Oh what a weekend! I spent most of Friday horizontal on the couch in Joel's office, so as to avoid throwing up. I mean, not that I CAN throw up, because my plumbing no longer works against gravity, but I WANTED to. Do you guys know how long it took me to finally let go of my novel after I finished it? Almost TWO years. That stick up my butt had been wedged in like a wood screw and when I finally clicked publish, I thought maybe I'd magically feel better. But then I sat there all day thinking - OH MY GOD MY MOTHER IS READING MY NOVEL. Right NOW.
Two naps, people! I took TWO. Apparently that's what I do when I feel overwhelmed: I SLEEP. I would pay good money to buy tiny rocks made of sleep, which, if I could, I would chop up with a razorblade and snort into my cranium with a rolled up dollar bill. But Steve Jobs hasn't made an app for that yet, so I had to go old school and roll myself into a fetal position until my brain shuts off. I may have drooled on Joel's leather cushions. Just a little.
After a hard day of writing and/or napping in Chinatown, I put on my stupidest suede shoes and we went to synagogue, which I can't wait to write about on year of sundays. We met our friends Rachel and Ben there, who are expecting their first baby this summer much to everyone's delight, and they made a great addition to the year of sundays team. Have I mentioned that? That any time you'd like to tag along on one of our religious adventures, you are more than welcome to? The more the merrier! I'll be posting an updated WHERE page any minute now, so you'll know where we're headed next.
After Shabbat, we all schlepped to Beasaus, where we stuffed ourselves silly on fried chicken and waffles and I tried to use a perfectly good bottle of Pinot Noir to make myself feel better about the fact that PEOPLE ARE READING MY BOOK.
I honestly didn't feel better until Saturday morning when the reviews started coming in and my mother called to report having read GRAVY all in one sitting and that the ending made her cry. "It does have a lot of sex in it, though." Woohoo! Mom is still speaking to me! And I could tell she genuinely liked it, even though I made her buy it like everyone else. (Rule #1 of being an author: make your family wait to read your work until it's too late for them to change your mind about it!)
I can promise you that my fiction will always include plenty of the following:
1. Food. Duh.
2. Sex. The real kind. (Which isn't always pretty, is it?) (I'm including some EPICALLY horrible sex scenes in my erotica series and they might be the best stuff I'll ever write because they are so painfully honest.) (Honestly hilarious. Nothing is funnier than really bad sex. Not even fart jokes.)
3. Music. Preferably soul.
I mean, what else would you expect from ME?
I have very simple goals with my fiction. Basically, I want you to turn the page. That's pretty much it. If you sit and read my novel in one sitting, I feel like I've done my job. I have a huge temptation to ask readers a bunch of questions (like, when did Amanda P. Westmont disappear in your mind and become Ella Roberts?) but I will spare you the excessive book talk and instead focus on writing the next one, which is already a million times better than my freshman effort.
Saturday night we got all dressed up and went to the fundraising auction for Lane Hunter Dance. Lane is a good friend of Joel's whom we both adore and who is also an insanely talented dancer/choreographer. (Think SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE? Only the answer is YES! Yes, you can because you are Lane Hunter.) Lane also designed the cover for Gravy, so, you know, he's one of those annoyingly gifted people, which is all that more annoying due to his stunning good looks. (Also: SINGLE!)
For the auction, Joel and I set up a table where for five dollars, we chatted with you for a few minutes and then wrote you a note about who you REALLY are. My favorite was the one we wrote for a mutual friend: "You are like a jujube. Sweet, but definitely chewy. You remind me of the first time I went to the movies on my allowance and had the theater all to myself."
Then the boys put Lady Gaga on and I dragged Lane out to the stage and made everyone dance. It was a blast, except we forgot to take even a single photo of ourselves, which is at least the third time Joel has put on his suit (which is so hot, I would totally rip it off his body with my teeth if it hadn't cost as much as a mortgage payment) and we've gone out without taking a picture.
Anyway, my point is that the Easter Sunrise Cemetery Service came SUPER early Sunday morning. Not even all that napping had prepared me for getting up at 5:30AM. We were even too tired to make-out before church, which is as blasphemous as it gets in our world.
By the time the service was over, it was a scramble to get ready for the kids, who I got on loan from their dad for a few hours Sunday afternoon. It was Joel's first Easter (literally EVER), so he helped me with the pirate map while I set up the Easter baskets. It wasn't until I went to go fill the plastic eggs that I realized I had ZERO Easter stuff in storage. NONE. I called Dave in a panic because my kids were due in less than an hour and I wondered if he'd ended up with the giant Nordstrom bag filled with plastic eggs I'd last seen in our garage before the divorce/foreclosure/nuclear disaster. He didn't have them either, so I hauled ass to Wal-Mart to grab some. I came back with 130 eggs, worried that it wouldn't be enough.
"That's a LOT of eggs, Amanda. Are you sure we need that many?" Joel can be so adorable when he's clueless!
Too many eggs indeed.
Alex got a cool Hot Wheels bathtub toy.
And plenty of Peeps to 'splode in the microwave.Genoa got a play-doh cake making station, which kept us both well-entertained for the hour her brother spent in the tub.
I can definitely say I've had worse weekends.