This week I am up to my eyeballs in stuff. Stuff like taking the kids swimming, going to the water park, playing more tennis than I’ve ever played in my life, getting tennis elbow, riding bikes, baking pies, getting in my 2 hours of writing each day, and generally getting ready to return to work. Tomorrow.

I said TOMORROW.

So I stopped at my new office today (new office! new school! new windows to see the sunlight!) and met one of the janitors there who quickly became my BFF. We all know that’s the way it works. If I ever expect to get my trash emptied and have him haul my boxes up to my new office, then I’d better find a way to make that man happy.

I meant with something like a nice lemon icebox pie. What were you thinking?

These last few hours of vacation are spent on important things like children, eating good food, going to the movies with a gaggle of friends tonight, and writing about shoes for BlogHer. And while I’m wrapping up my book and polishing off the necessary paperwork to go out and be rejected accepted by a publishing house, I was catching up on my Time magazine reading. They have a section where they ask people 10 questions that are supposed to be revealing in some way. What would you ask someone like Shirley Sherrod? I thought. Or that Old Spice guy, Isaiah Mustafa?

These are the zombie shoes I mention in that post. You should really go and read it now. Or maybe just order them online.

Then I came up with a contest. I like to get a sponsor for my blog contests sometimes, but others? Well, I like to do it my damn self. And I want to give away some of the books I’ve read to get my shelves ready for my own published book. SOMEDAY, right? A gal can hope.

So, ask your questions. I will try to answer them as honestly as possible and still keep some semblance of privacy. Ten will be chosen, but one of the ten chosen will win a box of books. From me to you. *Plus, a little surprise or two because I like to do that kind of stuff. It must be the Southern Hospitality my father instilled in me even though my Northern Hospitality mother is more likely to do this kind of thing.

Comments will close on Friday, July 30 when I look up from my desk at my new job and say, “Really? Only 17 people asked questions? Ok. Fine. I’ll still choose a winner.” and then I’ll answer the Ten Best Questions for a post on the following Monday.

This should be fun unless the fun is all in my head in which case I will just go an infuse some more vodka which is now a part of the summer fun in which I’ve been indulging AND OK I’LL STOP NOW JUST ASK SOME GOOD QUESTIONS.

*It is entirely possible that I might add goodies in this Book Box that have helped me have a good summer. Sunblock, tennis balls, infused vodka. (KIDDING. I don’t think that’s allowed. Is it?) I dunno. I’m feeling weird.

There’s not much that stumps me in my job and I’ve embraced humility enough to know that I don’t always know the answers to the complicated messes that introduce themselves to me like a stranger at the grocery store. “Oh, hello. I’m the awkward beef cow tongue sitting in plastic wrap in the frozen meat section. What would you like to do to me?”

You know, that sounded way less disgustingly lurid and suggestive  in my head when I started writing this.

But there is something that comes up increasingly more often than I thought it would. Some students are comfortable enough with their homosexuality to talk to me about it. It’s usually in passing as we’re discussing other things or sometimes when they tell me who they’re bringing to the Prom or just about dating someone of the same sex as a general topic of conversation. But what I am never clear on is how much their parents know or what I am allowed to say to their families. Sometimes, I know about their sexuality before their parents and other times it’s as comfortable a subject matter as their algebra test scores or their AP History class.

When I’m unsure of is how to mention it to parents (if necessary). What do I say? How to I talk about it? What if they ask me about it?

What are your thoughts on this?

I wrote this two weeks ago and couldn’t bring myself to publish it.

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When you get a new job and you meet new co-workers and spend new time with them it’s normal for conversations to go from ‘Wow, we like the same things and I had no idea you were a Libertarian and did you even know that we had a re-cycling program here?’ to ‘There’s nothing wrong with using the term light colored-negro’ and then your brain explodes because OH MY GOD, WHO STILL SAYS THE WORD ‘NEGRO’?

It didn’t happen to me, but someone I’m very close to and someone who is actually a person of color. A person who passes. A person who looks like me and finds herself incognegro in situations where people think she’s all white. They think she’s all vanilla.

So. You know. She probably shouldn’t say anything. Or, if she does, what should she say? Because we are in a recession here and it’s not like you can just get up and leave a job. You aren’t a Vanderbilt and you don’t use the word “summer” as a verb.

What’s a girl to do?

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That’s where I ended it because I couldn’t finish the thoughts there. Then, President Obama addressed the nation and Chris Matthews “forgot” that Obama was black for an hour. Now, it’s February and the time when most Americans a handful of people celebrate Black History Month. So I won’t say anything.

I’ll just say that I’m having a contest sponsored by Clever Girls Collective and See’s Candy where I’m giving away some CHOCOLATE and no, it has nothing to do with Black History it’s just that it’s closing in on Valentine’s Day and CHOCOLATE is the theme for that, too, so hey! Coincidence!

Enter here.

Don’t mind me, though. I’m really not going to say anything. Except maybe one more word.

CHOCOLATE.

If I have to look at Oscar Wilde’s face one more time with his taunting, strong jaw and piercing eyes that say, “Write, damnit! Write!” then I may as well just throw my Kindle against the wall. It’s been collecting dust ever since I finished reading Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen on it because I thought I’d never read anything else on it. I’m super lazy in ordering books online and when I go to Barnes & Noble I inadvertently end up sitting in the café section reading something until I’m finished with it. It’s my own personal library because I don’t have one. In the fifteen years that I’ve lived in Springfield I have never had a library card except when we lived in what we affectionately called “Ghetto West”. The other houses I’ve lived in required me to live within the city limits, but I keep ending up in Unincorporated Springfield and it’s like a black mark on my track record of reading. My own scarlet letter that tells everyone, “I’m a rebel! I live in unincorporated areas! I don’t own a library card!”

Anyway, Oscar is sitting on the home page of my Kindle just staring at me. “Buy another book already, would you?” he pleads earnestly. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like for me to spend my hard earned dollars on something that I won’t even have time to read!” When John Milton looks at me I just stick out my tongue. Lewis Carroll just makes me giggle. But there’s something about Emily Dickinson. When she looks at me from the Kindle screen I find myself apologizing to her. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to write here and it’s just not flowing yet. The ideas are plentiful, but the writing is jumbled and awkward.”  I can write for myself, but the thought of putting things down on paper because a literary agent told me to or because my publisher says that I need more words is a daunting task. Just sitting behind my blog and bitching about the mundane doings in everyday life? Piece of cake, baby.

All that was to say that I’m trying to write a book here. It’s day 4 of the new year and for the first time ever I’m committing to this in such a passionate way that I’m scaring myself. This is terrifying and incredibly freeing to just put down as many words as I can. How this will change the way I blog I don’t know yet. Will I end up apologizing to you, my readers, the same way I do to Miss Dickinson? Who knows? 

For now, though, I’m searching for things that I didn’t ever let myself search for in the past. I’m trying to locate literary agents and publishers who have put out books like the one I’m trying to write and needing far more eye cream at night these last four days because when the urge to write strikes me I’m just going to grab it by the horns (or balls? is it balls?) and run with it. (Oooohh. No. Not balls then. Ouch.) Even if that means I’m awake at 3 a.m. because a thought has to get down on paper.

If you have any advice, I’m taking it. If you know anybody who could help a poor, starving mum with her child in a baby carriage sitting at a cafe and trying to write on scraps of paper…hold on. That was J.K. Rowling. I’m delusional now.

Hold me?

No. Just cheer me on, please. If ever I needed a cheering section, it’s now. I’m paralyzed with fear and doubt.

It’s official. I have been betrayed by milk. In all it’s delicious, creamy two percent-y goodness, it has gone against my body like a cereal killer. So I’m trying some new things. And I’m not happy about it one bit. The more I’m coming to realize that I can no longer drink milk or eat cheese or even just take a Lactaid before enjoying some ice cream the more I want all those things. Last night I had a dream. It was of the Promised Land. Where I took a bath in mint chocolate chip ice cream (it had melted, so it was a warm bath) and then ate an entire cheesecake with a single spoon and washed that down with some brie cheese. 

Not being able to have all that food is making me loony. 

Because I have to try new things, my friend Kristina is helping me. She has all this stuff down pat and already feeds her son a gluten-free diet. She knows her stuff and threw out words like PROBIOTIC and GOAT’S MILK CHEESE and HEALTHY GOOD FOR YOU until I couldn’t take it any more and just went directly to the health food grocery store (where it always smells heavenly, just what is up with that, huh?) and it makes me want to buy things that have the word “flaxen” on them. But I don’t. I’ve made that error once or twice before. I’ll just go out front and chew on my tree instead of trying that crap again. 

That’s no way for a newly converted crunchy chick to talk, now is it? Is this why the vegans are so pissed off agreeable all the time?

I’m trying some new things and I have questions. A lot of them. 

This coconut milk kefir is $6 a quart. Where are the coupons for these damn things? I had to just strike through that last sentence because as soon as I wrote that I decided to do a quick search and found them here in just seconds. I love the internet. As soon as I wrote that last sentence I realized that I had to download something just to get a coupon. I hate the internet.

Who else has this problem? Does anyone have any good advice for me? This is new to me. I’m still at the uncomfortable stage of change. Do you have tips? Is there something you like that I should try? Mind you, I’m asking the internet because, of course, my favorite doctor is WebMD because the co-pay is so reasonable. Help me out here, folks. 

Make me love the internet again. I sure can’t love milk anymore.