Things I ALMOST Miss

  There are so many things I used to have, thought I needed, or simply wanted.
  Somedays I miss them—
 Until I remember how much upkeep and cost they entailed.
 Things like:

 A size 2 body
 A 50 gallon freshwater aquarium
 assorted houseplants in every room
 A large vegetable garden
 A summer and a winter wardrobe
 A size 2 body
 reptiles, any caged sort
 long, perfect fingernails
 multiple hairy dogs
 Fresh flower bouquets
 Did I mention a size 2 body?

We put the OY in Oyster Festival.

 It started out innocently enough. Me and KB, a nice New Jersey Jewish Girl, with me, the NY/CA/NH/PA/GA girl. There were lots of signs telling us where to go. Uphill. OY!

 There was the handbag check. False bottoms would have worked, as she barely checked and the guy in front of me snuck in his water bottle by jamming it under his flabby gut.

 This dude thought he was pretty cool. And the angry chick? She was just singing. She only dropped one beer and fell down once while we were near her.

Look, deer and beer. Get it? I got a free Jagerbomb from the biker dude at the Bloody Mary tent. You do not want to know more.

 This guitarist was sort of like Ozzy. Well, in that he had bad hair and was British. The band was called The Whizzers and Something?? OY!

 These guys grilled a whole truckload of oysters. they were hot. The oysters. not the guys. The guys were sweaty.

 These girls are saying, "But that's not what an oyster looks like. It's supposed to be on a plate with lemon and a fork, and a side of rice." OY!

 There were fancy table coverings everywhere. I felt like a Princess!

 KB found the ugliest oyster ever. We mocked it, then we sliced it open and ate it. Sorta like a girl fight.

 The celebrity anti-tongue salute. OY!

This is my finger 8 hours later, waiting for the MARTA train. The knuckle swelled up and bruised in another 3 hours. We are blaming the Oyster shucking knife. OY!

 This is our bucket of remains. Some others added to it and one guy came around and tried to steal our previously stolen lemons. Hey. What happens at the Oyster festival, stays at the Oyster Festival... unless you're reading this.

 We walked away from this place when it had a thirty person line. and then came back to try again, because hello? your tents are only serving BUDWEISER. OY!

This girl was telling her date how she wants him to um, dance with her later.

Maybe she will dress like this. Wait. Is that a snow shovel? OY!

  We went to a corner bar first. Across the street was this beautiful sight. I took bets on how many Midtown Hipsters would try to drag that back to their loft.

 We went to sit in the sun, up there, with some new friends. We ate meals that we forgot we ate. Thanks to the receipt crumpled in the bottom of my purse, we remembered later, and also noticed we paid for a shitload of drinks and someone's lobster roll. OY!

I won this shirt. Some old man tried to knock me down and take it. I gave him the stink eye and he backed off. Later, I gifted it to a guy at the bar as a prize for having the bushiest beard not on Duck Dynasty. I don't think he wanted it either.

 Here we are trying to look at two different cameras for a photo op. We had just tried promo Fireball shots. Yep. OY!

 This. Is. A. Midtown. Bartender.  You may look away now.

 It gets prettier at night, you notice?

Artful attempt number 503, according to my I-phone camera roll. OY!

 So that was an early start to my birthday month. Next up, Comedy night and strange dancing people: When Highland legs meet Latino feet on a skinny white girl. Stay tuned.

Welcome to 2014

I used to get reminders from BlogHer when I didn't post anything for a two week span. It helped, those reminders, sort of like a homework assignment, or a work deadline.
 Left to my own devices, I was probably spending way too much time skimming pages on Pinterest for decor ideas, or sending away for land brochures and bookmarking fashion pages for shit I don't need or can't afford.
 Or maybe I was doing this.

 There were those chunks of days I dedicated to writing, and even bigger day chunks spent editing, submitting, revising ... so, that's something, because it's all about the AMOUNT of creative work you produce over your lifetime that will lead to greatest success ... according to a recent NPR episode that I chose to listen to rather than study my Spanish lesson.
 At least I wasn't doing this.

 So, that's something.

I have managed to corrupt, I mean entertain, a whole new group of players by starting a monthly Girls Night Out. I love these ladies. We laugh. A lot.
 There's also Book Club and Bunco, Poker for the boys and of course, a regular schedule of yoga and weight training, because some days I need to go out in the world and eavesdrop to get the perfect combination of imagination, dreamland and reality into a scene.
On that note, things are progressing with the pitching of the book/s. All good news and all very exciting. I've got the right people around me and the cards are finally in place.
 And I've got a bunch more flash fiction in the stack, now that I've decided once and for all to write without the self-editing/inhibiting questions of what would that person think or how would that group of people feel... 

 I encourage you to go out there and attack life this year. Find your passion. Seek what fuels you. Enjoy life, don't merely go through the motions. Dump negativity and surround yourself with people and things- if that's your kick- that make you feel good.

I'll be back in a few. Stay out of trouble. Dance. A lot. And eat healthy.

Maybe get a Roomba.

Lessons from the beach

Well, the first lesson should be: don't post your blog via text without knowing how it will appear, and then get in a car for 6 hours.





If the sun is shining when you arrive, hit the beach immediately. You never know what tomorrow brings.

When someone wants to meet for a meal. Always say yes.

If a shopkeeper is trying to make her way back to her home country next month, you can negotiate 20% off sale prices of anything in her store.

Most people live in a bubble. Proudly carry a large supply of pins. Don't be afraid to use them.

Women in ten gallon hats who arrive at beach bars alone after dark, are probably bald. And horny.

Fish is good. 

No matter how hard you try to separate life from fiction.... you can't. 

And the best lesson from the beach?

There are a lot more beaches out there.