Have a wonderful weekend and don't forget to LOVE EVERY MINUTE!
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Oh, happy day!
A while back my daughter, Courtney, had a series of posts on Facebook called "30 Days of Happiness." These are short reminders of the beautiful little things life has to offer, if we just look for them. Court started it up again this week, and I just have to share.
Have a wonderful weekend and don't forget to LOVE EVERY MINUTE!
Have a wonderful weekend and don't forget to LOVE EVERY MINUTE!
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Typical night for Las Vegas locals
I should probably get my hearing checked. This morning I was on the phone changing my address with a credit card company and the customer service rep asked me a question for security purposes, which I thought was just a little too personal.
"What's my favorite sex name?" I asked.
"Um, no, ma'am. Your favorite pet's name."
Oh. That's very different.
Anyway, yesterday I was in the most piss-poor, "I hate everything" mood but everything changed by dinnertime. My friend Warren, a great guy who struck up a conversation with me on a Southwest flight last year and hasn't been able to get rid of me since, is here from Albany and he took us out for a fantastic meal at The Bootlegger. Forget low carbs for a night--this place is worth every gram! The food is always delicious and if you're in town on a Monday night, check out their open mic cabaret. You'll be entertained by a variety of top notch performers, most of them coming straight from their acts on the Strip. You never know who will drop in.
After dinner we headed over to the Tropicana to catch a show at the Laugh Factory. (If you're a Vegas local and don't have a membership to Fill A Seat, don't wait another day. It will pay for itself in no time.) I have to give a plug for the opening comic, Andrew Norelli. Hilarious material and a likeable persona--the perfect combination. Mike and I were both like, "This guy has what it takes." He won The World Series of Comedy here in Las Vegas in 2010 and has made some impressive national TV appearances. Here's a clip from his performance on Craig Furguson.
BTW, the Trop is looking good these days. I don't think I've been in there since Mom and Stepdaddy got married in the chapel in 2006. It's an old property, but they've done a good job hippin' it up. Besides, there's nothing wrong with an old Vegas property, right?
Afterward, as the three of us walked through the outdoor parking lot in beautiful 70-degree weather, Warren said, "So this is just a typical Wednesday night for you. You two are so lucky." Yup, Vegas, baby. It's a fun place to live. And we are so lucky.
Hmmmm... my favorite sex name. I should get one.
"What's my favorite sex name?" I asked.
"Um, no, ma'am. Your favorite pet's name."
Oh. That's very different.
Anyway, yesterday I was in the most piss-poor, "I hate everything" mood but everything changed by dinnertime. My friend Warren, a great guy who struck up a conversation with me on a Southwest flight last year and hasn't been able to get rid of me since, is here from Albany and he took us out for a fantastic meal at The Bootlegger. Forget low carbs for a night--this place is worth every gram! The food is always delicious and if you're in town on a Monday night, check out their open mic cabaret. You'll be entertained by a variety of top notch performers, most of them coming straight from their acts on the Strip. You never know who will drop in.
After dinner we headed over to the Tropicana to catch a show at the Laugh Factory. (If you're a Vegas local and don't have a membership to Fill A Seat, don't wait another day. It will pay for itself in no time.) I have to give a plug for the opening comic, Andrew Norelli. Hilarious material and a likeable persona--the perfect combination. Mike and I were both like, "This guy has what it takes." He won The World Series of Comedy here in Las Vegas in 2010 and has made some impressive national TV appearances. Here's a clip from his performance on Craig Furguson.
BTW, the Trop is looking good these days. I don't think I've been in there since Mom and Stepdaddy got married in the chapel in 2006. It's an old property, but they've done a good job hippin' it up. Besides, there's nothing wrong with an old Vegas property, right?
Afterward, as the three of us walked through the outdoor parking lot in beautiful 70-degree weather, Warren said, "So this is just a typical Wednesday night for you. You two are so lucky." Yup, Vegas, baby. It's a fun place to live. And we are so lucky.
Hmmmm... my favorite sex name. I should get one.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Try this today
Tired of paying astronomical cable prices? I don't know about you, but I think charging an additional $7.99 for the HD cable box is bullshit. Call your cable company TODAY and say, "Look, I'm happy with your service, but your competitors are offering some sweet deals. I'd like to stay with you, but I'm ready to jump ship. What can you do to convince me to stay?"
Mike did just that yesterday and now we have free HBO for the next three months. And guess what? In three months, he'll be calling them again.
Try it and see what happens. Let me know!
Mike did just that yesterday and now we have free HBO for the next three months. And guess what? In three months, he'll be calling them again.
Try it and see what happens. Let me know!
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Random crap
So doesn't it just figure that I get my picture taken with comedian George Wallace and my bra strap is showing and my hair is flatter than usual and my arm looks fat and I have a weird look on my face?
At least my eyes are open. I seem to have a sixth sense to close my eyes just when the camera clicks.
This pic was taken at the same event; there was a balloon comic demonstrating his artistry. He threw a million of these off the stage. You'll appreciate it only if you saw the video I linked to in Saturday's post. Sigh... I am so not right. But at least I look thin.
I haven't done an open mic in ages, but decided to check out a new stage last Sunday night. The minute I finished, a black comic I'd never met darted over and asked if I could do a set on his stage in May. Hell, yeah! Black people love me.
What else... Oh, I saw a movie I really liked--Jeff, Who Lives at Home. I love small, independent films; they're quiet and more real. Jason Segal is a doll. He was also in I Love You, Man and Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I hope he doesn't get too overexposed; I don't know about you, but I've had all the Seth Rogen and Jonah Hill I can take. They're both talented (and Seth Rogen is Canadian, in case you didn't know) (I love Canadians), but enough is enough.
Last night we had family movie night with the kids (yeah, I wrote that in the same post as the picture above). We watched one of Mike's favorite movies, August Rush. HATED IT! Really, I'm supposed to believe that? Just more fuel for Mike's belief that I'm cold and heartless--I laughed at the corniness of his all-time favorite movie, It's a Wonderful Life, which he made me watch with him a couple of Christmases ago. I can't help it; I didn't think it was all that.
I admit, the window is open just a crack when it comes to things I like. That goes for music, movies, food, TV shows, books... If someone says, "Linda, do you like... ?" I can pretty much guarantee the answer is "no." Especially if the rest of the world seems to love it. Guacamole, Star Wars, American Idol... I liked that famous song by Adele, but I wouldn't listen to the rest of the album again. I read one Nicholas Sparks book and thought it was drek. I'm a pain in the ass.
Sometimes I feel like a female Larry David. That's a good thing. Yeah, I'm your Caucasian. (You have to be a Curb fan to get that.)
Have a great day!
At least my eyes are open. I seem to have a sixth sense to close my eyes just when the camera clicks.
This pic was taken at the same event; there was a balloon comic demonstrating his artistry. He threw a million of these off the stage. You'll appreciate it only if you saw the video I linked to in Saturday's post. Sigh... I am so not right. But at least I look thin.
I haven't done an open mic in ages, but decided to check out a new stage last Sunday night. The minute I finished, a black comic I'd never met darted over and asked if I could do a set on his stage in May. Hell, yeah! Black people love me.
What else... Oh, I saw a movie I really liked--Jeff, Who Lives at Home. I love small, independent films; they're quiet and more real. Jason Segal is a doll. He was also in I Love You, Man and Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I hope he doesn't get too overexposed; I don't know about you, but I've had all the Seth Rogen and Jonah Hill I can take. They're both talented (and Seth Rogen is Canadian, in case you didn't know) (I love Canadians), but enough is enough.
Last night we had family movie night with the kids (yeah, I wrote that in the same post as the picture above). We watched one of Mike's favorite movies, August Rush. HATED IT! Really, I'm supposed to believe that? Just more fuel for Mike's belief that I'm cold and heartless--I laughed at the corniness of his all-time favorite movie, It's a Wonderful Life, which he made me watch with him a couple of Christmases ago. I can't help it; I didn't think it was all that.
I admit, the window is open just a crack when it comes to things I like. That goes for music, movies, food, TV shows, books... If someone says, "Linda, do you like... ?" I can pretty much guarantee the answer is "no." Especially if the rest of the world seems to love it. Guacamole, Star Wars, American Idol... I liked that famous song by Adele, but I wouldn't listen to the rest of the album again. I read one Nicholas Sparks book and thought it was drek. I'm a pain in the ass.
Sometimes I feel like a female Larry David. That's a good thing. Yeah, I'm your Caucasian. (You have to be a Curb fan to get that.)
Have a great day!
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Fun times this weekend
Thanks for all the bloggy love this week, which also had a corresponding spike in Kindle sales--sweeeet! Man, I'm a lucky gal. But as I said in response to beloved blogger Taradharma:
Last night I got to meet a new blogging buddy in the flesh--Grrouchie came to see me do a set last night at Choices Pub up in the northwest part of town. (Time out--that's something I need to do better, too--tell you about my upcoming sets. I always post them on Facebook, though, so feel free to friend me.) Anyway, Grrouchie is anything but what his name implies--what a sweet guy. (I'm not sure if men take "sweet" as a compliment, but I assure you it's a good thing.)
Once a month my girlfriend Gaynelle Peoples does The G Spot Comedy Show on that stage, featuring mostly--and sometimes all--female comics. It's an anything goes stage, which is typical of the bar comedy venues that I no longer have the patience for, but I always have a good time there. The crowd is always ready for fun, and it's usually a mostly black crowd; last night I was the only white comic out of the six of us. One night I was one of two white people in the whole place.
I'm pretty surprised at how well my material goes over with a black crowd, since I have to be one of the whitest people on earth, not in a KKK redneck way of course, but in an OMG, I Dance Like Elaine Bennis way. I do tailor my material a bit--let's just say you only have to do a John McEnroe joke once to know it's not what black folk are looking for. But this disgusting bit on What Breast Cancer Can Suck always kills with that crowd. (Warning: Do not open with the sound on at work or around young children.) The video is a bit blurry, but trust me, that's the least of it. I don't even want to embed it here; it's so not any way for a sweet little granny to talk.
And you get inspiration from me? Yikes.
Hey, if you're a Vegas local, I want to make sure you know about Fill A Seat.com. It's a great way to see shows for FREE over the course of a 12-month membership. Fees start at $89.95 for a two-person membership ($149.95 for four), but you'll make that up within the first week. You just look to see what free shows are being offered and pick up your tickets at the box office. Mike and I took in a comedy show Wednesday night and we're taking the kids to a show tomorrow. Anything to get them away from the computer games... It's an awesome deal.
Tonight I've got a girls night out going on--the fabulous Michael Grimm Band is back at the Ovation Lounge in Green Valley Ranch. If you're looking for something to do, come check it out. And bring your dancing shoes. I'll be easy to find--just look on the dance floor for Elaine Bennis.
"Of course, there are also people out there who can't stand my friggin' guts. They're loyal readers, too--checking in everyday just to make sure they still hate me. But you know--fuck them, right?"So far I've responded to every comment, which is something I've been terribly remiss in and will put forth more effort in the future. I'm so thankful that people stop here, and if they take the time to leave a comment, the least I can do is respond. However, the toxic sentiments will not be posted. (I scan the first line of anonymous comments and once I know it's from them, delete without reading.)
Last night I got to meet a new blogging buddy in the flesh--Grrouchie came to see me do a set last night at Choices Pub up in the northwest part of town. (Time out--that's something I need to do better, too--tell you about my upcoming sets. I always post them on Facebook, though, so feel free to friend me.) Anyway, Grrouchie is anything but what his name implies--what a sweet guy. (I'm not sure if men take "sweet" as a compliment, but I assure you it's a good thing.)
Once a month my girlfriend Gaynelle Peoples does The G Spot Comedy Show on that stage, featuring mostly--and sometimes all--female comics. It's an anything goes stage, which is typical of the bar comedy venues that I no longer have the patience for, but I always have a good time there. The crowd is always ready for fun, and it's usually a mostly black crowd; last night I was the only white comic out of the six of us. One night I was one of two white people in the whole place.
I'm pretty surprised at how well my material goes over with a black crowd, since I have to be one of the whitest people on earth, not in a KKK redneck way of course, but in an OMG, I Dance Like Elaine Bennis way. I do tailor my material a bit--let's just say you only have to do a John McEnroe joke once to know it's not what black folk are looking for. But this disgusting bit on What Breast Cancer Can Suck always kills with that crowd. (Warning: Do not open with the sound on at work or around young children.) The video is a bit blurry, but trust me, that's the least of it. I don't even want to embed it here; it's so not any way for a sweet little granny to talk.
And you get inspiration from me? Yikes.
Tonight I've got a girls night out going on--the fabulous Michael Grimm Band is back at the Ovation Lounge in Green Valley Ranch. If you're looking for something to do, come check it out. And bring your dancing shoes. I'll be easy to find--just look on the dance floor for Elaine Bennis.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
You have no idea how many people love you!
Little did I know when I woke up Tuesday morning that, in addition to Hazel's second birthday, it was going to be "I Love Linda Day."
It started before my feet hit the bedroom floor. My iPhone was charging on my side of the bed and so first thing, I checked my email to find a private Facebook message from a name I didn't recognize. It simply said, "I love your blog!"
Great start to the day. I wrote back saying thank you and I often wonder who the hell reads my crap. I've said a million times that the best thing about blogging is connecting with people; I've made some wonderful friends since I started this blog almost four years ago.
My new friend and I exchanged back and forth a bit, and she said she was hesitant to "friend" me because she did that once with a blogger who got all in a snit and even called her out on her next post asking why she would do such a thing, since she didn't know her in real life and what could they possibly have in common?
Not me, man; I'll take all the friends I can get.
Anyway, it was nice to start the day feeling appreciated, and a few hours later things got even better when I received an email from beloved fellow blogger Very Josey saying she posted about me. I checked out her site, and I am telling you, I was floored to see this post. I'm not kidding, tears were streaming down my face. I NEVER could have seen that coming.
The reason I'm posting this is not to remind you how friggin' awesome I am (okay, well maybe just a little). No, seriously--I wanted to share this with you because we all go through phases where we get down on ourselves. Everybody goes through times where you question your self-worth and wonder if you've ever made a sound decision in your life. You think you should have more by this age, whether it's more money in your 401K or more accomplishments under your belt or both. You should be in better shape. You should try harder at work, even though you hate being there. You should be more patient with others. You should make more time for yourself. You should at least freakin' acknowledge the comments on your blog that nice people have taken the time to write (I know).
You should, you should, you should, blah, blah, blah...
So yeah, it's so easy to convince yourself that you positively suck at everything. But there are people out there--and I mean perfectly sane, well adjusted people--who think you are the tits.
On Tuesday, I was reminded of that. But did my new Facebook friend reach out to me because she suddenly decided she liked my blog? Did Josey get a blast of inspiration from me out of nowhere and dash off that blog post right then and there? Of course not. It's just that, coincidentally, I heard from them within a couple of hours. So I'm gonna say it again:
Whether you know it or not, there are people who think you're the tits.
Just because you don't know who they are, doesn't mean they're not there.
It started before my feet hit the bedroom floor. My iPhone was charging on my side of the bed and so first thing, I checked my email to find a private Facebook message from a name I didn't recognize. It simply said, "I love your blog!"
Great start to the day. I wrote back saying thank you and I often wonder who the hell reads my crap. I've said a million times that the best thing about blogging is connecting with people; I've made some wonderful friends since I started this blog almost four years ago.
My new friend and I exchanged back and forth a bit, and she said she was hesitant to "friend" me because she did that once with a blogger who got all in a snit and even called her out on her next post asking why she would do such a thing, since she didn't know her in real life and what could they possibly have in common?
Not me, man; I'll take all the friends I can get.
Anyway, it was nice to start the day feeling appreciated, and a few hours later things got even better when I received an email from beloved fellow blogger Very Josey saying she posted about me. I checked out her site, and I am telling you, I was floored to see this post. I'm not kidding, tears were streaming down my face. I NEVER could have seen that coming.
The reason I'm posting this is not to remind you how friggin' awesome I am (okay, well maybe just a little). No, seriously--I wanted to share this with you because we all go through phases where we get down on ourselves. Everybody goes through times where you question your self-worth and wonder if you've ever made a sound decision in your life. You think you should have more by this age, whether it's more money in your 401K or more accomplishments under your belt or both. You should be in better shape. You should try harder at work, even though you hate being there. You should be more patient with others. You should make more time for yourself. You should at least freakin' acknowledge the comments on your blog that nice people have taken the time to write (I know).
You should, you should, you should, blah, blah, blah...
So yeah, it's so easy to convince yourself that you positively suck at everything. But there are people out there--and I mean perfectly sane, well adjusted people--who think you are the tits.
On Tuesday, I was reminded of that. But did my new Facebook friend reach out to me because she suddenly decided she liked my blog? Did Josey get a blast of inspiration from me out of nowhere and dash off that blog post right then and there? Of course not. It's just that, coincidentally, I heard from them within a couple of hours. So I'm gonna say it again:
Whether you know it or not, there are people who think you're the tits.
Just because you don't know who they are, doesn't mean they're not there.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Sorry, guys... it's a girly-girl post today
I have a real girly-girl post on tap for today, but boys, don't think I'm gonna leave you high and dry. I recently came across a blog I think you'll be interested in, my new virtual friend Grrouchie's Confessions of a Local Fish. "Poker, Craps, Football and Strippers and Hookers, welcome to a real man's blog!" proclaims his header. He's a young guy (I'm pretty sure) (about the young part; he's certainly a guy) who lives here in Vegas and someday wants to start doing stand-up, so his stuff is witty and gritty. And it looks like he's committed to blogging; he posts often. AND, he responds to all his comments--something I need to do. Bad Linda.
Now go over and visit with Grrouchie while I talk with the girls.
Are they gone? Okay...
This is a nostalgic post for those of us over... I want to say 50. Great, now all the younger gals are leaving for Grrouchie's.
Anyway, Sunday night I took my little stepdaughter to see "Cinderella" at the Henderson Pavilion, put on by the Las Vegas Shakespeare Company. It was the Rodgers and Hammerstein version--do you remember seeing that on TV when you were a kid? With Lesley Ann Warren? Didn't you love it?
I'm not a big fan of musicals, but who could resist "In My Own Little Corner," "Impossible!" and "Ten Minutes Ago"? If you're a fan, you will so dig this video.
Isn't she beautiful? She looks just like my Aunt Peggy!
(In case you haven't figured this out, I have Cinderella tendencies.)
Anyway, if you're in town and want to catch the show, it's playing next Friday through Sunday. It's a nice production. Tickets are only $10, which you can buy over the phone, and... I hope you're sitting down... There's no service charge. Can you believe it? I was like, "Get the hell out of here!"
One thing about the Henderson Pavilion--we had eighth row seats, but the floor seats are not on an incline, so it's hard for little kids to see the stage. At intermission, we sat back a bit and it was much better. Just an FYI.
The best line of the night came out of Mike's little one: "I'm glad YOU'RE not a mean stepmother!"
Oh, nooooo! I'm a nice stepmommy.
(But if anyone thinks I'm starting to get soft, don't you worry. In another couple of weeks I'll be partying with the bikers down in Laughlin at the River Run. HELL, yeah!)
Finally, today is baby Hazel's birthday. Our family has been blessed with this little red-headed angel for 2 years now.
As always, thanks for reading. Have a great day!
Now go over and visit with Grrouchie while I talk with the girls.
Are they gone? Okay...
This is a nostalgic post for those of us over... I want to say 50. Great, now all the younger gals are leaving for Grrouchie's.
Anyway, Sunday night I took my little stepdaughter to see "Cinderella" at the Henderson Pavilion, put on by the Las Vegas Shakespeare Company. It was the Rodgers and Hammerstein version--do you remember seeing that on TV when you were a kid? With Lesley Ann Warren? Didn't you love it?
I'm not a big fan of musicals, but who could resist "In My Own Little Corner," "Impossible!" and "Ten Minutes Ago"? If you're a fan, you will so dig this video.
Isn't she beautiful? She looks just like my Aunt Peggy!
(In case you haven't figured this out, I have Cinderella tendencies.)
Anyway, if you're in town and want to catch the show, it's playing next Friday through Sunday. It's a nice production. Tickets are only $10, which you can buy over the phone, and... I hope you're sitting down... There's no service charge. Can you believe it? I was like, "Get the hell out of here!"
One thing about the Henderson Pavilion--we had eighth row seats, but the floor seats are not on an incline, so it's hard for little kids to see the stage. At intermission, we sat back a bit and it was much better. Just an FYI.
The best line of the night came out of Mike's little one: "I'm glad YOU'RE not a mean stepmother!"
Oh, nooooo! I'm a nice stepmommy.
(But if anyone thinks I'm starting to get soft, don't you worry. In another couple of weeks I'll be partying with the bikers down in Laughlin at the River Run. HELL, yeah!)
Finally, today is baby Hazel's birthday. Our family has been blessed with this little red-headed angel for 2 years now.
As always, thanks for reading. Have a great day!
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Is it time to put yourself first?
The idea of putting ourselves first makes us feel a little selfish, doesn't it? And being selfish is bad, right? Who likes a selfish person, huh?
A couple of months ago I learned an important lesson in putting myself first. Last fall there was a call for submissions to the Henderson Writers' Group's biannual anthology, Writer's Bloc, with a January 1 deadline. I'd already had pieces published in the three previous collections and I hadn't written anything worthwhile in who knows how long, so wasn't that motivated to submit this time around. I figured I'd pass.
Mike is also a member of the HWG (that's where we met) and we both had pieces in the 2010 anthology. He's had a children's story, "Duckly Takes a Dip," in the works for ages, but with our wedding and everything, time slipped away. January 1 came and went and it looked like neither of us would be included in the anthology for 2012.
Then we learned the deadline was extended a few days and we decided we'd go balls to the wall and get his story in shape, hoping it would accepted for publication. We spent hours together on Duckly. I am a pain-in-the-ass editor, as my clients will tell you, and when you take on the editor role with your spouse, you're just asking for trouble. Mike is awesome about that, though, and we got "Duckly Takes a Dip" submitted with about 20 minutes to spare before the midnight deadline.
After he clicked SEND, Mike turned to me and said, "Are you sure you don't have anything to submit?"
The only thing I could think to submit was the essays I'd recorded two summers ago for WAMC Northeast Public Radio. "There's nothing substantial here, though," I told him. "I don't think they're weighty enough." Mike urged me to package them together and send them off, so I did.
Several weeks later, the pieces accepted for publication were posted in the HWG weekly newsletter. Mike's story was accepted; my essays were not. I wasn't surprised that my submission was rejected, and had inclusion been really important to me, I certainly would have worked hard to submit something, but still I was rejected.
It was the best thing that could have happened. A gift.
Being rejected made me realize I'd been putting other people's priorities ahead of my own, and even worse, I'd been slacking when it came to my creative endeavors. Aside from my blog posts, I had nothing to show for myself. It had been months since I'd been on stage to do a comedy set--not even an open mic. Things had to change, and I sent that message out to the universe.
As if like magic, things began to happen. I got a call to perform at the Leatherneck's Club, which I always enjoy. I was asked to contribute an article for a monthly e-zine for writers, and my "10 Ways to Inject Humor into Your Memoir" was published. I was contacted with the opportunity to headline at the Comedy Syndrome Comedy Club in Albany, where I pulled in not only record-breaking attendance figures, but pulled off a great 45-minute set (clips here). A couple of weekends ago I took Jerry Corley's fabulous comedy writing class and then that Sunday night performed at the Rio.
Best of all, now I've finally begun working on my next book and I'm pumped about it. Details to come.
Don't get me wrong; I was happy to help Mike with his story. We work together like that all the time and it's a joy to collaborate with him. But spending hours helping him organize his crap in the garage (a never ending job since he keeps bringing more crap in) or picking up after the kids--his kids--over and over again is another story.
The bottom line is, ultimately you have to put yourself first. It's all a matter of balance, and I was clearly out of balance. And as a Libra, I'm all about balance.
A couple of months ago I learned an important lesson in putting myself first. Last fall there was a call for submissions to the Henderson Writers' Group's biannual anthology, Writer's Bloc, with a January 1 deadline. I'd already had pieces published in the three previous collections and I hadn't written anything worthwhile in who knows how long, so wasn't that motivated to submit this time around. I figured I'd pass.
Mike is also a member of the HWG (that's where we met) and we both had pieces in the 2010 anthology. He's had a children's story, "Duckly Takes a Dip," in the works for ages, but with our wedding and everything, time slipped away. January 1 came and went and it looked like neither of us would be included in the anthology for 2012.
Then we learned the deadline was extended a few days and we decided we'd go balls to the wall and get his story in shape, hoping it would accepted for publication. We spent hours together on Duckly. I am a pain-in-the-ass editor, as my clients will tell you, and when you take on the editor role with your spouse, you're just asking for trouble. Mike is awesome about that, though, and we got "Duckly Takes a Dip" submitted with about 20 minutes to spare before the midnight deadline.
After he clicked SEND, Mike turned to me and said, "Are you sure you don't have anything to submit?"
The only thing I could think to submit was the essays I'd recorded two summers ago for WAMC Northeast Public Radio. "There's nothing substantial here, though," I told him. "I don't think they're weighty enough." Mike urged me to package them together and send them off, so I did.
Several weeks later, the pieces accepted for publication were posted in the HWG weekly newsletter. Mike's story was accepted; my essays were not. I wasn't surprised that my submission was rejected, and had inclusion been really important to me, I certainly would have worked hard to submit something, but still I was rejected.
It was the best thing that could have happened. A gift.
Being rejected made me realize I'd been putting other people's priorities ahead of my own, and even worse, I'd been slacking when it came to my creative endeavors. Aside from my blog posts, I had nothing to show for myself. It had been months since I'd been on stage to do a comedy set--not even an open mic. Things had to change, and I sent that message out to the universe.
As if like magic, things began to happen. I got a call to perform at the Leatherneck's Club, which I always enjoy. I was asked to contribute an article for a monthly e-zine for writers, and my "10 Ways to Inject Humor into Your Memoir" was published. I was contacted with the opportunity to headline at the Comedy Syndrome Comedy Club in Albany, where I pulled in not only record-breaking attendance figures, but pulled off a great 45-minute set (clips here). A couple of weekends ago I took Jerry Corley's fabulous comedy writing class and then that Sunday night performed at the Rio.
Best of all, now I've finally begun working on my next book and I'm pumped about it. Details to come.
Don't get me wrong; I was happy to help Mike with his story. We work together like that all the time and it's a joy to collaborate with him. But spending hours helping him organize his crap in the garage (a never ending job since he keeps bringing more crap in) or picking up after the kids--his kids--over and over again is another story.
The bottom line is, ultimately you have to put yourself first. It's all a matter of balance, and I was clearly out of balance. And as a Libra, I'm all about balance.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Like Abe Lincoln, I walked to school uphill--both ways
In a comment on my last post, beloved Mimi in Dublin asks whether I've always been so resourceful and positive.
Hmmm... I believe the answer to your question is "yes."
I know I've always been a positive person; I was a nice kid, though I'm nothing like how I started out. As I say in my book, I was a shy and quiet child. Believe me, no one would EVER have looked at me and thought, "This one's going to do stand-up comedy." Little did they know I'd sent my favorite jokes to Johnny Carson for his consideration (my first experience with rejection). Evidently I always thought "big."
I actually looked up the Dictionary. com definition of resourceful ("able to deal skillfully and promptly with new situations, difficulties, etc.") Yep, I've always been resourceful. If you read my book, you know that I had two kids at age 21, which actually is much younger these days than it was in the late 1970s. Back then, hell, you were an adult at 18. In today's age of helicopter parenting, kids become an adult now at, what? Thirty? Thirty-five?
Anyway, yeah, I had two kids at 21 (they were less than 13 months apart!) and guess how old I was when I finished my bachelor's degree? I was 23.
Did I ever tell you my Abe Lincoln story? Well, it's about time.
I'd gotten pregnant for Christopher at the end of the spring semester of my sophomore year of college at Plattsburgh State University in (way, way) upstate New York, and I left school after the next fall semester. Christopher was born in February 1978 and Court was born in March 1979. Less than a year later, I went back to school part-time at the State University of New York at Albany to finish the last 33 credits toward my degree.
We had only one car back then, which Chris (my first husband) needed for work. So I packed up both babies and took a bus a little more than a mile to my parents' house, where I dropped them off (my mother watched them while I was in school). Then I walked a half mile to get the SUNY bus, which took me to the campus. After classes, I'd take the bus back, but thankfully, on the return trip, it left me off just a few blocks from their house.
Can I remind you I also did this during the Albany winters? The thought of putting two babies in snowsuits, hats and boots, and then waiting at the bus stop in the cold and wind, and then piling the kids, a diaper bag, and my school books onto the bus... I'm exhausted just thinking of it! But I did it; I got my friggin' bachelor's degree when I was 23. Yep, I was resourceful.
Can you imagine the Pussy Nation children of helicopter parents doing all that? Kids today (old person speaking) don't walk a quarter of a mile, much less get on a bus.
And let me tell you something else. I see a lot of young women--even teenagers--that look like they need a good workout. I may have been too poor to buy a car when I was their age, but at age 54, my ass is in much better shape!
Hmmm... I believe the answer to your question is "yes."
I know I've always been a positive person; I was a nice kid, though I'm nothing like how I started out. As I say in my book, I was a shy and quiet child. Believe me, no one would EVER have looked at me and thought, "This one's going to do stand-up comedy." Little did they know I'd sent my favorite jokes to Johnny Carson for his consideration (my first experience with rejection). Evidently I always thought "big."
I actually looked up the Dictionary. com definition of resourceful ("able to deal skillfully and promptly with new situations, difficulties, etc.") Yep, I've always been resourceful. If you read my book, you know that I had two kids at age 21, which actually is much younger these days than it was in the late 1970s. Back then, hell, you were an adult at 18. In today's age of helicopter parenting, kids become an adult now at, what? Thirty? Thirty-five?
Anyway, yeah, I had two kids at 21 (they were less than 13 months apart!) and guess how old I was when I finished my bachelor's degree? I was 23.
Did I ever tell you my Abe Lincoln story? Well, it's about time.
I'd gotten pregnant for Christopher at the end of the spring semester of my sophomore year of college at Plattsburgh State University in (way, way) upstate New York, and I left school after the next fall semester. Christopher was born in February 1978 and Court was born in March 1979. Less than a year later, I went back to school part-time at the State University of New York at Albany to finish the last 33 credits toward my degree.
We had only one car back then, which Chris (my first husband) needed for work. So I packed up both babies and took a bus a little more than a mile to my parents' house, where I dropped them off (my mother watched them while I was in school). Then I walked a half mile to get the SUNY bus, which took me to the campus. After classes, I'd take the bus back, but thankfully, on the return trip, it left me off just a few blocks from their house.
Can I remind you I also did this during the Albany winters? The thought of putting two babies in snowsuits, hats and boots, and then waiting at the bus stop in the cold and wind, and then piling the kids, a diaper bag, and my school books onto the bus... I'm exhausted just thinking of it! But I did it; I got my friggin' bachelor's degree when I was 23. Yep, I was resourceful.
Can you imagine the Pussy Nation children of helicopter parents doing all that? Kids today (old person speaking) don't walk a quarter of a mile, much less get on a bus.
And let me tell you something else. I see a lot of young women--even teenagers--that look like they need a good workout. I may have been too poor to buy a car when I was their age, but at age 54, my ass is in much better shape!
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Instead of asking for a raise, ask to work at home
I forgot to tell you about the change in my job situation. Maybe you were wondering how I could get all that time off last month to go to Albany and then play with Courtney while she was here. No, I didn't quit my job, as you might have guessed.
To refresh your memory, I was hired last fall as a trainer for a position that would require about 75% traveling to resorts nationwide. Sweeeeet. BUT, because the company was in dire need of system documentation and I'm such a documentation diva, my job was switched and I'd be writing, writing, writing all day in a cubicle, 26 miles from my house. Not happy.
The day they switched my job, I said no freakin' way and quit right there and then. My boss's boss is a great guy, though, and I decided to stay and write one module of content. When that was over, I'd be moving on.
After the initial module was finished, I'd had it with the long commute and sitting in a cube all day so I once again gave my notice. But no, there was plenty more to write. They asked if I could stay on and work flexible hours from home. Um, YES!
People say to me, "Oh, you're so lucky," and yes, there's a certain amount of luck involved. But the fact is, when you're really good at something, you're much more likely to have things go your way. Work is an exchange of energy--your talent for their money. Companies need your talent; they can't survive without it. And when you're a master at what you do, they'll do what they can to meet your needs.
My life is a hundred times better now. I'm no longer spending a minimum of 70 minutes per day traveling in the car. That's 350 minutes a week, which gives me almost 6 hours a week--24 hours a month--of "Linda time." And because I no longer have to get up at 6:15 a.m. to start the lengthy beautification process to make myself presentable to the world, I don't have to go to bed so damn early. I gain time there as well.
Let's talk cost. A 52-mile round trip commute translates to about 250 miles a week and over 1000 miles a month. Divide that by the 33 miles to the gallon I get with my Scion (still not as good as the 41 mpg with my beloved Saturn) and I'm saving over 30 gallons of gas--or about $120--per month. Not to mention the wear and tear of my car.
Because I found the lunch room at work kind of depressing, I was eating out every day, which set me back an average of $9 a day, or $45 a week, or close to $200 per month. So now, between gas and lunch, there's an extra $320 in my pocket. And am I buying work clothes? Nope. More savings.
Working at home is like getting a $4000 yearly raise. Not bad.
I wish employers would realize that offering the work at home option is a win-win. Happy employees are much more valuable than the unhappy ones, and their productivity proves it. There's still a lot of resistance, but maybe if enough of us start putting it out there, they'll come to meet the demands of the workers. After all, they can't have a business without us.
You have to be good, though. That's why it's so important to do the best you can, even if you don't really like what you do. Your abilities might be able to pay off somehow.
To refresh your memory, I was hired last fall as a trainer for a position that would require about 75% traveling to resorts nationwide. Sweeeeet. BUT, because the company was in dire need of system documentation and I'm such a documentation diva, my job was switched and I'd be writing, writing, writing all day in a cubicle, 26 miles from my house. Not happy.
The day they switched my job, I said no freakin' way and quit right there and then. My boss's boss is a great guy, though, and I decided to stay and write one module of content. When that was over, I'd be moving on.
After the initial module was finished, I'd had it with the long commute and sitting in a cube all day so I once again gave my notice. But no, there was plenty more to write. They asked if I could stay on and work flexible hours from home. Um, YES!
People say to me, "Oh, you're so lucky," and yes, there's a certain amount of luck involved. But the fact is, when you're really good at something, you're much more likely to have things go your way. Work is an exchange of energy--your talent for their money. Companies need your talent; they can't survive without it. And when you're a master at what you do, they'll do what they can to meet your needs.
My life is a hundred times better now. I'm no longer spending a minimum of 70 minutes per day traveling in the car. That's 350 minutes a week, which gives me almost 6 hours a week--24 hours a month--of "Linda time." And because I no longer have to get up at 6:15 a.m. to start the lengthy beautification process to make myself presentable to the world, I don't have to go to bed so damn early. I gain time there as well.
Let's talk cost. A 52-mile round trip commute translates to about 250 miles a week and over 1000 miles a month. Divide that by the 33 miles to the gallon I get with my Scion (still not as good as the 41 mpg with my beloved Saturn) and I'm saving over 30 gallons of gas--or about $120--per month. Not to mention the wear and tear of my car.
Because I found the lunch room at work kind of depressing, I was eating out every day, which set me back an average of $9 a day, or $45 a week, or close to $200 per month. So now, between gas and lunch, there's an extra $320 in my pocket. And am I buying work clothes? Nope. More savings.
Working at home is like getting a $4000 yearly raise. Not bad.
I wish employers would realize that offering the work at home option is a win-win. Happy employees are much more valuable than the unhappy ones, and their productivity proves it. There's still a lot of resistance, but maybe if enough of us start putting it out there, they'll come to meet the demands of the workers. After all, they can't have a business without us.
You have to be good, though. That's why it's so important to do the best you can, even if you don't really like what you do. Your abilities might be able to pay off somehow.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
I love my husband, I love my husband, I love my husband...
First, I so dug all your comments about my last post on helicopter parents. Ugh, right?
If you saw my Facebook post last night, you know that Mike and I had a swingin' start to this weekend. Yup, our Friday night in Vegas consisted of going out for ice cream and then we came home and I kicked his friggin' ass in Scrabble. (What are we, 90 years old? Is this what my life has come to?)
I don't care; that was a sweet victory because he's been driving me bonkers lately. Black Ops is rearing its ugly head again, and now Mike has an iPad that takes up every other minute of his life.
Listen to this--on Thursday I got some disturbing news that sent the rest of my day straight to the shitter. All day long I fluctuated between being incredibly sad and ready to kill somebody. That night, the two of us were sitting on the couch chilling in our bedroom; he's there pecking away at his iPad and I start crying as a release from all the crap of the day.
He put down his iPad and was like, "Oh, honey, come here..." which is great, but only makes me cry harder, so I go to get a tissue in the bathroom. So I'm gone for like, literally 5 seconds, and I come back and he's got the goddamn iPad back in front of him! Comforting mode is over! OMG, is that such a guy thing or what?
Okay, so then yesterday I'm out back getting some sun by the pool, still sad and pissed off and plotting to kill someone, and guess who accidentally locked me out of the house--in a two-piece bathing suit-- before he left for a client appointment? Fortunately I had my phone, so I called him and he was like, "I'm in a meeting a half hour away" and I'm trying to be nice so I say, "Okay, well, just... you know, I'm locked out..." not thinking it would be another hour and a half before he'd wind things up and get back home. Evidently the women in the meeting were like, "Um, isn't your wife locked out of the house?" and he was like, "Oh, she's fine." Thank you so much, my beloved. It's a damn good thing I had four celebrity magazines with me.
I have told you before this man is gifted intellectually. You have to check out his blog. He almost never posts anything, and literally has seven times my traffic even though I faithfully post three days a week. Okay, maybe a thousand people a day aren't interested in seeing pictures of my grandchildren or listening to my rants about Mike Tyson and helicopter parents, but I cannot believe there are that many people out there who can relate to his genius stuff.
Yes, my husband is a real freakin' smarty pants. But let the record show that when it comes to Scrabble, I prevail.
If you saw my Facebook post last night, you know that Mike and I had a swingin' start to this weekend. Yup, our Friday night in Vegas consisted of going out for ice cream and then we came home and I kicked his friggin' ass in Scrabble. (What are we, 90 years old? Is this what my life has come to?)
I don't care; that was a sweet victory because he's been driving me bonkers lately. Black Ops is rearing its ugly head again, and now Mike has an iPad that takes up every other minute of his life.
Listen to this--on Thursday I got some disturbing news that sent the rest of my day straight to the shitter. All day long I fluctuated between being incredibly sad and ready to kill somebody. That night, the two of us were sitting on the couch chilling in our bedroom; he's there pecking away at his iPad and I start crying as a release from all the crap of the day.
He put down his iPad and was like, "Oh, honey, come here..." which is great, but only makes me cry harder, so I go to get a tissue in the bathroom. So I'm gone for like, literally 5 seconds, and I come back and he's got the goddamn iPad back in front of him! Comforting mode is over! OMG, is that such a guy thing or what?
Okay, so then yesterday I'm out back getting some sun by the pool, still sad and pissed off and plotting to kill someone, and guess who accidentally locked me out of the house--in a two-piece bathing suit-- before he left for a client appointment? Fortunately I had my phone, so I called him and he was like, "I'm in a meeting a half hour away" and I'm trying to be nice so I say, "Okay, well, just... you know, I'm locked out..." not thinking it would be another hour and a half before he'd wind things up and get back home. Evidently the women in the meeting were like, "Um, isn't your wife locked out of the house?" and he was like, "Oh, she's fine." Thank you so much, my beloved. It's a damn good thing I had four celebrity magazines with me.
I have told you before this man is gifted intellectually. You have to check out his blog. He almost never posts anything, and literally has seven times my traffic even though I faithfully post three days a week. Okay, maybe a thousand people a day aren't interested in seeing pictures of my grandchildren or listening to my rants about Mike Tyson and helicopter parents, but I cannot believe there are that many people out there who can relate to his genius stuff.
Yes, my husband is a real freakin' smarty pants. But let the record show that when it comes to Scrabble, I prevail.
 |
| He's lucky he's so good looking! |
Thursday, April 5, 2012
A generation encased in bubble wrap
Aside from the thought of Mike Tyson's 100 pigeons, nothing makes me projectile vomit faster than what has come to be know as "helicopter parents." In case this term is new to you, these are people who hover over their kids--even through college and into adulthood--making sure that every aspect of their lives goes smoothly.
Well, it seems they've had to cancel the annual Easter egg hunt in Colorado Springs this year. According to this article, organizers cite "the behavior of aggressive parents who swarmed into the tiny park last year, determined that their kids get an egg." Evidently last year the hunt was over in seconds because parents jumped a rope set up to allow only children into the park.
Excuse me while I wipe the vomit off the wall.
I've written about this before, but as you can tell, I'm not done with the rant. My blogging buddy, Debbie, over at From Venting to Viggo also wrote on this topic earlier this week. You and I both know she's a complete whack job, but she makes a lot of good points.
What the hell is wrong with these people? Do they think they're doing these kids any favors? Parents are writing their kids' college essays, badgering professors about grades, and mommies and daddies are even in on job negotiations these days. We're cultivating a generation of little pussies. Pussy Nation.
Ron Alsop is a former Wall Street Journal reporter and author of The Trophy Kids Grow Up, which examines the "millennial children" generation. He says, "That's the perfect metaphor for millennial children. They (parents) can't stay out of their children's lives. They don't give their children enough chances to learn from hard knocks, mistakes."
My parents didn't even know where we were half the time. More than half.
Here's the book's description. Interesting.
One of the Amazon reviewers makes a good point in that (no surprise) this phenomenon pertains to the angels of the upper and middle classes. He asks,
So I've decided that the next time I need a financial adviser, dentist, physician or other professional, my determination to enlist their services will depend on their answer to this question: "How old were you when your parents stopped paying your car insurance and cell phone bill?"
Well, it seems they've had to cancel the annual Easter egg hunt in Colorado Springs this year. According to this article, organizers cite "the behavior of aggressive parents who swarmed into the tiny park last year, determined that their kids get an egg." Evidently last year the hunt was over in seconds because parents jumped a rope set up to allow only children into the park.
Excuse me while I wipe the vomit off the wall.
I've written about this before, but as you can tell, I'm not done with the rant. My blogging buddy, Debbie, over at From Venting to Viggo also wrote on this topic earlier this week. You and I both know she's a complete whack job, but she makes a lot of good points.
What the hell is wrong with these people? Do they think they're doing these kids any favors? Parents are writing their kids' college essays, badgering professors about grades, and mommies and daddies are even in on job negotiations these days. We're cultivating a generation of little pussies. Pussy Nation.
Ron Alsop is a former Wall Street Journal reporter and author of The Trophy Kids Grow Up, which examines the "millennial children" generation. He says, "That's the perfect metaphor for millennial children. They (parents) can't stay out of their children's lives. They don't give their children enough chances to learn from hard knocks, mistakes."
My parents didn't even know where we were half the time. More than half.
Here's the book's description. Interesting.
"The first wave of the Millennial Generation—born between 1980 and 2001—is entering the work force, and employers are facing some of the biggest management challenges they’ve ever encountered. They are trying to integrate the most demanding and most coddled generation in history into a workplace shaped by the driven baby-boom generation. Like them or not, the millennials are America future work force. They are actually a larger group than the boomers—92 million vs. 78 million."So I guess these kids never heard the words "YOU WANT SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT? I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT!"
One of the Amazon reviewers makes a good point in that (no surprise) this phenomenon pertains to the angels of the upper and middle classes. He asks,
"What about the rest of us Millenials, though? The ones who come from lower-Middle Class and Working-Class backgrounds? We represent a majority of the Millenial population, but Alsop has precious little to say about us except in a handful of polls aimed at our general age demographic. These are the kids who have to work in the increasingly large number of low-paying service jobs, who go to junior and state colleges. The kids who don't spend 'at least a summer' studying abroad because that's several thousand dollars that we can't afford to part with. The kids who end up with increasingly large amounts of student loan debt because our parents can't afford to coddle us."That's the kid I want to work with. And there are plenty of them out there.
So I've decided that the next time I need a financial adviser, dentist, physician or other professional, my determination to enlist their services will depend on their answer to this question: "How old were you when your parents stopped paying your car insurance and cell phone bill?"
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
OMG, I dance like Elaine Bennis!
Wow. No comments on my last post? Not one??? What, are you afraid Iron Mike will come knocking on your door in retaliation? Are you big fans and I crossed the line? Are you pigeon lovers? Huh? Huh?
Okay, on to today's post...
On Monday nights, I take two back-to-back dance classes. The first one is Dance Fusion, which is kind of jazzy and snappy; the second is Showgirl 101, which is slower and sexier. Last night as I was watching myself in the mirror that takes up the whole wall of the studio, I came to this realization: I AM A SHITTY DANCER!
Actually, my first realization was that I still have this freakin' middle aged spread, even though yesterday morning I was down to 136.4. So yeah, the spread pisses me off. But my dancing... now that's just horrible. I swear to God, I dance like I'm the whitest person on earth.
That's shocking to me. When I'm out dancing to classic rock bands--because I'm that old--I think I dance pretty well. Like I'm cool and sexy and totally groovin'. One time I was out dancing with girlfriends and a guy came up to me afterward and simply said, "Thank you, ma'am" because he enjoyed my dancing so much. But in these dance classes, I look freakin' ridiculous.
Seriously, there is nothing more pathetic than watching yourself try to dance sexily. And I'M A TOTALLY SEXY PERSON! People who know me in real life always comment on my sexy walk, but when I see myself in the mirror at the studio, I'm stiff and spastic and... wait a second... sober.
Yep, that's it. I'm not that bad in my ballet class because 1) in ballet, your body is very "held," and 2) I've had a lot of ballet training over the years so I'm comfortable with the positioning. But I've come to realize that in these other classes, which require you to be more loosened up, I'm like suckapolooza.
No wonder why my favorite beer is my third.
Okay, on to today's post...
On Monday nights, I take two back-to-back dance classes. The first one is Dance Fusion, which is kind of jazzy and snappy; the second is Showgirl 101, which is slower and sexier. Last night as I was watching myself in the mirror that takes up the whole wall of the studio, I came to this realization: I AM A SHITTY DANCER!
Actually, my first realization was that I still have this freakin' middle aged spread, even though yesterday morning I was down to 136.4. So yeah, the spread pisses me off. But my dancing... now that's just horrible. I swear to God, I dance like I'm the whitest person on earth.
That's shocking to me. When I'm out dancing to classic rock bands--because I'm that old--I think I dance pretty well. Like I'm cool and sexy and totally groovin'. One time I was out dancing with girlfriends and a guy came up to me afterward and simply said, "Thank you, ma'am" because he enjoyed my dancing so much. But in these dance classes, I look freakin' ridiculous.
Seriously, there is nothing more pathetic than watching yourself try to dance sexily. And I'M A TOTALLY SEXY PERSON! People who know me in real life always comment on my sexy walk, but when I see myself in the mirror at the studio, I'm stiff and spastic and... wait a second... sober.
Yep, that's it. I'm not that bad in my ballet class because 1) in ballet, your body is very "held," and 2) I've had a lot of ballet training over the years so I'm comfortable with the positioning. But I've come to realize that in these other classes, which require you to be more loosened up, I'm like suckapolooza.
No wonder why my favorite beer is my third.
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