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Dear Diary:

All he ever wanted was to connect with them.

When we found out we were going to have sons, Kevin did what most fathers do: he fantasized about doing guy things with his sons someday. He would teach them things, he would grow close to them, he would have little buddies to hang out with.

That hasn’t really happened. Oh sure. Our sons love their father (probably more than me since he’s so much more rational with them than I am and plus – I’m a girl), but I don’t think Kevin feels like they are as close as he would like them to be. It’s taken him years to really find common ground with them. Kevin is a fix-it sort of personality. He enjoys challenges. He likes puzzles. He takes a hold of a problem and doesn’t let go until he figures it out and then conquers it.

I call him my bulldog because he simply doesn’t let anything go. (Which, on one hand, is a good trait to have because stubborn people are generally more successful simply because they don’t give up. But on the other hand, you have to learn when to quit because after you’ve reached a certain point, that point where you know in your heart it’s not going to work, it just becomes a waste of time and life is too short to beat dead horses).

But our boys aren’t interested in the same things as Kevin – not really. They could care less how to monkey rig a problem, or make something last longer than it was intended to last. They don’t care about creative maintenance solutions – they would rather just go out and buy something new than figure out what the problem is.

(They come by that mentality honestly. *ahem*)

They aren’t fascinated with problems or problem solving. (Kevin is an accountant and enjoys figuring out logical solutions to messy presentations).

They could care less about cars.

Or cooking.

Or music. (Though Jazz does love his saxophone, he’s not really interested in the type of music that Kevin loves – grungy guitar rock-type songs).

They don’t give a rat’s behind about yard work. Or house maintenance. (Though they should and will whenever they get to the homeowners stage one day).

Our sons are spoiled, entitled and have never really had a tough day in their life. And we take total blame for that. We molded them. We protected them. And they will have a rude awakening one day, I’m sure.

Reality is not all about rainbows and unicorns. Am I right?

So, when the boys saved up enough money to upgrade their computers (they both work with Kevin and Kevin pays them minimum wage and swears that he couldn’t run his business without them because he’s getting more and more clients) and bought customized parts to build bigger and better gaming computers and asked for Kevin’s advice on what to buy and then spent hours in the kitchen together putting those parts back together again, Kevin was in absolute heaven.

Finally. He found common ground. Finally. He found something they were all interested in and could bond over together.

He was happy. He told me he was happy. His actions spelled happiness. And it warmed my heart to see all three of them grow that much closer.

I have reached a point in motherhood where I am no longer inside their world: I’m outside looking in. It’s a weird position to be in considering I was one of those helicopter moms who wouldn’t allow their boys to say “BOO” unless I gave them permission to say “BOO.” In some ways, I miss those days. I miss my little boys who looked to me for guidance and relied on me to take care of them.

But mostly, I glad those days are over. I’m ready for them to take the reins of their lives and ride their choices into the sunset. I’m ready for them to meet adulthood without me hovering in the background. I will always be there for them if they need me, but I no longer wish to be the first person who they turn to if they have problems.

They are no longer boys, they are men. And they need their father now more than ever to teach them HOW to become men. It’s Kevin’s turn to take the parental reins and though one small part of me is sad, most of me is fascinated by the changes I see almost on a daily basis. I find myself in an interesting situation now: I’m the parent on the other side of the looking glass now. Though my job as their mother will never be complete, I think I’ve played my last mothering card – we’re using a new deck now and it’s Kevin’s turn to deal them a new hand.

It warms my heart to see Kevin so happy to take over. He eagerly took on that responsibility yesterday when he helped Jazz put his newly built computer back together again and their father/son conversation left me feeling warm, safe and secure inside – they are both in such good hands. Kevin is an excellent father – I couldn’t have prayed for a better father to my sons. He’s patient, kind, and considerate. He openly tells them he loves them, and is not embarrassed about the admission.

I think Kevin has solidified that father/son connection he craved.

Dear Diary:

I knew this was going to happen.

How could it not? You simply CAN NOT put a handful of women into one room, hour after hour, day after day, and NOT deal with the gossip wars. I’m trying so hard not to get sucked into the middle of it, but in not taking a side?

I’m each side’s confidante.

It’s incredibly awkward. Especially when I can stay objective enough to see both sides of the story. Each side has a valid point and though I understand the frustration and the resentment, it really does not do any good to get upset about it.

Everyone has faults, and quirks, and annoying things about them. (Except me – I’m pretty close to awesome, but that’s beside the point *ahem*). The trick, the true test of character, to me, is how you deal with all of these … erhm … complications. Me? I tend to just shrug them off because quite frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass. I’m there to do a job. And though it’s important to me that people like me? My life will not end if they do not.

*shrug* Such is life.

So when one of the girls I work with takes an hour and a half for lunch (we are only allowed thirty minutes), sure, I get annoyed, but I don’t go out of my way to snitch to my boss about it. Or when one of the gals I work with is so anal about doing things PRECISELY by the book and sees the world through black and white lenses (though we all know that the world tends to be a pretty shade of gray because every person/situation is unique and you can’t apply a “one-size-fits-all” label), sure, there are times I want to rip those glasses right off her face, but I don’t, because what’s the point? It might be immediately satisfying but I have to work with this gal every day – I’m more interested in keeping the peace.

I also get REALLY ANNOYED when my co-worker makes a POINT of picking up the phone to make a call at the PRECISE moment that a patient is ready to check out. She does this on purpose so she won’t have to help them and guess who ends up helping the patient even though this person has already helped 3/4 of the patient load that day and is UP TO HER EYEBALLS in things to do?

Yep. Me.

That probably annoys me most of all. Because I CAN NOT stand people who will not at least make an effort to do their job. It’s selfish, lazy and why the hell are they employed anyway? But still … I get over it. Because I’m a FIRM believer in what goes around, comes around. I’m fairly confident that my boss is intelligent enough that she sees what is going on. And I’m equally confident that my performance will speak for itself.

So I keep my mouth shut and I release my irritation in passive aggressive ways and I (im)patiently wait for karma to make her rounds.

But in the meantime, the drama rages all around me.

This past Thursday and Friday were particularly bad for one of the gals I work with. (I work closely with three of the other gals – let’s call them gal #1, gal #2 and gal #4 (because technically, I’m gal #3). Gal #1 has been there the longest. So she tends to bend the rules a bit, which just annoys the every loving crap out of gal #4. (Gal #2 is laid back, a sweetheart and makes an effort to stay out of the drama – which is why she’s my favorite, actually). So really, the war is between gal #1 and gal #4. Gal #1 is going through a lot of personal problems right now. She’s caught in the middle of an awkward love triangle with her best friend and her husband and well … suffice it to say, she has been under A LOT of stress because of it. (Which is THE NUMBER ONE REASON why I don’t have a best friend. I can’t STAND drama and I refuse to get sucked into someone else’s drama).

I kept a journal as a kid, which I poured all my teenage angst into. Anger, gossip, heartbreaks, embarrassing moments, the best days and the worst days of my teenage years all recorded. The pages of my journals were a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings. I burned them years later not wanting a reminder [...]

Dear Diary: I’m proud of myself.

I’ve been back on the workout wagon and I’m feeling REALLY good. Better than I’ve felt in YEARS.

As soon as my six weeks post-surgery restriction was up, I started working out again. I’ve been quite addicted to the Nintendo Wii’s EA Sports Active program. I’m currently doing the 30-day challenge and I’m having a blast. (I just finished number 15 last night). It is SO FUN to watch my (well-toned) avatar move along with me that I quite forget that my muscles are screaming and straining.

The workouts are only about 20 minutes long, but I’m quite winded after they’re over. The sessions typically end with a jog around the track and if there’s one thing I’ve never been very good at, it was running. But I’ve been sticking to it and I can tell it’s starting to pay off.

My clothes are fitting nicely again.

In fact, I’m wearing my skinny jeans again and though they still bite me around the waist line, they aren’t so uncomfortable that I can’t breathe. (Like they did when I first put them on).

I bought a pair of white jeans from Land’s End the other day (I KNOW! I’m almost embarrassed to admit that), and they fit perfectly. I can’t wait to wear them after Memorial Day.

*ahem*

It is so nice to be able to go to the bathroom normally again!!!!!!! I’m sorry for bringing this up, but it’s been such a huge problem in my life for so many years that now that it’s been resolved and I’m passing, er, stuff on a daily basis, I feel like a new woman. I thank God that I was able to finally get my intestinal issues resolved and I thank God for the wonderful doctor who fixed me.

Also? I got my hair cut off. I had about four inches whacked off and I love it. I can literally blow it dry, spray it with a bit of hairspray and call it a hairdo. It’s been so nice to have a “style” again and I will likely keep it this length forEVER.

Or until I can’t stand looking at it anymore – which ever comes first.

Life is good. I haven’t felt this great in years. The only thing I wish I could now somehow “fix” is my fatigue. It’s better now that I’m working out and I’ve been taking iron and calcium once again (I had to stop taking it for a while because it would only serve to clog things up in there and God knows I didn’t need things to move any more slowly), but I still have days, like today, where all I have the energy to do is just stare at the wall.

To say this annoys me would be putting it nicely. I’m just hoping that it will level off once my body finds a new normal from all of this exercising (that’s what happens with my appetite – I am RAVENOUS for a few days after starting an exercise program and then it levels off and my appetite goes back down to a manageable level).

But wow. The fatigue is mind numbing sometimes. And I mean that literally. I. Just. Can’t. Think.

I haven’t been sleeping that great. I’m a light sleeper, so everything wakes me up. Last night for example, I woke up because our neighbor’s stupid dog started barking at 3:00 a.m. Then I had to nudge Kevin because his sleep apnea mask had come off and he was snoring in my ear, then I woke up because I was hot (another by-product of my working out again. Which won’t level off, I’ll simply have to deal with. I’m one of those people who profusely sweat standing still), so I woke up this morning feeling really groggy and lethargic.

Anyway, if fatigue is the only physical ailment I have to contend with, I’ll take it. I know there are so many people out there that are forced to

Lookie, lookie, I managed to make a mini comic in time for Hi-Ex in Inverness this weekend! Lauren just noted that the dates on the cover (1988-1990) make it look a bit like I've died, but at least I can take comfort that if I only lived two years, they were very full years.

I'll be selling most of my copies at Hi-Ex, but Ellen Lindner (ellenlindner) will have a dozen copies at her table, so pop over there quick to see her if you want one! She also has a few of my artwork prints for sale.



Ellen's been working like mad with her Gocco press and is just popping back in later to finish up. Hurrah! Her full-colour mini is looking beautiful.



Ellen and our fab friend Dave O'Connell (tozocomic) will be manning booths at the UK Web & Mini Comix Thing on Saturday in Mile End, east London. Dave's selling brand new Queen Mother mini comic, The Green Lady Mystery and the third chapter of his epic ligne-claire Tozo comic, and I am totally dying to get my hands on both of those. Everyone up in Scotland, I'll see you very soon!

Such a bratty thing to say, when so many people in the world can't even get enough to eat, etc. But at the same time, I can remember watching American Beauty and realising I could put at least one name from my childhood to every single character in the film. Growing up in an American suburb is very weird, with lots of packaging. (Read earlier entries here.)

I'm really looking forward to heading up to Inverness, not this weekend, but next weekend for Hi-Ex, the Highlands International Comics Expo. If you're down south, you'll probably be at the UK Web & Mini Comix Thing, but a bunch of us are heading up north: Gary Northfield, Dave Shelton, Jim Medway, Cliodhna Lyons, Asia Alfasi and loads more!



I'll be selling and signing copies of the Birdsong anthology (review here), You Can't Eat a Princess! and Morris the Mankiest Monster. We'll have a special corner just for people who've worked for the DFC (DFC Library books on their way!) And don't miss my workshop with Gary, Comics from Outer Space: stupidmonsters and aliens. The whole weekend's going to be brilliant.

This is the entry I first read out to my sister over the phone and, between her wild laughter, she suggested I start illustrating my diary. (Thanks, sis!) Read earlier entries here. I sound like such a victim but we were both rotten scoundrels.

I went to my good friend Dulcie's birthday party a couple weekends ago (she's the one on my lap). I don't really do kid parties, but I'd known this one since she was a bump.



Yesterday I got this nice picture from her in the post, plus this text message from her mum:

(Can you spot it?)

Saturday, August 15th - 11:35 pm

Happy Sweet 16th to me. Notice how I ended the sentence with a period instead of an exclamation point? There's a reasonable explanation for my lack of enthusiasm.

Today was supposed to be the best day of my teenage life. It wasn't. I'm supposed to write about the awesome time I had tonight at my party. I'm not.

Why not? Let's see:

• The DJ cancelled at the last minute;
• The banquet hall burned down - not with us in it, of course;
• I had an allergic reaction to makeup;
• Die job gone wrong - need I say more; and
• My boyfriend apparently didn't think my 16th bday party was important enough to come to.

The day started off fine - well, besides the fact that I fell for a practical joke from the annoying humanoid I call my brother. Can't believe I, the reigning practical joke champion of the fam, fell for such an old joke. In my defense, I was sleep, so really, it shouldn't count.

I was awakened by an irritating, little tickle on my nose. When I tried to swat the tickle away, I ended up with whipped cream all in my nose. Let me tell you now, having to breathe in whipped cream is not a good feeling. I opened my eyes to see Ryan, holding a feather in one hand and clutching his stomach with the other. He laughed so hard, he had tears falling down his face.

As if having whipped cream snot coming out of my nose isn't enough, I looked at the clock and realized it was only 7:05. I mean, who wakes up that early on a SATURDAY morning?! Crazy people, that's who. My brother clearly needed his head examined. I would've throttled him had he not thrust a bag in my face. Coco, who appeared behind me on my bed, jumped up and down, chanting, "Open it! Open it!" Curiosity won. I opened the bag and saw a $50 Barnes and Noble gift card and a pink and purple book that said, 'Leve Me Alon Coopons' in Coco's five year-old handwriting.

"I figure you're a nerd, so you'll always want books," Ryan said. "And since you're a big-time senior now, you might need a break from us every once in a while."

The thought of having a bothersome-free senior year made me smile. When I looked through the coupon book, I noticed there were only ten coupons. With raised eyebrow, I glanced at Ryan, who shrugged. "Hey. I said once in a while. Terrorizing you is my job as your big brother."

Since his growth spurt two years ago, he's been taller than me, which, in his warped mind, means he's now my big bro instead of the annoying (yet surprisingly sweet) lil bro he really is. I didn't correct him, though.

Coco wrapped her little arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. "Happy bir-day, Reni." I know. Tugs on your heartstrings, doesn't she?

"Thanks guys. I love it."

I'd been thinking maybe Ryan had finally matured when he let out a loud burp and said, "Oh yeah. Definitely an eight." He and his friends have this thing where they rate their gas eruptions on a scale of one to ten. Clearly, he still needs more time to mature.

The day got even better. While eating the special birthday breakfast Mom cooked - she makes the BEST homemade waffles, btw - Ari and Ciara stopped by.

"Whose pink car is that in your driveway?" Ari asked.

I screeched and jolted out of my chair to see. A pearly pink VW Beetle sat in our driveway.

"We were going to tell you about it after breakfast, but since somebody," Mom glared at Ari, "opened their mouth, I guess we'll tell you now."

I couldn't even hear the rest over our shouting. Dad cleared his voice. "Um, last I checked, your mom and I are the ones who bought the car. Not Ari and Ciara."

Uncensored, as ever. (Well, except for the scribbled out names.) I think I just love embarrassing myself or something.
(You can read earlier entries here.)

Thanks to Julia Eccleshare for her fab comments about my book with Gillian Rogerson, You Can't Eat a Princess!.

In the studio, we've just been cracking up at The Mystic Cat:

(Read earlier illustrated diary entries here.)

Newsy news: Alex Fitch of Panel Borders interviews Alex Milway (The Mousehunter trilogy, the yeti's The Mythical 9th Division books and John Dunning (Salem Brownstone). Click to listen to it here!

Other interesting tidbit about Alex Milway, he's announced that he's going to kick off another year of getting ready for the Crystal Palace Children's Book Festival, for Sat, Oct 23rd! But he and Katie have a new baby, so he's going to need help from everyone... which is lucky for us, because this year's festival is going to feature COMICS!

Last night I had a great time reading Raina Telgemeier's book Smile, and I wrote a review, posted on Write Away. Have a peek! (And leave a comment on Write Away if you fancy.)

Over on the FPI blog, you can look at the amazing work of Kate Brown as she walks us step by step through making the artwork for her upcoming book Spider Moon.

Awhile ago on LiveJournal I friended author Kate Messner (kmessner), and last night spotted an interesting lead into her entry about graphic novels:
A parent of one of our middle school students approached me at my daughter's ballet class a while back.
“I was hoping I might be able to talk to you about my son,” he said, shaking his head and wringing his hands in a way that led me to believe the young man must be a drug addict or serial shoplifter.  “He’s constantly reading graphic novels.  What should I do?” (click to read more)

And a curious animation, sent to me by my fab website designer Dan Fone (Thanks, Dan!):

TheHead / hand-drawn animated short from podoboo on Vimeo.

Friday, August 7

You are now approaching the point of no return, aka the mind of Tierney Blake. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK. I am not responsible for the pain, discomfort, shock, or laughing fits you'll no doubt experience while reading my private thoughts.

Note to Ryan: I'd like to think that, at 14, you've matured and evolved from the nosy little brat you used to be, but in case you haven't, I feel I must warn you. The punishment for the crime of reading my diary is death...or at least pure, unadulterated torture that only a big sister can give. I'm so not above using your head to practice my spikes for volleyball. I will find out. I always do. :)

Now that I've gotten that out of the way...

In two weeks and three days, guess who's going to start her senior year? Oh! Me! Me! *raises hand* Yeah, I know, how immature, right? Whatever. I'm excited! And nervous. And scared. I mean, HELLO. I'm going to be a senior! This will officially be my last year of high school. After this year, it's all about the "real world". *shudder*

The thing is, I'm supposed to be a junior. Since I was so far ahead in my classes, the principal suggested I take a test to skip my junior year. I took it, passed, and now, I'm a senior. I'll be part of the first graduating class of Kingsley High School. I'm going to be in the history books! At least in Kingsley's history anyway. Sounds cool, right? I thought so, too. I don't want to sound all braggartly (good use of an SAT word, I must say), but, I'm fairly intelligent. Sometimes, I'm too smart for my own good...at least that's what my parents say. But, I mean, is it my fault they had me reading before I was, like, two? Is it my fault they chose to buy me educational games instead of toys for birthdays, like normal parents do? I think not! So, they can't get upset when I occasionally correct them or give them little tidbits of info I've learned.

So, anyway, I can't wait til next Saturday. Why not? Because it's the day of my 16th bday bash. Actually, the party is for Ari, Ciara, and me, who all turn 16 next week. Isn't that crazy? We were destined to be best friends.

Gotta go. Mom's calling me to settle a bet between her and Dad. See? They use my intelligence for when they want, but if I share it without them asking, I'm too smart for my own good. Parents! smh

Visit other Dear Diary Posts:

• Intro

Friday, August 7

Welcome to Ren's world!

This diary takes a small peek into my world - not that anyone will be looking. Note to little brother: The punishment for the crime of reading my diary is death...or at least pure, unadulterated torture that only a big sister can give. I'd keep my filthy paws off, DJ. I'm so not above getting my diary fingerprinted to make sure you haven't touched it. So, you'd better watch it.

This is my 3rd and final diary chronicling my high school journey. I've had a diary for each year: freshman, sophomore, and, now, senior year. What happened to junior year? you may ask. I've been able to skip it, hence my being an almost 16 year-old senior. Since I was so far ahead in my classes - and clearly getting bored - the principal thought it would be a good idea to see if I can test out of my junior year. I passed, of course. I don't want to sound all uppity and braggartly (SAT word), but, I'm a fairly intelligent chica. Sometimes, I'm too smart for my own good...at least that's what my parents say. But, I mean, is it my fault they had me reading before I was, like, two? Is it my fault they chose to buy me educational games instead of toys for birthdays, like normal parents do? Is it my fault they decided to lie about my age so I could start kindergarten at four instead of five? I think not! So, they can't get upset when I occasionally correct them or give them little tidbits of info I've learned. It is so not my fault!

I've tried to act like the average teen, but I can't. It's just not in me. So, I'm gonna be me...and make no apologies. Don't get me wrong. I do have a fairly normal life, complete with a two-parent household, an annoying, 14 year-old brother - who better not be reading this - and an adorable little sister, who, at five, is almost a carbon copy of her big sis. I have two bffs (what up, Ari and Cierra), and a cutie pie bf (hey, Trey). I've been on the varsity volleyball team since freshman year (the only sport I excel at). So, yeah. I guess I'm just like any other teen girl, except I'm a bit smarter...and a perfectionist...and maybe a teensy bit anal.

So, anyway, guess who turns 16 next week? Ooh! Ooh! Me! *raises hand* Actually, Ari, Cierra, and I turn 16. Isn't that crazy? Ari's bday is Monday, Cierra's is next Friday, and mine is next Saturday. We were destined to be bffs.

I can NOT wait til our birthday bash next Saturday. It's going to be quazy! Food, presents, dancing, presents, fun...did I mention presents? OMG! I haven't figured out what I'm wearing! Note to self: raid Ari's closet, since she's the budding fashionista out of us three.

I'm so excited about Writing Wednesdays. When I first thought of the idea, I'd planned on showcasing short stories. Then, I was struck with an even better idea: why don't I write a story that continues throughout the year. I'm so much better at writing long stories (i.e. novels) than short stories anyway. While researching on the 'net (yeah, I'm a nerd...proud of it, too), I found that these type of stories have several names: blog serials, blog operas, blog novels, blovels...the list goes on.

With my new idea and research, I set out to come up with the story. My original story idea was ok, but the story wasn't coming to me. During a serious case of writer's block, I went to straighten my already straightened closet - ok, so I may be slightly obsessive compulsive...slightly - and ran across my diary from my teen years. As I sat and read what my 15 year-old self had written, everything came to me: the characters, the plot, the setting...everything. My main character, Tierney Blake, started talking to m so clearly (yes, I heard her voice inside my head; no, I'm not crazy...well, maybe just a little). She told me her story and I promised to tell it...in diary form, just like she asked. So, with that being said, today's post is just an introduction. The actual story will start next Wednesday and continue every Wednesday until Ren is done telling it, which, she says will be at the end of this year. While reading this info, understand that I'm good at coming up with stories, but titles? Eh, not so much. I suck at titles. Really. And I'm still a novice when it comes to writing a short synopsis of my story, a craft I'm still learning about.

Title: Dear Diary (See, didn't I tell you? I suck at titles!)

Synopsis: This is gonna be an awesome year! Sixteen year-old, Ren Blake, had such high hopes for her Senior year. She started out with a gorgeous boyfriend, Trey, two loyal besties, Ari and Cierra, and a chance to become valedictorian of the first graduating class of Kingston High. She'd been named editor of the school magazine and team captain of the varsity volleyball team who, by the way, is so going to state this year.

Before she gets to revel in the awesomeness that is her Senior year, Trey dumps her - by text of all things - Ar becomes distant, and she's in an accident that nearly kills Cierra and ends her blossoming volleyball career. And what's up with these feelings she's developing for Marcelles, who happens to be Ari's big brother?

Follow Ren as she experiences her fist heartbreak, first love, and everything in between.

Characters:Using pics of people who resemble my characters...

Tierney "Ren" Blake: 16

Donovan "DJ" Blake: Ren's 14 year-old brother
Chloe "CoCo" Blake: Ren's 5 year-old sister
Cierra Mack: Ren's 16 year-old best friend
Arianna "Ari" Gibson: Ren's 16 year-old best friend
0 Comments on Writing Wednesday as of 1/1/1900

Yeah, the writing isn't stellar, but I'm trying to keep to the original text. (Read all the entries so far.)

My first diary illustration (here's my original post):



The best day in my old diary comes right near the start, and this WAS a good day, I had that boom box for years. Strangely, I've forgotten what the woman looked like and I had to make it up, even though I went on to study art with her for a couple years and I still think she was wonderful. I just remember she was Bulgarian and seemed rather exotic, but I only remember things she did, like pulling roadkill crows from her filing cabinet so I could draw their wing structure. Her name was Ilona Rittler and she was cool.

I've been watching a BBC programme, Dear Diary, about people who have kept diaries or written diary books (Virginia Woolf, Sue Townsend, Anne Frank and others) and it compelled me to dig up one of my old diaries, the only one from childhood I've brought from my parents' house in the States. (I can think of at least two others that must still be in Seattle: one has a stickers on it featuring unicorns and Michael Jackson, and the other was a travel journal from a family trip to Scotland.) Here's the one I have; it's padlocked, but I lost the key ages ago and had to cut through the cover to open it.



In the episode I just watched, Mariella Frostrup interviews the writer Jacqueline Wilson. I've recently read a few of her fab books, but I haven't read one she published last year, My Secret Diary, which is the actual diary she kept when she was fourteen. From the bits she read, she sounds much more sophisticated than I was at that age, but I could identify with her embarrassment about how earnest she was. And my total self-preoccupation and related misery makes me blush. But it's sometimes kind of funny, too.

I was just talking to my sister on the phone and reading her an entry I'd written about her. She laughed, and suggested I turn them into illustrations. So I think I will do that, it will make a good excuse to do morning sketches and play around; and if they look a bit crap, I can say they're hearkening back to my drawing then, which wasn't all that great (note the 'gettoblaster' drawing at the bottom of the page). First thing, I'm trying to figure out how to draw myself, how I looked when I was about 13:



It's odd, when you draw characters for published books, you generally try to make the main character look appealing in some way, just so people will want to keep looking at it. But when you're a teenager, you think you look as hideous as humanly possible, so you'd feel like a total fraud, drawing yourself as attractive in any way. I'm trying to make the character fun to look at, but also reflect its awkwardness and unease in its newly developed body shape. I was absolutely convinced, at that age, that because I suddenly grew hips and thighs (without big boobs to match), that I would be a total pariah for the rest of my life. Oddly, I never seemed to take into account that I had the most butch haircut imaginable, shorter and spikier than I've drawn here, and shorter than most of the guys. But for some reason, I thought I had to have that haircut, even though all the other girls had long hair. I'm still trying to figure out exactly why I did that to myself.

...Okay, back soon with my illustrated first diary entry.

Here I was, consistently writing and posting, day-in, day-out, sometimes twice, even THREE times a day, just cranking out the word count when BAM – I had to go and put a restriction on myself by posting that dad-blasted 1,000 words a day button in the sidebar.

Now, I feel OBLIGATED to write 1,000 words a day and guess what?! I’m completely blank. Not one word, not one letter, not even a DOT of an idea is forming in my head.

Well, this sucks rocks.

Tough. I will trudge forward. I am a professional (it says so, right here on this fancy piece of paper) and I WILL persevere. I will do what any professional does when he/she gets too overwhelmed with self-imposed responsibilities – I will ignore you.

Button? What button?

Anyway …

I had lunch with Kevin yesterday. I love going to lunch with him. It gets me out of the house. It’s our private time.

And I get to bask in his dressed-up-professional-handsome glory.

*sigh* I miss dressing up to go to work every day.

We ate at Qdoba. I had my usual grilled veggie burrito (my favorite! I’d marry it if I wasn’t already married!) and he had his usual … er … burrito (damn, the name escapes me right this minute).

He talked about work. I listened. There could be some big-time changes for him in his professional life and I’m not sure how I feel about that. On one hand – wow. The responsibility. On the other hand – wow. The responsibility.

Of course, if I wasn’t aware that I had the Internet looking over my shoulder, reading this entry, then I might be able to go into details, but suffice it to say – it’s a good thing we are people who can roll with the punches.

Just sayin’.

We talked about our cruise. Duh. It’s coming up fast and we’re really excited. The kids are excited – I think. It’s hard to tell what is up with them right now seeing as how they’ve turned into these video game/computer zombies. They have been glued to their seats ever since school got out and it’s really starting to bother me. Do they really not have any other interest other than video games/computer?

And why does that bother me SO much? After all, they are only living by my example considering I’m on my computer so much of the day blogging, writing and oh yeah, working.

*sigh* Perhaps I’m uncomfortable with them being on their games/computers so much because when I look at them, I’m really looking at an aspect of myself and I’m thinking I’m not liking that aspect very much?

I don’t know. That’s too deep for me right now. I don’t want to think about it.

So, the cruise thing. Yeah, we’re excited. And I think it’s affecting Kevin’s attitude because he’s just been so … on edge lately. I think it’s largely due to the fact that he knows he’s about to have an entire week off, in the sun and fun and that food will be available to him 24/7 (food is always SUCH a big deal when we go on vacation. Not to me, but when you have three boys …)

I remember I always used to sort of hate vacations when I was working – the anticipation of going just threw me off rhythm for weeks beforehand and then I had such a sucky attitude for a few weeks afterward because HELLO!? Who wants to come back to work after having so much fun WITHOUT it?

So yeah, I can understand his attitude and I’m trying to adjust by walking on eggshells.

And we BOTH know how much I hate walking on eggshells. Been there, done that – caused major problems.

After lunch, I went shopping.

It was an accident, quite frankly. I had just dropped him back off at work and I was thinking about the cruise when I realized, with a jolt of surprise, that I only had a short time left before we had to leave and *gasp*, I didn’t have anything to wear for the formal nights!!

I believe I mentioned, (didn’t I?) that the only party dresses I own are the crushed black velvet kind?

Right. Think Elvis painting.

They’re terribly dated, immature and quite hideous, now that I think about them.

So, um, yeah, picture this – a 43-year old woman walking in with her dashingly handsome husband and sons dressed to the nines in their dress slacks and ties and me – a walking Elvis painting.

Gag me with a spoon.

I’m sure I would have been part of many funny, memorable vacation moments for a lot of folks.

So yeah, I panicked. I dropped by Dillards – just to take a quick look.

I should have known it would be an expensive quick look.

I was impressed by the sheer number of dresses to look through. They had devoted an entire corner of the store to party dresses so right off the bat, I became dizzy. Where do I even start?!

So, I did what I always do when I go shopping, I started with the mannequins. I figure if the mannequins have on something that I like, then chances are, the surrounding clothes might be a good place to start.

And I wasn’t disappointed.

I tried on several dresses and quite frankly, I was very pleased that I fit into my size so comfortably. All of the working out had definitely paid off. Granted, I hadn’t actually lost a size, but at least the size I was comfortable wearing was loose on me – and that’s all I had really been going for anyway.

I knew, as soon as I tried it on, it was THE ONE. It fit perfectly. And it was classy, yet flirty. And I felt pretty in it. And I LOVED the cowl back – so sexy.

I bought it.

I couldn’t remember if our cruise had one or two formal nights, so I came home, looked it up on their website – two formal nights.

Crap. Would it be tacky to wear the same dress again?

I went back out to Macy’s to see what they had.

I was disappointed as their selection wasn’t NEARLY as grand as Dillards, but I did happen to find another dress, totally NOT me but one I liked instantly.

Isn’t that strange?

Well here, I took a picture of them.

The black one has a lace bodice and a cowl back:

Isn’t that sexy?!

And I know, the flowery one – totally not me. But it’s linen and I thought the black strip on the bodice and skirt made it seem more dressy and I really wanted something cruise-y feeling, hence the tropical flair.

When I showed Kevin, he wasn’t all that enthused. But I was elated, I felt comfortable with my selections (well, I am still wondering a bit about the flowery one) and he totally popped my bubble by taking a look at the size.

WTF?

That made me mad. What difference does it make what size it is?! I’m an Amazon woman – get over it!!

I don’t know why he insists on making me out to be this petite woman – it will never happen. It’s physically impossible.

But after cooling my heels for a bit, I started thinking about it. I think he was just curious because he wanted to know my size and weight. After all, my size and weight are more closely guarded than state secrets.

(Which, now that I think about it, aren’t really all that closely guarded anymore, are they).

I modeled them for him and when he saw them on me, I think he actually liked them a bit more. I honestly think one of the biggest reasons he wasn’t too enthusiastic about my dresses was because I had to spend money in order to buy them.

And ya’ll KNOW me, I don’t LIKE spending money either, but when it comes time to enter that dining room, and he sees how all of the other women put me to shame on what they’re wearing and that I will at least look halfway decent, I think he’ll get over the sticker shock.

I do feel guilty though. And trust me when I say, I’ll wear these dresses every chance I get and will likely not buy anything else like this for another ten years (which was the last time I bought any sort of party dress).

Now … to find some dress slacks for the boys …

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