My Dating Life in 13 Bullet Points & DuPont

During the writer's retreat in Big Sur (see past posts), Author Pam Houston facilitated a list-writing exercise. My end product went on and on and on, and further. So I've scaled it down to the worst 13. Enjoy.

Thirteen Ways in Which Male Suitors Failed to Endear Me:

• By telling me through email that he really enjoyed my “epistle.” This prompted me to simultaneously research the word “epistle” and grab my crotch.
• By stating, after sex, in a whiny tone, “We don’t have an emotional connection.”
• In response to my stating that my marriage lasted only thirteen months, he expelled in excruciating details his winning recipe for grilled shrimp. Admittedly, I was awestruck that he knew about a connection between my ex and shrimp.
• By asking which comes first, preschool or kindergarten. In response, I gingerly explained that preschool comes first. Thus, the term “preschool.”
• By diagramming his inner ear on a napkin to explain his cochlear implants.
• By getting us stuck in his truck overnight, buried in three feet of mud, in the desert, with no phone signal or phones, and offering me as comfort one lone stale Oreo cookie from the glove compartment. Actually, the Oreo was a sweet gesture; I didn’t decline.
• By sending a text in which he spelled “college,” “collage.”
• By being 45 yet refraining from making-out, for weeks on end, because it involves too much of a commitment and might lead to sex.
• By telling me we have no future because I’m not a vegetarian.
• By proudly boasting that he’ll pay for my muffin and tea, then unleashing from his wallet a buy-ten-get-one-free card.
• With his arms around me as we lay outstretched on his couch, he said that I remind him of his mother.
• By declaring that Reagan is his President. Never mind his political ideology, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Reagan had died eight years earlier.
• By staring endearingly at, and fingering, his smart phone throughout the date, then abruptly ending the date by stating, “Well it was nice meeting you again.” I’d never met him before, and I wished I’d never met him in the first place. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We haven't seen DuPont in a while. I finally paid a visit. Still dressed for July 4th? I'm not sure.  

Have a great week, as July turns into August.

Garlic Chocolate Ice Cream

On my way home from Big Sur, I stopped in Gilroy, a small city known for its over-abundance of garlic and annual Garlic Festival. There, I stretched, inhaled whiffs of humid garlic infused air, and sampled Marianne's Chocolate Garlic Ice Cream.

Wishing to enjoy my ice cream, I denied the fact that locust bean gum follows garlic on the listed ingredients. Something about locust bean gum doesn't sound very appetizing. Must be the word locust: one of the 10 plagues visited upon the Hebrews when my people fought for our freedom from Egyptian bondage. So I tossed the lid in a trashcan, pretended I hadn't studied it, perched myself on an outdoor picnic table, watched cars zip by, and tasted my cup of Marianne's Chocolate Garlic Ice Cream.

I wasn't thrilled. I was "meh." I suspect it's not the locust bean gum that killed it for me, though that didn't help. This ice cream is just too garlic-y for my taste. I like garlic, but I had to struggle to taste the chocolate. Where chocolate's concerned, I do not want a struggle. In short, this marriage of flavors should head for divorce court. I can't recommend it.

Years ago, at Gilroy's Garlic Festival, I ate vanilla garlic ice cream. If memory serves me, and it rarely does, vanilla garlic ice cream tastes better than chocolate garlic ice cream. I advise avoiding both.

For the novelty factor, and for you (so that I could warn you to steer clear), it was worth a try. I'll give Marianne's Garlic Chocolate Ice Cream a 4 on a 1-10 scale.

Ever been to Gilroy or the Gilroy Garlic Festival?
Ever tried garlic ice cream? Would you?
What's your take on locust bean gum?

Have a great, locust-free new week!
 
  

Wild Fun Facts!

As promised, here's more on my writer's conference at Esalen in Big Sur.* Cheryl Strayed, our lead presenter, shared tidbits on the upcoming movie Wild, based on her novel. Her story captures Cheryl's emotional journey as she undertakes an 1,100 mile hike across the Pacific Crest Trail.
*I couldn't afford this retreat but did it anyway. I say this because I hate the filthy rich and don't want you to think of me that way. By "filthy," I mean people who advertise their material wealth. Anyway...

Onto Wild FUN FACTS:

• Reese Witherspoon read Wild, then contacted Cheryl Strayed to ask if she could make the book a movie. Cheryl didn't immediately say "Yes!" She very thoughtfully engaged in extensive conversations with Reese before agreeing (what Reese liked most about the book, why she wanted to turn it into a movie, etc.). They became close friends as a result.

• Wild is an independent film, produced on a budget of "only" $15 million. It was Reese's "little" project.

• Laura Dern (of Jurassic Park, I Am Sam, and many other roles) plays Cheryl/Reese's mother in the movie. Laura is 47 and Reese is 38.

• Laura was at the retreat with me (and 150-ish others); Cheryl had invited her; they became close friends on the set. She appeared a humble person and caring Mom to her kids. Laura wore sunglasses in the dining lodge, preferring to maintain a low profile. I tried not to gawk and stare, while trying to gawk and stare.   

• Cheryl's daughter plays a young Cheryl/Reese in the movie; it's her first acting debut. She's a beautiful, bright spirited girl and looks like a natural in the trailer.

• Regarding having her book made into a movie, Cheryl said it feels "strange".

• Reese is forecasted to win an Oscar for her performance as Cheryl Strayed. I'm very excited for Cheryl. You know how you feel as though you've become close friends with a character of a book? Well, I took it to another level. One night I found myself gazing at a wondrous campfire. I was literally knocking elbows with Cheryl Strayed on one side, author Alan Heathcock on the other. The three of us, chatting, laughing, enjoying ourselves. I couldn't believe it and told myself  "Whether or not this is real, DO NOT MOVE. This is the place to be."

• The trailer looks excellent. I've pasted below.

• Movie will be released December 5. I rarely see movies, but I plan to be first in line for this one. (Sorry I can't figure out how to post the trailer so it's not so wide.)

What do you think?
Ever taken an 1,100 mile hike? Yeah me neither.
Have you read Wild? Do you plan to see the movie?
Actually, I wasn't a Reese fan until now. It appears to me this may be her best performance yet.

Be well.

Mystery Box of Awesomeness from the Awesome Duo at A Beer for the Shower!

Brandon Meyers and Bryan Pedas of A Beer for the Shower, the duo that defines awesomeness through their every deed and creation, held a contest. I entered this artwork plus $1.32. It's all I could afford as bribery. It worked! I'd also read and reviewed Graveyard Shift and Demetri, exceptional books; their others top my "purchase and read stat" list. Anyway, I WON a Mystery Box of Awesomeness!

Days ago, stagehand Macaulay landed in the Mystery Box. I geared up*, as rumors swirled about its contents having included asbestos and, worse, cat hairs. 

I broke it open, and Culkin had already attacked the divine Lindt chocolates. Thus, his spontaneous obesity.

I uncovered a signed original piece, TUCK WATLEY. I devoured it - never laughed so uncontrollably in response to anything I've read. Note: I already won; I've no need to suck up again.

You can't notice due to my desire to look pretty in bubble wrap, but I'm holding the classic mirror from the cover of Graveyard Shift.

Stay tuned for a review of Young's Double Chocolate Stout!

I'm excited to shower with Porter's Vanilla Beer Soap!

Next, a computer link sent me to this awesome graphic. Their business card at the bottom had the link on its back.

I'm an ecstatic winner of B&B's Mystery Box, packed very thoughtfully with awesomeness to its full extent.
Thank you guys! You have my love and admiration, always.

*Also, thanks to the fine folks at Wittmeier Collision Center in Chico for donating all the colorful bubble wrap for this venture, and to my roommate for the expert photography and costume assistance.
Lastly, if you're jealous, forward $1.32 to B&B, and better luck next time.
Happy Friday and have a peaceful weekend, everyone.

Woman on the Verge of Paradise, Robbie and Robyn

The pro authors at my writer's conference said that, when asked when their current project will be published, their standard response is "in a year." Their point: it takes years to publish a good book,  much longer than we anticipate. Don't publish before it's ready. Otherwise, you're doing yourself a disservice. That said, here's an early scene from my novel, Woman on the Verge of Paradise. I've begun editing, and it'll be published in a year. Smiles. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

   I could never relate to boys in a way that felt anything but weird. I was usually too shy to even say “hi” to them. On occasion, though, a (very) random guy paid attention to me.

   There was Robbie, for example, who used to visit the library whenever I did library service as an elective. He was a lanky kid who donned thick-framed glasses and resembled a White Steve Urkel. Robbie strolled into Orville Wright Junior High's library on a regular basis, to talk to me. It was his “free period,” he said.

   I had no interest in him, but Robbie's attention flattered me. When I told Susan about him, she suggested I give Robbie a chance. “Robyn, he really likes you. He seems like a nice guy,” she goaded.

   Easy for you to say, I thought. You got one who doesn’t pull his pants up above his belly button.

   One day Robbie stood really close, leaned in to supposedly look at the title of a book I was stacking to be shelved, and “accidentally” touched his hand to mine.

   “Wow, your skin is super soft, Robyn.”

   Robbie’s gentle touch felt sweet, as did the compliment. “Thanks,” I said softly, slightly blushing.

   “Robyn?”

   “Yeah?” I hid my giddiness, awaiting the question. Was he going to ask for a date? Tell me he’d been in love with me since he first set eyes on me? Ask me the all-important question of the day: “Will you go with me?”[1]

   He quickly turned his head from side to side, as if to assure nobody was around.

   I scanned our immediate vicinity too. Nobody in sight. It was just me and Robbie. Robbie and Robyn, all alone at the front desk of Orville Wright Junior High School’s library. Nobody else existed.

   Robbie moved in closer, preparing to ask the question. “Robyn...do you have fifty cents I can borrow for a soda? I’ll pay you back next week.”

   And so it went. My spectacularly unromantic romantic life. My open-hearted, tenacious, klutzy quest for love and self-worth. My story: the anti-fairytale.

---

[1] I think this meant “Will you date me?”I'm not sure, though. Nobody ever asked me to "go" with them without adding a destination. Did any of you hear or use this term back in the day?