So I'm checking a blog I frequent, Miss Snark's First Victim. Great blog for aspiring writers and I am usually quietly admiring of it. Tonight I decided to post a comment. An agent (The Secret Agent for those of you who don't read this blog) offered to accept open submissions for the month of January. WOW!! What a fantastic offer! Seeing as how I've been and am querying agents for my humorous narrative "Welcome to My Mother 'Hood" I excitedly scrolled to see the particulars.
And there it was.
MG/YA only.
Sigh.
This is not the first time I've encountered this roadblock and I imagine it won't be the last. So I posted a comment asking Why? Why? Why does it seem that the only genres agents seem to be interested in are MG/YA??? Does no one read anything else?? I realize that the younger generation seems to have unlimited amounts of disposable income (mostly mom's and dad's) and therefore are the economic target group (think Twilight here)but C'mon!! I happen to know for fact that NOT EVERYONE WANTS TO READ MG/YA!!!!
What about us menopause mama's? In between our stints as maids, chauffeurs, accountants and laundresses, the full-time job, the kids/hubby/marriage/significant other and the occasional hot flash with accompanying hormone spike and all we want to do when we pick up a book is be entertained. And laugh. And not have to think too hard. And...
Sorry. Got on a bit of a rant there and forgot where I was going with this.
Getting back to my computer savvy-ness. I signed on and posted my comment. When it posted to the blog it posted with the title to this blog and therefore should anyone click on the title they'll be directed here. If you have inadvertently arrived on this blog, be my guest to read through and offer any insights (if you have them), feelings about (if you have them) the seeming inundation of MG/YA!
I'd love to hear from ya! And Authoress? Kudos! Kudos! Kudos! Truly.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
I'm tired
Well, it's been a while since I posted and that's because...I don't know...life gets in the way. Christmas is hurtling toward me at warp speed and I am woefully unprepared. Usually, by now, I have the house decorated and the tree up. The majority of the cookies are baked and lovingly wrapped in a million miles of saran and foil to prevent freezer burn. Gifts are bought and starting to be wrapped.
However, none of these things have taken place in my house yet. Oh, a few gifts have been bought and they currently reside in the back of hubby's truck. A few reside in my trunk. I threw a couple of wreaths on the front of the house and bribed hubby to plug in the two lighted trees I bought last year, post-Xmas (for ten bucks!!). That's as far as I've gotten.
It's now December 9th (16 days to go) and I'm like a reindeer in the headlights. We're facing a couple of obstacles, though, so I don't count my lack of preparedness soley on my...well...lack of preparedness. We're having carpeting installed on the 16th. Pretty much the entire downstairs. I'm excited for that but I know I will be wreck on the 15th, moving furniture and trying to find places to stash all the "little" things. Hubby built a new table top for the kitchen which is currently tarped with some kind of carpenter-grade tarp that, unfortunately, can't be wiped off, it has to be vacuumed. That's supposed to get finished this weekend.
So, I'm not quite in the spirit yet. From the way things look I'll probably get in the spirit round about X-mas Eve. Then I'll be bummed because everyone else will be winding down and I'll be starting up. I used to be so organized! I used to care!! I used to not have crow's feet! I used to...oh crap! I have to get to work!! I used to better organized!
However, none of these things have taken place in my house yet. Oh, a few gifts have been bought and they currently reside in the back of hubby's truck. A few reside in my trunk. I threw a couple of wreaths on the front of the house and bribed hubby to plug in the two lighted trees I bought last year, post-Xmas (for ten bucks!!). That's as far as I've gotten.
It's now December 9th (16 days to go) and I'm like a reindeer in the headlights. We're facing a couple of obstacles, though, so I don't count my lack of preparedness soley on my...well...lack of preparedness. We're having carpeting installed on the 16th. Pretty much the entire downstairs. I'm excited for that but I know I will be wreck on the 15th, moving furniture and trying to find places to stash all the "little" things. Hubby built a new table top for the kitchen which is currently tarped with some kind of carpenter-grade tarp that, unfortunately, can't be wiped off, it has to be vacuumed. That's supposed to get finished this weekend.
So, I'm not quite in the spirit yet. From the way things look I'll probably get in the spirit round about X-mas Eve. Then I'll be bummed because everyone else will be winding down and I'll be starting up. I used to be so organized! I used to care!! I used to not have crow's feet! I used to...oh crap! I have to get to work!! I used to better organized!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The Bra-Bind
So I went bra-shopping the other day and it was, as usual, a nightmare. I hate to bra-shop. Let me reiterate: I REALLY, REALLY hate to bra shop. If you're, ahem, kind of on the well-endowed side this particular chore can really put a damper on your mood. I've been putting it off but when the wire on my last good bra decided that it just couldn't do it anymore and snapped in the middle of grocery shopping, I knew I had to bite the bullet. That and the fact that said wire continued to jab into my right boob until I got home propelled me into the store for new bras.
I know what you're thinking. What's so hard about buying a couple of bras? A lot. The way I see it bra manufacturers give a gal two choices: 1. Buy a padded bra (which, if you're on the well-endowed side is a bit redundant, no?) and 2. Look like your grandmother. Since neither option appeals to me, I find myself in a bra-bind.
Since I obviously do not need to be "padded" I attempt to look for something that will do the job without making me look like a 1950's housewife or Madonna. So I start checking out the wares. About an hour later I'm so disgusted I could scream. In fact I do scream. Well, not scream exactly, more like speak sharply to the poor employee who drew the short straw and ended up working in the lingerie section.
"Why don't you carry any bras that a regular woman can wear?" I say, wiping the sweat from my brow.
"Ma'am", she says (and thanks for that btw) "If you're having trouble with fit we are having a professional fitter in the store on Saturday."
"A what?"
"A professional fitter. She'll take your measurements so you can be guaranteed a perfect fit," she says brightly.
Really, I wanted to smack the spritely out of her.
"And how do they do that?"
"Well, you have to disrobe and then they measure you in the three keys areas to gauge your size and then you try on bras that you like in that size and you will be amazed at the difference and never have difficulty buying bras again!" she finished with a big smile.
I just stared.
And stared.
Stared until the grin faded and she started looking for another customer to save her.
"So let me get this straight. I am to disrobe in front of a total stranger, have her "measure" me in "three key places" and get a perfect size and I'll never have bra trouble again? Even when I'm really old and the girls are down to my knees?"
"Uh...yes that's the idea," she said as she began straightening panties and no doubt plotting the untimely demise of the manager that scheduled her in lingerie.
"As interesting a concept as it sounds, I don't think I'm ready to have some stranger touching the girls, know what I mean?" I say, flicking through another rack.
"Fine," she says, "It just an...(looking me up and down) option." Then she walked away.
I grabbed a couple of bras that I thought might work, brought them to another section of the store and checked out.
Turns out? I couldn't wait to get home today and take off one of my new bras because the straps were so friggin' tight I was worried the circulation to my shoulders was being cut off. The rest of it was ok but what's with those straps? One of the other bras straps were just right but the cups were just slightly too small, giving me a kind of uni-boob. Staring at the bras I wondered if maybe I should go see this "professional bra fitter." Was I desperate enough?
Um...no I'm not that desperate.
Yet.
I know what you're thinking. What's so hard about buying a couple of bras? A lot. The way I see it bra manufacturers give a gal two choices: 1. Buy a padded bra (which, if you're on the well-endowed side is a bit redundant, no?) and 2. Look like your grandmother. Since neither option appeals to me, I find myself in a bra-bind.
Since I obviously do not need to be "padded" I attempt to look for something that will do the job without making me look like a 1950's housewife or Madonna. So I start checking out the wares. About an hour later I'm so disgusted I could scream. In fact I do scream. Well, not scream exactly, more like speak sharply to the poor employee who drew the short straw and ended up working in the lingerie section.
"Why don't you carry any bras that a regular woman can wear?" I say, wiping the sweat from my brow.
"Ma'am", she says (and thanks for that btw) "If you're having trouble with fit we are having a professional fitter in the store on Saturday."
"A what?"
"A professional fitter. She'll take your measurements so you can be guaranteed a perfect fit," she says brightly.
Really, I wanted to smack the spritely out of her.
"And how do they do that?"
"Well, you have to disrobe and then they measure you in the three keys areas to gauge your size and then you try on bras that you like in that size and you will be amazed at the difference and never have difficulty buying bras again!" she finished with a big smile.
I just stared.
And stared.
Stared until the grin faded and she started looking for another customer to save her.
"So let me get this straight. I am to disrobe in front of a total stranger, have her "measure" me in "three key places" and get a perfect size and I'll never have bra trouble again? Even when I'm really old and the girls are down to my knees?"
"Uh...yes that's the idea," she said as she began straightening panties and no doubt plotting the untimely demise of the manager that scheduled her in lingerie.
"As interesting a concept as it sounds, I don't think I'm ready to have some stranger touching the girls, know what I mean?" I say, flicking through another rack.
"Fine," she says, "It just an...(looking me up and down) option." Then she walked away.
I grabbed a couple of bras that I thought might work, brought them to another section of the store and checked out.
Turns out? I couldn't wait to get home today and take off one of my new bras because the straps were so friggin' tight I was worried the circulation to my shoulders was being cut off. The rest of it was ok but what's with those straps? One of the other bras straps were just right but the cups were just slightly too small, giving me a kind of uni-boob. Staring at the bras I wondered if maybe I should go see this "professional bra fitter." Was I desperate enough?
Um...no I'm not that desperate.
Yet.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Orange Hair Is Not A Good Look On Anyone...
unless you're a scary-ass clown hired to entertain (scare the crap out of) a bunch of six year olds. I, however, am not such a clown. Although I was looking like one about an hour ago, and, no, I did not sleep at a Holiday Inn Express last night. In the interest of time (I have none) I decided to highlight my hair. Y'know, to blend in those grays because I'm getting tired of coloring all the freakin' time! So I carefully read the directions, do everything the helpful instruction sheet tells me, wait the requisite amount of time, wash and dry. Imagine my surprise (horror) when I looked in the mirror and Bozo is staring back at me. Hmm. Maybe it's not so bad, I think to myself. I turn this way. I turn that way. The dog wanders in the bathroom to see what I'm doing, looks up at me, yelps and backpeddles out of the room so fast he took the rug with him.
That is not a good sign. Fighting down panic, I raced downstairs to my cabinet of hair stuff (I'll explain later) and grab a tube of color. I mix, apply and am waiting on the results as I write. Whatever it turns out to be, it's got to be better than Bozo-Orange.
Now my explanation. This is slightly embarrassing so bear with me. I was a hairdresser for 17 years. Yup. Licensed and everything. Still am licensed. And you know what? I know better. I really, really do. But because of the time situation (have none) I attempted to do what I KNOW shouldn't be done. However, in my defense, I also know how to fix it. Unfortunately, I have now spent double the amount of time it would have taken if I'd just gone to the salon. When that little voice crops up again in 3 weeks and says, "The skunk stripe is back," I will calmly put down whatever I'm doing and call the salon. I swear.
That is not a good sign. Fighting down panic, I raced downstairs to my cabinet of hair stuff (I'll explain later) and grab a tube of color. I mix, apply and am waiting on the results as I write. Whatever it turns out to be, it's got to be better than Bozo-Orange.
Now my explanation. This is slightly embarrassing so bear with me. I was a hairdresser for 17 years. Yup. Licensed and everything. Still am licensed. And you know what? I know better. I really, really do. But because of the time situation (have none) I attempted to do what I KNOW shouldn't be done. However, in my defense, I also know how to fix it. Unfortunately, I have now spent double the amount of time it would have taken if I'd just gone to the salon. When that little voice crops up again in 3 weeks and says, "The skunk stripe is back," I will calmly put down whatever I'm doing and call the salon. I swear.
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