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Check out this interview I did with Eric Ladau of Houston's NPR station, KUHF. (Warning: It has either bad words or bleeped-out bad words in it.)

I'll be reading Growing Up with Tamales for story time at Blue Willow Bookshop, in Houston, on Thursday morning, May 15. Tell everyone you know with kids in the Houston area. How do you find and support local indie book stores like Blue Willow? By going to Booksense.

On Saturday, May 17, I'll be in Dallas, reading and signing at the J. Erik Jonsson Central Library, for the 13th Dallas Children’s Book Fair & Literary Festival.

On June 22, here in Houston, I'm going to do a poetry workshop. It's free and open to the public, y'all, and they're having one every Sunday in June, taught by local poets I love and respect. So come on down.

Thursday, March 30, 2006
No, I'm Not Pregnant, But...

Here are the foods I've craved today, in chronological order:
1. coconut
2. peanut M&Ms
3. tamales or some other starchy Mexican food

There's This Lady

who parks in my job's parking garage, and I don't know her, but I kind of admire her a lot. Why? Because her car is FULL of knitting and yarn. She has not only bags of yarn that she's purchased in the back and front seats, but also big plastic tubs of knitting. One time, finally, I saw her sitting in her car before work one morning, knitting her brains out just a little before it was time to go in. I put a friendly smile on my face, just in case she'd want to roll down her window so I could ask to see what she was doing. But when she looked up and caught my eye, she gave me a scowl and then I stumbled on the cement. So I quit smiling at her and went on in to work. I imagine this woman is childless and unmarried. But if she does have a family at home, that doesn't make it any less bad-ass that she has a car chock full of knitting and yarn. Artistic obsessions are good, in my opinion.

I Feel Very Hateful Lately

And I won't go into details on it right now. But I think it's something about the spring... the post-Ides of March, maybe. Suffice it to say that, while I love the flowers and the sun and Easter eggs and things, I simultaneously feel that 90% of the people around me are either rude, stupid, evil, or most likely a combination of those things. I think this happened to me last year, too. Maybe Mercury goes into retrograde every spring. Or maybe I need to get the hell out of Houston. Or maybe I'm a rude, stupid, evil person with inverted Seasonal Affective Disorder. Or maybe it's just that I have writers' block. Or maybe it's just that I'm gradually accepting reality. Or maybe I just need more exercise. Yeah - I think that might be the one.

If You Live in America

you should be glad. You know why? Because there's a lot of free food floating around this country. Even if you're homeless. Look at all the homeless people on the streets - they're pretty chunky. They get free donuts if they wait by the convenience stores at night. It's hard to go hungry in America, even if you're poor. I've noticed that. Also, I've noticed that other countries don't seem to have it the same way. So, if you're in America and you're enjoying free food today, be glad. Stuff your hungry face and be happy.

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3:20 PM #
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Monday, March 27, 2006

I Suspected the People Downstairs Were Drug Dealers

But now I suspect it for sure.

My only evidence, before, was that they partied all night and slept all day, and fill their hedges with cigarette butts and Jack Daniels bottles. All this, and no evidence of jobs.

Today, however, I went home for lunch and witnessed a semi-harrowing scene. A burly gentleman banged on the Downstairs Neighbor's patio door, yelling, "Open up, motherfucker. I know you're in there. Wake the fuck up!" Meanwhile, a small sidekick gentleman with an Oakley knit cap sat in one of the patio chairs, giggling helplessly to himself.

Downstairs Neighbor came out, looking sad. Inaudible words were exchanged. Then the burly gentleman said, "Yeah, you better. You're a waste of my fucking space, you asshole. A WASTE OF MY FUCKING SPACE."

And then he and his sidekick peeled out, throwing menacing glances over their shoulders. I had the feeling that, if they hadn't caught a glimpse of me catching a glimpse of them, they, as mid-level drug dealers, might have given Downstairs Neighbor (aka Low-Level Drug Dealer) a quick, well deserved roughing up. In the parking garage, my suspicions that these gentlemen were mid-level drug dealers were confirmed by the fact that they drove a tasteful white Mercedes.

Now, I'm not saying that my experience is extensive. And, as a writer, I think we all know that I like to exaggerate and embellish upon any experience that I do have. So, with that understood, I'll now present to you...

Gwen's Guide for Discerning Drug Dealers and Their Levels

Low-Level Drug Dealers:

Mid-Level Drug Dealers:

And, finally, the Top-Level Drug Dealers of each metropolitan region:

Okay. That's all I have. That, and the fact that I don't mind drug dealers as long as they keep to themselves and let me keep to myself, you know? And don't talk to my kids. Although, so far they never have. I guess my kids don't look like they're crafty enough to steal or rich enough to have an allowance.

I kind of wished the Mercedes Crew had roughed up Downstairs Neighbor while I watched, because Downstairs Neighbor and his cohorts keep us all up at night. I bet if Mercedes Man had started beating the crap out of Downstairs Neighbor right there on the patio, all the other neighbors would have come out to cheer him on.

Meanwhile, Here Is a Gall-Bladder(-less) Update

Several alert readers warned me furtively, in e-private, of changes I could expect in my digestion after the removal of my gall bladder. Now, as a public service, I will impart those changes to you.

Before the gall bladder surgery, I could go to the "handicap stall" of the "Ladies'" here at work and read Loving Cal by Miss Rebecca Walker, in its entirety, within three unsuccessful visits.

Now, I no longer have time to read Loving Cal.

I don't even have time to flip through the water-marked Soap Opera Digest, should I ever become desperate enough to do that, so that I could mentally remark on the fact that the cast members of The Young and the Restless still look the same age as they did when I first saw them twenty-two years ago.

That sounds like a bad thing, but it's not. It stops just short of being a bad thing.

On the other hand... I worry about Rebecca Walker, because Loving Cal's cover price is only $1.98. Assuming she gets 10% royalties, that's only 19.8 cents per book. How can she live on that much?

Maybe she has a day job in the insurance industry. If so, she must be ecstatically happy. Therefore, I will quit worrying about her and get back to work.

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1:13 PM #
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Monday, March 20, 2006

Say Goodbye to My Gallbladder Now

Because I'm going into surgery at 7:30 tomorrow morning. I went to meet with the surgeon today at 3, and he said, basically, in a nutshell, paraphrased, "Jesus Christ, we need to take that shit out of you as soon as humanly possible."

Luckily, one of his patients had flaked on her 7:30 AM surgery tomorrow, so I ran down to Preadmissions and, in a 4-hour jiffy, was set up to take her spot.

Whew.

I love my boyfriend, my cousin Helen, and my friends Letty and Brie for offering to help me out with the hauling of my kids to and from school. Y'all rock. (Wait by your phones, okay?)

The doctor said some people actually get over the surgery in as little as one day. I'm going to see if I can do that. I'm ambitious about it. But he also said he's going to have to do the three-hole laparascopic on me, and that the third hole will be bigger than usual, since my gall stone is bigger than usual.

Oh, shoot... I forgot to ask them if they'll save it in a jar for me to look at it when we're done. I need to ask them tomorrow.

My Poor Coworkers Need Surgery, Too

Yesterday, on my routine drive home from Austin (had to pick up kids from their babydaddy visitation), I made the mistake of eating tater tots from Sonic. At around 6 PM, my gallbladder started hurting. It hurt all the way home, through two Tylenols and one Aleve. After putting the kids to bed, I took a hydrocodone/acetaminophen and an anti-spasm pill, and it continued to hurt. Very badly. I cried. I writhed. I rolled on the floor. My boyfriend came over to hug me and feel sorry for me. I took another anti-spasm pill and finally fell asleep at midnight. At one, I woke up and the gallbladder was cranking up again, so I took another hydrocodone and conked out til my alarm went off at 5:30. I woke up feeling serene. Very, very serene.

While I showered and dressed and nagged my kids to do the same, my serenity slowly morphed into too-much-medication loopiness and nausea. I couldn't decide whether or not to go to work. Finally, guilt won out and I did.

At 8:40, I walked over to my coworkers' desks and told them that I didn't think I could make it. I needed to go home and back to sleep.

My coworkers quizzed me about my symptoms. Then, they proceeded to tell me, as they have before, how they have the same symptoms, but worse. And that they've been having them for years. Since before I was born, probably. I sympathized with them and expressed the wish that they could be the ones having their gallbladders removed. Alas, unfortunately, they can't; I guess because their doctors are too incompetent to properly diagnose them.

I feel so bad for them. They suffer so much, and hardly complain. If their stomachs hurt worse than mine, then they really are brave, to go to work on the days that I call in sick. Hopefully something can be done to ease their suffering soon.

Oh, and one of my other coworkers told me he hoped I'd feel better soon. Obviously, he has never known the pain of coming to work with gallstones, undiagnosed or not.

Meanwhile

I have to pick out suitable underwear for tomorrow. Just in case. I'm thinking either leopard-print thong, or Hello Kitty gingham thong. I would ask y'all to vote, but I probably won't be able to read your comments until tomorrow afternoon. So don't even bother to write and wish me well. Just think good thoughts, and get your own regular check-ups. And tell your doctor if you ever have pain and pressure under your ribs, on your right side. And check back soon, in case they let me keep my gallstone and I post a picture of it on the site.

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7:53 PM #
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Thursday, March 16, 2006

Hate

1. The only thing worse than miserable people who take out their misery on others? Is when those people make tons more money than me. Especially when they gain positions of power and inspire stupid and greedy people to act just like them.

2. What's worse than a bully? A grown human being who gets bullied by more powerful people, then turns around and bullies people with less power. Because, you know, treating people like shit because they can't speak English fast enough to defend themselves - yeah, that's gonna make rich people stop calling you ghetto and white trash. Sure.

3. What's worse than sexist men? The women who enable them. Especially if those women tell you in private that they recognize and hate the sexism... but then they play along with it so they won't get fired or broken up with or divorced or whatever. Thanks, sell-outs. Why don't you have a bunch of boy babies and then raise them to be dickheads, too? Oh, never mind... You already did.

I know I just described 70% of America. I know.

Some day I'll have my own planet, and assholes won't be allowed to live there.

There'll be, like, three hundred and fifty-seven people living there. We'll starve to death, of course. But we'll do it politely, goddammit.

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8:21 AM #
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Wednesday, March 15, 2006

You can't tell by looking at me, but

I'm going to change my life. The process has already begun.

When I was a teenager, I used to say that I wanted to do this or that... that I was planning to do this and that... but then I never did. The reasons why don't matter now. But people came to think of me as the person who talked a lot of smack about things she was never going to do. (Do you know people like that? Yes, you do.)

Since then, I've changed. I think everyone knows, now, that if I say I'm going to do something, you can count on that shit getting done, with 95% certainty, barring unforeseen circumstances outside my control (that I can't sway with prayers and voodoo ceremonies.)

Lately I've realized that the only thing that's been holding me back is me, and my manufactured phantoms. I have two or three head-voices remaining that say - not "You can't do it," but - "Why are you doing that if it's not going to make you any money? It's selfish to do things that won't make you money. That makes you a bad mom."

But I've decided not to listen to those voices, either, anymore. So... my life will change. In fact, it's already changing. And feeling that makes me happy.

Either that, or this is just the manic upswing of an as-yet-undiagnosed bipolar disorder.

But I don't think so. No, I think I've finally gotten on the right track to having a happy life. Watch and see, then copy me if it works out. And, PS, I am a good mom. Even if I never do get rich.

In semi-related news: I want to have a million web sites, like some of my friends do. But a million web sites take time. But still, I want them. So we'll see. If I can make the time, I will, and hopefully the results will be enjoyable for us all.

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1:56 PM #
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Monday, March 13, 2006

My Weekend Adventures in a Numbered List

1. Friday my new work buddy and I had drinks and then dinner. Then, I think I went home and played World of Warcraft until my boyfriend got off work. While my kids are out of town, I'll have drinks with coworkers more often. I think it helps unburden your soul.

2. Saturday morning my boyfriend Tad and I went to eat spinach bacon paninis for breakfast. Then I had to get an emergency pedicure at an unfamiliar place, in preparation for the soiree we were about to attend. All the while, I worried about the whirlpool and the possibility that it would give me a deadly staph infection, like what happened to that woman in Fort Worth. But it didn't (that I know of), luckily. Tad was excited by the sign that said "Man $10", but I had to explain that that meant manicure, not that males got pedicures for half price. The lady seemed upset when I told her we didn't have time for a manicure, after all. Oh, well, too bad. What's she gonna do - give me a deadly staph infection? Ha, ha. Okay, no, that wasn't funny.

3. At 11 AM we went to one of those fancy Asian engagement parties, with a tea ceremony and a whole roasted pig. Also, this one had a chocolate fountain. Last time we went to one of these, a young half-white, half-Columbian woman attended, wearing a traditional Asian dress. I told Tad that if she could do that, I would do it next time, then. He said she could do it because she was married into the family. I asked him if he would pretend to marry me so I could wear one of those outfits. He said no. I told him that was fine - that I would just marry some other Chinese guy and then show up in the outfit next time. They kind of sprung this engagement party on us, so I didn't have time to find another Asian guy to marry, much less to have a dress made. So I just wore a dress from Target, instead. We had fun. Congratulations, Le and Adym.

4. Later we went to see Felix da Housecat at the Meridian. It was a very good show. A few people showed up in '80s clothing, which was cute. But Mr. da Housecat fooled them by mixing mostly '70s and '90s music, instead. He mixed Metallica, y'all. He mixed Nirvana and Marilyn Manson. Our respect for him grew immensely that night, because he was very creative and good. Also, these two girls kept falling on the floor drunk, to the point that the cops had to haul them out. One of them threw up what looked like cat food. They made me lose my buzz. Then, I regained it. Then, some stupid effing beeotch spilled a beer on me on the dance floor, and I lost my buzz again. Then, I regained it. Then, we went home at around 4 AM.

5. The next day we went to our favorite pho place for breakfast/lunch. I had #53 and a Diet Coke. That's what I always get. The waitress says it with me when I order. #53 is rice with chargrilled pork and one eggroll. And fish sauce. Everything tastes better with fish sauce, as you know.

6. For the first time in our lives, we went to Bayou Bend, the historical 15-acre estate of famed local philanthropist Ms. Ima Hogg. It was very crowded, because the azaleas were in bloom. But we saw enough of the mansion to make us want to return. I can't describe how beautiful the rooms were, because when I'd read about them before, I'd assumed they'd be boring. They weren't, but I'm not sure "Rococco revival" and "gas chandeliers" and "gold leaf canvas wall paper" and "Margaret Thatcher ate here during the Economic Summit" will make you understand. And the pictures don't really do it justice. So you just have to imagine it. Or not.

7. And then we went to Joann Fabrics, which I will probably call Clothworld until I die. Among other things, I purchased two small fake birds to put into my flowerpots. I won't launch into a long story about how nice it is not to be married to someone who makes a big stinking deal about something as innocuous as wanting to put a tiny fake bird into a flowerpot. Also, I won't launch into a flowery description of how awesome it is to date someone who sits next to you at the patternbooks, as opposed to waiting outside in a truck, honking its horn. Okay, I've said enough.

8. We went to Rice Epicurean to pick up our contributions to a group dinner. Tad felt sad for that grocery store because it was so dead, because it's across the street from the newer, way more popular Central Market. I didn't mind the deadness, though. Sometimes you just want to get in and get out of the grocery store with your bottle of wine and sugar-free cookies in hand.

9. We had spaghetti with our friends, and then some of us made beaded jewelry while others of us lay on the couch. We all watched Trading Places and lamented the fall of Eddie Murphy's genius. (Al Franken was in that movie. Funny, huh?) Also, we drank sparkling dessert wine, because we're cheap and trashy like that.

10. At night we went to sleep. This morning Tad started his new job. I'm waiting to hear from him now. I hope he's doing okay.

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12:37 PM #
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Friday, March 10, 2006

Something is wrong with my home computers.

I can connect to Blogger, but not to gwenworld.com. I can't retrieve my Hotmail emails. I can connect to Yahoo, but not to Google.

I spent a few hours on the phone with the Filipino tech support guy, and then another hour with Tier Two Tech Support (a guy in Dallas). And no luck. They said it must be on my end. I don't see how. But I did a system restore, just in case. It didn't work.

So... I don't know. If you've ever had (and solved) this problem, let me know. I won't see your comments or emails until Monday, when I get to work. But know that they will be appreciated in advance.
 

9:23 PM #
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Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Gall Bladder Removal Is Imminent

Monday I had an ultrasound done of my gall bladder. Just like the ultrasound I had done last year, this one indicated that my gall bladder needs to be removed, as soon as possible, by force if necessary. (The difference is that this year, I can afford to have it done.)

The gall bladder processes the fat that you eat. Mine has a big-ass stone in it, so, whenever I ate something too fatty, it caused blockage around the gall stone at night, and that blockage hurt like hell. So, a year and a half ago, I stopped eating really fatty foods. However, recently, the stone has gotten big enough to hurt like hell in the daytime, when I eat foods that I used to be able to handle.

I'm meeting with the surgeon on the 20th to schedule what day I will bid that organ goodbye.

How sad is it that I'm sort of looking forward to the 3 to 7 recovery days that will follow? Because, really, when else in my life would I have the opportunity to lie in bed playing World of Warcraft, without being wracked with guilt?

I'm gonna level up like a mofo.

Also, I will eat a chopped beef sandwich, two chili dogs, some cheese fries, a wheel of brie, and a cow-head taco... all pain free. W00t!

(Concentrating on these thoughts will keep me from being scared, I hope. I've never had real surgery before. I hope the surgeon is nice. I hope they don't leave scissors inside me, or cut off my legs by mistake.)

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1:43 PM #
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Thursday, March 02, 2006

Me and Santino

Last night I dreamed that Santino and Daniel V. (these are Project Runway contestants) had a secret romance going on. I saw them making out on the floor of the basement of their workroom. I don't know if this happened on the show, in my dream, or if I saw it because I was in New York.

Either way, then I dreamed that Santino and I opened an art gallery together. We were working to fill it with our own work. I was very excited, partially because I had some really good, big pieces in progress, and partially because some guy (Nick, maybe?) showed up offering to be my assistant, reminding me of past awesome visual sculptures and stuff I'd done. (I've never done any in real life, though.) Then, some lady showed up with a bunch of Mexican pastries and candy that Santino and I tasted because we were considering stocking it in our gallery snackbar.

This dream was about the fact that I've been missing doing art and eating sweets. I was enjoying myself until my assistant and I had to visit a class for poor, disadvantaged children. I told myself, "Don't get too involved with these brats, because they'll just take you away from your art." But then I did get involved, because they desperately needed discipline and education. They were smoking and watching TV in class.

That seems like it might be about my kids taking me away from my art, but I don't think so, because my kids aren't such a pain in the ass. It's more about the stupid responsibilities I have to spend time on every single day. I feel good about myself when I get stuff taken care of, but it takes time away from the stuff I wish I could *really* do.

Regarding last night's episode of Project Runway: Even though I've been saying all along that Daniel's collection wasn't all that, I felt sorry to see Tim impart that to him, and call his purses crafty and woodshoppy. It's not even that Daniel's stuff is bad - it's just very subtle for the times. People are all depressed about inflation right now. They want to wear something flashier to cheer themselves up and avoid reality.

Also, I've been wanting to tell y'all that someone on Television Without Pity's PR forum said that Daniel's stuff looks like Spiegel. I wanted to add that Santino's stuff, therefore, looks like Arden B. (But I never comment on their forum because I forgot my password, and I'm too embarrassed to bring it up, seeing as how I used to write for them and all.)

One last thing: I know a lot of people hate Santino, and for a few moments at the beginning, I hated his rudeness, too. But I have to admit that, way back during the Lingerie Challenge, when he told the makeup artist, "I want them to look like deer," I irrevocably loved him as an artist. And whenever I see his Bavarian deer models in the rerun of that ep, it reinforces that love. Because he did not give a DAMN, y'all.

The Not-So-Bad Things About Getting Older

1. A lot of people don't remember or appreciate the music of your childhood, but it's okay because that makes it more of a secret pleasure for you, then, and we all know that pleasures are more pleasureable when they're secret.

2. You drive more safely without caring what dumb kids in Camaros think of you. And that's better, because it keeps you from dying as much.

3. In general, whether driving or not, you care less about what dumb kids think of you. Screw them if they don't like it. You are old and you make more money, and you remember electric guitars and they don't.

One Very Bad Thing That Starts in Your Thirties, That No One Will Tell You Directly (Except Me)

Your digestive system starts falling apart. Bit by bit, part by part. And you find that you can't eat the foods that you used to think nothing of eating.

For instance, I ate a chopped baker yesterday, and realized last night that, instead of going to Mexico this summer, I should have my gall bladder removed, instead.

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8:05 AM #
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