Random crap? Yep. This is, what, Monday in the real world? In Amyland this is Saturday night and it was a loo-hoooooo-hong day of work, and I am sleepy and want to finish this up and maybe watch some TV and hit the hay. Lots of people called out of work today so we were ultra-busy with calls and people were kooky. Is it a full moon? No, wait, no, it can’t be, because I remember, Ken JUST blogged about the full moon. Like, last week or something. Full moons don’t happen two weeks in a row, we’re not on Jupiter or whatever planet with like a billion moons.
So people were just kooky for the hell of being kooky. Someday I want to tell you all about some of the calls we get over there, but I’m pretty sure that’s some sort of violation of a billion laws. Also, I’d feel terrible if I was a crazy person and I called an answering service and I left a message all crazy-style and then someone blogged about my personal business on the internet. I know someone who will remain nameless but who is UNTRUSTWORTHY who works in the medical field? And who tells people her patients’ PERSONAL MEDICAL INFORMATION. I’m not even making this up. Because I was there and heard it happen once. She was GOSSIPING about one of her PATIENTS and what MEDICATION she was on. And seriously, doesn’t that violate HIPAA laws or something? I mean, when you’re at the pharmacy, they make you stand like 200 feet away from the desk or something when someone else is getting their prescription so you don’t violate HIPAA laws, so I’m pretty sure saying “Myrtle McGurk is taking Oxycontin for uterine cramping, CAN YOU IMAGINE ZOMG SO SHOCKING?” over coffee and danish is probably in violation of like 47 HIPAA laws, and also some laws of propriety and maybe some laws of good taste.
OK, so let’s see. RANDOM CRAP!
Today was a very auspicious day in Nephew-land, because THE NEPHEW CAUGHT A FISH. I know! His first real fish! Aw, my little buddy! He went fishing with his dad, and he caught his first fish! He apparently reeled it in about 3/4 of the way and then got distracted by something shiny and had his dad finish that for him, but I count that as a total win, Nephew-wise. It was apparently very small, so although The Nephew wanted to cook it and eat it for dinner, his dad said, “No, The Son, we’ve got to throw this one back, it misses its mom,” and then The Nephew was all “Aw! It misses its mommy!” and then they threw it back and then The Nephew played in the river rather than fished the rest of the afternoon because if you are Amy’s Nephew and you are full of joie de vivre, you like to play in a pretty shiny river full of rocks and fun. I want to play in the river with The Nephew, aw! My dad told me that my brother took photos of The Nephew and his fish, but wasn’t able to send them to me. “He doesn’t use email, so he can only send them to other phones,” my dad said. “Um, Dad, he knows I have a phone, right?” I said. “Oh, yeah, I guess I didn’t think of that,” my dad said. (My brother and I don’t talk much. We’re not fighting, per se. We just aren’t chatty. Mostly because, think of the opposite of Amy, and you have my brother, so it’s a little tough to find common ground. Also, he hates technology. Because, remember? You all have one hand, or are rapists.)
So I guess we will not see photos of The Nephew with his little bebeh fish. That’s a shame. I think that would be an excellent photo.
In news of proudness and good things, I finished Cara’s book, Elegantly Wasted, this past week, and it was wonderful.
If you would like to see what I thought, you can pop on over to her Goodreads page and read my review. Then you can add it on Goodreads. And you can buy it, and read it, and I think you’ll love it. It’s pretty kickass, you guys. I mean, not that you’d expect less from Cara, of course. So go check it out and then read it, yeah? I enjoyed myself so much. And I can’t wait until the next installment. You know, if you’d told me a year ago I’d not only KNOW authors, I’d BE an author, I’d laugh in your face twice. RIGHT IN YOUR FACE TWICE. Isn’t the internet the best?
In book news, I sent my parents each copies of my book this past week. Signed and everything! Totally going to be worth a billion dollars someday. Here is what my parents thought about my book.
Mom: I read the whole thing. Whenever you used that nasty eff word I pretended you didn’t and I read past it really quickly. I don’t like poetry because I don’t understand it and there were a lot of poems I didn’t understand but I guess poetry is ok because it can always mean different things to different people. A lot of it was very sad. I liked the one about The Grandson. Green is my favorite color so I like the cover.
(Dad gets a conversation; it’s too good not to.)
Dad: So I opened this package you sent to your mother even though it was for your mother.
Me: What? No it wasn’t. It was for you AND mom. Both of your names are on it!
Dad: Her name was first. That’s rude to your poor father.
Me: Ugh, DAD. Did you see it did you see it? Isn’t it BEAUTIFUL?
Dad: It’s very pretty. Also shiny. I don’t want to open it.
Me: Well, if you’re going to read it, you have to open it.
Dad: Oh, I’m not going to READ it.
Me: Um. Okay…
Dad: I don’t want to read poetry. It has too many words in it.
Me: It actually has less words in it than fiction, if you look at it objectively.
Dad: No. Too many words. Too confusing.
Me: You have to at least open it to see where I signed it.
Dad: Is this the photo the assassin took for the cover?
Me: Yes, do you like it?
Dad: Does it say somewhere in here that he took this photo?
Me: Of course it does.
Dad: Good. You’d better make sure that assassin gets credit for this photo. Don’t steal from assassins. They’ll shoot your face off.
Me: He gets credit. Three times, I think.
Dad: Wait, THREE times? That’s a lot.
Me: Man, you’re fussy. I’d give him credit 47 billion times if I could, you know that.
Dad: I know you would. It was nice of the assassin to give you a picture.
Me: Yes, it was. He’s a good assassin.
Dad: Yeah, he’s alright. Don’t you tell him I said so, though.
Me: Oh, no. Wouldn’t want the assassin to know you’re cool with him. He might show up for dinner.
Dad: That assassin is not invited over for dinner. Hey. I just looked where you signed it. I want to be buried with this.
Me: No, I told you. I hate when people have garbage in their coffins. Nothing in your coffin. We’re not hillbillies.
Dad: What if we put it under my body? Then no one would see it.
Me: No. It’d make you uncomfortable in your eternal rest.
Dad: Nah. It’s not a very thick book.
Me: Even if you don’t read it, you have to go to the back. I thank you in the special thanks section.
Dad: ME? Oh, of course you did. I’m very inspirational. WAIT A MINUTE.
Dad: You thanked your FAMILY. This isn’t ME.
Me: You’re not my family? Is there something you’re not telling me? I’m adopted. I KNEW IT.
Dad: You should have said, “Special thanks to my Dad, because he is the most inspirational of poetry.”
Me: Man, you are picky. I couldn’t thank EVERYONE individually. That would have been like a fifty-page thanks page.
Dad: I AM YOUR ONLY FATHER.
Me: And I thanked you! Under “family!”
Dad: I am so hurt right now.
Me: Do you want to pretend there’s a typo and “family” really means “father?”
Dad: Yes. Yes, I do.
Me: Oh, man. Dad! There’s a TYPO! It should say “father” on the special thanks page, not “family!”
Dad: Better. Of course it should. I’m not AS hurt right now.
Me: That’s as much as you’re going to read, isn’t it?
Dad: No. I also looked in the middle of it to make sure the pages weren’t blank, like a trick book? But now I’m done.
Me: Thanks for reading, Dad! You’re very inspirational!
Dad: I know. I really am.
I was thinking today, my poor dad. Well, my mom, too. But mostly my dad. I can’t imagine he ever knew what to make of me. (He still mostly doesn’t.) My mom, either, but at least my mom likes plays and literature. My dad had never been to a play in his life before I started acting. He’d probably read only the books he was assigned in high school, before I came along. (And Louis L’Amour novels. He really used to dig those.) My dad’s a good old country boy. He likes beer and hunting and voting for the Republicans and watching Fox News.
Then he had a kooky, artsy, loudmouth daughter. And – HORRORS – she turned out to be a LIBERAL. A dirty hippie artsy liberal!
Some parents would have been all weirded out by this. Some would have probably turned up their nose, or been all “ugh, why are you doing THAT” or ignored it or something. Not my dad. He may not have understood what I was into, or what I was doing? But he was the most supportive of it as he could be. He hated plays, but he came to EVERY SINGLE ONE. He didn’t understand what I was writing, but he always told me I was the best at it and told me that someday I’d be a very famous writer. He’s still pissed about the liberal thing, though. And he doesn’t trust any guy I’ve ever been into, because it’s ok for his DAUGHTER to be a hippie theatery writer, but MEN don’t do things like that, no no no Charlie!
That’s kind of fantastic, don’t you think? Think about it. That’d be like if I had a kid, and that kid was my exact opposite in every way – and I was still completely the most supportive of that kid, even if I didn’t understand the things he or she was into. Like, if I had a kid and he or she decided their thing was, shit, I don’t know, um…air conditioner repair, or career military, or something I have absolutely no knowledge of at all. And yet I still told that kid how awesome he or she was doing, and how proud I was of them, every single day. That’s really kind of a fantastic thing. When you’re a kid, you kind of take it for granted, but as an adult, the same age as your father was when this was all happening, almost, when you were a teenager just realizing that you were really, really, REALLY into writing and theater and reading and artsy-fartsy crap even though NO ONE around you was? You realize, huh. I was one hell of a lucky girl.
The last thing he said to me the other night when we were talking about my book?
“When’s the next one coming out? I think it should be a real book. You have a lot of stories in your head, you know. More than ANYONE. You tell ALL the stories. Write those down, you could be a millionaire in like a YEAR. Like that weird Stephen King guy you like so much.”
Heh. Thanks, Dad. I’ll look into writing that “real” book, one of these days. Love you, too.