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.