It’s rare for me to work with children and teens in my practice, but occasionally under the right circumstances I take one on as a client. Unless the parents are willing to work on their own issues, I think therapy with kids is futile. That’s why, when I work with a teen or pre-teen, I want to have a relationship with at least one of their parents. HB fits the bill. Her mother has been a client of mine. She brought HB to me 5 or 6 years ago, but the timing just wasn’t right. Finally in junior high, HB asked to see me again.

HB has been a great client and I’VE learned a lot from her. Specifically I’m learning the benefit of using MySpace in the therapy process. Things rapidly change in the life of a teen (like from hour to hour.). When things are going well, they don’t have a lot to say (at least to their therapist). But when they are angry or hurt they need to vent STAT. MySpace gives me a way to make this work for both of us. HB can write me an email and vent. When I check my messages I get to “hear” where HB is at. We can discuss what happened in our next session. HB also does her therapy homework assignments on MySpace and then we go over them the next time we see each other. I’ve discovered a powerful tool in MySpace to use with teens. HB has been a big part of my discovery.

HB is also very funny. I love her sense of humor. Recently she came to a session and we were just getting started when I looked down and saw this (see picture) on my floor. It’s an aluminum foil “brain shield” (if you’ve seen the movie Signs you’ll recognize it - the kids wore it so the aliens couldn’t read their minds.) Boy did I get a great laugh. I almost rolled out of my chair. (LOLROF in MySpace speak.)

How perfect - a mind shield in your therapist’s office. It made me think about all my “adult” clients who wear their invisible mind shields. In shrink-talk we call them defense mechanisms. It sure would make my job a lot easier if all their defense mechanisms were made out of aluminum foil and were worn on the outside of their bodies. No such luck. For now, I’ll have to use my x-ray vision and be more like one of the aliens from Signs when peering into their minds.

Today I’m grateful to HB for taking down the shield, doing therapy homework, and making me laugh!

(Note to Earnestine - flip flops don't make the woman, it's the woman that makes the flip flops. You'll be okay Just go eat a big steaming bowl of mac cheese.)

Où es-tu mon cher Earnestine?

Earnestine, Earnestine where for art thou Earnestine?

Just remember if you ever decide that you want to make a living being an earnest writer you're gonna pay and it's NOT for a while. I don't mean to be a whiner (and as many of you know I do have a fine French whine - "tant pis pour moi"), but sometimes it's just no fun. I've become my own brand and I've dedicated myself to a brand (heeelloooo people at Kraft.) I've learned about RSS feeds and I've over fed myself. I've been chased by a Thundering Herd and I've listened to Earnest be interviewed about the thundering herd. I've played with words and come to enjoy word play. I've come up with so many puns that it just isn't punny any more. I've been cheesy and I've written lots about cheese. I bought real estate in cyberspace that isn't really real. Now I need better places to house my wares and I've struggled with what to wear (I've even found time to watch What Not To Wear.) Some days I am tired but I am not worn out (thanks Jewel for those words.) I've outgrown my templates and scratched my temples in frustration with new platforms while building my own platform. I've called in the marines and he is coming to help. One post at a time Earnest and I are stocking the "shelves" with inventory.

One post at a time, I'm claiming my spot here in the blogosphere. It's a wild, wacky, wonderful ride filled with wonder. Where am I you ask and I want you to hear - I'm right here and here is where I'm going to stay!

The Medley Version of Life Uncommon by Jewel
(with Go Tell it On the Mountain and From a Distance)

I Kept My Promise

Dear Kraft:

I am a woman of my word.

Love and mac cheese,

Earnestine

Getting caught with your panties down near a thundering herd is scary.

As you may know, I’ve been on a “so called” vacation to Yellowstone National Park. So called - because even though I did get to fulfill my need for mac cheese along the road I was banned (by Earnest) from entering the Coach Outlet in Fort Collins, Colorado. It’s right next door to Cracker Barrel where the mac cheese is warm, creamy, and delicious. But we were on a schedule and I was not given permission to go Coach shopping. We are now on the return trip, we are going to stop at the same Cracker Barrel and I’m still barred from the Outlet Stores.

Earnestine’s top 10 reasons why this wasn’t a real vacation:

10. My hiking boots chipped my pedicure and wrecked the cute little flowers I had on my big toenails.

9. Two words - fanny pack.

8. No spa, no beach, no margaritas.

7. Zip off hiking pants may be functional but they are NOT flattering.

6. Did I really need to make visual confirmation that bears do indeed poop in the woods? Being near the top of the food chain is no excuse for poor manners.

5. Getting charged by a thundering herd of bison (okay a tiny exaggeration) with one booty cheek hanging out (not an exaggeration) is scary. Said zip off pants ripped while dodging a coyote earlier in the day. A one inch rip turned into a 12 inch gaping hole. Poor craftsmanship no doubt. (I wonder if Coach makes zip off hiking pants?) I will be asking for my money back! Thankfully I was wearing adorable pink nickers.

4. Doing laundry to get the stench out of your socks shouldn’t be a part of any vacation!

3. Eating lunch out of a buttateria (remember the fanny pack?)

2. Besides being nearly molested by all those animals (and the signs told us not to molest the animals - where were their signs?) our biggest fun was playing the license plate game (btw, there is still a bounty on Hawaii.)

-and-

Earnestine’s number 1 reason why this wasn’t a real vacation

1. No Eiffel tower and no French wine (tant pis pour moi! - now that’s a French whine!)

-and-

Earnestine’s number 1 reason why she’d do all over again in a second?

10 priceless days with Little Lady, Motor Mouth, Crazy Teen,
Pharm Boy, Big Momma, and IPop!

A Message to the Good People at Kraft (from the road)

The other day I was talking to one of my dear readers about the advent of the Kraft Mac Cheese (KMC) crackers. I think I would make a very good spokesmodel for their product. I’m witty, charming and I have the right size booty. You certainly don’t want some skinny bootied runway model for this campaign. You can’t have your spokesmodel throwing up when she sees the box. My friend gently pointed out that I was a fraud and would never land the job because I was willing to eat generic mac cheese.

She’s right. To this point, I have been a mac cheese ho. I’m admitting to having a problem and now I'm making a decision to turn my life and will over the care of the good people at Kraft. I want to make amends for my wrong doing. This is my public apology. I’m sorry I ever let an inferior boxed cheesy noodle cross my lips and land on my hips! I promise to never let this happen again. I am now faithfully and forever yours!

Imagine how nice a bright blue ball cap with a golden yellow mac cheese noodle logo would look on me. No doubt you've heard of the Nike Swoosh. We could could call this logo The Kraft Noodle. I’d love to help them introduce a Kraft Noodle line of apparel, products, and promotions. I have a few ideas:

• Bright blue ball caps with a golden yellow mac cheese colored elbow noodle in the center.

• Bright Blue T-shirts with the noodle logo on the upper left hand front corner. The back of the T-Shirt could say “I’m The Cheesiest.”

• There could be an “I heart Kraft Mac Cheese" campaign. There would be a special edition box of mac cheese with heart shaped noodles introduced at Valentine’s Day (of course.)

• How about a "30 days to a cheesier life series?" We could create 30 recipes using KMC or KMC Crackers - one for each day of the month. (We could tell a heart warming story each day about how KMC was there for us in our time of need.)

• The "30 days to a cheesier life" series could start as a contest (the prize - a year’s supply of KMC) for the best recipe using KMC and the best heart warming KMC story.

• How about a NASCAR car painted blue with the KMC noodles all over it. I don’t know much about race car drivers. Is there one named Mac?

Dear Readers,

I’m hoping you’ll comment on this blog and help me come up with some more product and campaign ideas for my friends at Kraft. Remember, I have young readers so no funny business (email those ideas to me privately :) For those of you who are writing books or starting your own business this is called “the marketing plan” section of the proposal. Consider it practice....

With warm cheesy thoughts,

Earnestine May

A Mac Cheese Update (from the road)

Late Breaking News:

Cracker Barrel has AWESOME mac cheese!

And now back to the regularly scheduled post...

A scout of mine procured the Kraft Mac Cheese Crackers. Last night I tried the cheddar flavored ones. Here’s my review:

A tasty cracker ingeniously shaped like an elbow macaroni. At first taste, it's just okay. But as with fine wine, the more you have the better it gets. The coating is a little grainy just like the powdered cheese you get in the box when you are making the real thing. Please tell me I’m not the only one who has licked the spoon after mixing the cheese powder, milk, and butter. (Hi I’m Earnestine May a mac-cheeseaholic and I’ve licked the finger I stuck in the still grainy mixture while reconstituting the cheese. Confessions are good for the soul.) Anywho - if you are a spoon or finger licker, you’ll really like this cracker. It grows on you (and grows in you - a syndrome known as “mac cheese booty”.)

I’ll be trying other flavors on this trip. I may be bootylicious, but after all the hiking I’m hoping it will be a booty al dente.

Elliot Cuts The Big Cheese

I got to be a "fly on the wall" while Elliot interviewed the big cheese (not mac cheese) today (Earnest). It's always fun to hear Elliot, but today he was awesome. Elliot decided to do lots of research before Earnest's interview. He was infinitely prepared and veered from his standard format a bit. He was spontaneous, charming and scarily well prepared. Way to go Elliot!

I wondered if he might be channeling the spirit of Tim Russert (please Lord don't let it be Anderson Cooper he's channeling - Elliot is too smart for that!) Imagine Elliot with his youthful charm and devious smile (at least I think he was smiling) asking some very hard hitting journalistic questions. Thankfully Mr. Big Cheese is somewhat of a savant as well and was able to provide intelligent responses to Elliot's questions.

Luckily, I don't think any of this will hurt Earnest's political career as:

a. he doesn't have one.

-and-

b. knowing the origin of the name of the little hillbilly's hometown isn't very controversial.

The interview will air Saturday August 2nd.

I Want To Die WITH a To-Do List - Not Because of One!

FYI - platform building and getting ready to go on vacation seem to be mutually exclusive events. AND for some silly reason I'm craving kasespaetzle from Heidelberg. (Basically that's German mac cheese.) NO we are not going to Germany for vacation. We're going hiking in Yellowstone. AND that means no cute shoes or flip flops for me. I wonder if I could figure out how to make trail mix out of mac cheese?

Oprah is NOT my BOFitUK

In a blog last week, I told you I forgot to talk about being on Oprah because I got sidetracked. What I meant by that was NOT that I was actually going to be on Oprah - but I had just done something even more fun being on Oprah as a part of my platform building process.

I’ve been interviewed by my BOFitUK (best only friend in the UK!)

My BOFitUK is Elliot. I’ve talked about him quite a bit in this blog. We finally got our calendars coordinated and he was able to interview me last weekend. The interview will be broadcast on Saturday the 12th of July. Please sign up here to be notified when the show is ready to go.

Here are the top 10 reasons it’s more fun to be interviewed by Elliot and not Oprah...

10. You can’t do the Oprah show from bed in a swimsuit and coverup (oh yes I did.)

9. Elliot has a much better accent and may even be smarter than Oprah.

8. I didn’t have to be analyzed by Dr. Phil before being on Elliot’s show.

7. Elliot probably doesn’t even know who Dr. Phil is.

6. Oprah doesn’t have a personal assistant named Sentinel Chicken who looks up your address on google maps and scares the bejezus out of you by telling you what’s in your neighbor’s backyard. (I wonder if he could see me putting on my swimsuit coverup when I got out of my own pool? Oh holy crap - now I’ve just scared the bejezus out of myself!)

5. I won’t have my career ruined because I was caught jumping up and down on Elliot’s couch. I’m not even sure if Elliot has a couch.

4. Oprah doesn’t have a cool little brother named Gravity Man who lived up to his name and fell out of his chair during my interview (he is gravitationally challenged.)

3. You don’t get to hear Oprah’s dad sending her to the loo right before she comes into the studio.

2. My website won’t crash from all the hits it would have gotten had I been on “her” show.

-and-

The number 1 reason it's more fun to be interviewed by Elliot than Oprah is...

...Oprah didn’t want to interview me and Elliot did - it’s nice to be wanted.

The show airs Saturday July 12. You can have the broadcast delivered directly to your email address. Don’t miss history in the making. This is surely going to be one of those “do you remember where you were when...” events.

Free Stuff and the Bag Lady (Part 2)

...Continued from yesterday.

All of sudden I hear a very sweet voice say “‘ma’am” - thankfully it’s not the carry on cops - it’s another bag lady. She happens to have a spare purple bag (it’s one of those nice shopping bags made out of paper pretending to be cotton.) She had been at a teaching conference and she has two of them inside each other to carry her laptop and all the books she bought at the symposium.

Now she’s come to my rescue and she offered me one of the bags to keep forever! Purple is my favorite color. Now I’ve got four bags to carry on, but the lovely part is that I can put two bags inside the third bag and technically only be carrying one bag. So I stuff the Coach and the Life is Good bag inside the purple paper pretending to be cotton bag and plop my fake-fake laptop bag over my shoulder and I’m good to go. Never mind that my four bags that are technically only two bags take up more room than my three bags originally did. I am finally following the rules and I’ll be able to board the plan without getting arrested! I’ll also have a new purple bag to cherish and remember that some nice sister bag lady sensed my frustration and took care of me without me needing to ask for help. I know in this day and age we’re supposed to take care of ourselves and ask for what we need, etc. But sometimes it’s just plain nice for someone to volunteer a random act of kindness.

So thank you teacher bag lady for the big purple dead tree bag and thank you Starbuck’s Coach bag lady for the tip on how to acquire a fake Coach or two on the streets of the big Apple! Earnest I head back to big D on Sunday and guess what’s on the way home - I poop you not - the only Coach Outlet Store in the State of Texas.

Free Stuff and the Bag Lady (Part 1)

I’m happy to say I’m still enjoying my “free stuff” karma. Today I was on my way out of town for some much needed R & R and a doctor’s appointment with Earnest’s torturer for my “fat little ankles” (don’t ask). Ron was driving down to meet me later in the day.

I was in line at the airport dutifully waiting to feed my Starbuck’s addiction, when a very nice woman commented on my amazingly cool laptop bag. It’s lime green fake silk with an oriental pattern. The inside is hot pink fake silk. The bag is really stunning and gets a lot of compliments. I think it’s a knock off some snazzy brand you can get at Neimans. I, however, landed it for 39.99 at TJ Maxx. I was in there looking for a good deal on a Coach Tote bag. It is rumored that occasionally you will find one in a clearance bin at TJ’s.

Anyway - no Coach that day - only the stunning fake silk - knock off of something laptop bag. I snagged it. My fellow bag lady, in the Starbuck’s line, noticed not only my “fake-fake”, but she noticed the real Coach purse I was carrying. She tells me that she was in NYC four years ago and landed a knock-off Coach on the street for about 40 bucks. Evidently you have to know to whisper “Coach” to the right guy on the street with a big cardboard box and then step into a dark corner to make the transaction. I think it’s a marketing ploy designed to make you think you are getting “real” fenced goods instead of real fake fenced goods. No matter, I felt like today was my lucky day, I am headed to NYC in October to celebrate my birthday with Ron and my zany new friend Dixie. I’ll be asking for Coach gift cards to use with the street vendors in NYC.

So a vente white chocolate mocha latte and a slab of marble pound cake later, I headed toward the gate to hop on my flight to torture city. I had no luggage, but dear lord in Heaven I managed to be carrying an outlawed number of very small carry on bags. (Hi - my name is Earnestine May and I’m a bagaholic.)

Remember, I’ve got my very cool - very real yellow Coach purse, my even cooler fake-fake laptop bag, and my very small “Life is Good Tote”. Add ‘em up and I’ve got a total of THREE bags and I’m getting ready to board an American Airlines plane. American isn’t very popular right now. They’ve started charging folks $15 a pop to check a bag. So people are taking out their frustration by stuffing their carry on bags. American is fighting back by being really strict about the FAA rule of no more than TWO carry on items. I’ve got three and I’m starting to sweat. (continued tomorrow....)

How to Build a Platform Out of Mac Cheese

The first email I read this morning with eager anticipation said "HOW TO GET 5,550 NEW SUBSCRIBERS IN 18 MONTHS" in the subject line. For those of you who don't know, I'm in the process of building a large platform (no, not to hold me up). Basically a "platform" is your audience which equates to the number of subscribers you have to your blog, newsletter, etc. Your My Space and facebook friends are also part of your platform.

Saving the planet one person at a time is a rewarding, but tedious process. I'm learning that publishers want me to save the planet about 10,000+ people at a time. The New York Times Best Seller list is home to writers who are saving around 10,000 or more people in a week. Let me just say, I need a few more subscribers if I am going to get close to 10,000. Since I want to eat more mac cheese on Le Tour Eiffel, then I'm gonna have to get moving. I need all the instruction I can get. Hence the reason for opening said email this morning.

So here's what the message told me:

1. Send out free coaching sessions and dozens of people will want to have sessions with you.

Problem is I'm not a coach and I'm pretty sure that a free session is still approaching things one person at a time. I could offer a free coaching session at curves. I've gotten pretty good on their equipment (and I did read that book I got last week.) From the looks of all of us who go there - somebody needs to be coaching us - so why can't it be me? Maybe I should offer free mac cheese. Better yet - how about group mac cheese sessions. I'll fire up several different boxes with a variety of flavors (white cheese, extra cheesy, extra sharp, etc.) and noodle shapes. We can all get together and share about our experience with each type of mac cheese. Oh boy - now I'm hungry.

2. Make offers and have people purchase things from you on-line that generate great revenue with each email.

Problem here is I don't have a product except myself and I think it's illegal in this part of Irving to sell THAT! Perhaps I should start a mac cheese store and drop ship for Kraft. I did send a friend a case of Count Chocula once for her birthday (Amazon wouldn't ship just a box).

3. Stop having to work so hard doing other marketing activities.

Does that mean I might have to stop blogging? But what will both of you do if I don't keep writing?

SHOOT FIRE AND SAVE THE MATCHES (a favorite saying of my mother, except she didn't say "shoot" - you are on your own to figure out what word she did use).

I read the darn email wrong. I'm supposed to do all that stuff AFTER I get a big emailing list. To find out what I AM supposed to do, I have to finish reading his email. I only got as far as page one and then I started blogging (it's kind of like having Tourette's - I just can't control myself.) It is a six page email! I didn't read page one very well and now I'm supposed to pay attention for 5 more pages!?!

Oh boy - I just glanced at what he has to say pages 4-6. It seems I have 10 other things to do, but now I'm out of time (the story of my life). Hey I just thought about something that could save me some time. If both of you could find me 5,000 readers each, I could skip this whole platform building business. Let me know how that goes. In the meantime, I have to go save another life.

I promise, I'll write more soon. I actually meant to talk about me being on Oprah, but I got sidetracked. I'll get back to you soon...

Free Stuff

I've encountered many benefits from blogging. The outlet for my creativity is priceless. Saving the planet one word at a time is a major benefit as well. An income stream trickle drip dribble drop is - well - rewarding. And it helps build patience. I've made 23 cents since I started blogging in May. Google will cut me a check after I earn $99.77 more dollars. At this rate I'll get a check before I'm 60!

But by far the best aspect of blogging is free stuff. Today a dear reader sent me a book in the mail. She saw it and thought of me while shopping at Sal's (a well know national boutique also known as the Salvation Army - which is where I would be sleeping were I depending on my blogging income stream trickle drip dribble drop to support me.) She paid 50 cents for a Curves book and mailed it to me which cost another $4.64. That's over 5 whole bucks she spent on me (20 times more than I've earned so far.)

A few weeks ago a bag from Sonic showed up at my house. Another dear reader came by and left it in the living room while I was in session. I had no clue what was in the bag even after I opened it. It appeared to be some sort of fried food. I examined it for a minute and thought about calling the bomb squad in case someone from Dell or Microsoft was trying to rid the world of me. Perhaps their income stream had become a drop due to my blogs. But I was pretty sure this friend wasn't a double agent or a hired hit woman - so I took a leap of faith and bit into the mystery morsel.

OMG - it was fried mac-cheese. I knew about fried Twinkies and fried cheesecake, but who knew that Sonic had taken such a good thing and made it better with batter. I know you are not supposed to look up the price of a gift, but she paid $2.69 for those babies (maybe I need to set up a fried mac-cheese stand in front of my house - could be more profitable than blogging).

But the piece de resistance BY FAR is the coffee mug I won. Remember little Elliot - the 8 year old chap in the UK who has a podcast? If you don't, check out my blog post about him (he really is a major force.) Anyway, he has a contest each week during the podcast and I won! So Elliot sent me a coffee mug all the way from the mother land with his picture on one side and MY NAME on the other side. I'm not sure how much the mug cost (I'm not that rude - yet), but the postage was 7.81 British Pounds Sterling - not plain old shrinking US dollars. Which means Elliot (or more likely Sentinel Chicken - you'd know who that was if you listened to Elliot's show) spent almost $15 in postage to send me this priceless mug. A conservative estimate of the total funds channeled my way from Sparkle Studios is about $25.

Adding it all up that's:

$0.23 from Google Ad Sense
$5.00 for the Curves book
$2.69 for the fried mac-cheese from Sonic
$25.00 for the SparkleCast Mug

I've earned almost $33.00 of stuff as a result of this blogging thing. Of course I'm two grand into Apple for the new computer I had to buy to keep posting, but that is another story.

So today I celebrate blogging and FREE STUFF. Who knows what'll show up next....

No More Cat Pee For Me

I know it might be hard to imagine, but I’ve had to avail myself of therapy a time or two to become such a model of mental health. I also have Mr. Punkin to thank. Mr. Punkin weighed about 16 pounds and was a feline. I’m not sure why he got so fat. I’m thinking maybe he ate too much. He was quite a heap o’kitty. He also had an issue with urinating. He did it everywhere. He would look you in the eye, lift his tail, and spray the wall (pick a wall, any wall). Sometimes he used the box, mostly he didn’t. And yes he was neutered. And yes he was neutered as a wee little itty bitty kitty. And yes we practiced good box hygiene. And yes we tried changing brands of kitty litter. And yes we took him to the vet and made sure he wasn’t diabetic, didn’t have a thyroid problem, a bladder infection or any of a variety of “itis” conditions. He was just a pisser (or as they say in New England a “pissa”.)

I was going to college at night, working a full-time time job in a restaurant, and was recently married to Ron. When I wasn’t studying or working, I was usually crawling around the floor cleaning up cat urine. I can’t stand the smell of kitty wee. I became sensitized to the odor during Mr. Punkin’s reign. I was losing my mind and decided to see a therapist. Early in treatment with her, she had me make of list of things that were stressing me. I wrote down three things and I don’t remember number 2 or 3, but I clearly remember number 1 - CAT PEE.

When I read the list in my therapist’s office, I had my very first “aha” moment ever (long before Oprah made “aha” moments a household word.) I might not be able to readily solve stressor 2 or 3, but I could do something about cat pee. I’ve had lots of pets and I’m a commitment maker when I get an animal. I don’t take divorce lightly. But as I read that list, Mr. Punkin’s fate was sealed. He was being voted off the island.

We took him to the humane society and lied. Well we really didn’t lie - I was allergic to him and I was taking allergy shots, but we weren’t leaving him for that reason. He was a pissa. I didn’t want to tell the nice folks at the Humane Society about his problem. I wanted him to have a chance at adoption. I’m hoping I’ll be forgiven for fibbing and I’m hoping Mr. Punkin found a nice home.

Last week I told you about my jazzy new MacBook. Jaz and I are getting along really well. He’s doesn’t have to be rebooted (like never). I haven’t had to talk to any people in India, Canada, or Jamaica. He multitasks really well. He interacts nicely with other programs. He’s really cute and most importantly he doesn’t look me in the eye and pee.

Na Na Hey Hey - Goodbye

“There’s a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall, and the bells in the steeple too, and up in the nursery an absurd little bird is popping out to say cuckoo - cuckoo, regretfully it tells us, but firmly it compels us to say goodbye to you...”

These words are ringing in my ears. They greet me when I wake up. They fly in at random times - even during pit stops. They are playing in the background of my mind right now as I type. They remind me of my mother. The Sound of Music was our favorite movie. We saw it five times which might not sound like much, but we didn’t have VCRs or DVDs back then. We saw all 2 hours and 54 minutes of it five 5 times in the theater.

I might wonder if I am “cuckoo - cuckoo”, but I know better. Of course I've always been cuckoo (and not even for coco puffs.) But thankfully I am not insane (anymore.) The cuckoo ringing in my ears isn’t even my mother haunting me. It’s the sound of me saying “so long - farewell”.

Mr. Einstein would be proud of me. It took me a while, but I finally gave up my insanity. I’ve officially stopped doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result. (For the history on my mental illness you can read my blogs on May 27 and April 27 .)

On Saturday I turned over a much anticipated - too long in the making - new leaf. The official announcement follows...

Announcing the Newest Member of Our Family

He was brought into our world on...
06/07/2008 at 2:30pm
Weight 5.0 lbs
Measurements 2.78 x 8.92 x 1.08 inches

His given name was MacBook, but In honor of the "mid-husband"
who helped bring him into this world he has been renamed:

"Johnny Apple Zeed" (nicknamed Jaz)

He has two proud Godmothers who also assisted in the birthing process.
We are still learning how to parent him. But he isn’t a bit colicky. There are no crashes, no blue screens, no reboots, no locked keyboards. He is compatible with the other devices in our household and basically he is joy to be around
(obviously he takes after his new mom!)

So “so long farewell, na na hey hey goodbye” to my friends at Dell and Microsoft in Austin, Canada, India, and Jamaica. I’m walking out of the gates of hell (or as I’ve come to know it - Gates’ hell) and into the garden of eden where the Apple trees are in full bloom.

What kind of call did you just make?

Our family has a weird way of morphing nicknames. We all end up with nicknames for nicknames. An outsider would be lost. Heck - us insiders are lost too! So tonight I’m calling my sweet 16 year old, deaf, barely able to walk doggie, Betty, to come in from outside. I having to yell loudly and repetitively to get her attention. All of a sudden I really hear what I am saying. I’ve been saying this for months. Remember she’s deaf and I'm yelling real loud.

Here’s the morphing of the name Betty. It taken many years to get to this…

Betty
Bettina

Tina

Teenie
Shabetty
Shabooty
Booty
Booitcal

And finally over the last months I've been standing at the back door screaming:

BOOTY CALL!

No wonder the new neighbors are avoiding us.

My Hell Smell Del Dell

I was reading the weekly pondering on the website of a a psychotherapist friend of mine. Considering I put the "psycho" in therapy, I was glad to see that I was using her suggestions without realizing it. She was writing about making connections with people to be more a part of life. As you know, from an earlier post of mine I made lots of friends in India thanks to Microsoft Vista. Now I'm getting to make even more friends in India and some in Canada thanks to my hell Dell computer and it's all Elliot's fault!

We decided to get connected to "Skype" so we could be interviewed by this darling little 8 year old boy named Elliot. He lives in the UK and has his own podcast. In my humble opinion he's a phenom. I'm hoping to ride his cute little coat tail to fame and fortune. Anyway, we needed to install a headset and microphone on our laptops to make the interview happen. The installation went fine on Earnest's HP computer, but it crashed my sound card. Now my computer is totally mute (something around here needs to be quiet.).We both have Vista operating systems so it was time to call smell Dell technical support. After several hours they decided I needed a new mother board. Maybe they read my Mutha's Day post and felt sorry for me (can you tell I'm getting really good at links?!) So my new mutha is supposed to be her way (what do you wear to meet your new mutha - comments anyone?)

I think the best part of the story (except for Elliot - he is the real deal, please check out his stuff.) is what happened next. I decided to contact a couple of "woo woo" type people I know who are into energy healing stuff. I was hoping they could send out some good vibes to change my computer mojo (I'm missing Elliot badly!) One of them said he would see what he could do but also told me to get a MAC (no not with cheese). But since I'm taking this making new friends thing so seriously, I'm sticking with the del Dell and Vista. I think owning a MAC would be like being the Maytag repairman - a lonely solitary existence doomed to a life of a fully functional machine. Where's the fun in that?

I'm Still Curvy

I'm sure you guys are anxiously awaiting the results from my first week at the "curvy "place. I don't think I mentioned that I also have a membership at the 24 houry place. I meet a friend there 3 nights a week to do my cardio. Curvy's is where I'm doing strength training. So this week I got in a total of 5 workouts. My big news is - 4 pounds!

I met a woman today who has been going to the "curvy" place for 4 years and her magic number is 20 pounds and holding. I haven't had any mac cheese all week. I know I said I was going to sleep with Mac earlier this week when I mad at Earnest but I decided not to cheat.

All this sounds great doesn't it? Problem is the fricking 4 pounds is weight GAIN and so was the lady's 20 pounds. And don't even give me "the muscle weighs more fat thing". I can't possibly have built 4 pounds of muscle in the last week. And I'm not PMSing - because I'm post-pmsing forever which means the bloating is not going away in two or three days and at this point neither is the bitchiness! Grrrrrr.

The Importance of Divorcing Earnest

Okay I want to divorce Earnest. That’s how I’m going to handle my jealousy. You know I’m preparing to write a big time book and I’ve been studying as much as possible. Preparation is getting in the way of my writing. I’m very prepared, but not very prolific right now or at least not as prolific as Earnest. In all my studies, no one bothered to explain how to deal with writer’s jealousy. Earnest is blogging more than me. Now I have to divorce him. I still love him. I just hate him. I’m wondering how it’s going to be to throw the baby out with the bath water (did someone really throw a baby away when they were pouring out dirty water – I never did get that one.)

Here’s the catch - the book I’m working on is one about being married to Earnest. As a matter of fact, Earnest is writing it with me. But now he’s blogging more than me and I’m pouting about it. I think divorce is an outward expression of an inner pout. I'll see how I feel in the morning, but I'm guessing I'll be Googling lawyers in the morning (hmmm now that's something to think about.) For now, I'm going to bed with Mac (cheese that is).

Oh honey you don't look like you weigh that much.

As you may remember, a few weeks ago, I discovered that I am my own brand. Now I’m learning that me, my brand, and I need to be building a “platform”. The platform (people who get your newsletters, go to your workshops, etc.) needs to be a big one to make me more attractive to agents and publishers. For me a platform needs to be a big one to support my family sized (thanks to mac cheese) booty.

Since I want it all – a BIG platform AND a smaller booty. I decided to take me and my booty over to Curves (before I go to Curves each day I’ll need to carb load on mac cheese.) I’m here to tell you that I met my new best friend today at Curves. It's the woman who enrolled me. We’ll just call her Mrs. Curves. She showed me the circuit and it looked doable. I decided to sign right on up. Now comes the fun part. Mrs. Curves now knows things about me that dear Earnest (and you) will NEVER know and I’m not a big secret keeper.

In a kind, soft, but regretful voice, Mrs. Curves asked “how much do you weigh?” I’d just gotten the bad news earlier on my own scale. So I took a deep breath, held my head high, and pretended to say the number with self-respect and dignity. Mrs. Curves' response showed surprise and she said in her kind, soft, regretful voice “oh honey you don’t look like you weigh that much.” She might have even meant it. If not, she gave on Oscar worthy performance to get the $34 monthly fee.

Next question – “how old are you?” This time I don’t have to pretend as much to be okay. I tell her I’m 50. Mrs. Curves’ response again shows surprise and her tone is still kind and soft “oh honey you don’t look like you are 50. You look …uh …er ...you look… good.” At this point I don’t know whether to hug Mrs. Curves and make her my honorary auntie or start crying. Does she mean women who are 50 and weigh as much as I do don’t normally look at good as I do – so I must be a wonderful specimen? Or does she mean women who are 50 and weigh as much as I do are repulsive beasts who scare small children? Maybe she thinks I look good because children are only mildly nauseated and anxious in my presence.

I’ve long believed that everything in life is a choice and that every choice has a consequence. Consequently, I’ve chosen to go with the “I must be a wonderful specimen” option. Since I look so darn good, I better keep doing what I’m doing and eat an extra serving of mac cheese tonight. After all it’s gotten me this far…

Mutha's Day

Another weekend of writing for dear ol' Earnestine means a trip to Kroger for supplies. After the last full weekend at the computer (see post of April 25), I decided to fore go the mac cheese and do a juice fast (really). This time I only traveled the outer aisles during the visit to the store. That's where all the "real" food lives (it's very sad on those outer aisles). It's also where the seasonal stuff can be found. Since nothing or no one has ever climbed out of my womb and my own mother died several years ago, I don't pay much attention to Mother's Day, but Kroger is doing an excellent job of marketing. I became acutely aware that Sunday is Mother's Day and Saturday is Hispanic Mother's Day (no I did not make that up) I'm not sure why Hispanic moms get a different day. If you do, please let me know.

But, I am a mother of sorts (no not a mutha!) I have bonus kids thanks to Earnest and I have dogbabies. The dogs haven't figured out how to bring me anything other than something ejected from one of their ends. But this year I realized that I have given birth - to words on paper or more accurately LCD. While those words didn't climb out of my womb, they did fall from my heart and mind. I decided to buy my own flowers. Due to the amount of money I've earned from writing, I opted for the $12.99 bouquet of pink roses rather than the $20 harmony bouquet. The roses are making me smile.

As for the juice fast, yuck. There's only one thing I miss more than my mac cheese this weekend and that's my mom.

Voyeurism

Hi Fellow voyeurs. If you checked here during the last week, you know I went off the radar. Occasionally, I have to to loan my body to the woman who pays the rent. She's been working at her paying job, but last night I regained control of the keyboard. I got "us" on www.linkedin.com/pub/8/298/46 (a networking website). Now I'm trying to make lots of contacts. It's a compulsion. I'm learning that total world domination through the www takes time and patience. Gotta run. "The other one" needs to see some clients so she can pay for my Internet connection!

Reply All

I'm about to barf. Ah... you are thinking the mac cheese might be getting to me. No. That would be a welcome reason to turn my tummy inside out. The reason I have the urge to "toss tacos" tonight is reading other "earnest" writer's blogs. OMG some of them make my need to blow chunks imminent. Of course it's not YOUR blog I'm talking about. Yours is "witty and pretty and bright" (or was that Maria right before she met Tony at the doomed dance?)

At a recent writer's workshop, the instructor promised NOT to create an emailing list. She thought we should exchange emails by choice (I took home one business card.) Problem was, prior to the workshop, she sent a group email with visible "to" addresses. We all came home with the same idea - start a blog. So "reply all" has become the method for all the new bloggers to share with each other. Remember this was a group of earnest writers. Their blogs were pretty heavy and since I gave up smoking pot a long time ago (as is evidenced by the fact that I still call it "pot"), I just can't get "high" enough to meet these folks out in the ethers.

Okay I, too, started a blog, but I did NOT hit reply all. Goodness only knows why you are reading this. Maybe you have insomnia too and are guilty of way too much www dot surfing dot allnightlong. Anyway, tonight I didn't have any warm wonderful words of wisdom worthy of blogging (do I get extra points for using all those "w" words in the same sentence?) So I decided to go read all the other earnest writer's blogs for inspiration. I'm inspired all right - inspired to vomit. Everyone was full of love and light. All I'm full of is tacos (maybe not for much longer).

As you know, from reading prior posts (you do hang on my every word don't you?), I'm a bit concerned with how mac cheese is impacting the size of my booty. Tonight I've seen the light and I've started a new diet. I'll eat dinner then read their blogs. I'll be thinner by morning...

Name Brand or Generic

I've always been a generic kind of girl. I figure why spend money to buy a product name when the store brand's just as good. Except purses that is. Everyone knows how much I like the purses whose brand name rhymes with roach. I admit it. Even when I buy mac cheese in a box I get the store brand. There I said it out loud. A couple of my friends are cringing right now. They wouldn't be caught dead with store brand mac cheese (if not careful it might kill us though!) If the box isn't blue and the name doesn't rhyme with "raft" it isn't going in their basket.

So why in the world is this author talking about brands? Because I just found out I am one. OMG - simple little Earnestine May is her very own brand. No more cheap imitations of me. No hiding behind someone else's wisdom. I'm "going for it" by writing my own book.

When the book is on the shelf at Barnes and Noble, it needs to say "look at me, that's right take me off the shelf, thumb through my pages, hold me, feel me, look at my picture, TAKE ME HOME!!!!" Oh dear, and I said I wasn't going to write adult content in this blog. It sounds like some crazy profile in getlaidnow dot com.

But evidently, I'd better figure out how get comfortable selling myself. And while I'm at it, I'd better stop eating so much mac cheese. If my book went to press today, we'd have to lay it out in a landscape format so there would be enough room for my butt on the back cover. Okay - now I'm scaring myself. Better stop before I get depressed and fire up a generic bowl of comfort! You know - the stuff that rhymes with "snack please."

TTFN - More soon...

Did Hemingway Eat Mac Cheese?

In preparation for a weekend of writing and website building:

4/24/08, Thursday 7:15pm

Go to club. Do 45 minutes of cardio.

8:30pm
Go to Kroger. Purchase $65 work of saturated trans fat laden carbs. Have not seen this particular collection of items in my basket since 1976. Bypass all outer aisles of grocery store, except to purchase heavy whipping cream (don’t ask.)

9:30pm
Consume pizza, pizza rolls, and Dove Milk Chocolate in a quantity that will take at least 8 hours of cardio to burn. 11:30pmTake laptop into spare bedroom. Begin competitive analysis section of proposal.

04/25/08, Friday 3:30am
After emailing Dixie for feedback (another earnest writer) shut down computer and go to master bedroom. Insert foam earplugs to defend against snoring of both husband and shorty b. dog.

4:30am
Begin to feel sleepy.

7:00am
Awaken to a French kiss (not from husband, but from freddie b. dog).

10am
Reawaken after going back to sleep. Being building website.

12pm
Make cheap family sized box of mac cheese.

12:30pm
Talk to various Web People on phone – sort through mass quantities of bull sh*t from said Web People, end up hosting with Yahoo. Return to stove. Eat mac cheese straight out of pan on stove with a spoon. Go back to laptop sort through more bull sh*t, begin making, progress on website, return to stove, get spoon, eat more mac cheese. Repeat these steps with little variation until 6:02pm.

6:02pm
Write in Earnestine’s diary. Realize that Earnestine stinks… Hopefully Earnestine will make it to the shower before husband gets home or will be left with only dogs to French kiss tonight. (Jeeze – I haven’t had a toothbrush in mouth yet today. Is this what it means to be a writer?)