I know I am not to blog about blogging...

So I apologize for this one. I am unexpectedly far from a computer and even farther from time to get to one. THe thirty in thirty experiment is officially on hold for one week. See you all soon!

Pure Magnetism...

If you have never heard of The Magnetic Fields I urge to go out or online right now and listen to "i". It's been one repeat in my ear for a long time now. I can't even begin to express the brilliance. Just do it!

...

People are dying. I don't say this to be hilarious, it's just a fact. A human brain parasite can alter fear. It can create symptoms of schizophrenia. It can't kill you by itself, but it can make you kill yourself, if that doesn't get you, the medication for chronic hepatitis c that should save you might give you a stroke. 

A fourteen year old son can lose his mother because no one believed her. 

A woman can watch love dwindle to the loss of life.

A young old man can get multiple myeloma and die.

Go watch Harold and Maude. I've got nothing for today.

Rest in peace P.

Who doesn't want to start at least one story with a dark and stormy night?

Sometimes, when am I afraid of something or someone it helps to write a piece from their point of view. ...

It was a dark and stormy night in los angeles. The moon shone through the apartment like a flood light someone had forgotten to turn off. The street was as cold and silent as death and the windows were bare. It was easy to see her. I watched her move through every room. Wandering, jumpy. A dog barked and she looked like she might jump out the window. She had no idea I was there but I know she could feel my eyes by the way she kept looking out into the night. I reminded myself how lucky it was that she had a circular apartment with so many windows. So many chances to see her. 

She seemed so nervous that night. She had been alone for two days. I knew I had only one more day to make my move. I half hoped that she would spot me and invite me in for tea, that would make it so much easier. I always hope that and they never do. If only she knew how easy she could make it on herself if she would just come to me. If she could just admit how she feels about me, instead of leaving me shivering, cowering with the hydrangeas. How could she do this to someone she so clearly loves? I wrote her a letter once. It was beautiful. I used all the best words and phrases. She cried when she read it. She showed it to her boyfriend. I could only imagine her showing him the letter and telling him that she had found her one true love and that it was over between them. He put his arm around her, comforting her, then he took off in his van, leaving her life wide open for me. But how could she still leave me out in the cold? 

If only she would have given in then the police would have stopped bothering me and we could live happily ever after. Oh how I loved a hard headed dame like this one. I was sure her insides were as beautiful as her outsides. I couldn't wait to split her open. I wondered silently if the noodles she had for dinner would come spilling languorously out along with her intestines like little worms. 

Sadly, I never got the chance to find out. I didn't know it, but when the dog barked, she got suspicious and called the police. I heard it before I felt it. The sickening thud when the officer hit me on the back of the head with his club. There is no echo when a blunt object makes contact with your head. There is no bouncing back. Just THUD. 

As I sit here in my cell I can still feel the knot from where he hit me. I drew a picture of it and sent it to her but she hasn't responded yet. I'm sure she is too distraught to even read. I saw her crying when they were dragging me away. I know the scraping of my heels along the asphalt was too much for her to bare because she ran inside and slammed the door. I think of her every night. Only a few more months until we can be together again and everything will be alright.

*I no longer live in that apartment...

checking out

You have one ball. Now you have three balls. You are doing pretty well with the three that you have. then someone throws in twelve more balls and an elephant. How's that for juggling?

this is it.

Fasting makes you dumb. Well, maybe it doesn't make you dumb, but it makes me dumb.

Tomorrow

You wake up but you don't get up. What's the point? It's just today again. It's been today for the last three hundred and sixty five days. You can't remember anymore your last yesterday. You can't imagine your next tomorrow. It's dark outside. The dark is so bright it burns your retinas. You put the sheets over your head to block it out. You can't see for the brightness. It's so airy that you have to suck and struggle for breath. You don't want to die under here in such bright darkness, even more than that you don't want to live under here. You get up. It's been days. You woke up this second. You woke up today. The second today of the week that does not exist. You are not alone. There are others who are stuck on today. Some celebrate it, some try to out run it, some question it. They look at the calendars as they burn them and scream, "Why meee?!!" The calendars look back and smirk.

"Why not you?"

There's really not point to it all. There is no point to any of it. Today, tomorrow, yesterday, it's all in what you call it. It's all the same thing. Last year, next year, semantics and a few more wrinkles. You perch on the edge of the vast pink couch like a hippopotamus in a tutu. You look in a mirror, you contemplate today's wrinkles. They are deeper than today's. Today's will be deeper than today.

A wee part of your brain triggers and a thought runs through and it's gone. you caught a flit of it. it looked like letters. You think you recognized a "y". An extra "y". A "y" in front? It's too much. You make toast. You make a note to buy more bread today. You wonder how on earth you are going to choose which pre-made pre-frozen, labeled dinner to eat when they all say today. Who made these frozen treats? You might remember her today, you might not. She is from those past yesterdays.What are yesterday's? Now you've gone and confused yourself. You find an old picture from today. There is a woman smiling at you. She's holding a puppy. Today you are alone. You open up the calendar to today. The page says it's tomorrow. You wonder how it can already be tomorrow. You turn to the next page. It too says tomorrow. 

She's coming home tomorrow. You remember. Tomorrow she gets home. Or maybe she leaves yesterday. Either way it is finally tomorrow. you shake your head and move into action. You better hurry up, you don't want to fall behind. The future's already happening, whether you want it to or not.

I've been asked...

about my process and revisions and drafts. While I won't give everything away because that is no fun I will say that what ends up here is, for the most part, completely rough and unedited. As for fact or fiction. look to your right. see that column right there? read it. 

Most of what I write is based very loosely on something that actually happened if not to me then to a friend of mine... or inspired by something I heard or read. I recently wrote a story, that isn't here, that came out of listening to a certain record over and over again and while it's extremely personal, it never happened to me. 

Today

You wonder who put salt under your eyelids when you weren't looking. You think they may have slipped some pepper in there too. You walk into the living room that might be yours and you notice that something is missing. The dog is accounted for, no kids to worry about. You wander around the tiny apartment. You check the freezer. There, as always, she has left you enough complete, frozen homemade meals to last you through the two weeks that she will be gone. She has been doing this for years. You don't even talk about it anymore. They are just there, like her.

This might be the day you shake hands and tell her your name. It might be the day you renew yours vows. Either way, time is relative. As you think about time you settle yourself deep into the shallow pink sofa like a deep sea fish comfy in a tide pool. You think that maybe time has gotten confused. She will walk in the door at any minute and announce that she had a wonderful trip. She's not even on the plane yet. She's been gone for a year. 

You put your head in your hands and imagine that if you sit that way long enough it will come to you. What will come to you? You have no idea. You just wait. You have six more cups of coffee. It's been six years. She's not coming back. It's been six minutes, your children have disappeared. 

It made sense yesterday. It will make sense tomorrow. It will never make sense today. You wonder how you keep missing today. You circle it on your calendar, you make lists titled, "Things to do Today" but, still, you always miss it. You tell yourself that when today comes, you won't miss her anymore. You wait for today. You realize, suddenly, that it's tomorrow. You missed it again. You start to think that,maybe, without her, there is no today.

She isn't gone yet. She isn't going anywhere today. Tomorrow, yes. Yesterday she left. You open the calendar to tomorrow. The page says it's today. All the pages say it's today. You were so sure you missed it, but now it's all there is. 

How to get around the rules again

Ever felt like your tip was tapped, your well gone dry or your brain just plain fell out of your head? Well, that's me. My brain just plain fell out of my head. I was walking along yesterday, singing a little song, when all of a sudden I felt so much lighter. Eerily lighter and with a slight, but noticeable headache. I thought nothing of it, actually I thought nothing at all, which is really unusual for me. i thought that maybe I should retrace my steps and see if I could figure out what happened and where things went wrong. As soon as I turned around I saw it. Right there, in the middle of the sidewalk, on top of Elizabeth Montgomery's star it sat. My brain. I couldn't help but notice that it actually IS grey, well, more like dirty off white, but when referring to the most important muscle in the body next to the heart, scientists don't sound very cool saying, "dirty off white matter". Not having a brain anymore I just stared at it, confused and not sure what to do with it. Luckily a kindly tourist saw my conundrum and helped me out. He squished it back in through my ear. We shook hands and went our separate ways. I never did get his name. I guess I'll just call him the "dirty off white matter angel".

While I'm waiting for todays post to upload...

New episode of "and so we vlog" and the world premiere video of Meg Toohey and Rachael Cantu's new song!!!! You can find it here and here or watch it down here...

A tribute to dorothy parker

I am waiting by the phone. I have called twice already, now it's his turn. I'm so excited I'm blowing up inside. I can't wait to tell him that I made a mistake and that I love him, no matter what, despite and because of who and what he is. Oh god! I love him so much. I can't stop thinking of the last time I saw him.

It was four days ago. We met for dinner at a local mexican restaurant. The mariachis played us a song, my favorite. Volver Volver, so appropriate and I didn't even know it at the time. 

Where is he? I told him on the phone from the office that I had something important to tell him. I know he has rehearsal, that can run late. I wonder if he's telling the guys that I called. I bet he is. I bet he knows. I bet he's celebrating. I bet he's just dying to finish so he can rush over here and hear the news. The suspense is terrible.

I know! He's waiting until he knows I will be asleep and he will use his key and slip in and whisper that he loves me too and he's so happy to be home. Tomorrow morning I will wake up and make us breakfast and coffee, just like nothing ever happened. We will spend the day running errands together and holding hands in the park. Wait, no, I hate the park. We will go to the record store and he will dig around and pick out Doc at the Radar Station on vinyl. he knows I've been searching and searching for it.

I can't stand it. Maybe I should try to sleep. Then at least I wouldn't be thinking about it. Yes, if I do that, before I know it he will be home, wrapped around me. I've brushed my teeth. My phone is charged, my ringer is set loud, right by the bed, just in case he lost his key and needs me to let him in.

I can't sleep, this is like waiting for santa claus. I must sleep. I will count sheep. 1...2...3...4...5............................

Oh wow, it's 4:30. I must have fallen asleep. He's not here. Drat! I bet he called and I was in such a deep sleep I didn't hear it. Oh no! I bet he thinks I blew him off. I would never do that, never! I feel terrible. Where's my phone? Crap, i knocked it off the night stand.

Weird. No missed calls. I hope he's okay. Sometimes he over does it with the booze and gets behind the wheel. Please let him be okay. Please don't let something have happened to him. I can't bear to think that he never knew how much I love him and how sorry I am. Maybe he just went out with the boys and lost track of time. I'm calling him.

Oh god. He's in a ditch somewhere, my worst nightmare has come true. But, maybe he's sleeping and didn't hear the phone. Maybe he passed out on the couch in the rehearsal space. He does that. Maybe I should go over there. Maybe I should call again. No, I can't call again, that would make me look crazy. I will give him ten minutes to call me back. But if he was sleeping then he may have been slightly roused by the ringing, enough that if I call again right away it will fully wake him up. He won't think I'm crazy. Four years together is enough that it is absolutely reasonable that I call again. Yes. Yes, I will call again.

It's ringing. and ringing. Come on! Wake up! Wake up! Wake... 

"I'm sorry if I woke you."

Is he at a party?

"I was just worried that you didn't come home and you never called."

Who is that in the background?

"Are you at jimmy's?"

"No? Where are you?"

Silence. Why is he so quiet all of a sudden?

"Hello?"

"Why aren't you here? Why didn't you call?"

More silence. No. oh no oh no oh no. Please don't say it.

"I'm sorry, I've..." No no no no no stop!

"...met someone else."

I can't breathe. I should say something here. I'm supposed to say something, anything. All I can hear is no no no no no. Oh my god. That's me. I am saying something. I have to stop. I have to have dignity. Stop crying. Stop it now.

Hang up the phone. I can't hang up the phone. This has to be a joke. A sick joke. Get it together and get off the phone! But I can't, if I get off the phone he will go back to her. He will never come home.

"You know. Earlier today when I called. I wanted to tell you that I made a mistake. I'm sorry, and I love you. You can come home now, it's okay."

"I know why you called. I could hear it in your voice. I'm so sorry. It's better this way. Go back to sleep I will call you tomorrow."

 Better this way? Better for who?! I feel sick. I can't breathe. I'm going to vomit. Hang up. Hang up.

Now what? He has to come over here. He has to come back. I should call back. I should keep calling until he agrees to come over here and talk to me. This is insane. I have to let him call me. He will call. I know he will.

Come on phone, ring. Ring damn it! It's ok, he's just giving me time to calm down. He will call in a minute and say he was drunk or high and he didn't know what he was saying. Wait, drunk or high? I don't want someone like that. Let her have him. I don't need him I'm better than that. I will be strong, I will show him what he's lost.

WHY AREN"T YOU RINGING???? Stupid phone. Maybe it's broken. Maybe I shouldn't have thrown it across the room. Maybe I should call him to see if he called and it didn't come through. 

No answer.

I should not call back. I should not. If you love something set it free and all that jazz. He's still not answering. I'm sure he will come to his senses tomorrow. I'm sure of it. Maybe he's breaking it off with her right now. Maybe I should call and apologize for yelling and acting crazy. Maybe he wants to come over but he's afraid I won't let him in. 

Yes, I'm sure that's it. I'm just going to call one more time so he knows it's okay. Just once more, I promise and then I will go to bed. Maybe I should give myself the option of two more times in case he doesn't hear his phone ring. Yes two more, just two more and then I will go to bed. Or maybe I shouldn't set limits on myself. This is love after all, right? Maybe just three more times....

Cheesy yes, but it had to be said...

Many of you have started your own blogs and posted videos and have opened your minds to writer's and writing styles you may not have been familiar with. I just want to say how happy that makes me. I have a friend who reads my blogs and from our conversation this morning she looks forward to your comments more than what I've actually written. Not only am I not mad at that, I'm stoked! (Yes, I said stoked and used an exclamation point, what?) I was thinking I should save this for the end of my thirty days, but what for? You should know that someone out there is reading and enjoying what you write, right now! (yes, another exclamation point, look for an explanation in the future.) Change happens when you open yourself up and march forward fearlessly. Let your voice be heard!!! (yep, there they are again.)

Remember the familiar essay?

Probably not. In short, familiar essays are somewhere between the personal and the critical essay. According to Anne Fadiman, in an interview from All Things Considered, the familiar essay is "autobiographical, but also about the world". She also says, in an interview on powells.com, that "one of its hallmarks of that it is about the author, so it is a subset of the personal essay, but it is also about a subject". Not that anyone's asked me, but this is my blog so you get my opinion, to me, the familiar essay is an essay that is indeed of a personal nature but is ultimately about something bigger and more relatable to everybody. I just read that last paragraph, can you say redundant?

You will notice about that I only quoted one person in regards to the familiar essay and I didn't mention Charles Lamb once, which is terribly remiss of me but there's a reason for it. I promise. That reason is that I think Anne Fadiman is a genius. Charles Lamb is long dead and if you don't have a literary head or a desire to slog through the muck of nineteenth century prose you probably won't get to much out of it. If, however you read Anne Fadiman's essay on Mr. Lamb you may well get as sucked in as I have been. Her writing can make even the most long dead person seem to appear in your living room and sit down for tea (don't worry, only in your imagination, not like a ghost) and exercises your brain by using words you've never even imagined. I truly fell in love with her when I had to run for the dictionary while reading her essay on ice cream. Yes, ice cream. I'm a sucker for a woman who requires a dictionary...

* You can get Anne Fadiman's books on powells.com or amazon. Or just do a search for her and read some of her interviews, they are fascinating and she is a delight. (I've never met her, but I imagine she is a delight from the interviews.)

The Tell Tale Cat (very rough first try, so rough it's not called a draft yet.)

Two girls were sitting in their apartment in Los Angeles California. It was the kind of day only Californians can truly appreciate. There was a screen of clouds covering the sun and the air was damp and cool. To celebrate the nice weather they made breakfast. While they were eating their breakfast one of the girls looked over at the screen with furrowed brows and squinting eyes. "You know, we should really get the screen fixed. One of the cats could get out." The other girl just shrugged and they continued eating.

While all of this was going on there was the incessant slicing and dicing of sheets of metal next door.

After breakfast, one girl did the dishes, while the other began the arduous task of organizing the bookshelf in the living room, where they had just had breakfast. The details of what happened next are sketchy due to the grinding next door. At some point the fluffy grey cat, that no one liked anyway, ripped open the screen and busted free. Remember when Wile E. Coyote would run through a wall and make a hole that was the outline of his body? Well, it looked like that. The girls looked at eachother, then at the screen, then back at eachother. "He wasn't happy here anyway." "No, you're right. But maybe he will come back." They kind of stared at eachother for a minute and went back to what they were doing. Little did they know that soon they would be living in their own, real life version of The Tell Tale Heart... TO BE CONTINUED.

masks

I can be a bit of a nervous ninny. I don't like flying, I don't like dark water, I'm scared of ghosts, but there is one thing that scares me most of all... MASKS. I hate them. Executioner's hoods make me want to cry but the worst of the worst of the scariest are mascaras. Seriously, which is weird because I love wrestling, all kinds. For those that don't know mascaras are the masks worn by Luchadores and for those of you who don't know what those are, google it. So, now that you know about my fear let me share one of my favorite books. Heres the cover...

Yup, scares the crap out of me, but it's an amazing book by an amazing writer. So amazing that even though I want to barf just looking at the cover I keep it out, readily available so I can pick it up and read it anytime I want, which happens to be rather frequently. It's a pretty easy read and it's a fascinating look into the world of luchadores. You can go to her website for more information. In fact, I recommend that you do so right now. Enter the world of Christa Faust, you won't regret it. On a side note, her blog is pretty entertaining so check that out too, while you're there.

** Click on the book and it will take you to amazon so you can get your very own copy, if you so desire...

Guess who found imovie!

A few things before you watch the video.

1. This will NOT be up forever.

2. Please don't steal it.

3. The title at the end says...

I told you it wouldn't be up forever

A PSA for dirty ballerinas everywhere... Leave the camera at home or in someone else's hands...

To The grey tree... and anyone else...

Hi. I want to address one of the comments posted on my last entry and I don't know how else to do it. If something I write inspires  you or you have a story you want to put up, please do it. Forget about it being, "my space". Slowly, very slowly, I am building a website that will include other people's work. I think it's important to get it out if you have it inside of you. if you want to do that here, please feel free.

Can you smell a rat? (only slightly cheating)

I have an obsession with the way things smell. And with smelling all things. I've always wanted to create a perfume but that dream is a bit more expensive than, oh, I don't know, my dream of writing things down and having people read them... ahem. So for today's "assignment" I'm pulling up an old review from the old blog, that's what makes it slightly cheating, well that and I am posting it super late on Thursday but it's technically Friday so it counts. 

*another note, reference points used in this post are my tattoos. 

I went to Scent bar today looking for something new to obsess about and compulsively buy since alcohol and food are no longer options. On my right wrist, just above the 5 IS Avignon, part of the incense series from Commes des Garcon. 
Here is the description:

Powerful and intense, Avignon evokes the medieval city in the south of France which surpassed Rome as the Catholic Church's power center in the 14th century. It's the scent of gothic cathedrals and Papal palaces, of tapestries imbued with centuries of incense. Of cold marble steps, holy relics and dark confessions. The recognizable smells of frankincense and myrrh open the high mass of Avignon, giving way to the almost eye-smarting, gloriously smoky and resinous heart. A dry vanilla and soft Roman chamomile dull the edges of this reverent fragrance. Beautiful, dark and mysterious, Avignon takes its place among the most talked about (and admired) of CdG's entire line.

Here is what I smell like:
The actual original frankincense the wisemen brought to jesus that has recently been dug up from under a pile of burning wood.

I thought it couldn't get worse so I went ahead and sprayed a bit of Vannile Bourbon on it, just to see what would happen. Now I smell like after they pulled the frankincense from the burning pile they rolled it around inside of a my little pony doll.

On my left writs, smack inside the circle is Calypso Vanille (can you find the theme?)

Here is the description:
Don’t be fooled by the name. Calypso’s vanilla is not a sweet, moist cookie of a scent (just thought we should let you know). It’s a burst of equal parts vanilla, bergamot (think: orange, grapefruit and lemon) and orange blossoms. A scrummy concoction of all the things we love best, all wrapped up in background of white musk. Vanille is a sophisticated creamy, musky floral/vanilla with remarkable lasting power…we could smell its warm musky vanilla traces many hours after first applying. Dreamy, creamy, rich and fabulous!

**I hated this in the bottle. I hated this on the paper. I sprayed it on anyway. BUG SPRAY!! Horrible acrid horrible bugspray, look out sister, this is horrible!

Nine hours later, I kind of secretly like it. It smells like my mom on the beach in 1984, almost sweet, a little floral with an underpinning of coppertone. The downer is that there is also something very "perfumey" about it that makes me think it is probably popular among the big hair set in Dallas.

On the compass I have the aforementioned Vanille Bourbon
Description:
Vanilla lovers, it’s time to rejoice! Two types of orchid are used to bring to mind an intense, sweet, rich vanilla fragrance, anchored with the delicious scents of heliotrope, exotic tiare and warm amber. This is an instant smile and an easy laugh…it’s soft vanilla joy in a bottle. Easygoing yet totally addictive (we mean it—we crawled over two tables one day to find exactly what gorgeous vanilla was enticing us so!), this is the finest bourbon vanilla we’ve ever laid our noses on. The Absolu version is strong—an amazing plus for any vanilla scent (and wonderful staying power, too!) Did we say addictive? Vanille Bourbon has left us with a loss for words, so we’ll just say, “WOW!”

What does the compass smell like? Avignon. That stuff has moved in and taken over. I'll have to talk about that one another time I guess.

Wow, I've bored myself. Sorry about that.

Free Stuff in L.A.

Los Angeles is expensive. It's ridiculously expensive, but you don't have to go broke to enjoy it. here are a few of my favorite free, or at least dirt cheap things to do.

GET ART SMART

MOCA - The museum of contemporary art has three branches. Grand Avenue is the one I tend to frequent. There is a great little store there and a cafe that serves delicious treats. The current exhibition is "Collecting Collections" and features "highlights from the permanent collection". The best part? It's free to all every Thursday from 5 to 8.

LACMA - LA County Museum of art. The name says it all. Pay what you can from 5-8 everyday. Free parking after 7. It's a big place though, so if you're going when it's free it may take you two days to get through the whole thing.

EAT IT DRINK IT

El Conquistador - Silver Lake. A kitchy little mexican place with, what some call, psychedelic margaritas. Go during happy hour and your drinks will be half off and accompanied by a giant FREE plate of food. Enough for two people to share and leave stuffed. I can't say enough about the staff, they are amazing. Walking in the door feels like going home. I go with a friend of mine, who only orders one beer, and we eat dinner. No one ever looks at us funny, even though we are clearly cheapskates just in for the free food.

The Eagle A.K.A the Gauntlett - A leather bear bar most nights of the week that's taken over by lezzies on Wednesdays. Don't let that scare you though, it's the only place in L.A. that I know of that serves $2 beer. It's a really welcoming place for all, as long as your aren't bothered by hardcore gay porn everywhere you look.

That's it for today. Come back next Thursday for more free shit.

Blogger ate my homework

I had a whole little essay ready to go and blogger ate it, so this is today's post...

If Clem can clean, so can you... (Intro and day one)

Today is the first part of a multi-part piece. I have never been very good at cleaning. When I was around seven I collected pennies in a plastic bag and presented them to the cleaning lady as payment after my mother said she was not to clean for me because I would never learn to do it myself that way. I always found someone to pay, bribe or beg to clean for me, until now. For the first time someone actually gave me the tools to do it myself, they seem obvious, but for me it really helped to see them on paper, broken down into steps/days.

Day one

Make it a party. Call your friends, the more organized and clean-centric the better, offer them pizza and beer. If you don't have any friends, make some. If you want to, decorate or buy some cute aprons and gloves for folks to wear. The one thing that's really important is that you only invite people you trust because they are going to see a side of you that, if you're anything like me, is probably pretty grotesque. 

The first thing you want to do when they arrive is throw on some tunes. The more fun the better. I like Rufus Thomas or the Xanadu soundtrack, but pick whatever gets you and your friends moving. Start with one room. Declutter!!! Get rid of stuff you don't need. Don't look, just toss. Come on, do you really need that essay you wrote in the ninth grade? Don't be a bitch, chuck it! That should be your motto right now. Keep saying it to yourself. If you really can't do it pass it on to one of your friends who knows you well. Let her decide what's junk. I know that's tough but if you're going to act like a baby, I'm going to treat you like a baby.

While this is going on in one room and you are crying to your selected friend that you really need to save that lint ball you picked off of your ex-boyfriend's sweater last year send another friend into another room and have her go through your crap and put it into manageable piles. I am a big fan of piles, I have even been called "the pile princess" at times, with good reason. It's going to make the decluttering go a lot faster later, I promise.

So, now that you've dealt with decluttering one room, you are ready to address the piles your dear, patient, caring friend has made. The first thing you want to do is take any piles that belong in another room and place them where they belong, to be dealt with when you reach that room. Then you want to go through them and chuck things with abandon, similar to what you did in the first room. Once you are finished with piles upon piles of crap, take a break. Order your pizza, pass out the beers, or soda, or whatever your beverage of choice is and crank up the music. Celebrate your floor space. Yup, if you have done this right, you should have a dance floor now. Scoot the coffee table out of the way and bust out your sweet dance moves. Sing, skip, jump, whatever floats your boat celebration style!!!

have fun!

Okay, break's over. Time to clean. You should know basic cleaning. Wipe down tables, if you have pets, de-fur the couches and chairs. Little tip for those with out a vacuum... Take a rubber dish glove and get it wet. Rub it around in circles on the furniture and before you know it there will be gross balls of yuck that you can easily pick up and deposit in the trash. (I saw this on "How Clean is Your House?" on BBC. It works.)

Break out the broom. Sweep. Sweep again. My favorite little trick is the "double sweep". It's very exciting to see how much dirt you get the second time around. Mop. (This sequence should be repeated for every room in your house.)

CONGRATULATIONS!!!!! you have made it through the first step to having and keeping a clean house. Enjoy it for the night. Relax, put your feet up, breathe in the air that does not have the least bit of nasal burning funk!!! (Don't get too comfortable because day two is looming just around the corner.)

Ariel Gore is amazing!

Pretty unique title, right? 

I first heard about Ariel Gore when I read an interview with her on chuckpalahniuk.net. I was smitten immediately. Her latest book, How to Become a Famous Writer Before You're Dead is one of the most inspiring I've read recently. It's got amazing little tips and Q&A's with everyone from Dave Barry to Dave Eggers to Beatrice Berry. My goal in life is not to become a famous writer, but I do like to write and have been lagging in a terrible way. Since I started this book three days ago (and have almost finished it) I have been writing like wild fire. I have dug up old manuscripts, journals, stories and essays and have been mixing and matching and retooling. I'm surprised my hands haven't cramped yet and my fingers aren't bleeding. I've sent in my first submission and have fired up my sketch pad again. I have even started working on a website chock full of fun stuff to read, look at and watch. Even if you don't fancy yourself a writer and you just scribble here I think you will find something that inspires you like it has me. Get thee to the nearest book store or click the title of the book above (it's a link) and read this book.